A
THE JOURNAL.
"WEDNESDAY, MAY 7, 1881.
Lricrci st
diss itier.
ths P::U:e, Czlzsizz, Ht., a: rcesai-
MY LITTLE PLAYMATE.
I am a grandsirc. Journeying- close
On threescore years and ten:
And when ray daily tasks are dons.
And laid aside my pen,
I call my little playmate in.
Now passing on to three.
For I have need as much of her
As she has need of me.
She draws me from the world of fact.
With all its selnsh strife.
She breaks the prosy lines of thoagkt
That makeup common life;
She lures me to her little world,
Where airy creatures dwell.
Where all things dance in joy and light
Beneath some magic speu.
Ehe wakes again those dreamy songs
That never yet were sung;
Which thrill through happy little hearts.
But not through human tongue;
She carols like a morning lark
To usher in the day.
And bring back memories from a land
That lieth faraway.
Her roundelays and jingles make
Such music in my car.
With all her tricksy words and way,
I cannot choose but hear;
We leave all other verso aside
For that small classic lore
Which Mother Goose has garnered up
In her undying store.
The naughty ways of Johnny Green,
The virtuous Johnny Stout;
The boy in blue who lay asleep
When cow and sheep were out.
The robin sitting in the barn.
With head beneath his wing.
Because the snow is on the ground.
And he is cold, poor thing.
The accident to Jack and Jill,
The hurrying little Jane,
The man i ho scratched out both his eye.
And scratched them in again;
The active cow that jumped the mooa.
The bull that tolled the bell.
These are a few but many mott
Too numerous to tell.
And then we play at coop and seek;
The mystery is small;
We hide behind the nearest chair.
Or in the open hall ;
And every time that search is made
Within this same small round.
The happy shout of joy goes up
Because the lost is found.
O. let me never grow too old
To join in merry glee
With any bright and laughing child
That climbs upon my knee;
Let me still keep the sportive mind
Until my dyins: day.
For what is life, in all its length.
witnoui tuecuuurens
Iren's play?
YtwUi't Comixinton.
THE TWO MRS. TUCKERS.
'You can make the fire while I put
the hoss out," said Amasa Tucker, as
he opened the back door of a gray
house, set on the top of a treeless nill,
tracked here and there with paths the
geese had made in their daily journeys
to the pond below, and only approached
at the back by a lane to the great red
barn and a rickety board gate set be
tween two posts of "the rail fence.
This was Wealthy Ann Tucker's
home-coming. She had married Amasa
that morning at her father's house, in
Stanton, a little village twenty miles
away from Feet's Mills, the town
within whoMj wide limits lay the Tucker
farm, and had come home with him
this early spring afternoon in the old
wagon, behind the bonv horse that did
dutjr for Amasa's family carriage.
Mrs. Tucker was a tall, thin young
woman, with a sad, reticent face', very
silent and capable. These last traits had
been her chief recommendation to her
husband. There was no sentiment
about the matter. Old Mrs. Tucker
Bad died two weeks before this mar
riage, but Amasa was "forehanded,"
and knowing his mother could not lire
Jong had improved his opportunities
hail been sparkin' " Wealth' Ann
Minor all winter, in judicious provision
for the coming event of his solitude.
He had thought the thing all over,
and concluded that a wife was cheaper
than a hired girl, and more permanent;
so. when he found this alert, linn
jointed, handy girl living at her uncle's,
who was a widower, on a great farm
the other side of the village, Amasa
made her acquaintance as soon as pos
sible and proceeded to further in
tiniacv. Wealthy liked better to work
for her uncle than for a step-father with
six secondary children, but she thought
it would be better still to have a house
of her own: so she agreed to marry
Amasa Tucker, and this was her home
coming. She opened the door into a dingy
room with an open lire-place at one
end. a window on the north and one en
the south side, small, pancd with old,
green and imperfect glass, and letting
in but just enough light to work by.
One corner to the north was partitioned
oQ to make a pantry, and a door by
the tire-place led out into the wood
shed. The front of the house con
tained two rooms. One opened into the
kitchen and was a bedroom, furnished
sparsely enough: the other was a par
lor, with high-backed, rush-bottomed
chairs against the wall, a round table
in the middle, a fire-place with brass
andirons and fire-irons, a family Bible
on the table, and a "mourning piece"
painted in ground hair on the mantel.
Green paper shades and white cotton
curtains, a rag carpet fresh as it came
from the loom if its dinginess could
ever be called fresh and a straight
backed sofa covered with green and
yellow-glazed chintz, made as dreary
an apartment as coma well De im
agined. Wealthy shut the door behind
her quickly and went to the shed for
material to make her lire. It was al
most sundown, and she was hungry;
but she found only the scantiest supply
of wood and a few dry chips of kind
ling. However, she did her best, and
she had brought some provisions from
home, so that she managed to lay out
a decent supper on the rickety table by
me time ivmasa came stamping in from
the barn.
He looked disapprovingly at the pie,
the biscuit, the shaved beef and the
jelly set before him.
"Ihope ye ain't a waister. Wealthy,"
he growled. "There's vittlcs enough
for a township, and the' ain't but two of
us."
"Well, our folks sent 'cm over, and
you no need to eat 'em," she answered
cheerily.
"I a'n't goin' to; don't ye break into
that jell; set it by: sometime or nuther
somebody may be a comin' and you'll
want of it."
Wealthy said no more: they made a
supper of biscuit and beef, for the pie
was also ordered "ct by."
She was u-cd to economy, but not to
stingines, aud she excused this ex
treme thrift i-i her husband more easily
for the reason that she had been always
poor, and she knew very well that he
was not rich, to say the., least. But it
was only the beginning.
Hard'as Wealthy had worked at her
uncle's, here she found harder burdens;
she had to draw and fetch all the water
she used from an old-fashioned well
with a heavy sweep, picturesque to see,
but wearisome to ue; wcod was searee,
lor though enough grew on the hundred
acres that Amasa owned, he grudged
its use.
"I sha'n't cut down no more than is
really needful," he said, when she urged
him to fetch her a load; "wood's allers
a growin' when ye don't cut it, and a
makin' for lumber, and lumber's better
to sell, a sight, than cord-wood. Ye
Bust git along somehow with brush;
mother used to burn next to notkia'."
She-did not remind him that his
mother was bent double with rheuma
tiem, and died of the fifth attack of
pneumonia. Wealthy never wasted
words.
Then there were eight cows to ntilk,
4fce milk to strain, set, skim, chum or
make into cheese, and nothing but the
Amplest utensils to do it with. A cloth
pfcioTertheeggeof the jH str4
for a strainer, the fails themselves
were heavy wood, the pass ld and
some of them leaky, the holes stopped
with bite of rag. often to be renewed;
the mHk-room was in the shed, built
against the chimney that it might not
freeze mere in the winter, and only
aired by one slatted window; the churn
was an old. wooaen one witn a aasner.
and even the "spaddle with which she
worked her butter was whittled out of
a maple kaot by Amas himself, and
was "heavy andrough.
Then to her belonged the feeding of
the pigs gaunt, lean animals with sharp
snouts, ridgy backs, long legs and thin
flanks, deep set eyes that gleamed with
iatellieeat malice and never-sated hun-
Sr. Wealthy grew almost afraid of
sm when they clambered up on the
rails of the pen in their fury tor food,
and flapped their pointed e'ars at her.
squealing and fighting for the scant
fare that she brought. For Amasa un
derfed and overworked everything that
belonged to him.
Then there were hens to look after
the old-fashioned barn-door "creepers"
that wanted food, too, and vet catered
for themselves in great measure and
made free with barn and woodshed for
want of their own quarters, and were
decimated every season by hawks, owls,
skunks, weasels and foxes, to say noth
ing of the little'chickens on which crows
and cats worked their will if they dared
to stray beyond the ruinous old coop
contrived for them by Amasa's invent
ive genius out of sticks and stones.
Add to all this the cooking, washing,
baking and sewing, the insufficient sup
ply of pork, potatoes and tough pies, the
"bi'l'd dinners," whose strength lay
in the vegetables rather than in the
small square of fat pork cooked with
them, of which Amasa invariably took
the lion's share. These accumulating
and never-ceasing labors all wore day
by day on the vitality of Mrs. Tucker,
and when to these were added an an
nual baby, life becamo a terror and a
burden to the poor woman.
But what did Amasa care? He, too,
worked "from sun to sun."
"He farmed in the hard old fashion
with rude implements and no knowl
edge but:
"My lather done it afore me, so 1 am
a goin' to do it now; no use talkin'."
One by one the wailing, puny children
were laid away in the yard on top of
Sandhill, where the old' Tuckers and
their half-dozen infants lay already; a
rough inclosure, full of mulleins, bur
docks and thistle, overrun with low
blackberry vines and surrounded by a
rail fence. It had been much handier
for the Tuckers to have a grave
yard close by than to travel
live miles to the mills with
every funeral; and they were not driven
by public opinion in regard to monu
ments; they all lay there like the beasts
that perish, with but one slant gray
stone to tell where the first occupant
left his tired bones. Two children of
Wealthy's survived. Amasa and Lu-
rana, the oldest aud youngest ot seven.
Amasa, a considerate, intelligent boy.
who thought much aud said little, aud
Lurana, or "Lury, as her name was
generally given, a mischievous, self
willed little imp, the delight and tor
ment of her little worn-out mother.
Young Amasa was a boy quite beyond
his father's understanding; as soon as
he was old enough he began to help his
mother in every way that he could de
vise. And when his term at the village
school was over, to his father's great
disgust he trapped squirrels and gath
ered nuts enough to earn him money
and subscribe for an agricultural paper,
which he studied every week till its
contents were thoroughly stored in his
head. Then began that "noble discon
tent" which the philosophers praise.
The elder man had no peace in his
old-world ways; the sloppy waste of the
barnyard was an eyesore to this "book
learned feller," as his father derisively
called him. And the ashes of the wood
fire were saved and sheltered like
precious dust, instead of being thrown
into a big heap to edify the wandering
hens. That desolate garden was
Jdowed, fertilized, and set in order at
ast, and the great ragged orchard
manured, the apple-trees thinned and
trimmed, and ashes sown thick over the
old mossy sod. Now these things were
not done in a day or a year, but as the
boy grew older and more able to cope
with his father's self conceit, more was
done annually, not without much oppo
sition and many hard words, but still
done.
Then came a heavy blow. Lurana,
a girl of fifteen, fresh and pretty as a
wild rose, and tired of the pinching
economy, the monotonous work, and
grinding life of the farm, ran away
with a tin peddler and broke her
mother's heart; not in the physical sense
that hearts are sometimes broken, but
the weary woman's soul was set on this
uriui, wiuauuic uuuu, auu uer me .lost
all its scant savor when the blooming
face and clear young voice left her for
ever. "I don't blame her none, Amasey,"
she sobbed out to her boy, now a stout
fellow of twenty-two, raging at his
sister's folly.
"1 can't feel to blame her. I know
'tis more n a girl can bear to live this
way. I've hed to, but it's been dreadful
hard dreadful hard. I've wished
more'n once I could ha' laid down along
with the little babies out there on the
hill, so's to rest a spell; but there was
you and Lury wanted me, and so my
time hadn't come."
"Amasey, you're a man grown now,
and if youshould get married, and I
s'pose you will, men folks seem to think
it s needful whether or no, do kinder
make it easy for her, poor cretur!
Don't grind her down to skin and bone,
like me, dear; ta'nt just right, I'm sure
on't, never to make no more of a
woman than ef she was a horned critter;
don't do it."
"Mother, I never will!" answered the
son, as energetically and solemnly as if
he were taking his oath.
But Wealthy was nearer to her rest
than she knew. The enemy that lurks
in dirt, neglect, poor food, constant
drudgery and the want of every whole
some and pleasurable excitement to
mind or body, and when least expected
swoops down and does its fatal errand
in the isolated farm-house no less than
in the crowded city slums the scourge
of New England, typhoid fever broke
out in the Tucker homestead.
Wealthy turned away from her week
ly baking one Saturday morning, just
as the last pie was set on the broad
pantry shelf, and fainted on the kitchen
floor, where Amasa the younger found
her an hour after, muttering, delirious
and cold.
What he could do then or the village
doctor, or an old woman who called
herself a nurse was all useless; but the
best skill of any kind would have been
equally futile. She was never con
scious again for aweek; them her eyes
seemed to see what was aboat her once
more. She looked up at her boy, laid
w wu cawn on ner nana, smiled
and died
Hardly had her wasted shape bee
put away under the mulleins and hard
hack, when her husband came Ih from
the hay-field mitten with the same
plague. He was harder to eaoqner.
Three weeks of alternate hwsine. stak
ing, raving sad chills, ended at last ia
the gray aad grim repose of death for
hiiii. and another Amasa Tucker
reigned alone in the old house oa the
It is not to be supposed that ia all
rM.?.eafBl AmM "e younger had
been Miad to the charms of the other
aex; be had set "been with" evety girl
-v wu to acaooi with Aim, or whom
imuoi i
smiled at him from
xm
'in
He had been faithful always to the
shy, delicate, dark-eyed little girl who
was his sweetheart, and now it was to
Mary Feet he hastened to ask her to
share his life and home. He had in
tended to take a farm on shares the
next summer, and work his way slowly
upward to a place of his own; now he
had this hundred-acre farm, and to his
orrnat mirnritA h fount) S3 OOH laid tin
in the bank at Peet's Mills, the slow
savings of his father's fifty years. He
began at once to set Ms house in order.
He loaged to build a new one, but
Mary's ad vice restrained himf so he
did his best with this. The cellar he
cleared and white-washed with his own
hands, cleaned its one begrimed window
and set two more, so that it was sweet
and light The house was scrubbed
fromone end to the other, a bonfire
made of the old, dirty comfortables aud
quilts, the kitchen repainted a soft yel
low and new windows, with clear large
glass set in place of the dingy old sashes.
The wood-house was filled with
dry wood and a good store of pine
cones and chopped brush and kind
ling. A new milk-room was built a
little way from the back door, over a
tiny brook that ran down the hill north
of the house, and under the slatted floor
kept up a cool draught of fresh air, a
covered passage connected it with the
kitchen, and a door into the old milk
room made of that a convenient pantry,
while the removal of the old one from
the kitchen corner gave to that apart
ment more room, air and light. A
new stove, with a set boiler, filled up
the hearth of the old fire-place, but
further improvements Amasa left for
Ma.y.
A different home-coming from his
mother's she had, indeed, on just such
a spring day aa Wealthy came here. The
kitchen shone clean and bright; a bowl
of pink arbutus blossoms made its at
mosphere freshly sweet, and the fire
was laid ready for her to light, the
shining tea-kettle filled, and the pantry
held such stores as Amasa's masculine
knowledge of household wants could
susrsrest; Hour, nutter, ecrers, sugar, an
fft
in aoundance, and no least ot royalty
ever gave more pleasure to its most hon
ored guest than the hot biscuit Mary
made and baked for their supper; the
.- . - .
stewed dried apples, the rich old cheese
and the fragrant tea gave Amasa this
happy evening. Next" day they took
their wedding trip to Peet's Mills in the
new and sensible farm wagon Amasa
had just bought, with a strong, spirited
horse to draw it.
"I want you should look around,
Mary," he had said the night before,
and see what is needful here. I expect
'most everything is wanting, ami we
ean't lay out for finery. But first of
all, get what'll make your work easy.
Your weddin1 present will come along
to-morrow; to-day wo'll buy necessi
ties." Mrs. Peet had not sent her only girl
empty-handed to the new house. A
good mattress, two pairs of blankets,
fresh, light comfortable, and some
cheap, neat, white spreads; a set of gay
crockery, a clock and a roll of briglit
ingrain carpeting had all come to the
farm-house oon after the bride's ar
rival; her ample .supply of sheets and
pillow-cases, strong towels and a few
table-cloths had been sent the day be
fore, so this sort of thing was not
needed; but there was a new churn
bought, and altogether new furnishings
for the dairy, several modern inven
tions to make the work of a woman
easier, a set of chairs, a table and an
easy lounge for the parlor, some cre
tonne, covered with apple blossoms anil
white-thorn clusters, and pails, brooms
and tinware that would have made
Wealthy a happy woman, crowded the
over-full wagon before they turned
homeward.
The old house began to smile and
blossom under this new dispensation,
and the new mistress smiled, too.
Amasa milked the cows for her aud
lifted the heavy pails of milk to strain
into the bright new pans; he filled the
woodbox by the stove twice a day, put
a patent pump into the old well, and, as
it stood above the house, ran a pip
down into a sink set in the woodshed,
and so put an end to the drawing and
carrying off water.
The fat, round, placid pigs, that now
enjoyed themselves in the new pen, he
took care of himself.
"'Ta'nt for women folks," he said.
"You've got enough to do, Mary;
ther's the garden you'll have an eye on,
and the chickens if you re a mind to:
I'm going to build a hen-house and a
yard to it right off, that'll be good
enough for you as well as the chickens,
and I want you shall promise if any
time the work gets ,a mite hefty and
worries you. VouMl speak right out. I
can afford to have everything else worn
out rather than my wife."
Really it paid! It does pay, my
masculine friends, to give any woman
a kindly word now and then; if you had
done it of tener, or your fathers "had in
the past, the rights of women never
would have angered or bored you as
they do now; or unsexedand made stri
dent and clamorous that half of crea
tion which is and always was unreason
able enough to have hungry hearts.
Try it and see!
Amasa was wise above his genera
tion; he had seen his mother sutler and
learned a lesson. Mary never pined
for kindly appreciation of her work, or
help in it. when she had a door cut
through into the parlor, the stiff chairs
and sofa banished, the flowery curtains
hung at either window, the gay carpet
put down and the new furniture set in
place, 'with her wedding present an
an easy stuffed rocker drawn up to
the table, on which lay two weekly pa
pers and a magazine, she had still sense
enough left to make this hitherto sacred
apartment into a real sitting-room,
where every evening she ana Amasa
rested, read or talked over the day's
doings, and when the first fat, rosy
baby came and Mary was about again,
it added another pleasure to have- the
old cradle beside them all evening with
its sleeping treasure.
Can I tell in words what a sense of
peace and cheer pervaded this house
hold, in spite of some failures and
troubles? If the rye did blast one year;
the two best cows die another; if a wea
sel once invaded the new and wonder
ful hen-house and slaughtered the best
dozen of Plymouth Rocks; if sweeping
storms wet the great crop of hay on the
big meadow, or an ox broke its leg in a
post-hole still there was home to come
back to, and a sensible, cheerful woman
to look on the bright side of things
when Amasa was discouraged.
But on the whole, things prospered ;
and as Amasa heard the Bwect laughter
ef his happy children, and met the
ealm smile of his wife, he could not but
look back on his mother's harassed and
sad experience, and give a heartfelt
sigh to the difference between the two
Mrs. Tuckers, unaware how much it
was due to his own sense of justice and
affection.
One of the morals attached to this
simple sketch, my friends, is the great
use and necessity of being good to vour
wives. Rose Terry Cooke, in Water
bury American.
Among the emigrants at Castlo
Garden the other day were five chubby
children, ranging from four to twelve
years, who had come from Ireland un
attended. Each of the quartet was
labeled "To be left till called for."
Their parents, who came to this country
a year ago, called for them the moment
they amved. New York Tributie.
At the city jail in Portland, Ore.,
upon the inside floor a prisoner has
written, by rubbing the whitewash ofl the
iron nktiw with ktefioeer: "God bless
our. heme?' "All
enter
here lejve boae
tnd"SfcatfHrt
nespe who
Ti iMa fT" "Welrame''
Trapping a Grizzly.
Trapping grizzly has its perils ana
excitements also. The trap employed
u of the double spring pattern, with
steel jaws, and weighs complete thirty
eight po'Mids. The springs are very
Itowcrful aud have to be bent with
evers. It is quite an art to set and
place a trap cunningly, and trappers
van, in their methods and are chary of
explaining them. I will then pass this
branch of the subject. Let us suppose,
therefore, that the hunter has made his
camp in a neighborhood redolent of
grizzlies and that he has his trap set in
a likely place for bear. At the end
of the trap chain is a ring about five
inches in diameter, and this is driven
about half a foot over the end of a
heavy stick or log live inches through
and six or eight feet long. The object
of this "clog," as it is called, is
to make a trail which can be
readily followed and to hamper the
bear - sufficiently to prevent his going
to a great distance away before the
hunter can arrive. Great care must be
taken that the chain be fastened to tho
extreme end of the clog, in such a way
that it cannot get across two trees, and
so give the brute a chance to use his
enormous strength to tear himself loose.
NeitBer must the clog be too large and
heavy, or the same result will follow.
It may be accepted as a maxim that a
grizzly caught in such a trap will event
ually get loose, and ordinarily in a few
hours. He' is generally caught by the
extremity of the forepaw, just above
the claws; the hold on him is not very
great; his exertions to get away are
tremendous, and the result in so cutting
and lacerating the foot that sooner op
later he will tear out ef the trap alto-:
gether. Two grizzlies that I caught1
got away; one who was probably taken
by the claws alone leaving some hairs
only to tell the tale, the other leaving a
small piece of his foot behind as a'
souvenir. Many had all but torn them
selves loose; in one case the foot was
almost cut through and only a small,
piece of skin the thickness of a man's
little finger remained to hold the terri
bly infuriated monster to the much de
tested clog.
The traps arc set far back in dense
and gloomy forests near the tangled
swamps, where grizzlies love to make
their lair. The ground is covered with
fallen timber, aad travel must be afoot
and is slow and difficult. The bear on
being caught starts oft" on a tremen
dous rush for the swamp which is close
by. Here he catches on a rotten log
for a second and plows a path through
wide enough for a cart, there he hangs
on two fallen trees fifty feet long, but
he hangs for an instant only, moves the
great trees to one side and rushes on.
Next he strikes against a tree, and in
his rage turns and eats the whole side
out of it, leaving the fresh white pine
red with blood stains from his gums.
Now he reaches the swamp and plunges
deep int its recesses, venting his rage
on tho balsams and poplars, absolutely
chewing down saplings and even gnaw
ing them into lengths' like stove wood.
All this time he is slowly but surely
tearing his foot loose from the tho trap,
and surely but not slowly is he working
iumselt up into the most tremendous
degree of rage aud ferocity.
When you have thus trapped a thousand-pound
grizzly, you have not
caught a bear; you have simply caught
the devil incarnate! Indeed, the ques
tion sometimes is, not whether you have
caught the bear, but whether you have
notsimply given him a first-class oppor
tunity to catch you! Now let us see
p how "this is. The grizzly thus caught,
and thus worked up into the most
formidable ferocity, has to be followed
up afoot, first through a dense forest,
and then carefully into tho heart of a
tangled swamp, where one cannot see
ten steps ahead, and where, if the
monster should suddenly ?ise directly
in front and charge, trap, clog and all,
retreat would be absolutely impossible.
Add to this that at the time of the
hunter's arrival the bear may have just
succeeded in tearing his foot loose, or
may have just mauaged to break his
chain, or may have just finished eating
up the clog bodily, all of which things
have happened in my experience. He
would then be in a beautiful state of
fren.y and would be perfectly delighted
co wipe out a hunter or two "if only to
quiet down his nerves. Forest 'and
Stream.
First Sight of the Caspian Sea.
One of the most singular mental ef
fects I noticed on myself was that pro
duced whenever I walked to the quay
and saw the large fleet rocking in the
port. Shelley's Alastor had from early
youth haunted my memory and given
me the impression that Caspian was a
weird, half-ideal sea, with shores ten
anted by the ghosts of dead empires;
with a coast which was a reedy morass
trodden only by the bittern and the
crane; with waters.gray with the haze
of a perpetual twilight, a vast, myste
rious solitude. Such in part it is on the
eastern shore, but at Baku the Caspian
conveys no such idea. Square-rigged
ships ride at anchor by scores; the port
is busy with wherries and sail-boats
darting hither and. thither; and sharp,
heavily-sparred steamers of 500 te 1,000
tons are constantly entering and leav
ing the docks. The only peculiarity
that distinguishes these ships from
those of other seas rS the rig, which
carried me back to my boyhood. Two
topsail schooners with very rakish
masU abounded, thoroughly piratical
and altogether like (vessels com
mon elsewhere thirtv-live I years
ago, but not longer in use except on
tbe Caspian. Brigautines, with a small
topsail on the main-mast, sloops with a
square topsail, and other obsolete rigs
were to be seen on this sea which has
fashions of its own; which has no rela
tions with any other sea; which is
neither fresh nor salt, and also enjoys
the freak of lying over one hundred
feet below the level of the ocean.
Manhattan.
Unconsciousness of Dying Persons.
"A dying man may be burned with a
red-hot iron and not feel pain," Dr.
Crawford said to a reporter. "Con
sciousness may remain to the dying
almost to tne dissolution, out generally
they lose the power of thought long be
fore actual death. In cases of death in
which there seems to be suffering the
writhing and spasms are due to reflex
muscular action. Fear weakens the
nervous system, and, consequently,
hastens death; and the reverse of fear
may prolong life." The doctor cited a
medical report concerning a Methodist
minister. Ho lay on the verge of death,
cold and pulseless, and friends around
his bed sang his favorite hymn. As
they ceasedj and while the physicians
stood timing the death, the minister's
hands moved, and he whispered,
"Glory!" Restoratives were adminis
tered, and an hour later the man had
recovered. He lived many years after
that He said he understood every
word spoken at his bedside. Under the
nervous excitement and enthusiasm
wrought by the hymn, he had exerted
his muscular strength, and lived.
Stockton (Cat.) Mail.
The most remarkable, if not the
largest, collection oi pnotograpns in
the United States is owned by Detect
ive Henry Weyl, of Philadelphia. It
contains 2,000 pictures of "crooks,"
and with them are newspaper clippings
describing them and their exploits, re
ports of trials and other memoranda.
Philadelphia Press.
m m
Scientists have discovered that a
man's finger nails grow much more
rapidly than his too nails. This start
ling piece of information clears the
human mind of a'darkened mist. Ar
kansas Traveler.
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THE NEW CASADAY is the lightest draft and
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WIND MILLS.
SUCTION, FOKCK ANI
Lift PUMPS.
GAS PIPE,
PIPE TONGS, ETC.
These goods, which for style and finish and the perfect manner of doing their work,
are unexcelled. The "TAIT" is the simplest, best and most
durable check rower made.
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If you want to do business with a striclty first-class house, come and examine the
goods and get Our prices.
KEATJSE, LTJBKEK & CO.,
Thirteenth Street,near B. &, M. Depot, COLUMBUS, NEBRASKA.
KRAUSE, LUBKER &
DEALERS IN
SHELF AND HOLLCTW
Farming
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RIVERSIDE55 Stoves. Call and
foiaying- elsewliere.
The "UNION" and the "WESTERN" are
the leading corn planters of the great
corn-growing region of the west. They
have the rotary anti-friction drop. Come
and examine them.
The old reliable "STUDEBAKER" Wagon with truss axles.
It stands at the head, above all competitors.
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