The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965, November 10, 1892, Image 6
A QUEER RACE. ^ BTOllT OV A BTRANUK rKOPMb CHAPTER XXU—CONTINUED. Morris was a carpenter, and he had fixed hp one mirror in the queen’s bed-room 90 nmch to her satisfaction that she wanted 10 bare all the remaining mirrors taken out ot the saloon and Axed up in like man ner. As for books, she was simply Insatia ble. She read anything that came to hand, but liked best something scientific, or a novel with plenty of incident and a com plicated plot. When once she became in terested In n story of this sort, she would neither sleep nor attend to business until she reached the end, and woe betide the councilor who at such a time ventured to trouble her with sffalrs or State. When Mr. Thomas, arather timid old gentleman, secretary to the oounoil, brought her some {tapers to sign while sbo was reading "Monte Oriato,” and did not go away the moment he was bid, sho half frightened the poor man to death by threatening to art her puma at him. We went down to the "Diana" as ar ranged, by water of course. In addition to the boat’s crew and tbe carpenter, we were accompanied by Marian Lester, one of the queen’a maidens, and a youth of the, name of Buttercup, who was halt page, lmif errand-boy. On reaching the ship, I looked over the manifest, on which I had ticked off the packages already landed, aud, in consulta tion with Mab, decided what others we should take back with us iu the boat, and . told the men-to hoist them out ot the hold. V Then, while Morris was removing the -mirrors, we took a turn round the ship, and mode an inspection of the cabins, on •the chance ot finding anything likely to be -useful and worth carrying away; for we slid not intend to make another visit to the ship for some time. iu uie cupumi s cmun W're a Micrmomc ter and a barometer. ••We will have those,” I satd, looking at ; them. "This is a self-registering ther mometer, and I want to ascertain the avor • ago temperature of Fairhaven; and the tmrometer may provo very useful It gives warning of storms. Do you ever have storms?" "Sometimes, and very bad ones. But they don't often take ns by surprise. I have nearly always a premonition of them; so have others." "I suppose yon can tell by the look of the sky and the direction and force of the wind?” The queen laughed. "The look Of the sky and the forco of the •wlndl” she said. "Why, when the clouds gather and the wind rises, the storm has lie gun. These are signs which children may read. What I mean is, that before any sign Is visible, while the heavens are still clear, the sea still ealm, something tolls me—I know not what; It Is a feeling, , a foreboding—that within a few hoqrs the weather will change for the worse;" "That comes from increase of pressure,” I said. "Yon are sensitive to atmospherio '-conditions,” v "f don’t know how that is. I dare say you an right,” she returned, pensively. "Bat I have exactly the same feeling when people an thinking evil against me.” "Bnt that is not possible. Nobody can think evil against you!” /‘Yet snch a thing has happened, my friend. Fair Island is very beautiful, and Its people are happy, but thejL are not all tco°d. And lately—the last/ few days—I have had a foreboding. For three nights past, Cato, who, as you know, sleeps al ways at my chamber door, has growled •; fiercely, as If he scented danger; und this ' morning I waa wakened by Deusil Funs’s sword falling from the wall and clashing on the floor: and, worse still, it broke o( at the hilt, Nothing could be more oml»> uus of evil—-and then this foreboding, tbs ■ like of which for Intensity 1 have never ex perienced before—” Here ebe came to an abrnpt stop. . *'A foreboding of what?” I asked. 1 bad already discovered that the lslnnd v era were somewhat superstitious, bnt I though Mab knew bettor than to believe in signs, orpens, and presentiments, or at tach importance to the falling of a sword ‘ of the growling of a puma. » ; , "A foreboding of danger.” ' "To whom.” r to yon, Mr. Brie.” . ‘.‘Why to me?” ' “I know not. But I Am rare the danger w hich threatens me threatens you also. The foreboding weighs heavily on my soul, yet whence it comes or how It is caused I ■ -cannot say. When we return to Fairhaven 1 wilt-consult Sybil.” "Who Is Sybil?” - “The oldest nnd wisest woman in the bland; the only one to whom it is given to interpret dreams and foretell events.” “A very useful woman to know. I should Tj;ko $c nsk her a few questions about rny ! self' My own future is decidedly obscure at present. Perhnps she could throw a , little light on it,” I said, with mock gravi ty “ft is only when sho is In the mood that Sybil Can discern the shadow of coming . events,” returned Msb, coldly, and almost sternly, as if she resented the skepticism Which my remark implied. “The prophetic ; mantle rests not always on her shoulders. But you shall see her, and thou you can judge for your.self. And now let us go on f- -with our inspection.” I As we passed through one of the berths —1 think it was poor Bulnois’—I saw a car pet-hag In one corner. “What Is here?” I said, opening it. ' “Bookst” exclaimed the queen. “Let us see what they are.” - Sol carried the baginto the saloon, and emptied on the table at least a score of , volumes, the greater part of them novels. “There!” I said, taking np a copy of "The Woman In White.” “You have only to begin reading this, and you will forget all about your melancholy forebodings, and t-lie supposed dangers which a too active Imagination has conjured np.” “Is it very Interesting?” she asked, with (sparkling eyes. “Very." , - “I will begin it at once,” she said, and . suiting the action to the word, she sat down, and opening the volume, settled herself for a good read. “Let me know when the boat Is ready.” ■ An hour later the boat was ready, but so ' crowded with bales, cases, and one thing and another, that it was evident she could . not take us all back at one trip. Oc, this I weut below to the qneen, -whOMt I found deep tu Wilkie Collins’ thrilling romance, and after explaining the •difficulty we were in, suggested that she •and her personal attendants should go oil In the boat, aud that two of the men and myself would wait on board uutil another «enli be cent to take ns off. “Ho; let the people go. Ther onn send a tat for ns when they get to Fairhaven—I menu for yon, myself, ind Marian, atul Buttercup.” “It cannot be liere for two hoars, and In mnoh less time than that it will be dark." “I am not afraid of the dark. Yon hare lamps, I suppose?” ,v„ “Yes, we have lamps; still—” ’ ■ —— i “Let the boat so, I say!" and the next moment her head was again bent over her book. I went on deck, gave orders for the boat ' to shove off, and told the coxswain to send another for ns with all speed, the instant he arrived. This done, I lighted a cigar and paced to and fro, absorbed in thought, - until the thickening twilight warned me that It was time to trim the saloon lamp. I Mab was still reading, nor until I lighted [ the lamp which swung over her head did she look up. | “Thank yon,” she said; and then turning : round, looked intently through one of the i ports toward the almost departed snn. “There is going to bo a storm,” she added, | wistfully. | “Why should you think so?” I asked. ' “The sky is perfectly clear, and there is hardly a breath of wind.” “You will see. I hope it won’t be more I than a storm—a tempest, 1 mean. But there Is a feeling in the air. Is the ship quite fast—eafely moored, I mean?” “Quite. I looked to that the moment I came on board.” i “Good! We are safe, then. The boot will be here in an honr. That will be time enough,” and then she took up her book again, and I went once more on deck. The short twilight had now almost deep- i ened Into darkness, and I wns quite alone, j Marian being with her mistress, and But- ! tercup fast asleep In a corner of the saloon. I lighted nnother cigar, and was about to resnma my solitary walk where I had left it off, when It occurred to me to verify the queen’s weather-forecast l>y glancing at j the barometer. ; me result was startling. me mercury bad fallen several points since I last looked at It—that is to say, in three hoars. I “Gad, she is right!” I thought; “we are in for a storm, and no mistake—a regular ripper! I hopo it won’t hurst before we get back to Fairhnven. The creek is cer tainly not the open sea, and wo are safely | moored. All tho same, I would rather be j on dry land for choice.” | 1 looked round, for. as yet, the darkness 1 was far from being absolute. Myriads of 1 stars studded the sky, and the sea was ! phosphorescent. The creek shone like a : river of molten gold, and as the tide ! (thereabouts very Btrong) ebbed rapidly | post, fiery wavelets broke on the shore and : dashed merrily ngainst the “Diana’s” , sides. The mountain, its summit pointing ! toward the Southern Cross, loomed large t and silent under the vaultod sky, like some j monstrous genie guarding hidden treasure j or a giant sentinel keeping watch over the ' sleeping island that nestled at its base. i Westward, as well as northward and southward, the calm was complete, and anything more superb than the orb-gem med heavens and the shining sea it were 1 impossible to imagine; but out of the mist and beyond the Painted Hocks were be ginning to creep ominous shadows—shad ows that swiftly took the form of clouds, and spreading pall-like over the sky, swal lowed up the stars and turned the water to an inky blackness. It became so dark that I hod to grope my way to the binnacle, intent on lighting the lantern, as without something to denote our whereabouts the people who were coming to fetch us off would be unable to find the ship. There was a peculiar feeling in the atmosphere, too, that made me think it was strongly charged with elec tricity. My temples throbbed ns if they would burst, when I pushed my hand through my hnir I could hear it crackle. I had reached the binnacle, and was feeling about for the lantern, when a ter rific peal of thunder crashed over the mountain, and a long, vivid flashof forked lightning rent the clouds asunder, bring ing every object whioh it illumined into sharpest relief. It did not lust the hun dredth port of a second, yet I saw every thing—the creek, the sea, the tall masts of the “Diana,” the very leaves quivering on I the trees—and the figure of a man cutting one of the rope* by which the ship tea* 1 moored to the shore/ ! CHAPTER XXIII.—A TERRIBLE SIGHT. 1 I saw It distinctly—a man hacking at the rope with a long knife; and it his back bad not been turned toward me I should hare seen his face—possibly recognized him. Yet I could hnrdty believe my eyes. I thought they had deceived me, and tried to persuade myself that I was the victim of an optical illusion. But my doubts were quickly and' rudely dispelled. The next . moment the ship swung round, and tha second rope, unable to withstand the strain, or perhaps weakened by the slash of another knife, parted with a report like the shot of a pistol, and the “Diana” was adrift. 1 ran to the helm without any definite idea of what I should do, for X knew how helpless we were, and I feared we should be dashed agoiust the opposite side of the creek. It was, perhaps, the best thing that could happen to us; if we were carried out into the bay, we should be past praying for. Just then I heard the sound of hur ried footsteps. “What has happened, Mr. Erie? Where are you ?" asked a voice which i recognized as that of Queen Mab. 4 “At the wheel. Somebody has cut the ropes, and the ship is adrift,” “Somebody has out the ropes? What do you mean? How do you know?” “When the lightning flashed just now. I saw a man cutting the stern-rope.” “Saw you his faoe?” “No.” “You have no idea who he was. then?” "Not the least.” "Somebody was thinking evil against us# then, and plotting it. My foreboding hqs soon come true; yet yon did not belie ve it, Mr. Erie.” "You were right, too, about the weath er," I answered, evasively. "The barome ter has gone doWn rapidly, and we are go ing to hare a night of it. My God!” Another blinding flash of lightning, fol lowed by an even more terrific peal of thunder than the first. At the same timo a violent gush of wind, coming down the channel of the creek as through a funnel, drove the ship before It like a straw, and almost threw her on her beam-ends. Mabel was now close by me, holding on to the binnacle. “How will it end? I mean, what is like ly to be our fate?” she asked, quietly, and with no more fear in her voice than if she were putting an ordinary question. "Drowning is likely to be our fate. Even if the ship were manned by a full crew, and commanded by a skillful captain, we shoul 1 be in great danger; and there is only one man on board, and he no seaman.” “If It is God’s will for us to perish, so be it. lie knows best, and we can die but cnce. We cannot escape our destiny.” This answer, spoken with measured * gravity, surprised me exceedingly. Never before bed I heard Mab mention religion. I had thought her practically a pagan, thongh she did go to church sometimes. “We cannot escape our destiny,’’ she re pented. ‘'Still, I like not to yield without a struggle. It Is our duty to lire as long as we can. Must we drift helplessly onf Can you think of no expedient! There Is surely an anchor!” “Of course there is. Vftiat an ass I ami Why didn’t I think of that before! But 1 told you I was no seaman. Yes, we will let go the anchor—if we can—and put a light in the mlzzen-top, and then, when the boat comes, It may perhaps be seen, and ourselves rescued.” But the idea was much more easily con ceived than carried out. A light was In dispensible, and after several unsuccessful attempts to obtain one from a match, we were compelled to go into the saloon, and there light a lantern. Then, followed by Marian and Buttercup, we made our way forward with great difficulty, for the ship was rolling like a log, and the decks were wot and slippery with the whirling spray, which lashed our faces and impeded our progress. It was an exciting moment; Mab cling ing to the capstan and holding up the lan tern; Marian and the boy cowering behind a coil of ropes; myself, maul in hand, grop ing for the pin by which the chain is fas tened to the ring of the anchor.. ui ntwuiiiciuiK—iur \ mode several bad shots —I succeeded, though more by good luck than address. The anchor dropped into the sea, and the huge cnblo flew through the hawse-hole In a sheet ot flame. What with tho wind and tide, the ship had a good deal of way on her; and when the anchor took ground, she brought to with a shock that shook her like n leaf, dashed the lautern front Mab’s hand, and sent me sprawling'' into the scupper. We had to find our way aft in the dark no easy task, for the force of the wind in creased every minute, and tho ship heaved aud rolled viciously. “Can we do anything more?” asked Mnb, when we wore all in the saloon. She had lost her hat: her disheveled hair was damp with spray; her face flushed with exposure to the storm, her eyes aglow with excite ment; and os she stood there near the swlngiug-lamp, erect and fearless, she looked wondrously handsome. “The only thing mure we can do,” I said, "is to hang a lantern In the mizzen-top; not that I think it will be of any use. No boat could live in this sea; but it i3 well not to throw away a chance.” “How long do you suppose we shall have to remain here, then?” “That depends on how long the storm lasts; but at uuy rate until sunrise.” “In that case I may as well resume my Interrupted novel. If any change takes place either for the better or worse, Mr. Erie, kindly let me know.” And with that she sat down and went on with her read ing as unconcernedly as it she bad been in her own room at Fairhaven. As for me, I lighted another lantern, and after at least three narrow escapes ot fall ing overboard, succeeded in fixing it se curely in thg mizzen-top. This done, I returned to the quarter-deck and remained there—I cannot say on the lookout, ns there was nothing to be seen— for I had an uneasy feeling that something would happen, and not for the better. The wind continued to blow in gusts so fierce that I was more than once nearly carried over the taffrail. I could not have made my way to the fore-part of the ship to sovo my life; and though the cable was invisi ble, I knew that the strain on it must be terrific. And the wind did not always come from tho same quartor. Several times it veered completely round, the ship veering with it, till at last (being unable to see the compass) I had not the most remote idea in which directionlay tholand. This went on some hours, and about midnight (as nearly as I could tell) what I dreaded came to pass—the anchor began to drag. At first I thought I might be mistaken, but when I felt sure that the ship moved I wont below aud informed Mab. m v<munuea.i The Burden of Big Houses. An ideal of earthly oomfort, so com mon that every reader must have seen it, is to get a house so big that it is burdensome to maintain, and fill it np so full of jimcracks that it is a con stant occupation' to keep it in order. Then, when the expense of living in it is so great that you can't afford to go away aud rest from the burden of it the situation is complete and boarding houses and cemeteries begin to yawn for you. How mauy Americans do von suppose out of the droves that ilock annually to Europe, arc running away from oppressive houses? VYlieu nature undertakes to provide a house, it fits the occupant. Animals who build by instinct build ouly what they need, but man's building instinct, if it gets a ehauce to spread itsulf at all, is boundless, just as all his iustiucts are. For it is man’s peculiarity that nature has filled, him with impulses to do things and left it to his discretion when to stop. She never tells him when lie lias Uuishod. Aud perhaps wo ought not to bo surprised that in so many cases it happons that he doosn't know; hut just goes ahead as long as the ma terials last. If another man tries to oppress him ho understands that aud is ready to fight to the death and sacrifice all he has rather thau submit; but the tyranny of things is so subtle, so gradual in its approach, and comes so masked with, seeming benefits that it has him hope lo-isly bound before ho suspects nit fetters.—Scribner. Old Heads and Young Hearto. “Now, Samuel,” said bis doting mother, <*you are going to soe ono o’ the nicest girls to-night that over came to this town, and I want you to make a good impression. Now, the way to do that is to show appreciation. As somo ono says, ’Be a good listener.’ Now, don't yon forget it.” ••I won’t mother,” answered the dntiful Samuel. At another house, the one to which Samuel's feet were tending, a loving aunt was saying to her visiting uiece: “Now, if Sam comes don’t you rattle on as if yon iiadn't any brains. Just vou keep qniol and let him do tho talk ing. He'll like you all the bolter for it." To this day those match-making women can't* understand why those two young folks despise each other.— Jhiclc. It is stated that the confederate gray uniform was borrowed from the First Virginia regiment, which borrowed it from the Seventh New York regiment. FACTS FOB THE FABMEK, USEFUL INFORMATION ABOUT I FARMINO TOPICS) Root and Vegetable Storing—About tho Spud — Cutting Corn— Grass Seeding—Vari ous Mattersa Root and Vegetable Storing. Some oops are much sooner injured by frost or light freezing than others and to avoid damage, should be har vested in good seAson, says the Or ange Judd Farmer. It is necessary to store away where they are intend ed to be kept all Winter, says an ex change, but the safest plan is to store where they will at least be safe from injury by frost or light freezing. Sweet potatoes are generally the first crop to be dug. after these beets and car rots and then the Irish potatoes. Turnips stand considerable frost but a good freeze seriously injuries them Cabbage will stand a freeze, while salsify and parsnips can be left out all Winter if desired, although usually it is best to dig and store a supply to use during the Winter before hard freezing weather sets in. A very good plan is to dig and sort, carefully taking out all the small unmarketable speci mens and also any that are bruised or injured. Fruit or vegetables to be I stored for long keeping must be sound, j Store them where there is a good I circulation of air and yet in a place where they can be readily protected in case a sudden change of weather should make it necessary. In this t way a good opportunity will be given them to dry out before storing away \ and they will keep much better thau | if they are dug and stored away im mediately. With this work, as with much else that is done on the farm, it is better to get it done in good season than to be even a little behind, as an early frost often does considerable damage which a little work in proper season would have readily avoided. By sorting when harvesting some work in handling may be avoided, and the unmarketable part be fed out tojthe stock which if left until the product is either sold or used, would be lost. Irish potatoes especially* should never be left exposed to the sun any longer than is strictly necessary, as they are easily damaged. But all products will keep better if they are well dried before storing away. With care in handling much loss by bruising may be avoided and when a crop has grown it seems only common prudence to take pains to save it in best condition possible and it is therefore best to arrange to harvest in good season, to sort and dry carefully and then either market or store away in as good a condition as possible. But before selling make sure of a sufficient supply for home use as it is rarely profitable to sell products in the Autumn and then be obliged to buy the next Spring before anything can be grown to take their place. _ About the Spud; Speaking about the use of a spud on a farm, a writer in the Ohio Farmer gives the following personal experi ence: I have used a spud, or light narrow spade, which ever you please to call it, for the last fifteen years to destroy burdocks. My farm was overrun with that pest when I came in possession, but now they are nearly wiped out. By cutting them ofl below the crown they cannot sprout. I had my spud made at that time in the following manner: I got a broken cross-cut saw-plate, took it to a blacksmith, had it cut about 15 inches long, and cut tapering, the top of plate cut square across, and the pointed end cut a little rounding as shown in Fig. 1. Then I punched two quarter-inch holes, the first one about one inch from upper end of spud and the other, two or three inches below, according to the length of spud. Then X make it a lit tie concave, which gives it strength to resist any pressure on the handle; which is cut beveling, as shown in Fig. 2. Any tough spade or fork handle wi 1 answer the purpose. The handle must be riveted on the concave side of blade; the head of rivet should be long and T-shaped to bend over the handle to keep it from splitting. I have a large and small spud. The latter is made from a band-saw plate about eight inches long and two inches pointed end and tapering as shown ln Fig. 1; made in every way as the one described. My large one I use for spading in the garden; they are thin, light, and easily kept sharp. Cutting Corn. Although this article may be some what late to be of use to all farmers this season the following suggestions offered by a writer in the Ohio Farm er are well worth remembering: The first suggestion is that of an im proved corn-cutter, for more readily and easily gathering down or leaning corn. It is made of an ordinary heavy back cutter, such as are sold at har4 ware storeo. The cut will explain how it is made, the dotted lines show ing the cutler before treatment, the solid lines after treatment. The cor ner of the blade should be cut out with a cold chisel, and care should be taken when heating the horn not to heat the blade so as to draw the tern Another suggestion—although ofd to many may be new to some—to which J wish to call attention is that of cutting corn "railroad” fashion, or by going through the first two rows where the shocks are to btand and tying the standards, cutting only the two rows in which they are tied, then taking a single row on one side and going the whole length of the row, stopping at each shock to set up the armful cut between the shocks; then going back on the other side of the roiwof shocks the same way, and so on till the rows are cut; the last row cut, the shocks are tied. In cutting this way the work is all straight ahead and I think corn can be cut faster by this method than by cutting one shock at a time. Try it and sea Grass Seeding In answer to a subscriber the Orange Jndd Farmer has this to say about grass seeding: On well prepared loamy soils 10 to 12 lbs to an acre ot theordi* nary red clover seed is sufficient. On clays and other soils not so rich in plant food it is necessary to sow 12 to 16 lbs to be sure of a good stand. Of course if the season is very favorable throughout, a less quantity would probably give good results, but tak ing one year with another it is not ad visable to sow less than the above named quantities. It is the cheapest and best method to sow timothy seed when drilling wheat. It is the cheapest and usual ly the best method in all respects. Most wheat drills have attachments by means of which timothy seed can be sowed while the wheat is being drilled, thus saving an additional going over the ground, which is then in good con dition and the seed is more likely to grow. Then too, the plant will get a good start before the freezing weather comes on and will be better able to win ter well. In Borne cases it happens that if the wheat is thin or not very strong the grass sowed this early will tend to choke out tho wheat but; ordi narily this will not happen. If the season is not favorable for wheat it will hold its own. Autumn grass seed ing, however, often fails because of continuous dry weather during Sep tember and October. If this happens the field can be again seeded later in Autumn or the following Spring. Some Brief Pointers. Late hatched chicks are apt to be lacking in size and vigor, and their progeny will follow suit. In horse parlance, if a foal is drop ped December 81, it is a yearling the next day. An exchange lays down the wise rule for sheep raisers to grow mutton bieeds if near a good market for meat, letting the wool be a secondary con sideration; or wool, if distant from a market, or if large flocks are to be kept. At this season it is important to give cattle, horses and Bheep a taste of salt. Sheep should have it as often as once a week, at least. But it is better to place lumps of American rock salt (the best) where the animals can help themselves. If constantly within reach they will not take too much. Farm poultry, with the opportuni ties for healthful exercise and plenty of good food the parents ought to thrive and pay well for their keep. But far too frequently they are a sorry neglected lot, and consequently fail to make satisfactory returns. This is not, however, the fault of the biddy. The farmer is theguilty biped. Why don’t farmers oftener keep pigeons? It would be very little trouble to fit up a loft, and the sub sequent care of the beautiful creatures is not great. They make a charming addition to the farm live stock, and the tender squabs are not bad eating by any means. Let the boys or girls have a flock of pigeons. It, will help to make them contented with farm life. Prof. Henry, of the Wisconsin Ex periment station, says, there is an absolute loss incookinglood for hogs. He claims that the only way in which cooked food is of any value is in fur nishing a variety. There is so much difference of opinion upon this subject and upon the use of ground as against unground grain, that we should ad vise all farmers to accept no state ment as authoritative, but to test the matter fully for themselves. Few men have grown rich by selling hay, corn or oats. The apparent profit was derived by robbing the soil of plant food which went away with each load sold. By feeding these products on eajtra profit would be procured from that operation, and the plant food would remain where it belongs—upon the farm. Look to it that you are not selling a part of the farm whenever you haul a load of produce to markets Some men do this, but do not find it out until too late. The fixed stanchion for fastening in stall onght to be relegated to the limbo of discarden things, along with other instruments of torture. They hold a cow, surely enough; but tho restraint on her freedom is altogether unnecessary and, (specially in flv time, a source of great distress to the poor animal. The pivoted stanchion is undoubtedly a decided improve ment, as we might suppose an inquisitorial thumb screw would be that only turned half way. But it is still too great a restraint upon the natural movements of the cow. A collar and rope or chain of proper length is the best method of fastening and ought to be generally adopted. ' AVOID PADS IN DIBf. The Lass Psopls Hava to Do Thsm tha Better for iw Health. Tomatoes are in season, andHhere with has come again the cry that wai raised last autumn, that theeatia. of them induces cancer. Gancer as common in Britain long before te matoes became cheap and popular t( it is now, but such a fact will make no impression on those whochoon to see some connection between the two, and who will perhaps teR usnext year that cabbages ■ induce consump tionand green peas lead to epilepsy Without disputing the importance of diet both in health and disease, the Hospital thinks, one may regret the numberless fads and caprices which is these days ban one food and •‘boom” another. That maltreatment of the digestive organs is at the root of many diseases is true enough; but it u to be remembered that to treat the average stomach as if it were an invalid is the best way to make it one It is a popular notion that the stomachs of vegetarians undergo cer tain organic changes which make then more akin to the herbivorous animals. How far this idea is true no one who has not dissected a 'sworn vegetarian would dare to say; but there seems to be little doubt that a digestion which is never exercised on anything but the mildest meats becomes incapable of Kwva.iug OtIUUmjr, Perhaps popular medical literature is partly to blame for the growing habit of overnursing organs which are quite able to stand ordinary work. Health articles are written by doctors, and these, seeing people only when they are ill, forget that the pa pera they write for—the “family jour nals”—are read by men and women, especially women, who are perfectly well. “Avoid pastry," .writes the doctor, thinking of the confirmed dys peptic who left his consulting room half an hour ago, and a hundred folks who were never a whit the worse for their tarts avoid pastry con scientiously and take to unending sago puddings, whose monotony their weary palate loathes. If we were to renonnee all that we see or hear con demned or overstraining or misusing our digestive apparatus, we should probably take nothing but pepsin, with perhaps a little milk to exercise it on. There are times when after s too rigid dieting, the most mature of us longs for the green apples and raspberry tarts of youth, and such s longing is an honest rebellion of the digestion against a regimen which keeps it weak for lack of proper exer cise. _ To give a fair and reasonable consideration to the food we eat, is a matter of common sense, but to make ourselves mentally the parallels of monks of Mount Athos, and concen trate our attention on all that we should avoid, is to lay ourselves open to the chance of indigestion as much as if we indulged every day in the banquets of a Lucullus. THE MALE BASS AND YOUNQ, He Guards the Eggs While the Fe male la Otherwise Engaged. A small-mouthed bass, the variety sought by anglers, and the only kind caught about the islands in Lake Erie, says the Cleveland Press, at tains a weight of about one-pound in two years, at which time it also ar rives at maturity in a productive sense. It then fans off a clean place on the gravel, deposits eggs which are impreg nated by the male member of the family, when contrary to the general rule laid down by nature, the female goes off to some favorable watering place, wbiletheold man attends strict ly to household duties, and by the most constant care fans with his tail all the sediment off the eggs and drives off all intruders, even to ten-pound mud-turtles. He brings forth his little family of several thousand individual fishes about as large as the end of a broom splint, and about a quarter of an inch long, to become as long as a broomhandla and weigh all the way up to ten pounds, according to the conscience and eyes of the one who for the first time pulls him perinan I ently out of aqua pura. He seldom I attains a weight of over four pounds, I although those weighing over si* pounds have been caught. A Boy's Philosophy. ‘Tattle Johnny,” whose sayings aw reported in the New York Herald, must be a bad boy. Can hie father and mother be at all to blame? “If you tell the truth about some thing,” says Johnny, “You get licked, and if you tell a lie you don’t, nnle» you get found out, and then you get licked twice. “1 know a boy,” he adds, who al ways tells the truth. His mother i* in Europe and his father is out West.' The same youthful philosopher d# livers himself upon another point after this fashion: “Some boys is brave ’cause they al ways play with little boys, and som« boys is brave ’cause their legs is toe short to runaway, but most boys * brave ’cause somebody’s lookin’.’’ Hot Retort to the Russian Autoorat After the partition of Poland, Nich | olas proposed that Vernet should i paint a picture on the subject. “I a® | afraid I cannot do it, sire,” was the [ answer. “I have never painted » Christ on the cross.” “Thejnomeptl had said it,” continued Vernet, when he told me the story, which isscorcely known, “I thought my last hour bad struck. I am perfectly certain that» Russian would have paid for the#* words with his life, or at least wit# life long exile to Siberia. I shall n#8 er forget the look he gave me; them was a murderous gleam in the ey*8 —An Englishman in Par**