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About The Sioux County journal. (Harrison, Nebraska) 1888-1899 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 26, 1899)
The Ietaro of . 44444444444444444444 IT came to pass that there were born onto Ezra and Lucy Whlttlesy, two boys. William and John, who r f to youth's estate oa the old farm In Oakland County. John whs a home boy. His happiest -days were those ou which he boed and weeded. With William It was differ ent He was like unto neither his mother nor his father. He was Just William. He read, long Into the night, by the kerosene lump In the sitting room, stories of adventure and of youths going forth Into the world In search of fortune aud of fame. He longed for a wider field He dreamed of conquests, of piles o; gold, of ex plorations into unknown countries, and of experiences In lif such as never entered the mind of plodding John. The days, the weeks, the months, rolled ou around the spool of time, and, with each bright breaking sun, more and more disoriented and dissatisfied did become the restless William. Ills days were eeniut. . .-. lung. There was always shining In-fur" his ryes the star of ambition which he was of a mind to follow more than once. He detested the sorry life of the farm, with the homely environment, the old, old rou tine, day In, day out, and finally, nfter several years of uncomplaining servi tude, he determined to run away. He was IS then, or two years he had saved every penny, every nickel, every '-dime, that had fallen In his way, and ere long noted that the dollars were taklug care of themselves In a little company of their own. There were forty-two of then) In the stone jar on the shelf at the head of his bed. The sun was sinking behind the western horizon on the fateful night of William's departure. There, by the lit tie window in the store Mom where be slept Willi the peaceful, sweet con tented John, he sat on a cane -seated -hair beside the bed, his forty-two dol lars spread out on the 1 1 i i t before him. "I will do ill" be exclaimed to him uelf in the dim darkucss. "1 will do Il" His thoughts were broken In upon by the cry of u woman down below, , , the foot of the stairs. ' 'William! William: It' time to go for the milk." "Ah, me," murmured the boy to him self, "another night has come, but It shall be the last. For many years has It been my duly to go down the dusty old road to Green's lor the evening milk. I cannot see why father docs not maintain a dairy, or at Jeast one cow, of his own. Hut. no, 1, must trudge, trudge ou through snow, through sun shine and through rain to that o'.d farm house nearly two tulles down the turn pike for milk. But this shall be my last walk " , . "William! William! ain't yew ever go In' fur that milk?" Again the feminine voice from the foot of the stairway. "Yes, mother, I'm comin' now." The boy dropped all th- forty-two dol lars Into his trousers pockets, and, after plating the stone Jar back on Its shelf at the head of the bed. slowly sham bled down the stairs. "There's th' pall. William," said his mother, pointing toward the table drawn up by the kitchen window. William took It and passed out Into the deepening darkness. He was alone on the road. The stone walls on either side showed Indistinct ly yellow gray In the fast gathering darkness. Now and then William would stoop anil pick tip a stone and fling It idly toward a bush whence came Ihe note of a nlghtbird crying to Its mate. He stumbled once or twice and murmured something under his bresth each time. As he walked down that road the whole eighteen years of his monotonous existence, called life, unrolled themselves before his mind's yes. He remembered the old swim ming hole, the eager hunts for birds' nests In the days agoue, the "stone bruise" ho curried to school with him all one spring, and the beech whistles be used to make at recess. And the squirrel hunts and the games of youth, all the different scenes of his life were enacted again for him In the playhouse of hi memory. And at the end he said to himself, "Well, It Is over now, for to-night I shall go away. Never again will William take home the night's milk. This Is my last walk." HI mind was set, determined. He tumbled along the rocky path to the Billk-bouse on Green' farm, and stood by. silently, while the hired man filled bis pail, their he trudged Imck over that country road. The moon was rising. ; Already a soft, silvery light flecked the foliage of the woods on the left, ami raft shimmering shadows on the stone wall. And William dreamed of the wealth ' of the ndle that would one day be his, of Ibc fame, the glory atxl the great, good name (lint awaited him. out In tko world, buyond the kc-a of life on Um Wblttlesy farm. iuddenly the boy stoppedso sudden ly. Indeed, that the frothing milk slop ; fed over the top of the pnll and fell In ' twa tpUubc, one on the road, the other tJt tola troaafra. l-atoll not go borne. I shall leave -HOwT ha cried. ' E walked to the edge of the road w4 foarwl tot wblto. lighted the prodidal. 4- tt-Htfttt woods. "I must hide the pall," be said, "but where?" For a moment be stood In the shadow, thinking. "I remember!" be exclaimed. "The old blasted tree trunk. I will put the pail there." He walked a few rods further np the road and then sheered off Into the woods. By and by he came out Into the moonlight again. He had carried out the plau that had sugested itself to bis mind. The milk pall bad been placed In the old tree trunk. For a moment he hesitated. He took off his cap and stood bareheaded under the sky, the rays of the moon bathing him In a flood of silver light "Good-by! Good-by!" The words were spoken to the breezes and were ltorne to the night birds that made reply with shriller chirpings. Then William turned and went back down the country road. "Yes," the station agent at the cross ing told him, "there will be a train along for the west In thirty minutes." William Whlttlesy had dreamed of Colorado, and 'twas there he meant to go. An hour later he was rolling on his way. And the years came and went Not a word was ever received by the Whlttlesys from William. And after many months they came to regard him as dead, and no longer hoped that one day his form might again darken the kitchen door. With William all went well, lie stay ed lu Chicago just long enough tolearn that there was nothing for him 'there, lie pushed his way further west. He succeeded In his tirst venture, and Ave years had not elapsed before his name had come to be known throughout the mining country. Often he thought of that home back lu Michigan, and fre quently he said to himself, "I will write;" then something would Inter fere with the currying out of his Inten tion, and no word would be sent back. Thus the days and weeks and years Til' PA1U WILLIAM,' HIS MOTHKH. SAID sped on until a fifth of a century had passed. William Whlttlesy had accumulated one hundred thousand dollars In the twenty years he had lived and tolled lu Colorado, and one day the desire came to It ! tn stronger than ever to go buck to the old home and gaze once again Into the old eyes of father and mother. So he returned. The station at the crossroads was the same. It seemed to him. It had uot even been painted In all those twenty years. The agent was a stranger, and the farmers around the little depot did not recognize lu the man who alighted from the train that morning the Will lam Whlttlesy who had so mysteri ously disappeared years before. Alone and unknown, the man wended his way along the country road to the old house on the bill. He had crossed the lane below the woods w hen he rec ollected that pall of milk that he had hidden In the hollow log twenty years before. "I wonder If the pall can be there yet," be said to himself, and smiled at the thought. "I'll see.' ' He remembered the spot as distinctly as though he had but left the day be fore. He went to the blasted trunk, kicked away the stone and moss and twigs and looked down. Yes, It was there; but In It nothing. He lifted out the old tin pnll. Its sides all full of holes eaten by time and rust, and con tinued ou up the road. "I shall knock at the kitchen door," be said to himself; "and when mother answers I shall say; 'Here Is the milk.' " And William Whltllesy laughed aloud. The house appeared unchanged. To be sure there were honeysuckles grow ing up the back porch that had not been there went he went away, but twenty year Is sufficient time for honeysuckle to live and die. William Whlttlesy ascended the step quietly and knocked at the door. It was opened by a kind-eyed old lady. William thrust forward the rusty, bat tered pall and said, "Mother, here' the milk." The woman looked at him with wonder In her eyes. "Won't won't you come In?" she said, Wf.llam entered the room. It wa the same old kitchen he bad known when hut a boy. And tbera by the fireplace sat a man, feeble, and wrinkled and gray. "Father, I have come back," cried William Whittle. The old man turned v,m i-'Ml Al In hi chair aud faced at the stranger, unknowing. "Don't you see who I am?" cried the long lost. "I am William. I have come back. I went away twenty yeare ag0 A peculiar light came Into the eye of the woman, who, during the strang er' appeal to the old man by the fire place, bad stood still, at the end of the table with one hand on her hip. "I I I understand now," she said. William looked his thanks In his eyes. He was about to close his arms about the old lady' face when she waved him back. "I understand," she went on. "Arter you went away your mother died, and in 'beout a year your pa mar ried me. Then when he died I mar ried George there, an we've been Uvln' on th' ol' place ever sence. So yew see we aiu't your folks arter all, though likely ez not yew may have some legal connection with us " William put his hand to his brow and reeled. He staggered to the door sob bing, with his head bowed upon hi breast, he walked slowly down the old country road. And that night he went back to the West Detroit Free Tress. A ROMANY MONARCH. Crowning the King; of the Scottish Gypsies. With much quaint pomp and cere mony, and In the presence of a vast concourse of siectators, a gypsy king was crowned on Kirk Yetholm Green. The chosen of the Romany tribe is named Charles Blythe Rutherford. He has passed the age of three score and ten, and besides being crowned king, his gypsy subjects also proclaimed him Earl of Little Egjpt. Prince Charlie, as he is familiarly termed, is a Hue specimen of manhood. It Is years since he gave up the roving habits of his tribe and devoted himself to the more prosaic occupation of keep ing a lodging Inn!- i,u the village of Kirk Yei.liolm. but his admirers proud ly proclaim that he is descended from royal gypsy houses of Faa. Iilythe aud Rutherford. Charles Iilythe Rutherford's mother was Queen Esther, the last gypsy sov ereign crowned at Yetholm. Esther does not appear to have been too heav ily endowed with this world's goods, seeing that site applied for parish re lief and was refused on the ground that she had vlsiile means of support as a -mugger"- that is to say, sli.' possessed a horse and curt to convey her mugs to the customers who patronized h"t The gypsy qui -en was offered admission to the poorhoiise, bul refused, and lived on uitil lS-.'l in her own "palace," a low, one-storied, whitewashed cottage, with an open hearth fire, the smoke from which passed out through a hole In ih" roof. Quite recently Charles himself removed Into this "palace," the lodging house not having proved a lucrative Invest merit. The "Archbishop of Yetholm," who placed the crown on the Romany mon arch's brow, was Mr. Gladslono, the village blacksmith. whose father crowned Prince Charlie's mother, and whose family are said to possess the hereditary privileges of crowning the gypsy sovereigns. The crown itself was made of tin, adorned with tinsel and surmounted with a thistle, and the archbishop, in performing the cor onation ceremony, delivered a spci-eh In the Romany tongue. . Afler Prince Charlie had duly responded, a proces sion was formed, in which mounted men, ii brass band, a mace bearer and herald preceded the royal carriage drawn by six a.-ses, and after t lie neigh boring villages hadsliccn visited the proceedings wound up with athletic sports, a public dinner and a dance. It Is, of course, In its association with the past that the Interest of this novel ceremony lies. The Fans, from whom Prince Charlie Is descended, claimed tJiait their name was a contraction of Pharaoh, and asserted that they were connected by blood with the ancient kings of Egypt So far back as 15-10 James V. of Scotland made n treaty with "Johonne Faw, Lord anil Erie of Little Egypt," acknowledging his king ship and giving him the right to admin ister law anil Inflict punishment on hip fellow Egyptians. Not long afterward, however, James changed his attitude and Issued an order commanding his loyal subjects whenever they found three gypsies together to slay two of therni without mercy. London Dally Mail. Swiss Chimney Sweeps. In Switzerland the chimney-sweep Is an ofIlcl:i) personage. He Is the em ploye of the commune, receiving a fixed salary, his actions controlled by the government, and he himself holding on by the buck straps to the car of state. He is also, us many tourists will have noticed, one of the few son of the Helvetian Republic who on Sunday and weekdays sports a tall silk hat This he wears with dignity, but It Is generally brushed the wrong way. Ou bis otllclal tour ho takes It off blandly, and Informs the householder that he la "empowered by the State In Inspect his flues." - In the Canton of Grisons re cently the post and title of "ramoneur communal" was opened to competition. The salary was thirty-two pound a year, aud the candidate were n timer oiis. Hut the strange thing was that they were mostly village schoolmasters from Italy. A painful sign of the time In that uiirestful land. "Itetter," say "L'ltalla del Popolo," "be a chimney sweep In Switzerland than a school master In Italy." But the "Italia del Popolo" ha recently been suppressed. Khe Wished It, Too. Adoring ouo (In lavender kids and a blue scarf) Oh, how I wish I were that book you clasp so lovingly. She-rliow I wish you were, to that I could abut you up. Every little while you hear people aay: "There la something wrong." It' worse than that; tbert are a lot of things wr-ng. T nE center of prison ro mances," said the Doctor, "was Camp Chase and the Ohio penitentiary at Columbus. There were thousands of Confederate goldiers In tbe prison camp, and scores of mys terious, notable or notorious prisoners of another- grade In the penitentiary. Many of the latter, described as mili tary or state prisoners, were not treat ed as convicts, aud yet most of thern wore the prison dress. There was, In the last year of the war, In the Ohio penitentiary the most Interesting ag gregation of adventurous spirits and plotters against the National Govern ment ever assembled at any point, North or South. There were men under indictment for treason or conspiracy, leaders of Insurrectionary movements, draft fighters, bushwhackers, men un der sentence of death, men held by the Government on suspicion, and others In tbe belief that they were spies. The fact that Gen. John Morgan and his associates bad escaped from the prison made the authorities careful aud ex acting, but there was nothing akin to persecution. "One day in passing through the large exercise room given up to the political prisoners I came face to face with the handsomest man I ever saw. He was In the striped prison dress, but, every article fitted him as if it had been made to order. Trousers, blouse, shirt and cap seemed of finer texture than the ordinary convict garb because all were clean and were worn jauntily, lie was the tallest man In the room, and had the best figure. He was not lounging, as were most of the others, but had been walking easily back and forth the full lenglh of the room. As I crossed his path he. absorbed In his own , thoughts, almost ran against me. lie j stopped short, bowed with easy courte- sy, retired one step, and. with the I greatest composure, motioned me for j ward with a look that was a mixture of I apology and amusement. I "As Dr. Hyers came forward, two j steps behind me, the handsome fellow '. raised his cap and asked a question. He was in pr'son as a suspected spy, 1 and had forwarded an explanation to the General commanding the depart- ntent. This had been returned with j the request that It be made more ex- plicit as to the presence of the accused at a cerialn point on a day named. It als(( demanded that the prisoner give ; his real name. Tlie prisoner would do l neither. My friend asked why. and in . stantly came the answer: innocent , myself, I might Involve others, or would put myself In the position of ex , citing suspicion against others. I will j try It awhile longer,' and. with a smile and a bow, he moved away. ! , "The next time I visited Ihe peniten- tlary my handsome prisoner was not there. He had been released by order of the Government, aud no one knew j where he had gone. Several years after that I was lu Chicago, and was crossing Randolph street In front of the Sherman House, on a muddy day, when I I ran against a tall man coming from ; the other side. He stepped aside with ' out the slightest show of irritation and , with a bow aud a smiling 'I beg your pardon,' passed on. The next minute 1 It came over me that the very polite 1 gentleman was my handsome prisoner. Two years afler that I was In New Orleans, coining up a street new to nie. I asked a man standing on the corner ' the way to the St Charles. He bowed, touched my arm as he turned me In tie- right direction, and pointed out the u ay. "His face, figure, and manner were ti.-se of the man 1 had seen In the pen Ittatla'ry. 1 had started away, when the thought came to me that there would be no barm In trying to solve the mystery, and I relurned to where the ' at ranger was standing. I asked him If he had ever been In Columbus or Chi I cago, explaining that he reminded me of an old acquaintance. He was smok j lug, aud he looked me over politely and ; composedly, and after a minute said, , with a smile that had In It the sugges tion of a challenge: 'I never lived either lu Columbus or Chicago.' I saw him again afler that lu Washington, lint that proved uothlng." Chicago Inter Ocean. Twelfth MiiHK.-u-huacttn at Antirlain. At the reunion of the survivors of the Twelfth Massachusetts In this city Sec retary Kimball made the following statement: "I am aware that It Is a startling statement to make that the loss of the Twelfth Massachusetts at Antletam was the highest In the percentage of any orgaulssatlou. Union or Confeder ate. In any one battle of the civil war, and even the highest of any organiza tion In the entire world. In modern times. In civilized warfare, under nor mal conditions, but Is there not good reason to believe It to be true? "The fighting was terrific, as every one knows. Let me simply say that a letter which I wrote to a friend on the 80th of September, 1802, says my com pany (A) had twenty-two men killed and wounded out of thirty, and of tbe eight who escaped unhurt, five bad mlasle strike either their clothing or equipment. Only tblrty-two matched off tbe field under tbe flag of the regi ment when relieved by troop of the Twelfth Corp. One of the Confederate regiments, Um Klrat Texas, Uood'a di- i i vision, which we encountered In mtr ad vance through the cornfield, and which afterward occupied a noltlou a little to our right, bad 186 killed and wound ed out of 226 taken Into action a per centage of loss of 82.3." Boston Globe. The Veteran' t-tory. The veteran In the dingy uniform that might have been gray or blue wa perhaps a shade Indefinite as to where he had experienced the stories he wa telling, but he was an Interesting old fellow, and bis listeners had been read ing too many war tales sent by special messengers to newspaper to worry about the details so long as the results were good. So they filled up the nar rator's beer mug aud sent blin going again. "One of the oddest things," he said, with the calm confidence of truth, "that I can remember happened to my brother and me, both of us being mem bers of a battery. On one occasion we had been watching the enemy for a week, trying to keep him from cross ing a river until our re-enforcements had got up, but the rains had set In and men couldn't move,' and we were pretty sure that the enemy was up to some dodge or other that was going to wipe us off the face of the earth, for he had ten times as many men and guns as we had to meet him with. Of course that made the commanding offi cers dead blue, and they offered all sorts of inducements for our fellows to go over and find out what was up. I suppose a dozen or more went, to ten times that many who volunteered to go, but none came back, and we wasn't any bettter off than we were before." "One morning I told the General that my brother and me. had a scheme to get the Information he wanted, aud if he would agree to promote us both if we got It we'd try for It. He mighty near agreed to make brigadiers of us, but we compromised on sergeants, and my brother left for tbe other side, after telling me good-by. For two days we did not hear front him. and on tbe third the enemy got a twelve-pound gun Into a position the battery I was with had been fighting him away from for a week, and I got a blast from the major, but I never said a word. Neither did the General; and my poor brother no body knew where he was. "Strange to say, our battery didn't open up on the enemy, either, in his new position, and the officers began to look worried, waiting to hear from the General in command. About 10 o'clock in the morning the enemy's gun let loose with a roar that tore the ground up, and a. shot that looked to me to be as big as a barrel came Hying across the river and hit In a sand pile in the rear of our battery. In a minute I had broke for that sandpile and was scratching like a dog at a rabbit hole,, and pretty soon I came out with the shell in my arms and was cutting across lots for the General's tent. "I never stopped to ask any ques tions of the folks at our battery, but gvt to the General as soon as I could, and rushing right Into his tent I drop ped that hot shell into a bucket of wa ter and nut again, and let Into the vent of it with n hatchet. Well, to make a long story short, on the inside of the shell where the blow-up stuff usually Iswasa communication from my broth er signed Sergeant John Smith, giving the General the very kind of Informa tion he was crazy to get hold of, and it fixed him so that he knocked the enemy galley west lu no time. My brother bad got Into It easy enough, for it wasn't such a great secret over there what they was going to do. The only trouble was he hadn't been able to get back with It when our men went over afler it. My brother got Into a plan, though, by loading It Into the shell and firing It from the gun in the position he hail got for it, when the enemy couldn't have done It lu a month. That was the scheme we worked, and my brother, being a fine gunner, had no trouble, getting lu with the artillery company, especially when he went to the officers with a story about how he could get the gun In the position tha.t they had been trying so long to get aud couldn't, owing to our battery on the other lwink of the river, lie was a great strategist, was my brother, and ought to be directing things in this war. "No," sighed the veteran, "he never got his promotion, though I did mine, as the General said I should. My brother was killed at the battery he fired the shell from, and by the guns of his own friends. Just as like as not I done It myself, but that Is war." New York Sun. Obeyed Order While a pig was being eaten that had been shot at Annapolis Junction by one of the soldiers on guard at some' dis tance from the main body, his trans gression was discovered and the of fender hauled !efore some of the offi cers. He frankly admitted that he hod bagged the pork, but solemnly asserted that It was In obedience to orders. "What do you mean?" demanded the senior officer. "I ordered that pig to halt, sir, but he kept right on. I gave him nnolher chance by commanding him to advance and give the counter sign, but he disregarded this, and then I realized that I must shoot." The dig nity of the court could not be main tained and the soldier paid the penalty by hunting up the owuer and paying him for the pig. A Young Holdler. Some people were talking recently of the civil war, and the older members of the company had compared remln Incenees. 'Which side were you on dur ing the war?" asked the old young girl of tbe party, turning to a bright little woman who confessed to having been born In '02. "I wa In arm on the Southern side." was tbe quick reply. Don't refer to tbe powder on a wom an's fact unleaa you want to get blown UP. t MINIATURE BICYCLES. Wander KiclUd Aaaon- Kn1Ub. tic. by the First Itoad t bates, Road skating baa been called that missing link between cycling and walk ing; It Is really roller-skating out-of-doors. A writer In tbe Standard tell bow be took an extended trip, meeting; with admiration and derision by tb way; bow he fought against the wind, ran into the roadside weeds and knelt there, and on a favorable road i-overed three miles in fourteen minutes. He says that, In appearance, tbe new road skate resemble nothing so much aa a pair of miniature bicycles. The wheels are six Inches In diameter, and are attached to tbe boot. Jointed leg-splint extend from the skate to the knee, relieving the ankle of an un bearable strain, and an automatic brake, acting upon the front wheel, Instantly corrects any backward run, and so removes the greatest difficulty In hill-climbing. Tbe skates weigh from six to eight iounds a pair. ' The amazement of natives, when thia mode of locomoUon dawned upon them, is well expressed In the queries of an old man who, with "an apparently hyp notized donkey," seemed to be the only inhabitant of a certain hamlet upon the route. "Wart's them?" he asked. "Skates." "Wart?" "Skates." "Skates?" "Yes." "Wart are they for?" "Skating." "Skatin'?" "Exactly." "They ain't bicycles, then? "No; skates." "Eh?" "Skates!" "You needn't 'oiler so loud; I ain't deaf! Wart's them sticks for?" "To support the ankles." "Uncles?" "No; ankles." 'Wonderful! I wish my old 'oman was 'ere to see 'em!" "So do I. Where is she?" "Dead an' gone well-nigh fourteen year ago." "I am very sorry for you." "Wart?" . "I'm sorry. You must miss her sad ly." "No, Sally wa'n't 'er name. It was Jane, same as the donkey's is. I called Mm after 'er." , Then conversation languished, and the traveler rolled away. The World's Great Apple Problem. Probably our great aLees-tor, Adam, little thought of the trouble he would cause posterity by eating an apple. But now the question as to how many ap ples he really did eat is a new diffi culty. How many apples did Adam and Eve eat? Was it one, or was it millions? When the subject was first nrooted the editor very naturally replied, "Why, one, of course." "No," said the assistant editor; "Eve ate one, and Adam ate one, too, that's. . . . Then the sub-editor passed alongaslipof paper, on which was written, "Eve 81 and Adam 81, making But the poet, who is a man of imagination, capped this with, "Eve 81 and Adam 812. 2." 162," 893." Then the publisher tried his hand, and his contribution was, "Eve 8142 see how it tasted, and Adam 812, equals. 8,954." But his assistant beat the 'publisher, asserting that, "Eve 8142 see how It tasted, and Adam 8142 keep her company 16,284." The poet, who dislikes be ing surpassed as much as he hates barbers, came up to the scratchagain with, "Eve S142 see how it tasted, and Adam 81,212 keep her company 89,384." Then the humorist, who bad been listening quietly, handed in his contribution, ' "Eve 8142 see how it tasted, ' and Adam 8,124,210-der a husband was he to see her eat alone, equals 8,132,352." There the mater rests for the present, and we are very thankful It does rest. Saturday Evening Post. A Valuable but Deadly Ring. A curious sight may be seen In one of the most frequented parks of Madrid. Tills is nothing less than a valuable ring, studded with diamonds and pearls, which hangs sti -i 'iided to a silken cord round the neck of a statue. Thousands of people pass It every day and admire Its beauty, but the greatest thief In Spain would not even touch It. It I believed to deal out death to the person to whom It belongs. The ring was specially made for the late Alfonso XII., who gave it to his cousin Mercedes on the day of their betrothal. On the day of her death it passed Into the possession of the King's grandmother, Queen Christina. Three months afterward she died. The King passed ou the deadly ring to his sister, who died a month after she received It. The King then placed the Jewel In his own caskot of precious relics, and lived less than a year after lie had done so. Saturday Evening Post Durable Keet of the Camel. The camel's foot Is a soft cushion, pe culiarly well adapted to the ground on which It Is constantly walking. During a single Jotiruey through ;he Sahara desert horses have worn out three sets of shoes, while the camel's feet are hot even sore. A Prehiatorlc Knee. "Do you believe that ixiets are born?" asked the caller. "Not now." replied the editor, as lie glanced toward the waste basket., "nl thouga 1 believe a few were bur" lu forma centuries." Ik'." '""V--1 ' A t'