St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 18, Number 7, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 3 September 1892 — Page 2

womans Influence - . nothing of the tariff, but I do know that

TibM^ “ LlO JflMagogi CHAPTER X. lERTIi OFFERS CONGHATULATIONS “Hello, old fellow! have you quite ■ forgotten your friends, or are your thoughts so occupied with the fair Margaret that ins gniflcant men like me can gain no entrance into the inner recesses of your mind?” Brian was sitting in the library, with his feet gracefully elevated, and his ) mind deep in thought, and the < nioy- I ment of a cigar, when Bertie burst in 1 upon him with this greeting. He jumped to his feet at the sound of ! the well-remembered voice, and making | a grab for Bertie’s hand, wrung it for some seconds in silence. “So it is really you,” he said, when he found his voice. “Declare! I wouldn’t have known you. Take a chair and make yourself at home. Had an idea you’d turn up.” “Like a bad penny,” put in Bertie. “By the way, that simile is about worn out. It should be relegated to ob ivion in company with the threadba e jokes of mothers-in-law and servant-gu Is. How’s the divine Margaret? You’re a lucky devil, old fellow. I know but one girl as good as Margaret.” “And who is she?” Bertie smiled knowingly and watched the smoke curling above his head, in meditative silence. “A secret just now,” he said alter a pause. “But to return to Margaret, j She’s a jewel worth the wearing. Things have turned out fortunately for you, I tell you. I felt mighty sorry for you at one time, and Margaret seemed all cut up about it. The loss of the money would have been rather hard on you, eh?” “Bather," agreed Brian, anxious to change the subject. “You haven’t told me yet when you arrived.” “yesterday afternoon, my boy. I descended upon the parental fold at a moment big with fate, as the poets say. My respected father had ottered hts fortune, not his hand, to my beloved ) cousin, and that impulsive young lady ! had refused it in a few choice but con- I vincing words. A pitched battle seemed imminent, when my presence restored peace. Whereupon my mild parent fell upon my ne k, metaphorically speaking, and called for the fatted calf. “That is the history of my return, i Very touching, is it not? Now, I’m । here in h pes that Margaret will invite ) >.•*?■ ** Think sho They do permanent gov.^uiM pation, Indigestion, Bilious .uAto Seo Mar-' Sick or Bilious Headache, t^l’ve walked two derangements of the liver, rtHp . , she added, adand bowels are p ^M^^om and taking the and cured. Tiered her. “ThatadmisThey’re against you.” in every case,^. r f OU g ue > 8 as sharp as ever. 1- wajgpr if you treat poor Brian to the — —' Tcif'il lectures that used to fall to •WCjirmy lot. I pity him from my heart. Eve now he hasn’t a word to say for himself. , Poor fellow!” “He does look meek,” responded Mar- ) garet, turning to Brian and endeavoring I to draw• him into the conversation. “I j am afraid your sympathy doesn’t appeal ' to him. Unfortunately, pity is cheap.” j “That is why I usually have such a supply on hand. I’ve always had two reasons for wishing to be your husband. I Don’t turn up jour pretty nose, my dear; it spoils your beauty. As I was remarking about my two reasons, one is because I’d always be sure of a good I dinner, and the other because I’d greatly enjoy the pleasure of taming such a shrew. ” “Thanks for your interest, sir. For j your enlightenment I’ll inform you that ; it is not wise to attempt impossible ! tasks. I have no wish to play Catherine to your Betruchio. Oh, Miss Hilton, I am so glad to see you. V on’t you lake my part? I’m quite defenseless. Even Brian has sat here quietly and allowed me to fight my own battles.” “That was too bad of Brian. I suppose he considered you equal to the occasion. ” “Just exactly, Miss H Iton," put in ■ Bertie. “You know her of old. I’ve ' walked two miles to congratulate her on a certain coming event, and instead of accepting kindly intentions, she ” “She thinks I m the one to be congratulated,” put in Brian, awaking from a dream, as it were, and turning an inquiring glance on Margaret’s crimson face. “I certainly didn’t intend to provoke ' discussion,” she rejoined, slightly annoyed. “Miss Hilton brings us tidings I of dinner, and Bertie, if you are not on I your best behavior, you shan’t have > any.” I ■ “I am a saint from this moment,” i said Bertie, as Margaret lowered her I 1 head to answer some comment of Bri- I an’s. “Well, Bertie, bow long do you intend to stay?” asked Miss Hilton, as they ! placed themselves about the table. He laughed heartily. “That depends,” he answered. “The uncertainty of the pater’s temper prevents any settled calculation. I hope it may be several weeks, as I don’t care to return to the city during this weather; ; for if there’s a mere forlorn place than 1 New York in summer I’m not anxious to come across it. ” “It would never suit me,” put in Margaret. “I believe I should find the very 1 cobblestones dispiriting.” “It is a revelation to go through its ; tenement districts. I had occasion to - do so the other day, and it seemed to 1 roe humanity literally swarmed around j ■ me. How can people, raised under such i 1 conditions, have the instincts of human beings.” 1 “Yet we are a rich and prosperous) people. Our treasury overflows withits ) < surplus, and thousands of human be- 1 ings are starving. By what law of jus- ; s tice do you reconcile that?” “My dear Margaret, your question ) f suggests a subject lor a tariff debate. I 1 Ask the Colonel to discuss it with you.” ; “You speak too lightly, Brian. I know j j

my sense of justice is being continually outraged. Ido not believe that some should dine off of silver and gold and others want for bread. The pt orest creature was certainly born with some rights. Don’t laugh, phase; I don’t consld r the subject, amusing.” 1 “Nor I, my dear,” remarked Miss Hil- , ton, with a reproving glance at Brian. “You are so earnest, Margaret,” he said, byway of excuse. "I pity those poor creatures, but I don’t believe in indiscriminate charity. It tends to increase pauperism. Money comes too easy, and the necessity for work is done away with. ” lour rule may apply to others as well as the • oor,” was the half-scornful I reply. “I don't think it hurts any human being to be taught that humanity is helpful and tender-hearted. It degrades no man to feel that others are considerately compassionate for his j woes and find a pleasure in contributing to his happiness. It was a slight action 1 that changed the current of Jean Val--1 jean’s life. And the world is full of j Jean Valjeans waiting for their grain of , encouragement. No, Bertie, I am not । charitable; jou may think so, but I do not. I have alt that money can buy; I ; do not know an hour’s discomfort, or ) the want of even a luxury, and because some of my plenty finds its way to the unlortunares 1 am lauded to the skits. It is a distorted idea. When I read of a 1 poor woman pledging (he only thing of value she possesses to keep a } oorer : neighbor from Icing turned upon the streets, or when 1 hear of a starving ' creature sharing her crust with one who has not even a crust, I realize something of the charity which covereth a multitude of sins, and when people praise mo I fell as big a hypocrite as those Pharisaical individuals whose religion consists in going to church on Sunday and picking out the parts of the sermon they think their neigiibors ; should 1 ractice, and whose charity begins with a subscription list and ends । with Bibles sent to the heathen. I ! don’t admire those people. net us , talk of something else. I see your reproving eye, Miss Hilton, and I seo Brian laughing, as usual. I wish he’d grow a little more sensible. What do you say, Bertie?” “Your earnestness reminds me of Wilson. You remember him, Brian. He took his degree of medicine with you. He's made quite a reputation in his profession and any number of physicians of more years ami longer piactice are glad to call him in consultation. He was always remarkable in his way. Brainy and all that, hich, too.” “Does he practice in New York?” i asked Margaret. “Yes. He has no end of patients. Poor, most of them; but that’s his own fault. He’s a great hand for going around in the tenement districts, curing people for nothing. Sometimes when he finds neither lire nor food he not only provides both but makes the fire and cooks his 1 r visions in the bargain. ’hhi® Uu.af^tli'vu UMU-lio Would na.u never mentioned him to me. I should like to know him.” “I had forgotten ail about him,” said Brian, “though now I remember he took especial interest in me when we were studying together. His grand prophecies have not been realized, I fear. He always had very peculiar notions.” “If he comes up to Bertie’s description it is to be regretted that there are not more of his peculiar not ions in the world. ” As she made this remark Margaret I rose from the table, followed by Miss > Hilton. And Brian asked Bertie for a I game of billiards. “Don’t leave us too long,” cautioned Margaret. “Miss lilton and I will giow. ; mutually tired of each other’s society.” “Like the pater and myself,” put in ■ Bertie. “By the way, Margaret, speaking of charity, the pater is a very good old fellow, though he tries to persuade i others to the contrary. You’ll hear him discuss son e poor chap in the strongest possible terms, and lively as not you’ll ) come to find out the fellow’s been enjoying his bounty all the time A queer chap, altogether.” he concluded, not ) very respectfully. ' Aur -v. ir, Margaret, Brian is already grinning over his expected triumph.” CHAPTER XI. THE COLONEL TAKES A HAND. Bertie’s hope was realized. No undue exhibition of temper on the part of his father had cut short his visit, and though several weeks had passed, he was apparently a fixture at The Cedars for an indefinite period. He ma le the most of his opportunity for enjoying Alice’s society, and the Colonel smiled grimly at his maturing plans. • But he was not of a vacillating character, and as time went on, and matters had not reached a definite settlement, i he began to consider the advisability of some action on his part. With this idea in view he came rather unexpectedly on Bertie and Alice in the sitting-room one morning. He regarded them fixedly for a moment, and with a look of grim determin- i ation, and in words w. ich fell with the ) force of a bombshell on the ears of his I surprised listeners, he exclaimed: “What under heaven are you two mop- ) ing in here for? Confound me, if I un- ! derstand such nonsense. For heaven’s | sake, Bertie, h tve spank enough to ask I the girl to be your wife. When I was I courting your mother I said—plague ; take that girl if she hasn’t run away. ) This comes of your ev . Hasting fooling. | May the Lord give me patience with ! such young ninnies! Where’s she gone?” ) “I’ll find her, sir,” volunteered Bertie, borrowing his father’s determination of face and voice. He left the room with alacrity, and j passing down the long hall looked into I every room; but no Alice was to be ) seen. An open door leading into the I garden suggested her possible mode of escape, and immediately he followed ) the narrow path which led to a summer ho ise. A few rapid steps brought’him up to the crouching figure. “Alice,” he called, with new gentleness in his tones. “I’ll never forgive uncle, never!” she exclaimed, with her face still buried in her hands, and,her voice hinting rather strongly of tears. “Poor father, I don’t chink he de- ) serves your ill-will. Look up, Alice, I ) have something to tell you.” “Bertie, if you don’t leave me I’ll hate you. ” i

! “It is very well to say that while your face is covered, my dear, but fortunately I know you don’t mean it. My bird has been so coquettish and mocked me with so manj T sweet songs, that I am glad to see her caged at last. Now, as she persistently refuses to unclose her eyes to ) the beauty of my Countenance. I shall proceed to take matters in my own hands.” This threat he promptly carried out. Disregarding her resistance, he lifted her blushin < face until he could look into her drooping eyes. Then, apparI ently satisfied with his long, intent l gaze, he d ew her closer to him, and kissed her unresisting lips with a grave tenderness. “Alice, I was right; you do like me a j litile.” A half hour later, Alice suggested the advisability of returning to the Colonel. Bertie acquiesced reluctantly. “Conic in,” called the old gentleman, as they hesitated at the door. “How many miles did you have to travel to find Alice? You’ve been gone just thirty-five minutes, but I’il forgive you. Think you've gotten ahead of the j old man, eh? Wouldn’t have a wife of Imy choosing? Oh, no. Wanted an old . mare to your liking. Humph! You | empty pate, you’ve got the very girl I picked out for you. Think I have taste, eh? Well, she’ll lead you a dance. She’s got the devil’s own temper, and you’re about her equal, sir.” “I am your son,” was the imperturbable reply. , “Yes, yes. Nobody’d think it, though. 1 Y’ou’ll never have your father’s sense, I boy. Come here, you little coquette, ; and kiss your uncle. And, Bertie, you 1 scamp, if you don’t give her everything j she wants, I’ll shoot you. Now clear I out, both of you. Y’ou addle my bewil- . dered brain.” Au clear out they did, with alacrity. During the days that followed Margaret and Alice saw a great deal of each । other, but this constant companionship was fraught more of pain than of pleasI ure to Margaret, for the happy content- • ment which filled Alice’s heart mocked her with the knowledge of something want ng in her own life. The pa n was hidden in her own heart, but her doubts and tears found outward expression in nervous restlessness, a lack of definite purpose and lowness of spirits. Many times did she reproach herself severely for allowing such feelings to influence her; but, do what she would, she could not banish the vague pain with which she looked forward to the future. “It is not that I am unhappy," she told herself, “but it is the possibility of what lies I efore me. ” One evening, dining one of Brian’s periodical visits to Elmwool, she went with him to take dinner at The Cedars. She found the evening thoroughly enjoyable, and for the time being she laid aside her depression and was in bril- । liant spirits. The Colonel, whose vein I was particularly happy, kept her by his ■ side and made himself especially entertaining. “You needn’t bo jealous,” ho said to Brian, “you'll enjoy all her sweetness presently. No hope for us old fellows. You young ones manage to shine us I down and the girls like your handsome faces and forget your empty heads.” Brian joined in the laugh raised at his ev^.?n^o mb z-, n Margaret’-; spirits had given way to a moody siI lence, which he tried several times to ■ break without much success. “I was hoping for a nice talk with you,” ho said at last rather desperately, “but you seem determined not to gratify me. You know that I return to the city i to-morrow, too, and I won’t see you ; again until 1 come to claim you for my own. My darling, if you could realize with what u speakable joy I look forward to that time. But you are so cold ) I can’t understand you, Margaret. I Sometimes I b< gin to fear you regret.” “Don’t begin to think anyth ng so devoid of seme, Brian. If I can’t believe in disintereste 1 affection it isn’t my fault. Some one stole my faith irom me. ” She settle 1 back in her corner with I these words and wrapped her cloali : more closely about her. "I am very cross, Br an,” she added ’ after a moment of self-reproach. “I ! don’t want to be cross to you. Please ) remember that oven when I forget it I i am sorry I ever ha 1 a heart.” “Had, Margaret?” he repeated,bright--1 ening at one? at her gi ntle tones. “Oh, don’t let us be doleful, please. Talk of something else.” After this outburst Margaret settled still further back in her corner, and Brian tried in vain to catch a glimpse of her face in the flickering light of the I two carriage lamps. No further remark broke the silence, which lasted until they reached home [TO BE CONTINUED.] Phenomenal Growth. The progress of the South since Appomattox, says a Southern paper, has no parallel outside of romance. In 1865 we had no money, no credit, no hope. Many of our cities were in ashes, our plantations were wrecked, and our railways were worn out. Today we have a land of peace and plenty, 43.0C0 miles of railway, and our average percentage of increase of per capita wealth for the decade 1 eliding in 1890 was 100 per cent, more I than that of New England or the | central West. We are drawing capital and we are I making capital. Ten years ago we I had 220 national banks; now we have I 590. The percentage of the increase of our foreign exports is about five times the combined gain at the other ' ports of the country. A few days ago : we showed by reliable stat sties that I we have fewer failures with smaller liabilities in the South than in other ! sections. We showed, too, that in ) development and production our progress had been phenomenal, and that ! the growth of our diversified manu--1 factures made a total during the last five years of over 17,000 new’ industries. Now, take this fact: Since 1888 our assessed property has increased $1,600,000,000 in value, according to the reports for 1890! When a section can accomplish so much in twentyseven years—starting with only battle-fields and ruins for assets—• the outlook ought to be bright. The bad boy will be sorry when electrical tanning is universally i adopted.

Dangerous Negligence. Everyone knows, in a general way, ) how fatal habits of carelessness may prove. Yet few mothers—we say mothers, because the training of the young is mainly in their hands—are sufficiently impressed with the importance of vigorously training their 1 children to habits of carefulness. An old Latin proverb said, “The mothers of the timid seldom weep.” We do not wish children trained to timidity, but to thoughtfulness—to considering the probable consequences of their conduct. Certainly, in the transition period from childhood to youth the formation of right habits | in this respect can be begun. “I didn’t think” should not be a ' full excuse for many little misdeeds, or for a costlv piece of carelessness. If the habit of negligence is once formed, it will assert itself through life—possibly in a disastrous way. If a habit of carelessness is formed, it will be a life-long benefit—probaoly i beyond all that its possessor may realize. Stagings are constantly giving way, resulting in death or broken bones, because those who put them up were careless in their construction. Al friend of ours, a retired housebuilder, never had an accident of the kind during his long life. He had formed Hie habit of assuring himself that! every stick of timber and every nail was sound, and that every nail was well driven home. A gentleman who had gone to watch with a sick friend opened a door which led to the cellar, but from which the stairs had been removed. He fell and was killed. What ai wicked neglect to have such a door j unbarred in the front hall! A mother stepped out for a mo- ) ment, leaving a tub of boiling water I on the floor and a young child in the I room. She was detained somewhat. I and returned to find her child scalded to death. At a camp-ground last summer a | lady intending to do some ironing I tilled ner stove with wood and went to a neighbor s while the irons were heating. The stove door opened, coals fell out, the cottage and several others were burned, and the utmost exert ions barely saved from destruc-! tion all the other cottages and public I buildings, with many grand and priceless trees. A physician left his horse and buggy in a lane a short distance from his patient’s house, where he thought he could see them from the window. The horse was well broken, kind, tractable, and accustomed to stand untied for horns. But it quietly backed out of the lane and ran, and killed another horse. The law held it a case of gross neglect, and the physician had to pay for the other hors?, besides tne cost of the suit.— Youth’s Companion. ^ompanied by large measures of “com-1 mon sense.” The celebrated Doctor! Chalmers came home on horseback one evening, and as neither the man who had charge of his horse nor the key of the stable could be found, he ’ was puzzled as to the best temporary : residence for the animal. At last he fixed on the garden, and i loading the horse thither, placed him ) on the gravel walk When Missi Chalmers, who had been away from ! the house, returned, and her brother ) .o'd her he had been unable to find j h; 1 key of she stable, she inquired what had been done with the horse. *•1 took him to the garden,” said the Doctor. •To the garden!” she exclaimed 1 Then all our Hower and vegetable • eds will be destroyed'” ■Don't be afraid of that,’’said Doctor Chalmers. “I took particular care to place the horse on the gravel wade” •■And did you really imagine that I he would sta'i there?” “I have no doubt of it,” replied the ■ Ductor, with calm assurance. “So i sagacious an animal could not fail to be aware of the propriety of refraining from injuring the products of the garden.” ••I am afraid,” remarked Miss Chalmers, “that you will think less favorably of the discretion of the horse when you have seen the garden.” True enough, the horse had rolled in and trampled upon the beds till they were a scene of pitiful devastation. “I never could have imagined,” remarked the Doctor, in deep disgust, “that horses were such senseless animals!” A retort about the surprising ignorance of a certain other Order of animals must have been on Miss Chai mer’s tongue, but no doubt she kept it back. the Localities of Birds. All our permanent residents among the birds, both large’ and small, are comparatively limited in their ranges. The crow is nearly as local as the woodchuck. He goes further from home m quest of food, but his territory is v\ell defined, both winter and summer. His place of roosting remains the same year after year. Once, while spending a few days at a moun’.ain lake nearly surrounded by deep woods, my attention was attracted each night, just at sundown, by an osprey that always came from the same direction, dipped into the lake as he passed over it for a sip o f its pure water, and disappeared in the । woods beyond. The routine of his life was probably as marked as that 1 of any of ours. He fished the waters of the Delaware ail day, probably ■ never going beyond a certain limit, i Mid returned each night at sundown, 1 as punctual as a day-laborer, to his I retreat in the forest. The sip of I water, too, from the lake he never , failed to take. All the facts we possess in regard :

[ to the habits of the song-birds in this i I respect point to the conclusion that the same individuals return to the same localities year after year, to nest and rear their young. I am convinced , that the same woodpecker occupies the same cavity in a tree winter after 1 i winter, and drums upon the same dry ; limb spring after spring. I like to | think of all these creaturesas capable ' , of local attachments, and not insensi- ' ble to the sentiment of home.—Century. Climate and Salutations. The climate of the Persian is the back-ground, we are told by a coni temporary, of his salutations, “May God cool our eye,’- and “May your shadow never grow less”—wishes that would sound strange indeed among : the frosts of Siberia. In these the poetical sense also is revealed, as well as in the common ! Oriental salutation, “Peace be upon i thee,” instead of “with thee,” the “upon thee” reminding us of the i gentie descent of the dew. The hyperbolical and poetical salutations of the Persian stand in direct contrast to those of the grave, proud, laconic Ottoman— hitherto a ruler over conquered races—whose only poetical salutation seems to be, “Thy visits are as rare as the fine days.” ) “May your shadow never grow less,” if it be genuine .reminds us of the respect which the Orientals entertained for obesity. In the melting, sweltering climate I none could venture to aspire to imposing proportions unless plenty to eat and little to do enabled him tc ) repair his daily losses. Hence a fat । man meant a rich and prosperous ! man, and a never-decreasing shadow ! stood sponsor for a never-decreasing ) I opulence. The Egyptians take another view iof the melting process. The pores in । that feverish climate are the io »p---j holes of quotidian, tertian, and quar- | tan: and hence some of their saluta- ! j tions take the shape of an an ious in- , I quiry, “How goes the perspiration?’ “Do you sweat copiously?” A Word to Fathers. We have read a story of a little boj ) who, when he wanted a new suit ol i clothes, begged his mother to ask his father if he might have it. The . mother suggested that the boy might I ask for himself. “I would,” said the boy, “but I don't feel well enough acquaint d with him.” There is a sharp reproof to the father in the reply of the son. Many a father keeps his children so a* a distance from him that they nevei i feel confidentially and lovingly acj quainted with him. I They feel that he is a sort of monarch in the family. They feel no familiarity with him - aim some—lor children cannot hei I but they seldom get near enough tv him to feel intimate with him. They seldom go to him with then little : wants and trials. They approach him through the mother. They teil her everything. They have ahi ghway to her heart on which they go in j and out with perfect freedom. In this keeping-off plan fathers are tc I blame. Children should not be held i off. Let them come near. — Not in tlie Soup. They had a half dozen or more kinds of soup at the hotel and the guest, an experienced hotel food sampler, looked over the menu. : “Bring me some chicken soup,” he i said to the waiter. It was brought and he sent it away after tasting it. ‘ Bring me beef soup,” he commanded. It was brought, tasted and sent I away and so on with all of them. “Bring me some water soup,” he I requested finally. “What kind of soup is that, sir,” । asked the startled waiter. “It’s the kind I want,” explained the guest, “if it is made as the others are. There is no chicken in your chicken soup, no beef in your beef soup, no vegetables in your vegetable soup, no beans in your bean soup, j and, on the same principle, 1 suppose there’s no water in your water soup. Do you understand?” . A few moments later the landlord came in and heard a few incongruous remarks on the subject of soups and their constituent elements. No Soap at the Posada. “The first night in Barcelona.” says an American artist, “I went to a sort of posada in one of the by-streets, and managed to get a room by paying in advance one peseta, which was rung on the table with an evident suspicion of its genuineness. Having two days’ railroad-grime upon me i thought it a comparatively small favor to be allowed to wash my bands. On timidly inquiring of one of the servants I was led to a little toy tin affair containing water, and was furnished wtih a towel about large enough to dry the hands of a mediumsized clock. But when I asked for soap I was stared at in a manner that made me very uncomfortable. I have not asked for soap since in Spain, for I do not wish to lose my life by violence, having voted for slow death by starvation in the cause of American art.” The Name Marie. In France every female who is I called by the name of Marie is en- ) titled on Assumption Day, August 15, Ito receive a bouquet. The younger ; girls are presented with perfectly I white flowers, while those given tc I the elder ladies are not confined t(< 1 any one color or description. A woman too wise to remind a । friend of the great tilings he intended : to do, will remind a man of the prom--1 iseS he made before he married her.

About Mosquitoes. The term “no mosquitoes” in the summer resort advertisement is merely an abbreviation, and means । “number of mosquitoes.” While the aunt has a picnic the mosquito goes in for a moonlight ' serenade. it is only the female variety that ’ stings, which is another reason why man should beware of the fair si x. You never know much about the unattainable until you get up in the middle of the night and reach for the mosquito with the wet end of a towel. The mosquito is alert and active. If it was an old stick-in-the-mud it could never thrive over in Jersey. The microscope discloses the fact j that the mosquito's sting is full of teeth. This no doubt explains the origin of the buzz-saw. It seems strange that it should be anywhere respected, yet over in Jersey it is a big bug. It has been said that the mosquito has some of the best blood of the country in its veins, and yet it is only the presumptuous insect that gets smashed on the pretty girl. How strange that it should continue to do such terrible execution when it is always leaving its sting behind. Waggson, in praising the mosquito, says: “It is moral, because it is opposed to tobacco: it is careful of its । health, because, like the cop. it comes in when it rains: it has an eye for the main chance and always lias a bill for damages: it is a firm friend and will stick to you through thick and thin; it knows enough to first sing you to sleep, so that it can sting you I with impunity, and even when you j murder it the poor thing is dead stuck I on you.” When the dog snaps at and catches a mosquito it is a case oi the biter | bitten. The mosquito is a sucker and will ) stick you whenever it can. In all of its battles it always draws ' first blood. Misfortune’s sting isn’t in it with the mosquito’s. Thanks to the mosquito, the angler can never complain of not getting a bite. Cara’s injthe United states. To-day there are, according to offi- ! cial statements, «“me 4,600 miles of artificial waterways in the United States, and through these and the natural inland waterways pass in a single year 172,000,000 tons of freight. In the older portion of the country the canals have ceased to have their relative importance, and ■ some of them are in away to be abandoned. The Erie and Champlain • canals in our own State, which a score ' i of years ago were the subjectmatter so acute a busine^Tp? tar) - umux 3° that'he is n^® sure that they repay the expenditure made upon them. But in the West the St. Mary's Falls Canal, the fa- | mous “Soo” and the waterways con- ) necting the great lakes in this country and in Canada are of the highest im- ! portance, and the scheme for securing not less than twenty feet of water between Duluth and Buffalo or New York is one that is being steadi- , ly pressed by men who never own I that they are beaten and seldom have J been. That, with the Nicaragua Canal, would cause the torrent of the world’s commerce to flow from the heart of the far West to the remotest ) shores of the orient more safely and swiftly than the ships of the Phtpnicians reached the Ultima Thule. — Harper's Weekly. How Mineral Veins Are Formed, The process by which nature forms such accumulations of silver are very interesting. It must be remembered 1 that the earth’s crust is full of water, which percolates everywhere through the rocks, making solutions of elements obtained from them, These chemical solutions take up small • particles of the precious metal which they And scattered here and there. ’ i Sometimes the solutions in question are hot, the water having got so far down as to be set a-boiling by the in- . ternal heat of the globe. Then they rush upward, picking up the bits of j metal as they go. Naturally heat assists the performance of this operation. Now and then the stiearns * thus formed, perpetually flowing hither and thither below ground, pass j through cracks or cavities in the 1 rocks, where they deposit their loads of silver. This is kept up for a great , length of time, perhaps thousands of years, until the fissure or pocket is tilled up. C.annies permeating the stonv mass in every direction may become filled with the metal . r occasionally a chamber mav be stored full of it, as if a my raid hands were fetching the treasure from all t-ides and hiding away a future bonanza for some lucky pro-pector to discover ia another age.—Minerals. M< n 01 Great Wealth. It is impossible to say wha are the wealthiest persons in the world. There are a number of old world rulers who are possessors of enormous wealth. Some of them have probably more than they are aware of, as very large sums accumulate rapidly. It is said that there are fabulous sums concealed in India and other Eastern countries. These treasures are kept . out of sight, partly from dread of ' thieves and robbers and partly because it is thought by the owners that , they might be taxed or have their , goods taken from them, were the extent of their wealth known. Os Europeans, the Rothschilds and the Duke of Westminister are supposed to be among the very wealthiest; of । Americans. William K. Vanderbilt, I William Waldorf Aster, Jay Gould and John D. Rockefeller. —New Y'ork Ledger.