What
Can’t Pull Out?
Why the
Bow on the Jas. Boss Filled
^Watch Cases, made by the
Keystone Watch Case Com
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tectstheWatch from thejnck
pocket, and prevents it from
dropping._Can only be had
with cases stamped
with this trade mark, ^gj
Sold, without extra charge
for this how (ring), through
Watch dealers only.
Ask^your jeweler for pam
phlet, or send to makers.
A STRANGE CASE.
How an Enemy was Foiled.
The following graphic statement will be
read witli intense interest: “Icanuotdescribe
the numb, creepy sensation thatexisted in my
arms, hands and legs. I had to rub and beat
those parts until they were sore, to overcome
in a measure the dead feeling that had taken
possession of them. In addition, I had a
strange weakness in my back and around my
waist, together with an indescribable ‘gone’
feeling in my stomach. Physicians said it
was creeping paralysis, from which, accord
ing to their universal conclusion, there is no
relief. Once it fastens upon a person, they
say, it continues its insidious progress until
it reaches a vital point and the sufferer dies.
Much was my prospect. I had been doctoring
a year and a half steadily, but with no par
ticular benefit, when I saw an advertisement
of Dr Miles' Restorative Nervine, procured a
bottle and began using it. Marvelous as it
may seem, but a few days had passed before
every bit of that creepy feeling had left me,
and there has not been even the slightest
indication of Its return. I now feel as
well as I ever did, and have gained ten
pounds in weight, though I had run down
from 170 to 137. Four others have used Dr.
Miles’Restorative Nervine on my recomen
dation, and it has been as satisfactory in their
cases as in mine.”—James Kane, La Rue, O.
Dr. Miles’ Restorative Nervine is sold by all
druggists on a positive guarantee, or sent
direct by the Dr. Miles Medical Co., Elkhart,
Ind., on receipt of price, SI per bottle, six
bottles for $5, express prepaid. It is free from
opiates or dangerous drugs.
TALES FROM
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THE LITTLE ARMCHAIR.
Nobody sits in the little armchair:
It stands in a corner dim.
But a white haired mother gazing then
Ami yearningly thinking of him
Bees through the dusk of the long ago
The bloom of her boy’s sweet face
As lie rocks so merrily to and fro
With a k.ugh that cheers t lie place.
Sometimes he holds a book fn bis band.
Sometimes a pencil and si.-tc,
And the lesson Is hard to understand.
And tlie Jigures hard to mate,
But she sees tlie nod of his father’s head,
So proud cf tlie little son.
And she hears the word so often said,
“No fear for our little one.’’
They were wonderful days, the dear, sweet
days.
When a child with sunny hair
Was hers to scold, to kiss and to praise
At her knee in the little chair.
She lost him back in the busy years
When the great world caught the man.
And he strode away past hopes and fears
To his place in the battle’s van.
But now and then in a wistful dream.
Like a picture out of date.
She see9 a head with a golden gleam
Bent over a pencil and slate.
And she lives again the happy day.
The day of her young life’s spring.
When the small armchair stood just in the
way.
The center of everything.
—Margaret E. Sangster in Harper’s Bazar.
_
THE FATHER.
Thord Overaas, of whom we are about
to speak, was the wealthiest man in the
parish.
His tall figure stood one day in the
pastor's study.* “I have got a son,” he
said eagerly, “and I wish to have him
baptized.”
“What shall he be called?”
“Finn, after my father.”
“And his godparents?”
They were named, being relatives of
Thord and the best men and women in
the district.
“Is there anything else?” asked the
pastor and looked up.
The farmer stood a minute.
“I should like to have him baptized by
himself,” he said.
“That is to say on a week day?”
“Next Saturday at 12 o'clock.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Nothing else.”
The farmer took his hat and moved
to go.
Then the pastor rose. “There is still
this,” he said, and going up to Thord he
took his hand and looked him in the
face, “God grant that the child may be
a blessing to you!” '
Sixteen years after that day Thord
stood again in the pastor’s study.
“You look exfeeedingly well, Thord,"
said the pastor. He saw no change in
him.
“I have no trouble,” replied Thord.
The pastor was silent, but in a mo
ment he asked, “What is your errand to
night?”
“I have come tonight about my son,
who i8 to be confirmed tomorrow.”
“He is a clever lad.”
“I did not wish to pay the pastor be
fore I heard how many were to bo con
firmed. I have heard that, and here are
$10 for the pastor.”
“Is there anything else?” asked the
pastor, looking at Thord.
“Nothing else.” And Thord went
away.
Eight years more passed by, and one
day the pastor heard a noise without his
door, for many men were there and
Thord first among them. The pastor
looked up and recognized him.
“You come with a powerful escort to
night.”
“I have come to request that the banns
may be published for my son. He is to
be married to Karen Storliden, daughter
of Gudmund, who is here with me.”
“That is to say, to the richest girl in
the parish.”
“They say so,” replied the farmer,
stroking his hair with one hand.
The pastor sat a minute as if in
thought. He said nothing, but entered
the names in his books, and the men
wrote under them.
Thord laid $3 on the'table.
“I should have only $1,” said the pas
tor.
“I know that perfectly, but ho is my
only child. I will do the thing well.”
The pastor took up the money. “This
is the third time now, Thord, that you
stand here on your son’s account,” he
said.
“But now I am done with him,” said
Thord. Taking up his pocketbook, he
said good night and went.
Just a fortnight after this the father
and son were rowing over the lake in
still weather to Storlidea to arrange
about the wedding.
“The cushion is not straight,” said
the son. He rose to put it right. At the
same moment his foot slipped, he
stretched out his arms, and with a cry
fell into the water.
“Catch hold of the oar!” roared the
father. He stood up and stuck it out.
But when the son had made a few at
tempts he became stiff.
“Wait a minute!” cried the father, and
began to row.
Then the son turned over backward,
gazed earnestly at his father and sank.
Thord could scarcely believe it to be
true. He kept the boat still and stared
at the spot where his son had sunk, as
though he would come up again. A few
bubbles rose up, a few more, then one
great one. It burst, and the sea again
lay bright as a mirror.
For three days and three nights the
father was seen to row round and round
the spot without either food or sleep—he
was seeking for his son. On the morn
ing of the third day be found him and
carried him up over the hills to his farm.
It was about a year afterward when
the pastor one autumn evening heard
something rustling outside the door and
fumbling about the lock. The door open
ed, and in walked a tall, thin man with
1 bent figure and white hair. The pastor
looked long at him before he recognized
him. It was Thord.
“Why do you come so late?” asked the
pastor.
“Why, yes, I do come late,” said
Thord. He seated himself. The pastor
sat down also, as though waiting. There
was a long silence.
Then said Thord, “I have something
with mo that I wish to give to the poor.”
He rose, laid some money on the table
and sat down again.
Tho pastor counted it. “It is a great
deal of money,” he said.
“It is the half of my farm, which I
have sold today.”
The pastor remained long sitting in
silence. At last he asked, but gently,
“What do you intend to do now?”
“Something better.”
They sat there awhile, Thord with
downcast eyes, tho pastor with his raised
to Thord. Then the pastor said slowly
and in a low tone, “I think at last your
son has really become a blessing to you.”
“Yes, I think so myself also,” said
Thord. He looked up, and two tears
coursed slowly down his face.—Bjorr.
stjerne Bjorn son. Translated For Ro
mance.
Petroleum For Diphtheria.
In the village of Neuville-Cliamp-d'Oi
sel, about nine miles from Rouen, a ma
lignant typo of diphtheria broke out last
year. The country doctor, M. Frederic
Flahaut, treated the cases in the usual
way, but the deaths were numerous.
Remembering, as he says, that the Eng
lish use petroleum as an antispasmodic
and an antiseptic, he determined to try
it as an experiment. His first trial was
in the case of a little girl 7 years old.
He had already given her up and pro
posed to the parents to make the experi
ment, which consisted in swabbing the
throat with common petroleum. He had
little hope of the success of his new
method, but to his astonishment he no
ticed an improvement after the very first
application. He continued the treat
ment, and the child recovered. Then he
tried it successfully with his other pa
tients.
I his year he had 40 cases of diphtheria
to treat, and he was successful in every
one. In order to bo perfectly sure that
the cases in question were genuine ones
of malignant diphtheria he had the ex
pectorated matter submitted to the anal
ysis of Professor Francois Hue of the
Rouen College of Medicine, and the pro
fessor reported that he had clearly dis
covered the presence in it of numerous
bacilli of diphtheria. Moreover, his di
agnosis was confirmed by Drs. Deshayes,
Lerefait and Ballay of Rouen, the last
named being the physician in chief of
the hospital of that city.
The treatment presents little difficulty
or danger. The swabbing is done every
hour or every two hours, according to
the thickness of the membranes, which
become, as it were, diluted under the ac
tion of the petroleum. The brush, after
being dipped in the petroleum, should
be shaken to prevent any drops falling
into the respiratory channels. The pa
tients experience relief from the very
first application. The disagreeable taste
of the petroleum remains for a few mo
ments only.—Nornihndie Medicale.
From Beggary to Wealth.
Simon Oppasich, a millionaire who has
been sentenced in Vienna to seven years’
hard labor for repeatedly perjuring him
self, was bom without feet or arms. His
father and mother were professional
beggars, and in his twelfth year he was
put on the street by them to solicit alms.
His physical defects brought him an ex
ceptional amount of sympathy and
guldens. He saved his money, and in
1880, at the age of 47, he had accumula
ted $60,000. With this sum he began
business as usurer and real estate specu
lator. In 1888 he had increased his for
tune to $125,000 in cash, and some $200,
000 in Trieste and Parenzo real estate.
Since then he has quadrupled his wealth
by trading on the Boerse. His miser
liness led to his present troubles.
He had promised to marry a woman,
but eventually threw her over to avoid
incurring the expense of a wedding.
When she threatened him with legal
proceedings, he bought her forbearance
for 4 cents a daj’. This expenditure was
impoverishing him, he told her after a
few months, and so he discontinued it.
In the trial of the case which she then
mado against him he swore that he had
never contemplated marrying her, had
never promised to do so, and had never
paid her 4 cents a day. After all this
had been proved false, he was tried and
condemned for perjury.—Boston Jour
nal.
Eat liananas and Turn Brunette.
Those who eat heartily of bananas may
run some risk of becoming tawny or
copper colored. This may be inferred
possibly from the peculiarities of plum
•agein the turacos of Africa. As long
as the weather is dry these birds are gay,
the primary and secondary feathers be
ing gorgeously crimson, but when rain
comes the color is washed out, and the
birds seem to be humiliated and ashamed
at the transformation. But the color
returns in dry weather. The cause of
the coloration has been traced to copper
in a very pure state. A single feather
burned gives the characteristic indica
tion. The source of the turacin has now
been traced to bananas, on which the
turacos feed chiefly. All the aborigines
who make bananas a diet are very deep
ly tinted, but the color is sooty rather
than red. The North American Indian
cannot owe his coppery hue to bananas.
He has only known of this fruit on reser
vations and chiefly by the peelings.—
San Francisco Call.
Making Marble Out of Chalk.
In nature marble is made out of chalk
by water, which percolates through the
chalky deposits, dissolves the chalk par
ticle by particle and crystallizes it, moun
tain pressure solidifying it. It has been
found that similar results may be ac
complished by chemical means. First,
slices of chalk are dipped in a color
bath, staining them with tints that will
imitate any kind of marble known. For
this purpose the same mineral stains are
used as are employed in nature. For
example, to produce counterfeit “verde
antique” oxide of copper is utilized. In
like manner green, pink, black and other
colorings are obtained. Next, the chalk
slices go into another bath, by which
they are hardened and crystallized, com
ing out to all intents and purposes real
marble.—London Science Siftings.
THE BRIGHT SIDE.
THE HAPPY FACULTY OF LOOKING
ON THE BEST SIDE OF LIFE.
Too Many People AlUw Themselves to Be
Weighed Down by the Daily Cares of
Llfo That Must Be diet and Fail to See
the Pleasant Things Near By.
Everything has at least a good side to
it, and sooner or later some one will be
able to see it. It is a happy fortune to
be ablo easily to see what is good, though
I do not believe in shutting our eyes to
the evil. I have a friend who never sees
the evil until it overwhelms her. She
considers all things to be well enough at
least and so has no foresight to ward oft
disaster. This is certainly a curious dis
position and not a good one for those
who have the care of families. What I
do mean is that it is a capital thing to
see the good that really is in all things.
I said to my neighbor, who is deaf in
one ear, “It is a pity, my dear; is there
no remedy?” “I don’t think there is,"
she said, “but then there is a great bless
ing in it, for I have learned to sleep with
my good ear to the pillow, and so no noise
can disturb me.” It was a curious illus
tration of how one may use a depriva
tion and make it a real advantage. It is
a great art to find out all the good there
is in life. Emerson says, “Do not dilate
on your private wrongs and personal
ills.” But no one ever becomes tedious
by dilating on hǤ privileges and joys.
The longer I live the more I find that
most of our troubles are imaginary.
There are half a dozen things we have
to learn, and many never do learn them.
One of these is that we have will power
to control a vast deal that we sit down
underneath. Life has no blessing great
er than its antagonisms. Differ as we
may from professional faith curists,
they have a great truth in store, and I
wish they may have vast influence in
reconstructing sentiment. There is no
need of being an extremist in belief, yet
it is a fact that we have cultivated a
kind of moral cowardice about our dis
eases. I believe they are right that we
are vastly more powerful than we have
supposed ourselves to be.
But I am a broader believer than they,
for I am confident we cannot only cry
“down and out” to half our physical
ails, but to a large proportion of our
troubles and what we call our bothers.
And that is just the meaning of life—it
is a series of defeats or of victories over
small affairs. The habit of making
much of petty evils indicates defeat.
Many a woman is thoroughly whipped
by her ordinary household duties, as
many a man is whipped out by weeds
and thistles. She never can face a day
with a smile and a strong will. She
does her duty as a task and never as a
joy. This hefts our duties down; the
opposite way lightens them.
Life everywhere has a better side to it
than we are always willing to confess or
able often to see. Our choicest gifts and
blessings lie just the other side of our
saddest moments. It seems like moun
tain climbing to get a view of a sunrise,
but we are willing to toil hard to get to
the mountain top. It pays not only at
the top, but all the way up. I have a
delicious fern bordered glen that every
summer I visit and do not mind the
bushes that tear nor the extremely hard
climbing to get in and to get out. Ah!
the lovely brook at the bottom, and the
pebbly isltxnd in that brook, and the old
moss covered beech logs, and the banks
of “creeping hemlock.” It pays. Every
step pays. I come back full of rest, not
of weariness, of joys that sparkle and
run like the brook itself. Last summer
I took with me an enthusiastic lover of
nature into my pet ravine, and she being
a good scientist found in an hour's search
five sorts of salamanders.
If we live widely and think nobly and
study what the world is, we find that
the cheapest and roughest conceals grand
facts that make character and joy for us.
The world is a ready spread feast for our
senses and intellect. But there are races
that will not eat eggs, and there are
others that will not use milk. So there
is a possibility of not seeing the best
things about us and hearing the finest
harmonies. The best question one can
ask of herself is: Are you getting the
best of the world about you? I have
heard the narrowest kind of men preach
ing on the parable of the prodigal son,
not knowing that they were themselves
feeding on husks—the poorest husks of
thought and manhood.
1 suppose, in fact, there is a good side
to everything, only I am not able to see
it on the occasion. The best effect of
studying history is to teach us to look
back at events some time after their oc
currence, when we are almost surely
struck by the real advantage that comes
out of what at the time seemed totally
evil. There is no qustion but that Amer
ican character has been made stronger
by the great fight with and victory over
slavery. There is just as much good ac
cumulating from the fact that intemper
ance is so hard an evil to eradicate. Har
riet Hartineau says, “The greatest ad
vantage of long life—at least to those
who know how and wherefore to live—
is the opportunity which it gives of see
ing moral experiments worked out, of
being present at the fruiting of social
causes and of thus gaining a kind of
wisdom which in ordinary cases seems
reserved for a future life.” This is fairly
what any one may reap from life, that
apparent evil is or may be made to be
come good.—Mary E. Spencer in St.
Louis Globe-Democrat.
Ninety-two Yean In a Workhouse.
The death has been reported to the
Sheppey board of guardians of Eliza
Humphries, who has been an inmate of
Sheppey Union workhouse, Sheemess,
for 93 years. The deceased was born in
the establishment and remained charge
able until her death, a somewhat weak
intellect debarring her from earning
her own living. She was affectionately
known as the "mother” of the house.
Frequently she would ask the visiting
guardians whether her long residence
had not entitled her to a pension.—Ex
thansre.
When Deeming IVu Doplied.
Abraham Fabert, who in the seven
teenth century became a marshal of the
French army, lived in an ago when learn
ing was despised and mere animal cour
ago won the plaudits of court and people.
“Tho king has no need of philosophers
in his armies,” said ono who knew the
signs of the times. “He wauts soldiers,
stirring, activo and resolute men. De
baters are only useful in the schools.”
It was at this period that the Marquis
of Cramail, at a critical moment, ad
dressed his rear guard, imploring them
not to ride away from the field, and his
eloquence was at once destroyed when
some one cried:
“Why listen to him? He has written
a book!”
“I mend my pen with my sword,”said
a noble of tho time to a poet, and the re
tort was prompt:
“Then I anj no longer astonished that
you write so badly.”
But young Fabert, who became a pri
vate at the age of 14, was determined to
master all the branches of his profession
from tho simplest to the most complex.
He fulfilled all his practical duties per
fectly, and at the same time studied with
unfailing zeal. He taught himself the
rudiments of geometry, fortification and
drawing. He read history, studied Ger
man, Spanish, Italian and Flemish and
was always eagerly seeking to improve
his knowledge of geography.
“This,” housed to say, “is as necessary
to an officer as arms are to the soldier.”
The result was that when France
needed the service of a trained mind and
well disciplined will Fabert was at her
service. Moreover, ho was the first mar
shal who rose from the ranks.—Youth’s
Companion.
A Commencement Costume.
A pretty commencement gown may be
made of white embroidered mnslin, the
tiny flower being dono in white, and upon
close examination proving that it is a
forgetmenot. The skirt, which is full
and round, just barely escapes the floor.
At the foot it is finished with five narrow
“milliners folds” of white satin. A
quarter of a yard above these are three
narrow folds, and a quarter of a yard
above these is one. The bodice is round
and belted in with a broad, white satin
belt laid in fine folds like those on the
skirt. Just in front, where it fastens,
are four white satin ribbon bows knotted
in the square style, so that they look like
forgetmenots themselves.
The gown is open at the throat, turned
over in very broad revers, faced with
the muslin and outlined with Irish lace,
that has the stitches necessary to keep it
in place hidden under folds of the satin.
The sleeves are very high puffs of the
satin, reaching quite to the elbows, and
below them fall frills of Irish lace. The
gloves are white undressed kid, and the
fan is a white gauze one. The slippers
are white katin and the stockings white
silk. The hair is parted in the center,
drawn back and arranged low on the
neck in a loose knot.—Isabella Mallon
in Ladies’ Home Journal.
A Napoleon of Literature.
The man was as thin as a rail and had
the cadaverous look of a poet out of a
job. At leist that's the way he appeared
to the editor as that gentleman raised
his eyes from his work to see what it
was shuffling across the floor toward his
desk.
“Good morning,” said the visitor.
“Good morning,” responded the editor.
“You are the editor,” said the visitor
inquiringly, half in doubt. “Yes, I know
you are. I can always tell an editor by
his intellectual expression. I have here,
sir, an article for the press.”
“Prose or poetry?” queried the editor,
not regarding the flattery.
“Both, sir; a combination effort, I
may say.”
“Ah, you must be a genius?”
“Well, sir,” and the ■visitor plumed
himself, “I am considered by my friends
a Napoleon of literature, sir.”
The editor didn't like that a little bit.
“Um,” he said, looking him over.
“Um, I didn’t know you were a Napo
leon, but I knew you were a bony part
of literature. Anybody could see that
with half an eye.”—Detroit Free Press.
TThe Government of Spain.
The government of Spain is a limited
monarchy under the constitution which
was drawn up and proclaimed in 1876.
The power to make laws belongs to the
cortes, which consists of a senate and a
house of deputies, the senators number
ing 360 and the deputies 431. The sena
tors are of three classes—those holding
office in their own right, those nomi
nated by the crown and those elected by
the civil and ecclesiastical corporations
of state. In the election of deputies all
male Spaniards may vote under certain
restrictions, and deputies are elected in
the proportion of one deputy to every
60,000 souls of the population. Both
houses of the cortes meet every year, and
the ministers are responsible thereto.—
New Ycrk Sun.
Went After Dinner.
Patrick—It’s poor advice ye've been
givin me. Didn't ye say th’ best toime
to ask a iaon a favor was afther dinner?
Bifkins—I certainly did.
“Well, Oi wint to ould Buffers width’
schmallest koind av a request, and he re-1
fused. It was afther dinner too.
“Are you sure he had had his dinner?” |
“Faith it’s little Oi know about ould
Buffers' ingoin's and outcomin's, but Oi
had moine.”—New York Weekly.
Getting Points From the Savage.
It is said there is a tribe in Africa
where speakers in public debate are re
quired to stand on one leg and are not
allowed to speak longer than they can
stand in that position. With all our
boasted civilization we discover every
now and then points in which savages
surpass us.—Exchange.
Tbe Great Difference.
“There is not much similarity between
our ways of earning a livelihood,” said
the dentist to the pafnt manufacturer.
“No,” admitted the manufacturer,
“there is not. I grind colors while you
cull grinders. ”—Indianapolis Journal.
Tobe was triumphant and Kary crest
fallen. Further inquiry brot ght out lit
tle that was new on either side. After ,
admonition* on my part and good prom
ises on the i*irt of tho children wo set
out for homo together. Our road was
tho samo for 100 yards perhaps; then tho
children went up the mountain, and I
went down. I stood still in tho road
and watched them until a turn hid them
from view. The last glimpse 1 had of
them they were waving hats and sun
bonnets at me.
That evening 1 sat alone on the moun
tainside until the shadows darkened
round ine, and the freshening wind of
tho twilight brought sweot odors from
many a flower. I was building air cas
tles, and, as is the habit of mothers and
teachers, they were peopled with other
forms and faces than :ny own.
For more than 10 years i did not see
Raccoon mountain, though every year,
especially in the spring and summer, my
heart was sick for tho sight of it, its
trees, its flowers, its cliffs, and with but
a breath of wild honeysuckle there came
the music of tho wind umoug the pines,
the tinkling of cowbells and tho notes of
the schoolbell mingling with childish
laughter. The desire grew upon me
year by year, and when last summer I
stood among well remembered scenes on
Raccoon mountain I felt I was home
again. It is true the babies I had known
were boys and girls; tho boys and girls,
yonng men and women; tho young men
and women, middle aged; tho middle
aged, old, and the old—gone.
I was thinking of all this when some
one called my name. I looked into a
homely face, bright with a welcoming
smile.
“Why, it’s Sarah.”
“Oil, you knowed me, didn’t you?
Aifter 10 yurs you knowed me,” and Sary
laughed, and wo looked into each other’s
face to see the changes that we knew
must be there. Then Sary stepped back
and drew a man, whom I had scarcely
noticed, to her side. With a smile and
something of a blush she said:
“This is”
“This is Tobe. Of course it is.” The
cross eyes were the same, thougfi the
hair was somewhat darker. As I looked
at Sary and Tobe the years fell away
from us, and we were back in the little
schoolhouse on the mountain once more.
The stirring of a tiny bundle in Tobe's
arms brought us all back. As I took the
little atom of humanity in my arms I
knew that I was looking down in the
face of the most wonderful baby that
ever existed, although its nose was a de
cided pug and its eyes slightly at cross
purposes. Sary and Tobe watched it
with pride as it blinked at mo wisely
and took its fist out of its mouth to coo
at me.
Sary and Tobe, with many others,
came to the little station to see me off
when I left Raccoon mountain. As I
stood on the platform of the rear car, and
old friends waved their adieus, my eyes
were misty. When my vision cleared, I
saw Sary and Tobe climbing the moun
tain together, and Tobe was carrying
the baby. Then I remembered the air
castles I had built as I sat on the moun
tain 10 years before. Fair castles they
were, but not so fair as the one Sary and
Tobe had built for themselves.—Mar
garet McLaughlin in Cincinnati Post.
Success In Hatching Sturgeon.
An important step in fish culture ha3
recently been made by the United States
commission of fisheries. Commissioner
Marshall McDonald will be able to dem
onstrate that the artificial culture of the
sturgeon is as practicable as that of the
shad or trout. The sturgeon fishery jiro
duces a most important export in its
caviare. It is one of the most valuable
of the coast industries, and its present
condition seems to warrant all the efforts
of scientific fish culture. In 1888 exper
iments in the hatching of sturgeon were
carried on at Delaware City, Del., by the
commission, hut they were so little suc
cessful that until the present no further
efforts were deemed advisable.
The results that have just been at
tained at the same locality by an assist
ant of the commission, Dr. Bashford,
dean of Columbia college. New York,
seem, however, to be most important.
In his trial experiment lie has employed
a floating hatching caso of his own de
sign and has succeeded in hatching sev
eral thousand young sturgeon. The
floating cases were filled with fertilized
eggs and moored in a strong, brackish
current. The eggs were hatched in 91
hours.—New York Times.
Keeping Still Half a Minute.
There was no sound except the faint
and regular tick of a watch. Otherwise
silence and gloom pervaded the elegantly
furnished drawing room.
In one chair sat a beautiful girl, her
lips tightly closed, her eyes staring
straight before her and her every mus
cle tense with a powerful effort of self
control. In another sat a young man
whose face expressed seriousness hijt
confidence. In his hand he held an open
watch, which he observed closely, only
raising his eyes now and then to glance
at the beautiful girl, who seemed to be
in such agony. Fivo seconds, 10, 13, 20
seconds passed. The position of neither
the young man nor beautiful girl had
changed. Suddenly her eyes gleamed
with a wild light; her bosom heaved; she
clasped her hands convulsively.
“I must speak!7’ burst from her blood
less lips.
“Twenty-four seconds,” said the young
man as he closed the watch and put it
back into his pocket. “You lose the
caramels by six seconds exactly.”
He had bet on a sure thing, but she
wot net.—Truth.
An Energetic American Cirl.
Miss Jennie Young, the American girl
who built a railroad to the extensive salt
deposits she owns in Chihuahua, has re
ceived from the Mexican government a
valuable concession in the form of a
privilege for the establishment of colo
nies in the states of Chihuahua and Coha
huila. Miss Young has gone to England
to make arrangements for bringing over
several thousand English families to set
tle upon the lands she has secured front
the government.
