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THE JOURNAL HAS FACILITIES FOR FIN E JO B P R I N T IN G Call or.Write for Prices. mw THE JOURNAL ....IS THE.... FA V O R IT E P A P E R witli readers and advertisers DEVOTED TO THE TRUE INTERESTS OF THE PEOPLE OF SENECA COUNTY. YOX.UME 15. SEISTEOA E A E IiS, IST. Y ., W E D N E S D A Y , M A Y 24, 1899. N U M B E R 9 SeijeeaQp.Jourpal PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY BY THE JOURNAL PUBLISHING CO. (LIMITED) PARTRIDGE BLOCK, SENECA_FALLS, N. Y. T E B iM S : County Snbscrlbera, $1.60 when paid In advance; Suhacribers outside the county, $2.00 per year, postage prepaid; Subecription lor sir months, $1.00 in advance. RA T E S O F AP v E R T ISIW C ; and like notices. JBTJSinrxiSS c a r d s . OSSIAN n . CONQDON, A TTORNEY AND COUNSELOR AT LAW r \ Lodi. Seneca County, N. Y. ERNEST G. GOULD, WILLIAM H. HARPST, Seneca Falla, N.Y. S eneca F alls , N. Y. SHELDRAKE HOUSE. Sheldrake, Seneca Co., ] KELLOGG’S LIVERY. C. B. HOWE, M. D. MAYNARD E. WILLIAMS, ISEWYORK ( e n t r a l V _ ^ &, HUDSON RIVER R. R. THE FOUR-TRACK TRUNK L!N£ ssHSISSSsSS the very center of the city. iili'lg T l l ; Lehigh Valley System In ;Effect May 14th, i899. SENECA FALLS BRANCH. Arrive. Depart 7:10 A.M. 7.-.30A. Jf. 10:0.6 A.M. 10:10 A.M. 5:25 p . m . 5:40 p . m . 7:33 P. M. 7:33 p. m . LEAVE GENEVA EASTWARD WESTWARD. B:ia A.M. Daily for Rochester and Buffalo. Ifh. ldtie\x;??a‘^p.^r„“nd\iifin{^LS^ta}io“n^r'\ AS. 8. LEE, Gen. Pass. Agent, Phllada., Pa. IgeS?K l\p“ «- P. MILLSPiLUaH, District PasHcnger Agent Registered by the University of the State o New York. ^ -S' I'VPE^RlTmS Best in Everything. For catalogue address C arnell & H oit , Albany, N. Y. J.H. McDonald Successor to William mils. General Fire Insurance And Real Estate Agency. Seneca Falls, N. Y. SHOPPING BY MAIL. Our great success in selling goods by mail is un doubtedly due to our perfect system of preparing for your requirements and of carefully and prompt ly filling all orders intrusted to us. Implicit confi dence has been established and shopping by mail— denuded of all inconvenience— has been made a fascinating pleasure to all concerned. Write for anything, from a bedroom suit .to a 3'ard of muslin, and we’ll send it to you promptl}^. If not satisfactory you may return it and we’ll refund the money. Send for Samples of “ASERICA.” the new lining. Looks like silk, wears like silk and takes the place of silk for lining purposes. All colors and black at 25c per yard. D. M c C a r t h y & s o n s , SYRACUSE. NEARLY Fifty-eight Years Old!! I It’s a long life, but devotion to the true interests and prosperity of the Amorioan People Jaas won for it new friends as the years rolled by and the original members of its family passed to their reward, and tlies’e admirers are loyal and steadfast to day, with faith in its teachings, and confidence in the in formation which it brings to tlieir homes and liresides. As a natural consequence it enjoys in its old age all the vitality and vigor of its youth, strengthened and ripened by i c.vporif'ticos Of over nail a''ccntiirjr. It lias lived on its merits, ami on tiic rdiiil support of progressive Americans. It is -‘The Nuw-York Weekly Tribune,” acknowledged tlie country over as tli leading National Family Ncw.spaper. Recognizing its value to those who desire all the news of the State and Nation e publisher of ‘‘The Journal” (your own favorite home paper) has entered into 1 alliance with “ The New-York weekly Tribune” which enables him to furnish both papers at the cost of $1.50 per year. Every farmer and every villager owes to Iiimself, to his family, and to the community in which he lives a cordial support of his local newpaper, as it works con.stantly and untiringly for his interests in every way, brings to iits home all tlie and liappenings of liis neighhorliooil, the doings of his friends, ttie condi lion and prospects for dillerent crops, the prices in home markets, and, in fac- is a weekly visitor wliicli should be3 fam ily. found in every wide-awako, progressive Both One Y e a r for $ 1 . 5 0 Send all Orders to T he J o u r n a l , Seneca Falls, N. Y. Fresh Arrivals of New Furniture are received almo.st daily at the Furniture Rooms of O- H_ F=»OWEF?S, Columbus Block, Fall Street, Seneca Falls, N. Y. We are also prepared to make PICTURE FR A M E S ^ ^ ^ A new stock of Moulding this week. Come in and make your selections. Prices Right. The Journal gives all the home news. Subscribe for it. E. J. HYflN’S STORE ^ contains a large stock of RELIABLE ® # FURNITURE. We carry and Extra Assortment of BED SPRINGS A N D M ATTRESSES. You should see our S14.00 CHAMBER SUIT S10.00 SIDEBOARD. E . J . R Y K N , 2 ismyj BABY NAMES. Innibcr Eyes, Sunny Tjoi-ks ami Goldt ‘Lizaboth and May, Babies Jmve a thou.sand names In a poet’s dream. “S K S S R X f i ™ ' ' ” ' Names that fill the happy day With a miLsie sweet— ‘■ffig'iS.a;:.;,'’'\\'’ Slmffle Slioon and Aiiitjcr Loclis, Tender Heart and Mild, Hu.sh-a-by and Rock-a-by ^Jzea the dreamers sjng; Thousand names a baby has In the sweetheart land, Wlicro slH* leads the Dream of Life —Baltimore News. ) “DODIE,\ { .* “ Tin's bacon is not Ht to eat I” He lifted a bit on hi.=i fork anti smelled at it snspiciotisly. “And the coffee is quite cold, and there isn’t a morsel of toast Really, it is too bad to expect a man to go to lii.s work without any breakfast.” “ The charwoman didn’t come this morning, yon know, Everard, and’’— Dorotliy was desperately afraid that she would cry, and .«be was determined not to cry, so she said no more. “Why c.an’t yon find a servant, then?’’ growled her husband. “Sncli wretched mismanagement I never saw. ’’ “Perhaps yon were more comfortable in lodgings. ” said Dorothy, tannted in to speech. No answer. “PtTliiips yon tliinic it was a mistako to have married me.” Silence, so iiiuch recommended in cases of this kind, is sometimes the most crnel of all retorts. It was so now Yet Everard Payn said not a word. He knew he was bcluiving like a brnte, bnt he was cold, Imngry and haunted with corroding care. Ho turned to the fire place and tried to poke tho mass of coal and coal dust into a flame, bnt his ef forts were ill directed, and tho smolder ing heap remained dead. He threw down tlie poker in a passion and went ont into tlio hall and into the street, closing the front door after him with a Honr after honr Dorothy sat at the wretched breakfast tablo witliont mov ing. Slio was alone in the little house and had no ono to mind bnt herself The tears came freely enough now. They trickled throngh her fingers and dropped, one by one, on the soiled ta blecloth “■Was it true, then?” she asked her self. -“Did Everard regret already the rash step that had bronght them to gether?” Ho was only a poor writer, struggling for dear life in the crnel bat tlefield of London. She knew’ that ho was often pre.ssed for money, though he told her little of his money troubles. Was it not a piece of folly in them to At length she rose and mechanically began to clear away the breakfast thing.s. Tho kitchen tire had gone out. Everything was cold and dreary. And if it were all a huge mistake I She went up stairs and began to put a few of her personal belongings into a portmantcan. One volume she thought she must have—a copy of “ The Imita tion of Christ.” She found it after a little search, but then she remembered. It had been it gift from Everard—how long ago it .seemed—in the days of their courtship. The pet name he had given but him had ev( her, and that no one but him had ever called her, “Dodie,” was on the fly leaf in bis handwriting. She could not take it. She kissed it and put it away in a drawer. Tlien she went on putting things together, one by one, on the bed. door of the little dwelling. He had long since repented of his bad temper, and he had bronght with hint a twopenny bunch of violets as a peace offering. It struck him, ns he opened the door, that there was an nnusnal echoing in the passage. Closing the door behind him, he shouted, “Doro thy 1” There was no reply. “She can’t be .sulking still?” he said to himself. “That is not like Dodie Where are yon?” he cried again, pnsh- ing open the door of the sitting room. He half expected to feel a pair of warm arms around his neck as he did so, but there was no sound of any kind. The ild. ■ the fire bad not been f left in the morning. H« to room, dreading he ' he threw open each dc morning. He ran from roo reading he knew not w h a t; open each door Dorothy was not there. Nor did he notice that their bedroom window was open and that the draft caused by his opening the door ■ ‘ lin paper - le gazed roun the deserted bedroom, noting the sign of packing, and the truth burst on him He felt as if slie had died. Then sudden ly a revulsion of feelii mg came upon leave me wuen sue Knew ± w as in snen trouble!” he said savagely. Heturned, left the bouse and never entered it again. A month later the landlord seized the furniture for rent and let the place to another tenant. Dorothy woke next morning with a painfnl sense of something dreadful having happened, and she instinctively listened to learn whether her husband wasnp. Then she remembered. £ np and dressed herself and begs sidering wbat sbe should do. S been careful to leave her address, so that Everard might have no difficulty in tracing her, and sbe had no doubt that he would turn np some time dur ing the day to ed that she w ing without a to take her ho: She did not go out all that day lest she should miss him, but he never came. When night fell, sbe would have been glad to go back of her own accord, but her pride forbade her, and she ren where she was. Surely, she thouj Utit jjci uubuaiiu uuu uuii.eu uca uu xjca As a matter of fact, on the morning of the second day Everard had left word where he was to be found at the house agent’s office and inserted one or two advertisements in the daily papers—he could not afford many—and then he told himself he could do no more. Doro thy was (lead to him—lost in the great whirlpool of London. A year went by and Dorothy, pale and thin and shabby, was slowly drag ging her way throngh one of the great thoroughfares. Her heart was heavy, for there was a cradle in the poor room she had left and in the cradle a baby girl. What Dorothy Payn had gone through during the last six months only she and her God knew. At one time she bad all but starved, bnt one of that much sneered at class—district visitors —had found her out, given her sympa thy, money tind fresh hope for the fu ture. Since her recovery she had sup ported herself chiefly by typewriting— an a rt she had learned in the days of her girlhood. A few days before Mrs. Rainforth, who had succored her, had written to tell her of a situation for which she might apply. It was the post of school mistress in a school in the north of Ire land. Mrs. Rainforth had told Dorothy’s sad story to the clergyman of the parish, and ho had promised that he would do what he could to get the post for her, and she had good hopes that sbe would obtain it. It was not the life she would have preferred, but, in contrast with the hardships of the last 13 months, it looked like paradise. Dorothy was now on her way to meet one of the school managers who was examining candi dates for the place. On her way .she passed a church. She slipped in and sat down. Thoughts of God came into the girl’s mind. She had not said a prayer for years. Was there not sonietliing in the Bible about an swering x’rayer—some promise that whatever we pray for would be gran ted? She was sure of it. At once Dorothy re solved to put it to the test. She would pray for this po.st in Ireland. Sinking on her knees, Dorothy poured ont her petitions to tho Father of her spirit, nor did she content herself with merely stating her request, hut returned to it again and again, beseeching tho Al mighty that this thing might be grant ed to her. She saw the school manager, and lie professed to bo well satisfied with the proofs which she furnished of her fitness for the post. Three weeks went slowly by. Dorothy thouglit she had never known time to pass so slowly, and then one morning a largo envelope was handed to her. It bore tho Ballyroweu postmark, and her fingers trembled so that sbe could scarce ly tear open the cover. There was noth ing bnt her few poor te.stimonials re turned to her. with a civil note saying that the managers regretted to be u n able to avail them.selves of her services. That was all. That was the victory of her prayer 1 Two months after her great disap pointment Dorothy obtained a large manuscript which was to be typewrit ten as soon as po.ssible. Hurrying home, she tlirew off her hat and jacket, lit the lamp, and, taking a peep at her sleep ing baby, began her task. The little thing slumbered on. She was so used to the click of the machine that it never disturbed lier now. Tho manuscript was a story by Gid eon Armstrong, a writer of whom she had heard once or twice within the last few months. She dashed a t the written pages and covered several sheets before it occurred to ber that the handwriting was familiar to her. It could not he— surely it could not he— Yes, it was her husband’s I So he was Gideon Armstrong! He was known, becoming popular, perhaps rich—at all events, well off—and sbe, the poor, discarded wife, was starving in a garret, glad to earn a pittance by doing the work of a clerk in connection with the manuscript which would fill bis pockets and make him more famous than ever I Dorothy clasped her hands before her on the table, rested her head on them and wept bitterly. At last she bent to her work and for a time wrote steadily. But suddenly she came to a full stop. “It was impossible for Dodie to say more”— Her own pet name, the name Everard had given her when they were lovers, looked ont at her from the paper; put evidently by mistake for the name of the heroine. She must have been in his mind, she said to herself, or her name could not have found its way to the pa per! She blushed and her eyes shone. Bnt what was she to do? Was she to hold her peace and let him go? If he indeed remembered her— Then an idea struck her. Here and throughout the manuscript she der why it had been done, to make in- iries. If lie did not choose to do so That night the o sign, she could go on a cript was fin ished. Next day sbe took it back to the office and received the few shillings that were dno to her for her labor. Then she went home and waited. For tho next three days her heart beat with sudden painfulness at every ring that came to the lodging house door. After that she began to fear as well as- hope, and when week after week went by and her husband made no sign she knew the heart sickness of hope de ferred, and after that the torpor of de- One evening she conld not work— baby was worrying, and the time that should have been spent over her type writer was given to soothing the little one’s cries. Weary and half distracted on account of her neglected work, Dorothy was sitting down to her ma chine when she noticed that the baby’s cough mixture was nearly finished. Only a few drops were left in the bot tle. I t was scarcely 10 o’clock. The drug gist’s shop w'ould be open if she went at Throwing a shawl over her head, she went out, closed her door behind her and began to descend the dark staircase. “Can you tell me whether a Mrs. Payn lives here?” said a voice close to Doiothy was silent. She felt as if het heart must stop beating if she tried t( “I thought I heard some one coming down. I shall do you no harm. Surely you need not be afraid to tell me if Mrs. Payn lives in this house.” “Everard, do you want me? I Dorothy 1” When Dorothy came to herself, sho was lying on the floor of her room, her head resting on her husband’s arm and 3aby screaming lustily in her cradle. IS able to take the child ai bis arms. In the long talk that followed Everard explained that he had tried in vain to find his wife, and had only seen the mannscript when to him along with a bundle of proof sheets that afternoon. After the talk there was a long si lence. Dorothy slipped out of the room :ot the baby’s medicine, and when tme hack her husband said to her; 0 yon know, I always believed that I should find you one day ? I had an offer to go to Edinburgh, hut I refused it be cause I felt certain that yon were in London.” Dorothy made no reply, hut she threw her arms around' her husband’s neck and kissed him. He glanced down and saw that his wife’s eyes were closed and her lips were moving. He thought t she was thanking God,1, butut he didid b he d not that what she had in her mind at at moment was an unanswered pray- .—John K. Leys in New York Press roo M U C H E X E R C I S E . Effect It 3Iay Have on the Heart and Health. the broad fact th a t 56 is good and that its effect is to ease inuseuiar strength and bodily develoimient, we have to ask, “ Why does still further exercise cease to be good, and what do we mean by overex ercise?” First, we must draw a broad distinction between the effect of con- lion which is y maintained exertio all the muscles of the body, which is tl characteristic of games and athletics ( iame movement tendfi, to exhaustion •ather than nutrition Vfoes without say ing. But, taking ordinary so called healthy exercise, by what is its limit set ? The limit appears to be set by three factors; (1) The capacity of the digestive organs to keep up the quality of the blood; (3) the capacity of the excretory organs to get rid of the waste products which result from muscular action, ami (3) tlie power of tho heart to drive a constant stream of blood through every comer of the organism. Interference with digestion is a by i: effect of excessive e; aeans uncommon effect of excessive ex- rcise, and so far as training is con- erned it is one of tlie most destructive, ihe blood cannot flow in full stream to very part at once. As Dr. Lauder Brnnton says, “Every one knows that while jnoderate exercise tends to produce appetite, a long and exhausting exer tion tends to destroy the appetite and en to produce actual sickness, as one ids in mountain clim b ing.” People (filler greatly in this re.spect. It in some—great, ponderous men as ey may seem—the digestion is so sily upset by m u scular exercise that. althougli they may be giants for a mo mentary exertion, anything like sus tained effort (fi.stiirbs digestion and cuts at the very root of tlieir nutrition. In many case.s, however, the limit to exer cise lies in diminished excretion. Un less the excretory organs ar efficient the tis.snes hecoi with xtroducts which thorot :h xtroducts which cannot be got rid of. the seuse.s become dimmed, and ef fort becmie.s a mere automatism, in consequence of a self poisoning by the products of muscular waste. £io far we have dealt with wliat may be fitly termed the automatic checks to overexercise. Interference with diges tion so lowers nutrition, while accumu lation of waste xirodncts so poisons the system, tliat in cither case further exer tion becomes impossible—the very will to make it passes away. But it is differ ent in regard to the heart. The hetirt, although strained, may yet bo driven on to its own destruction. Every mus cular effort not only demands from the heart an increased flow of blood, but also drives an increased quantity to ward it. So long as tho heart can pass this forward all is well, but when it fails not merely is the circulation of the blood rendered imperfect, but serious damage is done to the heart itself. If, when tliG heart was overdriven, it mere ly struck, the enfeebled circulation old .soon xmt a stop to further effort. would .soon xmt a stop The willing heart, however, taking at each beat a wider sweep and driving into the ve.osels a larger quantity of ing Irivii ood, so meets the call that the athlete in struggle on, perhaxts to win his race. But the strained heart suffers, the stretched muscle does not quite come back, the dilated cavity does not quite close at each contraction, and permanent mischief is set nx). Thus it is that exercise driven to the limit im posed by the heart is overexercise in the most serious sense of the word. If it is the heart that stops it, the chances are that it has already gone too far.—Hos- Glossomaiicie i.s the science of reading the character by the form and size of the tongue. The guiding principles are as follows: If tho tongue is long, it is an indication of frankness; if it is .short, of dissimulation; if it is broad, of ex great go.s5ii), frank to disagreeables and thoughtless. If the tongue he long and narrow, its owner is only half frank, thinking as much as is uttered, bnt not always ut tering all that is thought. If the tongue be short and broad, there is promise of plenty of gossip—and falsehoods; it talks a great deal, but says little of what is really thought. If short and narrow, it indicates deep cunning and lying: impenetrability and great pru dence. This tongue belongs to those per sons always ready to make mistakes, but eager to inspire confidence. So, then, not the phy.sician alone is to be guided by the tongue, but before you become intimate with any one ask him or her to put out bis or her tongue that you may be certain whether they are to be trusted or not. A Conscientious Gentry. Washington, hearing that the colored lentinels could not be trusted, went out, me night to ascertain if the report w ight, by s proached a colored sentry. “Who goes there?” cried thesenti- “A friend,” replied Washington. “Friend, advance, unarmed, and give the c o u n tersign,” said the colored mai Washington came u p and said, “ Eoi ‘No, s a h l” \ “ Charleston,” said Washington. The colored man immediately ( claimed, “I tell y( ton, no man go 1 •Cambridge.’ ” COWED BY HIS LOOK. Some of tlie Personal Cliaracteris- tic.s of Cold ISloudod, Courtouns Aaron Riirr —eculiarities P of tlie lUeeentrie Jolin llaudoliili. The personality and the peculiarities of our great statesmen are worth study ing, says a writer in tlie Atlanta Con stitution. They throw side ligltts upon character and conduct. Among our early statesmen Aaron Burr was easily the first when consid ered as an elegant gentleman and man of the world. When he visited Savan nah, in the height of his poxiularity, he charmed everybody, and the city over whelmed him with social attentions. Burr dete.sted handshaking and per mitted no familiarities. He would mo tion a vi.sitor in his office to a chair and talk to him quietly, never making any gesture beyond the occasional motion of a long white fing( this rather offish manner, iinated. He had his oratory melted Burr charmed and fasci wonderful conversational powers, and upon one occasion his oratory melted the whole United States senate to tears. He never spoke longer than 30 min utes even in his most important law case.s. He was cold blooded. After bis famous duel, when the death of Ham ilton was announced to him, he showed no emotion. “Did he suffer much pain ?” he asked. “Y\’s,” was the reply. “I regret i t, ” said Burr; “it was my purpose to spare him needless pain.” Then he turned tho conversation to )ther subj( He was always courteous, and it is said that he never passed a countryman on a dusty road without first asking his rmis.sio Peoxile who know tliem said that An drew Jackson owed much of his polish to hi.s intercourse with this man. Tlie duel with Hamilton mined him. and the charge of treason when he a t tempted to organize an expedition for the inva.siou of Mexico killed him as a public man. The charge was not proved, but it made bim an object of suspicion. It should be stated that this elegant society man sliowed at all times excep tional nerve and pluck in war and in his per.sonal difficulties. There was not a braver 'officer in the Revolutionary John Randolph had some peculiar ways. He scorned to court the favor of the masse.s when a candidate. He wonld bow to any but bis friends, nor lake hands with his constituents. Yet he was alw.-iy.s e He was almolost a scarecrow in ap- iitric ,and oddly dressed isagreeablc, high keyed voice, keen wit, cutting sarcasm and isbiiig irony made people crazy to with a (lii But his ki crushing hear liiin. Such a x'ofiticiau in our day would be regarded a.“ a crank and wonld stand no chance before the people. Daniel Webster was always posing. He seemed to know •that people were looking at him. As a rule he was cold and dignified, but there were convivial momeiit.s when ho was very genial and entertaining. Uxion one occasion, at Rochester, he came ont on the balcony of his hotel and made the following speech to a crowd of hihirions admirers- “ Men of Rochester, I am glad to see you, and I am glad to see your noble city. Gentlemen, I saw your falls, which I am told are 130 feet high. This is a very interesting fact. Gentlemen, Rome had her Ctesar, her Scipio, her Brutus, bnt Rome in lier proudest days never had a waterfall 150 feet high. Gentlemen, Greece had her Pericles, her Demosthenes and her Socrates, hut Greece in her palmist days never hud a waterfall 150 feet high! Men of Roch ester, go on. No people ever lost their lihertie.s who had a waterfall 150 feet high.” It is needless to say that the crowd went wild with delight, and Webster was hustled off to bed. Hi.s cold manner was offset by his magnificent x'ersoual appearance. An English lord who accidentally saw him in the lion.-e of common.s. when the American senator was addressing that body during a recess, exclaimed; “ There! That is the first real man I When New England failed to stand by him for the presidential nomination. Webster wa.s called upon to speak while id stopped at a ice. 'rhe statesman pl.'itform of his across his breast :ed into the faces of his false train which luu of some importance, 'rhe state tlie rear platform his breast and folding his simply look( The effect was marvelous. The crowd lispersed at once, each man going his iwn way, with hi.s head down, without aying a word to the others. Need I say a v ind its wliolly jr A We<l<Tiii>j Siiiieratition. It has been considered unlucky to be married in May ever since the days of Ovid, and tho.se people who have .spent their time in looking np roots and rea sons have given what they consider to be the origin of the superstition as fol- In ancient Rome there was held in May a festival called the Lemnria, or feast of the Leinnres, which was a ceremony in honor of the speeches of departed souls. It became with the Romans what we should call “ bad form” to have matrimonial feasts at the season of a solemn ritual, being no doubt thought to be an insult to the dead to marry at such a time. From this a number of stories grew of the revenge made by the outraged ghosts upon those who dared to disre gard them, and if any thing unfortunate happened to a couple who bad been married in May it wonld, of course, have beeiLput down to retribution. So lition of ill luck arose, and its 1 ever since, even to memoranda, published by Moore. “Your literary everyday man and I , ” says Byron, “never went well in com pany, especially yonr foreigner, whom I never conld abide. I don’t remember a man among them whom I ever wished to see twice, except perhaps Mezzo- fanti, who is a monster of learning, the Eriareus of parts of speech, a walk ing polyglot, and, more, who ought to oave existed a t the time of the tower of Babel as universal interpreter. He is indeed a marvel—unassuming also. I it the skylark J ? I t inspired most beautiful 1 —the lark ris ing from his bed of grass and soaring upward, singing as he rises and hoping to get to heaven and climb above the clouds; singing “as if it had learned music from an angel as he passed some times throngh the air about his minis tering here below.” And it insiiired, too, one of the finest odes in the Eng lish language, Shelley’s finest work, his “supreme ode. ” But, as m aybe said of another ode, it is “not in tune with the bird’s song and the feeling it does and ought to awaken. The rapture with which the strain springs up at first dies down before the close into Shelley’s !!• haunting melancholy.” jike Keats’ “ Ode to the Nightin gale,” it is no key to the bird’s song. It does not teach us anything of the thought and feeling which inspire that quivering, ascending embodiment of joyousne.ss, that pilgrim of the sky, ' ’'ding itself in the glorious light of the miner heaven.s. The skylark may be heard as early as January—I heard it this year in November—as may also the rarer wood lark, whose song, uttered from trees or when flying, we recognize from its likeness to that of the skylark, though it lacks much of its rush and spirit and haste.—Gentleman’s Maga- Toppington had entered Throttle’s office just before the noun hour. “ Of course,” said Throttle, offering his call er the desired article, and as Topping- ton lighted his half burned cigar Throt tle exclaimed, “ Oh, by Jove, old man! Did I show you a novelty that I picked X) when I was down in New York last “No; what was it?” “A iieciiliar kind of a match,” was 'lirottie’srexily as he rose and dove into tlie pocket cf his overcoat that hung on a xieg the o U k ' i - side, of his desk. Returning, he held ont to Toppington a handful of matches that looked like the ordinary article. “ What's(liftVreut about them?” ask- Toppiugton. “Why, yon throw them in the air and they light. Hee?” Accompanying his word with the axi- proiiriate action. Throttle, tossed one of the vesta.s from hi.s hand. It fell as any ordinary niatch wonld have done. “ T h e re,” exclaimed Topiiingtou, “ it dn ’t do anything of the kind. I t d idn’t f ig h t.” “You’re niisti reply'. “ It did. dot: there on the floor.” Toiipingtou iiaid for the lnncheon.s.— Detroit Free Press. Tito most reniiirkiihle fi.sliing in the world i.s that xiracticed in catching the It in thoo f sturgeon in th frozen rivers of tl Ural mountnin.s. Fi.sliing on horseback Its impossible, yet this is literally The Russian Cossacks go fishing in inds. They mount their horses the frozen river until i across place where the cur- •st. Tliere they di.s- large bar and ride rent runs stronge.st. Tliere they di.s- mount and ent throngli the thick layei of ice until they have formed a little pool of open water, extending across the current almost from shore to shore. A net, which is .sunk to the bottom cf the river, is stretched across tho stream at the oxien space, so that not a fisli can swim pa.st it. The. inted, and the Cossacks ride up the river for a distance of four or five u \ ’\\ Here the band 1 turns about and rides lick ice covered stream, forming ti long line across it. They urge their horses at full gallox). TheThe thunderingundering hoofsts of the horses th hoo terrify the fi.sh, and they cliarge madly ahead of tho approaching cavalcade. Great swarms of fish choke up the mad effort to escape the terrific noise that is pursuing them, and in this way they are driven down the stream to tho net. A Thrilling Entortaiimicnt. Perhaxis the most thrilling entertain ment on record was one witnessed in the Romagna, which was as unexpected as it was unauthorized. It was the la.st day of the carnival, and the theater of Pormlipopoli was packed with a crowd of spectators awaiting the rise of the curtain. After a long delay the curtain went up, only to disclose a stage occu pied Ly 100 brigands facing the audi ence with pointed rifles. The leader of the strange cast, II Passatore, one of the most ruthless rob bers of any age, bowed profoundly to the horror stricken audience and ex plained that the theater was surrounded by his men, that the first man who a t tempted to escape would be shot, and that he and his merry men wonld pro ceed to collect any money and valuables they had with them. The brigand and his men then de scended from the stage and stripped the audience of their possessions to the val ue of S400,000. He then thanked them all in a graceful speech and left the theater. It is comforting to know that he and 100 of his brigands were cap tured shortly after and that they paid a heavy penalty for their evening’s en tertainment.—Cincinnati Enquirer. a. Corlv Into a Bottle. Ask some blow a placed Lay the bottle on the table upon its side and place the bit of cork about an inch or less inside the open end. Tho uninitiated will blow until they get red in the face? and the cork will invariably come ont of the bottle instead of going into it. There is a simple reason for it too. The direction of the air forced by the one blowing brings it against the bottom of the bottle. The air compresses within the bottle’s walls and must find an outlet; therefore it is turned and forc ed cut a t the only vent the bottle has, necessarily blowing the cork with it. a common lemonade strav Ordering Breakfast In India. Shortly after her arrival in ; woman India a allowed hold in der to test her progress in the lan- lage. She intended to ask for fresh jgs, but used the wrong words, saying to the astonished cook, “You may bring us, this morning, an old blind, man, nicely boiled!” young woman missionary was allowed to order breakfast for the household in I’d give a fortune to anybody-who could show me how the reduce,my weight.” “And I ’d do -theyiknieL for anybody lain from falling
