"OSTETTER'S T ronntv
' CELEBRATE!)
, Against
.. presses
,POIJ ULAR
BITTE 5 Family Medicine.
ABBOTT’S
-i all lllllll 5-
corn Paint
cumconus. Bunions .na mars
season and wlruour mu.
FUR SALE BY ALL DRUGGISTS.
turns secretes, Prop'rs,
, Llpplnau's Block. SAVANNAH, GA.
3mm“,
1 lines
may
neglect-—
that’s Why’ H
fatal disease.
E lead to a
Hale’s Honey of Horehound and Tar is
made for throat and lung trOubles. It
acts like magic. Sold by druggists.
Pike’s Toothache Drops cure in one minute. .
3 _ WWW...
WYORK.NEW HAVEN d: HABTFOliD
RAILROAD.
—an Yonxvrvxsrox.
October 3, 1897.
Trains leave South Norwalk as follows:
FOR NEW YORK —— Accommodation
trains at 9.36 a.’ m., 1.11, 3.04, 4.07, 5.33,
6.41, 8.11, 10.20 p. m. Express trains
at 4.55, 5.45, 6.15, (local), 6.55, (local),
7.15, (local), 7.56, (local), 8.17, 9.03 (local)
9.58, 10.35, 11.37, (local) a. In. 12.47
2.25, 5.05 5.55, 7.35 p. m. For Washing
ton via Harlem River 12.53 a. m. (daily)
SUNDAYS—Accommodation 9.15 a. m.
5.43, (local), 7.23, (local) 9.28 p. m. Ex
press 4.55, 5.45 a. m.
~FOR NEW HAVEN AND THE EAST—
Accommodation trains at 6.32, 7.42,
8.46 and 11.42 a. m., 1.37, 2.42, (to B’p’t),
4.20, 5.27, 6.27, 7.28 (to B’p‘t), 8.41, 9.41
and 11.15 p. 111. Express trains at 1.11,
1.20, 9.11, 10.12, 11.08 a. m. 12.02, 3.05,
5.04 (Naugatuck Express) '1 .10 p. m.
SUNDAYS—Accommodation 7.42, 9.12
a. m. and 7.15 p. m. Express 1.11 and
1.20 a. m. _
G. T. HEMPSTEAD, Gen. Pass. Agent.
s
25C; r
Ask; Your Druggist
GREGORY’S .‘0lNT.
——
NOW OPEN FOR THE SEASON 0FE1897.
lion: omens, T .
anon: lsuun curl CAKE,
BATHIIG. 30mm, FISHING.
Electric’cars to Hotel, every twenty
uinutes.
JOHN E. O’SULLIVAN,‘
Manager.
~
mm. W. RAYMOND
burial Ull‘fil‘lfll' alifillhlller
'E Washington StreetSouth Norwnlk
:teniileece. M nxemo Hotel. I
l
HE SYSTEM.
\ \
THE POSTER c. R ‘. . '
The blessed Poster Girl leaned (mi.
, - From a pink-purple heaven.
One eye was red and one was green:
Her bang was cut uneven ;
She had three fingers on her lmud‘.
And the hairs on her head were seven.
Her robe. ungirted from clasp to hem.-
No sunflowers did adorn ;
But a. heavy Turkish portiero
W'as very neatly worn:
And the hat that lay along her back.
Was yellow like canned corn.
It was a kind of wabbly wave
That she was standing on.
And high aloft she/flung a scarf
That must have weighed a ton :
, "And she was rather tall—at least
She‘reached up to the sun.
She curved and writhed, and then she said.
Less green of speech/than blue;
“Perhaps I am absurd—perhaps
I don’t appeal to you; ,
But my artistic worth depends
Upon the point of view.”
I saw her smile. although her eyes
Were only smuggy smears;
And then she swished her swirling arms.
And wagged her gorgeous ears,
She sobbed a blue-and-green checked sob.
And wept some purple tears.
—Caroly.n Wells, in CenLUl'Y.
‘ HIS LAST PUPIL.
“The best thing 'you can do,” said my
doctor, “is to take to bicycling.”
“At present, of course, one bicycles,”
said the man of the world.
“You’re missing the finest possible
enjoyment by not bicycling," said my
athletic friend.
In fact, wherever I went I was met
by bicyclists who longed to make oth-
ers bicycle. It was not for health nor
for fashion nor for exercise that I
finally took to the machine; it was
simply from the pressure of public
opinion. When I had finally given in,
and made upmy mind to spoil my
‘ clothes, bruise my body, and ruin my
temper by learning to ride, I‘sought
out my athletic friend and asked him
9 to tell me if there was any instructor
whom he could especially recommend.
“Yes,” he said, “there is.” There is
one man, Barkinstone by name, who
has quite a small shop in the Ender—
down Road. He knows more about the
bike than any two men in England put
together. I would not dream of buy-
ing a new machine myself without con-
sulting Barkinstone about it.
So with an introduction from my
athletic friend, I sought out Barkin-
stone in the Enderdown Road. He
was a. tall, thin man, with, a loose lip
and an inquiring eye. He heard what
I wanted and then looked up entries
in a. notebook.
“I’m full up for a fortnight,” he said.
“You can take the course then if you
like. I must have a machine exactly
right ready for you to learn on. Step
this way.”
He took me into another room,
weighed me mrefully, 'measured me
frequently and accurately, and told _me
exactly what clothes I was to get. He
had a model suit there, and explained
it to me. He had a lame tailor, who
was intrusted with the making of these
'suits; he would not risk his secret by
allowing you to employ your own
tailor.
At the end of a fortnight I returned
to him. In four days I could ride
straight up a stiff hill without bending
my back, and with. my hands off. I
could take my machine to pieces, and
put it together again. On the fifth day
I rode forty miles without feeling par-
ticularly exhausted. NOW, I am by no
means an athlete, and I am particular-
ly slow at learning anything. Bar-
kinstone was expensive, but he was
also the most amazingly clever and
‘,thorongh instructor that the world has
yet produced. I sent him four pupils,
and the last of them had to wait three
months before Barkinstone could take
him. . ‘
About a year after this I‘ was in a
fishing village on the Yorkshire coast.
. I was there for a. holiday, and (like
most writing men) found that I got
rather more work done in my holiday
than I did any other time. One hot
day I had been sitting out in the gar-
den most of the morning and after-
noon, doing bad reviews of worse nov-
els at my leisure. After dinner, I fin-
ished the reviews and took them out
to post. I observed that there was a
glorious full moon, that the roads were
in capital condition; and I remembel
that I had taken no exercise all day.
I went back to the house, brought out
my bicycle, lit a totally unnecessary
but strictly legal lamp, and rode off.
The first few miles I went slowly with
my hands in my pockets; then I set-
.tled dowu to some good hard work. ]
had not taken any particular note 0)
the direction ‘in which I was geing, no;
how long I had been riding, when l
thought I heard a. village clock in the
distance strike one. Then I glanced al
my watch, and found that it was in-
deed an hour after midnight. I de
cided to ride on to the village, and the;.
turn back and go home. The read
here stretched long and white. On one
side was'the low stone wall of a park
on the other was a steep, downward
sIOpe, covered with grass and bram-
bles. I noticed in the distance a tin:-
spark darting hither and 'thither‘,"'oc.
casionally stopping suddenly, and the:
zigzaggi‘ng again. As I came nearer l
perceived that this spark was a bicycle
lamp, and that the machine was being,
ridden by some one not expert, som,
one who occasionally collapsed ‘anr‘.
desperately remounted. Nearer stil.
I drew; the other cyclist was visibp
now, his shoulders hunched, his knees
turned in, and his insteps well ovel
the pedals. I‘prepared tomdodge, and i'
was as well I did, for just as We me!
he gave another lurch and came at me
I escaped him, and he went bang int:
the Wall, shoved himself off with one
hand, shot across to the other side .0,
the road, and tumbled straight down
the embankment. Then from motive:
of‘humanity I got off my machine. ;
called down the-embankment,—
“Aro you hurt?” -
' well enough, see—lookat this.”
7 own pupil.
. done ”with. it.
‘them as soon as you can.
/
After a moment a voice came from
» :he middle of a bramble-‘bush,—
“Not much. >The bike’s—#er—rather
- entangled. But I' can manage—don’t
stop for me.”
However, I leaned my machine
igainst the wall, took off/ the lamp,
and climbed down the embankment
with it in my hand. Against the
aramble-bush was the rider, stooping
iown and rubbing his shins. Beside
aim was a lump of mixed machinery
that had once been a bicycle. He
'ooked up as I approached and the
light of the lamp fell full on his face.
“Barkinstone!” I exclaimed. “Bar-
{instone of the Enderdown Road, by
all that’s miraculous!”
“No, no,” he said; “my name is—er
-—Brown.” , '
“Not a bit of it," I replied. “You
caught me to ride, and I know you.
You’re Barkinstone.”
“I knew this would happen one of
hose days,” he said to himself, mourn-
fully. “Yes, sir, it’s‘no good to say
otherwise. I’m Barkinstone."
“And the amazing part of it is, you
don’t talk in the least as if you were
drunk.”
“I'm not drunk. I know my business
He
took a couple of tools from his pocket.
Then he picked up a bundle of spokes,
some scraps of tire, a handle-bar, and
what was left of the saddle, and in a
very few minutes had made a bicycle
out of them. “There, does that look
as if I were drunk?"
“No,” I said, “it doesn’t. And, drunk
or sober, nobody but you could have
done it. But why did you ride like
that?”
“Because I can’t ride any better. In
fact, that ride to-night was the best
I’ve ever done. I‘ve never been so far
before without falling off.”
“Still I don’t understand. You
taught me to ride. You have taught
hundreds to ride.”
“Yes—but I can’t teach myself.”
“You have a theory of riding that is
absolutely correct. It has been test-
ed." '
“Yes, the theory is correct in nine
hundred and ninety-nine cases out of
a thousand. I’m the thousandth. Was
I riding properly when you saw me?”
“You were pedaling very unevenly
and badly; you clung hard to the hau-
dles; you kept looking at the front
wheel; you—"
“Oh, you needn’t go on!
ing everything that I oughtn’t to do. . I
know it. The theory_fai1s with me be-
cause I am the thousandth case. Do
you think it takes any courage to learn
to ride the bicycle ?"
“None whatever—not in the least.”
“I’ll put it in a different way. Can
you conceive of a want of nerve so ter-
rible, a. physical cowardiceso meat,
that it might absolutely prevent a. man
from learningto bike—or at any rate
cause him to take years over it, where
other men would only take days?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Very likely not, sir. But I suffer
from just that want of nerve, just that
physical cowardice. I stand beside
the machine, and my nerve’s all right,
and I know allthere is to know about
riding. I’ve only got to put my foot
on the step, and my nerve’s gone, and
in a moment I’ve forgotten everything;
then I flounder about—and come off—
and hurt myself—and break things.”
He limped up the embankment to
the road, carrying his machine and
refusing any assistance.
“Going to get on again?" I asked.
“Oh, yes! I’ve got perseverance and
moral courageif I haven’t got physi-
cal courage and nerve.”
He placed his left foot on the step,
propelled the machine in a slow curve
with three convulsive kicks with his
right foot, rose slewly in the air, then
slipped off the step, and came down in
the.road with the machine on top of
him. He was apparently quite used to
to this kind of thing, for he observed
in an unmoved voice from under the
machine,—-—, ;
“There was one thing I forgot to
mention, sir.” . '
“Well, what is it?” _
“You would do me a. great favor,"
he said, rising slowly, “if you- would
for the present keep this incident a so;
cret. You know what the public is,
sir. If the public knew that I could
not ride, it would never believe that i
could teach other people to ride. I am
about to retire; in another six months
I shall be able to give up the business,
and live in comfort in a fine house in
the country for the rest of my days.
After that, it doesn’t much matter
what' you say, for no pupil has ever
been dissatisfied with me. But, until
then, it might spoil business." '
“But why give up your business!
You’re far too young 9. man to retire:
What interest have you got "in the
country? W'hatwould you do with
yourself?" 3
“Learn the bicycle. I shall be my
It will take me all my
life. Good-night, sir.
"hanks, if you’d just give me a hand."
' ~Ie relit his lamp. I held the ma-
;_'-,hing while be mounted, and then
shoved him off. He vanished like a
diamond-pointed corkscrew, more of
1953 in the direction of the village.
He has retired uOW. The ground;
if, his country house are secluded by
'figh walls. I am told that inside an
.sphalt track has been constructed. It
hurts to full on asphalt.
This was Emerson’s advice to a
laughter—"Fn-is'h every day, and, be
"You have done what
you could. Some blunders and ab.
surd'ities no doubt crept in;
Tc-m-orrow
is a new day; begin it well and serene:
ly, and with too high a spirit :.to be
combered with your. old nonsense.
This day is al lthat is'gcod and fair,
'[t is too dear, with its hopes and in{
vitations, to waste a monument on the
yesterdays." , -, -
1
I was do-.
Well, ‘
fo- gei-
MTfl'E Ev ENI‘N o GAZE 'rfr E
' , , A Japanese Wife. ,
The Japanese young woman, when
she has passed the happy “mousmee,”
or girl-in-her-teens .stage,' has a. very ,
busy life. If she be married she has to
rise at an incredibly early hour to ‘
wake her servants, and in most cases
to warm the water for her husband to
wash in and prepare his breakfast. She
has to make the clothes for the entire
family, male and female, if they dress
in the native style, and to keep_them
in repair; she has to do the marketing
and exercise the minutest supervision
over the servants while they are clean-
ing the house, doing .the washing,
cooking and'other domestic duties, and
generally performs a considerable part
of them “herself; she has to be at the
beck and call of her husband and chil-
dren, and, if she be the wife of a shop-
keeper,. she has often to do the most
of the shopkeeping. It is in the na-
ture of a Japanese to be kind and gen-
tle to anything, "and he is often very
affectionate to his wife, when he is not
tired of her. But after girlhood a wo-
man's good time does not begin until
she is a mother-in-law, or has a sum-
ciently grown—up daughters for her to
impose upon. To me (continues a
writer in the “Woman at Home") the
least attractive feature about the Jap-
anese is that they attach no sentiment
to the marriage tie or even to court-
ship. And this is reflected in their
poems and novels, which hardly ever
turn upon wooing of woman-or the vi-
cissitudes of the tender relation of
husband and wife. It is filial affec-
tion, not marital or often even
parental, which furnishes the
love episodes of Japanese Writings.
But this again, like everything else in
Japan, down to arranging wild flowers,
is largely a matter of etiquette. The
Japanese who marries a European la-
dy makes her an excellent husband.
He is said to carry this even so far as
making a good husband to a Japanese
woman if she wears European clothes.
Mr. Basil Hall Chamberlain and oth-
ers of the most accurate and intimate
observers of Japanese life say that the
same man will stand aside and let his
wife go in front of him if she is wear-
ing her ill-fitting and unsuitable Eu-
ropean clothes, but make her follow
him like a dog if she has gone back
for comfort to her dainty and elegant
native dress—Exchange. ’
Kreping Roses.
It is worth while to know how to
make roses last, especially at times
when the price of them is almost a
fertune. One instance which that-
oughly demonstrates that these beau-
ties may be kept for many days might
fit in 'here, although summer is at its
height. Roses need the same treat-
men in the summer-as in the winter:
A woman gave three dinner parties in
one week with the same dozen and a
half Mermet roses, and' the flowers
were much admired each time. It was
after Ii o’clock each night before they
came off the table. They were re-
moved to_ a wide-mouthed, kitchen
bowl that held a generous supply of
water, and with stronggslhears the rose
stems .were nipped off an inch or so
under the water. There is apsycho-
logical reason for cutting grinder the
Water, but never mind that. Then
the bowl of roses was carried to the
coolest cellar, but not one that fell to
the freezing point, placed in the big
wash-boiler, a little sprinkle‘of water
dashed over, the whole and the cover
put on tightly. They- were left un-
touched until the next afternoon, when
they reappeared as fresh as before. Of
course, if the florist had sold roses
that he had been hoarding for several
weeks in the dark ice room, they
would not have endured the gas and
the candles and hot air, conditions of
a modern house so many days. " ’ '
Flowers will keep fresh longer if
their stems arguin. wet sand. Put the
flowers into a vase. as usual, then care-
fully eift into the vase, by means of a
funnel,‘su~flicient‘sand to fill itnearly
tothe tomshaking it so that the sand
will settle down among the stems.
Gradually add water until it stands a
very little abOve the top of the sand
and replenish the ‘water as often as
needed—Boston Transcript. '
Do Not Bite the Lips.
Biting the lips is a verybad habit -
and one calculated to do harm, not
. only to the lips, but to the expression
of a face. Very often people bite their
lips from nervousness,‘and sometimes,
if a. girl has pale, colorless lips, she
tries to remedy the defect by an occa- '
'sional pressure of the teeth to bring ,
the blood to the surface. This, howevo
er, is likely, 'after a time, to develop
into a. habit of nibbling at the lips un-
consciously, till by and by they gotta.
cracked, parched look, and the mouth
loses all its pretty curves through the
constant distortions it has .undergone.
The Patriotism of the Dutohess.
Speaking of flags and patriotism,.it ,
is pleasant to learn that in some in-
stances, at least, an international mar-
riage does not entirely do away with'
the American .girl's pride and love of
country, even though she may be liv-
ing in the land of her adoption. ’At
the fancy dress ball, of Queen Victor- é
ia’s jubilee, the young Duchess of ‘
Marlborough, formerly Con-suello Van- f
derbilt, appeared draped inAmerican '
flags, to represent Columbia. To say
the least, it was a compliment to the
country of her birth, and showed that .-
the, spark of patriotism still burns ‘
brightly in some royal breasts—Puri-
tan. .
i
6
9,1 v. i
SELLS MICE FOR A LlVlhiG.
A “‘nman “'hose Clients Include Some of
Europe’s Great Physicians.
Verily one half the world does not
know how the other half lives. Equal-
1y true is it that never before. were
there so many curious ways of making
a living as there are at present. There
have been physicians in Paris for sev-
eral centuries, but not until quite re-
cently did any of them think it neces-
sary to make a contract by the terms
: of which they are to receive a certain
'number of mice during the current
year. The general public was rather
surprised when it heard of this con-
tract, for the reason that the physi-‘
cians, who act in this matter as a.
committee of the Faculty of Medicine,
agree to pay a. good price for the mice,
whereas there are many persons in
Paris who would be only- too glad to
make- the doctors a present of these
ravenous little animals. Physi-
cians, however, know what they are
about. They want - mice, but they
don’t want ordinary, everyday mice.
Only cultured, well fed, dainty mice
will suit them, and they have given
the contract to Mme. Alexandre, be-
cause t'hcy know that she is the only
person in Paris who can supply cn de-
mand any number of such desirable
animals. .
Yes, .Mme. Alexandre’s business in
life is to furnish mice to Richet,
Ch-antemesse and several other lead-
ing specialists in Paris and elsé‘where.
She also keeps rabbits and guinea
pigs, but mice are her specialty. It
is fifteen years since she first began
to supply animals to the Pasteur In-
stitute, the Municipal Laboratory and
several other such places. She has
hardly any competitors, and she has
more orders than she can well fill.
She feeds her mice. exaiusively on
bread and milk. Her clients. insist
that the animals must be white and
plump, and she finds this diet the best
for them. When they are three months
old they are ready for the doctors,
and she seldom has any on hand after
that age, She disposes of these hap-
less victims, not only to her regular
clients in Paris, but also to Several
persons in London and Geneva. The
little mice are well able .to stand a
Ion-g journey, and they are as fresh
when they arrive in London as they
were when they left Paris.
Madam is never short of mice. At
present she has about a thousand on
hand, and as these animals multiply
very rapidly she will have double that
number in an incredibly short time.—
New York Herald. -
ANGORA GOATS IN SOUTH AFRICA.
Profitable Flocks of Them Raised in Cape
Colony.
One of the most lucrative industries
in the Karoo districts of South Africa
is Angora goat farming, and, although
it has only been established for less
than forty years, the Cape bids fair to
become the most important centre of
mohair production in the world. The
early attempts toimport this goat from
Angora were attended with great loss
of money and great disappointment,
nearly all the goats dying either on the
way to the Cape or very soon after
landing, in fact, of the early importa-
tions only a. very small number sur-
vived. But in 1879, a large importation
was successfully made by three differ-
ent firms or individuals, who landed a
large number of pure-bred Ango
goats at Port Elizabeth. '
The Angora in the colony is not now
pure-bred; the original imported rams
were crossed with carefully selected
pure white Boer goat ewes, and from
the succeeding in-breeding the‘rpresent
flocks have sprung, and a fine glossy,
silky fleece secured. Indeed, it is ac-
cepted that mohair can now be pro-
duced in Cape Colony as perfect in
quality and as beautiful in’lustre. as
any produced in Angora itself.
The goat itself is a. pretty-looking
little animal,'looking, with its long
white wavy fleece, more like a sheep
than a goat. The beard, too, so char-
acteristic of the goat, is almost hidden
in the long hair about the neck and
face. The head is small and narrow,
with drooping or "‘lop” ears. The
small body is thickly covered with a
beautiful long fleece of white, lustrous,
wavy, silky hair, which in well-bred
goats nearly reaches the ground; and,
in ad‘ditio‘n‘to this long‘hair, there is-
an inferior undercoat of hair, or sec-
ond coat, which has its own separate
market value—Black and White.
Manna. Newly Found.
Truema-nnahas‘ been found on a
blue grass in Queensland. ’ It appe
on the nodes of the stems in masses as
large as marbles. ' It is sweet, and
nearly three parts of it consist of man-
nite, which, though sweet, is not a‘
It also contains a ferm;:;i-
sugar.
which has the power to
pose cane sugar without evolving car-
bonic acid or any kind of gas. The
grass is not only indigenous in. Au :1"-
lia, but it is found also in tropicl
Asia and Africa.
V , ..,
0.36-3.11 -
Rusty Hardup—Yes, Willie, we’re
both just like bakers.
Willy Notacent.—How so, Rusty?
Rusty Hardup -—- We need dough.
See? . p * , ,
only ten weeks old.
DUCKS THAT-NEVER SWAM. 2.:
him- Iiave Any of These Uhlque Young
sters KnownaMothor. 1'
. Chicago has a duck farm which
numbers 10,000 ducks and duckiings,
noneof Whom has ever seen a-‘drop of
water save that which is doled out to
them daily as drink. ‘ I
What is more, not one of these
ducks, young or old, 'ever had a moth-
er, provided the old question as to
which is the mother, the duck which
lays the egg or the duck which hatch-
es it, be answered in favor of the lat- .
ter. These'ducks w‘ere all raised in
boxes by the aid of kerosene oil and
a. lighted lamp wick. When they felt
cold after being taken from their
hatching place, they were taught to
turn beneath coils of steam pipe which
sputtered a welcome to the ducklings
as they huddled up under the iron
pipes, “even as a hen calleth her
chickens hnder her wings."
There is not in this whole collec-
ton of quacking birds, a single one
which canclaim a dark feather. Ten
thousand strong they are, all as white
as the driven snow, a remarkable cir-
cumstance considering the fact that
not one of them ever had a bath. This
duck farm at the south end of Chica-
go is not yet. a single season old, and
it bears the distinction \of being the
only rearing place for ducks in the
United States which: accomplishes its
object without a pond filled with the
birds’ natural element. The ducks
quack and grow fat and bi‘ing 25, cents
a pound in the market, which is dou—
ble the price at which water reared
quackers are quoted. It is only fair
to say, however, that no claim is made
that .the absence of water increases
the price of the bird. Their value is
due to the fact that the ducks are of
a peculiar strain and are sold when.
There are at the farm several scores
of old ducks which supply ‘the eggs
from which the young are raised. A'
few of the most likely of the off-
springs ale set aside occasionally to
be kept until maturity for egg-laying
purposes. A corresponding number
of old ducks are disposed of. In.
about five years’ time there will be
ducks whose ancestors for ten genera-
tions have not known what it is. to
take a swim.—Chicago Times-Herald.
HOW HUMBOLDT SLEPT.
He is Said to Have Claimed that, when
Young.Two Hours were All He Needed.
How many hours‘ sleep does a man
want? In the Cosmopo-lis Professor
Max Mueller records an interesting
statement of Alexander von Hum-
bol‘dt on this subject. “As I get
old,” he said, “I want more sleep—4
four hours at least. When I was
young," he continued, “two hours of
sleep were quite enough for me.” .
Professor Max Mueller ventured to
express doubts, apologizing for differ-
ing from him on any physiological
fact. "It is quite a mistake,” he said,
“though it is very widely spread,~ that
we want seven or eight hours of sleep.
When I was of your age I simply lay
down on the sofa, turned down my
lamp,‘ and .after two hours’ sleep I
was as fresh as ever.”
If Humboldt was speaking serious-
ly, and the habits hedescrihed were
continued for long periods, the experi«
ence is certainly remarkable, for he
did an immense amount of work and
lived to be 89. It may almost be said
that he lived to be 178, for he certainly
lived at least twice as many waking
hours as most of mankind. '. ' .
20,000 sooxs oENoumcl-zo. 'f" -«
Expurgatori no Index Indicates What May
be Read by Catholics.
The faithful subjects of the
Church of Rome are forbidden in'the
index Expurgatorius to read twenty
thousand books. These are the Works
of eight thousand authors. Every-
thing that Renan wrote is condemned,
but only the more profane, from ‘a
Roman Catholic standpoint, of Vol-
taine’s works appear in the index.
Taine’s “History of English Litera-
ture" is under the ban, but his studies
on the French Revolution are omitted
from the list of prohibited books by
the wish of Leo XIII. All of Cousin’s
works are condemned, but only four of
Lemartine. For obvious reasons, Eu-
gene’s Sue’s “Wandering Jew" am. the
“Mysteries of Paris” are both forbid-
den reading. The index contains a
complete: catalogue of the works of
bath the elder and younger Dumas,
but only two of Victor Hugo’s books
arefound in it—“Les Miserables” and
"Notre Dame de Paris.” There are
two Zolas in the Index—one is the au-
thor of “Rome,” the'other is a theo-
logian of the last century—Boston
Evening Transcript. -
l
Proof Chills of the United States. '
The proof coins of the United State:
mint are made in gold, silver, nickel,
1 and bronze, and a complete set of these
lproof coins costs forty-one dollars.
There are three sets of come that can
be bought at the mint for this purpose.
. Each coin is struck by hand on a screw
press from a specially polished die.
and only polished blanks are used.
J
,4.
' , Stamped I!
V. THE RIGINAL
—- Always .‘the
Same '
L
t”
Norwalk Chronicler