JANE JQNE8.
Jana Jones 1 >eps a-wbisperln to ma all i
time
An says: “Why don’t you make It a rule
To study your lessons an work hard an leu.
An never be absent from school*
Remember the story of EliUu Bnrrltt,
How be dumb up to the top.
Sot all the knowledge ’at he ever had
Down In the blaekamithin shop.”
Jane Jones she honestly said it was so.
Mebbe he did. I dunno.
"Course, what’s a-keepln me ’way from the
A not never havln no blaeksmlthin shop.
As said 'at Ben Franklin was awfully pi><r,
But full o’ ambition an brains.
An studied philosophy all ’Is hull life.
An see what be got for his pains.
He brought eleotridty out of the eky
With a kite an the ligbtnin an key.
8b we’re owln him more’n any one else
Tor all the bright lights ’at we scp.
Jane Jones she uctually said It was so.
Mebbe be did. I dunno.
"Coarse, what’s alters been hinderln me
knot bavin any kite, Ughtnin or key.
Jane Jones said Columbus was out at the! ■.
When he first thought up his big scheic .
An all o’the Spaniards sa Italians, too.
They laughed an just said 'twas a dreuu .
Rot Queen Isabella she listen'd to him
An pawned all her Jewels o' worth
An bought'm the Santa Marier an said,
“Go hunt np the rest of the earth.”
Jane Jones she honestly said It was so.
Mebbe he did. I dunno.
"Course, that may all be, but you must allow
lbey ain’t any land to discover just now.
—Ben King In Southern Magazine.
LITTLE CHERUB.
Surely never was there more gallant
dripper than Captain William Innes of
the rakish freighter British Prince, and
never hardier boatswain than Charles L.
Lastadins. The skipper is from New
eastle-on-Tyne and has followed the sea
88 years, or since he was 16 years old.
He has a fine brown beard, and the re
sonant voice that comes throngh it might
be heard above the strongest gale that
ever thrummed on the British Prince’s
rigging. The boatswain is a yonng
Swede, who has suffered shipwreck more
than once. Bat the captain and all the
ship's company never thought of him as
a foreigner, but as a fellow sailorman
with a big heart.
The British Prince when laden has less
freeboard than the common freighter
from Mediterranean ports. So when she
breasts the wintry seas she sometimes
buries her fo’castle head in the ferment.
She had a rough voyage from Gibraltar,
and her coal got so low in the bankers
that Captain Innes decided to put in to
8t. Michael, in the Azores, for a fresh
supply. There he found stancher steam
ships than his that had lost lifeboats and
headgear and had many inches of water
in their holds.
The British Prince made good weather
sf it from the Azores until she was about
460 miles east of Sandy Hook. A gale
came howling ont of the southwest,
combing np seas that, in the picturesque
language of the skipper, looked like
“granite cliffs.” Darkness was just set
ting in. The cook wanted some fresh
water and, like most cooks, being a
landsman and somewhat timid, he asked
file boatswain to get it for him. The
pnmp of the fresh water tank is on the
main deck under the forecastle head. It
was hazardous to attempt to get at it
while the seas were boiling as they were,
but water must be had, and a sailorman
and Boatswain Lastadins determined to
get it. The sailorman got a bucket, and
running forward dodged under the fore
castle head. Boatswain Lastadins went
ont on the flying bridge to take the buck
et from the sailorman when the chance
tffered—that is, when there was little
probability of a sea coming immediately
aboard forward.
The flying bridge is a board walk with
a rope railing run between 2 inch iron
tianchions, connecting the fo’castle head
with the forward part of the hurricane
deck. The main deck is seven feet be
low. The boatswain intended to reach
down, grab the bucket and run aft along
the flying bridge to the hurricane deck,
leaving the saUorman under the shelter
«f the fo'castle head to take another
chance between seas.
“I had just got ready,” said the boat
swain, “to take the bucket, when the
tiiip gave a plunge. I looked np, and there
ever the port bow I saw such such a sea
as I hope I may never see again. I knew
it was coming aboard, and I knew I had
no chance to get out of its way. If I ran
aft, I thought, it would pick me up be
fore I got off the bridge and carry me
away. So I thought the best thing to do
was to make fast to a stanchion of the
lying bridge. So I wound my arms and
legs around it, hugged as hard as I knew
how and lowered my head to take the sea.
“Everything seemed to give way when
tile sea hit me. -1 might just as well
have caught hold of a rope yarn as that
stanchion. I thought it was all up with
me and the British Prince until I found
myself on the crest of a wave striking
•ut for the ship, which was riding as if
die had shipped only a backetful. I
struck the water maybe five fathoms off
tiie starboard bow. I saw the form of
the second officer—Thomas Jones—on
the bridge as I swept along the ship’s
aide. He grabbed a lifebuoy from the
rack, and I saw it come sailing toward
me. It was a good shot, or I might not be
telling about it now. The buoy almost
ringed my bead. I grabbed it and forced
it over my shoulders and under my arms.
“As 1 was swept aft along the star
board side of the ship I saw Captain
Innes running forward. He saw me,
too, for he shouted: 'Keep up a stout
heart. Well save job if we can.’ But
it was getting vary dark, and I was three
■hips’ lengths astern before anything
eould be done aboard the ship. My heart
sank, and I gave myself np for lost. I
had been striking out for the ship, but
when I saw her going ahead I stopped all
•Sort to save myself. Bat it takes a long
time to stop and reverse engines, and
pretty soon I saw the ship backing to
ward me.
“That made my heart bound, and I
yelled with all my might and tried to
make some headway against the seas,
which sometimes turned me over and
ever. I was afraid that the ship would
hack against me, and that I would be
socked under by her propeller and
drowned or killed Iff the blades. I saw
1 fee propeller whirling in the air when
ever the ship went down into the trough
1 of ths sea. I shouted, 'Don’t back on top
of me,’ as I thought they couldn't see
me in the darkness.
“The ship drew nearer and nearer, the
captain keeping me on the starboard
hand. All the men had gathered at the
starboard rail, and as the ship passed me
they hove lines and buoys to me and
| shouted to me to keep up heart. I was
once within half a fathom of the star
board rail when a sea swept me forward
and clear around the bow on the port
side. I was away astern in the darkness
before the ship could be stopped, and I
almost lost hope again. But I kept sing
| lug out and could hear the voice of the
captain and the cheers of the men com
ing down on the wind.
“Tbe captain couldn’t see me, but he
took my bearings from the sound of my
voice by a star, and coming around he
steamed down toward me, and going
around me came up on my starboard. I
was full of salt water and so played out
and cold that I hadn’t much strength
left when I saw all the men gathered
along the port rail waiting to save me.
The mate threw a life buoy and a line,
and I caught it and put it on. I caught
another line, too, fearing the first one
might be carried away, and that’s ail I
remember clearly until I heard all the
men cheering. Up to then I thought I
was still in the sea.”
The captain was in his cabin taking
his tea, as he puts it, when a man rushed
to the top of the companion way and
shouted, “Man overboard, sirP’ The
captain had just poised a piece of meat
on his fork and was about to put it in'
his mouth. Some skippers might have
serenely finished the meal. But Captain
Innes got up the companion way and on
deck as if his own son were the man
who was overboard. He dimly saw the
boatswain sweeping astern. As he passed
the engine room on his way to the bridge
he shouted to the engineer, “Stand by
to stop those engines.”
Then he flew to the bridge and laid his
right hand on the “telegraph.”
“Stop and reverse” were flashed to the
engine room, and the captain’s voice
rang ont, “All hands to starboard with
lines and buoys P* All hands were there
even before the summons came.
“Our only hope in saving him lay in
picking him up with the ship,” said the
captain, “for no boat could live in the
sea that was running. I have seldom
seen anything like it. The gale was so
high that it combed down the crests, and
all the water we shipped was solid green.
When I backed the ship down to the
bo’s’n, I saw him struggling bravely in
the seas. He had the life buoy that the
second officer threw to him under his
arms, and his body was well ont of wa
ter. I determined to save him if he
could hold out until I could fetch him
alongside. We missed him the first time,
and he was carried forward around the
bow to the port side. He kept up a lusty
shouting, and we answered back.
“We were going ahead a bit, when he
was whirled around to starboard, and as
the night had well set in, and I could not
see half a ship's length away, we soon
lost him. But I turned on the bridge
and got the hearing of his voice by a
star, and I kept that star in sight when I
put the helm hard a-starboard and bore
down in the direction of the star. We
had lost his voice altogether, but as we
steamed toward the star we heard it
faintly over the rush of the wind and the
swash of the seas. We caught sight of
him too late to pick him up as we
steamed past, so we came up with the
wind again, with the bo’s’n on our port
hand.
“We 6teamed slowly, so the men
ranged along the port rail, each with a
line or a buoy, had a chance at him. I
knew by the cheer that went up that he
was saved, and I felt like cheering my
self. He was just half an hour in the
water, and if he hadn’t been a plucky
man he would be there now. The poor
fellow didn’t know he was safe for a min
ute or so after he was hauled aboard. He
clung to the rail so tightly that the men
had to break his grip. He shook with
the cold like a leaf. I took him below
and gave him three glasses of brandy
and some hot coffee. Then the steward
rubbed him down with whisky, and he
was good for work next morning.”—Ex
change.
Showman Monk Pelted With Fruit.
A religious riot in miniature has taken
place at Nantes. Some Catholic youths
were passing through a fair when they
caught sight of a booth labeled “Sanc
tum Sanctorum.” The showman was
dressed in the rough robes and cowl of a
Capuchin monk and professed to show
inside several relics or curiosities, in
cluding the apple which tempted Eve
and the whale which swallowed Jonah.
The youths, who vere about860 strong,
called on the profane Barnum to desist
from his mockeries, but he only re
doubled his patter and directed more at
tention to his show. A neighboring
orange merchant had to bear the conse
quences of all this, for his stand was pil
laged by the Catholics, who pelted the
showman with the fruit of the Hesperides
until he had to retreat inside what he
had really to use as a sanctuary for his
own protection. The police then came
up and charged the rioters, who wanted
to wreak more effective vengeance on
the insulter of religion.—Paris Corre
spondent.
A Famong Wine.
The Emperor William’s present to
Prince Bismarck consisted of a dozen
bottles of the famous Steinberg cabinet
of the great comet year, which is the
finest and rarest wine in the imperial
cellars and remarkable both for its fra
grance and for its strength. The gift is
worthy of the occasion, for all such wine
is absolutely priceless, and it is prob
ably <mly to be found in the cellars of
she emperor and of the Duke of Luxem
burg, except for any stray bottles which
may yet be hidden away in a few conn
try houses. The old Emperor William
sent half a dozen bottles of the same
Wine as a present to the queen in 1887,
and ft was brought over by the Em
peror Frederick, then crown prince,
himself. Fine Rhenish wines get more
and more scarce every year, for there
has not been a really first rate vintage
since 1168.—London World.
THE KING HAS PETS.
THI8 REFERS TO THE LION AND LIT
TLE ANIMALS HE LOVES.
A Professional Trainer of Wild Animals
Tells Some Interesting Incidents—The
Fearlessness of Pigeons Among the Kings
of Beasts.
The way lions treat the tiny creatures
of animal life is a study. It may be that
there is some animal language, and that
the legend of the little mouse which sav
ed the lion’s life by gnawing the net has
become known to the denizens of the
jnngle and handed down as animal folk
lore, or it may be that the king of beasts
has a positive contempt for anything ex
tremely small, but it is nevertheless a
fact that lions will not attack tiny ani
mals when they are put together. Pro
fessor Edward Darling, than whom there
is no more profound student of a lion’s
life and character in the country, has
made many curious experiments with
his five big beasts.
“I never saw a lion kill a rat or a
mouse,” said Professor Darling, “and I
have had many of them pnt in the cage
with my five lions. My attention was
first drawn to this when I was on my
way from London to Batavia, in Java,
on the ship Rotundo. I had my five lions
with me, and in the quarter of the ship
in which they were housed were many
rats. One day I saw Leo, my favorite
lion, lying down and holding between
his paws very loosely a monster ship rat.
I thought perhaps that the cat instinct
in the lion had made him catch it and
that he would probably play with i1
awhile, then eat it, and so I watched. Im
aging, however, my surprise when I saw
him loosen the rat, and the rat made no
attempt to get away, bnt ran up and
over his gigantic paws and played with
him.
“We were a long time making a trip,
and every day this ship’s rat went into
Leo’s cage, and the two played together
as gently as two little children. I made
several attempts to capture the rat, hop
ing that perhaps I might taka it ashore
with me, bnt I could not succeed, and I
promise you that old Leo did not like at
all my attempting to interfere with his
pet. When we got to Java, we had to
take the lion out, and Leo had to lose his
pet. He could have killed that rat a
thousand times, but he never did it.
“There was another instance subse
quent to this where Leo had a pet rat,
which makes me believe that the lion has
a real fondness for the rodent. It was
in 1881 in Calcutta. We were playing at
the Maidan, one of those gigantic places
in far India, and when I went in to see
my pets one morning I saw that Leo had
found another rat for a pet. My five
lions were all together, bnt this rat would
play only with Leo. There were many
other rats in the place, bnt the other
lions would not look at them. It seems
to me to be a fact that the lions consider
these little animals too small to be touch
ed. I have known of rats being found
dead in a lion’s cage, bnt I believe that
they were simply killed by the lion roll
ing on them or stepping on them through
carelessness, bnt lions never eat them.
“In Hamburg once I knew a case of a
sick tiger to whom it was deemed neces
sary to give some fresh, warm blood to
tone up his system, and to further this
end a live rabbit was pnt in the cage
with the tiger. One would naturally
suppose that the tiger would have killed
it instantly, bnt such, however, was not
the case. The tiger played with the rab
bit for days before he would touch it.
He finally killed and ate it.
“Now, my theory is this: A lion, or a
tiger, or in fact any wild animal kept
alone, grows very lonesome. In their
natural state wild beasts always ran in
pairs. They love companionship, and
when pnt alone they become so lonesome
that when another animal, even though
it is a rabbit, is pnt in the same cage
with them, they refrain from killing it so
as to have its companionship. We have
heard of many instances of men being
alone—shipwrecked, if you like—making
strange friends. Why not a lion? It al
ways made me feel rather bad to think
of this tiger in Hamburg killing his little
friend. Still even men at times turn on
their friends.
“Now, there is another peculiar thing
about Hons,” added Professor Darling,
“and that is that they will not eat the
flesh of a fowl. You might tempt them
with a canvasback duck or the daintiest
squab, but they would refuse it. This is
a scientific fact. I have tried it many
times. I remember once having a swan
which had broken its wing. We killed
it, dressed it carefully and threw it into
the cage of the Hons, but they would not
touch it, and it finally had to be taken
out and thrown away. I have repeated
ly pnt pigeons alive into the cage, just
to see what they would do. I have
thrown grain down among the lions, and
the pigeons have actually got down and
hopped around the big brutes, even hop
ping on their backs, the lions making no
attempt to disturb them, even seeming
to enjoy their companionship.
“Now, there is something strange
about this which is rather difficult to ex
plain. To my mind it argues that a lion
is not brutal in his instincts. Savage he
undoubtedly is. Fierce at all times, but
fierce with justice. I believe every one
of my Hons has a conscience. 1 know
every one of them knows the difference
between right and wrong. They know
their wondrous power and are charita
ble. They would never attempt to in
jure something which in no way could
do them harm. The study of a Hon—his
habits, character and capabilities—is one
of the most interesting 1 know. It offers
a field as yet comparatively unknown,
bat the more an goes into it the more
time one takes to find out just what a
Hon is and the mare he is convinced that
he has, rightly been named the king of
beasts!”—New York Tribune.
Wife—We moat have a piano.
Hatband—We are neither of at mu
sical.
Wife—I know, but what is home with
out* piano lamp?—New York Weekly.
HOE YOUR OWN ROW.
ttlii ProfitlcM Profoedliif to Carry Cooli
to XeveMtlB.
There are more ways than one, my son,
of carrying coals to Newcastle, and in
almost every case it is a profitless pro
ceeding on the part of the person engiy*
ed in it.
Th urefors, my son, have nothing to do
with (hat kind of traffio—that is to say,
do not encroach upon another’s preserves
exoept to admire. Do not attempt to
stock them with your own gome.
When a man is a salesman in a dry
goods store, do not attempt to instruct
him by the ventilation of ideas of your
own. If be be an actor, do not intrude
upon him any of your amatenr notions.
If a clergyman, refrain from Scriptural
citation and exegesis when in his oompa
ny. If a professional humorist, racist,
as it were the evil one, all temptation to
facetionsneBS and paronomasia. If a me
chanic, do not presume to give him points
In his calling.
Bnt, on the other hand, my son, do not
attempt to interfere with hie speaking or
his calling, profession or specialty. So
long as yon listen yon make no mistake,
and the wing of friendship molts no
feather.
Give ear to the story of his experiences
at the counter, bnt interject none of your
own; listen to and applaud his spoutings,
bnt spout not yourself; receive with be
coming reverence his interpretations of
holy writ, but meddle not yourself with
that which the lay mind is not supposed
to be able to cope withal; listen and
laugh at his wit and whimseys, but
hazard no joke of your own; attend
while he relates his mechanical achieve
ments, but vannt not yourself in the
same line.
It is a common mistake, my son, to
suppose that because a man delights in
talking about a certain something in
which he iB proficient, he loves to hear
every babbler that falls in his way des
cant upon the same subject; that because
it pleases him to exalt himself in a given
direction he likes to hear others in the
same direction exalt themselves.
When a man knows a thing thorough
ly—or thinks he does, which amounts to
the same so far as he is concerned—he is
quite ready and willing to instruct others,
but he brooks no incursions by others
into his peculiar domain. When he has
finished the exposition of his wares, it is
time for you to show up yours, provided
of course they are of an entirely differ
ent line.
There must be reciprocity in the com
merce of conversation, an exchange of
complementary commodities. Each must
give what the other lacks and receive in
return that in which he is wanting, else
there can be no trade, no harmony.
You would not ship oranges to Flori
da, ice to Nova Zembla or hot air fur
naces to Sahara. Then why carry coals
to Newcastle?
Therefore, my son, let each man pad
dle his own canoe as it best pleases him.
Admire, applaud, if yon will—and it is
your best hold—but don’t put in your
oar, though he be swamping.—Boston
Transcript.
An Affecting Tale.
Barber—Poor Jim has been sent to an
insane asylum.
Victim (in chair)—Who’s Jim?
“Jim is mv twin brother, sir. Jim
has long been broodin over the hard
times, and I suppose he finally got
crazy.”
“Hum! Not unlikely.”
“Yes, he and me has worked side by
side for years, and we were so alike we
couldn’t tell each other apart. We both
brooded a good deal too. No money in
this busine63 any more.”
"What’s the matter with it?’
“Prices too low. Unless a customer
takes a shampoo or somethin, it doesn't
pay to shave or hair cut. Poor Jim! I
caught him tryin to cut a customer’s
throat because he refused a shampoo,
and so I had to have the poor fellow
locked up. Makes me very melancholy.
Sometimes I feel terry I didn’t let him
slash all he wanted to. It might have
saved his reason. Shampoo, sir?’
“Y-e-s, sir.”—New York Weekly.
Afrloan Ante.
Dr. Sharp gives the following extract
from Dr. Livingstone’s "Narrative of an
Expedition to the Zambezi:”
"We tried to sleep one rainy night in a
native hut, but could not because of at
tacks by the fighting battalions of a very
small species of formica not more than
one-sixteenth of an inch in length. It
soon became obvions that they were un
der regular discipline and even attempt
ing to carry out the skillful plans and
stratagem of some eminent leader. Our
hands and necks were the first objects of
attack. Large bodies of these little pests
were massed in silence round the point
to be assaulted. We could bear the
sharp, shrill word of command two or
three times repeated, though until then
we had not believed in the vocal power
of an ant. The instant after we felt the
storming hosts over head and neck.”—
New York Ledger.
Count PrimolPs Camera.
Count Primoli is a familiar figure in
Parisian society, spending a portion of
the season each year at the hospitable
house of his aunt, Princess Mathilde, in
whose salons he formed the acquaintance
and acquired the warm friendship of the
popular novelist, Paul Bourget. He is
noted as being, with the possible excep
tion of the Due de Moray, the most suc
cessful amateur photographer in Europe,
and has spent enormous sums on various
perfected apparatus connected with this
particular fad.—New York Herald.
She Ought to Knew.
Miss Imogen Guiney, who entered po
litical Kfc to the extent of seeking the
postmistress-ship of her town, says that
no woman can earn a livelihood at po
etry—the statements of Ella Wheeler
Wilcox notwithstanding.
"Your account has been standing a
long time, Mr. Dukey.”
"Then give it a seat, my dear Shears.”
"Very glad ts, sir; shall we make it a
leceipt?”—Louden Judy.
THE 0 ENTEEL POOR.
"OH, THE PiTY OF IT!" ONE EXCLAIMS
WHEN CONSIDERING THEM.
Straining to Maintain a Poultion Beyond
Their Mentis-An Anecdote A boat Peo
ple Who Manege to Get Along and Get
Along by Managing.
Do you know that there is a class of
people whoeuffer and of whom the world
never hears? 1 mean those whom we are
apt to call the genteel poor. They are
always with us. In my life I have lis
tened to b great many queer stories
about them, and they are really to be
pitied. They are, many of them, single
women of uncertain age, who are obliged
to live on infinitesimal incomes and with
an amount of style. They can’t bring
their ideas down to the level of their for
tunes. They have always been used to
certain things, and they must havs or
at least appear to have them. They can
live only in a particular part of town, no
matter if the rent consumes the biggest
part of their funds, and they must do
other things in just proportion. How do
they do it? Why, with an amount of in
genuity that would be valuable in a bet
ter cause.
They “manage.” That is the word.
The genteel poor “manage” to gat
along and get along by “managing.”
Take a case that I happen to know
about. They were a pair of sisters who
rented apartments.
I am not afraid to assert that they lived
on samples. They went from one grocer
to another and collected, little by little,
almost all the things they needed for
their meager menage.
Sample cans of soup furnished tlieir
table at many a midday meal. Their
cracker jar was a wonderful mixture of
different brands. They did so like a va
riety, they said. Their bonbon dish was
replenished in a way that seemed little
short of stealing. They would make pe
riodical calls at various confectioners
and at each take a bit of candy from the
piles that were exposed to view. Hidden
in a bag, or in a muff if it was winter,
the aggregate of this booty when taken
home formed quite a dishful and helped
out at their afternoon receptions, which,
in accordance with their ideas of hospi
tality and the traditions of their family,
they always gave during the season.
I used to wonder how they felt when
they knelt on Sundays before that gor
geous shrine which they affected and
gave the response to that solemn admo
nition, “Thou shalt not steal,” but I
fancy they thought it was perfectly le
gitimate.
They always dressed in black, and 1
am sure I don’t know how they “man
aged” their wardrobes. I suppose the
bargain counters helped them out, and I
fancy their gowns were sometimes mado
by a very swell dressmaker whom years
ago they employed as a seamstress and
introduced to their wealthy friends. Ey
this the woman was enabled to get a
footing, and no doubt gratitude prompt
ed her to give them some help in the re
construction of their wardrobes.
But this was long ago. I wonder if
the younger sister, who now occupies a
position as the wife of a wealthy man,
is aware that I know all about the gown
she wore when she met the man who
emancipated her from the thraldom of
petty economy. I doubt it, but I do, and
I am going to tell you.
The two women had been invited to a
dinner given by a 6well friend. The
elder could not go on account of ill
health, but the younger must. Then
came the question of what to wear. Ev
erything had been exhausted, and there
was no money for a costume. At last,
in despair, the younger woman opened a
trunk filled with clothing from the rec
tory—their childhood’s home.
She had it! Within its depths there
was the black silk robe that her father
had worn. It was heavy and of beauti
ful texture. Its ample folds would
make a short skirt and part of a waist.
While in a quandary as to what would
fill out the deficiency she saw beneath
the velvet pall that had covered her fa
ther’s coffin. It had been the last loving
tribute of a sick parishioner. Here were
the train and another part of the waist.
Did no thought of its association with
the dead man or remembrance of the sol
emn service return to her, you ask? Not
a bit of it. Beneath it, crumpled up in
many creases, was the crape that had
draped the altar. Behold what a cos
tume was evolved! A long train of vel
vet over a skirt of heavy black silk trim
med with folds of crape, whose somber
blackness served to make still whiter the
neck displayed beneath the decollete cor
sage. She was elegant indeed, and at the
dinner she played her cards so well that
she captured an extremely eligible bach
elor, and her struggles were over.
But think of it! I know you’ll say,
“Oh, the pity of it!”
You have often heard the saying: “God
help the rich. The poor can beg.”
I say the Lord’s poor will be taken
care of, but pity, oh, pity, the genteel
poor!—Boston Herald.
A Real Swell.
The tramp had called at a house where
there had been a party the night before
and had been given a very good meal at
the kitchen table, with the lady of the
honse superintending the feast. She was
a good hearted woman, and thinking the
wanderer might appreciate a dainty she
had added a dish of ice cream to the
menn. She pot a spoon beside it, and in
a minute or two he was ready for it and
she stood by to note his enjoyment.
“I beg your pardon, mum," he said as
he picked up the spoon, “will yon be
kind enough to give me a fork to eat
this cream with?” and the good woman
almost collapsed.—Detroit Free Press.
HU Planet*.
A young gentleman was passing an ex
amination in physics. He was asked,
“What planets were known to the an
cients?”
“Well, sir,” be responded, “there were
Venus and Jupiter, and”—after a pause
—“I think the earth, but I am not quite
certain.”—-London Punch.
THE BALLOON IN BATTLE.
Dow It IiMumkciI mul Information Trans
mitted and Received.
Balloon and wagon have formed a jnnc
tion and are ready to Btart with the
troops. Away goes tho wagon, with the
balloon banging on to its tail, while the
attendant sappers on each side keep it
steady. The train moJ.i along at a good
ronnd pace, easily keeping np with or
even passing tho infantry, and makes for
the particular spot at which it has been
determined to commence balloon opera
tions, which is usually on the top of a
good high hill.
An ascent is an easy enough matter
and is soon accomplished. The balloon
is securely fixed to the end of the wire
rope, and the two men who are to ascend
take their places. At the word of com
mand the men who have been holding
down the car let go, and up shoots the
balloon, unwinding the rope as it rises
and allowed sometimes to ascend to a
height of 1,000 feet And suppose the
officer receives instructions to move the
position of the balloon, is it necessary to
haul it down? Not a bit of it. A man
is placed at tho end of the wagon who
carefully guides tho connecting rope so
that it cannot get entangled or run risk
of being cut, and away goes the wagon,
sometimes at a trot across fields and up
and down hill, until the balloon itself is
a long distance away from its original
station. Next, suppose that it is neces
sary to lower the balloon. Is it needful
to wind in all the wire rope that has been
paid out from the reels? No such thing.
The balloon is brought to earth in a
much more expeditions manner.
A long, 6tout pole, in the middle of
which is a pulley wheel, is laid across
the rope. Half a dozen men seize tho
pole and run it along the rope, arid their
weight soon brings the balloon down to
the ground. Passengers cau then be ex
changed, or any other operation can be
carried on, and then tho men run the
pole back, and np shoots the balloon
again many hundreds of feet into the
air, without having been away from its
exalted position more than a few minutes.
But it is not necessary to lower the bal
loon in this or any other way whenever
it is required that messages should be
exchanged between those below and those
aliove. There aro various contrivances
for doing this. Sometimes, for instance,
a wire is attached, through which mes
sages can be sent to a telephone. Another
plan is to send messages down the wire
cable. A little wire hook is fastened
around the cable, and the letter or pa
per. weighted with a hmal5 sujidbag, is
sent fluttering down. The human^rpice,
it may also be added, can be heard bo-, h
from a considerable height and depth, so
that verbal communication is not difficult
if there is no wind.—Good Words.
SeiM.it!vo Horses.
Harsh treatment, though it stop short
of inflicting physical paiu, keeps a nerv
ous horse in a state of misery. On the
other hand, it is perfectly true, as a be
sotted but intelligent stable keeper once
observed to me, “A kind word for a hoss
is as good sometimes as a feed of oats.”
A single blow may be enough to spoil
a racer. Daniel Lambert, founder of
the Lambert branch of the Morgan fam
ily, was thought as a 3-year-old to be
the fastest trotting stallion of his day.
He was a very handsome, stylish, intel
ligent horse, and also extremely sensi
tive.
His driver, Dan Mace, though one of
the best reinsmen in America, once made
the mistake, through ill temper or bad
judgment, of giving Daniel Lambert a
severe cnt with the whip, and that sin
gle blow put an end to his usefulness as a
trotter. He became wild and ungovern
able in harness and remained so for the
rest of his life.
In dealing with a horse more than with
most animals one ought to exercise pa
tience, care and above all the power of
sympathy, so as to know if possible the
real motive of his doing or refusing to
do this or that. To acquire such knowl
edge and to act upon it when required
is a large part of the ethics of horse
keeping.—Youth’s Companion.
Abrogating the Fees.
Mrs. Pigg, a very charming and viva
cious widow, called recently on a legal
friend of hers to consult him on a matter
of interest to her.
“You know, sir," she said to him, “that
when the late Mr. Pigg died he left me
all his fortune, much to my satisfaction,
of course, but he handicapped me with
the name of Pigg, which I must say I
don’t like.”
“Well,” ventured the attorney, “I pre
sume a handsome woman isn’t especially
complimented by being left a Pigg.”
“I should say not,” she laughed.
“Now, what I came to see you about was
whether or not 1 must apply to the legis
lature to get it changed.”
“Um—er.” he hesitated as if wrestling
with a great legal problem, “um—er—
yes, but an easier way is to apply to a
parson, and I’ll pay all the expenses my
self.”
It was sudden, but a widow is never
caught napping, and she appointed that
evening for another consultation.—De
troit Free Press.
Royal S«rman Dinners.
A characteristic of all dinners given to
the court and military officials by the em
peror and empress of Germany is that
there is always provided a dish of sweet
meats, which holds as well pictures of
the royal pair and their children, each
bonbon having a likeness painted upo 1
it. And when the hosts retire there is
something approaching a scramble among
the dignified officers and functionaries
for one of these much valued souvenirs
to take home to equally eager wives and
daughters.—New York Times.
In the Fashion.
Mrs. Jackson Parke—What in the
world is keeping yon up so late?
Mr. Jackson Parke—I am writing an
article for the papers on “How I Killed
My First Hog.” These literary chaps,
with their stories of how they wrote
their first books, are not going to have the
field all to themselves, not by a jugfuL—
Indianapolis Journal.