V
i .'J I
j FAVORITES jj
mm 1 1 ii 1 1 1 m m
A LmI Chord.
Seated one day it the organ,
I wu weary and 111 rt eaae,
And my tagm windrl idly
Over (he ooiay key.
1 dc not know whit I wee playing,
Or what I wu dreaming then,
But I struck otm chord of music
Laaa Km sound of a great Amen.
It Hooded the crimson twilight.
Like the ckwe of an angel'a pealm,
And It lay on my fevered aplrit.
With a touch of infinite calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow,
I.Ike lore overcoming strife;
It teemed the harmonious echo
From our discordant life.
It Unked all perpleied meaning"
Into one perfect pcaiv.
And trembled sway Into filence,
As if it were loath to ceasf.
I have sought, but I pek it vainly.
That one lont chord divine.
That came from Hie soul of the organ,
AnJ entered inlo mine.
It may that Death's bright angel
Will speak in that chord gniii;
It may lie that only in heaven
I ehall hear that trawl Allien.
Adelaide Anne Proctor.
Boner of the Pilent Sand.
Into the Silent Land!
Ah; who shall loud us thither?
Clouds in the evening sky more darkly
Krticr
And shn tiered wrecks lie thicker on the
Htrnnd.
Who lends us with a gentle hand.
Thither, O, thither.
Into the Silent Land:
Into the Silent Land:
To you, ye boundless region
Of all perfection. Tender morning
vidians
Of beauteous souls, the future's pledge
and band;
Who in life's battle firm doth stand.
Shall bear Hope's tender hlooms
Into the Silent Land?
O, La ml! O, Land!
For all the broken hearted
The mildest herald by our fate allotted
Reckon, and with inverted torch doth
stand
To lead us with a gentle hand
To the land of the great departed,
Into the Silent Land.
Henry W. Iongfellow.
BOY SELLS HIS HEAD FOR $3,000.
Arthur Jennings, a 17-year-old peanut
Tender of Florence has achieved na
tional publicity because of a deal Into
which he entered some
time ago wltha well
kuowu Eastern medi
cal college for the ale
of hta head after
death.
The lad, through
sickness win n very
young, waa nffected
with an enlargement
of the cranium and
has long Iiciii an ob
ject f t-tudy fi r local
Phvslelans, who are
A. JE.tNlNGS.
anrprhJHl that tie lias lived a long as
he ha. Arthur' head has not grown
any for the past year, but It Is now
large enough to cause the boy a great
-deal of Inconvenience and may result
In his auddeii death almost any day.
The head measure thirty-two Inches
In circumferences and Is mild to be the
largest cranium on a human being In
the world. Ical physicians aay the
-enlargement is due to water. The
head is ho large that the kIuu1 column
bus been affected, mid young Jennings
la compelled to use a cane when he
walks to keep from losing his balance.
His lody U far below normal size.
Jennings has a'rendy received Sl.fKaO
on the dual. The remaining W.OOO will
be paid to hla tieirs after his death.
Young Jennings laughingly refer to
the sale of hla head and think he ha
perpetrated a good Joke on the cob
lege. "I feel nil right and do not Iks
lleve I am going to die very soon," he
lay.
Ilcjrontl Help.
One of the street philanthropists
who always has an eye and ear for
childish troubles stopped to comfort
a stout little Ikiv who wai filling the
air with Iiiiiientuiloii.
"What i the mutter, you little
dear?" she asked, solicitously.
"M my b-brothers got a vacation
aud-ftiid I haven't!" roared the af
flicted mm at last.
"What a shame!" snld the corn-forte.-.
Then you d.iti't go to tlie
came school, of course?"
"I I don't go to school an anywhere
yet!" came from the IH t Jo boy with
fresh burst of sorrow.
""hirty tlibtes a .Minute).
The Itlble publication of the Oxford
University Pre have been Issued for
800 yearn, and can be published In 150
languages and dlalocls. Every year
fully (M ton of paper are used for
this purpose aloiw. Orders for 1i,.
000 lilble are quite cominon. ami the
supply of printed sheets la ho grit
that an order for am.ono copies can be
readily filled, on an average from
klrty to forty llllilew are furnished
every minute.
When there are no nien In the fam
ily, a woman occasionally gets a turn
at beinf alck with ut feeling that aho
la stepping on aonio other person's
privilege,
W batter boy dirt Im want
tjja get Into It
AMERICA'S MANSIONS.
Tjp ot Ballalna the Great Wealth
of tha Coeatry Has frodaced.
Reader will recall how many pages
of tha Architectural Record have been
devoted In recent year to the repre
sentation of costly city houses and
country place erected not only by the
Vanderbllt family, but by the Gould,
the Aetor, Meaar. Poor, Whitney,
Wet more, Huntington, Benedict,
Bourne, Foster and other a register
of the great opportunities that bava
been provided for the American archi
tect by the astonishing Increase of
wealth hi thla country, and an Indica
tion alao for the world at large of the
sew and Interesting development of
American social life, which a ytn baa
attained to barely more than its be
ginning. Nothing comparable to it ex
ist eleewtiere In the world, write H.
W. Desmond, In Architectural Record.
The building It ha produced (aud In
the future will demand) are very decid
edly differenced from the English coun
try house, their nearest contemporary
analogue. They differ even more from
the American homes that arote after
the war and when prosperity returned
to the country. Neither are they at all
kindred to those old colonial houses
which added the chief charm to our
early social life, the remaining exam
ples of which still retain an Indestruc
tible atmosphere of delight. The squire
of the old days, or, rather, his Ameri
can counterpart In the Southern plant
er and ttie New England trader, has
been replaced by the merchant prince,
mid the homes the hitter Is now creat
ing, especially along the eastern lit
toral, may best be likened to those
which the merchant princes) of Medl
cl.m days erected In a maimer and
with a purpose not entirely dissimilar
to the mariner and purpose of their un
dreamt of American successors. These
buildings are the registers, ami, let us
hope, enduring chronicles of our very
latest days, of our rapidly accumulat
ing wesilth, of tlie prodigious rewards
of high finance, and the extraordinary
degree of luxury that him become com
patible with American life.
The Olfl-Faahioaetl Woman.
Oh, well I remember the home of my
childhood.
The hill that I climbed in the miiilight
and dew;
The raljliits Uit hid at its base in tha
wild wood,
The hunters that often would trouble
them, too.
But better than these was the ivy grown
dwelling
Oh, why did I ever away from it
roam ?
Where lived the dear woman whose story
I'm telling,
That old-fashioned woman who made
it a home.
That love-fnshioned woman,
That sweet-fashioned woman,
That old-fashioned woman who lived la
the home.
Oh, where hns she gona with her apron
and knitting,
Her calico gown and her sunbonnet
dear?
She never was one that was given to
flitting.
Her home aais her temple, her empire,
her sphere.
She cared not for riches, nor travel,
nor pleasure;
The wealth that he craved was be
neath her own dome,
Her husband, her children, her friends
were her treasure,
That old-fashioned woman who lived in
the home.
That dear-fashioned woman,
That soul-fashioned woman,
That old-fashioned woman that lived In
the home.
The ivy-grown walls of that homestead
are falling,
The bramble have choked out the
blossoms the weeds
Grow wild end unsightly the night
hawks are calling
When day Into darkness and eilence
recede.
Oh, never again shall I haste there to
gather
The flowers that grew in the sweet
scented loam ,
When my heart and my steps were a
light as a feather
To greet that loved woman who mad
it a home.
That old fashioned woman,
That home-fashioned woman,
That God-fashioned woman that lived in
the homo.
Chicago Record Herald.
An t'nfonutiale Invest niern.
The story of the man who paid the
minister til marriage fee in yearly
dividend, according to the value of
the matrimonial goods. Is matched by
one which the Philadelphia Telegraph
relates.
A Southern clergyman h"d married
a pair of negroes. After the ceremony
the groom askif, "How much yo'
chiihge fo' dlsV"
"Well," snid the minister, "I usu
ally leave that to the groom. Some
times I am paid live dollars, nomo
tlmes ten, sometime leos."
"Hut's a lot ob money, pahwrn. Tell
you' what Oh'll do. Ah'll gib yo' two
ilollnhs, an' den ef I fin' I alu't got
cheated, I'll gib yo' mo' In a motif."
A month litter the groom returned.
"Ah' yere, Ink Ah promised, pah
son." 'Ye,' ald the minister, expectant
iy.
"Ah tol yo' dat ef It was all right,
Ah'd gib yo' mo' money, didn't AbT"
"You did."
"Well, pahHon, a dls yere am a
sort of spec'latlon, Ah reckon yo' owe
me about o dollah an' eighty-fire
cent, an' Ah come ter git It"
At High Altitude.
Ralloonlst who acended about 10,
000 feet In Europe, the other day,
found a temperature of 27 degree be
low ft.
At the end of a bard day, when 70a
took over your work, haw Uttla you
tar accomplished!
(Edward Cbarlea, to tne Wide World.)
With most titles life begin at the
ground floor (cellar, eewers and elec
tric tubs alwaya excepted)' and ends
at the top etory, but In Parts, while
buslneaa la being profitably conducted
In the bright tunahlne of the loftiest
story, It I alao being a profitably pur
sued In the darknets of the depth be
low, far beneath even the sewer and
the famous Metropolitan Railway of
which the Parisians are to proud. P'or
Paris Is honey-combed with sulit r
runeau vaults aud passages. It Is
literally built upon column and walla,
and If one fine morning the world
awoke to learn that the bottom bad
fallen, out of the Gay Capital and It
had crumpled up like a house of cards
It would lie no surprising thing to
those familiar with the underground
world of Paris. It would seem
as though the former Inhabitants had
devoted their efforts to hewing out a
place wherein they might seek refuge
In case of dire necessity, for, though
few are aware of the fact, the entire
"CIJAUflUXOSMSTEa AT WORK.
population of Paris could hide Itself
beneath the city.
To build the city we know so well
to-day past generations delved ami dug
beneath it for the covi-ted stone. What
then were quarries have now become
caves, portions of which have been
diverted Into catacombs and contain
the bones of the dead, while others are
used for the very mundane purpose of
growing mushrooms. The mushroom
Is a comestible particularly favored
by the French. Wagon loads from
ni ar and far find their way into the
central markets of the city every day
In the year, and' the annual consump
tion by the Parisians of this vegetable
represent a value of over $1,250,01X1.
Roth beneath the city Itself and out
side It, these strange muabrooin caves
extend for miles In all directions; ami
111 them hundreds of men, who often
never iee daylight from morn till eve,
pans their lives In cultivating the
mushroom,
"1 was told that I should find these
"tinder-boulevards" of the great city
well worthy of a visit, and 1 accepted
the offer of an Influential friend to ob
tain permission for myself and a photo
gin pher to descend Into the bowels of
the earth and learn something of the
art of underground mushroom grow
ing. We departed one fine morning,
the photographer and. I, for MahikolT.
on the outskirts of Paris. We found
the ini.stmxim fanner en his farm
iiwiiltlng us a well-built, bluff, hearty
specimen of French "fe.-mier." M.
Iitirvlngt by name. I looked around
for signs of caves, but fulled to find
them, nor did I see any bills In the
neighborhood tinder which they might
be. In answer to a question I wns In
foiimd that they were Just 15 metres
ui.der f.ur feet.
"This shaft leads right Into them."
aid 1 he fanner, Indicating a covered
circular hole In the ground I bud not
hllhertu noticed. He pulled the lxmnls
away, and I looked down, shuddering,
fur I looked only Into fathomless ilark
liesH, How we wero to get dowi; puz
.hil me; how the photographic appara
tus waa golig to fare worried th. pho
tographer, and we were both Immense
ly lelleved to learn that Ihls shaft was
not 1 bo entrance, but only the pluc
where they pitched thj nmliiiro ilmvi,
1 si 111 hud hopes of gaining entrance
til In r I linn by descending a shaft 11
gentle slope or something of Unit r'
was what 1 wanted and I f It ci.11
vlnccd that this would be the en
when 01 r guide said we had lather a
long walk before us. It proud 11 1.0 tl
lliiceiUMrters of nil hour's journey,
over lldils and dovxn country lanes,
ere ho stopped suililfily before a mi ai
tUaie fence and told 11s we h .:d 1 h
id our dcntliiiitlon. And wo .hud len
following the lli.o of one of the under
ground passages all the time.
Opening a gate, the farmer tevmled
a shaft; my hopes were scattered to
the winds. 1 bad never dot o any ladder-climbing,
ami I really did nr.i fancy
the feat of "monkeying" down a p do,
the rungs of which were Jest stunt Iron
bars Inserti'd, none too uenr one 1111
(ther, on either Klde, ami which sway
ed to and fro like n bough In the wind.
"1 can't see the bottom," said the
phot grapber, somewhat ruefully.
' For my part that did not matter so
much, I wns only anxtou not to feel
It too suddenly, for there wa notMng
10 break a drop of 4ft feet, unless hit
ting I'g ilnst the Hdes a one fell might
lu regarded as breaking It The lit at
diniculty was to get the photographic
1 i-pn ni u bi low, Ceuicrartand, and
Hash lamp were p.ickt d Into a baaket,
n jili.ij wa booked on to a rap, and
1 way It sped, but quick as the rope
i n! through the hand of the "chum
p gueuulata ' the taBm-stand. wa
was quicker In IU descent. The farmer
uttered a cry of dlamay, and the pho
tographer gave me a look of pain
which clearly Indicated hla fear that
there would be no photographa taken
that day. After our guide had disap
peared over the ledge and reached the
bottom, the photographer followed him,
anxious, no doubt, to discover what
was broken. When the primitive lad
der oscillated no longer beneath his
weight I went slowly and silently
down, landing safely In about three
Inches of mud. I found my' colleague
busily engaged in cleaning the broken
camera-stand.
"Good thing It wasn't the camera,"
he remarked and I agreed.
It had lieen 320 degrees in the sun up
above, for the day was particularly
fine. Down here It was cold, damp, dark
and uninviting; so cold that I shivered
In my shlrt-sJeeves, for I had left my
coat nliove; so damp that I developed
a violent cold next day; and so black
that out of the circle of light that came
down the shaft one could not have seen
one's hand before one's eyes had It
boen held there. Our guide shouted,
and his voice, being In keeping with his
stature, filled the blackness, rumbling
away down the many arteries leading
from where we were standing and com
ing back again from a dozen different
directions. In answer to his call there
presently danced In the dark void
ahead of us a couple of lights.
They heralded the approach of a
couple of "chatnplgnonniKtes," who,
emerging from their habitual gloom,
disclosed themselves as short, dark in
dividuals, of none too prepossessing ap
pearance, attired, with but scant re
gard for the temperature, In blue cot
ton trousers, blouses, and "sabots."
Their coats they had discarded. Look
ing at the condition of the ground I
envied them their substantial foot-coverings,
and the more so when, later,
I found myself wading through a verit
able morass of slimy sand.
Provided with lights small round
colza-oil lamps fixed on the ends of
sticks and eiwumbered with the pho
tographic muterlals, we moved forward
and then the real torture of the ex
perience began.
"Minds your heads," saiil the guide.
"Rend your backs! Prenez garde la!"
in alarm, as the bewildered photo
grapher was about to dispute the solid
ity of the celling above. We bent our
backs, bent ourselves nearly double In
fact, and yet felt our heads scrap
ing the roof of the passage; und bent
and cram iied like this we were for two
mortal hours. I said that the place
was colli, damp, black, ami uninviting;
let me now add that It was very uu
comfoiiable, for the celling above us,
of solid Htoiie was not more than 3
feet from the floor. If ever there was
a time when 1 have not been proud of
my height It was during those two aw
ful hours. We formed a weird and
ghostly procession as we moved for
ward through the Inky blackness, the
silence broken only by our footsteps ns
wesplashed along through the puddles,
the solemn drip, drip of water from tin
walls and roof, an exclamation now
mid then from myself as I nearly trip
ped fiver one of the mushroom heds,
and strange niiitterings from the man
who was to work the ciiiniTa.
The famous mushroom -beds were at
our feet. We were, In fact, walking In
the narrow space between them n
path perhaps a foot In width. Thev
ran along the caves In rows, two
against the sides, and a pair down the
centre. They seemed to be banks of
sand wine 2 feet In height, and Inclin
ing up from a 2 feet Imse to a round
ed lop. The soil was dummy and
(Tumbling to the touch, and inlaid with
round white discs, varying In circum
ference from the dimensions of a quar
ter to a small -sized saucerthe pre
cious mushrooms.
"Is there much of tills?" 1 askd 0f
the fanner leading us, who seemed pre
pared to walk on for ever.
"Seven or eight kilometres," he an
sw ereil unconcernedly.
We had arrived at a bend. How long
I hml been creeping onwnrds, bumping
now my head and now an arm, stum
bling, sprawling and saying things, I
know not; but my back ached fright
fully, and I appreciated more than ever
before the comfort of being a short
man.
It seemed we bad walked for ages.
"Wa will taka a photograph here," 1
aid, which brought the party to a bait
While the photographer mid ready
bta camera I explanned to oar friend
1101 Til OF THE TL'.TNKI..
i
the mystery of tha flash lamp, and
when be waa quite ready gave them
the signal to put out tbeir lamps. They
did so. The blacknem could almost
have been cut with a knife, and the
stillness was so Intense that we could
hear each other's regular breathing.
Terrible thought scurried through
my brain. What must it be, I thought
to be loet In such a place without a
light, without food, or to be In there
with an enemy who wa familiar with
Its ramification? It waa a place to
lose one' self In, to go mad In, to be
murdered In without the world being a
Jot the wlaer. And what was that?
Something crawling over my face, here
and there and everywhere; eomething
creeping up my arms; something glid
ing round my neck. Would that lamp
never flaan? It seemed an ago, but
waa In reality not a aacond. A blue,
blinding glare went up, Illumining tba
apace around with auch a light aa K
had never seen before, and abowlng
up plainly the trio of "champlgnon
nlstee" crouched down a they worked,
and scaring a million file and spiders
and goodness alone know what other'
Insect and vermin. The light died
down and went out, and again the
lamp sprang Into life and shed their
flickering, welcome gleam around.
After securing some other pictures
and a very fine accumulation of small
files on our lamps indeed, the oil-wells
were black with them we gladly
sought the upper world again. I had
no ambition to explore the caves in
their entirety, but only to get my
cramped spine once more Into Its nor
mal position, lo sit down and rest In a
neighboring Inn and gather mushroom
knowledge from the lips of the grower
himself. Fifty years before, he told
me, the caves liad been open to the
broad light of day. They were the
scene of great activity, resounding con
tinually with the explosions of gun
powder, for there men were quarrying
the stone that helped to build Paris.
Later on they had been abandoned and
covered In, to be finally taken over by
the cultivators of muslirooms. This !s
the history of most of the caves which
are now used for this purpose, not only
In the neighborhood of the capital, but
throughout France.
But all are not of the kind I have
just described, otherwise I should not
have gone myself and prevailed upon
the photographer to accompany me to
the famous caves of Issyles-Molineaux,
owned by champlgnoiinlste Sauvageot.
I found them, as I had been told 1
should, to be In decided contrast to
those previously visited; as large as the
other were small KiO feet In height at
least. And there was no ladder to de
scend one walked straight into the tun
nel from the daylight, for It pierced a
hill, a chalk hill whence had been quar
ried thousands of tons of chalk of the
quality that makes acquaintance with
the tips of billiard cues. The main tun
nel, cutting clean Into the hill for a dis
tance of not less than 250 yards
would have easily admitted a carriage
and pair, carrying another vehicle on
top. As mushroom caves go It was cer
tainly a handsome one, but just as cold
and damp as any other, with a switch
back sort of road leading from the en
trance to the bottom of the caves.
Here there was space for six lines of
miiKliroom beds to wend their Irregular
ways side by side, as will be seen In
our photograph.
There were six of these large galler
ies, from which numerous others ran
off, twisting and winding about to the
length of some seven kilometres. Cut
In the sides of the passages were num
erous little "chapels," some on a level
with the ground, others high up In the
side of the wall. In all these caves
contained some sixty kilometres of fine
muslirooin-bcds: spiders and files we
found there In their millions, the only
occupants beyond rats and the cats
that are kept there to catch them.
In no case of such dimensions are all
the mushroom beds in the same stage
of advancement at once. While some
thousands of metres are in full bloom,
others are not so far advanced, anil In
some passages the beds are only Just
being laid down, while In others the
work of clearing out old and useless
beds Is being carried on. Why this Is
so will be apparent when It Is stated
that It would take fifty men employed
In the caves at Moulineaux eight
months to till them with the (IH.ixiO
metres they are capable of accommo
dating. Scrupulous cleanliness Is an absolute
sine qua Hon ere a new bed can be
lit 1 1 flown. The cave must be cleared
of the old bod entirely; not a particle
of it must be left, for with all the
mushroom's aptitude for lightning
growing, it Is something of a dandy
in the vegetable world. There are cer
tain things It docs not like: that It pre
fers death to, In fact, and amongst them
may be mentioned dead rats, old iron,
nnd a parasitical Insect with a special
weakness for the nutritious mushroom.
When this Insect gets In Its dendily
work, the farmer hns good reason to
sigh, bead rats are frequently found
In the caves with dead mushrooms all
around them, for the mushroom ap
parently cannot tolerate dead nits any
more than It can rusty horse-shoes or
nny other rusty pieces of Iron. Such
things spell loss to the "champlgnoii
nlste." Now bod are laid down every five
or six months, and as they do not bear
until three months have passed, the
harvest need be a rich one, for the
average cost of a bed ere It show
signs of produce Is 214 francs per
metre. First the manure has to be
secured, and then, ere It can be used,
It baa to be prepared, the work taking
from three to six weeks. When ready
It la carried Into the cave or shovelled
down a ahaft, aa occasion require.
Tha building of the bed I a peculiar
and laborious process. Sitting aatrtde
the portion of the bed he ha first mad
fhe worker gather armfula of manure
and prewea tha materials down to aa)
even height to front of him. Thus ha
la always provided with a aeat. Bra
the spawn la sown the tempera tura oC
the bed must have reached about 13
degrees to 14 degrees Fahr. (No won
der we bad been cold In ' our shirt
sleeves) The spawn sown, the manure
la covered with sand, and then every
two or three day the beds must bo
liberally watered. At the end of threa
months the "button" poke their heads
through, then gradually the bede be
come covered with white hood, which,
on attaining the required sire, are col
lected for market Unless, however, a
metre yields four kilo of mushrooms
st the least, the proprietor of the cava
has little occasion to be cheerful, for
Its creation and care account for an
outlay of three franca, while the har
vest only fetches a franc per kilo.
Winter Is the beat season for tba
"champlgnonnlste." Then M. Sauva
geot told me, be sends to market no
few than one hundred basket a day,
which means 1,100 kilos, while during
the other seasons of the year forty
baskets or 440 kilos is the dally output.
In the production of this perennial har
vest thousand of workmen find em
ployment round Paris alone men who
pass their days In damp and darknes
with only spiders and flies to keep
them company, and yet seem to ex
perience no evil effects as the result of
their strange surroundings.
SAYING A WORD FOR MULE.
Missouri Aalmal Shown to Have Many
Pointa of Excellence.
In many respects the mule Is the
noblest beast that has been placed un
der man's dominion, but unjust ridi
cule for some unaccountable reason
marked the long-suffering brute for its
own and by obscuring his many vir
tues and playing upon his few defects
and idiosyncrasies has compelled him
since the day he was discovered by
Anah in the wilderness to live under
tha torture of a false and slanderous
report. At last, however, he is being
restored to his proper position in the
social and economic world.
In truth the mule, if he happens to
be a Missouri product, is a valuable,
beautiful and lovely beast. For gen
eral all around purposes, in compari
son with the horse, mules are supe
rior. They are easy and cheap to
raise, easy to sell and hard to blem
ish. They go to the market early
and bring bigger profits for the time,
work and money expended in grow
ing than any other stock. Time and
hard work have less effect upon tuera
than upon any other kind of flesh.
Disease rarely touches them. Adver
sity and hard knocks make them
stronger and tougher.
A mule does not wither or weaken
with age. The process of years sim
ply turns his coltish friskiness to con
templative sedateness, his silvery
voice to a raucous roar .and his ob
streperous heels to the paths of
peace. His habits, as they are bet
tet understood, are less feared and
more appreciated. He Is tractable,
gentle, sympathetic and very Intelli
gent.' When well treated ho ioves bis
master, as Sancho, the companion of
Don Quixote, and many old negroes In
the South have proved.
He eats little and requires 110 shel
ter and tolls to the bitter end with
out complaint or fatigue. He quickly
understands the whims of his driver
and will go and can be guided without
whip or rein. He Is a dynamo !n
hide, an engine on hoof a perfect ma
chine in flesh and blood which rarely
gets out of order or temper. Kansas
City Journal.
Muscle Comes, Mustache Goes.
Tucked away In an uptown gtd
street under the shadow of a towering
hotel Is an athletic trainer who geta
from all his clients the liberal sum of
$50 a week to keep them In good phys
ical condition. They are a credit to
him and look as If his services were
worth the money. Tbey grow strong
as a matter of course, tlie fat are re
duced in bulk and the thin made
plumper. Rut there Is one other pecu
liarity of their training which it not
so much a matter of course. This Is
the tendency of all the trainer's cli
ents to dispense with their mustaches
after they have had a course or two
under him. He Is the determined
enemy of the mustache. He believes
It Insanitary and a survival of those
primitive days in which men's faces
were covered with hair.
The trainer talks eloquently of the
Impossibility of keeping a mustache
entirely. clean, especially when a man
smoke". During the few minutes of
dally exercise that his system requires
the trainer talks on many subjects.
His conversation covers a wide range.
Rut one subject always reappears. He
never neglects the utiliealthfulnesB of
the mustache. So his patients, If they
are to be called that, come to have a
certain distaste for the mulache,
even if they have worn one for years.
When he sees a sign of weakuesg the
trainer sticks to the attack. So to
ward the end of their training period
It generally happens that the mus
tache disappears. Some patients have
withstood the trainer's argument.
Rut most of them emerge from their
course of treatment stronger and with
newly shaved upper lips that are con
sciously stiff after years of ss-cluslnn
under the sheltering mustache. New
York Sun.
Canada' Trade In Cattle. .
The Increase to Canadian cattle sent
to Great Britain la enormous from '
lO.ltk'l In the first four month of IM3
to 27,300 In tha first four months this
year. .?, -...
When a boy Isn't in mtachlef, It r'
because be la being com pel led to tAka
tlma to repant
far.
SSL""
,,
1 tt
'k '. -
v
,J5
ff'V
1
r
1 ts.-,!