Decatur Democrat, Volume 39, Number 38, Decatur, Adams County, 6 December 1895 — Page 7

©he DECATUR, IND. N. BLACKBURN, ... Pwunu, I | ■ No, the Duchess of Marlborough !* not a beauty, but just think of her figure! Lieut Peary will lecture. He has seen too much of arctic snows to be afraid of frosts. LIJIJJI L.J--“H!“558“99 i France has had thirty-two ministers in twenty-five years. And her present one Isn't on straight, either. A statistician reports that “the English language Is spoken by 110,500,000 (people.” And yet no brakeman ever has mastered It. One of the saddest features about the death of a poet Is the fact that It brings to the front hundreds who are not poets and never can be, but who imagine they are. A San Francisco paper says that *Lady Sholto Douglass now commands la salary of 5300 a week.” It Is very easy to command any salary, but getting It Is another matter. A Chicago scientist has discovered that chinch bugs ground Into buckwheat flour are not healthful as An article of steady diet That settles It; henceforth we shall eschew pulverized chinch bug altogether. Two New Yorkers fought a duel and both were slightly wounded. Now, this business has gone too far. So IMig as dueling was conducted according to the French code, It was only mildly exhilarating, but If there Is any danger In It It will have to go. John B. Drake was a useful citizen of Chicago. His position as a leading hotel keeper gave him a prominence which he utilized upon all proper occasions for the advancement of the city. There twas enlightened selfishness in what he did. That which contributed to the growth and success of Chicago contributed to bls growth and success. He was public spirited. Numerous occasions called for activity upon the part of someone. What is everybody’s business Is nobody’s business, and unless 'someone Is willing to present himself at the front ends are not attained. Mr. Drake was unfailingly successful In private life, and though holding no position In the service of the public, yet was ready at all times cheerfully to do his part in promoting public affairs. Gauged by his accumulations, his life was successful. He enjoyed a large share of public esteem, and leaves, aside* from a fortune, a possession which is of more value now that he is gone—an honored name. The destruction of a fireproof building In New York by fire affords an object lesson in value. The fireproof building was well constructed. It did not take fire and burn. It was destroyed simply by the excessive, wall-warp-ing heat from the burning of a highly combustible building on the opposite side of a narrow street It Is doubtful if any building can be constructed so as to resist a danger of this kind. The old office of the Chicago Tribune was —a model fireproof structure. Any room in it might have been burned out without danger to any other room. Yet when all the structures aroiind It were . fiercely aflame it was destroyed by heat from the outside. When a hundred tons of paper burned not long ago.in the basement of the Pulltzerzbulldlng in New York the structure was at no time in danger. It was proof against any fire originating within Its walls. But it is doubtful that'any building can withstand the heat when large combustible structures surrounding it are aflame. The moral of the matter Is not that fireproof buildings are unsafe, but that all buildings in a great city should be made fireproof, so that one may not destroy another. There is not the slightest doubt that the superb Broadway building destroyed i would now be standing Intact if tnere ihad not been a combustible building ‘ a the opposite corner. One phase of the Turkish question /which Is bound sooner or later to be taken up with some warmth Is the (moral responsibility resting upon civilized Europe. Up to the present the Christians here and abroad-have contented themselves with crying out for the reform of the incorrigible Turk. This commendable demand is all well enough, but the Turk has refused to reform. With the naval vessels of half [Europe poking their noses Into the the sultan remains quiescent and the Armenian massacres are reenacted with increased ferocity. Eu'rope exercises Its prerogative of demanding redress, but the action ter'mlnates with the demand. How long does Christian civilization expect these conditions to endure? When shall the limit of tolerance expire and the European powers substitute action for words? The reason for the Inactivity Is patent. England, according to various recent dispatches, will stand firm 1 for maintaining the integrity of the Turkish empire, Salisbury evidently reasoning that the continuance of the empire is better than a dismemberment in which England might get but a poor share. Russia has a similar regard for self-interests, whether they dictate dismemberment or not And the other ' powers follow in line. With them it is not a question of saving the Armenian, i but of benefiting their own strategic position in the orient. The responsibility for the Turkish outrages has passed from the shoulder* of th* sultan aad

rests upon those of the powers which, having the authority to compel his reform, still hesitate to use it Unless there Is an early change in the situation the time will come when the rest of Ohristlan civilization will recognize the fact and raise a voice of protest not against the sultan alone, but against the powers which He Inactive during t Turkish carnival of massacre. Chicago Record: The recent hideous accident In Cleveland furnishes a text upon which Herbert Spencer might preach another sermon as to the “criminal good nature” of the American people. Accidents, of course, are Inevitable in any part of the globe. Paris and London are no more exempt than New York and Chicago. The fact remains, however, that if America does not have a monopoly of accidents It seems to have a monopoly of kind of carelessness which Invites them. No people In the world are so patient to endure what menaces their own health and happiness. The tolerance with which the average citizen consents to clamber over piles of obstructions placed in the Streets by franchise owning companies Is one symptom of this undesirable amiability. The forbearance with which he allows companies to operate their cars with inadequate safeguards, or with no safeguards at all f Is another. At least twice daily many thousands of people in this city consent to be wedged upon the platforms of overloaded trains and ride in cold, cramped discomfort for miles, meekly paying for the privilege of being liable to be crowded off Into the street or against the wall of a tunnel Incline. It Is a fact that there are but few cities of the old world of equal size in which the citizens would tolerate anything of the sort. Perhaps it Is because of the American’s Innate dislike for “kicking” that he stands this treatment so well, but when the mistreatment extends so far as to cost many lives patience ceases to be a virtue. The Cleveland disaster may or may not have been due to some circumstance utterly Impossible to foresee and guard against But it is hard to believe that with modern Inventions perfected as they are the accident might not have been put out of the range of possibility. On the whole, it would be beneficial to the public all around If the people were less endowed with “criminal good nature” in the matter of granting all sorts of favors to public companies and exacting no assurances of decently safe management in re, turn. 1 ■■■' ■ ' ■ Too Hasty. An authority on dogs says It is a great mistake to kill a. dog directly after Lt has bitten any one. It has been proved finally and is admitted now by all physicians who are posted that hydrophobia is not a spontaneous disease, and cannot be given to a person by a dog bite unless the dog be mad when It causes the wound. The dog’s condition, if it be mad, will be manifested within two days, or two weeks at the latest. By permitting it to live, therefore, the physicians can tell definitely whether the person bitten is liabletrf have hydrophobia. If the dog goes mad within that time they know the person bitten may have the same dreafi disease. If the dog does not go mad then there is no fear of hydrophobia, and the wound can be treated as any other wound woflld be. By killing the dog you destroy the chance of certainty as to the fate of the person bitten, and leave the imagination full rein to fear the worst results when it might have been possible to know in advance that hydrophobia was impossible. Os course there are exceptions to these rules which will suggest themselves to persons. When a dog is so vicious that to leave it alive is to endanger other people, then the first duty would be to destroy it unless it could be kept carefully secluded where the possibility of harm would be removed. But even in such cases where the dog is killed it should be done by a physician, who should keep a portion of the brain by which it can be determined whethej the dog had rabies or not. Statistics of Dwelling Places. In all the countries of Europe, in th« United States and In the dominion oi Canada, there are, as far as recent authentic figures show, 70,000,000 houses, New York has 115,000 houses, averaging eighteen residents to each. London, the greatest accumulation of In, habitants In the world, has 600,000 houses, or seven residents In each on the average. London has increased li; this respect very rapidly, for at the beginning of the present century ths number of houses was only 130,000, little more than New York has at thia time. The population of London at that time (1800) was 960,000. It is now 4,200,000. So It has Increased nearly five-fold, but the dumber of houses has not increased in as large a ratio. •has 90,b00 houses. At the close of the Franco-Prussian war It had 70,000. At the dose of the Napoleonic wars it had 28,000. The area of the city has extended meanwhile. The, average number of residents In a house in Paris is twenty-five. o He Knew It. “Who’s there?" cried little. Binks, egged on by his wife, who Insisted that there was a burglar In the room. “Nobody,” returned the burglar, “There, my dear,” snapped Binks, “that’s exactly what I told you. Nobody’s there—so do go to sleep.”—Bazar. 11 Coming Home to Diet. “Howdy do, Barker? Living io town?” - "Yes. I’ve come here to diet" “Diet? Great heavens, man! At the Swelldorf?” ‘ “Exactly. The rich foods I’d naturally eat are so expensive I can’t buy ’em, so it’s plain food or staivaUoUr”--Ha* 1 pel’s Basar. /

INCOMPLETENESS, No joy is In Itself complete, But from the past or future borrows; No day Is altogether sweet—’Tls made up both of joys and sorrows. No flower blooms for self alone, No wave but has another near It, And echo but repeats the tone That some listening ear may hear It. Like circles made by rippling waves, The limits qf our lives are rounded By the heartbeats of those we love— Our happiness on theirs is founded. Without God’s grace naught has the soul— Who made It knows Its Incompleteness, Till Love rounds out the perfect Whole And fills it full of Strength and Sweetness. [Hargaret’s Secret. “She Is so cold!” said those who knew Margaret. “A fine girl, but so cold!” Sometimes Margaret heard them, and smiled—a half-mocking smile. She knew of warm affections, of fierce resentments, of passionate dreams that kept her lying awake through the night; of moments of anguish and hot tears. She knew that this outward coldness was but that of snow lying above a volcano. One whose feelings were not so strong might haVe- dared to show them to the world; Margaret dared not. / She knelffl beside her trunkJ thinking sometlfiilg of-this as she quietly and ticfily packed it for a journey. On the morrow she was to leave her village home to teach gnusic in a city boarding school. She finished it speedily, and then stood beside the little window, looking out upon the road—grass-grown, and little troubled by w’heels; and. beyond a little wood; a field or two; a spire pointing heavenward; and a purple hue of distant mountains. From this very window had Margaret looked upon this very scene for years—almost ever since years had been for her. It was hard to leave it—hard to leave her few friends. One must be richer than Margaret to have many. But this was not the pain that lay deepest at the girl’s heart. She could have left all others with a little softening of the heart, a tear or two, a lingering regret, which she could not have wished to conquer; but it was a different thing to leave Christopher Hayes, who djd not care at all for being left—who did *not care, as she knew, whether she stayed or went. Margaret had had admirers, handsome and richer than Christopher—who, to other eyes, was only/a not very ill-looking young man attached to the telegraph office of’ Fernley. She did not even triumph in these contests—they were all worthless to her since Christopher had proved his month’s flirtation by forgetting all about it. Margaret had but one comfort in the matter—that was, Christopher never guessed, never could guess, t|at she loved him. “She is a statue,” Margaret had heard him say. “One had as well make love to the marble in the churchyard yonder.” Now, the statue was burning for a glimpse of the man she loved so; tor one touch of his hand before she left Fernley, it might be, forever! She could not go without it—she would not! And she put on her hat and turned villageward, and soon <rame to the little telegraph office, on which the setting sun of the August day flung his beams aslant, lighting up the windows finely, and lighting also a youngish head with a rather pleasant face, under w hate any one else would have called very red hair!—to Margaret it was golden! The face was turned the othwway. “How beautiful he is!” she said to herself. “What soul there is in his face! Oh, Christopher! Christopher—” Never in her life had she called him anything but “Mr. Hayes,” but he was Christopher to her. Once or twice she repeated the name, “Christopher! Christopher!” And then, with her quiet smile, walked up to the lounging figure at the door, and dared to do what not one woman in a thousand, desperately and hopelessly in love as she was, would have dared to do: offered him her hand! “I saw you as I passed the office, Mr. Hayes,” she said, in her low, measured tones; “and since I am going away to-morrow, made up. my mind thtft It would be the time to say goodbye.” “Going away!” he exclaimed. “Why, Miss Margaret, you were one of the institutions here, I thought. They’ll miss you. It is cerainly very cruel of you. Though, to be sure, for your part, I congratulate you. Fernley is a dull place.” ... ... “Yes—if is dull,” said Margaret. “But then I like it. Nothing like habit, you know.” ' • “Else bow could one endure this,” he said, looking into the office, and yawning a little. “I beg your pardon,” he said, apologetically, for his stretched mouth, “but it is so stupid here.” She laughed. “I’m like Robinson Crusoe,” he said, “It's very good of you to come out of your way to say good-bye, Miss Margaret, to an isolated wretch like me.” “Sorry to quench your vanity,” she laughed; “but perhaps I should not have thought of it had It not been Just In my way. Good-bye, then.” “A pleasant journey,” said he; then forgot all about her.- His eye grew bright, his 'Yace flushed. His glance passed Margaret. She turned her head. A little pony carriage, driven by A girl, was whirling softly over the dusty road. She knew Virginia Hazle-

wood's parasol. The carriage stopped. The little gloved hand beckoned. “Excuse me, Miss Margaret,” said Chrlstoptfer, and ran away to obey the summons. Foßone moment Margaret was white to the very lips; the next she smiled and buttoned her glove. “It's only about a message, Mr. Hayes,” twittered Victoria. “I want papa to bring me up some lace tb-mor-row. One can’t go down such days as these.” And there was more of it, and some scribbling on« bit of paper. Meanwhile, Margaret saw something —a pile of small vignettes, on a table under the window, the “counterfeit presentments” of Christopher. She drew near; one arm rested on the sill; file other hand darted forth swiftly, surely, and came back with a vignette between its fingers. The vignette was in her pocket; and she glided away from the' window, and passed Christopher on thp road. “Oh!” cried he, apologetic, once more; “are you going? So sorry, but business must be attended to, you know. Good-bye.” Again their hands met. He lifted his hat. Victoria, who did not know Margaret except by sight, regarded her with that Impertinent school-girl stare reserved by some young women, who are all smiles and blushes before their, masculine adorers. Margaret’s face was a statue’s; and she went her way quietly, as though she had not seen the look. “Don’t you think she’s dreadfully, funny?” queried Victoria, a little anxjt ous to disparage. / “I’ve heard her called fine-looking,” said Christopher; “but she Is so coldno animation.” / Victoria bestowed her arch look/upon him, and said: “She is cold; a perfect iceberg; horrttrl think;” and gathered up her reins, and drove the pony off, looking so archly that Christopher’s brain went in a whirl for hours. Meanwhile, Margaret had made her adieux. and was whirling cityward, with Christopher's portrait next to her heart. Beautiful, but so cold, said those at the Semina ry r of Margaret. And because of this coldness friends were few. But Margaret’s voice could not go for nothing, any more than her exquisite face. She had her admirers, male and female. She made a conquest in th» first fortnight; had an offer in a month, and refused it. So the'years passed. She kissed the stolen picture every night, and now and then a tear dropped on itT ~Xt wasgrowingta little yellow, as photogrfcZfis will. The eyes had always been' white, pale-blue eyes, the sun will so record. The cheeks were plump and boyiStu-J.be nose had a retrousse toss in theKair. It was a pleasant face, but not that of one who would ever endeavor to do or be anything; but it was pure^erf ection to Margaret. A It was August again—the vpry month in which she had flitted fj/m, Fernley three years before. The S?mina>» r had a vacation, but she did not go Lome. In the holiday she took long walks in the city, always full of interest to her. She went into the picture galleries and whiled away hours at pleasant matinees, alone in the crowd. “What a cold face, but very handsome,” strangers said of her; and the long yearning had made no mark upon it, any more than had the dull throb of pain at her heart. The face was never colder or lovelier than when she took it one day through the open door of a church on Fifth avenue. Carriages were at the door, gaily-dressed guests ” within—a wedding was afoot; and what woman will not delight in a wedding? Margaret sat in a seat half way up a side aisle—her modest attire had not tempted the usher to lead her farther front—and looked- intently. The spectators fans eyes were turned carriage rolled noisily up. There was a sensation. The bride was coming. Margaret turned her stately head and saw her. > It" was Victoria Hazlewood. Her heart gave one wild bound. She looked at the bridegroom. It was not Christopher—a very different man, imposing, with large features and wondrous mustache. Margaret could scarcely believe it. Could Christopher love any one and not be loved in return ?—impossible. e Margaret watched the ceremony through, and went out of door with the rest; but the crowd was great, and in the vestibule she was quite pushed to the wall, and being so. would not make an effort to stir, but good still until the last bonnet had vanished, when she quietly shook out her compressed robes, and slowly followed. Before she reached the door, a man with a pale, grieved face rushed down the stairs of the gallery and passed her. She -had never keen the face with that expression on it, but it was Christopher’s., Margaret wept for him that night as she had never wept for herself. She kissed his yellow picture and whispered soothing things to it. “I would have thought so much of your love." she said, softly, as mothers coo to children—“what heart has she, and what is he beside you! I hate her—l hate him—l hate them both! Ah. Christopher!” and then she kissed the paper and cuddled it up to her cheek and slept with it over her heart. She slept late. Those holidays were resting times—she only awoke when heavy knuckles struck the door and someone without cried: “A letter for you!” Then she opened the door and took it in. It was from her aunt. ■“Dear Margaret”—so It ran—“l want you to come and see me. I am ill and doubt if I shall live long. You were a troublesome child, but you’re been a

very good girl since you grew up, and I must say, have done your best to repay me for my kindness. I want to see you, and as I have made my will and left you all I possess, ydu owe me a sort of duty. I shall expect you on Monday for the rest of the vacation. Truly, “YOUR AUNT ELINDA.” It was not an affectionate letter, and it was the first invitation the old woman had ever sent to Margaret, but she wa’s not revengeful. She packed her trunk once more—it was better filled than of yore—bought a new novel, and took her way to the depot. Not many miles lay between her old home and the city; a few hours and she should be there. She settled In her place comfortably and opened her book. It was interesting, and she lost sight of everything in its pages. Suddenly the consciousness that some one stood near her made her lift her eyes. A man was passing through the car and had stopped to answer the inquiries of an old lady who took him for a conductor. “The next stopping place is ” she heard him say. It was Christopher’s voice. He passed on then and the door shut behind him. “Oh, for a word with him!” thought Margaret, and on the instant she heard the scream- of a whistle, shouts and shrieks. The car stopped. “Adrian is killed!” said an old gentleman who had thrust his head out of the window. “Good heavens! he is cut, tq piefc-es, I believe.” 'Passengers rushed to the platform, Margaret with them. They had lifted Christopher—from the first she knew that it was he—from the ground. They were carrying him into a tavern hard by. Margaret followed. “I am an oltj friend,” she said, and they let her in, while others were shut out. Christopher lay upon the bed and a surgeon bent over him. “He has no chance, I think,” said this man, looking at the others; “best hot torture him. Nothing could save his life. I am glad he has a friend here!” And then Margaret sat down beside the bed and said: “I will stay until the last. Will he know me?” No one could tell her that. After all that could be done was over, they left her alone, for she asked them to do so. She bent over him looking at his face as though she were reading it off to remember for eternity. The country sounds came in through the window. The perfume of hay—the scent of flowers reached her. Within all kept still because of the .wounded man. Once or twice the landlady looked in and asked: “Is he quiet?” And Margaret said: “Yes, thank you.” At liist, in the stillness, she dared to take his cold hand and hold it in one of hers. The touch seemed to arouse him. His eyes, looked at her. “Who are you?” he asked. She answered: “Margaret.” “I remember you,” he said, “were you in the car? I came down to see the wedding. She jilted me. I hat£ her. I hadn’t money enough, you seemoney—money —money,” and he muttered away again. Ten minutes afterward he looked up again. “I’m badly hurt. I shan’t get well. Miss Margaret, when you go back to Fernley, tell them the truth. They’ll think I killed myself, because Victoria jilted me. It was an accident. My foot slipped. I was not so much cut up as that. I should have got over it. I made a fool of myself by going to the wedding though. Y’ou’H tell them.” “Yes.’’ said Margaret, and then as she looked, the face, the pleasant boyish face that she had loved so, changed under her eyes with the awful change of death. She had no power over herself then. “Christopher!”, she sobbed. “Christopher, I have loved you so long, so well. Give me one kiss before you go. Call me Margaret, promise to love me in Heaven. Oh, my darling, darling Christopher.” Did he hear? Did he comprehend? A sort of startled look came into his eyes. He gave her his cold lips. Margaret kissed him wildly. Then she sat down beside him—beside what had been him an instant before—and hid her face upon.the pillow! “It is very still in there.” su’d the landlady, an hour afterward. Then she opened the door, peeped in. and gave a cry that brought others to her side in a moment. Christopher lay dead upon his pillow! and on the floor, at the bedside. Margaret had fallen, fcice downwards! “She has fainted,” said the landlady. “She is dead,” said the surgeon—- “ Heart disease. I saw it in her face when I first sifbke to her.” “He must have been her lover,” said the landlady, weeping, “and it’s killed her.” ..... ' "Not likely,” said the doctor. “Such a splendid woman! and he—no —any agitation might have done it.” ' A Cyclopean Pig. A one-eyed pig, which the Covington (Ala.) Times pronounces “the grandest curiosity ever presented in that part of the country,” has been sent to the Atlantic Exposition by its owner, Mr. J. D. Malldt, Seabright, Ala. The creature's single eye is directly in the middle of its forehead. It has no nose, but a snout about two and one-half inches in length, which resembles an elephant’s proboscis. Its head and ears are like those of a dog, and there are four tusks in the lower jaw. IU legs are, like those o f any other hog. but on Its feet are claws. The nearest approach to perfection which has ever been obtained in a book is said to be in the case of a Spanish firm of publishers, who have produced a work in which only one letter has been misplaced ’ , -J t

ROARED AT BY A WHALE. Strange Experience of an Oregon Sea Captain. “No,” said Captain J. A. Crossman, of South Portland, last evening, “we didn’t encounter the sea’serpent, but ’ we had a strange experience with a whale, and I don’t believe anybody ever had the like before. I’ve been at sea, man and boy, since I was nine years old, and I never saw the like of the whale we encountered. I never saw the whale before that didn’t blow, but the one we met didn’t, but it did give a roar that was awful.” The schooner was about ten miles' off Wood Island and making gooff headway under full sail, the mate,. Merrill Crossman, at the wheel, whew there was a sudden commotion ahead,, and then a great head shot up into theair and was on a level with the deck. One of the crew first sighted the strange creature and called Captain Crossman, and in a moment all on board but the man at the wheel were looking at the strange sight. They saw before them an enormous head, one mass of great bunches, through which the wicked-looking eyes of the creature gleamed. They expected the whale, if such, would “blow,” but it fiid not then or after. Once a narrow thread of what looked like steam shot np, but not a drop of water was sent into the air. As they looked at the creature it roared savagely, and then irew close up to the side of the ichooner. giving 111010 ample time to observe the head, and all agree that it was very broad; that it tapered almost to a point, and that it was not very thick through the thickest part. The creature was about seventy-five to eighty feet in length ,and had a very broad tail, very different from that pf an ordinary'whale. In fact, at the time there were three or four whales In sight, and they had no difficulty in noting the points of difference betweer (hem and the stranger. The great creature went down head first, and then made a series of attempts to strike the side of the schooner witli its tail. It did not succeed, and swam around them, roaring loudly in evident anger. Then it went down ,-and. .under the schooner. Captain (Tossman, who had watched for this movebient, gave orders to be ready to lower the boat, fearing that the whale might come up under them and break them in two. It was very fortunate that they were not forced to lower their boat, as it proved later to be leaking, and would not have carried half their number safely to land. fr more than an hour the whale inued his remarkable acrobatic irmance, standing on his head his tail waving in the air most e time. It seemed bent on hitting schooner, and it took the best of good seamanship to prevent an encounter. At last the whale seemed to get tired of what had been fun at first; and it headed for the westward. How Crabs Doff Their Old Suits. Crabs are among the most interesting creatures which cast off their old suits bodily. When the baby crab emerges from the egg it is as unlike a crab as it well can be, for it is provided with a long tail, swimming appendages .and sessile eyes. For a long time this form was regarded as a different species by naturalists, and was not connected with crabs at all. A moult or change of clothing takes place, and the advance in form is even greater that when the human child is “shortcoated.” The eyes appear on stalks, and a front pair of provided with nippers are to be seen. Even then the dissimilarity from the crab form is so great that the creature was formally dignified as a separate species. Another'moult takes place, and the real crab form is'put on. It is much the same as with the human species. When the coming man is in long clothes or the shorter form known by the name of a portion of female dress, he is a "duck:” as soon as he dons the bifurcated nether integuments he is in the form of a*"monkey” or “a jackanapes,” and when yet another change . of garb takes place he becomes, at least in his own estimation, “a man.” After the young crab has taken on the adult form, moulting takes place frequently for a time, because the rapid growq, of flie body .demands expansion in the carapace. A new shell forms within the old one. and by a terrible effort which sometimes proves fatal the crustacean drags the soft body through the lower opening of the shell and retires into some retreat until the new suit is hardened, a process which may last several days. When a considerable size has been attained the moults become fewer. for large crabs have been caught'having oysters not less than three years old attached to the carapaee. It is—just so among the older specimens of humanity—■■ when a certain age lias been reached the taste for changes of suits decreases and we make the same hat and overcoat last beyond one season, and have a real affection for an antiquated pair of shoes. Surgery With a Whip Handle. A piece of corn-cob lodged in the throat of a valuable horse in Wilmington. Del., recently, and during an attempt to dislodge it with a whip the latter broke and a piece of it also became fastened in the throat of the beast. While endeavoring to withdraw the piece of whip the attending doctor had a hand and wrist badly poisoned by the saliva in the horse’s mouth. Efforts to remdve the obstructions proved futile, and the horse ftad ,o be killed. — ; — The Christian Endeavor Society is proposing to take a baud in politics. 1 . > . . ' ■’ -’x W ■»