' Along that glowing "“THE EVENING GAZETTE'Tripan- ‘.~.'...;.»«. .7, souruoe. Laugh, and the world laughs with you: Weep, and you weep alone. For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and the hills will answer; Sigh, it is lost on the air. The echoes bound to a joyful sound, But shrink from voicing care. Rejoice, and men will seek you: “'“ Grieve, and they turn and go. They want full measure of all your pleasure. But they do not need your woe. Be glad, and your friends are many: . Besad, and you lose them all — There are none to decline your nectr’d wine, - But alone you must drink life’s gall. Feast, and your halls are crowded; Fast, and the world goes by. Succeed and give, and it helps you to live. But no man can'help you to die. There is no room in the halls of pleasure For a large and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain. ' ‘ —Ella Wheeler Wilcox. THE REDEEMING ACT. Dave was a coward and he had al- ways borne the reputation of arrant cowardice ever since he had crawled over the side of his dugout cradle to wallow along with the underfoot world on the white sand before his parents’ cabin door. Though country born and bred, a passing thunderstorm struck him with terror, and the sight of the black waters of the “crick” caused a remarkable agitation of his knees. He ma coward, pure and simple. The bristling of a coon routed him uncondi- tionally, and a determined ’possum could rob the hen roost before his very face. Indeed, Dave was a coward, and his cousin, Sue Spivey, laughed up- roariously when the poor fellow per- petrated his initial and only act of boating. He had said to her one day very solemnly, and no doubt sin- cerely: “Toe pertec yo’ honah an’ happiness I ’ud throw away my wuthless life.” Ordinarily Dave’s speech was unpol- ished and provincial, but on this occa- sion it rose to the dignity of what he felt the occasion demanded. Sue knew full well his timorous dis- position, and would have thought it safe to "count on his poltroonery in any event. But a. day was sadly near which proved to her the full worth of the poor fellow’s grandiloquent assertion. Long before the late unpleasantness, and until this day, Honeypath was only asiding where occasional trains took water and passed each other. Two or three log shanties, without special pre- tensions to any “architectural dissimi- larity, marked the site of the town, distinguishing it from the vast area of impenetrable swamp that backed it and the arid waste of sandy bottom through which the glistening polished rails of the grand trunk line writhed and sinuated. metal highway troops of both armies passed and re- passed, gazed at curiously by the few old women and senile males left in the village, but exciting no other emotion than ablank curiosity that died out even before the white mist of the fine sand stirred by the soldiers’ feet had settled behind the retreating bands. Dave was a native of Honeypath and lived with an aged father in one of the shanties. Sue dwelt with her mother inanother nearby. Dave’s father was a hot blooded Southerner, whose pa- ‘ triotism answered to the first call to arms. But Dave was timid, fearful of the smell of powder, and refrained from action, preferring to suffer the opprobrious epithets which were liber- ally bestowed upon him and the con- tempt of the county generally to fac- ing he knew not what horror on the battlefield. He was not a philosopher and could not plead in extenuation of his neutrality that the martial slaughter of his brother man was a crime, and that the wholesale sacrifice of human life was immoral. Before the strife ended Sue’s mother was gathered to her final rest, being put out of sight in the little sandy grave- yard, with only the comment of the two remaining neighbors. And then Dave and Sue toiled early and late in order to wring from the starving acres an nnvarying livelihood of yams, corn bread and bacon, more often the corn bread without the embellishments of potatoes and bacon, particularly during the few weeks after a hungry foraging party had passed that way. One day Dave was working among the young potato vines in an open arid field behind the cabin, when Sue ran out to him in troubled haste. ' “Oh, Dave, I’m pow’ful skeered!” she panted. “Skeered 0’ what?” he asked, without intermission of the bent labor. “Some—some soldiers just Went down the road, an’ they spoke to me—sassy like." She hesitated, and Dave looked up to see her pretty face scarlet, and her brows bent together in angry lines. “Well, what did they all say?” he de- manded, in his accustomed slow drawl, after waiting in vain for her to pro- ceed. _ “They ’lowed they all was a comin’ back.” “Who was they, ennyhow?” he asked uneasily."his face blanching in antici- pation of the martial visit. ' "They was Mosby’s men, I ’lowed, en they was five of ’em." “Our fellers?” a little surprised and straightening his back. “Come on back to the house, Sue,” and shouldering his hoe, he trudged stolidly on before. ""Don’t you be skeered,” he continued, as they reached the yard. “I reckon they won’t do nothin’.” Of the two, it would have been man- ifest to the most casual observer that he was the worst “skeered,” but he ' walked on until they reached the house and Sue cried out: . "Yonder they come now—all five.” Dave’s face blanched to a sallow whiteness, and he pulled her quickly inside the dodr. ’ "What you gwiue to do?” she asked, nervously, keeping near her cousin,-but he apparently did not hear. He had taken do wn a rifle that had belonged to u‘ 4 a Sue‘s brother, who had also oflered up his life on the altar of the cause leaving his weapon to his sister as a means of defence in just such emergencies as this. ‘ ' “What you gwine to do, Dave?” the ’girl persisted, coming closer and lay- ing her hand on his arm. Dave shook several catridges into the cylinder of the rifle, and waiting in silence, appar- entl y not aware that Sue had touched him. Only a few more moments to wait and then the last act in the com- monplace little tragedy. A loud pounding at the rickety cabin door, and a derisive imperative voice demanded: “Hi, in there, open up, or we’ll make splinters of yer ol’ door!” the thi‘eat was garnished by several strong expletives and accompanied with more vicious pounding. Then for answer went the spiteful snap of the rifle foliowed by a surprised howl of pain, more voluble profanity and footsteps in rapid retreat. Dave went to the window, and through a knot hole in the shutter re. viewed the situation of the enemy. Then through the aperture the rifle again spoke with decisive, leaden emphasis, and when the smoke cleared away the man inside beheld one of the besiegers lying prone across the freshly hoed potato rows, while another limped painfully in the rear of the retreating trio. In the short silence that followed the last shot the arid topography of Honey- path seemed to float before Dave’s vision, each peculiarity standing out strong and clear. The fine, white sand covered everywhere with fat leaved prickly pears and cactus that bloomed perpetually in big butter colored flow- ers; the bright, blazing sky, the heat that rose up and hung heavily over man and beast, the many insects that sat out in the furnace-like sun, rattling shrilly with every joy. ' Then the dense shade of the murky sha’dowed swamp and the big scaly black scorpions and dainty multi-colored lizards that played an eternal game of hide and seek among the rotting rails of the old snake fence. The trio had disappeared into the swamp and Dave calmly refilled his rifle, waiting as though lost in thought. Presently from the rear of the cabin came the harsh command: “You cowardly bushwhacker in there, come out and fight like a man! If ye don’t, we’ll burn ye an’ yer shanty an’ the gal with ye." There was no opening in the rear of the cabin, the logs were thick and the chinks well stopped ,with clay, so that Dave could not return a leaden answer to this brutal challenge. He fingered the rifle nervously and looked at Sue. “Oh, Dave, don’t open the door,” she pleaded, meeting the earnest look bent on her face from beneath the brim of Dave’s frouzy slouch hat; “I ain’t afeered toe burn.” His lips blanched, his knees were wobbly with fear, but he had not for- gotten the one boast of his poor, pinched life, uttered so long ago, “To purtec yo’ honah an’ happinness, I ’ud throw away my wuthless life.” -He uttered the words again monotonously, finger- . ing the rifle that was held limping in his shaking hands. Poor Sue, there was no answering laughter in her soul now for those gro- tesquely sententious words which broke in husky monotone on, her hearing like a last prayer. In that moment Dave, who had al- ways been a coward, who had all his life long borne meekly ,the scorn and opprobrium attached to the character, he whom heretofore nothing could arose to a sense of degradation, calmly arose to the very pinnacle of heroism. “I’m coming out,” he called and shooting back the bolt he stood on the cabin step before them. “Fall back and give him a show; he’s coming out, boysl” Sue clung to him, pleading, “Dave, don’t; there’s four to one. Don’t go!” but he pushed her gently backward into the room. “Bolt the door behind me!” he said and passed out. Sue stood motionless in the centre of the room waiting for it to begin. Dave pulled the trigger of his gun and turn ed the corner and instantly four weap-‘ ons barked with one voice. Sue heard something heavy fall against the side of the cabin; then in- stantly the' sharp, clear utterance of a rifle answered the carbines again and still again. One carbine only answered and then all was still; only the fretful warbling of a wren in the nearby Cher- okee rose hedge breaking the tense si- lence of the drowsy afternoon hush. Anxiety conquering terror, Sue drew back the bolt, throwing the door wide open. A broad stream of yellow light anda rush of heat met her, passing over a figure on its knees that always trem- bled at the sight of deep water. was gaspinghis last breath. Bleeding and shattered, he crept to her feet, after the manner of a faithful dog to die. In the grave, gray eyes that were raised to hers there was the light of the exa1t~ ation of a passing spirit, triumphant over the shadow of death which already darkened them._ His lips moved in the contortion of a. smile that broke into an articulate murmur. "I done said that toe purtec’ yo’ honah and happiness I would th’ow away my wuthless life—and I done hit.” And Dave with the crimson glory of his “wuthless life’s ” blood streaming from many wounds, passed to the judg- ment reserved for him from the begin- ning of all things. The wren shivered out her fragmen- tary song to heaven, the perfume of the Cherokee rose filled the air of the fad- ing day, and the setting sun, streaming through the cabin door touched the still figure of Dave, wrapping him in molten splendor as though with the face of a dying god. / Poor Dave, though a coward all his life long,-he had earned the rewardof heroism at the very end.« “Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friend.”—Detroit Journal. __ Dave . comma or A smart.” ' The Carcass as It Is Prepared 'for ' the Market. ' ' —— .Every Ounce of the Animal Goes Out of the Slaughter House a Commer- cial Commodity-Profits of the Dealer. .x In a recent interview with a New York wholesaler a representative of the World learned the following facts re- garding the treatment of a beef-animal in preparing it for the market: “Such beef ,as I handle,” said the dealer, “will weigh 800 pounds, that is, two sides will weigh 400 pounds each. This is dressed beef, all of which is cut up and sold. There is no waste. The fat and bones are sold. Such extras as you see on the butchers’ stalls, as brains, tongues, liver, tripe, oxtails, ,etc., do not come to us as dressed beef. These are special lines, handled by spe- cial men. “There is ‘a steer,” and the dealer pointed through the glass door of a re— frigerator as big as asmall house, “that weighed 800 pounds when laid on these scales to-day. I paid 9 cents a pound for. it. Don’t believe these 1]. and 12 cents stories, for they are not true. It cost me $72 at the warehouse. I hauled ‘ it here, must pay my men to cut it up and deliver it and all that. What will I get for what cost me $72? “The rump will weigh 40 pounds, for which I will get 10 cents a pound, or $4; the round, immediately below it, will weigh 60 pounds, at 12% cents, or $7.50; the sirloin, 80 pounds, at an aver- age of 14 cents, for there are at least I three cuts of sirloin; it depends on the butcher—that makes $11.20; the porter- house in a steer of 800 pounds will weigh 60 pounds, and 20 cents is the market price, or 812. “Next comes what we butchers call the eye of the rib and .what is known on bills of fare as prime rib roast. There will be 100 pounds of this at 15 cents, or 515. N ext is the chuck, really a fine portion of the carcass, but a sufferer through its name. There is 00 pounds of this, and it brings to-day 10 cents, or $9. Immedatcly adjoining it is the neck, 30 pounds, much of which is sold as chuck. The price is five cents, or $1.50. “Below the neck comes the loose flesh that is called in the slaughter houses the ‘hanging‘ piece,’ and in butcher shops the ‘brisket.’ It is good boiling beef, but is much in demand for corn- ing. There are 50 pounds of it at 5% cents a pound, or $2.75. “The section marked ‘ribs, plate and navel’ is the cheapest meat on the steer. It is for coming and soup meat particu- larly, will weigh 80 pounds, and sells at 4% cents, or $3.40. The shoulder piece, beneath which lies part of the brisket, is sold with the shin, and is generally called soup meat. It Will weigh 55 pounds, and sells at 4% cents, or 82.43. “The flanks weigh 35 pounds and are mostly fat, selling in their entirety at six cents, or $2.10. The hind legs yield 35 pounds of meat at 4% cents, or $1.58. “I have now accounted for 715 pounds of meat. The remaining 85 pounds is fat and bones. At least 10 pounds of fat is thrown in with orders, people having learned to expect it, and 3% cents a pound foriat and 35 cents per hundred for bones will yield $2.80 at the outside. “The total receipts from the steer that cost me $72 will be $75.26, a profit of only $3.26, or would be a profit if I ran a business that entailed no expenses whatever. “I am not a. slaughterer now, but I know enough of the business to know that the slaughterer-loses nothing. A steer goes into an abattoir on the hoof and every ounce of him goes out a. com- mercial commodity. A 1,200-pound steer will net 800 pounds of beef. The hide is sold to the tanners. A limited number of tails go to dealers in ox tails and special dealers buy the tongues, and in Chicago go to the canners of “lunch tongues.” There is alimited demand for brains. All livers find a ready sale, and the lining of the paunch, known as tripe, is growing in such favor that it is all disposed of to deal- ers, who pickle it. “From the pure fat is extracted the highest quality of oleo oil. This is generally exported to Holland, where it enters into the makeup of the gilt- edged Dutch butter that commands fancy prices in England. From other fats come the lower grades of oleo oil. From selected bones is secured by boiling gelatine, which is the basis of all cheap jellies and marmalades. Stearine, used as a base of chewing gum and for many other purposes, is the product left from the process of pressing out oleo oil. “All hoofs are boiled, and the valu- able commodity known as neat’s foot oil is secured. The horns are sold to manufacturers of combs and fancy goods. The hoofs after boiling are also used in the making of horn orna- ments. Everything that is left, blood. entrails,-etc., is made into fertilizing material, not the least valuable com- modity turned out of the abattoir. I have no positive figures, but I believe that the 400 pounds of ‘offal,’ the term used as applying to everything except the actual beef, will net the killer from $20 to $22. The wholesale slaughterer does not get any the worst of it at any stageof the game. ‘ “N eminally, the retailer makes much larger profits, but his errpenses are heavy. The trouble is that owing to a foolish prejudice against certain cuts, porterhouses, sirloins and prime ribs are too high, while other cuts that in the hands of skillful cooks would be equally good are too low.” , No Use forfioap. A soap dealer who should open an agency in China would lose money. In many parts of China the children wear no clothes for many months in the year, and the majority of the people never wash. “Do you wash your child every day?” a ChineSe mother was asked. “Wash him every day!” was the indig- nant response; “he was never washed since he was‘born!” _ ' h arr I ( It c hing .If there is one thing more than ‘ another which gratifies us, it is the great volume of hearty thanks which come from grateful parents for the cures Hood’s Sarsaparilla has effected upon their children. The agony of despair turns to unspeakable joy, as mothers and fathers see dreadful sores and eruptions gradually yield to the potent purifying power of this great medicine, and bright boys and girls given perfect health. Read this: “When my baby was four weeks old, scrofulous eczema broke out on his body. He became'literally covered with When six months old the breaking out healed on his body, but his head, face and arms were a terrible sight. I passed many sleepless nights holding his little hands to keep him from scratching his face. I cannot tell what he suffered with the sores. One doctor attended him a year Without avail. No one thought he would ever get well. He was almost a year old when I commenced to give him Hood’s Sarsapa- rilla. He soon grew so much better that Cured I was able to rest at night. Gradually the sores on his head and arms healed, the burning and itching ceased, and he slept better. In 2 months he looked like an- other child, gained strength, was cured. I recommend all persons afliicted with eczema or any skin disease totake Hood’s Sarsaparilla. I feel assured that it will do wonders for others. I cannot praise it too highly for what it has done for my poor little sufferer. It is hard to believe. he is the same child, he is now such a big, hearty, fat boy, a very picture of health. If more people would give Hood’s Sarsaparilla to their children, there would not be so many poor, delicate little ones.” Mus. Acorns C. BAILEY, Box 91, McVey- town, Pennsylvania. This and other similar cures prove that H O 0 d ’S S‘arsaparllla. Is the One True Blood Purifier. All druggists. $1. Be sure to get Hood’s and only Hood’s. It is prepared only by C. I. Hood & Co., Lowell, Mass. . cure all Liver Ills and H00d’S PIIIS Sick Headache. 250ents. DRINK HATHllflN SPRING WATER FOR THE Stomach, , Bo wels, Liver and Kidneys. FOR SALE BY The Holmes, Ktflltl‘ lSellecl Ca WILLIAM S. KEMP, Carpenter -:- and -:- Builder, 34 West Main St.. Norwalk. Mr. Kemp has been a carpenter and builder in Norwalk for the past 25 years. and refers to owners of buildings erected under his super- v1510n as to workmanship. Chilton Paint. Every gallon of paint made by the Chilton Mfg. Company is mixed and ground in pure Linseed Oil. Ail shades are mixed and ground by machinery seven times, making them uniform and even. Compare the size of cans and weight with the cheaper makes. You get an honest gallon. Give it a trial and you will be convinced. - H. H. WILLIAMS 17 Main St. SPECIAL SALE ____.OF.___— Sailor Hats NOW READY. Untrimmsd, I01: and IlpwariIs, Trimmed, 50c and Upwards, ’FAwEE‘TTs. p, 3 Water Street, 'Norwalk BICYCLE ‘ 3,, amour - dearest \ 3,. ‘ I. 1 . ..' . '32; -. ..,, ‘ ' ”f“. l :‘ .1311»: ' ,. .w , . . 1,, . .~ - 4 . . , . , I‘ ":J - ,. nj‘. u». r is known throughout cycling as alight, staunch, stylish, speedy mOunt. There’s a best in every- thing; the ’96 Stearns is a veritable edition dc quc among bicycles. Finished in black or orange. " Steams riders are satisfied riders, and always proud as kings of their mounts. , 7 . Your address will insure receipt of our hand- some new catalogue. ’ E. c. STEARNS a co., Makers, Syracuse, N- Y- Buffalo, N. Y. San Francisco, Cal. Toronto, 'Ont. ~A.» H. R. BULKLEY & co., Agents, sourn' NORWALK'. YOUR FRIENDS ARE USING PLAISTED’S CoucH REMEDY AND succulents) I’IS use Get a Bottle at once. 25 and 50 Cents." ALL DRUGGISTS. I’m Doing'lt‘I If you Don’t believe it, Come and See! $|00 BICYCLES FOR $65. ' manor, Laiesi iso AMES, Pattern. LIGHT, - oowmnus, “#309332.“ HOBSMMI _ ' .. Full Guarantee. NORMAN, , p , DIANA, " r ' Easy Terms. WE ARE NOT IN THE COMBINE. For Terms and Lease of Norwalk ‘Fair Grounds, apply to LUTHER M. WRIGHT, carriage Factory and Repository, Franklin & Madison Sta, ,So. IIorwalk. 1 . \TIIL I , 4‘ QT? Branch Shops at Broad River and Harlan.- ILyou are able to MIDI) for a bicy__-' cle, thbe content .with aanut a ’ ¢ Icycle - STANDARD OF THE WORLD. Nineteen years of reputation for building the best bicycle, backed by the certainty of quality assured by our scientific methods, should mean much to any buyer of a bicycle. There is but one Columbia. quality—one Columbia pricc— ’ r 5100 TO ALL Anus. Beautiful Art Catalogue of Columbia and Hartford Bicycles is free if you call upon any Columbia Agent; by mail from us for two a-cent stamps. POPE MFG. CO., Hartford, Conn. Branch Stores'and Agencies in almost every city and town. If Columbia are not properly represented in your vicinity, let us know. ' PRIVATE , Instructions given in BOXING at the pupil’s home. no You _‘—O That you can save money by buying your Meats and Fish at KNOWI‘ CLASS Now farming, and ap- . g ' plipants desiring to F' w' SMITH 8’ join should apply at once to 55 Main Street. ‘ Everything First Class. Prof. Geo. Yoera'er,’ . South Norwalk. hr at this office. open evsmuco \/
Norwalk Chronicler