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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 25, 1898)
I INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION. . *vnr<n vvvrfi /p^u.iui BK t. i mii«t ho tnld her trniihlprl hoart found V»ni * • —— — The nurse, having lifted little Leon Into the bed, returned to her chair be side the fire, while Marjorie put her ■nn around the1 little fellow’s shoul ders and presently fell asleep. Now that the fever had actually passed away, Marjorie's convalescence was rapid. She still kept to her bed, being too weak even to move without assistance, and during tlrt day little Leon was con stantly with her. She asked a few questions, and the more she heard the more her curiosity was aroused. One day she Inquired for the grave lady whose face she dimly remembered to have seen, and who she now heard was the mistress of the house. In the afternoon the lady came to the bed side. Marjorie was sitting up in bed that prnnned up by pillows, looking the rery ghost of what Mir cnee been; while on the bed beside her was little Leon, surrounded by his toys. He look ed up, laughed, and clapped his hands when Miss Dove came In, but she only smiled and gently rebuked him for his boisterousness, Then she sat down beside the bed, and tookjMwJorla's hand. •■Weir my child,” she said, "so you are rapidly getting well.” For a moment Marjorie was silent— she could not speak. The tears were blinding her eyes and ehoklng her ▼oice, but she bent her head and kissed the hand that had saved her. “Come, come," said Miss Dove, "you must not give way like this. You have to tell me all about yourself, for at nsaonnl T Irn/iw ahanllltplv nnthimf " With an effort, Marjorie conquered ber emotion and dried her tears. Hut what h^d slje to tell?—nothing, It •eemed, except that she was friendless and alone. "Nay,” said the lady, gently. "You are not that; from the moment, you en tered this door you had friends. But tell me, my child, how was It I found you and your child starving upon my threshold? You have a husband, per haps? Is he alive or dead?” Marjorie shook her head. "He isbdrqt, tp Paris, madame.’' "And his name is Caussldiere, la It not? So Leon has told me.” "Yes, madame. Monsieur Causel diere.” "We must seek him out," continued Miss Dove. "Such conduct Is not to be endured. A man has no right to bring his wife to a foreign country and then desert her.” "Ah, no,” cried Marjorie; "you must #ot do that. I wild, leave the house whenever you Wish, madame, but do not force me to see him again.” Miss Dove looked at her for a mo ment In silence; then she rang for the nurse, lifted Leon from the bed, and •enlfelm away. "Now, my child,” she said, when the two women were alone, "tell me your ■tory.“ N* And Marjorie told It, or as much of It *s she could recall^ She told of her •arly life In the quaint old manse In Annandale with Mr. Lorraine Solomon ana mysie; oi aims noineringiou, ariu of the Frenohmen who came with hlB apeciouB tongue and wooed her away. Then »he told of her life in Paris, of her gradual estrangement from all her friends, and finally of her desertion by the man whom until then she had be lieved to be her husband. "So,” said the lady, when she had finished, "ytfii were married by the English law. and the man is in reality not your husband. Weil, the only thing we can do Is to leave him alone altogether, and apply to your friends.” Marjorie shook her head. "That Is useless, madame,” she said. "When my little boy had naught but starvation before him I wrote to roy mother in Annandale, but ahe did not answer me.” • Is that so?" "Yee, madame, It Is true.” “It Is very strange,” she said, "but we muBt bc« what can he done, Mar jorie -may 1 call you Marjorie? In the meantime you must not think of all these sad things. You must amuse yourself with l^eon and get well quick ly, and my task will be the lighter." After this Interview Miss Dove visit ed Marjorie every day. and sometimes aat (or an hour or more by her bedside; and wlieu at length the Invalid, who galoed strength every day, waa able to rise from her bed, ahe lay upon a couch by the window, and watched the aunshine creeping into the streata. It waa nut like Marjorie to remain Idle when there was so much to be 4oce. and as the weakness passed away her brain began to work, planning fur the future. She had several schemes made when she spoke of them one Wight to Mice Ihivs The lady listened quietly, then ahe acid "You would rather remain in lAtrls, JMdfJb'ie than go home*" "Mad*w*, I have no hum* ** "Yau have Annandale facile " dha shoo* her head -ladeed n la at n»» home mmbI I i Z 8! little comfort In the thought of a meet ing with Miss Hetherington. At last, after long reflection, she spoke: ‘‘I know my mother—she is my mother—is very good; but it has all been a fatality since I was born, and I can hardly realize yet that we are so close akin. Ah! If I had but known, madame! If she had but told me at the first, I should never have left Scot land, or known so much sorrow!” Miss Dove sighed In sympathetic ac quiescence. "It is a sad story,” she replied. "Your mother, proud lady as she is, has been a great sinner; but she has been terribly punished. Surely, my child, you do not bear any anger against her In your heart?" "None, madame; but she Is so strange and proud. I am almost afraid of her still." "And you have other loving friends,” continued the lady, nmtllnfi kindly, "Do you remember Mr. Sutherland?" "Johnnie Sutherland?" cried Mar jorie, joyfully. “Who told yon of him?” "Himself. He is back here In Paris.” Marjorie uttered u cry of delight. "You have seen him? You have spok en to him? He knows—" "He knows everything, my child; and he Is waiting below till I give him the signal 10 come up. > an you near 10 see him?” There was no need to ask that ques tion. Marjorie's flushed cheek and sparkling eye had answered It long be fore. Miss Dove stole quietly from the room, and almost Immediately reap peared, followed by Sutherland him self. "Marjorie! my poor Marjorie!” he cried, seizing her hands and almost sobbing. Hut who was this that Marjorie saw approaching, through the mist of her o.wn Joyful tears? A stooping figure, leaning upon a staff, turning toward her a haggard fr 3, and stretching out a trembling palsied hand, it was Miss Hetherington, trembling and weeping, all the harsh lineaments softened with the yearning of a mother's love. “My bairn! my bairn!" “Oh, mother! mother!” cried Mar jorie; and mother and daughter clung together, reunited in a passionate em brace. CHAPTER XXXIV. HEY took her home with her little boy to Annandale, and there In the old Castle Marjorie soon recovered her health and her strength. It was winter still; the landscape was white with snow, the trees hung heavily under the icy load, and a blue mask of ice covered the flowing An nan from bank to bank; but tq Mar jorie all was gladsome and familiar as she moved about from scene to scene. She wore black, like a widow, and so did little Leon; and. indeed, it w'as a common report everywhere that her husband was dead, and that she was left alone. As to Miss Hetherington’s secret, all the world knew it now, for the swift tongue ui 81'duuai naa Deen busy be fore Marjorie’s return. Heedless of the shame, heedless of all things In the world, save her joy In the possession of her daughter, the grand old lady re mained in deep seclusion In her lonely ancestral home. In these sad, yet happy days, who could be gentler than Miss Hetherlng ton? The mask of her pride fell off forever, and showed a mother’s loving face, sweetened with humility and heavenly pity. She wag worn and fee ble, and looked very old; but whenever Marjorie was near she was happiness Itself. The fullest measure of her love, how ever, was reserved for Marjorie's child. Little I<eon had no fear of her. and soon. In his pretty broken Knglish, learned to call her “grandmamma." “We began wl’ a bar sinister." said the lady one day. as they sat together; “but there’s no blame and no shame, Marjorie, on you and yours. Your son is the heir of Annandale." “Oh. mother," cried Marjorie, sadly, “how ran that be? 1 ain a mother, but no wife.’* “You're wife to yon Kr*urhmnn," an swered Mias llelherlngtoii, “ay, his lawful wedded wife by the Kngiuh and the Heoltish law Out there In Kranao | he might rejtgi you by the law of man > but here In ifc otland. you re hie true wife stilt, though I wish with all my I heart, you were his widow instead." “Is that so. mother*" “True as gospel. Ilaijort* li e wl' me ! the shame Itsa, like Ike bfigkt speck ef ntoud u« Ike kande of the Ikanes wife, which even the perfumes of Araby ■ , ottlduA glcanae aws *“ ’■ lam t talk of that, mother!" cried Marjorie emhigrtng the rtld lady 1 1 am sure you are got to blame " "And you can forgive me my honny halve *" *1 have nothing tic forgive vau were deceived as as I hava heen Oh mother men nee wr. sed’ | thmh they kaca evil fceartn-" The «M indy baobecl b»gg an I h>nd!y ——^—g In her daughter’s face; then she said, with a loving smile: "I ken one man that has the heart of a king—ay. of an angel, Marjorie.” ‘‘Who, mother?” ‘‘Who but Johnnie Sutherland? my blessings on the lad! But for him, I should have lost my bairn forever, and it was for his sake, Marjorie, that I wished ye were a widow Indeed!” Marjorie flushed a deep crimson and turned her head away. Sutherland's unswerving devotion had not failed to touch her deeply, and she understood It now In all its passionate depth and strength; but she still felt herself un der the shadow of her old sorrow, and she knew that the tie which bound her to Caussidlere could only be broken by death. Thus time passed on, until the dreary desolate winter of that terrible year, so memorable to France and French men, set in with all It* vigor. There was little Joy for Sutherland. Indeed, his trials were becoming almost more than he could bear, and he was wonder ing whether or not, after all, he should Ipave his home and Marjorie, when there came a piece of news which fair ly stunned him. It came In the shape of a letter and a paper from his Parisian artist friend. The letter, after a few preparatory words, ran as follows: "You may be shocked, but I hardly think you will be sorry to hear of the death of your little friend’s husband, Leon Caussidlere. He disappeared In a . most mysterious manner, and 1b sup posed to have been privately put to death. What he was, Heaven knows! but he mixed a good deal In politics, and Judging from what you told me about him, I shouldn’t be at all sur prised to hear that he was a spy. Well, at any rate, whatever he was he )s gone —peace be to his soul, and I fancy the world will get on a good deal better without him than with him. At any rate, a certain part of it will, I know! With this I send a paper, that you may read the official account of the death of your friend, and know that there j Is no mistake about it.” Having finished the letter, Suther- I 1_Jt ...__ .» * l. .. nnnr>M_ala n no rt I . down Us columns; came upon a mark- | ed paragraph, and read as follows In I the French tongue: "Caussldiere, holding an officer's j 1 commission under the Committee of 1 Public Safety, has been convicted of treasonable practices and put to death. He was tried by military tribunal, and executed yesterday.” Sutherland put down the paper and j held his hands to his head; he was like a man dazed. Was he glad? No, j he would not allow himself to feel glad —to rejoice In the death of a fellow creature, even though he was his en emy. And yet, if Caussldiere was dead, Marjorie was free. The very thought seemed to turn his brain. He put both the letter and the paper In his pocket, and went up to his room. He could not work, but he sat down among his pict ures and tried to think. What must be do? Go to Marjorie? No, he could not do that—for she would detect the Joy In his face and voice, and her sensitive nature would recoil from him, and that he could not bear. He must not see her; other lips than his must tell the news. He remained all the morning shut up In his room, but In the afternoon he left the house, and walked slowly across the fields toward Annandale Castle. (TO BB COXTIXCEO.) COAL AND IRON. Showing That Orest Britain fe Wot Holding Her Own, Statistics show that, whereas Great Britain in 1840 produced 76 per cent of U1C wiji IU o Duppi/ ui u»at, ai mr pi CD" * et time It produces only 34 per eent, ‘ syys Nature. Atlantic liners no longer 1 carry coal from Great Britain for the return Journey; they now take In American coal, and no less than 1,500, 000 tons of American coal were thus i consumed In 1895. The condition of the 1 Iron manufacturing Industries has ol- s way* exercised a most Important lnfln- ‘ ence on the production of coal so that * a large demand for Iron draws with 1 it a large demand for mineral fuel. Dur- 1 Ing the last twenty-live years the world's production of pig Iron has In creased from 12,000,000 to 26,000,000 tons; but the share taken by l Great Britain has fallen from i 48.8 per cent to 29 per cent, ( while that of the United States * has increased from 14.1 per cent to 26.2 per cent, that of Germany from 11.4 per cent to 21.4 per cent, and that of Kusala front 3 per rent to 4.7 per j rent. Indeed, Iron la now being lm- | | ported from the United States Into this i country, and. Incredible as It may seem, the railway station at Middles- I borough, the renter of the Iron trade, i la built of Iron brought from Belgium, i Surely, then, the author of "Our Coal | i Resource* at the Close of the Nine- j i leenlb Century'' Is hardly right In ! . ! thinking that British coal and Iron | still hold their own He arguee that other countries of Kurop* are eshaust- , , lag their roal supplies Just as Greet Britain yet the llguree he gives show that tiermsiM has in reserve, within a depth of 3,ouo feet. log.uOu.tMD taai ton* of n»al. as 'uuipared with osr St dad. tsst mm Iona within s depth of 4,oou f»#t %nd this eat I Mate dose nod Include brown coal. of which Germany raises HusM.wtM tuna annually. ytuisM* • h***e M in* tSentvs# IsSnoy tilth*Mo midst has usually bean es mred by the snalelul method *4 cut- * Gag down the trees The recent die j covers that the bates fuvntsh n purse i •ad ino,* copious supp-y til gum (hag the trees promisee to peseta e a g>*at 1 change ta that Industry BAZAINE'S TWO LOVES. |la Fwond Wife's Resemblance to the First One. Bazalne, when a colonel, came across little Spanish girl of great beauty nd personal attractions, who seemed o him out of place amid her surround tigs, says the Century. He picked up he little wild rose as It grew on the oadslde, and conceived the no Ion of transplanting It. He took he child to Paris, where he ?ft her In a convent to be ed cated. On his return to Paris after everal years of brilliant campaigning e fell In love with her, and, breaking hrough all rules of French matrlmo lal usage, married her. After several ears of happy married life the general eft her to take command of the army ti Mexico. While he was away on this xpedltlon the news of her death eached him. After a funeral mass, fhlch he heard with his officers, he re Ired to his tent and. alone, fought the ardest of battles and conquered his wn heart. In a few days he returned o his duty and no one ever knew rhat had passed In his Innermost soul, 'wo years later a ball was given at he quartler-general. Bazzalne, who ad lately been promoted to the rank f marshal (1864). had stopped for a aoment to say a few words, when one f his guests, a young Mexican girl, rho was standing by, suddenly stopped ear us, having torn her dress. Pins tere produced, the dnmaged ruffie wuh epaired and the girl passed on. "Who j It?" asked the marshal, evidently ouch struck with her appearance. “It a extraordinary,” he muttered, "how such she reminds me of my wife." He ooked distrait, and shortly afterward xcused himself and wandered off In he direction Millie. <ie la rerra nuu aken. The courtship was a short one. faxlmlllan, In order to facilitate a inion which he deemed to be In the nterest of hls government, gave the oung girl as a dowry the palace of Ian Cosine, valued at 1100,000; and hue was May united to December. Two hlldren were born to the marshal, one if them In Mexico, and never was fath r prouder of hls young wife and of ler offspring than was the marshal. THE CHESHIRE CHEESE. 'he Fauioua Old-Time tendon Uee taarant. Of course, everybody who does lion Ion goes to the famous Cheshire Cheese n Fleet street for luncheon. It Is one if the show places an ancient tavern hat has retained all Its early charac erlstlcs from the plain furniture of Its tuffy, little crowded coffee room to he rough pewter mugs In which Is lerved your ale or “bitter.” If you are n luck you’ll be sure to get the cov ited seat at the head of the table near he old fashioned fireplace, labeled In irass tablet as Samuel Johnson’s fav irlte corner. Here, on the stralght lacked, hard wooden settee, in the awdust and sand, and amid smoke and llrt and smell of cookery sat Johnson, vlth pipe and bowl holding forth to he clever gentlemen of hls day and ssoclation. Even the sight of the irass tablet and the big grease spot on he wall that still bears the Impress if his learned head do not Inspire me ,s I ought to be Inspired; for I cannot ippreciate this fad for dirty surround ngs In which to eat. Perhaps John on had no better place to go In hls Ime, but we certainly have. The heese, however, is apparently typical if all of the historic Inns of the older ivlllzation, and one wonders why the xquisltleg and learned of that time hould have preferred such environ aent to the elegant clubs and general lecency of life. Was good wine, cook ry and personal freedom known only o those public hostelrles—the tap oom of the sanded floor? Yet all En llsh literature, from Shakespeare [own to Dickens, reeks with the odor f the pot-house.—Pittsburg Dispatch. Of abort Duration. Wife-Hare's one of my new photo raphe, dear; what do you think of It? iusband—There's something unnatur .1 about It. Taken by the instantane us process, was It not? Wife—Yes, ut how can you tell? Husband—Oh, 1 aerely supposed so on account of thr apose about the mouth. Another Posur for Pa. Willie—Say, pa, Is the earth round Ike a hall? Pa—Yes. Willie. Willie— md does people live on the other side f It? Pa—Certainly, my bou. Willie -Why don't they fall off? FASHIONS FROM PARIS. The Russian blouse as an outdoor imrment Is vary much worn, but nut n fur, as tbs fashion will be too evau* ecent for that. The shirts are worn so very lung >oth before and behind, that they are tow carried over the ertn, displaying o great advantage magnificent silk pet- j Icoata Hlack and white Is a perfect rage. Hid Is vsry espenslve. as white chiffon Hid satin bodices soil most easily, es pecially as they are worn under Jackets tnd cloaks. White glovee are ettll very fashion , ible, but they are n«d so universal as j last season With gray costumes grav llo.ee are worn and with green gown* ; inn glovee are seen With black d leasee biocide petti «mta teden with la-, are the latest •tide The •*reels of Paris are so tturb cleaner than sure that all this ■itkea lusurtnnee la piMMlhle I be hair la Parte Is sue worn quite itu.mihlv brushed Up at the be k tike the ugly fashion of twsaty-ffve years Itfh* 11 t A A«>t At* I A« ttof loltifA ftAil Ab*»%* Mw #A#A fKv 4rt*« ««))Aiii !*»*> Ait *=a»«#aa‘**aa1# fcigll |A I |ff ** t|tl| Ifit||t4 tttlt % |»(aU«4 Ml RACEW'ITHAGRIZZLY FEW years ago while engaged In cutting timber In California I had frequently occasion to ride back and forth between two lumber camps, about ten mllea apart. 1 went on horseback, and was always armed with a pair of Colt's live-shooters, which I carried In bolster* attached to a belt around my waist. I started on one of these trips at 3 o’clock In tba afternoon of a hot August day, and at the end of five or six miles I began to suffer a good deal from thirst. After awhile I came to a piece of dry bot tom land, acroaa which ran a sluggish little stream, not more than four or flvs Inches wide. I dismounted to drink from It, hut It was so shallow that I could not do ao without getting the sand and sediment on Its bottom Into my mouth. So I followed It up for some distance, and found that Ita source was a small pool at the foot of a long, narrow ridge of rock rising a few feet above the surface of the ground. To the right of the spring I noticed the upturned roots of a gigantic tree that had been blown down. Between fts trunk and the ridges of rock the wind had heaped up the dead leave* of the preceding summer. There was n flat stone lying near at hand, and I knelt upon It to drink. Before doing so I ran my arm through the bridle reins and held them In the crook of my elbow. As I raised my head from drinking I heard a rustling In the leaves behind the trunk of the tree. Looking up I saw two little griz zly cubs, about the size of large cats, coming from behind the roots. The moment they Haw me they scampereu back out of sight. At the same In stant, and before I had time to get up, there was a sudden backward pull upon the bridle reins, which first slipped them up under my armpit, then Jerked me over on my back. Glancing up at my horse, I saw him with his head lowered, his ears pointed for ward and hts nostrils distended, gaz ing Intently before him. I was on my feet In an Instant. I saw a long, slab sided female grizzly coming along the trunk of the tree from Its top toward the roots. Just as I caught sight of her she left the tree and swung herself down on the ground. I had kept my hold upon the reins, and started at once to mount my horse. But when he saw the bear on the ground, he began to rear and plunge, and nothing pre vented him from pulling away from me altogether but the fact that the bridle had a powerful curb bit, which was buckled tightly to bis lower Jaw. Before I had time to think, the bear was upon us. The horse never had , taken bU eyes off her for a moment, I and Just as she came In reach he whirled around on bis forelegs, as on I /l/J "I PUT A BALL BEHIND HER LEFT SHOULDER." a pivot, and lashed out with his bind legs with all the strength be had. He had been shod only a day or two be fore, and bis rough new iron heels landed squarely on the bear’s left shoulder as she was aiming to pass him to get at me. The force of the blow sent her sprawling over on ber right side. But unfortunately just as be delivered it, he threw his bead sud denly downwards, as a horse always does in making a vicious kick with both legs, and, my hold upon the reins being momentarily relaxed In the ex citement of the bear'a rush at me. he pulled them nut of my band, and the next moment he was oft at full speed. Before I could get my pistol out of my bait the bear rallied from the knock-down blow she had been given and came at me on three legs with a vicious growl. There was nothing for me to do but to run for my life. I did not have more than ten or fifteen feet the start uf her. but luckily I was a good sprinter with plenty uf speed and bottom Hut fur all of that, when I looked back over my shoulder I saw that the old grtaaly was gaining -on me Crippled as she was, she still W..4 naa ea.sire. w<uut lee* than I kail sa,l thla advantage waa talltugg agalnat Die Mo I nude atraighl fur • lra« anna distance ahead It aaa a giant In alia, halng ami alghl feat through at th« Haight of my hand. Itelo* that height Ita trunk area conical la shape and apraad out at the roota to a diameter of at laaal twelve feet Thla gave ue a circular race courea thirty ala feet li t,* and I had to comment** aprintlag around It the gcomant I raarhad It. Tha shape of lha couraa waa de*-lt adit la a* favor. f**r la ruaMag In •m'h a email clrala aha had to lean In toward lha iraa and dig her clawa lato lha ground to heap from living uff at a taagaat Thla ahe evidentU found It hard to do. with her ahonlder arlp* ptad tad ita* foreleg too Um» fur h«< tw put It on tha gr o I ai all t‘oo sequently she dI9 not run by any means as fast after reaching the tree as she had done In her straight course towards It. So I found It comparative ly easy to keep out of her reach as she chased me around It. In fact, I soon found myself behind Instead of before her. But In her blind rage she did not notice this change In our relative posi tions. especially as I took good care not to get too close to her. but to keep only her haunches In sight as she galloped around the tree In front of me. After our race had lasted some two or three minutes she began to slacken her pace, and finally stopped and sat down so suddenly that I almost ran up on her before I could check myself: But I dodged back before she saw me, and stood peeping at her around the edge of the tree, with my feet braced to start again at a moment's notice. After panting awhile she turned her head lastly around and looked back over her shoulder. The Instant she saw me she whirled around and came at me again, and we had a second heat In the opposite direction. It lasted about ss long and ended precisely as the first had done. When It was over I felt pretty confident that she could not catch up with me, and I resolved that I would assume the aggressive m> self. So when she stopped again, at the end of the third heat, and was sit ting at an angle with the circumference of the tree, with her side exposed, l drew my pistol and put a hall behind her left shoulder. It was the signal for another fast and furious race. But although her rage and pain seemed to put new energy Into her, I still kept out of her reach, and the heat ended as the others had done. To make a long story short, this al ternate raring, resting and shooting was kept up until 1 had emptied Into her body all the balls In one of my pistols. In her rage she was foumlng at the mouth, aDd 1 was encouraged and delighted when I saw the froth on her lips colored a deep red. It showed il.i _l.. j i__ |n f ho tuncra and I knew that this would soon tell on her wind. Moreover, at the end of the last race we had run ahe looked back and growled at me a good while before coming at roe again. It was plain that she wan giving out, and I now felt sure that ahe would not over take me and that my life waa safe. This of course gave me new strength and courage, and I began to force mat ters. The next time she halted I did not give her a moment to rest, but sent in another ball as soon as she stopped. I kept this up until she had In her eight out of the ten balls In my piBtols. This, with a broken shoulder, was about all she could stand. When I shot her the last time she did not begin the chase again, as she fcad done before, but merely lifted her lip with an angry snarl, and shook her head from side to side, I thought It best to keep the two remaining halls In reserve. In a few moments she dropped down and turned over on her side. I still had a whole some fear of her recuperative powers, and did not care to stay to see tne end. 1 was only too glad to part company with her on any terms. As soon as I was sure she would not follow me, I left the tree and ran for the camp, reaching it in safety. But my horse did^ not put in his appearance until 9 o’clock the next morning when he sauntered quietly In, browsing tho grass as he came along. The next day I went hack with two companions to see what had become of the bear. We found It dead, and while skinning the body 1 discovered that In reality I owed my life to my horse; the blow he had given the bear had com pletely shattered her shouldered blade. But for this handicap she would in all probability have overtaken and killed me before I reached the shelter of the tree. The Coco* tint hr it Vegetable Fond In its life-supporting qualities the cocoanut Is quite equal to the beat of other vegetable products that have been ranked above it, and although these nutritive qualities are admitted, the amount of nutrition derived is much greater than Is generally supposed. As an example, we may refer to the ac count that has been published of a vessel which left San Francisco with four hundred passengers for Sydney. Running short of stores, they were obliged to put In at a port, where a large quantity of cocoauuts were ob tained. The remainder of the passage was attended with heavy weather, and the vessel became water logged, only reaching Sydney after a perilous voy age of eighty days. Owing to the ex treme length of the voyage, their pro visions ran out, and men, women and children were reduced to an exclusive diet of cocoanut, and owing to the scarcity of these, the quantity appor tioned was in the proportion of one cocoanut to each adult. Notwithstand ing this diet, wholly unrelieved by any change, uot a life was lost and not a single case of Illness occurred, all tha On JI..B In n I, nnu llku nnS well uourUlied cuiulltlou. la tlM NainamUl lOinrlMMI. Klla I Mil you hear about Mio Shop lelgh'a tuarrtag** Haul* Why. no; • hen <tl<l It occur? Klla l,a«t **eh. tih* married a Boor walhar In ona of th* big depart want store# Haiti* Had ah* known hltu long' Klla Ho. h* ah<i«*d har to Ih* counter wh*r* ah* w*nt*d to make a email pun hna*. and whll* ah* **• watting lor her change he wooml and won her. and *o they war* war rled __ _ Jttll LIU* • WwtMlh, Urn. I pperten Answer the door ball. Mart, and My that I n not at n«ma Maty AH right, mow Mr*, t pp*rt*« tt«e minute* lat*rt Who an* it. Mary! Ma»* Mi* throwneioa* and her daugh ter M»» l pperten What did thny eat »n. * you I 'M theta t ••« nut nt !••»*»•* Mart they ant4 How tmt lunate.'*