A LITTLE IRISH GIRL ■) **Tl»e Dnrliru." CHATTER IX—Continukd. •'A» you will, of course!” says Eyrt Vary stiffly. Ha» all his chlvalr vomo to this thut she will none of him of his Hid, or sympathy, or affection Surely ho is ns modern a Don Quix 0(0 as one may hope to Hud! "You re ally wish to return?” ••I do! 1 do indeed!" says the poo child, clasping her hands imploringly Mr. Eyre makes but one answer t this impassioned and distinctly un flattering appeal—ho returns to he her bag. To the man in the dusk be yond, watching them with a livid face this act seems unprecedented. "11 ok It oocurred to you how you ari to get back ?" askod Kyro, in atom calculated to freeze a salamander. "I shall be able to manago that' feverishly. "1 shall, indued! Oh there is your train," us that snortim machine dashes into thoslatiou. "Oo go! "1 shall ‘go,’ certainly sooner oi later,” says he, sullenly. "Thongl considerably later thuu will please you, to judge by your manner. Hul before 1 oblige you I shall sou you sort* into your home.” ••If you do. you will miss your train. Do -do you think of that?" says she, in « small agony. “Hoe —they are shut ting the doors, and—oh!" breaking off with a little gasp of hope that almost ends in n cry, "there Is Andy! Andy!" calling out aloud. "There! Don't, you sec himPi just running into the station? I'd know bis logs anywhere! Andy! Ami v!M It i>>, indeed. Andy, in tlio flesh and out of humor. All day long1, ever since hit) memorable encounter with her in the vegetable garden be hud de cided to keep an eye upon her, and un eye he 3i«d kept, without blinking; that is, so long as the daylight lasted. But when !> o'clock came and the short winter day was at an end, ho hud re mt taxed his vigilance, and decided to jti consider himself off duty. He had been wondering would she come to ten with him, ns usual, in tlio old schoolroom. Perhaps she would; perhaps too, she wouldn't. As the .>■' hour struck he had gone there and waited. He waited for quite an hour without a misgiving. He waited another qunr ; ter of an hour with considerable inis ;3 givings. At a quarter to six he waited no longer, but went threo steps ’ at a time up stairs to old Bridget to ask her if she knew where Miss Dul J cle was. Mrs. Driscoll had no idea. She put down her knitting, and wrinkled her . brows bo strongly thut Andy, who had ;; not believed thorn capable of another s: crease, gazed at her astounded. ' Wasn't she down in the sohoolroom, ? theni1 No; she wasn’t She hadn’t' come in yet, then? Come in? Andy’slieart began to bent a little quickly. Wflat was it she had said!’ —that she would let them see! Did , she begin Pi let them see when she ff- wont outf But wlien was that';’ ••When did slie go out?" asks ho. . “l'aix. not so long, thin," said the old uurse, in a little frightened fash ion. "Have yo anything on your tniud, Muslber Andy? If you have, epake out! I mind uie now she kissed me in a quare. mad, disturbin' sort of n way. when she was lavin'. I mind, too, that I tould her it was a bit late for a ramble, an' she laughed strange like, and said may bo she'd never have n chance of a ramble ag’in, so she might as well havo it now as not Oh! wlrra! wirrasthrue! What’ll I {■' do it harm has come to roe beauty?” Andy had cut her short it wus ev ident her mind ran on suicide. His tnind ran on Eyre. He knew that lat teb was leaving this evening, and the - ettepioion that Dulcle, in a mad, angry moment had agreed to go with him. seized upon him and held him. Ho t: left the old woman rooking to and fro, nnd praying to every saint in the cal «bdar. It didn’t take him two minutes to •And his hat and rush out into the chill night air en route for the waysido sta tion. ' “"Andy!’cries Dulcinea frantically. In a subdued and piercing tone that ■ reaches not only Andy's ears, but those of Anketell in his distant cor ner. His are unnaturally strained. pp “W«H, here I am!" says Andy, eall • in? out, too, in a distinctly indignant lone. "He diears me!" says Dulciuea. with a little sob of delight, turning excited ly to her companion. “He is coming! Oh! before he comes, go! go! Do you hear me? See, the train U on the fs. point of leaving! If you wait another moment, you .will be left behind, and I . l— Oh! do go!" giving him a fren w.,i sled push. " I will write—1 will o.\ g plain -only go!" n . . “Write—explain!” Eyre feels as if . his senses are deserting him. The flr girl he has put himself in this false •*’ "position to save from abominable tyr i' anny is the one who now deliberately ’ ' —nay, passionately—repudiates his as S* sistance. Explain! "There is no ex f\ planatioo—none!" stammers he, hard ly knowing what he says. Kighteou* . anger is burning in his breast, i * “Oh! but 1 will writer’ declares she S' growing desperate as she sees Audy approaching. “There! be quid:!' 4-, Again she pushes him toward the nov almost moving train, and Eyre, eon '' fused, angry, puzzled, obeys her touch and springs into the carriage ne.ros to him. j < Almost unconsciously he had spruiii into it, the door is banged by a pase ;.’V ing porter, and presently be linds tha - he is under way, and leaving Dulcine forever! * ■ The train disappears Into the night Eyre, leaning back in his corner—th . corner usually coveted, but undispnte j?-.'.in this empty train—gives him up t v thought. It is a revelation to him t find presently that he is feeling fa more' angry .than miserable, rathe upon pathos! ’ “ ! < ; Up to this. Indeed, hb had regarde r. himself, aa a preux chovalier—a Do •?’ .Quixote. He had exulted in his rol £ of Knight of Wofnl Daroosels, an m- here—here is his reward! Lo! whe In it came to the point, the captiv : maiden had declined to be rescued, an clung heroically, if unpoetically. t the tyranny she might have escape* There must be somethin? wrong • somewhere. Kyra, enveloping: him self in his rug, inukes u men tal vow to abjure distressed damsels for all lime, ami devote himself for the .'uture to worldly reasonable be • lugs who hitherto have been the sol ! ace of his existence. . “Those who inflict must suffer, for thoy see The work of their own hearts, and that must bo t Our chuatisemont or recompense '’ Dulelnen, left alone upon the plat > form, turns with a quirk breath of - mingled fear and relief to Andy, who • has only just joined her. “Nice lilt of busiuoss, this,” says that younff man. “Oh! don’t talk here. Andy! ('onie i outside: come beyond the gate. I” — i "1 don't see what going beyond the gate will do," says Mr. McDormot. 1 looking like adamant. “Mayas well ! have it out hero, where I can see you, us in the dusl.v road." ••I’m tired, Andy," says she faintly, with a vague but fruitless effort of 1 softening bint. “Not too tired to come here in the middlo of tho night, anyway.’’ “In tho middle of the night! Oh. Andy! Why, it can't be more than half-past six!" “How well you know the hours of the train! Who" (malignantly) “taught you? My word! all f can say is, that you have done It tills lime, at all events.” “Done what?" (more faintly still). "Do you want mo to put it into words?” says her cousin, regarding her in tho dim dull light of the sta tion lamps w ith a disgust hardly to be put into words. “You are a fool, Dul oinea!” CHAl’TKK X. ‘•ion don t Know nnyinmg: says | Dulcinea. taking all tho courage she has into her hand and preparing to do battle with it. •'You accuse me; you say things—but-’ (incoherently) “you know nothing! Nothing! 1 oamo out only—only to—to" (dospemtoly) “see if 1 could match some wool in the vil lage down there, und 1 wundorod on hero, and” “What n .hunger!” says her cousin. “Is that tho best you cun doPTo mutch wool by this light! Why not Ssy you came to meet a young lady? There would be a protty color about thut, nt all events.” "ft was wool,” persisted hulclnea, dismally. “With a pretty color about it, too!’ ’ with grooving scorn. “Oh, no! it wont do, my good Dulcle. D’ye think I can't see how the'land liesP Wait till you see Bridget! She’s got a word or two to say to you, believe me! Sho’s got it hot and strong for you, und no mistnke.” “Bridget will say nothing to me,” says Duluiuea. ".She, at least" (un steadily), “has always been kind to me." “Your quarter’s up, there.” says Andy. “Kxpect no grace. She’s only waiting to see you to give you the biggest bit of her mind on record." “Take me to her,” says Dulcinea, in a low tone, suggestive of intense fa tigue, bodily and mental. “What makes you so tired?" asks her cousin, trying to see hor face. “You seem done up. What!” as the thought dawns upon him, “do yon mean to say that you walked here? Marched every step of the way through the cold and damp to meet that fellow?” Dulcie nods her liead; words now are almost beyond her. “By George! you must be fond of him!" “I atn not!” says Dulcinea, with a faint, a very faint return of her old spirit. "You expect me to believe that, and yet you certainly coraoall this way for tho mere sake of giving him a parting word, of seeing him safely off.” “Yes—yes," says his cousin, with such an over-eager confession that she opens'his eyes to the full truth. “To go off with him!" says he slowly. . - • "It that it, really? Oh, Dulcie!” There is such reproach, such sur prised reproach in his young voice that Dulcinea gives way beneath it. "Oh, it is all true, Andy—all! every word you have said. Father, Sir Ralph—even you, were unkind to me. And he—though i didn’t care fqy him he was kind; and he asked me to come away from all this trouble” “You mean to say you spoke to him —yoq complained to him of Sir Ralph —of your father?” “I did. 1 know now it was hateful of me; but—he wus very kind and I was unhappy. And Sir Ralph was so cold, and so lecturiug-like — and”—She 'ti!’(»:»If s off. “Well, I wou'dn’t have believed it of you.” says Andy, shaking1 his head gloomily. “And Anketell such a good sort! However." (pulling himself to gether) “the one thing now to be con cidered is how you Are to get home. It will take a long time to get ac >r up here from that beastly hole below; and by the time we reach the house the governor will be in such a fume that there will be no holding him.” “Can't we walk?” (eagerly). “That would occupy even longer. I suppose. I know what girls are stumbling over every stone and shriek ing at every shadow. No; that would take hours, and set the governor’s I back up an inch or two higher. He’d I be all alive O, with a vengeance, lise the cockies, if we didn’t get home be fore that-’’ | “What shall we do, then?’’ says t i Duleie, glancing round her. I “1 wish 1 knew. Better stay here • 1 until 1 run dowu to the village and - j bring back a car of some sort ’I’on my soul” (moodily) “you have done it for once, and handsomely wiien you were a^out it.' At this moment it so happens that Dulrinea iu her remorse and grief and despair, changes her position. She had thought of escaping her cousin's eye—which is sharp, to say the least of it; but, not understanding the eccen tricities of the station lamps, so turns that he can sco her even more dis tinctly. Perhaps it was a wise move, ’ll un studied. The dull, dead lamp over there shows Mr. McUermot such a pale, tear-stained and miserable little face, that all his wrath dies down be' fore it. “After all.” begins he hurriedly, and in, a considerably milder voioe, f ••there’s one ining in your favor—t don't forgot that. When it came to the scratch you didn’t go with him. You caved in «t the right hour; and uo wonder, too. The barrel-organ business wouldn't bo irood enough for you. 1 any. Dulcie. old girl, don't— don’t cry, whatever you do! Keep up you pecker; leave it all to me, and l’il pull you through; I’ll square it with the governor if he iinds you out, and J'm afraid he's bound to do that, us you are very considerably out, not only of your house, but your reckon ing. Ha! ha! that's a joke! D’ye see UP’’ In this melancholy way he seeks to cheer her; but Dulciuea is beyond see ing anything. !She is like Nlobe—“all tears.” "You’ll be in hysterics In a second, if you don’t keep a tight rein,” says her cousin in a horror-stricken way. ••Look there” (glancing upprensively around him), “You’ll be heard if you go on like that. I wish to goodness there was some way of getting you homo in a hurry; we could then put it on the pins or the wool-work safely; but—-By Jove!”—starting—."there’s Sir Ralph!”_ CHARTER XI. "To know to esteem, to love—and then to part, Makes up lil’o's tale to many a feeling heart. “What?” says Dnlcinea. She stands still, us if turned into stone. Her toars eeuse. She feels frozen. He— he, of all men, here! Hud he seen— guessed "Sir Ralph, by all that's fortunate,” “WhereP” “Just over there; evidently come this moment in answer to my prayer.” In fact, Sir Ralph, who had been go ing away from the platform, having seen nil be never wished to see, had turned nt the last second to speak to a porter; and had, therefore, when Andy’s eyes fell on him, all the ap pearance of one penning toward, in stead of going uway from him. "Was there ever sueh luck? Of course he's got a trap of some sort. He’ll drive vou home. I say, Anke tell!—” “Oh, Andy!”—grasping his arm— "Oh Andy! Don’t! don’t!” * “Don’t what?”—angrily. “Don't make me go home with him!” (in an agonized whisper). “But, why—why?”—impatiently. “Oh. not with him! Supposing he was here all the time, and saw1-” [to be continued.] FOUND AT LAST 1 * * —_$ The American Citizen Might Be .Scared, but Wan True to His Country. Some years ago. when Sir Charles Smith was traveling by special train in Dakota, he told his private secre tary to instruct the conductor that he should not say "Mr. Smith,” but “Sir Charles' ’ in speaking to so great a man. Next time the conductor camo round he said: “Well, sir—Charles —the next station is Clyndon. ’’ And always thereafter he continued to use the same form, “Well sir—Charles.” j Last year, when Sir James Horn- j lake and a number of other prominent i Englishmen were traveling in this country as guests of the American Iron and Steel institute, the company had U special train. The porter of the car in which Sir James traveled for two days was a singularly polite, but slightly deaf negra He always ad dressed Sir James as "Misser Ome lette.” After this had occurred sev eral times. Sir James who e sense of personal importance is well devel oped, said, in an appalling loud tone: “My good fellow, you must not speak to me in that manner. When you ad dress me you are to say Sir Jamos Homlake—Sir James Homlake—re member that!” “Porter, have you remembered to say Sir Janies Hom lake ?” asked one of the Americans the next day, when he happened to meet the darky where the knight was not. “Oh. not sah!. 1 don’ say no such thing. Dis yer’s a free country.” “What do you call him. then?" “j'us’ Misser Omelette, yessah. Jus’ Misser Omelette, sah.” “Arn’t you afraid?” “Yessah—scared mos’ to deff, but Pse a 'Merican citizen, sah.”—The Arc gonaut Absent-Minded. Professor Kunstler was an old Ger man pedagogue, noted for his absent mindedness. He and a friond, another old professor, used to take a daily walk together. One day. when walk ing was very bad. Professor Kunstler was on his way to the corner at which, he nnd his friend always met. when he encountered a young student whose face he recognized dimly, having seen it every day for some weeks in his' morning class. The professor hailed the boy, who was wading through the. mud to get across the street. ••Have you seen Professor Muller?’' ho asked. "Yea. Herr Professor,” replied the student, pausing in the midst of a mud puddle to remove his cap respect fully; -the Herr Professor Muller is at the corner, waiting for you.” ••Good." replied Professor Kunstler. looking amiably at the lad over his spectacles: • 'I thank you; you may be seated. —Argonaut Height of the Atmosphere. Curious evidence shows that a cubic inch of air at sea level contains about I S50,000.000 molecules. If the law of regularly diminishing density holds good, a cubic inch of air at the height of 100 miles will contain about 350. - 000 molecules; and at loss than 222 miles only nine* molecule. - Opinions differ, however as to the actual height of the atmosphere’s upper sur face. Prof. Young declares that no definite upper limit can be stated, while Prof. Forster, of Berlin, con tends that a thm air. connected wit! that of the eartn. pervades the whole solar system. >. The Fact In the Caw. Mrs. Kindly (meeting one of th< twins)—My. my. how much you an< your brother look alike. - It is ver; difficult to tell you apart Twin—But it ain’t so hard, ma’am to tell us together.—Detroit Fro Press. THE AGRICULTURAL WORLD MATTERS OF INTEREST TO THE FARMER. , Some Ways of Draining— Sunflow er Seed for Poultry—Make the Land Richer— Exterminating Rats—Frozen Eggs— Straw Shelter. Some Ways of Draining. Tbs kind of drainage for any par ticular land depends entirely on its natural consistency, and also on the nature of the subsoil. If the soil hnd subsoil are both tree and open, it is not necessary to have the drains very close together, as water will flow «out freely if the pipes are laid a consider able distance apart. If the soil is stiff clay, resting on an impervious subsoil, it is necessary to place them close together In all land which drains freely the water does not fall into tile from above, but rises up from below, entering the bottom. This is because there is in most land a level, below which all the spaces be tween the particles of soil are filled in with water, and this top, of which is known as the level of supersaturation says Prof. J. Maldon in Tillage; j and it is this which must be kept ; from rising near to the sur | face. Above this level of supersat uration there may be an excess of moisture, which is h.eld by capillary attraction, but the amount diminish es os it nears the surface. It is neces sary to keep the level of supersatura tion far enough from the surface to allow room for roots of plants to grow without having to come in contact with it. As the water is held up by capillarity, that which is far above the drains does not sink soquickly as that near to them; so us to make the drainage complete and rapid in its ac tion, the drains should be laid lower than would be otherwise desired to keep the water level. iooDtnin tbrough itnder.drainage, the tiles must he laid at considerable depth. There is one point very com monly missed by those who follow low drainage by theoretical teach ings, which practice rerutes, and it occurs when dealing with some classes of very heavy land. Any soil with a subsoil which, is at all porous may be benefitted by deep under-drainage, but there are subsoils so impervious that water does not sink into them, as may be proved by digging a deep trench and leaving it open, when it will be seen that little water finds its way in; and as this is the case it is obvious ly useless to open up frequent chan nels to- become the graves of the tile through which no water passes, ft would be no less foolish to drain thin soils resting on rocks by means of tiles four feet deep. But there is no land which suffers more from the ef fects of water,for, beyond evaporation, there is no outlet, unless it is conduct ed away by shallow channels, and the forms'that these channels can most conveniently take are water gut ters and shallow drains. It must not be forgotten that the general - princi ples of drainage do not apply, and are not intended to apply to relieving the undrainabie clays which are under consideration. The water must be got off the surface, and for this reason the land is laid up in ridge and fur row, so that the water can run into the mould-furrows, and on into the water gutters. The common signs of wetness are: Water standing on the land after rain; difficult working of the land as compared with the surround ing soil which is properly drained; poor Crops when it is known that the ' land is otherwise in good condition; yellowness of the crops, especially in Spring; presence on grass land of rushes, sedges, water-grasses, hassock-grass, and other weeds and of willow weed, coltsfoot, etc., on arable land, frequent presence of in sect-eating birds, such as plovers. Some very important practical points to bear in mind are: That tiles ought to be carted in slack time, but on heavy land injury is done by hauling when it is wet; therefore take advan tage of cold weather; discard all bad tiles; the fall must not be less than 1 foot in 220; place main drains three inches lower than the furrow: turn the outlets slightly down stream and brick-face them, with a grafting over the mouth to prevent rats entering; see that ditches are cleaned out properly; the top furrow may be plowed out; make drains nearly straight, and only: wide enough to allow n\?n working room; springs must be drained a few inches lower than the rest of the field; in large systems provide main drains with settling tanks; work from the outlets, laying the main drains first; do the work by the piece; allow no filling-iip until eriginser or yourself sees the tiles properly laid; fill in the drains carefully at first, so as not to dislodge the tiles; avoid accumulation of sedi ment;: the side drains should never en •ter central main ones opposite each other; avoid hedge rows and trees where possible; have a plan of ttie farm, with every outlet' marked, sc that if they are lost sight of.tbey may be fiound again. . Exterminating Rata. A subscriber wishes to know of e i emedy for driving away rats, as lm mills are almost in possession of thesi “varmints” exclusively. At one tinn • when his had a storehouse, we weri bothered very much with rats, ai samples of fertilizers, fabrics, sugars and all such truck were thrown care lessly in there, which furnished then good food,and plenty material out o , wtyich to make nests, etc., and w< cleared the entire premises, perman ently, of these vermin by making i whitewash yellow with copperas, am covering, every expo> e 1 surface witi , it. In all crevices where they coul< get we placed some *nnoeras crystals and scattered the same in the corners of the floor. The result was a perfect stampede of rats and mice. 8ince that time not a foot fall of either rat or mouse has been heard about, the bhilding, and we treated our residence, barn etc., with same, and like results en sued. Every spring the cellar as well as the entire interior of out-houses receive a coating of yellow whitewash, and mice and rats, and the like have so far given us a wide berth. In addition to the power of driving away these vermin possessed by the copper solution, it is an excellent dis infectant, and we ha\'e often prescrib ed it for buildings, tenement houses and blocks infected with malaria and typhoid fever with the best results, and we advise out querist to proceed at once to thoroughly wash all por tions of his buildings where they have runways, with this solution. It is much better than poison as they are apt to crawl between the walls to die, and what smells worse than a de funct rat? Make the Land Richer. There seems to be no occnpation in life wherein men are so generally averse to paying ont money (or its equivalent) for benefits to be received a little later on, as in farming and especially in relation to feeding the land in order that it may produce more abundantly^ Take green raa nuring, for instance. If a man sows a crop for this purpose, half the time he changes his mind when it has grown and harvests and sells it, and this notwithstanding the fact unless stock feeding enters largely into his system of operations green manuring must be his main dependence for continued or increasing prosperity. We do not begin to make use of this means for supplying fertility as we would if we could bring ourselves to pursue a more open-handed policy with onr lands. We might often put in a catch crop of oats,'rye or clover where land is left bare for months, and by turning them un der put solid capital in our bank that will pay good dividends in future years. This general farmer is always on the safe side in green manuring, although he may be a stock keeper al so, for, if he grows harvests ana crops with the purpose of feeding them out and returning the manure to the land, the chances are that his appliance for saving the product are so inadequate that not half ot it gets where it is needed. In turning under a green crop says a writer in Farmer’s Guide there is no opportunity for the escape of the valuable elements. The crop decomposes completely in the ground which it is intended to enrich, and enters then and there upon its work. Sunflower Seed for Poultry. A correspondent for American Poul try Yard speaking of the sunflower seed as a poultry feed says it is the grandest poultry food on earth, being valuable for egg-producing and flesh forming, as well as for adding a beauti ful luster to the fowls. As an egg-food, we believe it is fully equal, if not super ior, to wheat, buckwheat or oats, and greatly superior to corn, as it is neith er so heating nor so fattening as the latter grain. He says: Sunflowers will grow on any kind of soil or in fence corners, but yield bet ter when cultivated upon good land. They should be planted about the same as corn, two or three seeds in a hill; if they are planted two thick, they grow slim and tall, without mak ing good heads. We prefer the short, thick stalks to the tall ones, as we think they yield better and are easier to gather. Care should be taken in cul tivating them, as the stalks are very brittle and break easily. Though they will grow up again, if broken off, they will branch out and not make good heads. The heads vary in size from two to 18 inches in diameter, sometimes to even 22 inches with good cultivation; but 12 inches is a good average, a good head of this last diameter yielding about a quart of Beed. ounnowers may oe planted any time from the moment the host leaves the ground until the middle of July. We believe when they are planted early enough say in March, that two crops could be raised from the same ground in a year, by planting the second crop between the rows of the first after they have matured, and cutting down the stalks as they get ripe. We planted two acres about June 20, ot this year and though the season was an exceptionally dry one, we raised about six bushels to the acre, and we think would have raised four or five times as much, if it had not been so dry. This grain can usually be- had at seed-houses at about $1 per bushel Frozen Eggs. In the winter season quantities of eggs are frozen, and it is generally .con sidered that such eggs are worth but little, or to say the least are much in jured for cooking purposes. This, how ever. is not strictly true, for if proper ly treated are but little injured. In stead of (as was the custom) putting them into cold water to take the frost out and waiting several hours for the thawing to take place, and then find • J1?® y°lk9 >" such a solid state that they can be used with no satis w°k,nft try the following method. 1 lace them in boiling water and leave them there from five to twenty minutes, according to the amount ot frost in them, when upon Car. mt ■****1^ -Street trees sometime*,^ H- however, they havew?h well selected a rinali knifTjS that is necessary for a tew I move an occasional bra»*i>y?"*| out in the wrong- plae? & 1™"'. J* this necessity^ ssafts&igfr We have often exp&^» e stub to left thiSi^tol Md as the trtnlc grows abM] ease will eat inw«ffi $*3 zssssastS qSS&iC.S^lS 9 removal of one which*1 with another.—Garden and Pa When a Kan la at HI. Bn. 1 The best half of life is in flTj man of 40 if he be amtwSfl The work he will dowUlbf^ the hand of a master and nnt^. apprentice. The trained iWCj not see men as trees walkin»» sees everything clear and in jSL ure. The trained temper doi at work like a blind bill atS but advances with the calm and £ pace of conscious power and dein. determination.—Vick’s Magazin" ; Treating Snake Bit*. Sir Joseph Fayrer, who is the a est living authority on thesuhS snake bites, holds that a Sf ing from snake poison is pram dying of “nervous exhaustion" consequently when the victim hi to take violent exercise in or throw off by perspiration the that has been absorbed in his s his end is in reality being ham Perspiration should be induced! vapor bath so as to draw the poi* of the system. Sir Joseph ft. experience leads to the eonclusioal at the present time there is no I cure for the bite of either the cot, theDabola. ,i a ®«®«» and the Watch. H A young lady had a beautiful j watch of which she was unduly ■ The time-piece was exhibited on ni occasions, and a few days ago,i some admiring friends were exam it, the watch accidentally slipped their fingers. A cry of dismay wei when the party saw the wateh i pear with a gulp in the yaw mouth' of a dog which sat at their looking expectantly upward and) naturedly wagging its tail. Poordi imagined that he had received a eL, morsel, and looked pleased with feat of catching it on the fly, 1 proved to be his death warrant was summarily dispatched, audit post-mortem the watch was re none the worse for the mishap ■100 Bernard 0100. The readers of this paper will be plea learn that there is at least one dreaded 4 that solence has been able to cure lid stages, and that ia Catarrh. Hall’ll Cure is the only positive cure now tarn the medical fraternity. Catarrh belngss stitutlonal disease, requires a conitittdi treatment. Hall’s Catarrh Cure iatiiai ternaliy, acting directly upon thebMt mucous- surfaces of the system, tW destroying the foundation of the dliaM,i giving the patient strength by buddii) the constitution and assisting nature lib its work. The proprietors have so mud* in its curative powers that tbey ofirl Hundred Dollars for any case that It b* care. Send for list of testimonial!. (7*Address F. J. CHENEY & CO., Tok*t New Treatment for Nervous DImmO This novel method consists ins taneous injections of a solution oil phosphate of soda, which, notentar the system by the digestive tract,* directly on the nervous system. T Brown-Sequard elixir was notaln harmless, but in many instances* duced local inflammation at the p where the injection was made or d unpleasant consequences. But no* serious objection is likely to be r" to the use of a solution of five g“ of seltzerized, distilled water. Coughing Leads to a oso tion. Kemps Balsam will stop> the at once. Go to your druggist todsy* a sample bottle free. Large bottle# w1 and onedoUar. The man who never praise^ his wib serves to have a poor one. ••Hanson's Magic Warranted to cure, or money roluuaw. dru#fflMt Ior.lt. Price 25 cento. What some people call prudenw what others call meanness. We eat too much and take too M door exercise. This is the fault of» ern civilization. It is claimed that ^ Tea, a simple herb remedy, helps overcome these abuses. _ mini He who would be strong in have facts for diet. DUQUETTE & CO'S Tablets. “Absolutely the best maoI . ounce package for 5 cento, at your gists or Confectioners. Ask for to STOP THAT COUGH. It takes contact with others to acquainted with ourselves. Baker's Emiilsl*”-. a,bil The great, reiedv for throat '“‘JiSa etc., palatable as honey Sold b?