iv
f
,: I”: ””3“ «1: 7 . ”11;. _., 2..
A RECONCILIATION.
The fog that had prevailed during the
early hours of the morning disappeared
before the bright rays of the sun as it
arose above the mountains. We had a
clear view of the J uniata from the point
a mile above us, where it- surged around
a little bluff, crowned with a clump of
budding trees, until it was lost again
in a. gap in the dark, green ridges a.
mile below. At our feet rushed the
swollen river, which the heavy rains
that had deluged the country during
the week previous had transformed
from a peaceful little stream into an
angry flood, so that it stretched out
its arms, and despoiled many,a rich
farm and laborer’s home. Now it was
bearing its booty on its broad, turbu-
lent bosom to the valleys below, there
to cast it aside. On the day before a
barn, with frightened fowl perched
high upon its peaked roof, had floated
by the spot where Sam Soper and I
were standing; several small‘ frame
houses, corn cribs and other rickety
farm buildings had gone bobbing mer-
rily along on the swift current; great
trees, uprooted by the greedy waters,
barrels,- boxes and household furni-
ture had we seen. Today the flood was
ebbing; its strength was gone; the
rains had ceased, and for the first time
after many days we could see the sun
overhead.
- I glanced from the river into the face
of the man at my side.
“I guess, Sam, we will not see any
more houses go by," I said; “nothing
but barrels and such uninteresting ob-
jects. I suppose, though, they will be
of use to the people below.”
“It’s an ill wind ez blows nobody any
good, ez Pete Siders sais,” he replied,
solemnly. “The folks up the valley’ll
miss them bawrels an’ things, but
they’ll come handy to them below ez
ketche-s ’em."
I laughed.
“It is easy for you to argue in this
manner, for you are one of the fortu-
nate ones, unless some one claims that
rocking chair that you rescued from
drowning.”
A faint smile passed over Soper's face.
It was quickly gone, and his counte-
nance resumed its habitual stolid look.
He replied, somewhat gruffly:
“Ef a felller don’t seize his oppor-
tunity, it won’t seize him.” He hesi-
tated, and then added: “1312 Pete Siders
sais.”
“Tell me,” I cried, “who is this oracle
of yours whom you are forever quot—
ing‘fl'
Fpr during my few days’ acquaint-
ance with the rough fellow at my side
I had been struck by the fact that he
frequently made use of ancient adages,
the credit for the invention of which
was always given to the mysterious
Siders.
I seated myself upon a stump‘and
awaited his reply. He was a crude,
rather stupid-looking man, clad in a
rough garb that betokened his rural
environments—a ragged cloth cap, a
heavy, well-patched suit, which had
once been of gray material, a collarless
shirt and high boots. His hair had
been close-cropped a few days before,
in token of the coming of summer, and
his unkempt black beard stood out in
bold contrast to his seeming baldness.
His nose was narrow, long and hooked,
and his eyes were deep-set beneath
shaggy brows. ' ‘
After a. long pause he replied to my
quest-ion in a. drawling tone, and with
the manner of a. man perfectly con-
vinced of the truth of. what he said:
“Ef you uns hed ez much in your head
ez Pete Siders hes in his leetle finger,
. you’d be a smart man.”
“But who is he?’ I exclaimed. “I
have visited this valley yearly since I
was a boy, yet I never before heard of
him. He does not live hereabouts, does
he?”~..§;
f Soper seated himself beside me and
replied: .'~
“No, he don‘t. He lives up the walley
acrost the river. I usetcr live near
him, tell me an’ him hed words an’ fell
out. You see, Pete he was wonderful
smart, an‘ I was no match for him. My
place almost jined his, an’ he mawried
me sister. He knowed a heap, did Pete,
an’ hed read most of the books they is.
You uns ’ud he'v enjoyed talkin’ to him,
you would, for he’d traveled a lot in
his younger days, an’ bed a good edjur-
cation. An’ at music. Hedgins! I
kin feel that old fiddle of his’n a—goin’
thoo me 'yit. It jest made you all blue
when he played sorrerful pieces. Ho
tho’t a heap of thet fiddle, he did. Ah!
but I tell you they is few men like Pete
Siders!” ~ .an- . « ..
“How did you ever happen to part with
this paragon, Sam?” I asked.
“Paragone,” be repeated. sadly. “I
never heard him called thz‘t. Mebbe he
was one, fer he was mostcvcrything.
How did we hev words. Hawgs; jest
a few hawgs done it. Sometimes I
think it was my fault, an’ on them days
when I ’low I’m to blame I allus intend
to go over to his place an’ make up. But
I’ve never b’en able to git off at them
times; 2111’ when I kin git off I allus
blame Pete an’ cal’late he kin come to
see me.”
“It must have been a. very serious
trouble?” said I.
“Haw-gs,” he replied. “Nawthin’ but
a. few mean pigs. You see I 'was livin’ up
there three summers ago. I made
’rangements with Hiram Bender, who
bed a farm close be my place, fer him to
let me hev three young hawgs in Sep-
tember. I ’tended to fatten ’em up an’
butcher ’em when it come cold. One
day,in cornhuskin’time, I goes over to
Hiram’s to git ’em. When I ast him fer
’em, he looks at me surprised like, an’
sais, sais be: ‘Why, Sam, Pete Siders
got them pigs. He tcl’ me you sayd he
was to git ’em an’ you’d pay me‘ fer ’em,
ez you owed him for his hevin’ helped
you three days in the woods last winter.‘
I was jest knocked. I kn owed Pete was
hard up, fer he’d kinder be’n layin’ off
all summer, but I never tho’t thet of
him. I never let on to Hiram, but jest
went right over to Pete’s place. I found
thet he’d gone an’ killed them beasts,
an’ turned ’em into butcherin’s. When
m ....... .. .
I tol’ him what I’d come fer, he drawed-l
himself up cz fer. ez he could, for he’s a
leetle man, an’ sais: ‘Does you meanto
call mega thief?’ Then I sais: ‘I never
owed you no money, etc Siders.’ ‘Sam
Soper,’ sais he, ‘hain t you satisfied of
callin’ your brother-in-law a thief I ’ An’
then he turns an’ walks into the house,
an’ shets the door in my face. I hain’t
seen him sence, for I couldn’t stan’ livin’
near Pete an’ not bein’ on peaceful
groun’s with him. I give up me place,
an’ got a job' here, ’tendin’ the canal
look.”
“And sometimes you think you were
to blame?” I asked. .
“Sometimes,” he replied. “Pete he hed
cur’ous ways, an’ I don’t b’lieve he
meant no harm. I o’tn’t hev called him
a. thief.”
Soper suddenly started to his feet,
and, shading his eyes with his hands
gazed up the river. ‘
“A fiddle!” he cried. “Out on the
river! I heard it plain. There it is
ag’in!”
I sprang to his side,'and looked up
the stream at a black objectto which he
was pointing. It was a boat; and we
could see a man sitting in its stern,
rocking to and fro. Then I hearda
quick succession of harsh, grating notes,
low, but distinct, and I saw that the
man was fiddling.
“It’s Pete!” cried my companion.
“Thet’s his playin’ an’ that’s him. Look
at the boat! Why, it won’t stay up an
hour!” ‘
The craft was sunk low in the water,
and was sweeping rapidly toward us
on the turbulent stream; but the fid-
dler seemed unconscious of his danger,
for he swung to and fro in a maudlin
manner, running his bow madly over
the strings of his instrument.
“It’s Pete’s way,” Soper exclaimed.
“He don't know what he‘s doin’, fer he's
b’en at the liquor ag’in.”
As he spoke he stripped off his coat
and boots.
“What are you doing!” I cried, seiz-
ing his arm. “You are not going out in
such a. flood!”
The boat was bearing rapidly toward
us; every motion of its maudlin occu-
pant was now plainly discernible; every
note of his aimless music was distinctly
audible.
“Nawthin’ else to do,” came the quiet
reply. “They’s rocks an’ rapids below,
an’ thet boat ’ud never live through
’em.” .
With that Soper ran out into the river.
In a moment he was over his depth;
then he struck out into the stream.
His was not a master’s stroke. He
beat the swiftly flowing water convul-
sixvely with his hands, and seemed to be
making almost superhuman efforts to
reach a point that he believed the boat
would pass. His progress was slow,
and the current bore him down the.
river. His efforts would have been
vain had not the runaway craft taken a
sudden swerve toward him. It was al-
most on him. Then I saw him raise his
long arm high above him and grasp the
bow. Instantly the boat turn ed its nose
toward the shore, and I breathed more
freely.
Siders sprang from his place, and with
unsteady steps began to make his way
toward the man who was risking his
own life to save him. The craft gave a
quick lurch over on one side so that the
waterrushed in and almost filled it.
“Get down,” I screamed.
“Let go there!” yelled Siders, fran-
tically. “You’ll upset me, you fool!”
He raised his fiddle and struck wildly
at Soper, but his blow fell short of its
mark; he lost his balance and toppled
into the bottom of the boat. which
lighted itself, but none too soon. Siders
quickly recovered and cautiously
crawled forward.
“Git off there!” he yelled.
Soper made no answer, for he was al-
most exhausted. He clung more dess-
pcrately to the craft, which was now
within a hundred feet of the shore.
The fiddle whirled through‘ the air and
crashed down on his head. Still he
clung on. With a cry of disappointment
Siders fell into the bottom of the boat.
I ran out into the water, seized the
sinking craft, and dragged it ashore.
"v’hen he heard the keel grate on the
gravel, Sam Soper released his hold and
fell into my arms unconscious. I lifted
him out on the bank. Ac: oss his fore-
head there was a great gash from which
the blood flowed freely.
Some men came to my aid from a
neighboring field, and helped me to
carry the: injured man to his home,
which stood a few hundred yards back
from the river. The wonderful Siders,
who had partially recovered his senses
by reason of his immersion, followed us.
He explained that he had spent. the
night fiddling at a party and had at
daybreak started for his home. The
last thing that he remembered clearly
was getting into a. boat to cross the
river. '
1When Sam-Soper recovered conscious-
ness a half an hour later he asked for
his brother-in-law, and as Siders sank
“into a chair at his bedside he held out
his hand and said: .
“Pete, I think I’ll go over the river
to live agin,‘ fer I ’low I was to blame.”
“I ’low' you was, too, Sam,” mumbled
the other, taking the proffered hand.
“But I don’t bear you no spite.”—-N. Y.
Evening Sun.
A Home Thrust. -
The other day a. young man from
London arrived in a northern city, and
wishing to let his friends in the south
know of his safe arrival, he went to
a post office (not the chief one), and in-
quired if he could send a. telegram di-
rect from the office, and how long it
would take. The young lady was in—
clined to be snubbish, and cut short
his inquiries with: “I am not paid to
answer silly questibns.” Her face
blanched wonderfully, however, when
she found herself compelled to wire the
following message: “Arrived safe.
Girls here ugly and bad-tempered.”—
Titbits.
—The business portion of St. Peters-
burg was seriously damaged by fire
, Burnham, “that I saw the funniest play
in 1862, the property loss exceeding $5,-
000,000. ’
WE EKL Y ' N ORWAL K
RAN'THE WRONG WAY. .
this Is a Most Remarkable Baseball
) Story. .
“I’ll wager a. dollar to aquart of
sunshine,” said ex-Umpire. George W.
ever made on the diamond. In. 1883 I
was umpiring for Watkins at Port
Huron. ‘Dan’ O’Leary came up there
with the Pittsburgh Browns.
“ ‘By the four—tongue forks of Dante’s
lightning, George, but I’m glad to see
you. What are you doing here?’ was
Dan’s preliminary.
“ ‘Umpiring.’
“ ‘Thank heaven for that!
are at last upon my side!’
“Well, we went up to the park after
dinner. Mountjoy was pitching for
Port Huron. O’Leary had heard of the
then celebrated pitcher, but had not
met him. Dan headed the batting
orders. - ~.- ' Q
“ ‘So this is Dumjoy, is it not?’ quoth
Dan, as he took his positio'ng’che bat.
“ ‘One strike!’ I shouted. “ -
“ ‘What’s that, George? You forget
we are from the same municipality. Let
me have one crack at the ball, and I’ll
make a. Canadian citizen out of it.’
“ ‘Strike two!’
“O’Leary was frenzied. ‘I’ll lose the
ball in spite of you.’ Dan bots left
handed. ' Mountjoy pitched him an in-
shoot. Dan stepped out of the lines
and knocked it away over Morrison into
the left.
“ ‘Well, what do you think of me,
George, you great mountain of obesity
—go back on a. fellow townsman, eh?
Well, just tell the scorers to mark down
a home run.’ (Dan had made the cir-
The fates
“ ‘I cannot do that, Dan,’ I said.
. “ ‘Why not?" 2
“ ‘You’r‘e out.’ -
“ {Well, What am I out for?’ O’Leary
demanded in amazement.
“ ‘For running the bases in the wrong
way.’ ' q
“O’Leary was so excited that he ac-
tually made the circuit by way of third
instead of first.”-——_—N. Y. Telegram.
Lobster Newberg.
Take the meat of a two-pound lob-
ster and cut it into small pieces; melt
two tablespoonfuls of butter in a
chafing dish or frying pan, add the lob-
ster and cook for five minutes; add one
tablespoonful of brandy and one of
sherry; cook for three minutes, stir-
ring often. Have ready the yolks of
two eggs, beaten with one-half cupful
of cream; pour this over the lobster,
cook two minutes, stirring constantly
to prevent curdling; serve very hot.
This recipe makes enough for four per-
sons. Season with salt, pepper and
nutmeg—Good Housekeeping.- ‘
LADY SUTTON, the widow, of Sir
Richard Sutton, who tried to Win the
America’s Cup with the Genesta, is go-
ing to marry again; a curate this time.
THE empress of Japan is so liberal in
her aims-giving that, it is related, if it
were not for the care of the chancellor
of the exchequer her private allowance
would all be given in this direction be-
fore the end of the first week of the
first quarter.
THOUGH the prince of Wales and
most of the royal family are martyrs to
indigestion, Queen Victoria has never
suffered from dyspepsia. She attributes
this to her eating little, but often, and
to her taking whisky at meals. She
‘ - NEXT October the hundredth anniveré
sary of the Institut de France will be
, celebrated in Paris. Learned men from
all countries 'have been invited to be
present. _
A MAN named Durant, in Marseilles,
was not afraid to face a crowd. To win
a. wager, he stood for four hours on a
pedestal in a. public street.
almost exhausted him, and he has since
been very ill. .
THE largest bottle ever made is to be
the feature at the Bordeaux Exhibition. ,
It is to be one hundred and fifteen feet
high. It will contain several stories
with a winding staircase leading up
the neck to a kiosque, where there is to
be an observatory from which to view
the grounds. '...
3: A SIDE DISH OF SCIENCE. ‘:~
’ CERES, the first of the asteroids to be
discovered, was found on the first day
of the present century. Its mean dis-
tance from the sun is about 257,000,000
miles.
DB. HIRSCHFELD, the archzeologist,
who conducted the German excavations
at Olympia, died recently at Weisba-
den at the age of forty-eight. He was
professor of archaeology at the Univer-
sity of Keonigsberg.
AN eminent astronomer estimates
that if the so-called canals in the planet
of Mars are artificial, they must have
demanded the labors of two hundred
million men through one thousand
years.
To CHANGE a pound of ice at 32 de-
grees Fahrenheit into a pound of water
at 32 degrees Fahrenheit requires 142
heat units, or 142 times as much heat
as is required to raise the temperature
of a. pound of water one degree Fahren-
The effort
cuit.) m... drinks it clear. without water. heit.
"\ _~ . . . . ’1" ' 'v l'. ,' 'H'
0’0 3’0 5’0 5’0 as as at 0V at 6’0 0’0 0V0 3/0 5/0 at 0V0 :92: an ac ac store so "7
‘ C
\o 0/
,0 2 r?
:3 It cures from head to foot. 2:
.0 _ ' ' Q,
0 (Y
\0 ~ 0,,
,0 o , O.
”o ' , o‘
.0 02 .
"0 er“
.0 ' V '. '01,.
/O I 1‘ 1%" : O\‘\
_\O 4 I, (g /' {g}! 1 g"
’o ,2‘ (mug. ‘.
\o , \ (A? O}
\0 ‘1 I, \ i . 0} _._
7) . f v: , .‘ ' {I I 0\\
lo ; I197 . ”a
’o . ., 05F
\0 % ' I U/ A
((5 '/ . O\ J
.0 l - 0.
7) l". 0‘
J.) 'z . U/ ,
,0 ’. O~\
. . l
:0 Puritana corrects stren thens and naturalizes f °:\
0 u, o g , . i Q
,0 the stomach by an original, common-sense process. ‘ , 0,
"0 It causes the food to be promptly and properly ’v' 3“
)2 digested in accordance with nature’s laws, and ‘ ' 0:
-\0 creates new blood, new tissues, new nerve force, i 0,
’0 new vigor, and new life. These fresh forces 3“
:2 expel impurities, humors, and degenerated ele- 0:”
0 ments from the body, whether they exist in the 0,,
”0 Stomach, Blood, Liver, Kidneys, Lungs, Nerves, 3
\O I o - /
\0 O;
h N , 0‘
\O I I Q,
.o ' 0
.0 0‘
) ' o,
i" v-v‘v‘ " v‘ve.‘ vvfl‘fi‘_ 2‘:v‘v-‘-. ‘V-‘Ave— — C)"
O/
- z . ,I It makes weak and weary men and women strong and healthy. I 0‘~
I
\O . Q/
, ,0 a.
.0 OFFICIAL. 04'
,7) . '02
:0 The cures effected in this State by Dr . Dixi ::
8 Crosby’s prize formula Puritana are so aston- 0,
:0 1sh1ng and the results with which we personally 0v
2 \0 have used thls remarkable medical discover 0:
/O c . .y 0‘
0 are. so entlrely satlsfactory that we deem it. 0,,
to our. duty to accord it our public indorsement 0‘
p ,0 and prlvate recommendation. 2
.2 .
\0 I. i - 0’
r0 flaw (7‘
C 71' M ' C . B n}. ,
:3 Governor qf New Hampskzke. ‘13 1” ”71m“ 0 4 (C:
D fix-Governor of New Hawk/the. Ban/E Comma-swan. ' P 7116113131.? P 513% 0,,
.0 _, W '~--‘- ' 27279,.” 0,
mo ~ .9ch Board qf Agriculture. %. I ' O“
,0 Secretary qfszage. - Treas. Loan and Trust Savings Bank. (2/
., , 2.
Z %_ ‘ a County Saliczl’or. % q
[0 , m, a... W . _ 2 fl "jag .. 2..
c g_ 9‘1 ‘6'? N144 I _: 3‘1 - ""' x *1 .
:2 R. 19- Commissioner. Insurance Commissioner. Mayor of Coward. 2:"
;: 920 Puritanacures case after case that has been given up as hopeless. 2
>2 0 Ninety-two per cent. of all sickness is caused by a “Wrong Stomach.” 2 i
40 .‘ 0
’0 Heart Right, on
\Q ’ L . i O/- '
/ , . lungs ng'ht, 0‘
(J. ,
:2 P o ' _ Blood Right, 2
uritana makes the Kidney. Riga,
so Nerves Right, 0
/'(J O O
.0 Liver nght, 0, p
/ .' Q“
2 Health Right, ,,_
’0 ' ' . 0‘ .
.0 Because it makes the Stomach Right. 0
.2 0.
:0 orléié’té’t’fie‘tf‘ttenrgfft0%”. $132?“ 1.53.3.3 dist; fiiafififit‘tfifir? fill-1°35; ‘t’lgti’f‘fillitlofi‘éfiti’f%%"0"§§E"x$§éif'3f?nv$’.it%"it“tt§ 0:;
'0 undersigned, and you will bless the day when you heard of Purltana. The Burltana Compound 00., Concord, N. H. ' , . 0
.0 l I I 5),;
O ' . g i . o h (’-
.0 1'] llSt as day foIIows night, so Perfect D1gest1on foIIows- theuse of Par1tana.‘>' 0,
.’\
.c o c n. 0.13/9.ch gone
\
.‘n
I'DC 91C QCDC"C "C DC‘DC
'l C 9C .OVC 5: C TLC LIC l)
. l ' "
_ children.
‘ ACCORDING To, His CREED-
now 1.1 flung Chang Paid Revel-once to
His Mother’s Memory.
A Chinaman, be he king or coolie, is
devoted to his father and mother.
When either parent dies, custom or-
dains that the sons shall resign all hon-
ors and employments to repair to the
ancestral tomb and mourn there for a.
long period. .
Our former mims' ' ter to China, John
Russell Young, tells in the Review of
Reviews how the Chinese premier. Li
Hung Chang, was prevented from punc-
tiliously observing the custom by an
imperial decree.
The aged mother of the great Chinese -
statesman died, and he hurried to cele-
brate the rites at her grave, accom-
panied by his brother, the Viceroy at
Wuchang. Everyone was expecting
the premier’s resignation, and his en-
forced retirement from all official posi-
tions. His enemies thought that Li
had gone finally; his place would be
filled by another, and his power become
a. memory: .
Suddenly there came a. decree from
the throne commanding Li to lay aside
mourning and, at the end of three
months, resume oflice. His brother was
permitted to remain at the tomb and do
the filial reverence. The decree was
Without precedent; but the emperor
was sacred and his command supreme.
Li Hung Chang returned to Tientsin,
his home.
When Mr. Young saw the premier’s
' yacht anchored inthe harbor of Chefoo
he went on board to pav his respects.
The premier looked like a starving beg-
gar. He wore the coarsest raiment.
His beard and forehead had not been
shaved, and his queue hung down from
a clotted mass of hair. Lines of sorrow
streaked his face, and his hands were
grimy.
The first man in the empire, noted
for his carefulness iu raiment and clean-
liness of person, appeared as the mean-
est subject, that he might, by privation
and penance, do reverence to his
mother’s memory, according to the
creed of his ancestors. A few days
later, when Mr. Young met Li at
Tientsin, the beggar’s mien had van-
ished, and he was again the well-
appointed nobleman. '
WHITTIER AND HIS POETRY.
John Vance Cheney Says Ho Was the
Burns of America.
“The homespun work of John Green-
leaf Whittier will outlast the finer fab-
rics of Longfellow, Lowell, Bryant and
Emerson,” was the belief voiced by
John Vance Cheney the other night, in
his lectnr3 on the Quaker poet. Despite
Whitticr‘s occasional crudeness. ,and
stiffness of style and diction, notwith-
standing he had essayed to make
“banner” rhyme with “Susquehanna,”
“cotton” with “KP'T’. and had at-
tempted to £1100 "own. ' and “look-
ing” into rhythmical j'._...:aposition in
the same line, yet his spontaneity, sim-
plicity, strength, enthusiasm, warmth
of color, humanity and granitic in-
tensity dowered his muse so richly as
to make these minor blemishes but as
spots upon the splendor of a sun. More
than any of America's native bards he
h ad the gift of the lyric muse. He was
and is the American Burns, singing
songs to the hearts of :the plain folk.
Whittier’s anti-slavery poems, his
lyrics of New England, his songs of
labor were reviewed by the lecturer,
their faults pointed cut and their clus-
tering beauties commended. Not so
finished in his style as Longfellow, not
gifted with as lofty imagination as
Bryant and not showing such dazzling
flashes of genius as Lowell, still Whit-
tier surpassed them all in pathos, sim-
plicity and that indescribable Witchery
of melody that leads captive the hearts
of the people.
A MIXED-UP FAMILY.
Story at c. Man Who» Son Is His Broth:
cr-In-Law.
‘ Here are the raw materials for ‘a.
headache:
Dr. King, of Adelaide, a. widower,
married a Miss Norris. Shortly after
the doctor’s honeymoon the doctor’s
son married a. sister of the doctor’s-
wife. ‘
Then a brother of the doctor’s wife
married the doctor’s daughter. In
other words, the doctor’s son became
his stepmother’s brother-in-law, and
the doctor’s daughter became her step-
mothers sister-in-law.
The doctor, by the marriage of his
son to the sister of the doctor’s wife,
became the father-in-law to his sister-
in—lew, and the doctor’s wlfe, by the
marriage Of her sister to her stepson,
became stepmother-in-law to her own
fly the marriage of the brother of
the doctor’s wife to the doctor’s daugh-
ter the doctor became father-in-law to
his brother-in-law, and the doctor’s
wife became-stepmother-in-law to her:
own brother . 2 .
What relations, asks Picaroon in Pall
Mall Budget, are the children of the
contracting parties to each other?
A Good Omen. ‘
Not long ago there was a Frenchman
who had a large family, and who was
haunted by the idea that when he died ‘
there would be no one to look after his
While thinking of this, one
spring day, he noticed two nests in a.
hedge close by each other. Each con-
tain ed half-fledged birds, whose par-
ents were lying dead. He went away
sad, thinking that the young birds
must die. What was his surprise, how-
ever, a few days after, to see them
quite happy and apparently well fed.
He stood apart and watched, and pres-
ently he saw the parent birds of other
nests come to the young birds and feed
them. They had adopted the little
orphans—a. fact which the Frenchman
naturally accepted as a good omen
with regard to his own little ones.
Difference in Voices.
One’s surprise in the fact that no two
person’s .voices are perfectly alike ceases
when one is informed by an authority
that, though there are only nine per-
fect tones to the human voice, there
are the astonishing number of 17,592,-
fourteen direct-muscle ‘ rod
115,044,415 different SQuhds-ff'flftheSe, .. ,1
Norwalk Chronicler