St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 19, Number 35, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 17 March 1894 — Page 2

AT ffOmEBSELE ( ' r #^JgjSj|^HaWoman’s Atonement, Charlotte M. Braeme. CHAPTER XLVI. Six months had passed since Leonie Rayner placed the will of Lord Charnleigh in Paul Flemyng’s hands. They had not brought much happiness to him. True, he was an earl now, a man of high rank and great resources, a 'man of distinguished position, with unibounded wealth and every luxury; but he was not .-o happy as when he was a poor soldier, blessed only with Leonie’s j love. He did not care for the earldom; I ihe did not value money; he wanted her, and nothing in the world besides. Yet he knew that she would never ibo his; she had told him so, frankly and honestly. She did not love him; sho loved some one else. Ho knew that, live as long as he might, his life would never be crowned or blessed by Leonie’s love. He did not love her less because of her grievous sin. In his eyes the ample reparation she had made atoned for it. He said to himself that she was the bravest, the noblest and best of women; but she was not for him. ^JHro'world, so ready to worship Mammon, received him with open arms. Ho was sought after by halt the fashionable mothers in London. But for Paul there was no peace, no happiness where Loonie was not. It would take him long years to learn to think less of his love. *****

Six months had brought back health and strength to Leonie Rayner. She was still at Reims, with the General and Ethel. She had visited the friends of her fair young mother; she had done her best to forget all that was painful and to regain her lost health. Surrounded by friends, she was somewhat herself again; her face had lost its radiance, but over those most beautiful features there was an expression of perfect rest, and a faint color had retui ned to the lovely face, and the beautiful lips had reacquired their forme? smile. Ono morning Ethel, with a bundle of papers under her arm, entered the room where Leonie sat. 1 told you,” she said, “that you should hear what the world thought of you, Leonie. Read these.” Leonie opened one of the principal morning papers first. “I feel quite nervous,” she said. “It is a terrible thing, after all, to be in print. Ethel silently pointed out the following paragraph to her: “Romance in High Life.—Some time since we announced to our readers the succession of a young ladv to the estates of Crown Leighton and the title of Countess Charnleigh. The particulars of that succession will be remembered as interesting and novel. Lady Charnleigh, by her brilliant lean tv, her gracious manners, and queenly generosity, made herself one of the most popular of the fashionable world, bhe has recently met with a reverse of fortune quite as sudden as her unexpected elevation. ] t may bj remembered that she succeeded to the Crown ^oighvou s estates as next of kin in consequence of the late earl’s having dll T” wa , s BU PP« B e<P without a wilh 4 14" 1 nnu 41, rx” z-k L Va'

title ana the estates. After enjoying them for two years, she accidentally discovered the will of the late q/ by which he left all that he hadC, Captain Paul Flemyng. The lady, with a noble tense cf honor and loyalty—unfortunately but too rare—immediately placed the will in the hands of the true heir, and then retired from the brilliant scenes of which she had Leon so great an ornament. Miss Rayner may never again possess a patent of nobility such as the world confers, but she has one much higher, which no one can take from her —she is a noble, generous, loyal lady—a title which no earthly distinction can give. The new Lord Qharnleigh has taken possession of Crown Leighton, and has also taken his seat in the House of Lords.” “You wondered what the world said of you, Leonie. Now you know. Could any praise be higher than that?” “I did not deserve it,” sobbed the girl. ‘-Let me tell you all the truth, Ethel.” But Miss Dacre kissed the sweet face, and refused to hear another word. “if there is any secret,” she said, ‘-it rests between Paul and yourself. There is no need for you to tell it, as he has not done so.” For Paul had kept her secret most loyally. When she had left him with the will in his hands, he went at once to Mr. Clements, the lawyer, and told him that Lady Charnleigh had discovered it. He never uttered a word about the terrible temptation, the deadly crime, and the most sincere repentance. The story was never known. Every one believed that the will was given to him in the same hour that it was found. The paragraph above was copied into all the papers; many of them added remarks of their own, all being in praise of her who was no longer Lady Charnleigh. The scrap of news went, as many startling scraps do, the round of the world, and it was read by j Sir Bertram Gordon in the Holy Land. I He ha I gone thither, vowing that never while he lived would he return to Eng’and. He did not care how his ! life was spent—how it passed; he was I utterly reckless and despairing. He i went to the Holy Land. There, he thought to himself, it would not be likely that he should ever meet people who l<new him. He had been there for some time, leading a most hopeless and miserable life, when, in one of a numerous batch of papers sent to him from England, he read this paragraph, telling of Leonie’s change of fortune: and in another he read that Miss Rayner was staying with General Sir" Huntley Dacre and his daughter at Reims, in France. A third repeated some on dit as to the probable marriage of the Earl of Charnleigh with the daughter of a Scotch peer. Then Sir Bertram Gordon, with a low cry, started to his feet. If it were true, the engagement with Leonie must have been broken, Perhaps she had repented of her cruelty to him; perhaps she wanted him back, and yet did not know to what address to wiite. He would notlo oan hour in going to her—he would start at once. How he was tortured on that homeward journey none knew but himself. One mix.ute all was hope, another all despair; one minute he was thinking

I that there must be some chance for him, and the next that he was on a wild-goose chase. People wondered what restless spirit posses, ed this handsome nobleman, this man with the face and head of a Saxon king. He never appeared to rest; he seemed unable to eat or drink as ordinary beings did. The question over on his lips, whether on steamboat, or rail, or road, was—- “ How long will it be before the journey is accomplished?” Pericds of hope came over him, when he would say to himself that she loved him, and that h's dismissal was but a caprice; and then he would picture to himself a long happy life blessed with l Leonie’s love. Again a period of i despair would succeed, when he would feel sure that his er: and must prove fruitless. Were such the result, he decided he would go an I lose himself in the depths of an African desert. So time passed, until one day, in the early spring-time, he reached the picturesque old city of Reims, in the ia’r ’and of France. The sun was shining, the birds were beginning to sing, pale blossoms were peeping, summer buds growing green on the trees. Loonie Rayner, feeling strong and almost well, sat in the pretty salon of the little villa alone. Sir Huntley, who was a most devoted “squire of dames,” had sent a magnificent bouquet of pale hyacinths and violets, and many other fragrant flowers, that brought such sweet, sad memories to her mind. As she sat there admiring them, Ethel entered the salon; her face wore an expression of sudden, startled joy. She went up to Leonie and took some of

the Howers in her hand. “I ought to he jealous,” she said; “pa; a has sent me no bouquet.” “Perhaps he thought you did not deserve one,” remarked Leonie, with a litt'e laugh. “Leonie,” said Ethel, suddenly bending over her, “could you bear a great joy?” “I might try,” replied the girl, with a sad smile; “I do not think life holds many more joys for me.” “Some one is here, and waiting to see you.” “Is it Lord Charnleigh?” asked Loonie, with a sudden shrinking of pain. “No, it is not Paul,” replied Ethel. “Guess again. It is someone you liked better than you have ever liked Paul.” The beautiful face grew white, the violet eyes opened wide —fear, hope, expectation, sorrow, all appeared in that wistful glance. “Is it—it it Bertram?” she whispered, and the faint whisper died on her lips. “Yes, it is Sir Bertram. Here he is to speak for himself.” and Ethel turned away, while Sir Bertram clasped her in his arms. “My darling,” he cried, “you will not send me from you again?" She tried to resist, to cry out to him that she was not worthy of his love; but he would not listen’ to her. The might of his love swept away all obstacles, as the whirl of the stream sweeps away dead leaves. “You will not send me away again, Leonie, my love, my wife that must be. I have tried life without you, and I prefer death.” It was useless to resist. If her pale lips opened to utter a word of remon- ! strance, he closed them with passionate kisses; if she tried to withdraw herself from those loving arms, he only that *

even release sneuau 'prom-" ised to be his wife. “You know you love me, Leonie: if you did not you would not let me kiss your face. You know you love me—why be so cruel, why try to deprive mo of all hope and pleasure in life? Leonie, will you be ray wife? You did not love Paul Flemyng—you loved me. Say one word and 1 will release yon." He told her that he would not, could not release her, until sho did so: and then he looked at her with such longing, loving eyes that her heart almost ached with the excess of her happiness, so she whispered the one word h ' . wanted. “You are more lovely than ever, ■ Leonie,” he said, “my pearl among women'.” "Bertram,” she asked, gently, “how did you know that I was— —” “That you were no longer a countess, ’ and were free for me to win?” he interrupted. “Bless all newspapers, Leonie—they told me all about it, and ■ through them it is that lam here.” CHAPTER XI.VII. “I will never speak falsely again—never while I live,” Leonie' had declared; and now, as she stood in the pretty garden of the villa, the words returned to her with cruel force. Bertram had praised her so warmly, Bertram admired her so truly; he thought her so loyal, so honorable; he believed her to be almost perfect; he had no idea of her sin—not the fainte t notion of the fraud, the deceit that she had practiced: he believed her fair and pure as a spotless lily. She knew herself to be fair only in the light of repentance. No one knew of her sin but Paul, and tortures would not drag the story of it from him. Was there any need to tell Sir Bertram? It would part them forever, she felt sure. She remembered what he had once said, that he could pardon anything but dishonor, but that never. The revolution of her siu would i surely part them. He loved her, conj sidering her loyal and true, but would ■ he love her when he knew that in plain words she had been a thief? Why not ! marry him and say nothing to him about the past? He would never know; and he would believe in her until the last day of his life. So once more Leonie Rayner stood in the sunlight, and held as it were the balance of her life in her bauds; once more she was at war with herself. Why not be happy now that the choice had been given to h r? Why not marry Sir Bertram, and enjoy his love and homage, without telling" him | the story that would make such love impossible? Then her own words returned to her with double force. “I will never speak falsely again, ” she had said—“never while I live. ” No—she never would. She raised her face to the smiling heavens, and the sunlight seemed to fall like a halo around her. “I will tell him the whole truth,” she said, “and leave the result in Heaven's hands. There shall be no more falseness, no more deceit, no more untruth for me.” She sent for Sir Bertram there and then, lest her resolution should fail her. She did not hide a single detail of her many faults from him. He listened in speechless wonder.

r “You, Leonie—you diiff IWWIWIIB ? ,1,1 l a he could say. pl “ Les, I did it, Bertraijibis?” was all t tation was a great one> was so proud of my forti®- The tempa foolish child that I v^nd I fell. I o countess. I fancied to 80 proud—c lady,’ and to hold higls—of being a a grandest things in the w«e called 'My - blind, so foolish. I ic® rank, the never forgive me, dear/qHd. I was so a pect it; but I said to^ow you can would never be false aga«T do not exi have told you. I might KWyself that I 1 you, and have kept mI need not i would not deceive you. ”4 have married 3 “You did this, Leonie-F secret; but I i It cannot be.” I ' “On looking back, it sF ho repeated. I it seems to you, impossiS 3 it, Bertram. You remem’oms to me, as ) when I sought for the sij' l ®- But I did t That was the night thapbar the night will. I have never had Iver buckles? s ment since then. I thoi^ I found the > married Paul it would U’ne happy mos giving him the will; t!? 4 ght that if I to you. for I loved your 3 the same as । him, for I did not love h® us I was false never ba false again. I L anc l false to all, Bertram. I know ju®* But I will give me—l remember - .have told you said —that you could 5 canr *°t torwoman who acted dd * hat y° u once will be just that you P a3>d ®n a ve done.” sp । her in almost when he saw that fal IBOWBWP humbly before him, wearing the simple, wig head oenTstl child, for all answer n beautiful face arms and took her to hiastful look of a “My darling,” he whh ie opened his ing shall part us. ” breast. ‘'Not even my past f spered, “nothtram?” she whispered, <5 with happy tears. dishonor, Ber“My darling," he said^ Hinging to him of your having made thS me proves you to bo 3, “the very fact women. You need not« Is confession to your faults, yet you hav the noblest of I say that you are now . have told me repentance, in your volt ‘ e done so; and tion, than are thousand; nobler in your have never known tern)—intary humilia-

have never fallen. If tn 3of women who . barrier between us, myi itation, and so 1 exist no longer. We n«- bat is the only . tion the horrible past a| darling, let it ; and done with for ever* ted never men- . my darling, do not loi gain—it is over those humbled, grateful and ever. Oh, ' who am unworthy of y«: ok at me with truth and goodness ar i I eyes. It is I mine.” u, sweet; your “Then you quite fo^ 080 ^ ar a ^ ove tram?” she whispered. “Yes, and I say this rglve me, Berbeen more noble than g honorable. Do not nn®-j atonement has sweet. I shall rememb be sin was diaIwi h to realize how ration it again, women are by nature—£ , it only when they vield to a terril> ’ £ ood and tr ue they rise again even V so good that, if the fall. Will you lx! temptation, the summer flowers J? more noble for Leonie?” g if my wife when The sun was shining ?s: ai ° blooming, birds sang on the gre the breeze brought a fi £ glover them, the pale spring flowers. A* ?®en boughs, and Leonie thought was ^^yagrance of the heaven, fell over them gj unbeam, which in her lover’s face wit cX a sroM® from e j and she looked out a cloud on n

donundyHssßayncr. 0 other from the sudden wealth th unexpectedly became his portion. 1 ' it ^ e , ’ o »i-!wds were found on his estat A,„ and ~ beds that made him in“ ( u millionaire. Lady Fanshaw • was . a * last. She could not liv ° t /' 1 onie, and Sir Bertran inX. hei 10 Five years after thei J* t '° y were at the very clh S pro-perity. The immul t ,‘‘' ’b juat came to Sir Bertram hl I J. 0 added to the income ... ...i!?- ‘tes, made him one of the talihiest men in England. Lady Gordon once rel -" 3 , a queen of society. Sh«\ .I s one 0 most 1 eautiful and poalt i . women London. The world isw “er teet again: but she is wiser than J. t 111 [ days when she consid® reU rlca es the j greatest good. | i She is honored amcnl women for her truth, her generositw - r Parity; : and, if there is one qut F U < J s n bermore ! beautiful than anothei * Bis her pity and sympathy for the erring and un- : fortunate. How mat b she has re-

, claimed and kept from,; u ^ o1 ‘j uin—how I many she has cheereql ciniiorted and ! consoled—how many sh e ha . made betj ter by her noble wora Wld never be known on earth. Thej T are hundreds of men and women v ,/?' w 'hen they j hear her name, say, Heaven bless i Lady Gordon.” At the Academy Erphibition a few i years back there weren^ portraits that were very muchW adu ? lred - Une was of a child—Rayner r^B’don, the son and heir of Sir "Bertt^ 111 Gordon of Glen Brae Castle, a lov|~J c “ild with a charming Saxon face. becond " as of Paul, Lord CharnleigT l, . a ver y handsome man with a sligl f 1 , t j a ge of melancholy on his tne third of Ethel, Ladj CharnG^ whose noble features errg the .great charms of the exhibiti from this it may hi v gathered that l’aul recovered from this disappointment, and in the asters years married the girl who had lovled him and no other all her life. ' [TILE END* J No Profit in Retailing Sugars. Grocers everywhere t issert that there is little or no profit in r/etailing sugars, a id housekeepers confirm this by^saving that there is small [economy in buying sugar by the keg] The tradition

, touching the sma 1 profit in handling ^gars at retail is cert ainly more than 100 years old. for a wi Aer in the middle of the last centn ry affirme 1 that Loudon, ^locoes of tiia i duy were cft‘ i n cut £<>oor£io a year for paner and pack thread usedin wrapping up su tzar, and some grocers would not sell sugar to a customer wh’io did not a’ the same time purchase sifne other article It is not unusual for merchants in New ork at this time to sdil far below regular retail rates certain articles not properly belonging $ their trade — Lew York Sun. 7 Every county in England has its own dialect, and betwee£ the far no: th and the far sou th the dvlerence is as great as almost to prevent mutual underi iand ing.

Coughlin is free. DECLARED NOT GUILTY OF CRONIN’S MURDER. WUd Scenes in Judge Tuthill's Court When the Announcement Is Made — The Prisoner Is Dazed by His Good FortuneJury Out bnt Six Hours. Ends a Famous Case. The second trial of Daniel Coughlin on the charge o: comp icity in the murder of Dr. Cronin came to a close Thursday in Chicago, by the unexpected return of a verdict of acquittal Dan Coughlin, after nearly five years of imprisonment, was declared a free man. By a verdict of his peers he was declared innocent of conspiring to cause or participating in the murder of Dr. Cronin. Few expjetod that A. wl DAN COUGHLIN.

the verdict would Ix 3 what it was, and no one anticipated that an agreement would te reached tn so short a time. It was eight minutes to 11 o’c’ock in the forenoon when Judge Tuthill had concluded his charge, and at twenty-five minutes to 5 o’clock in the afternoon the jury filed into court and through Foreman Holsman handed its brief verdict to the Judge. Thus it took them less than five hours to deside one of the most noted I 55 stvwcAs «SSJi®IEP I V e, — .

<■<■*» — I criminal ca?es in the hist >rv of the enuntry a . ase which t< ok over four months for the recounting of its inci- ? l . ld bloidy details, and which took alue and brilliant counsel seventeen days to analyze and explain the te-timony. It was no wonder that those who listened were astonished. X JOHS p - KCXZa MARTIX BOVRK The cheers came naturally from the threats of friends of the accused When the yer iict had been read, says a Chicago dispatch, there was a full minute of silence. I hen a man, who st >od near John Kun e near the west vyaii, shouted, "Three cheers for Daniel

v ougniin. Ihe yell which went up so i Jud ge Tuthill that he leaned . to his feet and c mmanded the bailiffs 3 to .ock the dcors. But some one was 3 t 0 d uick for the court. The words had r hardly fallen from his honor's lip s . when acheer rang through the buildin >■ iTom the crowd in the corridor. Again and again did the walls echo the veils of r the men both inside and' outside the ( court-room. Coughlin seemed dazed I until a well-known member of the so- j [ ciety to which the prisoner used to be- • lo . E g grabbed his hand and muttered kus congratulations. All this time D£ ja seemed to be in a tram e. Suddenly he pulled himself together and turning to the jury which st )od smiling upon him reached out his hand and with deep emotion expressed his thanks to the jurors.

HISTORY OF THE CRONIN CASE. Principal Facts Concerning the Great Trial Which Is Now Ended. Tbs conspiracy which culminated In the murder of Patrick Henry Cronin on the ni?ht of May 4. 1889, in Lake View was Consummated at a time when Ie Caron was testifying In a British court, betraying the Irish cause. This fact added interest in th-3 crime in England, and the London dt.ilies devoted columns to the murder. Dr. Cronin was a prominent physician of

c-nicago. ror years he had practiced in -•rok Ofc JUROR CULVER. PATRICK O’SULLIVAN.

0 city. He was one of the leaders SGC i a l circles, the aggressive head of a faction of the Clan-na-trael bitterly opposed to the “triangle” I in power. On the night of May 4, ISSe’ he j

was lured from his home in the Windsor' Theater Block. May 22 his mutilated body was found In a catch-basin at the corner of North 59th street and Evanston avenue. Foul play was feared. T. T. Conklin, with whom the Doctor lived, was convinced that his friend had been murdered. Dr. Cronin's friends in the Clan-na-Gael were loud in declaring that he had been decoyed from his home and foully OWr (/ V / JOHN V. BEGGi COONEY “THE VOX.” X

dealt with. The oath administered to the members of the society was such that they did not at first dare to venture explanations. Being pressed, they told the story of the conflicting factions of the Clan-na-Gael and the enmity to Dr. Cronin. The only clew which the police had to start with in unraveling the mystery surrounding the disappearance of Dr. Cronin was a card left in ills office by the man who enticed him to his death. This card bore the name and address of Patrick O’Sullivan, Iceman in Lake View, also a member of Camp 20 of the Clan-na-GaeL The man who took the Doctor away on May 4 said that one ot the employes of the Iceman had been injured, and as O'Sullivan had made a contract with Dr. Cronin to attend any of his men who were ill or should meet with accident the Doctor readily assented to go to Lake View. O’Sullivan, the man said, was out ot town. The Doctor got into a buggy drawn by a while horse which the man had in waiting, and the last man who saw the Doctor alive was Frank Scanlan, who talked with him while he was sitting in the buggy In front of his home at 468 North Clark street Sunday morning. May 5, three men on a hunting expedition found a trunk half filled with cotton saturated with fresh blood In a clump of bushes by the roadside In Evanston avenue, near Sulzer street. Frank Woodruff was arrested for horsestealing on May 9. He told a story of having driven a wagon that hauled the trunit containing the body of Dr. ( ronin. A General order was Issued from the police department to look for a white horse that was out on the night of May 4. It was discovered that Patrick Dinan, a liverystable keeper in North Clark street, near ' the East Chicago avenue station, had sent such a horse out. The description of the man who called fcr the bore on the night in question was found to correspond with that given by Frank Scanlan and Mrs. 1 Conklin ot the man who took Dr. Cronin I from h'.s office. Further developments

L brought out the fact that Daniel Coughlin, a detective of the East Chicago avenue station, had hired the horse for the man. ’ The same day that Dr. Cronin’s badly I decomposed body was found in the catch - < J I\ Y'mN t a au. v. <4, ((>( i ln

’ 1 basin? Ct pt. Schuettler heard of the c»rl- ' hU COm, " , ‘ n * l Det ectives 2. ’ L a h " ero put ,a charge of Dmt n nd thera "ere reports that Big Dan” had been seen there a short time before the murder In company with John I. hunze. Patrick Cooney. al as T^' ” 0 < th ,° Y*'” and Jce ">a» O'Sullivan. The following day, May 24, Coughlin as arrested. May 29 Patrick O’Sullivan was taken Into custody and June 15 Martin Bourk was behind the bars. A mass of evidetue was collected. The amount of testimony to bo heard was so great that the c^-oners Inquest, which commenced June 4, did not finish Its labors till June IL Cou^hHn n f kno :" Associations with Cou hlln, Begzs and Kunze were held for ao’of W,xS Senior Guardian of Camp the f -otA C ‘ an " aa 7 Gael - at >d presided when from L aken to OX P OI nr - Cronin I Rrit^n Order r n the zround that he was / ? ( S!>y ' Llt,le Kunze "as held on the testimony of Saloon-keeper N eman ''ho ideiitified him as having been ulth tht nUht° U r hI l n iD h ' S Place at 11 o’clock the night of the murder. The State was inclined to believe that Nieman was mistaken. His description of the man answers n every detail to Andrew Foy. but at the time kunze was arrested and tut on trial tnUn?" n w tlon wilh the case ’ a * sworn lic^ S Wlfe ’ ' a9 ° Ot known t 0 the po-

2 MirQrSg

WHERE DR. CRONIN’S BODY WAS FOUNU The trial of Coughlin. Bourk. O'rullivan. Beggs and Kunze was begun Aug 39 ISsj It was finished Dec. 1 > and the verdict sent Coughim Bourk and O’Sull van to the penitentiary for l.fe, put Kunze therefor three years and turned Beggs free.

, Ihe finding against Kunze was never en- • । , C ^ d * te / au3e Judge McConnell, who preslued at the trial, entertained doubts that WaS gul;t / as charged. And It was with t.ie greatest disapproval that the punl=hment of the con victed ones was received Everywhere it was felt that the authors of such a dastardly crime should receive the full penalty of the law, and they doubtless would had it not been for Juror John Culver. He it was who day after day for a.most a week, while the jury was deliberating, voted to save Coughlin and the other two, and he it vas win finally did save them. In January, 1800, the convicted men were sentenced. ri ,^ t !°. rne y Daniel Donahoe on behalf of C sullivan made the first request for a new । trial, but while the matter was pendin’ - O sulbvan died. Ihen Coughlin’s applica- ' t‘On was made, and before It was dispose! 1 of both Beggs and Bourk died. The new I । trial was granted “Big Dan” Jan. 20 1893. ! t ' Put on trial the second timj j (

’ MEDICAL INSTINCT IN ANIMALS. Their Diseases, and the Methods Adopte^aw l by Them to Effct a Cure. Animals get rid of their parasites by using dust, mud, clay, etc. Those suffering from fever restrict tteir diet, keep quiet, seek dark, s.iry places, drink water, and sometimes plunge into it. When a dog has lost his appetite it eats that species of grass known as dog’s grass, which acts as an emetic and a purgative. Cats also eat grass. Sheep and cows when ill seek out certain herbs. An animal suffering from chronic rheumatism always keeps as far as possible in the sun. The warrior ants have regularly organized ambulan ?es. Latrellie cut the antenn c of an ant

and other ants came and covered the wounded part with a transparent fluid secreted in their mouths. When an animal has a wounded leg or arm hanging on, it completes the amputation by means of its teeth. A dog being stung on the muzzle by a viper was observed to plunge its head repeatedly for several days into running water. This animal eventually recovered. A terrier hurt its right eye. It remained under a counter, avoiding light and heat, although It habitually kept close to the tire. It adopted a general treatment —rest and abstinence from food. The local treatment consisted in li king the upper surface of the paw, which it applied to the wounded eye. Animals suffering from trumatic fever treat themselves by the continued application of cold water, which M. Delaunccy considers to be more certain than anv of the other methods. In view of these interesting facts, we are, he thinks, forced to” admit that hygie e and therapeutics as practiced by animals may, in the interests of physiology, be studed with advantage. Many physicians have been keen observers of animals, their diseases and the methods adopted by tiem, in their instinct, to cure themselves, and have availed themselves of the knowledge so brought under their observation in their practices. —Philadelphia Record.

“The Heart of England.” In the heart of the City of London stands an old house of worship, the Church of St Swithin. It was rebuilt ui on its former sou idation by Sir Christopher Wren, who was also the architect of St l'aul’s CatbeuraL The traveler who visits it must pass through the crowd of hucksters cf fruit and vegetables and of women 1 with baskets of flowers, which surround it, until the foundation is reached, and there among the bluish stone slabs of whi h it is formed will be found a large, oblong, gray stone. This is London stoi.e. It was erected by the Romans fifty ivears before the birth of Christ to denote the central part o ! their possessions in Britain. Irom it, we are told, all roads and distancesww-r i. „L.L .... nAituas been caded «

■ are fifty-one churches in Great Brit- , ain which bear the name of 1 his excellent man, St Swithin, wlo live? in the time of King Egbert, but it iA the church in the wonderful old City of London which has this Historic stone.—Goldthwaite’s Magazine. Riley’s Profitable Verse. No poet in the United States has the same hold upon the minds of tne people as Riley. He is the poet of uie plain Arnericm. They bought *30,000 worth of his verse last year; and he is also one of the most successful le turers on the platform. He gives the lie to the old saying, lor he is a prophet in h s own country. The people of Indiana are justly proud of him, for he has written “loems Here at Home.” He is rea^ by people who never before read I oetry in their lives, and he appeals equally well to the man who is ieartsick of the hollow conventional verse in imitation of some classic. *■ He is absolutely American in every

line he writes. His schooling has been from the s hool of realities. He takes things at first hand. He considers his success to be due to the fact that he is one of the people, and has written of the things he lifted and thev liked. The time will come when his work will be seen to be something more than the fanci2s of a humorist—February McClures. Drawn with the Thumb Nail. In picture collections to be seen both in China and Japan, are specb mens of some most remarkable pictures of kinds drawn with the thumb nail. The nails of the thumb on the left hand of these peculiar artists-' ** en great care of, and are^M grow to an enormous length^lU'L times to ten or twelve inches. They" are then pared down to a pen-staped point, the point being scraped thin in order to make it flexible. Dipping this oddly-constructed pen in beautiful vermilion or sky-blue ink, the only kinds used in ’^sacred” thumb-nail drawings, the artist gracefully outlines his work. Occasionally the bold touches from the studio of a master in this depart-

ment of “art,” are life-size, and are sketched by a few sweeps of the arb ist's arm. Like other Oriental pictures and sketches, these sr red thumb-nail pictures are mounted and rolled up like scrolls. In China. One of the sights of China is the antique bridge of Suen-tchen-fow, 2, 500 feet long and twenty feet wide. It has on each side 52 piers, upon which huge stones are laid, some of them twenty feet long. Many thousands of tons were used in the erection of this wonderful bridge, which is regarded by engineers as indicating instructive talents as wonderful as that which raised the Egyptian pyramids.