Mrs. Kate Berg, Secretary Ladies’ Aux
iliary of Knights of Pythias, No. 58, Com
mercial Hotel, Minneapolis, Minn., After
Five Years Suffering Was Cured by Lydia
E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound.
“Dear Mrs. Pinkham:— Whatever virtue there is in medicine
seems to be concentrated in Lydia E. Pinkhain’s Vegetable
Compound, I suffered for five years with profuse and painful
menstruation until I lost flesh and strength, and life had no charms for me.
Only three bottles of your Vegetable Compound cured me, I
became regular, without any pains, and hardly know when I am sick.
Some of my friends who have used your Compound for uterine
and ovarian troubles all have the same good word to say for it, and
bless the day they first found it.”—Mrs. Kate Berg.
$5000 FORFEIT IF THE ABOVE LETTER IS NOT GENUINE.
When women are troubled with irregular, suppressed or painful
menstruation, weakness, leueorrhcea, displacement or ulceration of the
■womb, that bearing-down feeling,inflammation of the ovaries, backache,
bloating (or flatulence), general debility, indigestion, and nervous pros
tration, or are beset with such symptoms as dizziness, faintness, lassitude,
excitability, irritability, nervousness, sleeplessness, melancholy, “all
gone” and “want-to-be-left-alone ” feelings, blues, and hojtelessness,
they should remember there is one tried and true remedy. Lydia E.
Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound at once removes such trouble?.
Refuse to buy any other medicine, for you need the best.
Mrs. Pinkham Invites all siek women to write her for advice.
She has guided thousands to health. Address Lynn, Mass.
Sozodont
Tooth Powder 25°
Good for Bad Teeth
Not Bad for Good Teeth
Soxodonl Liquid 25c. Largo Liquid and Powder 75c*
At ail stores or by mail. Sample of the Liquid for the postage, je.
HALL, Ob KUCKEL, New York.
»©UGLAS
UNION MADE
'OUR]
!35P SHOES5*?*
W *—•^s.^^r.v^v>iwxy/‘Ty>
<3A J ORX^teii
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JS "i '• t.tfrSV \ tl»»r**iniUtionof \V. l„ Doiilt
- D3iigla5$4G!!tEJg8 lips ,,
“*L Equaled at Any Price.
irlfrofiOnlur*
a»$s.oo ami la.ro
[ sS fu'nvi :,r »;yit*.comfort and wear luta ruvlled 1
V/ all other make* Mild at thene pm***. Thin ex-1
A t'f'iieui rt'uubttion ikm heenwoa by ruer.t aloiw-J
I mg , W.i . ■ iu*Te to give bet- 1
r rVV. ter -1' i than oilier |a
^ £;.I*o *hnes tu-oaune hierepotat
4/ t!ie l*** *■'0 :tr"l $*•«» shoes imut b
t'.no ami
pulation for 1
, , . - -iiuit be niain-1
I ‘i• ^i*Uui:i!.H.A3 al\va\ ^ Ik i li {ilaec.il
1 ralneT,
' Arwt* -rl: s money in th- W. 1„ l>»ui{!as &...•*) * ,11
i3. >i eath i oi nm itK elnewhi re \.. i ’
Pout'Ns in i’ es and Hell* more f.1 oard *n/.o shoe* Iliad
v\ /
71 ' .
k
la
%
»ny *»: "t i wu n;i;uact ar^nt m t .** wori.j. |'nHt i »>I*#r Air
r.Vfl^fmwUi W. I.. xo<! {] jOilx.M Lrfimilff*
of the nam» bleb imdf loftie r* exd Ui $i end $<i »borS( mnd
are ju«t a* good (a rtrrj wnj.
. I
Catalog Ficl
>r'-* t < n:tn aeirtngthm-f jr
til: au'i the best ahoe Je alert erer*/where.
j i uutj uc ru
Ib':“ npoa an.*or W. F,. I*o«gla- ikftM with ntue
•»•<* prir* Nininp* «* on Lmiiomi. &cnt any*
w »••«* on r**«M-j|.t of pure ana *>•. na.ii
for oarrmw*. fak« r;w*Hvare
tnrnt* of fiK»t us shown; state btyie
d«»*trw1; nnrt width
--- usually worn; pUiaorcap
too; hoaw. medium, or litfht sohu*.
W. 1*. DourIi.^. Brockton. Maan
DRytv
Sawyer’s
^Pommel
s> Slickers
'N —^Warranted Waterproof.
Sawyer's Excelsior Itruud ronuuel MUcitera
afford complete protection to both rider and
anddif1. Al:i>le * inn long ami wule In theskirt.
Insuring u dry seal lor rider. Kusily converted
Into a walkingorrnt. Every surineut war.
ranted venter proof, look fur i rude mart.
If your dealer docs not have 1'xrcU
aiur Uraud, writ* for catalogue.
N. M. SAWYER A SON, Sols Mtrs.,
East Cambridge. Mass.
limnCABIC AMERICAN LADY. trdrp*n<'
n^nL?«JUJtII- eutiy rich, wima food fi->nr«t
buftlMUid. AddreMt Mua. L, ttf AUrkei0l.litilcatfu( ill.
When Answering Advertisements Kinilj
Mention Ibis l*apcr.
W. IN. U_OMAHA. No. 43-1901
Croquet is said to be a fine cevel
oper of the forearm.
t.Adles Can W«‘ar Shoes.
One size smaller after using Allen’s Foot
Ease, a powder. It makes tight or neve
shoes easy, t ores swollen, hot, sweat
ing, aching feet, ingrowing nails, corns
and bunions. All druggists and shoe
stores 25c. Trial package FREE by mail.
Address Alleu S. Olmsted, LeRoy, N. Y.
We have all met people who look as
if they had accidentally been mis
placed from a curio cabinet.
Pf'TMAM FADELESS DYES are fast
tosunlight, washing and rubbing. Sold
by druggists, 10c. per package.
Virtue means to expose the scan
dals that i jint to your neighbor’s
immorality.
Mrs. V. Inflow's soothing 'jmp.
forrhtldrrn testfc'ntt softens tbs gums, reduces !if
si my* cam,cures wind colic. z U»t:io.
All the great deeds of which we
have record have been done by ear
nest beliefs and earnest enthusiasm,
even though mistaken onr^
INSIST UN GUTTING IT.
Some grocers say they don’t keep De
fiance Starch because they have a stock
Iri hand of 12 oz. brands, which they know
cannot be sold to a customer who has
once used the 16 oz. pkg. IX-liauce Starch
for sumo money.
How strange it is that even the
most exquisite pleasure palls when it
ceases to be a novelty.
I do not believe Plso’s Cure for Consumption
has an equal for coughs aud colds.—Jons F
Boricu, Trinity Springs, Ind., Feb. liext
A promise neglected is an untruth
told. A promise kept is a debit dis
charged.
15he Scovirge
ofDa.ma.scus
v
A Story of
the East...
By
SYLVANUS
COBB. JR.
Copyrighted 1891 by Robert Bonner'* Son*.
CHAPTER XXII—(Continued).
Julian stood like one thunderstruck.
He raised his manacled hands to his
brow, and tried to realize the force of
the wonderful thing he had heard.
Horani started to his feet, and then
sank back, and buried his face in his
hands. Hla thoughts had suddenly
flown from the story of the present
hour to that other story which he had
had heard on the night before; and
the craah almost took away his senses.
Omar, when he saw how matters
s.ood. felt called upon to speak; for
he believed that he had discovered two
things: First, that his old friend and
brother was struggling to open his
breast to his child; and. second, that
Julian might be brought to forgive
ness when he knew the whole truth.
My friends,” he said, rising to his
feet as he spoke, "the story Is not yet
complete. It remains for me to fin
ish it."
Ren Hadad and Ezabel gazed eagerly
up Into his face; and Julian leaned
toward him. with a beam of hope
struggling upon his brow.
“I am to blame In this matter; or,
at least, I was the innocent cause,"
continued the King of Aleppo, address
ing Ben Hadad and Ezabel. “It was
1 who gave to Horani the evidence
upon which he condemned his wife. I
supposed the guilt of the lady Helena
was positive, as I had the information
from officers who would not lie; and
I felt it my duty to acquaint the hus
band with the circumstances. On my
way back to my capital, while stopping
in Balbec, I gained information which
assured me that the Queen of Damas
cus was innocent; and immediately I
sent back two of my officers to con
vey intelligence thereof to Horam.
But those messengers never reached
their destination. They must have
been robbed and murdered on the way.
3 pursued my course homeward, and
amid the duties of my realm, the thing
passed from my mind. Yesterday I
saw’ Horam for the first time in three
and-twenty years; and last evening I
revealed to him the fact that his first
and best beloved wife, Helena, waa
wrongfully accused—that she was pure
and true. When this truth burst upon
him, his grief overcame him, and I
feared that the shock would kill him.”
“Aye,” cried Horam, starting up
again, “it did almost kill me; for Hel
ena was my first love, and her place
was never refilled. O, my brother
what can I do?”
"Do what is right,” replied Omar,
taking Horam’s outstretched hand.
“Be a man. and let the heart assert its
sw’ay. Remember that you did the first
great deed of wrong; and that all th«
other evil has flowed out from that
one unfortunate act.”
The king of Damascus stood for a
moment with hi3 head bowed upon
Omar’s shoulder, and his hand still in
Omar’s grasp. Then he started up,
ana tus countenance nau cnangea.
“By the blood of my heart,” he ex
claimed, "the wrong shall not grow
deeper against me! What, ho! With
out, there! Slaves!—attend me!”
The executioners chanced to be
nearest, and they answered the call.
“Bel-Dara, strike those irons from
that man's limbs! Strike off every
bond, and set him free! If you harm
him as much as the prick of a rose
thorn. your life shall answer for it!”
The executioner stopped to ask no
questions—he did not even stop to
wonder at the order; but he proceed
ed to the work, and in a very few
minutes the prisoner was free.
Then the king started down from
the throne, and advanced to where
the freed man stood.
"My son,” he said, extending both
his hands, “the truth has come so
naked and so plain, that there is no
I room for doubt; and I now see that
I you bear upon your face the features
of your noble mother—God pardon me
for the wrong I was led to do her!
And. my son,—here, in the presence of
these witnesses, I ask you to forget
the past—I ask you to be my son—
I ask you to let me be your father; —
and then, O, then, lluram will be no
more childless!"
Julian had no power to resist the
appeal; and as the old king tottered
forward the son supported him upon
• his bosom, and sustained him in the
embrace of his stout arms.
And yet Julian was not content. His
face wore still a cloud; and there was
trouble in his heart.
What could it mean? Horara feared
that his son could not quite love him.
Omar saw the trouble, and divined
its cause; and stepping quickly for
ward he whispered into the car of his
brother. Horani taught at the words,
and the star of hope beamed again. He
clapped his hands and cried out:
"What, ho! Without! Where is
Benoni?”
The captain came.
"Benoni. bring the lady Ulin!”
Pale and trembling the princess en
tered the chamber; but when she saw
Julian alive and free, with the shack
les broken at his feet, the blood leaped
again through her veins. But she had
not much opportunity for thought, for
the king quickly advanced and took
her hand, and led her to Julian.
"My son. this do I give thee In token
of my sincerity! Now wilt thou own
me for thy father, and forget all of
the past save that which tells that we
•re of one flesh? Take this fair hand,
and with it my forgiveness to you
both- my forgiveness to all who have
befriended you. Take It, my son. and
Oour leaver us for bis northern
realm he shall see Jloram's own son
sitting upon the throne of Damascus,
while Horam himself withdraws from
the world, that his last days may be
spent in quiet repose.”
No longer rested the cloud upon Ju
lian s brow. He caught the small
white hand which had been placed
within his grasp, and sank down upon
his knees—-sank down, he and Ulin.
one in love forevermore—and bowed
before the king.
“My father—I accept the blessing! I
am thy son!”
TIIT END.
The Blind Bride.
By Amy Randolph.
Bentley Grange was a pretty place at
all times of the year, but loveliest of
all when the reapers were at work in
the harvest fields and the yellow light
of the October sun turned the wood
land paths to enchanted aisles. A
long, low structure of warmly tinted
red brick, with mullioned windows,
velvet-smooth sweeps of lawn and box
borders, which stood up like walls of
solid emerald on each side of the path,
it had a savor of the antique about it,
which one seldom secs in an American
house.
And old Brande Bentley, walking up
and down in the mellow sunshine, be
tween the walls of black-green box,
with his eyes bent on the ground, and
his hands clasped behind his back,
corresponded well with the Grange.
Suddenly a cheerful footstep rang on
the stone terrace steps—the sound of a
clear, fiute-like whistle rose above the
click of the distant mowing machine,
and Harry Wade, the oil man’s neph
ew, stood like an incarnation of youth
and sunshine before him.
"Uncle,” he cried merrily, "you’ve
got the prettiest place in the world
here.”
Mr. Bentley took out his big, old
fashioned silver watch.
“Two o’clock,” said he, "and the
bank don’t close until four. Humph!
It appears to me, young man, that you
don’t stick very close to business
hours!”
"Like a limpet, uncle,” said Harry,
“and just for today. Will Caryl has
come to act as a substitute, for I real
ly wanted to see you, uncle.”
“Humph!” again commented Mr.
Bentley. "You're very fond of me—
Just of late!”
"I'm always fond of you. Uncle
Brande,” said Harry, gravely, “but I’ve
something to tell you.”
“Some scrape you’ve got into," said
Mr. Bentley.
“Nothing of the sort, sir!”
“Want to borrow money, perhaps!”
“Upon my word, no!”
“You’ve fallen in love with some
girl, then!”
“You are right this time, uncle,”
“aid Harry, laughing and coloring;
“and, of course, I have come directly
to you to tell you of my good fortune.
It is little Bessie Bird!”
“A milliner's apprentice!” snarled
the old bachelor.
“If she chooses to help her mother
along ny trimming hats in her aunt's
millinery rooms, I sea nothing derog
atory in that,” said Harry, valiantly.
“A mere child of se-.-r-nteen!”
“But I don't want an old lady of
forty-seven!"
“Humph!" growled Mr. Bentley.
“What do either of yon know of life?”
“Not much, to be sure, uncle, as yet,”
admitted the young lover, “but we
think we can easily learn—together.”
“And where do you think the nap
kins and tablecloths and bread and
butter and rent and water taxes are
to come from?” sardonically inquired
Brande Bentley.
“I have my salary, Uncle Brande,”
said Harry, “and Bessie has been edu
cated to be very economical."
“I’ll have nothing to Bay to such
nonsense,” said Mr. Bentlpy.
“But, Uncle Brande, all we want
Is-”
“Nothing, I say—absolutely noth
ing!’’ thundered the old man. “It’s
folly—trash—sentimental tomfoolery!
If you want mv opinion, there it is!
Time enough for you to think of mat
rimony when you are thirty. There
ought to be a law to prevent young
people making fools of themselves.’’
And Brande Bentley turned on his
heel and strode back into the house.
So that Harry had no very Inspir
iting news for Bessie Bird when he met
her, as usual, on the corner of Broad
way, to walk home with her through
the pleasant autumn twilight,
“Was he very cross?” said Bessie,
who was a white-kitteny sort of a girl,
with fluffy yellow hair, dimples in her
cheeks, and eyes the exact color of the
“flowing-blue” china on our grand
mother's shelves.
"As savage as Bluebeard!”
“Did he scold dreadfully?" asked
Bessie.
“Told me T was a fool!"
“But if he won't consent —"
"Then we must manage to get along
without his consent," said Harry. “Be
cause, you know, Bessie, 1 do love you
-a very dearly, and you like me a Ut
ile, don’t you?”
“But your mother has always count
ed upon your being hio heir." said Bes
[ sle. "And to lose all that money,
Just-*'
“Juit for love and you,” archly In
! terruptsd Harry, "Darling, there Is
nothing In all the world half bo sweet
to me, or that I court half bo ardently
R8 my little Bessie—so let there be no
further argument about it. These Jolly
old coves down at the bank are going
to raise my salary fifty dollars at
Christmas, and so If you can get your
frock made we’ll be married then. And
set Uncle Brande and the world at de
fiance. eh?"
The first November snowstorm was
drifting its white Hashes through the
air when a visitor was shown into
Brande Bentley’s snug parlor.
“Eh,” said he, “a stranger, Jones? I
never see strangers.”
“But you will see me!" said a soft
voice—and a blender, golden-haired
girl stood before him, neatly yet plain,
ly dressed, her black cloak powdered
over with snow, and a spectacled old
lady by her side. “I am Bessie Bird—
and this is my aunt. Miss Belton, the
milliner.”
Miss Belton courtesied. Mr. Bentley
stared.
"I suppose you have come here to
speak to me about my nephew.”
"Yes, sir," said Bessie.
"It will be of no use,’’ said he, curtly.
“My opinions on the subject of hia
marriage remain unchanged."
’’But mine do not,” said Bessie.
"Please to hear me through, Mr. Bent
ley. I have written him a letter to give
him up this morning. And I came to
tell of it now, so that you will feel
kindly towards him once more. I have
told him we never could be married.'’
"You’re a sensible girl,” said Mr.
Bentley, smiting his hand on the table.
"And I have sent him back the little
garnet engagement ring that he gave
me,” added Bessie, with a sob in her
throat.
"Better and better!” said Uncle
Brande, exultantly.
“Not,” bravely added Bessie, “be
cause I don’t love him as dearly and
truly as I ever did. But because I see
now how wrong it would be for me to
fetter his whole life. For-” She
stopped an instant and a slight shud
der ran through her frame. "1 may as
well tell you all, Mr. Bentley; 1 am
going blind!"
“Blind!” echoed the old man.
“Blind,” repeated Bessie, gently, but
firmly. “I have had such strange blur*
and darknesses come across my vision
of late, and went to a doctor. And the
doctor told me, as kindly as he could,
that these are but the precursors of
total blindness. So, of course, all is at
an end between Hurry and me. Will
you please tell him this? I have re
ferred him to you for all particulars.”
“I will,” said the old man, huskily.
Harry Wade came to his uncle that
very morning in great perturbation.
“W’hat does this mean, sir?” said he.
“Have you been endeavoring to per
suade her to throw me over?”
“No, boy—no,” said the old man, and
he told him all.
“I am bound to say that the girl has
behaved very well,” said he. "Shall you
give her up?”
“No! Never!” shouted Harry, with
pale face and tightly clenched hand.
“Never! If she was dear to me before,
she shall be doubly treasured and sa
cred now—my little smitten lamb—my
drooping, white lily-bud! I will never
give her up while we both live!”
The old man’s eyes glittered, a faint
color had risen into his withered
cheeks, as he rose and grasped both
Ills nephew's hands as in a vise.
“You're a trump, Harry Wade!” said
he. “I respect you more at this min
ute than ever before. Give her up, in
deed! If you gave up that little jewel
of a girl you would give up the beacon
star of your existence. She is a pearl
of price, Harry—a true and noble wom
an, who wouldn’t have hesitated to
sacrifice herself for your benefit. Marry
her tomorrow if you will and bring her
right here to Bentley Grange. It shall
be her home and yours henceforward.”
And in this strange and sudden way,
old Brande Bentley relented and took
his niece-ln-law-elect into his heart.
Bessie in all the flush of her rose-bud
beauty could never have melted his
heart, but Bessie stricken down by God
became sacred and precious in his
sight.
NEW ENGLAND CONSCIENCE.
Thu Neruplu That 1’revented a Yoong
Widow’d Remarriage.
Said a drummer visitor (Miss M. E.
Boyd) to a young widow—a seam
stress—in a New Hampshire hill town,
one day last summer: “You must be
lonely here now since your husband
died. Perhaps you will feel like mar
rying again; you are not so very old."
“Oh, Miss Mary,” she answered in a
voice full of feeling, “If I only could—
if I only dared!" And then came the
simple story and a touching example
of “tho New England conscience."
She had loved in early youth a young
man whom her mother disapproved as
a suitor. He was a joiner by trade
and worthy, but the mother, having
higher ambitions, separated the cou
ple. Tho girl married a quiet man,
her senior, who died a few years later.
Then, after a decent interval, the old
lover, who had thriven in business,
asked her again to-become his wife.
That seemed a beautiful and natural
ending of the story. But no. “Ah!’,
cried the poor thing. “If I had loved
my husband I could go to James with
a happy heart—oh, how happy! But
although things were pleasant enough
between my husband and me, I always
felt the difference and at heart I was
unfaithful to him. I think this is
meant for my punishment for think
ing of James while I had a husband
living. Wo can never marry.”—Buf
falo Commercial.
In the huge mass of evil, as tt rolls
along and swells, there is ever some
good working imprisoned; working to
wards claliveranc* and triumph.—Car- j
lyl*. I
BLOCKED NEAR MOUNTAIN TOP.
Kxplorer* Drought to » 8ti»nd»tlU N«»i
AMlolholne'i Summit.
Henry Grier Bryant, traveler and ex
plorer. recently returned from a flva
weeks’ trip In the Canadian Rockies,
says the Philadelphia Public Ledger.
With Walter Dwight Wilcox, a fellow
of the Royal Geographical Society of
tfjondon, who has often traveled and
made scientific Investigations there
abouts, Mr. Bryant organized an expe
dition to explore the region around the
headwaters of the Elk and Palltser
rivers a district covering about 2,000
aquare miles, which has remained a
blank on the government maps, and,
if possible, to make an attempt to as
cend Mount /ssinibolne, the Matter
horn of the Rockies. The party, con
sisting of two Swiss guides, three cow
boys and fourteen horses, with pro
visions and supplies, beside Mr. Bryant
and Mr. Wilcox, left Banff, a station
on the Canadian Pacific, on July 21.
and struck through the woods to the
south and up the Spray river in the
direction of Mount Assiniboine. No
one bad ever succeeded in reaching
the summit of this mountain, which
is put down in the government survey
as being 12,000 feet high. Every at
tack on the mountain before had been
made from tho north, but Mr. Bryant
and his party decided to try it from
the south, from which direction the
ascent was believed to be easier. One
of tho Swiss guides was kicked by a
aorse before reaching the foot, and
had to be left behind. Picking their
way over stretches of snow and rocks
and keeping as much as possible un
tor the overhanging ridges, so as to
be protected from a possible avalanche
the party steadily pushed upward, but
were brought to a standstill when only
800 feet from the top by a long trav
erse of snow, over which it would
have been foolhardiness to attempt to
„ass. The expedition had reached 11,
125 feet, however, the highest point
ever attained. Mr. Bryant says that it
is only a question of time before the
summit will be reached, but as their
time was limited the party wa3 com
pelled to give it up.
COIN SOUVENIRS OF TRAIN.
HcKlnl«)'i Funeral Car Ktin* Over Cold
Piece* In l'enn>jrUsnla
The desire for souvenirs upon ths
part of the large crowds lined along
the railroad tracks at every point was
a distinctive feature of the McKinley
funeral train, says the Pittsburg Post.
The most popular of all the methods
adopted was the placing of coins on
the track so that the train might pass
over them, smashing fiat the pieces
of money a3 a mark of identification in
years to come. This practice was not
confined to any particular point or
crowd, but was indulged in generally
all along the route. The mutilated
coins were afterward gathered up by
their owners and displayed with much
pride. At some stations, according to
the train conductors, so many coins
were placed on the rails that it caused
a slight jar to the cars as they passed
over them. Coins of different denomi
nations aggregating at least several
hundred dollars were strewn along the
track at Union station. Even these
relic-hnnters seemed to appreciate the
occasion and surroundings, and, in
stead of making a rush for their prop
erty as soon as the train had passed,
waited until it was out of sight before
picking up the crushed coins, and by
common mute consent each was al
lowed to have his or her own without
the least quibbling among them. At
Roup station a prominent and wealthy
resident of the Shadyside district
placed a $10 gold piece upon the rail.
The approach of the train started to
shake it off, but it managed to remain
long enough to have just a small por
tion of it nipped ofT as if done by a
knife. The owner is quite a collector
of souvenirs and oddities, and when
he picked up his coin he stated it
would occupy the most prominent and
conspicuous place in his large collec
tion.
Great Until In Hlntotj.
Lord George Bentinck, in 1843, in
betting on his horse Gaper, for the
Derby, stood to win £150,000 ($720,
000), but saved himself upon Cother
stone, and netted £30,000 ($144,000).
At another time a bet of £90,000
($432,000) against £30,000 ($144,000)
was booked between old Lord Glas
gow and Lord George Bentinck. The
Marquis of Hastings bet and lost
£103 000 ($194,400) on the Hermit’s
Derby. Bell & Co. of Wall street, in
August, 1900, had $250,000 placed in
their hands to bet on President Mc
Kinley’s re-election, at odds of 2% to
1. Their offer was absorbed in frac
tions. Lord Dudley bet £24,000 to
£8,000 on Peter in a race at Ascot
with a bookmaker named Morris.
Peter was beaten. A syndicate head
ed by a man named Lambert won
£90,000 on Don Juan in the Cesare
witch at Newmarket in 1883.—New
York Herald.
Klertiiclaus* Gloves.
The Electric Laboratory of Paris ha*
been carrying out recently a series ot
experiments bearing on the insulating
qualities of electricians’ gloves. As a
result the members having the matter
in charge have arrived at the conclu
slon that insulating gloves cannot b«
considered as affording elBclcnt pro
tection ngalnst the dangers connected
with high-tension currents, and staU
that in their judgment it would even
be better to prescribe their use alto
gether rather than to rely upon their
efficiency In contact with dangaroui
connections. It Is prudent, they say
to consider them useful only for work
ing with those parts already insulate*
from the lines, such for example ai
the non-inetallie hands of switchts.—
Philadelphia Times.
