St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 19, Number 18, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 18 November 1893 — Page 2

A RUINED GARGEN. AH my roses are deadly Bardon _ w . W hat shall r b ail ““ r '“Wfi: '" “•>' Oh, my garden I rifled an<l floworl nv, us to now anti clrA M r • Oh, my garden 1 barren ana Griess -1 hrough all the year. ’ *“ «bi"kK PTOWKI U>or« ' What shan 1 do for my roses- swe -tness Tor all niy K arde U “« 1 H® r J roun<1 — scent ' "WPleteneKS 1 bteu t and sound s ‘4 WiU l env ®^y ta-den f Gr «i uda to h . r A " here once was an y ’

_ the 7., - '“ ts Peace, e wild brier: marry And »o d . w here roses blow not stand—no spring makes nut r„,.7 nf B maKes And there shall I be made whole of sorrow, 1 tx x «> no xvxorc cuTO — No bitter thought of the coining morrow, Or days that were.

SPIKING THE GUNS. i “The regiment will be annilii- ' lated,” observed the Adjutant,coolly. ; And then, in the same immovable I tones, he asked some one to pass hm a biscuit. “Curse you,” shouted the Colonel, “do you think I don’t know that?; Do you imagine 1 fear getting killed : to-morrow? Do you suppose I want • to live on after what has happened 9 It’s the eternal disgrace of the thing that’s cutting me.” “Once comforta- lyshot,” remarked the senior Major with easy philosophy, “it doesn’t much matter to me personally where, or why. I go down. Not a soul will be left behind to care.” This last remark added tinder to ■ the blaze. The Major was a peasant’s j son who had hacked and thrust his'' way up from the ranks by sheer hard ' fighting. His commanding officer ' was a noble of the old regime. Hei ha i hoped, and reasonably expected, i that the previous day's engagement ! wo.uld give him a brigade, and so the fiasco had fallen all the more bit- i terly. It seemed as though the very stars in their courses had been battling against us. Everything had gone : wrong. The blame was not ours ■ but this, in an army where want of luck was the greatest crime, told nothing in our favor. Many men had fallen and panic had seized the heels of th^rest Which of us initiated the inn can-: not be said; but in the rush of some, all bad been carried along, few q-.x---cept, perhaps, one or two of the older officers) resisting very strenuously, i The Colonel, burning with shame, ! had gone in ,to report. What pre- i cisely had been said to him we did ; not know; but we guessed with some i accuracy, although he did not repeat the detail. The gist of his interview was that the regiment was to i attack again on the morrow: and, if unsuccessful, then, once more on the day after, and so on till the bridge was taken. Yesterday the thing had been barely possible. Yet to-dav it was far different. During the night the defences had been more than trebled. The Austrians swarmed. Enough artillery was mounted there now to have demolished an entire army corps । advancing against it from the open. The deduction was clear. The j bravest men will turn tail sometimes; ' and in our army, which was the : bravest in the world, there had, during the latter part of the campaign, i been more than one case of wavering. An example accordingly was to be made. Our corps had been singled out for the condign punishment. We were doomed to march on the morrow to our annihilation. Os course, the matter had not been put so at headquarters. There the words ran: “Most important stragetic point. Must be taken at whatever cost. Your regiment will again have the honor. Colonel,” and so on. But, summed up bluntly, it was neither more nor less than I have said. We all understood the order to the letter, and there was not a man in the regiment who would hesitate a moment in carrying out his share. Each private soldier, each officer, would march with firm determination to march r f -a '■fl-* of- rTll'nc fho

If it was his last. That gives rne < case in a nutshell. But the secure knowledge that there would be no skulkers along this road to execution did not pacify the Colonel. If anything, it increased his bitterness, it would make his ungrateful memory last the longer. Ue sat at tire table end of that inn room where we had messed, with folded arms and nervous fingers kneading at his muscles. By a singular irony we were lodged in comfort there —we. who had got to go out and die on the morrow, and he must needs taunt us with it. as though it were shame for such as we to have so tolerable a billet. Myself, 1 was stretched out on a sofa away by the far wall, and lay there mutely, having but little taste for the worldly savageries which were

being so freely dealt about. Arid the night grew older without my be ng distur ed. But th • angry man at the end of the table singled me out at last, perhaps because my outward calm and listlessness jarred upon him. “Tired, Eugene?” he asked. “A little, sir. ” “Ah, 1 can understand it. I noted your activity to-day. You have mistaken your vocation, mon cher. You should not have come into the army. You should have been a professional runner.”

An answer burned on my tongue 'id i V lere ' gave a shrug and Said nothing. What use could further wrangliogbe? But the silence was an i.i move. It only angered him I -urther, and he threw at me an in- , I suit which was moie than human j man could endure. I “Do you think you will again feel nclmed to use those powers of yours to-morrow, Eugene. Or had I better — -eX (lozen Os the other officers sprang man. d Major was their s P«kes-

■ a R allowances, youngster.” g ar Wltti hoTed rou n d tight 1 “I am Lhea ing tXXent^ answer.” u During the minute’s respite I had been thinking and acting—that is,

writing. I got up and handed the Colonel a slip of paper. On it were the words: 1 acknowledge that I. E. Ramard, liieutonnnt of the Twenty-second , am a cow i rd. (Signed.) Eugene Ramard. He read it. “There, sir,” I said, “kindly add . the date, as 1 have forgotten what it is, an t please leave that behind with the baggage when we march to-mor- ■ row. If Ido not do better wora for i France than any man in the regiment it is my wish that this paper be I published.” The Colonel nodded 1" grimly and then frowned. “Have I your permission now, sir, to with iraw from this room?” A refusal was framing itself I could see, but the lowering faces around made him curb his passion, and he nodded again, but reluctantly. 11. .j In the dark, wet air outside, and not before, did I realize fully what I had done. The screed on the slip of ' paper had been the spasm of the ini stant. It seemed to me now the out- ; come of a moment's insanity. 1 had I had no plan, no trace of scheme in my head while I was scribbling. The j words and the pledge were an empty ' boast, made in the wild hope that I could hold them good. But how could such a thing be done? The most furious, desperate courage, by itself, would avail nothing. There would be 1,000 men around, each to the full as brave as I—for no one can do “better work for France” than any of them! Ah, no, the thing was impossible. With them 1 should fall, and among all of them I alone should be branded infamous. The paper would be brought Vo Hulib; the cun., bald confession would be read with no j explanation of bow or why it was written: and men would form their own opinions—all hostile, all against me. To leave behind nothing but the name of a seif avowed coward’ Oh, agony, bitter agony! I wandered wherever my blind feet led me. wrenched by torments that God alone knew the strengt i of, and from which there seemed no human means of escape. The heavy rain squalls moaned down the village streets. The place, with its armed tenantry, slept. Only the dripping sentries were open eyed. These, taking me for an o ■ cer on ordinary rounds, saluted with silent respect No soul inter.cried with me. Not > even a dog barked. The thought came. You die only Ito gain a wreath of craien plumes. Why not pass away from herc-es- ■ cape—desert—vanish—be known no i more—and yet live? No one withholds from you new life and new country. France alone of all the world is utterly hopeless for you. , The thought gained. I say it freely now, for the dead, dull blackness of i my prospect then showed no spot of relief. In my walkings to and fro I gradually verged nearer and nearer to the outer cordon. As an officer I new the words for the night, sign and countersign both. 1 could pass the I pickets. Farther and farther toward the j scattered outskirts of the hamlet did 'my doubting feet lead me. In one ' more patrol up and down I think my mind would ha\e been made up, and i after that whatever deluge the Fates desired. But a sound fell on m^cars,

COnsCrons O' some m-w iiciuc ning to frame i sell'. 1 changed my path and walked faster. Presently the cause of the sound disclosed itself. A field forge, an anvil and a couple of grimy farriers, and half a du en troopers with horses The cavalrymen we e resting on the ! ground, watering bridle in hand, awaiting their turns. The smiths were slaving, sweating swearing, doing the work of thrice their number. It was a queer enough group, and I gazed at it for many minutes, still unable to frame the gauzy idea that had rean mated me. Then oneoi the farriers, who had been fitting a hissing shoe on to a. hind hoof, chilled , the hot iron in a rain puddle and humped up the horse's fetlock on to his apron again. i1 I started.

The fellow picked up a nammer, took a nail irom his mouth and drove the nail first gent y amktben smatily home. ’There, vicious one.” swore he, “I put that spike through the vent in a matter of seconds, hut with these four others beside it, thou’it not rid thyself of it in as many weeks.” I strode forward. “Five luiiis for that hammer and a score of nailT ’ I The military smith dropped the i hoof from his lap, came to attention i and saluted. But he looked at me

■ ; queerly, and answered « t fS 866 he thou ^t me S Ye J r, Hkely excitement had made me look ■! in gdd 0 ” 10a13 ’ There 18 fch e money ' SrWo ^ he t,|in £ 8 areybura” snnn oil d lkeß,b 't-He rods that would But t n- f ° rt W,,ul<J have been better. imust hl-> WaSßrOffinß narrow - audl ent nils « W m ° ffered ' T,i ese soft oent nails would serve my nurnose imwiH f °l ^° T river - Tbe P c^ strX r, 1 could not swim a

! Os the matters that happened nft^r Uus I caonot speak wit » afta BOSS. To think back at, IF XX time seems like a bhirr^f whole broken ?r snaX: point oithe river and ^ les »» rib,an. > it* m S w ?'2i34 J1 ”‘ UnK 1 and that on 1 eddy on a strip of

for fully half an hour listenQg' to a f sentry plodding past and past-through i the mud ten yards away, *Wable to । move a limb. Then I fathered strength, and crawling, |iot only from caution, but throdSi sheer I i helplessness, made my ster^hy wav still further along the shoM Four batteries commana® the ap-, proaches to the bridge, wo were on either Hank to deliver^ converging tire; two, one above tl, i other, ! were in a direct line with i so 'that the causeway could be sr :pt from end to end. It was in the lower of ’iese last that I found myself—by vlat route come, 1 cannot say. Only then my senses seemed to return to ne. I was lying in an embrasure. .Overhead was the round, black chasaaf a sixtypounder. I crawled further and looked d >wn the line. Sixjnorcguns loomed through the nighlt making seven in all. The rain was coming dovn in torrents, sending up spurts of mud. There were men withiw a dozen yards, wakeful men; and then, and not before, did it Hash upon me that my farrier’s hammer was a useless weapon. Fool that I wa« to bring it. Idiot 1 must have beet to forget that the first clink would awaken the redoubt. My life? No, pah! 1 didn’t count that. But it would mean onlj' one gin sjriked effectually, if so much. I drew back into the embrasure and knitted my forehead afresh. The riglit thought wa> tardy, but it came. 1 drew off my boot. It was new an[l it was heavy—badinage had poured out bv my comrades OWf»WB heaviness. ‘ Tiie strong sewn; if" 1 would a.iva a caulk r's , n s w.. ।।'-Cks we ic

lOULU ri covered with leather ar?O I used infinite caution; crawlitMjke a catcrouching in deepest shwows, stopping, making detours: noVfor mere life's sake, be it understo^ but because life was wanted folLwork yet undone. The seven guns were p?t out of action, and st ill the night was dark and the Austrians were ignorant behind the curtain of pdting rain . . .And then on to the upper battery Two, four, eight guns! Three I spiked and the night began to grav. Three more, ami men were stirring. 1 got reckless and sprang openly at another. The air filling w.th shouts, and stinking p >wder smoke, and crashes, and the red tiah of cannon. ; 1 he French were advancing to ’he storm in the wet, gray dawn. Both Hanking batteries, fully manned, had opened upon them: but of. the guns which had direct command of the bridge, only one spoke. Into the roar of artillery, the wind brought up yells and oaths and bubbling shrieks. And then tne eagles came through the smoke. There was no stopping that rush. Somehow I found myself among . comrades, lighting with a claw backed 1 farrier’s hammer; knowing nothing : of order, or reason, or how these things came to pass; but .heated only j by an insane desire to kill, and kill, I and kill! And then I grappled with a j man who was strugglingoffjwith a flag, r and wrest.ed with him in |a crimsen 1 slough, and choked him Town into > it, while heavily shod fed; trampled on both of us. zlnd afte^ard there r was mnrA ehnn f mn - and ~ mignty nandcOma wr>rw. ..- .

miMit, caps TiCulFj Va’m shoulder bl\ Ma.tn, who had given me cogm’^rout of a silver flask —cognac which-Seemed to have been sadly overwateyed. And that is all I remembered till I woke up in the afternoon from the sofa in that village inn. Reveille bad sounded. We mustered under arms and the roll was called. Many did not answer. And then: “ tand out, Lieutenant •laniard,” said the Colonel. I ad vane d and saluted. “You wi 1 consider yourself under arrest, sir, for desertion before the - enemy. Presently you will surrender I your sword and report yourself at headquarters.” > The Colonel turned and exchanged -ome words with a litle, pale man near han who sat awkwardly ou a . i. . « -Tol I Inn

white stallion. He resumed: “The l&feneror has •onsidered your case, sir, confirms the arrest and orders you to be reduced to the ranks.” The Colonel paused and continued: “But as a 1 reward lor pur gallantry, “/our commisson of ( aptain will be made out with promotion to the first vacant majority, and you will also receive a decoration.” And then I was ordered to advance again, and the Emperor transferred a cross of the legion from his own ; , breast to mine.

- “Captain of the Twenty-second," ne said, “thou art my brother ” I never asked for the Colonel’s apology.—Strand Magazine. * Annoying Traveller. One of the most humorous phases of passing through the custom-house is connected with the fact that its officials often seem to reserve their gravest displeasure for the very honest People a writer in the Outlook says that she had bought a dress pattern of loden, a sort of woolen goods, .'“ ade °. nlv Tyr °li and packed in the top of her trunk, ready for the 1 inspect on of the Italian nmr-iuio

‘ Atauan omcials. . One after another, the trunks were unlocked and closed again, until "X 1 WaS left but an UQPretending little straw one that had been overlooked. j “You have nothing in it, nothing signora. ’ asked the officer. ’ i ron'v^i 1 i^ V -'” Was unexpected ■ tep.y It is just here on top.” i I opened the trunk and displayed < m.v.meu. g o^ Th- 1

trunk and started toward an inner office, bidding me follow. There I was greeted by another official in these words, spoken with excitement . and much gesticulation: “How is this? Just now at the i last moment, and the train ready to go! How is this?” I One man was weighing the goods, another poising a pen io his hand, I and half a dozen looking on. “Why is this?” repeated the chief officer. “Why do you declare this at the very last moment?” “Perhaps it would have been better if 1 had not declared it at all!” I said, in my suavest tones. •■But to come at the last moment!” “.Surely it is not for my pleasure, Mr. Officer, that you ransack my Strunks!” I reminded him Then he looked at me with the air I of childlike helplessness so character I istic of Italians. “But there is no time n^w to look ' over your baggage and see what else : you have!” 1 laughed. “I put this on top and declared i it.” I said. “There is nothing else, I assure you. Hut be tranquil; next time 1 pass the frontier I will i smuggle everything and declare nothing. I promise nqver to put you to so much trouble again.” A quiver of a smile crossed his lips but he crowled ' B it the train is waiting!” “i es," I replied, “and it must till wait until you are pleased to return mi goods and allow me, to relock my trunk. ” The end of it all was that I was bowed out of the office after paving one dollar duty on a four dollar piece

Flr-t nt the Genl. A trifling incident which Is worth remembering because the names connect- .1 with it are so memorable oc । currcd at Spot Pond, in Stoneham j Massachusetts. one day during th . early days of t is century. A pleasure party was driving that wav, and when they came to the lake, i the Indies exclaimed over the water- । lilies there, and expressed the most j eager desire to gather them: but alas! they were too far away to he reached, except by boat, and lamentations were many over the disai pointing state of t hing.-. At lengtn Dani’l Webster exclaimed: “Oh, if I were as young as I was a few years ago! 1 would ransack the shores until I found some boat or boards by which 1 could reach those lilies!” I No sooner were the words out of ; h s mouth than nearly all the young men of the- part bounded oil in search ■ of means for lily-gathering. One only, Samuel J. May. then a student in college, remained, and the glances i of surpri e with which the ladies : viewed his lack of spirit became almost contemptuous. Nevertheless he stood by unmoved until his comrades were well out of sig t, and then calmly waded into the pond a d gathered the lilies. Shouts of applause greeted the exploit, and Sir. Webster was not behindhand in commending it. “Ah, sir.” said May, “ti e ladies owe these lilies le s to my gallaWry than to your elo juence. I could not stand your appeal unmoved.” , „ - - before trained a lily

, ■^-111 II I .-OTVW t “but it has often been crowned with . laurels.” . I Joking and laughter were at their : height when the other young men appeared, dragging an old dory, onb to : find the entire party adorned by lilies, j The Old Men of Hotels. At a desk in a downtown hotel yesterday a fussy old man came up and rioted with the clerk over a grievan e । he claimed to have. He grew red in the face spouting it, but the clerk answered him good-naturedly. After he had gone the clerk said: “That s nothing; he does this nearly every dav. He is the oldest boarder in the hotel. Every house has one of him. Jie stays so long he thinks the place is run only for him, and gets mad at ._ .. <e Tha txt onr inf nr nl-

almost anything, rne pioprieior always humors him, and he really Coes nob do any harm. Once, at another hotel, I called him down and the next day he left. The third day he, was back again, and was tractable tor a time. Ido not think it would seem right in a house if there were no oldest boarder, and he didn't light with everybody now and then. —Pittsburgh Commercial. ’ Not even a woman is strong enough L to keep good if she has lots of idie , time on her Bands.

Blnn^ ” istnrU ’ F «nacies. ' Blondel, the harper dm cover the prison m’i 1 not di3 * । Kichard paid his r-> Vlng Rich ard. receipt for s V and the | archives dni ° n ^ the Austrian Horatius never defended The wanurao! Ben. Cambronne did notsay- “The words were ibe Invention ot a him journa| ist> and attributed to It Uv on < ’n l, " t Cross tlle Rubicon. Ihe bridge of sighs at Venice has no romance worthy the name. Most netJJ e unfor t u nates who cross it are wor^^' 08 are aent to tbo Diogenes never lived in a tub Th#> a Wn t ^„ ho «r 80 gm than a eo„ lilJut , t ]

the statement that little George Washington cut down the cherry tree. Wellington, at Waterloo, did not say, “Up guards, and at ’em!” The words were put into his mouth by an imaginative writer. Alexander the Great did not weep for other worlds to conquer. There is a reason to suspect that his army met with a serious reverse in India, a fact that induced him to retrace his steps. The immense burning glasses with which .Archimedes burned the ships of the besiegers of Syracuse at ten miles’ distance were never manufactured, and it is now known that they couid not have existed. \ inegar will not split rocks; so Hannibal could not thus have made I his way through the Alps. Nor will ; it dissolve pearls, so that the story of ! Cleo atra drinking pearls melted in vinegar must have been a fiction. The existence of the Colossus of ; Rhodes is considered by some hisI torians extremely doubtful. There ; is no e\ idence that the ancients were : able to cast pieces of metal of such : size as must have entered into its ! composition. 'rhe blood of Kiz/io, Mary Stuart's favorite, cannot be seen on the floor i where he was murdered by Darnley I and the other conspirators. What is i seen there is a daub of red paint, I annually renewed for the benefit of | gaping tourists. The pass of Thermopylm was defended, not by :ioo, but at leas? 7,000 Greeks, or, according to some writers, 12,<>0(i. The affi were the Spartan contingent, who showed no more I bravery on that ou< sion than their companions in arms irom olhor Greek

The Great, q u 'ker. The exact position of Fox's grave has long since been forgotten, though a modern stone marks its conjectured site. As a memorial, that plain slab is amply sufficient; anything more costly ।ne feels would be incongruous. His true monument is the labors, for two centuries, of Quaker men and womer; in the figure of I’enn carrying through the American cont inent the fiery cross of complete toleration, in the story of the devoted labors of Eiiza eth Fry, and in the echo of the stately eloquence of Bright. It may be said that Foxes successors were greater than himself, and no doubt they possessed gifts as they possessed opportunities, which were denied to him; but they could notone of them have done his work. Carlyle ; could find for him, in all history, but ■ one peer, the philosopher biogenes. I “Great, truly, was that Tub. a temple from which man’s dignity and di- ’ vinity were scornfully preached abroad: but greater is the Leather Hull, for the same sermon was ! 1 reached there* and not in scorn, but ; in love.” —Macmillan’s Magazine. His Name Stampeded the Convention. It was a funny circumstance that ! caused Beriah Wilkins to be nomin- ! ated tor Congress the first time. The I convention had involved itself in a deadlock. It seems a Mr. Wilkins made as; eech p anting the way out. 'At any rate,’his full name, Beriah i Wilkins, was mentioned. It was a ' plain, honest name, and the first part lof ;b especially attracted aPeut'mi

^umeg^Rewnti 4 ’ ”1 j a; I "opriateness of his act on and also I by the pi turesqueness of this Mr. I Wilkins’ first name, arose and nom- ' inated him, The name was lepeated, I and caught up and reechoed. T. e I enthusiasm for Wilkins spread like a | prairie fire in that convention. It । was stampeded. Wdkins was nominated for Congress. He was trij umphantly elected. — Washington : Capital. ■ A Eegend of the Seven Stars. To the naked eye. six of the Pieia1 des or “Seven Stars” seem to be about i the same magnitude, while the ' seventh is very dim. The dim star, : the legend says, is Merope. one of the seven daughters of Atlas and Fleione, and her paleness is a pun-

ishment visited upon her for having married a mortal. The other sis! :s all married gods: Electra, Maia, and Tayegta were wedded to Jupiter and Sterope to Mars. Poor Metope united herself to Sisyphus, a common mortal, and was doomed to eternal dimness for her rash act Besides this, her husband must, throughout all eternity, roll a huge stone up a hill. As soon as it gets to the sum--1 mit it rolls back and his never-end-j ing task is again resumed. —St. Louis I Republic.

NERVOUS headache. 4 Somelhinj of ; t ^' r - , tired and the . muscles of the face a ho ^ 1L firmness and the Ime ost ““■■'oulhand eves BbOot chcc ^ OU look ten ve /r dro °D wearily. «•»» »»u y<™ that. «.u Know , 0 „ bave “I'oots fro™ t t h h “ n | 4[ , ' te “ "harp paln T& ak e’i “ j" e ; iPi ■ (•wvf fl'' i , wr rrI!?- —

the sponge each time well up the back of the head. Keep this up for some length of time; then, without looking at yourself in the glass—because that would be sure to disquiet you—dry your face and neck softly and go and lie down fiat on your back. Close your eyes and think just of anything—how heavy you are on the couch and how easily it supports you. That is an important part of the cures. Lie there for half an hour, if you don’t fall asleep, as you probably will. Then get up and take the deterred 100 <in the glass. That tired look has gone, the muscles have regained their tone, the wrinkles have disappeared. You look like your younger sister. Best of all, the parting pain in the head and the pessimism of the soul have left you.—New York bun. Japanese Clansmen. No crusader of the West, no viking of the North, cherished a higher ideal of loyalty and chivalry than this clansmen of old Japan: no Corsican more ruthlessly handed down a feud from generation to generation or ex. acted from son and brother t he execution of a sterner vendetta. The >at9 turn i men of to-day triumph in the fact that their own swords havt avenge 1 in this generation the de feat inflicted on their forefathers ic the year iliuo by the Tokugawa clan. Legend and drama recount everj day to eager ears their stories of soni who died to avenge their fathers, clansmen that they might slay t e foemen who had caused the death ol their lord. The favorite heroes, who hold in popular estimation the place assigned by us to obin Hood and ; his men, are the forty seven ronins, a I name given to men who Jiave

' obliged to commit hara-kiri, or ju dlcial suicide, for having within ths royal precincts drawn his sword on a noble who had insulted him, anc these stanch vassals devoted them* selves to the destruction of the 'asuiter, knowing assuredly that, hav* ing slain him, they would be equallj condemned to take their own lives. Still may be seen fresh incense sticks burning before the graves of thei* leader an 1 bis yo^ng son and visiting cards stuck into the little tablet-; above them as tokens of the respect in which they are held by those wht know their story and deplore t-heii doom. Mr. Black records that at s review of British troops in 1864 al Yokohama a great daimio was watching with interest the manoeuvres ol the regiments and batteries of artillery stationed there. At the conclusion he was asked to allow the escort of his retainers who had accompan ed him io 20 through their drill and tactics, to which he readily consented. Turning to Sir Rutherford Alcock, who was inspecting the troops, he proudly said. “My retinue is small, and their tactics are not worthy o1 notice after what we have seen but there is not one of them who, if 1 saj ‘Pie,’ wi.l not unhesitatingly sacrifice his iifeat my command.” —The Nineteenth Century. She Needed Teaching. There is said to be the maddest kind of a woman in Portland. She persisted in playing her piano despite the wooden swearing of her neighbors by means of slamming doors and windows. One nierht last week there

sat ion passed unnoticed, but sud denly the excited voice of an angry woman awoke the echoes of the street. “You say you aea singing teacher,and that Mrs. B. sent you here? I don't want any singing teacher.” “I beg pardon, madam,”* replied the caller, “shesaid shd beard you sing and von wanted a teacher badiv.” It is kindness to draw the ved here, but the e was a big hairpulling match right then and there, and two angry women are out gun ning for Mrs. B. But since that the vocalist’s piano and the quiet even ing air have taken a long-needed rest. —Kennebec Journal. Headache on Railroad Trains. rru. . ...l-kzx ■from 11 Pf? <IH (*TIC

’Those who suiier irom uwimi an I feel the fatigue of a railway .ournev [disagreeably should take with them two leather or silk-covered cushions —one for the small of the back another to rest the neck and head. An eminent d ctor once stated that this was a capital ant i Icte to the evi.s ari-ing from the jolting of the train, liable to cause slight congestion of the head in very long journeys. He furthermore advised no reading in the train to those subject to headaches.