Decatur Democrat, Volume 38, Number 49, Decatur, Adams County, 22 February 1895 — Page 5

©he Jtenwjxnt DKCATTHI, IND. N. BLACKBUBN, . . . Pvmmi A policeman*! Idt Js not a happy ,|| ®ne perhaps, but in New York It ia apt i to be worth considerable by the front I foot ESaSSBSSBBBESBBMB j New York policemen haven't even a pull on street cars any mors. They must be bullied by the conductor, just like common mortals. This is the last I drop. k' We suspect that the editor of the Atlantic Monthly never spends more than ten minutes a day reading the newspapers. He says no one should do otherwise. The medical service of the late Rus- ‘ slan Czar during his fatal Illness is said to have cost 600,000 rubles. A poor man in America can be sick and get well cheaper than that SSSSSSSS—B-SHMBHHHBSS New York State officials have been getting >600,000 worth of free passes I from one railroad. It is idle to suppose that the railroad got nothing in return for all this.

A New York policeman who killed a mad dog with a single revolver shot the other day has been promoted, It would be Interesting to know just what he was firing at when the dog was struck. A New York professional cooking ■ school teacher ran out to Passaic, N. J., i the other night and showed twenty i I young wives how to make a salad ' I which has kept the entire medical corps m ' of Passaic busy ever since. F——— I Anna Gould since the close of the J summer campaign has been engaged to 1 three princes, one count, one marquis, I one judge, one railway man and ono actor. Before closing the entries she ought to try one plain man. Dean Hole lectured In Boston for the benefit of charity. The receipts were . $420 and the Dean pocketed S4OO, leaving the “beneficiaries” in debt In other words they were “put In a hole” and even the Hole left them. The banditti of Southern Italy are I made to appear respectable when compared with the train robbers, the bank looters, the cut-throat®, and the desperadoes who make their raids from the Indian Territory and return to It as a place of safety. The weather department does not lay claim to perfection, but a statistician figures out to his own satisfaction that $36,000,000 worth of vessel property was saved during the two recent severe storms, by being warned to remain In gulf or ocean harbors. _ When Fred Gebhard and Mrs. Langtry chanced to meet at Delmonlco’s the other night they both blushed and said nothing.— New York Press. We don't believe It Perhaps they may have said nothing, but it will take anaffidavlt or two to substantiate that ft -t Mrs. Kendal thinks the newspapers of San Francisco just horrid—so, there, now—because they criticised her judgment In Impersonating a 16-year-old girl In one of her plays. Mrs. Kendal Is right Her attack on the press shows that she sometimes Impersonates a 16-year-old girl off the stage; why shouldn't she behind the footlights? fthann Strauss, the great composer, is at a loss to know what to do with the two giraffes presented to film on the occasion of therecent jubilee In his honor. Let him teach them to waltz. We can Imagine no more Interesting and Instructive spectacle than that of two docile and well-trained giraffes gliding gracefully through the mazes of an Intricate waltz. It’s a horrible tale that Is told about the barbarities of “the unspeakable Turk” In Armenia. A very horrible tale. It has all the harrowing details of savage cruelty, licensed rapine and official barbarism that we have read so I often In connection with Bulgarian upr risings, Montenegrin revolts and other I incidents of life in the East As the K Armenians are Christians of the Greek K rite It will be strange Indeed If the |ji story does not stir up the mighty head m of the church, the new Ozar Nicholas, Ki to take extreme measures for the pro■l tectlon of his outraged children. |General William Booth, in Chicago 111 on a tour of Inspection, found tho Salvation army strong In their faith and I lusty In their works. Every Sunday West Madison street and Its dark sideways are alive 1 with their praying I bands, and we suppose many forlorn I waifs are netted from the maelstrom I of vice by their prayers and hymns. [ The Salvation army has never been as I powerful In America as It Is in England R and never as powerful In Chicago, peril haps, as It Is In New York. But here it has won respect and even love. The ■ very rowdies of the streets have been | softened to amiability by these hearty, K generous people, the gentlest folk the F world ever saw. They could hardly be ’ spared from the hard life, of the city ■ in which, bating their drums anc K horns, they are constant examples oi Ik courtesy, patience and good will. II It Is a remarkable but puzzling tak I that comes from St Joseph, Mo. Ac I cording to It, "three highwaymen lec ■ by a man 6 feet 4 Inches In heigh’ E held up several people and took every ■ thing from the pockets of the victims I even tobacco. All three robbers use< | profanity-’’ This natural# bring

‘ several questions to the mind of the reader. Which one of the men who were held up took the tftne to measure the tall highwayman?/There Is nothIng uncertain, nothing approximate in the statement as to his height, and It Is not to be supposed that he furnlshed the details himself? Then another question arises: Did the robbers use the navy* revolvers or the profanity to the better advantage? Which was the more effective weapon? These questions really call for an answer before the Item can be put In Its proper class. A dozen fortunes of from twelve t« twenty millions each have been mad< by men who have managed the Pacific railroads. Cliques, combinations, in sloe rings and spoliators have diverted the earnings of the companies and filled their own pockets. Congressional cor ruption and lethargy have permitted this to be done, while the government has been robbed of the money which It has paid year after year as Interest, and of the money which was not paid Into a sinking fund for the redemption of Its bonds. It Is now $135,000,000 “In the hole," with the first mortgage debt of s6s,ooo,ooo—more than the whole property is worth—cutting off its lien under the second mortgage. The Leland Stanford, Huntington and othei fortunes absolutely acumulated by the

manipulation of the roads for private . gain, instead of for revenue to pay the i debts, amount to enough to repay the I government, and to leave a comfortable i competence for the family of each oi the millionaires included In the Pacific railroad rings. Ideal justice would vlndlcate schemes of confiscation In the case. Claus Spreckels, a refined sugar gen tieman, Is now posing as an antl-mon< opolist. He declares that he wishes to free California from railroad domination by building a competing line, and he has offered to subscribe half a million toward this end. The occult milk of this philanthropic cocoanut seems to be that the Southern Pacific, which has been charging Claus a freight rate of $7 per ton on sugar to all Eastern points, Intends, when his present contract expires, to charge $lO. What better way to call that raise down than to make a bluff at building a rival line could Mr. Spreckels find? And very likely he only means his grand offer for a bluff. But other California merchants who have suffered from the exactions of what Is picturesquely termed “the railroad octopus” In that State are eager to turn this fencing play of money giants Into a real duel. If they can succeed in so doing they will do well; for It is only when monopolists like C. S. and the S. P. fall out that smaller merchants have a chance to prosper, and the people get life s necessaries at reasonable figures. Another railroad through the Sierras would be a boon Indeed in more ways than one. The appalling disaster to the steam ship Elbe adds another to the list oi ocean catastrophes due to a caust which modern science seems powerlest to prevent The Elbe with her freight of human lives was steaming along ofl Lowestoft In the dark of an early win ter morning. According to the storiei the crew whojwere on deci; neril came when the ilgMs of anothei , Jelel showed suddenly Immediatelj nt thp doomed vessel. Then

In front or me uuumev* - was no time for escape or for warning An instant after the lights were see* , the sharp prow of the stranger crashed into the Elbe. Twenty minutes latei ( the vessel had gone down. It is be lieved that between 375 and 400 per , sons were aboard, and of these but nineteen were rescued. In some re , spect the catastrophe Is unique In lt< , horror. The sinking of the warshlj Victoria In 1893 was a tragedy of similar proportions, but the men on th( Victoria were by profession commissioned to risk and meet death. Th« Elbe’s passengers, traveling for business or for pleasure, were sent dow? without a forethought of impending disaster. In that one brief half-houi when the great vessel settled heavllj into the water and her passenger* awoke from sound sleep to the horro; and confusion of a panic at sea th< whole tragedy was completed. The re reports of those rescued are necessar Uy confused, but there Is enough oi fact and enough of silence to Indlcat* that the fate of the Elbe Is to be another of the great stories of the annali of the sea—stories In which only th* bare main facts are ever told. Th* collision at sea has come to be recognized as the one accident against which neither seamanship nor water tight compartments nor any other ma rlne equipment can afford entire pro tectlon. Cost of * Goat’s Harness. Among the various things for which there Is an Increased demand In spring might be mentioned goat harness. You can buy a single goat harness at almost any price, from one dollar to fifteen. The harness for one dollar Include* bridle and reins, breast collar and traces. It Is of russet leather, the sad- ' die bound with red. A single goat har- ' ness costing from ten to fifteen dollar* 1 has the same kind of a saddle as tha' ’ of a light buggy harness, only smaller. ’ It Is made In russet, red or black ’ leather, more finely stitched, and with I trimmings of solid nickel, solid brass, . or silver plated. Double goat harnes* ranges In price from ten to twenty-fiv* dollars. It Is made the same as a very i light double road harness, and in black, • red, or russet, with nickel, I silver mountings. t There is more or less demfind for goat - harness from all over the United , States, but the greater number of fin* 1 goat harnesses are sold In the country f and the suburban towns about New I York.

A COUNTRY MAID. Her eyes the sun kissed violets mate. And fearless Is their gaze; She moves with graceful, careless gait Along the country ways. The roses blushing In her cheek That ne’er decay nor fade, Her laughter gay, her words bespeak, A simple country maid. No flashing gems adorn her hair, Nor clasp her lily neck, No jeweled circlets, rich and rare. Her sun browned hands bedeck; But pearly teeth through lips as red As reddest rubies gleam; The tresses o’er her shoulders spread A golden mantle seem, Her looks are kind, and sweet the smile That sparkles in her eyes; Her mind, her heart are free from guile; She is not learned or wise. No worldly art, no craft has she Acquired, her charms to aid;• And yet she stole my heart from me, Thia simple country maid. —M. Rock, in Chambers’ Journal. mr. - BY KATE K. SLATES. "Sandy come home yet?” A querulous ‘‘ho’’ was the answer. The questioner was a fisherman’s daughter. After this concise reply she fretted a few minutes in silence and then started for the beach, where Sandy had gone to watch for the father’s boat. As she crossed the beach she would have delighted an artist hunter for rare bits of the sea’s weird. The coarsely clad figure and face, with its its latent possibilities, stood out, sadly clear against the background of desolate sands. "Mart, you don’t forglt thet bread!’’ and Mart’s half heeding reply rang back to the querulous mother. She, and the loud voiced, often silent, father—with nature’s carved from the cliffs across Sunday’s jeach—scarcely helped to soften Mart’s tense, half starved nature which spent its whole force in her love for little Sandy. Often these capable lives, undeveloped,'are more to absorbing passions than those not held in the vice of an iron force of circumstances. Sandy was a frail little lad with all the beauty of Mart, but none of her strength. At her repeated calls of ‘‘Sandy, Sandy” he looked up. - “Want me, Mart?” "Yes, Sandy. You’d better come home now.” Then the two returned to the rough, bare cottage, the drying of nuts and the meager cookery. Sandy sat down to watch this last operation with impatience, and finally said, "Mart, hain’t ye most done?” He was answered by a curt no, for Mart never measured her love by words, nor, indeed, measured it at all. After the coarse bread was baked he coaxed her off to the shore where she aunched the tiny boats she. made or him—watching them while they drifted forever away. “Mart, d’ye ye s’pose my ships ’ll come back?" "Guess not, Sandy.*’ "Won’t they find father’s boat?” at nevflr come 6ackt— Jw.. "To the bottom." c

"Well, do the fishes go there too? If they do, how d’ they get to heaven?” "Don’t know,” was Mart’s terse, characteristic reply. "Well, I don’t b’lieve it. Those ships must go somewhere else.” Meanwhile the eyes watched for a j sail, but when the great big sun that : always ended Sandy’s play began to - paint the waters with a livid glow , the half seeing girl and the frail i child, hand in hand, went across the Wide sands —home. But no boat came home that night, or ever came, and the girl only loved Sandy more. After the days of suspense were over, and fear had become certainty, the thought of living must be settled. There were many anxious conversations between the fretful mother —complaining of John’s death —and quiet Mart, who remembered no gentle words of her father’s except when he had carelessly said one day, "Ye mend the nets well, lass.” Small memory this, to carry through the years, of a father’s loving words. The talk ended by Mart going daily to the village to mend nets for the village fishers. In the long days while she was gone frail Sandy grew frailer, and without his one companion his lonely little heart grew more lonely. The querulous mother, too, grew more querulous and the little fellow often shrank from her sharp impatience at his oft repeated remark: “Haint it ’most time fer Mart t’ come?” “How d’ye s’pose I know when it’s time fer Mart t’ come.” So he finally took to silently watching the long sunsets and the fading glow of the sands touched with their sinking splendor. Sometimes, with the last faint glow, sometimes with the first shadows, he would see the masterful figure coming across the beech and his glad cry, “Oh, Mart,” would sing out. Then came supper and the short evening—happy to Sandy—when they could sit outside on the sands. S -'" “Mart, did ye sae any big boats t’day?” > "Yes, one.*’ “An’laddies?” “Mart, does the sun set at Gray bay just as it does here ?” I "It looks just the same.” I "Well, Mart, d’ye s’pose ’tis the i same sun?” • "It’s- tims ye stopped your 1 tongues.”

At this fretful call of the mother the two went through the low dooi into the bare interior and to theii rude cots. Soon the mother could not rise from her cot and had only Sandy’s feeble care, and one night, when Mart came home, Sandy was asleep, and the woman—had gone across the sea. Mart only loved Sandy harder and clung to him closer. Soon the days were too long for the failing strength of the child; he could not be left alone, so Mart with a new addition to her frozen calmness took the few dishes, one rude cot, and the stools, shut up the little cottage and went across Sunday’s beach to a ruder one. Now she could sometimes carry Sandy out in the sunshine where she mended nets, or could run at noon to watch him eat his bite and hear is, "Mart's come." Then there was not the long sunset run across the beach. "Mart’s a high flung lass." "She’s too uppish for fisher folks.” "Ye can’t git ’er t’ talk,” said a robust lad in answer to the two comments of the fisher girls. Mart never joined them when the nets were put away—and lads, lassies and wives all stood aloof from the silent, handsome creature. Sometimes, as Mart sat holding the little fellow, hungrily devouring him with her eyes and patiently answering his wonders about the sky and the sob of the sea, she could hear the gay banter and loud laughter, and once she heard her own name spoken: "Mart need’nt be so uppish ; she hain’t a single red dress. She alius wears that brown one.” Then she held him up to watch the swaying boats coming home, heard the welcoming cry of the women and held Sandy closer to her sea weighted heart. Poor little Sandy 1 He felt no lack of love and care, only sometimes he grew lonely for Mart. But somehow and somewhere, it doesn’t matter where—Mart half awakened. The voice sounded very sweet as it spoke Sandy’s name, and the eyes looked very pleasant as they smiled Into Sandy's and answered his childish queries. Then it sounded so sweet to hear Sandy laugh as he was being painted into a picture by the artist and hear the child's eager talk: "Mart, ye do look awful pretty with y’r eyes seeing something off out in the sea there, an’ y’r fingers ’mong the nets.” He was very kind to Sandy—and Mart loved Sandy and grew brighter with his every smile, while her step gained new spring with every bit of his added deceptive strength. Soon the voice sounded sweet when it said "Mart”—and once when he had called her Martha ” —to sea fettered Mart had sounded as sweet as to Martha of old when the low, loving voice of a Christ had spoken it. Then the eyes looked as pleasant when they told her of distant lands or of Sandy’s beauty which was so like hers. "Mart''—and the girl started—"were you ever in a picture before?’ "No, I’ve been alius a fisher lass." "Do you know this one will hang In a beautiful hall in a large city where many people will see it?” "Htow’d I knoUk?” Mart glanced So day by day, while the brown fingers, the waves, the nets and the , joy’s face were being woven into the jicture, the voice and the eyes and ( bhe kindness grew to be a part of h’er ( life —her’s and Sandy’s. ( But summers soon fade, and one j day the handsome artist looked kind- ] ly at her and Sandy and the pleasant ( voice said: "Good by, Mart. Im going away to-day, but I’ll come . again another summer and then I 11 want the boy again.” Mart worked on—and remembered; for. lives like those, intense, rude, can cherish hopeless, half meaningess memories more than another live on them in a half dazed sort of way, never selfishly having an idea of any culmination. So Mart dreamed on, all the while loving Sandy more tenderly, only sometimes growing half afraid of the shrinking limbs and weakening back, but still deceived by the Summer’s fitful strength. The fisher wives wondered as they gossiped in their cottages at the change in Mart. _ , “Wonder what do make the lass s quick stepped of late?” said one weather beaten old dame. \ “An’ she’s brighter,” said another, while the lassies down at the villagb were often heard to say, "Mart’s fingers beat every lass.” More than one had spoke kindly to her now and one had given Sandy a plaything. He often spoke words that were graciously received by handsome Mart as she passed among the fishers. Summer quickly came, and the nets we again spread upon the beach; the lassies sang and joked as they mended with Mart beyond them —silently working, with now and then a glance at sea or at Sandy’s face beside her. "Say, Mart, wonder when the picture man 'H come ag» in? ” Mart wondered too. He did come again, and Sandy laughed and was happy, and so was Mart. This time she was painted with Sandy in her arms coming across the sands beyond the village to the shore and the drying nets. The body had the old tense attitude that made her picturesque when we first saw her in the dreary surroundings at the old home, but the eyes were half tender, suggestive of what lay dormant in the half awakened nature. ( Very soon Mart s world was over. It was a very little of life, After all.

r "Well, Sandy, I’m come to say r good by again. Yes—going, Mark r But when the shore is bleak, and d seas and shores gray—l’ll come y again for a different picture. Then I’ll see ydu again—you and Sandy. s Good by.” e As the winds began to get a little i colder and the sea a little grayer, a Sandy began failing faster, until Mart could only leave him a little r while and even then could hear his 9 voice. "Mart, I’m so tired!” The i fisher lad came by with kind words, - but Mart turned away toward the sea, 9 watching the gray shadows that fell 9 from sky to sea and the dulled surf 9 tossing along the shore. Sandy 1 would not live till the artist came j again. r One night as she lay beside him, t clasping him close in her strong ’ brown arms, she dreamed of being t back at the old home across Sanday’s beach with father’s boat at sea. She had left Sandy playing with strings and whips beside the querulous ’ mother, and gone down to the Point i —a miniature cang near. Then came • a picture of s*jnhy, wide sands, r sparkling waters and a wretched ship ; upon the shore. Os this she was i thinking when a shadow fell across - her eyes, and looking up she saw a ; black skeleton ship bearing down ■ upon her. The shore wreck fell and i Mart, running for the mainland, saw i the skeleton float past with the wreck grimly following in its wake, and at 1 the same time felb the Point becom- ' ing quicksands beneath her feet. . Immersed in sands to her waist she , looked up and found she had reached the shore, now a sandy cliff above her. A familiar hand pulled her ashore and while out on the sands she awakened. Next day Mart moved about with a slow step, more than usually silent. She had all the superstition of a long line of fisher ancestry, and the skeleton ship, their evil omen, would not leave her. Then Sandy was paler, and her heart was still with a great despair. Mart had no tears. ‘‘l’ll not mend nets t’-day.” The rough fisherman only smiled kindly in answer, for he knew Sandy was ill. The fisher children ran out to tell her the artist had come, and Mart half saw him strolling down the sands, but the black shadow blinded her—blinded until it choked, but she went on to the little home, and Sandy. Sandy was no longer in pain; no more cries; no longer an aching back. The pale little face lay quite still on the pillow; the eyes had now shadows in them; the lips halt whispered: "Hain’t it—most—time —fer Mart — t’come?” Mart fell beside him. The sinking autumn sun kissed the waters. The boats were coming home. The mighty cry of the welcomers rang out. And Mart was still beside him. Sandy, too, had gone across the sea. For the few days Sandy was with her Mart groped silently with her despair. The fisher wives came and went, but Mart neither saw nor heard them—she was dumb. Then she went back to her net mending, her dreamships, and her anguish, but the fingers moved slowly. The mending day was almost done. The fisher girls were speaking in ifln; u?j Only a moment revealed all to I Mart—the artist, the drifting boat 1 with its solitary occupant, and in t that one moment Mart’s pent up soul i awoke. The broken moorings and drifting boat were not new to her. 1 Her own soul was. The hopeless < love, the long, hungry life stretched < out before her, bare, cold and hard. : He had been a part of her life, her’s ; and Sandy’s. Only a moment, and the brown ; arms were going toward the boat; the wife was reached, rescued. They had nearly come to the shore and to the outstretched hands. The moment of heroism was nearly over when the fatal paralysis of superstition came upon Mart, the black shadow of her dream again floated past, and rough hands 'drew her ashore almost tenderly now. Stern faces grew pitiful and softened into tender lines. Dry eyes were wet. They touched her with awe —not for the tenderness they had withheld; not because she had passed out of their lives; not with pity for the supreme love that had opened the doors for Mart’s soul —but just for the heroism with which the roughest can feel a sympathy. The artist and his wife walked slowly and reverently away; the boats were again coming home Without the welcoming cry. The shadows were come and gone. The hand had, reached out to save Mart. A Dizsection of • Living Subject. The people of Texcoce, Mexico, are greatly excited over the dissection of a peon named Antonio Vangose, while still alive. While a medical student was making a dissection, the supposed corpse writhed in agony and sprang to his feet shouting, , “Don’t kill me.” The dissector endeavored to put back of flesh and sew up the incisions. The effort ■ was of no avail, and the man died in ! two days. 1 : — r A Successful Beekeeper. ’ Near Evarts, Mich., there is a bee--9 keeper who keeps nearly 350 colonies B in seven different yards, and who _ raised over 20,000 pounds of honey j this season, and who has not failed t of getting a good crop for eighteen 1 years past. * - - A good sized black jet butterfly will make a fashionable bonnet.

I animal hypnotization. [ Putting a Bird Under Hypnotic ( Influence. i For practice in animal hypnotiza- , tion a bird is by long odds the most convenient subject. The kind mat- > ters little, a pigeon, dove, canary or sparrow all answering equally well. I Hold the bird by the legs in the left ) hand and grasp the bill between the i right thumb and first finger. Turn i the head overso that, but for the crown of the skull, the bill would touch about the middle of the back. I Draw the head, still in this inverted ' position, to one side and tuck it under a wing. This is the method , practiced by so called conjurors in ordinary stage performances. The bird in this position is unable to ; move and will therefore lie quietly in ; the palm of the magician’s hand i The head soon slides! from under i the wing, however, and the bird ; comes to life again, none the worse i for its experience This perform- , ance is simply a trick to which the word hypnotism has been applied for business purposes. Not the slightest mesmeric phenomenon is connected with it in any way. To properly hypnotize a bird hold it securely but gently in the" hand, back downward. Gaze calmly and fixedly into its eyes. The little creature will at first struggle to escape, but after a minute or two it becomes quiet. On first attempts some difficulty may be experienced in fixing the bird’s gaze, but the irresistible fascination of the human eye is bound to make itself felt in the end, and the tiny subject’s eyes no longer w’ander. This accomplished, begin very slowly to loosen the grasp. As the pressure grows lighter the bird comes more under the influence of the charm exerted by the firm gaze of the operator The pulsations of its body, now readily distinguishable in the fingers, become more"rapid, the legs contract slightly and the film like lids draw over the edges of the eyes. The pressure of the grasp must at this stage be practically nothing or there is little chance of obtaining hypnotization. Yet it is not desirable to loosen the grasp entirely, or the sensation of rolling, as the body is pretty sure to do in the palm of the hand, might fully awaken the half dormant faculties of the tiny organism. In the course of a few minutes—two, five, or even ten—the eyelids will have entirely closed. Still hold the bird carefully for two or three minutes, by the end of which time it is fair to presume that hypnotization is complete. In this state the bird may be handled freely with gentleness. Held by a foot, head downward, its body is entirely limp and flexible, like a bird just shot. The neck is extended beyond the shoulders, the head swings freely, and the feathers droop from their smooth outline. The bird may be tossed around without fear of awaking, so long as no direct pain is inflicted. Later, after frequent hypnotization, slight pain will be borne, apparently unnoticed. Any sudden shock will, however, awaken it. This is the method used most frequently in restoring a bird to consciousness, although it has always seemed a particularly cruel one. Aroused thus, a bird exhibits the greatest terror. The heart palpitation increases materially, nervous tremors hour, and for two or even three days afterward the bird scarcely touches its food. A bird subjected constantly to this treatment scarcely lives over three or four the violence of these attacks decreases with their repetition. It is. far more humane to allow the bird to sleep off the effects of hypnotization than to attempt arousing it by the brutal method of shock. Put the little creature in its cage with a bit of cotton to lie on and in an hour or two it will be as gay and lively as you please, seemingly better instead of worse for its sleep. , , Asleep Eleven Years. There is a named Marguerite Bouyenval, at Thenelles, in the north of France, near Saint Quentin, who is reported to have been sleep for the past eleven years. A good deal of doubt has been thrown on this phenomenal slumbering case, not only in Paris, but also in Thenelles and its vicinity, where there are two camps, one of the believers and the other of those who maintain that the so called sleeping beauty rises at night and has a good supper. The* matter has been investigated by a Parisian, who has seen the girl" and found her as lean as a skeleton and as stiff aS a corpse, but still living. Her “mother injects milk, peptone, and sometimes wine through a broken tooth in the girl s mouth. — Marguerite Bouyenval made away with a baby eleven years ago. and the gendarmes were sent to her house. The girl was so frightened at their approach that she had an attack of hysteria, which lasted several hours, and at the end of which she fell into a trance. The doubts thrown on the continuation of the trance have evidently been , caused by the fact that the mother of the sleeping girl has made a good deal of money by exhibiting her. A local doctor, who has observed the case during the ' eleven years, informed the investi- ’ gator from Paris that Marguerite > Bouyenval had Really been asleep during the whole! time. Occasionall ly she had hysterical cries, but did 1 not awake after them. Other doctors have also agreed as to the genuineness of the phenomenon and the ' sleeping girfot Thenelles remains a human mystery.