■HP .
■
•HINTS OP LUXURY.
Mad* Always With Cuff* Attached, But
Not Commonly With Collar*.
New York Sun: "Mora and more m*n
hav* their shirt* mad* with ouffa at
tached,” said a dealer In men'* fur
nishing good*, "but the proportion of
men who bave their shirt* mad* with
oollars attached la email and not In
creasing.
"On* reaaon for this lies In the diffi
culty of getting shirts with oollars at
tached laundered perfectly. The beat
laundry work in th* oountry la, of
course, don* her*. Thor* are men In
other eltloe even as far as a thousand
miles away who send their linen to
New Tork to be laundered. But still
It Is dtlSeult to get a shirt with collar
attached don* up perfectly. But a
stronger reason for having the collar
separate la In th* greater convenience
of that method.
"Tor one thing, with separata collars
a man oaa wear different sorts of col
lars with the same shirt, and then he
can have hi* collars mad* to order,
Oeure Poor Backache.
Randolph, Neb., May 80.—Oder C*
km* seldom heart of a more wonderful
case than that of Mr* L/ucy Nleolls,
of thta place. Tor a long Urn* Mrs.
Nleolls goffered with very severe pstn*
In the buck and almost Instantly these
pains left her. 8h» has tried doctors
and everything, but nothing had helped
her till she used Dodd’s Kidney Pills.
She aayst
"Dodd's Kidney Pills did me so
much good I can’t toll, It was eo won
derful. My back hurt me all the time.
I doctored and tried everything, but
did net feel any better. I thought my
life waa short on earth, but now 1 feel
like a new peraon. I used a box of
Dodd’s Kidney Pill* and I do not feel
the slightest ache or pain. 1 can turn
and twist any wav without feeling it,
end I feel so proud of it I cannot hard
ly express say gratitude be Dodd’s Ktd
sey Pill* tar what they have done for
ns”
Th# Primitive Book.
Henry Smith Williams, LL.D.. In Har
per's Mageals* for May: Th* oldest books
p sxlatsnce *rs, doubtless, those of the
Babylonians; but the great permanency
of these 1* explained by tbs material of
Srhlah they are composed, and It does not
asoessartly follow that thsy wore the first
books to be mada W* know that th*
Egypt,ana employed a papyrus roll from
the earliost historical periods, and that
th* Hindoos mad* their palm leaf books
St a very early day. In short, every civ
ilised nation 1* discovered, at th* very
dawn of Its history, In full possession of
a system o€ book making.
It la Impossible to decide th* question
a* to who liver one nation borrowed from
i another In developing the Idea of book
making.
Limiting our view strictly to the historic
period, wo find, as has been said, the live
types of book* In general use. We bave
now to consider briefly the distinguishing
characteristic# of each of those types be
• for# noting th* steps of development
through whioh the modern book was
evolved. First let us give attention to
the papyrus roll of th* Egyptians. As has
been said, this type of book was employed
In Egypt from the earlleet day of the his
torical period. As Is well known, papyrus
Is a epecles of primitive paper- the word
"paper” being. Indeed, a derivative of
j “'papyrus’'—which was made of strips of
the papyrus plant placed together to form
two thin layers, the fibers of one crossing
■ those of th* other, and th* whole made
‘ Into a thin, firm sheet with tb* aid of
glue and mechanical pressure. The etrlp*
of papyrus were usually from eight to
i; fourteen inches In width, and from a few
feet to ssvsral yards la length. This
•scroll was not ustd, as might perhaps
f have been expected, for th* Insertion of a
j single continuous column of writing. A
,] 'moment’s consideration will make It olear
that such a method would have oreated
■difficulties both for th* eortb* and for the
(reader; therefore th* muoh more con
venient method was adopted of writing
line* a few Inches In length, so placed as
to form transverse column*, which fol
lowed one another In regular sequence
from the beginning to the end of the
scroll.
His Idsa.
Teacher—Of what are heroes made?
Scholar—One of them breakfast food* 1
I guess, '
The New Standard.
• *My little tnan, you seem to be very 1
Cond of that young lady.”
"Fond of her! Why, say, mister; she's
worth her weight lit radium.”
* Mr*. VV U>MLo\r * aoo.ursa stuur r.ir Chll.lr*ii
***u>in*'. i cftos . Cl* sunn, r»d»c* Ufi*mm»uaa «.
i*r*i.Aix. e.*r** *B*d collo. * cone * bceu*.
A Good Idea.
She -1 always put my money unde,
the mattress at night.
He—Why?
< She—So I'll have something to fal)
buck on.
New Farm Paper.
The Farmer and Breeder, which has
,, been published In Sioux City the past
three years as a semi-monthly. Is now
published weekly, and has been greatly
Improved In all departmente. It Is a
high grade, nlxteen-pago agricultural
t-nd live stock paper, and should be u
regular visitor to the home of every
farmer and live stock breeder.
Expensive Smile.
The Tragedian—Ah! her smile haunt,
me yet.
The Comedian—Same here. I asked
her to take a drink last night and she
ordered champagne.
• Haw's This I
We otter One Hundred Dollars Rewxrd lot
say oase of Catarrh that canuot be cured by
Ball's Catarrh Cure.
V. J. CHKN1CY ft CO, Props, Toledo. ().
We the uaderslgned hare kuo’vn F. J. Chcnev
tor the 1*5.1 15 year*, and behove him perfectly
honorable la all bti.luess transactions and flnan
*1*11? able to carry out any obligation made by
their Arm.
Was-. hTKi-cx. Wholesale Druggists, Toledo. O.
Wai.lUKU. ltiNWAM & M-ARVIN, Wholesale
DrioqrtsU, Toledo, 0.
Hall’s catarrh Cure D taken Internally, actliu
directly upos the blood and mucous surfaces of
Hie system. Price 7ftc. per bottle. Solti b> alt
urnwrlsa.. Testimonials free
Hall's Family Pills are the beet.
Her Idoa.
§K Benton Holme—I want to take yon
to the theater tonight, but 1 felt as
though 1 couldn't afford It.
|i Mrs. Teuton Holme—That's all right.
We can go tomorrow night.
No Getting It Bock.
ft: CatboKc Standard and Times: Mrs.
P Petty—I think I'll get our Willie a sav
ings bank tor IBs birthday.
Mr. Potty—Good! and I'll put in
about twenty dimes as my present.
Mr*. Petty—It's a splendid hank;
once the money's In It's Impossible to
got It out.
Mr. Petty—Well—er-come to think
of It. dear. I'm so short of money 1:1
Just give WliUe a tin horn or some
:thlng.
The Princess of Wales Is the most ts
siduouf. of leaders In the English roya.
family
r__
©>6e Black **®j
Wolf's Breed
Copyright 1899 By Horrli Dickson
w_____
"Bravo! Placlde," he exclaimed, clap
ping his hands, his rugged face nglow
with martial joy. His countenance
changed, however, when his eye fell
upon yie cringing figure of Matamora,
the commandant of perfidious memory.
“You, too. Matamora? Wliat, not
yet killed! Hast saved thy precious
skin again? More’s the pity. And do
you think to merit the respect accorded
manhood and good faith? By the
name of honor, no. Here boy,” and he
beckoned to the negro slave who stood
at his elbow, "do you take yon dis
honored weapon and break It before
the troops.”
And Matamora, full glad to escape
with life and limb, willingly yielded up
his sword to the black who snapped It
under Ids foot, obedient to Bienville's
nod, then cast the tainted pieces from
him.
Upon the long march to Biloxi, de la
Mora was the life of the command, and
drew to our campfire every straggler
who could make a fair excuse to come.
He knew good songs, and he sang
them well; he knew good cheer, and
he kept us all In radiant spirits. All,
save myself. I was bitterly dejected.
"Cheer up, lad,” he'd say, "What alls
you? One would think you'd met re
I verse, instead of winning glory and
promotion. It was a brave day, and
bravely you did bear yourself. Would
that Jerome could see."
But the consciousness of dishonor
had torn elation from my soul, though,
God knows. It had before been stain
less In thought or deed.
“We'll have many sweet and tran
quil hours at Biloxi when days of peace
are come. My cottage can be your
home after the barracks no longer
claim your care. Agnes Is the sweetest
of wives; her little sister, too, a child,
hut fair, and clever too, beyond her
years.”
Verily I cared nothing for a baby
Bister. But Agnes?
He repeated his invitation to their
cottage many times, and mentally I
prayed, "O God, lead not Thy children
Into temptation.”
When we had settled down again at
Biloxi, for days I remained to myself
In the barracks, and saw no one, mak
ing pretense of being busy amongst my
men.
De la Mora rallied me upon my un
gallant conduct, In denying to the la
dles the sight of so famous a soldier.
1 had now firmly determined to make
It necessary to be away from the post
for a season, either in campaign with
the Choctaws against the Natchez, or
by taking part In the coming siege of
Havana. Any pretext to get away.
Anything but the truth.
CHAPTER XXn.
THE CONTENTS OF THE BOX.
One day very soon thereafter my
lervant presented me a box, which he
said had been brought there by an In
dian from Colonel d'Ortez, with the re
quest that it he delivered Into my own
hand. And further, to beg I would
make him a visit as soon us my duties
would permit.
The evening being advanced I could
not go that night, so contented myself
with the promise I would cross the buy
on the morrow.
Later, my company being my own,
I gave attention to the box,such a metal
receptacle as was commonly used for
articles of value. It responded easily
to the key, and opened without diffi
culty.
The reasons for d’Ortez’s fear and
retirement lay bare before me, If I
would but search them out. Within
the box, bound together by deerskin
thongs, were many writing*, some on
parchment, some paper, of different
dates and degrees of preservation.
Some were well worn from age and
handling, others more recent, were In
better condition. Some there were
which appeared quite new and fresh;
these must have been the latest to llnd
a resting pluce in his keeping.
All were arranged In due and sys
tematic order; of whatever age, each
bore a careful superscription, giving
In brief the contents of the paper writ
ten by ht.s own exact hand. Beside this,
each document was numbered and
placed In sequence. Verily, It was most
methodically done, so any child could
read and understand.
It was with much misgiving I ap
proached the task of making myself
familiar with my old friend’s secret.
Had he commuted some youthful
crime which weighed heavily upon Ills
trembling age, and had driven him to
these savage shores, where, shut out
from all companionship with his kind,
he did a lonely penance. If so, I pre
ferred to remain in ignorance, for his
was a friendship so dear, so pure, 1
desired not to taint It with the odor
of guilt.
He had, however, made his request
lit such urgent terms, even pathetic,
I could not disregard it, and putting
aside the reluctance I felt, I took up
the paper which lay on top. directed to
myself, and began its perusal. It was
as follows:
My Dear Placlde: The great feebleness
of my worn-out frame warns me again
that lime for me Is almost past. It mav
be, when you recross the seas, 1 shall have
gone to Haul Judgment. . . . remember
my request, and carry on to the end that
work which generations of cowards have
left undone. . . . All Is here contained
In these papers, except some recent news
I have of the Pasqulers from the northern
colonies.
Possibly If you went to Quebec and
sought out the Cure of St. Martin's (who
wrote this lust, No. 32) you may right it
all, and give to my soul Its eternal peace.
. . . With the strong affection which my
bodily Infirmities have In no wise dimin
ished, l am, your old l'rlend,
Raoul Armand Xavier d’Ortez,
of Cartlllon, Normandy.
Having carefully read this letter, I
, then proceeded to peruse the various
! documents in tho order he had ar
ranged them.
The first, written by the hand of the
Benedictine, Laurent of Lorraine, ab
bot of Vaux, told of the admission to
the monastery of a child, son of Henri
j d’Artin. to whom the good monks gave
i the name Bartholomew Pasquler. This
child, though designed for orders, left
! the monastery, cast Ids fortunes with
! the king of Navarre, and became a
j great officer in the household of King
1 Henri the Fourth.
Other documents gave an account
of the posterity of this child down to
. one Francois Kene Alois de Pasquler,
' w ho tied to America in 1674 to escape
I the vengeance of a certain great lord
j whose son he slew in a duet. This was
j he who was' reputed to have been
j killed hi battle, and to have left no la
me And tills was he »t(om I after
v.. (■’ loan 1 to he my own good father.
, Theie was also contained an account
----*
of the later life of Pedro d’Ortez, who,
profiting not by his blood-gotten gains,
threw himself, while In delirium, into
the same old well whereon he had
hanged his brother, Henri d’Artln.
Some further notes by the good ab
bot told of how Raoul, the second son
of Pedro, slew his own brother, before
their father’s eyes, In order that he,
Raoul, might he count of Cartillon.
And this same Raoul, some years later,
did have the locket made and forced
his own son to swear that he would
restore the real sons of d'Artln, the
true children of the Black Wolf's Breed,
to their own again. All of these ac
I’ounts are of surpassing interest, old
and quaint, to a perusal of which I
recommend my children.
For the first time, In reading these
manuscripts, did I begin clearly to as
sociate the name d’Ortez with the
name used by the madman in ills story
at the old Norman ruin. With tills new
light, link by link did the whole knot
ted chain untangle. Curiously enough,
the tale I had heard at tiie ruined
castle tallied in the main with the
monkish documents here preserved. In
deed it supplied me with knowledge of
much which otherwise T would not have
comprehended so completely. The
horrible reality of that weird recital
was still fresh and distinct before me,
undimmed by time and unforgotten
through all my troubles.
I had sought refugt- many times from
brooding over my own affairs by turn
ing to this for Interest and occupation.
Every further detail was supplied by
a number of quaint documents, which
Cojonel d’Ortez had digested into this:
Table showing the male descendants of
Henri d’Artln:
Henri Francois Placlde d'Artln, died
August 26, 1572.
Bartholemew Pasquler (son of above)
died 1609.
Sons of above—Bartholemew Placlde
Pasquler. killed In wars of the Fronde;
Henri I.ouis John (brother to above), died
1654.
Francois Rene Xavier de Pasquler (en
nobled), killed 1650.
Francois Rene Alois de Pasquler, fled to
America. Supposed to have been killed
about 1681. No known descendants. Well
known to the Cure of St. Martin’s, Que
bec.
Table showing the male descendants of
Pedro Ortoz:
Pedro d’Ortez, suicided 1604.
Sons of above—Charles Pedro, killed by
Raoul 1602; Raoul, died 1618.
Charles Francis Peter (son of Raoul),
died without issue.
Pedro d'Ortez (brother to above), died
1663.
Henry (son of above), killed in battle.
Sons of above—Alphonze, killed In bnttle;
Felix, died in infancy; Raoul Armand
Xavier d’Ortez, born 1641 (myself). Died
-. No children.
She who was born my daughter I dis
owned, and site died without issue.
It appeared that the only thing tp
be done was to visit the good cure of
St. Martin’s, and, enlisting him in the
search, find whatever descendants
might have been left by this Francois
Rene Alois ile Pasquler. The task need
not be a difficult one, as many old peo
ple should still be living who might
have known of the man.*
•A very slight Investigation showed that
this last named Francois Rene Alois de
Pasquler was none other than my own
good father, who assumed the name de
Mouret to avoid the consequences of a
fatal duel In France. Tills I learned from
the pious Cure of St. Martin’s, who knew
him well.
I now bethought me of this enter
prise as a fair excuse whereby I could
leave Biloxi for a space. I would,
therefore, call upon my old friend, and
having obtained leave, matters now be
ing safe with the colony, make the
journey to Quebec.
But, alas for the weakness of fallen
humanity; my last act before putting
myself out of temptation’s way was
to run full tilt Into it.
While this came so near to ’causing
my dishonorable death, yet It was, un
der divine providence, the direct means
of spreading before me a long life of
happiness and honor. After a hard bat
tle with my weaker self I lost the
fight.
Just as on the day I departed from
Versailles, I determined, cost what it
would, to see Agnes once again. So
I wrote her a note. Such a blunt and
clumsy billet ns only a love-sick sol
dier or a country clown could have
written. It craved pardon for the heat
and the haste displayed by me when
we parted at Sceaux; it implored one
last interview before I left the colonies
forever. I had not the art to conreqj.
or veil my meaning, but told It out and
plainly. Such a note as an Idiotic boy
might pen, or a simpering school lass
be set fluttering to receive.
I bade my man deliver this to
Madame de la Mora on the morrow,
charging hint minutely and repeatedly
to see it safe In her own hands. So
careful was I, I did not doubt that
even so stupid a lout as Jacques un
derstood me perfectly.
Ills further Instructions were to meet
me at the bay when I should return In
the evening from my visit to Colonel
d’Ortez, and there beside its rippling
waters—or so I had arranged—I was
to receive her answer.
It had now turned late of the night,
and I sought repose. Sleep evaded my
bed. What with my own restless de
sires, my chiding sense of ill-doing,
and the d'Ortez story I had read, I
tossed and tumbled through the re
maining hours of darkness. Tumbled
and tossed, whilst the sins and suffer
ings of men long dead passed and re
passed with their spectral admonitions.
Early on the morrow, while
the day was yet cool, I
crossed the bay, and climbed the slope
of sand before the lonely house. It
looked more deserted and desolate than
I had ever seen It. The stillness of sol
itary death clung as a pall about the
place. Pachaco, the Indian servant, sat
beside the gate, as motlonelss as the
post against which he leaned.
"How is the master, Pachaco?" I in
quired, passing in.
“Him die yesterday^' came the stolid
reply. w
"What? Dead! When?"
"The shadows were at the longest,”
he answered, indicating by a gesture
the western horizon.
I hurried into the master's room. In
the same position he had occupied,
when, months ago, he had beckoned me
to remain, he sat there, dead in his
chair. His clothing hung about him in
that sharply angular fashion In which
garments cling to a corpse. Long, thin
looks were matted above his brow,
awesomely disarranged. But the pose
of his head, drooped a little forward,
suggested a melancholy reverie, noth
ing more.
The golden locket, which he had
shown me that well-remembered night,
rested within his shrunken palm. I
i noted that the side was open which re
| veaied the blazing i>ar of red. As If ab
| sot bed in that same unpleasant
thought, there sat the master, "ffeaTI:
lead, and I alone knew his story. How
vividly the old man's sorrow came
hack; how It oppressed me.
I bent down in tender sympathy to
look again upon his wasted features,
and kneeling, gazed into his wide
open eyes. The calm of promised peace
upon hlR brow was distorted by the un
satisfied expression of one who has left
his work undone.
So are the si^s of the fathers visited
upon their children, for I was no longer
In doubt but that the murderer, Pedro
Oi tez, was the sinning ancestor of my
old-time friend. Even In his presence
my thoughts flew to Agnes; had she riot
spoken of her grandsire as being such
a man? The stiffening body at my side
was speedily forgotten in the music of
this meditation.
I gained my feet again and looked
down upon him, fascinated by the
changeless features of. the dead. It
was probably natural that standing
there I should revolve the whole mat
ter over and over again, from the first
1 knew of It until the last. A young
man's plans, though, work ever with
the living; the dead he places in their
tomb, covers them with earth, bids
them "Godspeed,” and banishes the
recollection. I was already busy with
my contemplated search for the last
d'Artin, and stood there leaning against
the oaken table pondering over the
question, "Where is the last d'Artin?”
My mind wandered, returning with a
dogged persistence to that one thought,
"Where Is the last d’Artin?” "Where
could I find him?” My restless eye
roamed round the cheerless room, com
ing back to rest upon a long dust-cov
ered mirror set in the wall across the
way.
As window-driven clouds gather and
group themselves in fantastic shapes,
so, deep in that mirror's shadowy
depths, a vague figure gradually took
form and character—myself.
With the vacant glance of a man
whose mind Is Intensely preoccupied, I
studied minutely the reflection, my own
bearing, my dress, my weapons. I even
noted a button off my coat, and tried
dimly to remember where I had lost It,
until—great God—this chamber of
death and revelation had turned my
brain.
What face was that I saw? My own,
assuredly, but so like another.
Aghast, powerless to move or cry out,
I stared helplessly Into the glass.
Every other sensation vanished now
before this new-born terror which held
my soul enslaved. I closed my eyes, I
dared not look.
My body seemed Immovable with
horror, but a trmebltng had arose and
pointed at the mirror. Scant need there
was to call attention to that dim, ter
rtblle presence; my whole soul shrank
from the ghostly face reflected In the
glass. For there, there was the same
pallid countenance, death-distorted
and drawn, which I had conjured up In
many a frightened dream as that of the
murdered count—there was Henri
d’Artin.
How long I stood transfixed, point
ing into the mirror, I know not. As
men think of trifles even in times of
deadly fear, so did my lips frame over
and over again the last question I had
in mind before all sense forsook me,
"Where is the last d’Artin? Where is
the last d’Artin? Where—?”
And in answer to my question, that !
long, rigid finger pointed directly at me >
from out the dusty glass. It was as if '
the hand of the dead had told me who I '
was.
It had been no blind chance, then, i
which led me to the Paris house of the j
""Black Wolf’s Head;” the girl’s ring
with the same device, and the grew- i
some narrative beneath the shadow of j
the Wolf at the Norman ruin—nothing
less than l’ate had brought these lights
to me.
Verily some more logical powder than i
unreasoning accident must direct the
steps of men. A God of justice per- i
hapa had placed these tokens in my
path. And soldiers call this "For
tune.”
I dispatched Pachaco to Biloxi with !
the news of death, and long before the
afternoon our few simple arrangements I
for his funeral had been made.
"Bury me here, Placlde, beneath this
great oak,” he had said to me one day.
"The Infinite Mercy will consecrate the
grave of penitence,. wherever it may
be.”
He had hfs wish.
CHAPTER XXIII.
A NOTE WHICH WENT ASTRAY j
Meanwhile Jacques had undertaken
to manage my little affair at Biloxi
with tact and discretion. And this Is I
how the fellow did It:
It seems that Jacques thought no '
harm of the note, and when he took It
first to the house my lady was out.
The honest fellow, doing his best to
carry out my Instructions, refused to ,
leave It. When he returned, my lady
worked, bent down amongst her flow- !
ers. In the little garden beside her cot
tage. The Chevalier stood some dis- j
tance off, busied someway, Jacques 1
knew not how, but with his face I
turned away from my messengers as I
he came up. Jacques handed the note '
to my lady through the fence, and she I
took It gently by the corner, fearing to
soil It. She held it up to look at the ,
name written upon it, and seeing it
was her own, looked again more curi
ously at the writing. She did not know I
the hand. Then she gaiiy called to the :
Chevalier:
(Continued Next Week.)
Has Roosevelt Heard of Him7
“This pass Is for yourself and family
I see,” said the conductor. "Where Is
the family?”
"Here they are,” replied the passen
ger who had presented the document.
"All the people In this end of the
car?”
Pretty near It, I guess. There are
sixteen of us."
“Do you want to make me believe
this Is all your family?”
“No, sir; this Isn't quite all of the
family. One couldn’t come.”
"But, great Scott-”
"1 knew you wouldn't believe It, sir,"
Interrupted the passenger, “and I
brought the family bible along. Here
Is the register, you see. I'm John
Henry, the father. This Is Mary Jane,
my wife. That’s Caroline, the next one
Is Benjamin, the one In the next seat
Is-”
"Look here. Have you any evidence
to show-"
" Yes, sir. I didn't forget that, either.
Here are affidavits from the county
judge and two of my neighbors to
prove that all these are our children."
The conductor took the documents
and glanced them over.
“Alter you've read them,” pursued
the father, producing a printed slip,
"Will you kindly look at this?"
"What is it?"
"It’s President Roosevelt's speech on
race sui-*"
At this point the conductor wilted.
Obeyed.
Chums: A youngster who had beet,
ill was allowed to go to a party on the
condition that. If it rained, he should
take a cab to come home.
It rained, but the boy arrived
drenched to the skin.
"Why didn't you take a cab, as I told
you?" asked the father, sternly.
"Oh, 1 did, father—1 did truly," was
the answer. "But I thought I would
rather rhie on top wlfth the driver. It
was great fun."
PERVERTED APPETITE
OF SOME HORSES
One Ate Raw Beef, Another
Garbage, While a Third
Chewed Tobacco
A TROOPER’S EXPERIENCE
During His, Long Service in the Reg
ular Army He Has Run Across
Some Queer Freaks in the
Equine Race.
Forest and Stream; Mr. Hardy gave
an Instance of a horse which ate cook
ed beef. I have In mind some three
different horsea which may be said to
have had a perverted appetite. One, a
small half-bred Texan, would eat a
fresh piece of beef as large as a dinner
plate and an Inch thick. He ate it Just
as a dog would, holding it down with !
his forefoot, then tearing off chunks of !
It and swallowing them. This horse, j
which I had for a few months, appe- |
the for fresh beef was so well known I
that none of It was ever left within j
his reach except by accident. When .
it was, whoever left It never saw it !
again. The troop that I first served In j
had a horse that died in it when he was j
twenty-three years old. Seventeen of ;
those years he had put In with the j
troop, fifteen of them under the saddle. '
He had been shot several times, once ]
through the neck and one In the flank, j
hut neither shot had sent him to ^ie
rear. He never had been sick a day.
Survived Custer Massacre.
The last two years of his life he spent
on the retired list, hut was still marked
fit for duty In order to keep him there;
any other horse would have been con
demned and shot; but he was kept as
a matter of sentiment and had noth
ing to do but eat and sleep. The only
other horse that I ever knew to be
treated this way was the one which
survived the Custer massacre; he was
kept In a troop of the Seventh cavalry
until he died. He was saddled up and
led out In every mounted Inspection,
but was never ridden by any one.
■ This old horse of ours (we called him
Bummer) whs never tied in the day
time, but let go where he pleased. He
paid regular visits to the cookhouse;
there, getting his head in the slop bar
rel, he would half empty the barrel.
It did not seem to make any difference
to him what he found there—bean soup,
stale bread, cooked meat or potato par
ings—all went. He did not need the
stuff; he got just what the other horses
got to eat twice a day.
Mares Seldom Used.
Soon after the close of the war we
were dismounted at Macon, Ga., and
sept to Texas. Here we got the old
horses that the Eighteenth New York
had been riding, and I kept a lookout
for a sorrel, but the best I could get
was a small sorrel mare. Mares arei
never used in time of peace, but for the
last four years before this anything
that copld carry a saddle would be
used. We had three of these mareB by
the time We Were all mounted. They
had been "captured” down south; none
of them had been bought. My mare
just suited me; she could carry me fifty
miles a day. then carry me back again
next day If I wanted her to do It. I
had her about two days when I found
out that she chewed tobacco. She
grabbed a small package of flnecut out
of my hand, and then stood chewing It,
paper and all. Seeing that It did not
hurt her, I kept her in tobacco, buying
the leaf tobacco that all these Mexican
stores sold here then, a large "hand"
of It for a silver dime; that would not
have paid the duty on it had any been
paid, but the collector had not got here
yet. When he did come these men had
to stop selling it at any price. I never
went near my mare without giving her
tobacco. If sho did not get it right
away she would begin shoving me with
her nose and keep It up until I gave her
the usual chew. When we were or
dered to turn in our mares a few
months after this I parted with her
with more regret than I have since felt
In parting with a better horse than she
was.
I rode a horse for four years, my race
horse Charley, which would eat half a
peck of peachies as fast as I could re
move the stones out of them. The
same horse could eat a pound of sugar
or candy without even stopping.
SUPERSTITIOUS CLOCK.
Cuckoo Timepiece That Won't Work on
the Thirteenth of the Month.
New Orleans Times-Democrat:
"Speaking of the many curious things
connected with the number thirteen
r eminds me of a clock which has been
in my family now for some time," said
an observant man, "and the thing I
have in mind has gone far toward mak
ing me believe that there is some
thing in the claim that thirteen Is an
unlucky number. The clock in ques
tion is of the cuckoo variety. Ordi
narily it is one of the most reliable
timepieces I have fever seen. It keeps
perfect time, and never fails to 'cuckoo'
promptly on the hour, except in the
case I have In mind. If the thing had
not happened in such regular order I
would have paid no attention to it. But
It has been happening every month
regularly from the time we introduced
the aforesaid clock Into the family
circle. And it always happens on the
13th of the month. My clock lays off if
I may say it, once every month. It re
fuses to work on the day which is as
sociated with unlucky things. Some
how It sefems to know that thirteen is
an unlucky number. And it seems to
think that It applies as much to dates
as to other events and things. I have
never been able to understand just why
the clock should stop on this day, and
up to this hour I am unable to give
anything like a reasonable explanation
of it. I only know that my cuckoo
clock will not work on the 13th day
of the month, and no matter how well
it is wound, or what the weather con
ditions may be, when the unlucky day
rolls around the clock simply stops.
It is a curious tiling^ isn’t it?"
Harper’s Bazar: Gowns of Chantilly
laca with the bands of applique work and
flounces are still being made up over
black, white or colored linings. These
also require some brightening, and Jet or '
steel ornaments, and some very costly
ones are used. Artillcial flowers made cf
silk or chiffon are embroidered on to both
the net and satin gowns In a most at
tractive manner, and pale pink, yellow or j
white and mauve also help to lighten the j
sometimes too somber effects.
White net gowns with lace applique and
white lace gowns are always most use
ful, as they can be made with two waists,
a high and a low one, and then can be
worn for many different occasions.
With a gulmpe a low waist can easily '
be transformed, and this is often done: or ,
a deep oape collar can be worn over the '
shoulders. But. as a rule, it is better
to have the two separate waists, for then
the style of each can be so marked as to
give the appearance of another gown even
with the one skirt.
J_L'—■'
t
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SEARS, ROEBUCK & CO., Chicago.
TEAL DUCK IS NOT FLESH.
Why ft Is Eaten in Lenten Season and
Mallard Is Not.
New Orleans Times-Democrat: "Did
you ever know that a teal duck is not
flesh?” Inquired one of a party of gen
tlemen who were discussing the high
price of flsh since the Lenten season set
in. “It’s a fact. The teal duck is not
flesh, even if it is a fowl. It is the
same as a winged and feathered fish,
and any good Catholic can safely eat
one for flsh during the Lenten season
or on any Friday. I did not know tills
was a fact until a few days ago, when
I happened to be a guest at a luncheon
whereat sat one of the great dignitaries
of the Catholic church. It was on a
Friday and I was astounded when a
teal duck was served at every plate.
But I knew that there were good Catho
lics there and that one of the arms of
the church government in fact sat at
the same table and had a duck before
him, so I said nothing Just at that
time.
“After the luncheon I thought over
the matter and puzzled iajk mind to
know why a teal duck could be eaten
on Friday when a mallard would be
under the ban of the church. For that
reason I asked a good friend of mine
who is a pastor in one of the churches.
He gave me the explanation. He in
formed me that a teal duck was not
flesh any more than a trout or a min
now. The teal is the same as a turtle |
or an egg, neither flesh nor flsh. And
there is good reason for this, too, when
you come to analyze the peculiar habits
and tastes of the teal. The little duck
will not feed on anything but flsh, or
little things of that sort that live in
water. That accounts for the teal hav
ing such a strong flsh taste. He lives
on minnows and small flsh altogether.
On the other hand the mallard eats
grain, such as wild rice, corn, wild
grasses or the seeds thereof, besides
feeding, as does the teal, on minnows
and small fish. But simply by the
mixing of diet the mallard is under the
ban so far as adorning the Friday din
ner table of an orthodox Catholic goes.”
Sized Up.
Yonkers Statesman; Mrs. Bacon—I
see by this paper that the average fam
ily in the United States has four and
seven-tenths persons.
Mr. Bacon—I suppose I’m the seven
tenths In this family.
T rifles.
Detroit Free Press: Pessimist—
Then you still have faith in human
ity?
Optimist—Of course; there are SO,
000,000 people In tills country, and I
still have faith In those who haven’t
played me any mean tricks.
BOTH JAWS SHOT AWAY.
Still a Successful Business Man.
A man who had both jaws shot
away had trouble eating ordinary food,
but found a food-drink that supplie*
the nutriment needed. He says:
“I have been an invalid since th*
siege of Vicksburg, in 1860, where I
was wounded by a Minie ball passing
through my head and causing the en
tire loss of my jaws. I was a drum
mer boy, and at the time was leading
a skirmish line, carrying a gun. Sine*
that time I have been awarded th*
medal of honor from the Congress of
the United States for gallantry on tli*
field.
“Tho consequences of my wound
were dyspepsia in Its most aggravated
form, and I finally proved ordinary
coffee was very hard on my stomach,
so I tried Postum and got better. Then
1 tried common coffee again and got,
worse. I dhi this several times, and
finally as Postum helped me every
time I continued to use it, and how
often I think that if the Government
has issued Postum to us in the Army ^
how much better it would have been
for the solider boys than coffee.
“Coffee constipate? me and Postum
does not; coffee makes me spit up my
food, Postum does not; coffee keeps me
awake nights, Postum doe? not Thera
Is no doubt coffee is too much of a
stimulant for most people and 1s th*
cause of nearly all the constipation.
“This la my experience and you ar*
at liberty to use my name.” Nam®
given by Postum Co., Battle Creek,
Look In each pkg. for the famous
Littl* book, "Th® Road to W*llvill®J* j