Greenfield Republican, Greenfield, Hancock County, 2 August 1889 — Page 2

LIVE !T DOWN.

Has your life a hitter sorrow? Live it down. "1 hink about, a bright to-morrow,

Live it down.

You will Lnd it never pay3 .lust to sit, wet-eyed, and paze On the grave of vanished days

Live it down.

Is disgrace your palling burden? Live it down. You can win a brave heart's guerdon

Live it down.

Make your life so free of blame That the lustre of your fame Shail hide all the olden shame

Live it down.

Has your heart a secret trouble? Live itd'\vn. Useless eriefi vill make it double,

Live it down.

To not water it with tears— To not feed it with your i'ears— Lo not nurse it tit rough the years-

Live it down.

Have you made some awful errors? Live it Liown. Bo not hide your face in terror

Live it down.

Look the world square in the eyes Co ahead as one who tries To oe honored ere he d.es

Live it do

vD.

—1 he bunny Hours.

"A DAUGHTER OF THE CODS."

I.

A young 1 dy and a young1 girl stood in the dusky passagevvny of the fourth floor in an old studio building in New York. They had traversed crooked passages and steep stairways innumerable, and were now breathless and puzzled, not knowing which way to turn. "Well, if this isn't a delightful hole to drag one up to!'1 the girl exclaimed, ulancmg disdainfully into the dingy distances on every nand. "Mu'garet, we must ive gotten into the wrong building. Ilans never in the world could have stood this sort of thing. Why, it's—it's—detestable!11 hiie .s haruly more than a child, and her serious, charming face was gathered into a frown of much displeasure and disgust. "15ut Tin afraid he has L-itood it,1' said Margaret, with a loOit oi hopeless conviction. "ArLists don't seem t) mind —er—that sort of tiling, you know," rather doubtfully. hat nonsense you are talking!" retorted the uncompromising Olivia. "A man may 'live i:i a garret alone,1 and all that, but 1 don't believe he likes it one bit! I'm very sure Hans Yischer doesn't, Bohemian fciough he ca»Us himself. No wonder he's in a hurry to marry you, Margaret you've got money enough to keep you both from starvation, at all events."

Hut Margaret llogers was studying the numbers over the doors, and she discreetly let her sister's last remark pass unheeded. '•Why this is number ten," she said, ••and here's Hans1 name on a brass palette. Since the door is half open, let's step in and surprise him at his work." But Han's cheery presence was missing from the room, and the studio offered them but a sombre and silent welcome. Margret drew her shawl about her with a little shiver. She felt as if a chill had fallen on her. And where in the world was Hans? He certainly knew that they were coming, for he had asked her particul .rly to come and inspect his most ambitious work, a figure piece called "A Daughter of the Gods," before sending it olf to the fall exhibition of the academy. She had never visited his studio before,and had expected a warmer welcome than this certainly. "What a queer place an artist'^ studio is!'1 said Olivia, in an awed tone, walking about gingerly and inspecting everything that came in her way. Sit down and wait for Hans, Margaret, while I take some impressions—if that's what you call it."

Thus instructed, Margaret sank listlessly into a curiously carved chair, and began to gaze abstractedly out of' the window at the blank wall opposite. You would have called her a very handsome woman, 1 think, as she sat there tapping the lloor nervously with the tip of her parasol. She had unusually line eyes, and her well-clad figure expressed both grace and dignity. "Do you know. Margaret, I think I should like to bo an artist?" Olivia rattled on, mauing a telescope out of her hands in order to properly see a "skied"' picture. "They are always* planning and making such charming things. don't you know? I don't think) 1 should mi'jd the stairs—much. Why, if that stupid Hans Vischer hasn't tiuck his "Sunset in New Jersey,' which I thought the prettiest landscape ira the spring exhibition, away up in that dusty corner, where it's half hidden oy a piece of nasty yellow drapery. If that's all he thinks of it, he might give to me." "Here's anew picture of a road and come gees. Ever so much atmosphere and feeling, and all that sort of thing, Margaret. The sky is perfectly lovely! And here's the Death of Laertes, which the critics called a screaming absurdity. You remember how furious Hans was when we showed him the paper, and how he called a critic a 'howling idiot?1 I don't remember ever seeing Hans angry before. Poor fellow! lie doesn't seem to sell many pictures, does he? They are all here yet, even to that charcoal sketch of an old woman smoking a horrid black pipe, which Hans declared was the Deflt thing he had ever done. But as ho1a always saying that of the last thing, I didn't put much faith in his statement. Artists do say such ridiculous things!" "Oh! Margaret, do come and look at thle lovely, lovely face! That must be •A Daughter of the God's'—and isn't •he charming! It'll take the prize. I lenow, and Hans will wake to iind himlelf rich and famous yet."

Margaret, to tell the truth, had not been giving her sister's remarks on art the attention they undoubtedly deserved, but she rose at once on mention of the new picture, a little eager flush rising to her face. "Charming, indeed!" she murmured with a proud and pleased smile, as she gazed, and gazed at her lover's last picture, which was certainly, "the be.si he had ever done." "The pose is perfect, and the face—Heavens! hov beautiful it is!" ».,

It was indeed a beautiful face—rich, Southern, with red, curving lips, and syes that glowed and burned, and yet it was soft aud tender, too, like an innocent child's.

As Margaret stood before the picture, and gazed in those luminous 3yes. a delightful vista of fame and. honor for Hans opened before her. If she thought of herself as a humble sharer of these honors, who can blame her? Sh 3 had always believed simplicity- in Hans' talent, and had responded warmly to his most enthusiastic hopes and dreams but she had never imagined that fame was so near. Indeed, she liad often thought how good a thing it was that she had money to help him out with, since Hans' had none. His life after their marriage would be made lighter by the loss of many a sordid care, she knew, and she rejoiced the thought.

Olivia, in the meantime, had plunged ior inquisitive head into a portfolio of jrjicjiings, nd Margaret was left to irwam on in happy abstraction.

Suddenly, as she loitered near one end of the long dim studio, she was startled by the sound of a passionate little outcry which came from a door slightly -ajar, and glancing through was astounded to see a strange woman throw herself into Hans Vischer's arms, with a gesture of utter despair.

Margaret clung to the heavy portierre for support, a horrible sick feeling stealing over her. She could not see bis face, but she noticed that Hans stroked the girl's hair gently with one hand, while he tried to lead her to a chair. The confusion of noises in the street below prevented Margaret from hearing what they were saying, even if she wanted to hear, which she most assuredly did not. She would not play the eaves-dropper, no matter how false her lover might be to her.

She looked again at the pictured ,ace on the easel. Y'es, there could be no doubt about the matter—the woman in the rext room was the original. Margaret turned away with a white, set face. She telt as if her heart were turning to stone in her bosom, and that if she stayed in the studio ante

iter

minute she should begin to hale Hans Vischer. The smell of paint -eemed stilling and unbearable, and tiie lloor heaved beneath her feet. 1 She walked rapidly up to her sister, and spoke in a low, quick tone. "Olivia," she said, "let us go home at once. I—1 am not well."

Olivia threw down the etchings with an exclamition of alarm. "Why, Marg.ret, what has happened? You look wretchedly, that's a fact." "Nothing has happened," said Margaret impatiently, feeling that all her powers of endurance were slipping away from her. "Only let us go home at once—do you hear?"

She hastened toward the door, and Olivia followed her with a look of amazement on her face. "Well, Margaret, I must say—" she begin, but her sister was already out of hearing, and Olivia followed her with a very bad grace. She assumed a portea-ous air of injury when she caught up with Margaret at the bottom of the last flight of stairs. "What did the boy say was the matter with the elevator?" she said, apropos of nothing in particular merely to show that she meant to pass Margaret's behavior in silent displeasure. "That he had stuck somewhere in the shaft," was Margaret's mechanical and listless reply. "Isn't that our car? Signal to it, will you dear?''

Olivia performed this duty w:'th impressive dignity, then seated herself opposite her sister, and stared at her all the way home. But Margaret's face, though pale, expressed nothing of the tumultous emotions which were seething within her, and Olivia got oft' the car in a dudgeon. If Margaret had a secret, or if something unusual had happened to her it was clearly her business to tell her younger sister all about it. Then why in the world did she close her mouth as tight as a ciam? Olivia had never been treated so before and she wasn't going to stand it—so there!

Hans Vischer came back to his studio rather late tihat evening. There had been animated discussion in the Rembrandt Club rooms on the wornout theme of "the ideal and the real in art," and the arguments had waxed long and warm—so much so, in fact, that it was past 12 o'clock when Hans lit the gas and turned over the small heap of unopened letters which had accumulated during the day. There was one in a creamy white envelope which he pounced upon at once with a pleased smile of anticipation. "From Margaret," he said, postponing his enjoyment of the note, as we are all so fond of doing, long enough to roll and light a cigarette. This duty done, he broke the seal and adjusted his eye-glasses—Hans was a trifle near-sighted, be it said. "Dear girl!" he murmured tenderly. "Of course she's going to explain why she didn't come up this morning. That vicious old aunt of her's wouldn't let her, I suppose, because of some fancied impropriety in the thing. What a bore maiden aunts must be! Heighho! precious glad am I that I haven't any to worry the life out of me. If Margaret only knew how cheerfully I shall take her excused! But it would never in the world have done to have had them here when Marie was storming about in that reckless fashion. Poor girl! I'm awfully sorry for her. But I can't help wishing she wouldn't throw herself into a fellow's arms its rather embarrassing, on the whole. And I don't believe Margaret would like it I certainly don't myself."

Hans' jaw began to drop, and his near-sighted eyes stared into vacancy with a commercial air of amazement. 'Mr. Hans Vischer'—why this eaVt be from Margaret!" he exclaimed—"and yet it is, by Jove! 'I return you your ongagement ring and all the letters you have written me. If you desire an explanation, ask your own conscience for it. I shall give you none.' Short—but sweet damnably sweet, by Jove! Why, I must be dreaming—this is some hideous night-mare!--'Ask my own conscience for it?' What in the name of Hut pslnw! this must be some practical .:oke— a id in very poor taste it is, too. I wonder that Margaret could be gui'ty of such a thing. I shall give you a piece of my mind to-morrow."

But the longer Hans stared at the

Innocent looking envelope, the more did the consolation of a joke fade from his mind. He turned it over in his hand, and gnawed his blonde mustache with much energy, but the mystery became more impenetrable than ever. At last he threw it down with a guesturc of impatience. "Well, I can't make it out," he muttered. "Margaret must have taken leave of her senses. I'm sure I've done nothing to deserve this. So let it be, then, there are plenty of other line women, I suppose. I'm going to turn in and forget all about it I oan put two thoughts together to-night, a,ny way."

But no sleep visited his eyes that night, and he tossed about w.th an ever increasing sense of baffled impatience. He was very much in love with Margaret, and her note, inexplicable though it was, had out into his heart like a dagger.

He dressed himself at daybreak with a dismal conviction that after all life was hardly worth the living. Between his love affairs and his encounters with strongly obtuse art committees, a poor devil of an artist might as well ba out of it all—there certainly wasu I much fun in it.

After his chop and cup of coffee, however, Hans' rellections began to lean towards cheerfulness. After an, there must be an explanation to all this he had done Margaret no conscious wrong, and if he could find out wherein the troubie lay, ho would explain it to her satisfaction. Margaret had always shown herself to be a woman of sense and reason—she wouldn't be found wanting in this case.

Hans groaned aloud as he looked a$ his watch. "Oh, hang it all, I'm duo at Mrs. Bleeker Onderdonk's at 2 for another sitting, and I can't paint in this state of fatal imbecility. I should go wild if I had to stare into that old woman's fishy eyes all the afternoon. I shall have to put her off till to-, morrow. I hate to offend her, for she can give me a good many other sitters of Knickerbocker blue-blood, who wish to be handed down to fame—but I can't help it. O Margaret, Margaret! if you only knew how you havq undone me!" j,

But Margaret was not at home thai afternoon she and Miss Olivia had left suddenly for Albany, the servant said, to visit a maiden aunt for a few days. ("Confound the maiden auntfc!" Hans muttered, sotto voce.) Begging his pardon, did he speak? No? Did he want their address? Miss Olivia had left it on a card, and had whispered, all unbeknown to her sister, that it was to be given to Mr. Vischer the minute he called.

Hans took 'he card meohanically. and walked away like a man dazed. Gone to Albany were they? This affair was certainly assuming the com* plexity of a sphinx's riddle, and Hans Vischer hardly knew whether he was standing on his head or his heels. 01 one thing he was sure—he would strike while the iron was hot. He meant ta take tne first train for Albany on the morrow, and demand an explanation— he was tired of being trifled with.

Take the first train he did, and Mais garet was never so surprised in all hei life as when she saw coming up thq garden path, Hans Vischer! Even hi» eye-glasses seemed to express the determination that lay behind theijg^,,

Margaret had been cutting asters, and she opened and shut her scissors nervously, as Hans drew nearer and nearer. She had grown pale, too, and her breath came in quick gasps. Hans, I regret to say, was selfish enough to enjoy all these symptoms of distress. But his heart melted in a moment, an} he stretched out his hau»ls eagerly to Margaret. "Oh, Margaret." he said reproachfully, "how could you hurt me oo by sending me this note?" holding it out. What does it mean? I do not understand it. You surely do not mean wha| you say—that all is over between us?'

This is not the denouement Hans had planned. He had meant to be stern, reproachful and unyielding, but some* how all his dramatic phrases refused to be uttered when he looked into Mar* garet's averted, unhappy eyes. "I don't know what you think ol yourself, Mr. Vischer," said Margaret( speaking in a tone of stirring scorn, and glancing coldly at him. But consider you—beneath my notice." ms grew as pale as ashes, and hi9 blue eyes burned with anger and re-, sentment. For a full minute he stood, there before her without speaking. "Margaret,'' he said at last, in a low, suppressed tone, "for your sake and mine weigh well your next remark before you utter it. I cannot stand any more like the one just made to me. Your conduct demands an explanation, and I will have it. Why did you send me back mv ring?"

1

"Mr. Vischer, your assurance is suolime," said Margaret with a bitter laugh. "Pardon the suggestion, but I'm sure you'd make your fortune on the stage, should the goddess prove fickle in painting. You demand an explanation of me? Go to the original of your 'Daughter of the Gods'—she is explanation enough." "The original of my 'Daughter of the Gods?' Margaret, for Heaven's sake explain your meaning—I am tired of these mysteries! Why, you are the original of that picture, and I hads meant to show it to you and tell you so the other day, had you come to my studio." "I wa3 at your studio," said Margaret, a look of perplexity creeping over her face. "There was a picture on your easel,

rand

a—young woman

in the other room, and—O, Hans, I saw it all, and you have broken my heart! Oh, what shall I do! what shall I do!"

The "proud, palo Margaret" had broken down at last, and the bittor passionate tears trickled through her lingers. "Margaret! and you believed that of me? Why, that was the young French girl, or child rather, for she is only that, who has been posing for me a* Hebe. She has a wretched time of it at home with a drunken father and two brothers who are no better, and she always comes with all her troubles to me, confound her! I—I mean, God bless her! She seems to think that I can help her, though it's very little I do. She calls me her brother, her protectos ind —er —seems to think a good deal of me." Hans blushed like a girl as he made this frank confession. "She had

bad an jnusually bad time with that cursed father of hers, the other day, and was—rather demonstrative, in factI don't wonder that you were a Little surprised. You believe me, don't you, dearest?"

But Margaret could not answer just then. She had thrown herself into Hans' forgiving arms, and was sobbing as if her heart would break. She did not care if fi'"ty inquisitive maiden aunt's and a hundred sharp-eyed Olivia's wore in the windows looking at her. To think that she had wron/e 1 and hurt and insulted a man so gool and true as this one was? Could ho ever forgive her? Could she ever forgive herself? "Your picture is the one I mean to exhibit, dearest, and if you like I shall seuJ poor Marie Larue's with it," said Hans, alter hi had assured Margaret Mgain and again that all was forgiven, and that her conclu-don in regard to his conduct in the studio had been the most natural

in

the world. "Ah. Mar­

garet! I cou'd paint, you blindfolded—I know every tint and curve of your dear face!"—Anthony JO. Anderson, in Mil* Wi.ukee Wisconsin.

Wouldn't Buy Whiskv. "Simon," said the governor of Mississippi, speaking to an old negro who had nursed him, and who had just asked lor fifty cents, "why don't you stop drinking?" "Wall, I tell you Mars Bob, I would do dat, but I secrfeerd, sah, dat it mout injury my helf." "Injure your health!" the governor exclaimed. "Yes, sah, disergree wid my 'terual gestions." "You are foolish, Simon. Cold water is the salvation of the human family." "DaL's whar you're rating. Ma:-* Bob dat's zacidy where you is wrating. Water is de cause o' er good deal o' do misery o' dis yere worl'. it swop, do country wider Hood way back yander, an1 has caused cr mighty lieep o' 'stress since dat time. Tuther day. sah, it rushed down on dat town way U) norf yander, sommers, and killed thousands o' folks. Doan couie talk in' ter me srbout water, sah, caze I knows it knows it frum de beginniti', I does. Ef dar wuz cz much whisky ez dar is water, w'y it mout cause je-st ez much harm, but ez dar ain't, w'y I reckon water has got de bulge. But be dat ez it may, gubner, gim me fifty cents." "Not to buy whisky with, Simon." "I sw'ar ter de Lawd, sah, I ain't gwine ter buy whisky wid dat money." "Ail right, then, here it is." "Thankee sir, thankee. Good day (bowing when he had reached the loor) none o' dis money doan go fur whisky. Too much o' er generman fur dat. Gwine git gin wid dis mousy."— Arkansaw Traveler.

The Ice-Water Habit. In reference to the American habit drinking freely of ice water I am reminded, says a writer in the Boston Post, of the way in which a Boston woman, who was at a hotel in York, England, attracted the attention of an old lady and her daughter, sitting at the same long table, by asking for a glass of this insidious compound. As ?oon as the order was executed by the waiter the Boston woman saw the j'oung English girl lean over to her mother and ask in an audible tone if she couldn't have some ice water. The old lady drew herself up somewhat stiffly, and in a very emphatic voice, which almost seemed intended is a reproach to the stranger, whose sxamplehad been felt by her daughter, said: "No, my dear, that a very bad \merican custom.', I believe that this •ustom ha.s gained ground in England of late years, although ice water is not brought to the ble as a matter ol 30urse, as with us, but has to be asked for as a special accommodation. No doubt climate has much to do with the difference in the habits of the two people, but I can well understand the feeling with which an English ladv of the old-fashioned sort would object to increasing her tendencies as a refrigerant by drinking ice water.

An Incredible ?tor7. A gentleman who has recently returned from quite along trip through the "Land of the Aztecs" has been giving some interesting details of his experiences to his friends. Among other things he said that when he was in the City of Mexico he was shown through some ancient buildings, convents and dis that were erected by the Spaniards several centuries ago. In the •wall of these ancient edifices he saw a small opening, so ho naturally inquired of his Mexican guide what purpose it •served. He was told that it was one of those buildings in which criminals were walled up alive. "But what was the use of the hole in the wall?" he lasked. "Well, senor," replied the iguide, "as long as the prisoner lived 'his food was handed to him on a plate, and he handed back the empty plate through the hole, but when the prison oner handed back the plate with the food on it untouched, then the jailor 'knew that he was der.d already, and didn't give him any more.--Texas •SiiLings.

Another Old Standby Overboard. A scientific iconoclast, careless how many hearts ho will make ache, says that the elephant of Noah's time had no trunk. And then all the jokes that have been made about the elephant jarrying his own trunk into the ark are null and void and of none effect. Well, there is one good thing about jokes and science they don't have to depend upon facts for their statements, nor for their existence.—Burdette in Brooklyn Eag-le.

NONE OF IT IN THEIRS.

Several Irish Societies Decline to Participate in the Coming Annual Picnic.

For some years past the Irish societies of every character in this city have been holding a united picnic aud celebration, the proceeds of which have been by consent turned over for supposed national purposes.

About three weeks ago a convention of representatives from the various societies met at Fitzgerald's hall to make preparations for a demonstration on the approaching loth of August but the indications are that if it take placo at all it will be a fiasco and in no sense representative. Heretofore, and principally for the sake of harmony, a certain CI n-na-Gael element have been allowed to conduct the celebration undisputed but recent revelations are likely to sadly interfere with any oi there future efforts in the same direction. The united Irish societies are no longer united with the controling gang of the clan, and if the demonstration take place with the fervor and unanimity of former years the proceeds will have to be differently disposed of aud accounted for. These August picnic.!? had become general through the United States and were an immense source ol revenue to the "triangle." They made no small figure in the grand total of $1,2.30,000 which the late leaders of the Clan-na-Gael are said to have appropriated to themselves. Father Shallow and Ancient Order of Hibernian! men appear to be no longer willing to give their time and means to the swell, ing of reciepts for misappopriation.

A meeting of several representatives of Irish societies was held last night, and the feeling among those present "was to sever themselves from any demonstration which might be attempted on the day named. They did not doubt that a certain element could get up a big crowd at Ogden's grove,but it would be in no sense representative, nor patronized as formerly by all Irish organizations. The united Irish societies hereafter will only unite when they know the exact purpose and aim in view and will insist on knowing the 'disposition of the proceeds.—Chicago Times.

Five Hundred Millionaires. ]f New Y'ork city contains to-day. a.s, (shown by a carefully prepared study, of her money kings and queens published in the Sunday World, one hundred and twenty-live men, forty women and one hundred and twenty-nine firms, each good for more than a miltion dollars, how many millionaires will there be on Manhattan Island in another quarter of a century? Most of these great fortunes have been piled up within the past twenty-five years. When the next twenty-five have rolled bv and rolled up more millions—and perhaps some billions—will there be room hereabouts for the poor ma

In point of fact The World's list of millionairs was by no means complete. The limitations of daily journalism do not admit of years of search for the developement of a truth which is now and in the living present at the whitehot point of itsyouthfulness. A search of years would not be too protracted for the attainment, perhaps, of an accurate knowledge of the number and wealtli of those whose ceherent and corporate interests constitute in the very nature of things a growing menacc to the free institutions which in this country were fountteit on the equality of individuals.

May not the pressure of this mighty reservoir of wealth, which a thousand golden rivulets are swelling each day while men work, each night while men sleep, each hour while men are passing it by unheeded, break at last through the barriers which the Constitions have set up and sweep away our social order before its merciless tide? The cry of "danger" was raised in vain in the valley of the Conemaugh.

There are probably five hundred and more individuals in New York to-day who could check a million dollars from bank. Were there five thousand a generation hence, what could measure the aggregate of their power or limit the fulfilment of their desires?—New York World.

A Queer Proposition. Gen. Austin Lathrop, at Albany, N. 1'.. received a remarkable letter a few days ago. It was from Philadelphia, and was apparently from a well educated man. The writer said that he was poor and out of work, and that ho had a large samily to support, lie had ji-t seen a statement in some newspaper that Gen. Lathrop had some doubts whether the electrical apparatus which was to be placed in the three state prisons to execute murderers would destroy life instantaneously. If Gen. Lathrop would guarantee that his (the writer's) family should be paid $5,000 in case of his death he would submit himself to a trial with the electrical machine. A test could be made upon him. If the machine killed him the $5,000 should be paid to his family. In case Gen. Lathrop should look favorably upon this offer he would request him to insert a personal addressed to A. F." in the Philadelphia Ledger stating the fact, when "A. F." would go to Auburn prison, where the first electrical execution apparatus is to bo used, and the trial could be made upon him. It i9 needless to say that Gen. Lathrop has not accepted this offer. I

A Happy Medium. r'f

Have aim in life and set your 3am Aud stick to it, whatever come. Don't lounge about.a-chewing gum, And be a good for-nothing chum, But strike a happy medium. 1'

Don't work too hard or you'll become A nervous wreck with feelings glum, With sleepless nights, and aching thumb. Don't slave to death to grab each cruinb, But slriuo a happy medium.

Swept on by tides of wron? and rum, Don't dritt and drift, like worthless scum, And make the fairest land a slum, Lend ear to truth and not be mum, Oh, strike a happy medium.

Oh! sweet is this, that there are some Who roar not, loud, or keep not dumb, Who riphtly work, who work and hum, And thus deserve their sugar plum, So strilce a happy medium. 13. Blackwell, Chicago Times.

WHAT TO DO IN EMERGENCIES

Information that May Prove ol Value Some Day or Other. What to do in case of emergency is an important subject and information 311 it should be either committed to memory or else so placed as to be aasily available in time of need, says a letter in the New Y'ork News.

Burns of the eye by calcium or lime are not very common, yet it is useful to know how to treat them. In the svent of lime getting into the eye or around the front of the eyelids it is well to remember, until the arrival of, medical attendance, that in no case must water be used. Washing with vinegar will neutralize the caustic properties of the lime, and any fractional bits may afterward be removed by the use of a feather or camel's hair orush lightly applied, or if neither is ,i. hand, by lincti folded to a point. Acute inflammation of the eye must be .nuked for after sueli an accident. Even with immediate medical aid tha eye may be much damaged, but without it the organ may be sacrificed.

I would like to call attention to a remedy which possesses such wonderful therapeutic powers in the cure of: almost all known wounds that it deserves a place in every household. It is called iodoform and comes in the form of powder. It has no equal

half

111

the

cure of chronic sores or ulcers, as well as outs and wounds of all kinds. Its* value as a remedy has been somewhat: impeded by its odor, which is the only objectionable feature about it, but for the sake of a speedy cure this can be tolerated. It is used in all hospitals throughout the world and recommended by the medical profession in every land. It is an ingredient of all ulcer ointments nowadays. It is be-^t used in conjunction with some vehicle, such as vaseline in the proportion of one drachm of iodoform to one and a half ounces of vaseline. It is well to haveN, \t carefully and prominently marked, "Poison, for external use only. Use it by spreading upon lint and bandage it to the wound twice a day. When removing, and before applying a fresh bannage, wash the wound thoroughly,, with warm water and soap.

As we are often placed in positions requiring assistance and perhaps thrown upon our own resources the following may be impressed upon the iuemory to advantage:

If scalded plunge the part in water. This relieves pain instantly and givea time for thought and composure.

An insect in the ear may be drowned out with tepid water killed by a few drops of sweet oil.

If anything hard gets into the ear double a stout horse-hair, place tire head on one side, and drop the ioup into the ear, move it about until it catches the object, and then draw it out. ...»j

In cases of poisonous bite sues ^ha wound instantly, unless the mouth is sore.

If the throat burns after

swallowing

a poison drink sweet oil. If you aie falling asleep from

a

a

poison drink

glass of

water

into which is

been stirred a teaspoouful each 01 salt and common table mustard, anu after vomiting, drink the strongest.^ coffee and keep in motion until perfectly awake. After any poison swal- \i low one or two raw eggs.

If smoke is suffocating you fall on the floor and crawl

011

your hands and,

knees. In cases of insensibility in which .. there is loud snoring the person is seized with apoplexy, liaise tha^ head, remove pressure from the neck. If the face is pale, and tha breathing very low, it is a case ol fainting. Place the body perfectly level and lower the head, lhe patient will promptly revive. Nothing else is necessary.

Always remember that if you have health don't moddle with it. Avoid doctoring and drugs until a real ner cessity for their use arises. Jj

Troth is Stranger Than Fiction. "You've been cashier at this coiir cern nearly twelve years. Mr. Cashup?" said the president, who was feeling benignly good natured. "Twelve years," said Mr. Cashup, his hear« beating with thoughts of a raise. "And yet," said the president, "yoii have never once run off to Canada with the funds? ITaw, haw!" Mr. Cashup, whose pulse sinks to th« normal as he recognizes the annua joke—"No, sir it's been mighty hard grubbing to get away with $18 ever) Saturday I think it would bo all my life is worth to try to get away witt anymore." I3 dismissed on the spol for impudenoe.--Robert J. Burdetto in Brooklyn Eagle.