Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 April 1894 — Page 6

ffljeHcmocrotir Sentinel RENSSELAER. INDIANA. A W McEWEN, - - - Puntnina.

HAWARDEN CASTLE.

THE COUNTRY HOUSE OF THE LATE PREMIER. Tka Uttte Welsh VUlag* Where Mr. Gl*dstone Spends His Vecetlons—The Old Castle and the Village Church The Library and the Park. Located tn Wales. The home life of a man like Mr. Gladstone is always Interesting, and In his case the contemplation of his domestic relations becomes all the more pleasant from the fact that he has not only a typical English home, but in that home leads a typical English home life. The personality of this remarkable man has been so long before the public that anything concerning him and his may be con-

sidered as, tn a measure at least, public property, and so it happened that few homes in England, aside from those pertaining to royalty, are better knows than the quiet, retired mansion where the famous ex-Prem-ier has spent most of his leisure time during the last half century. Hawarden has, indeed, become a sort of shrine of the English Liberals, to which they resort to pay their homage to the greatest living man of their nation and In some respects one of the greatest Englishmen who ever lived. The general feeling of the stranger

THE PARK GATE, HAWARDEN.

who sees “Hawarden Castle,“so styled by courtesy, for the first time, is one of disappointment The tourist after seeing the enormous masses of masonry that in Europe are denominated castles, naturally learns to associate the term with towers and bulwarks, with curtain walls and trenches and moats and drawbridges, with a gigantic keep or central edifice, surrounded by a great variety and extent of outworks, all so massive, so -solid, so strongly built that tbe hills themselves seem scarcely more permanent.

What is his surprise, therefore, when, after passing; through a large park, well* kept as is usual with English parks, he comes in sight of a brick house built in somewhat tawdry imitation of. a mediaeval fortress, with , towers that command nothing, with curtain walls that are all windows, and with nothing about it of casteliar appearance but the name. That, however, is not the fault of Mr. Gladstone, nor of the excellent lady who inherited the house from a long line of noble ancestors, but of a builder of the last century, who, having more pride than taste, determined that* his house should be a castle in appearance as well as in name, and so went to work and created the architectural monstrosity now known as Hawarden Gastie. The ancestral home of Mrs. Gladfamily is situated “down in Wales," for it should be understood that in GreiitCßrltain London is -up” and everywhere else is “down." The traveler who would see the house CT. mjkV. a srx j:*®# -

where Mr. Gladstone finds repose from his political labors must start from Chester, an old English frontier town a few miles south of Liverpool. Chester is now a frontier town in the same sense that St. Louis is a frontier post, but in both cases the term once had a lively significance, for

MR. GLADSTONE'S OFFICIAL RESIDENCE IN LONDON.

when the Welsh held the mountain districts of their native country against all comers, Chester needed the red sandstone walls that still stand and furnish a pleasant promenade for her people in the afternoons of warm, sunshiny days. The march of modern improvement Is felt

HAWARDEN CHURCH.

in Chester as elsewhere, but not. to the extent of compelling the citizens to pull down their old walls, and so they remain one of the shows of the city and a great curiosity to tourists, who are to be found at all times walking up and down, on and around them, measuring, their height and thickness, and making reflections more or less nonseftilcal as to the length of time they have stood and the scenes they have witnessed. The tourist, if an Englishman, will take a second-class railway carriage out of Chester; if an American, he will go first-class just for the style of the thing, and ride on the London and Northwestern to a scrubby little town called Saltney, while he will leave the main line and take a branch road to another town called Hope, at which he will wait awhile and then take another branch line to a still less entertaining village known as Buckley, where he will leave the train and prepare to ride or walk, as best suits him, to the village of Hawarden. The distance is about two miles, and when Mr. Cladstone makes the journey and has plenty of time he walks, and the tourist can do no better than follow so distinguished an example. Let it not, however, be understood that when the great Premier goes from London to his country house or vice versa he is subjected to the delays that ordinary travelers find so harassing. The principal use of the railways in Great Britain is to carry “Her Majesty’s mails," but after that one very important part of their duty is the transportation of Her Majesty's Ministers, and whenever one of their number wants to go anywhere In a hurry he simply commands the railroad company to furnish him a special train and send in the bill, all of which is promptly done, especially the bill. Thus, although Mr. Glad-

y ~I "IT ' 1 “ stone’s home is in a remote corner of Wales, he is really but about four hours from the capital, and can be transferred thither in an even shorter time when occasion demands. The neighborhood. of Mr. Gladstone’s residence is one, bt the most romantic districts of Wales. Not far distant is the famous Castle of Conway, founded on a rock by the seaside, a fortress that, during the days of the Welsh ward, proved an effective barrier to the excursions of the hardy mountaineers, who, in spite of the stoutest efforts 6f the Anglo-, Norman kings, could not be completely subdued. At Conway the slaughter of the Welsh bards occurred, a piece of barbarity dictated by the English policy, the Edwards finding that the 1 most decided impediment to English conquest was the national spirit kept alive by the national musicians. Still nearer to the Hawarden residence is the fadaous Fairy Glen, where, according torpopular tradition, the fairies last* tin

ger ed In North Wales, and where, some believe, they may rtill occasionally be seen. A beautiful spot it is, shut in by cliffs, a pretty stream wandering over rugged, mosscovered bowlders, the giant oaks forming an arch overhead, and the rocks on either hand throwing their deep shadows on the pools beneath. There are not many believers in fairies now to be found, even among the credulous Welsh peasantry, but the beauty of such secluded caves as this furnishes a strong temptation to the perpetuation of the belief, and even a denizen of another land, accustomed to the rattle of the railway train, the click of tbe telegraph, and the glare of the electric light, would not, among surroundings such as those of the Fairy Glen, be greatly surprised if the little folk clad in green should come tripping from their caves and begin a dance over the surface of the bowlders.

But the “good people," as the fairies are called in Wales and Ireland, have no local habitation in the neighborhood of the Gladstone house, unless it be in the ruins of tbe old Hawarden Castle, which stand only a few from the more modern home of tw statesman. Hawarden Castle, In its original form, was one of the primitive forts which the ancient Bretons constructed for the purpose of resisting the encroachments of their neighbors, whoever the latter might be. For those were days when everybody had a habit of encroaching on everybody else, whether he had a pretext or not. The fact that one chieftain had something another wanted was sufficient reason for the latter to try to get it The little round towers which the petty chieftains built for their own residences were then to be found on every hilltop in Wales, where scores of them still stand. Hawarden was one of these, though after the Conquest it was replaced by a more pretentious structure, the ruins of which now crown the hill above the Gladstone homestead. The ruins, the park, and at certain times, also, the Gladstone home, are all open to visitors, the only restrictions being that the curiosity seekers shall keep their feet off the grass, their names off the stones of the old castle, and their fingers off the property in the family residence. The house has much to interest the visitor. The various rooms of the mansion abound with pictures and statuary, photographs of Mr. Gladstone himself being numerously displayed in the parlors and in various other rooms. All the members of his immediate family live here with him excepting one son, the rector of the Hawarden Church, who resides in the rectory. The little village church, by the way, is almost

A VIEW IN THE VILLAGE.

as famous and nearly as old as the crumbling castle. There was a church on the site In the eighth century, when the curious incident occurred of the cross falling and hurting a woman. The people of the town, considering that there was something uncanny about the accident, took the cross and threw it into the sea. It was, ;to their astonishment, howeyer, washed on shore at Chester, where it was seized upon as a very precious relic and set up in the race track, where it or its successor still stands. During the recess of Parliament the church is always thronged with townspeople and visitors, for every day 'Mr. Gladstone is present at morniifg prayers, walking briskly over from the mansion and as briskly back to breakfast after the prayers are ended. On Sundays he sometimes assists in the service by reading portions of it, and to hear the Church of England service read by a premier of Great Britain Is an incident that rarely occurs in the experience of the ordinary individual. The church is a plain, unpretentious little affair, which is kept so purposely by the rector, who discourages even so much style as is Involved in cushioning the pews, believing, as he does, that this creates an invidious distinction among the attendants, so Mr. Gladstone and his family sit on the bare benches One of the most pleasing features of the Hawarden life is the unbounded reverence shown by everybody in the neighborhood for the principal occupant of the Hawarden house. The Welsh are very warmhearted people, and everywhere be goes Mr. Gladstone is treated with a consideration that shows how hearty and sincere is the respect felt for him. Men stand at the wayside and uncover as he walks by; women curtesy in the quaint old Welsh fashion, and every window in the village is filled with heads as the great man passes They have seen him thousands of times, but that fact does not in the least diminish either their interest or their reverence, and, if sure of . nothing else, they are profoundly convinced that there is no greater man on the face of the earth than the master of Hawarden.

Wonderful.

It vas at Niagara. “Tt ere,” said a grandiloquent fellow, * in all your experience have you ever I eheld a more wonderful spectacle han yonder majestic volume of water crashing into that seething whirlpool below?” “Or, ay,” replied the canny Scot, to wlom he spoke. “I have seen finer pichts than that. Why, mon, when I was at Dumfries I went to see,a friend of mine, a gardener, an’ he shewed me a far more wonderfu’ peacock wi’ a wooden leg!” “Pa!t, I was up by y’ house the other night, and I couldn’t raise yez, at all.!” “I know it, Mike, “and if I hadn’t been a-bed I’d got up and let yez in, I would.”—Newport News. j . i I

NINE WIVES REMAIN.

Widow! of BrlsteM Toon* Wl*o Ara Ho* UTtaf. Of tbe nineteen wives whom the great head of the Mormon Church, Brigham Young, married, nine are now living at Salt Lake City, Utah. The most interesting of these women Is Amelia Folsom-Young, the seventeenth wife and the favorite of her husband. She was born at Buffalo in 1838, and in J 860 her family moved West and joined the Mormon Church. She and Brigham Young saw each other. It was a case of love at first sight and they soon wedded. Mrs. Young has lately been interviewed as to her married lite, and what she says is very interesting. Each of Young’s wives, she says, had a separate room in his dwelling, and bis household altogether numbered sev-enty-five. All dined at the same table and all met in tbe evening for

BRIGHAM YOUNG AND HIS SEVENTH WIFE, AMELIA F. YOUNG.

family prayers. Mrs. Young says her married life was supremely happy. “I would sacrifice anything for the surviving wives of President Young," she remarked, “and their feeling toward me, I think, is the same.” Speaking of the position of the Mormon Church in this country, Mrs. Young said: “The ill-feeling that has heretofore existed toward the Mormon Church is fast dying out, and the people of Utah have learned to treat the Mormons as any other religious body. As old prejudices disappear the good work of the Mormon Church becomes apparent. Through the tithing house this church distributes more goods to the poor each year than any other church organization, the amount in Salt Lake City alone being SIOO,OOO annually. Homes are built up and co-operation practiced with beneficial results. The misrepresentations of the past are being supplanted by the truths of the present, which fact points to a bright future for the church. ”

A Western Heroine.

' Not all the heroism of which Western women are capable comes along the line of startling reforms or new departures in customs of living. The every-day experiences of many a frontier woman are not less notable. Such was the case with Mrs. McLean, who, with her busband, settled on the Nebraska frontier early iu the ’7os. Her bravery is yet told of by the cattlemen who then drove their great herds up through the Platte bottoms. Her busband had with great difficulty gotten together a bunch of cows, about fifty in alb and was endeavoring to start a little herd in order to rescue his family from the poverty which hung over the claim. Mrs. McLean had the herding of them, as well as the care of tbe house. One day, when her husband had gone twenty miles to the store, she was compelled to leave the cattle grazing while she looked after a sick baby at home. Suddenly she saw two men ride from behind the hills and start the cattle off full canter, abducting the whole bunch. She wasted not a minute, but, mounting her bronco, was after tbfem. The men evidently thought themselves undiscovered, ana in the bustle of hurrying on the stofk did not hear the pattering hoofs o: the pursuer’s pony as she came emtering up behind. Suddenly one c! the men gave a yell and tumbled ba kward off his saddle, with the noise of a lariat tight around his thros b. Frightened, the other turned to see a furious woman facing him, sa s a writer in the St. Louis Globe-1 jmocrat “What are you doinj ?” she demanded, fiercely. “Who are you?" he : esponded, with equal gruffness. “I own these cattle, and you have got to help me drive tiem back where you got them. ” As she held a cod ed revolver to* ward his head he dec ded to submit, and, with her following closely, rode around the scattered nerd and turned their heads homeward. For three miles the stock was ijrlven, and then, with'a warning not to look backward, the depredatof was dismissed. He fled without a backward glance. His companion, qhoked to death and with neck broken, was found on the prairie, but there was never any Inquiry as to the manner of his taking off. It was enough in those days, as it is now, to know that he had been engaged in cattle stealing. For such the prairies have scant pity.

His Rebuke.

Mr. Abner Jenfiings was never known to say a harsh thing to or about any one. His form of speech was invariably mild, and exaggerated statements were Hewed by him as almost as reprehensible as lies. Once, in the spring of the year, when the Blueville roads were in a fearful condition of mud and mire, the team of a “traveling merchant” was stalled a short distance from Mr. Jennings’ house. The old man at once brought out his oxen and went to the peddler’s assistance. The team could not be released even with the aid of the yoke of oxen, and the peddler, who was a man of high temper and little self-control, proceeded to vent his rage in language which first amazed and then disgusted the equable Mr. Jennings. He bore it as long as he thought was necessary and proper, and then unhitched his oxen and went calmly home. “I went to try and help him,” he explained to his wife as he walked into the kitchen on his return, “but he talked so poorly that I came off and left him.” One day he caught some boys robbing his black cherry-tree, and surveyed them for some moments in speechless disapprobation. “Boys,” he said at last, giving the culprits the sternest glance of which he was capable, “boys, I think you’ve been doin’ very poorly!” After administering that stinging rebuke, he turned to his heels and walked slowly away to the barn, and never referred to the matteragdin

ONLY A RAT.

B»» H. Dr»w M Cr*w4 aad Bad Lota of Fu. A boy ten years old suddenly appeared on Monroe avenue, near Randolph street, the other forenoon with a rat-trap held high in his hand. The trap contained a rat—an old veteran —who had probably eaten twenty times his weight in Michigan cheese. For years and years he had been too fly for those who sought bis destruction, but the pitcher had gone to the well once too often. He was squealing and squirming about, but there was no one to pity. The boy had scarcely gained the street when there was a rush for him, and men and boys were heard shouting: “He’S got a rat!” “Lemme git my dog!” “Good gracious, what a whopper!” “Don’t let him git away!” The man who knows all about rats was there, of course. Also the man who baamade the killing of rats a specialty all his life. ’They worked their way to the front “You don’t want to fool with that rat,” cautioned the flrat “I think I know* my business,” bluntly replied the second. “So do I.” * “Don’t Interfere with me.” Three or four dogs were brought into the crowd. The man who is always willing to boss the job also got off a street car and elbowed his way in to demand: “What’s all this fuss about? A rat, eh! Now, then, everybody stand back. Gimme that trap.” The U>y demurred. It was his trap and his rat He felt that he ought to be consulted. “Let ’er go, Gallagher!” yelled one of the crowd., “Where’s your rat?” “Somebody hit the man with a red necktie.” A policeman now appeared. He began to use his official elbows to open a path for his body, but the crowd resented the action, and began to hustle him until he threatened to collar some one. Meanwhile the two men who knew all about rats were jawing with the man who wanted to boss the job, and the boy was declaring that his brother would lick the man who stole his rodent. “You’re a liar!” “Hit him one!” “Look out for the cop!” The crowd began to circle around, and the boy fell down and lost his trap. Some one picked it up and shook the rat out, and dogs and men and boys were all mixed up, and falling over each other. In the confusion the rat got away into the sewer, the policeman rapped three men on the back with his club, and the crowd dissolved, leaving about a dozen hats kicking around on the battleground. Then a lot of people shook their fists in the air, and another lot called somebody a liar, and everybody went away mad and threatening to get even if itj took him a whole year.— Free Frees.

The Wrong Card.

During his visit to Paris a distinguished German professor presented himself at the house of a well-known lady to whom he had sent letters of Introduction for a dance. When the servant opened the door and received his card she conducted him to the boudoir and told him to be seated, saying: “Madam will come immediately.” Presently the lady entered. She was in dishabille, and her feet were bare, covered only with slippers. “Ah, good-morning,” said she, bowing to him carelessly. She threw herself on a chair, let fall a slipper, and extended her foot to the Professor. He was naturally surprised, but he remembered that at his home in Germany it was the custom sometimes to kiss a lady’s hand, and he supposed it was the Paris mode to kiss hes foot. He therefore did not hesitate to imprint a kiss upon the fascinating foot before him. The lady sprang from her chair, highly indignant “Who are you, sir, and what do you mean by such conduct?” He gave his name. “Then you are not the chiropodist for whom I sent?” “I am charmed to say, dear madam, that I am not.” “But the servant brought me a chiropodist’s card.” It was true. The Professor, In going out that morning, had picked up a chiropodist's card lying on his bureau and put it in his pocket. This, without glancing at it, he had given to the servant, who had taken it to her mistress. There was nothing to be done but to laugh over the joke.

His Use of Words.

The old man adjusted his glasses and Icoked at the pale-faced clerk. “Absent yesterday,” he said, shortly. “Yes, sir,” replied the clerk. “Absent from sickness?” “No, sir.” “Oho! you're honest, anyway. Most itnen would say they were. ” “I haven’t been absent from sickness for nearly a year. ’’ “You haven’t?” The old man looked surprised. “No, sir. It has been right with me all the time.” “What has?” “Sickness of some sort ”, “But you said that yesterday “Yesterday I was abent on account of sickness, sir.” The old man thought the matter over for a minute or two, and then he said: “Yes, yes; I see! You’re rather particular in your use of words. ” “Yes, sir. Study to use them correctly. ” “Of course; and I’m a trifle careless. Now, please see if this sentence is correct ‘Hereafter you will be absent from my displeasure.’” “Ye-es, sir.” “You will also be absent on account of my displeasure.” “Ye-es, sir.” “Add because of my displeasure.” “Ye-es, sit” “Quite right I am glad that I havesufflclent command of language to make you understand me. Goodday!”

Camphor.

Camphor-oil is obtained by allowing the erode .camphor to remain packed loosely over a wire grating, so that the oil may drain out

IT FELL FROM HEAVEN.

Tka Sacred Black Stoae WAtah AU Mahometan* Won hip. The Holy Well of the Mahometans is at Mecca, Arabia. To them it is known as Zem Zem, and in their eyes ita waters are sacred and a few drops of it, drunk or sprinkled over their

THE SACRED BLACK STONE IN MECCA.

bodies, are sufficient to wash away their sins. The Holy Well is part of the great temple of Kaabah, sacred to Allah, and the rendezvous once a year of every pious follower of Islam. Here is the ancient Black Stone venerated by the Mahometans. This wondrous stone dropped from heaven on the day that Allah entered into compact with the sons of men, and containing the celestial contract neatly folded in its center, to be read, and to testify, at the final judgment, to all who have performed their duty by kissing its mottled covering, has always created a singular curiosity in the minds of unbelieving Christiana From time to time a few daring infidels have shaved their heads and donned the pilgrim’s garb, and, thus djsguised, have taken life in hand and sought the jealously guarded treasure. In this way a few stolen pictures of the Kaabah have been smuggled out of Arabia. The Black Stone is described as smooth, oblong in shape, and with a glassy, red-black, Irregular surface, which suggests the idea of having once been broken into fragments and afterward cemented together. It is seven inches in diameter and some five feet above the ground, and projects from the angle of the northeast corner of the building. The stone and the aperture where it enters the wall are bordered by a band of gold.

LINCOLN’S BIRTHPLACE.

It Is Now a Desolate Farm In Kentucky. The birthplace of Abraham Lincoln in Laßue County, Kentucky, has just been purchased by Maj. S. P. Gross, who means to make it into a kind of museum field with relics of the President. The place is near Hodgensville, a small hamlet about eighty miles from Louisville. It is a desolate farm, and of the single-room log hut in which the President was born nothing remains but a heap of stones where the rough chimney stood. All else has disappeared, though the de-

HOUSE IN WHICH LINCOLN WAS BORN.

manifestly belongs to a later era. The place has been in the hands of farm tenants for several years and shows signs of neglect* Weeds have grown up around the yard and wild shrubbery in the fence corners. A more unpromising place for the birth of a great man was probably never seen, and the original dwelling was certainly scarcely better than the dreary fourteen-feet-square hut at Elizabethtown, In which Thomas Lincoln, the President’s father, first settled upon his marriage with Nancy Hanks in 1803.

The Streets of the Town Burned Up.

“It is not often a man is a witness to burning streets in a town, but I had that pleasure a few days agp,” said G. W. Douglass, of El Paso. “The citizens of the village of Las Cruces, N. M., are in the habit of grading their streets with the accumulations of barnyards. They bad done this till the Sand, dust and manure had become thoroughly mixed, the manure predominating. It seldom rains in that part of the country, and the manure was dry as powder. From some cause it eaught fire in the western part of the village, just as one of New Mexico's typical sand storms was rising. The wind soon became a strong gale, and the fire spread rapidly. In less than twenty minutes the whirling wind had carried the fire into all parts of the main streets, which had been graded with stable stuff. Dense clouds of smoke rolled over the buildings and out on the plains. The whole heavens were darkened, and it was a grand sight to see the great columns of smoke, flie, sand and dust surging, whirling, and darting away toward the mountains. Had the town not been built of mud it would certainly have been destroyed. The storm swept the streets of all barnyard grading material, and the Las Cruces villagers will have to regrade as material accumulates. ’’—St. Louis Globe-Demo-crat.

Important to Druggists.

A New York druggist, who spent the winter in a Texas town for his health, was asked by the genial clerk of the hotel: “Stranger, what might your business be?” . “I am a pharmacist.” “A what did you say?” “A pharmacist ” “O, yes, a pharmacist, Well, you can buy as good farming lands in this neighborhood as you can find in Texas. You have struck the right locality, stranger, if you want to farm. I'll take you out this afternoon in my buggy and show you one I’ve got to sell.” —Tammany Times.

The Postal Service.

The first mention of a postal service in the United States is that of the General Court of Massachusetts. “It is ordered that notice be given that Richard Fairbanks his house in Boston is the place appointed for all letters which are brought from beyond the seas or are to be sent thither, to be left with him. and he is to take care that they are to be delivered or sent according ,to the direction. And he is allowed for every letter a penny, and must -answer all miscarriages through his own neglect in this kind.” i’ I'fc'MC ? i

OUR BUDGET OF FUN.

HUMOROUS SAYINGS ANO DOINGS HERE ANO THERE. Jokea and Jokeleta that Are Soppoaed te Hava Been Recently Born—Sayings and Doing* that Are Odd, Curious, and laughable—The Week’s Humor. Let Ci All Laugh. The kick of a cow Is not the most acceptable form of milk punch.—The Fanner. Lovb may,be blind, but the neighbors generally aren’t Somerville Journal Lot’s poor wife is not the only woman who did not want to move.— Dallas Newa Naturally when a girl goes to work out she hates to stay in.—Elmira Gazette. A good many men are like cheap theatrical bills—a very little money causes them to be stuck up.—Buffalo Courier. Waiter—“ What kind of fish will you have, sir, bluefish or whitefish?" Guest—“l don’t care; I’m color blind.”—Hallo. Every singer in a quartet can tell you three good reasons why the organization isn’t absolutely perfect— Elmira Gazette. Van Warbler —“Ah, Stabbes, have you heard my last song?” Stabbes—“Heaven knows, I hope so.” —Brooklyn Life. Son—“Pa, what political party did Washington belong to?” Father—- “ Neither: he couldn’t tell a lie.”— Detroit Free Press. Don’t be a clam. If you’ve got to be anything of the kind, be a mud turtle. Then you' may have some snap to you.—Texas Siftings. No matter how fair and square he may want to be the average poultry dealer is compelled to earn his living by fowl means.—Buffalo Courier. “Why does De Toper attend every temperance meeting in town?” “Because that’s the only place where his creditors don’t look for him.”—Hallo. Mr. McCorkle was showing some visitors over the house. Arriving at the nursery he remarked: •’This, gentlemen, is the bawl-room. TidBlts., Ethel—“Do you allow Charles to kiss you when you are not yet engaged to him?” Maud—“lt isn’t an allowance. He calls it a perquisite. ” —Raymond’s Monthly. Berliner—“ This scenery is really grand.” Native—“ But you have grander views near Berlin?” “No, indeed!” “I am afraid you are not a Berliner.”—Fliegende Blaetter. “There are several young men in the car,” remarked Mrs. Holdstrap with some feeling, “but they can hardly be classed among the rising generation. ” —Boston Transcript. “Well,” said James Easydo, “I’ve got down to my last loaf.” “Great heavens, man!” said his friend, “it Isn’t so bad as that, is it?” “Yes, I go to work to-morrow.”—Washington Star. “You seem very fond of Wagner. Mrs. Feathergilt.” “Yes; when they play Wagner one feels so confident that one’s conversation is not, being overheard by some impertiment outsider.”—Washington Star. Affable Swell—“ Well, the fact is, my name is not Smithson. You lee, I am traveling incog. There’s iny card. ” Fellow Passenger—“ Glad Io hear it I’m traveling in pickles. Here’s mine. ” —Brooklyn Life. A Georgia undertaker has adopted a novel method for increasing his business. His advertisement reads: “Funerals on the installment plan. Two dollars a week will bury your best friend. ” —Atlanta Constitution. At the Opera.—Mrs. Brown—- “ There’s Mrs. Montmorenci over there! I wonder how she can enjoy the opera. Why, she’s deaf as a post!” Mrs. Gray—“ But see how elegantly she is dressed!”—Boston Transcript Miss Withers—“ When I was born, my grandmother predicted that I would never live to be old.” Billington (wishing to be pleasant)—“Ha, ha, ba! Ho, ho, ho! What a good joke you must have on your grandmother!”—Puck. Mrs. Honeymoon (to bridegroom in railway train)—Do you love me? Old party (confidentially, from other seat, jo bridegroom)—She’s asked you that forty-seven times already. I get out here, but I’ll leave the score with this gentleman by the window. —Tid-Bits. “That was a remarkable event — that reconciliation between the Emperor William and Bismarck,” remarked the advance agent. “Yes," replied the commercial traveler; “but, to be candid, I can’t make up my mind whether that was a bona-fide reconciliation or a champagne advertisement.” —Washington Star. Sunday School Teacher Children, do you know the house that is open for all—to the poor, the rich, the sad, the happy; to man and to woman; to the old and to the young? Do ‘you know tne house I mean? Little Johnny Yeth, ma'am, I know. Sunday-school teacher—Well, Johnny, what house is it? Little Johnny—The station-house.—Hallo. “Why are you so sad, Brushe?" asked the critic of the impressionist painter. “I have been at work for two years on my great picture,” said Brushe. “Well?” “This morning.it was finished, and Jfti} boy, 5 years Tjf age, came Into the studio—” “Ah! I know. He got cutting up, and upset the picture, and destroyed It?" “No; worse than that. He recognized at once what it was a picture of?”-|-Harper’8 Bazar.

cayed stump of what is said to have been a pear tree is seen near by. A few hundred yards to i the southwest there now stands a substantial farmhouse, which

How much a horse may suffer from a harness that does not fit, or which is ropgh and painful to the animal, may be unknown, but one of the first duties on taking a horse out for work should be to examine the harness, and also to carefully look for sores] or galls. The harness should be kejpt clean and weir oiled, in order to have every part shift, smboth and pllab|e. 2 f £ Tria Benefits—“ What makes some girls look young so long?” “The men are t) blame. They won t propose.” —LI e’s Calendar.

Harness.