i;
7
5:1
ONLY A CELIC DIMM'D WlTH TEARS.
Aye, only a relic dimm‘d with tears.
The winter day is dying,
And memories of youth‘s loving cars
Come with the night Wind‘s Big ing.
a token of love of bygone days.
l‘v’lien life was bright, unshaded;
The thought of one with the lover stays;
The golden dreams have faded.
In the mist of swift advancing years
The dreams of youth are hidden;
The relic is dimm’d with bitter tears—-
The tears which come unbidden.
But the world is short —time quickly flies-—
And heavy tears of sorrow
Will be forgotten ‘neath the skies
Of that blest day—tomorrow.
~—Flavel Scott Mines in Harper‘s Bamr.
WHY HE llAll, llED.
You cannot understand it, my friend? And
I can ensil y conceive that you cannot. You
think that I am going mad? Perhaps I may
be, a little, but not for the reasons that you
suppose.
Yes, I am about to marry.
And yet my ideas and convictions have not
chungel. I consider the legal union an ab-
surdity. I am convinced that eight mar-
riages in ten are failures. Less than over do
I feel or self on iable of faithfull lovin'r one
1' I ‘o g . . . . .
red brands remaining, just brightening the
woman—I shall always love all the others
too well.
I would have a thousand lips. a thousand
arms, that I might embrace at once an army ,
‘ myself.
I ever, I arose and concealed the chair behind
‘ the bed. Thon I again ~ darkened the room
of tho charming creatures.
And yet I am about to marry.
i may add that l have but a slight ac-
quaintance with in y wife of to—t‘n-orrow. I
know that she is not dlspleasicg to me. and I
that is suilicicnt for my purpose. '
She is petite, 'blonde and plump. But next
week [shall long f or a woman who is tall,
dark and thin.
She is not rich. She does not belong to a
family rank. She is one of those girls to be
found by the gross in the middle classes, good
girls to marry, with neith' virtues ncr
faults.
I.’eoplo say of her: “Miss So—aud—Bo is ‘.‘i.‘l’_‘,’
pretty.” They will say of her tO-anl‘i'O'v'H
“She is extremely pretty, that Mrs. Blank?‘
Why, then, do I marry, you ask!
I scarcely dare crew to you the strange
and incredible reason which iinpels me to this
senseless; act.
I. marry that I may not be alone.
I know not how to say it, how to make my-
sch" understood. You would pity mo and (le-
sp-Ess-x me, so deplorable i.: my state of mind.
i d.) not want to bonione at night. I want
to feel a. human being near me, beside inc—a
being: which can speak, say something, no
matter what. ,
Slums one whom i can woken from slumber
and {IUOEIIOII abruptly—duly foolish question
—only 'to hear a vol-w, to feel that my rooms
are inhabited, to feel a i’rozzsciousncss on the
alert. a. reason at work. to see on suddenly
lighting my canllc, 2). human form at my
side-beam :e—L:ce;.iuee—-it is hard to ac—
knowledge it—b cause, alone, I am afraid.
Oh! you do not yet Comprehcnd me.
I am not afraid of danger. If a burglar
en’er-xl my room, I would kill him without a
trmuor. I am not afraid of ghosts. I do not '
lwiievc in the supernatural. I am not afraid
of :hn dead. I belie-'41. in the total annihila- ,
tho of every being vs“: "l dimppezrs. l
3.3.3:“, Ilm afraid of ..:;,'53le I :13” afraid
of (ear. afraid of my warring intellect, afraid
of this lmrriblosensatiou of inconiin‘ohensible
terror. Laugh, if you will. It is frightful,
incurable. lam afraid of the walls, of the
furniture. of tho fmniliar objects which be-
come in.:tl::ct for me with a sort of animal
life. i am afraid, «there nil, of the horrible
agilalion of my thoughts, of my senses, which
esv-upn m.) in confusion, suattcrczl by my au—
guésh, mysterious and indefmablc.
i experience, first, a vague inquietudo
winch penetrates to my very soul and causes
a shudder to run through me. I look around
in". Nothing! And I desire that there
should be something. What? Something
ClInlpl'CIIK‘HSIIlICI For Iain afraid solely be
(firm: I cannot comprehend my four.
I speak. I am afraid of my voice. Iwalk.
I am afraid of the unknown behind the door,
behind iii-z» curtains, in the closet, under the
be !. And yet I know that there is nothing.
I ’m‘n suddenly, afraid of what is behind
llll‘~~lll‘)"lf§ll there is nothing there, and .I
know it. I grow agitated, I feel my terror .
i;""'r.-.l . \, and I lock myself in my Chamber
a: giltizigeinto bed and hide under the cover-
crinrn. uni, cowering; there. rolled up like a
bah. i "lost; lllI‘; eyes in desperation, and re—
nni'i :fnts for an endless time, knowing that
my v'nridlr. left burning on my night table,
ought to be put out—and I dare not do it.
Is it not-frightful to IT.) thus?
Formerly, I experienced nothing of all thn t.
I elit.»~i'm_l calmly.
[Wont and came in my
i‘(V‘v.'H:~'.. with nothing to disturb the serenity
of my mind. If any one had told me then
what a malady of Ii‘Ll-l'—Iilcl‘f‘.dlbl’.‘., foolish
and iiH'l'll)Ie—-¥‘.’I)iil.l one day possess me. I
SI‘IOIIII lunvo I3.li'.','lli‘1lli“1ll‘tll_¥. [opened the.
doors in the dark with assurance. I undressed
slowly. without pushing the bolts, and I never
arose-in thomiddlo of the night to make sure ,
that the doors and vindows were securely
fastened.
It began last year in a singular manner. It
was on It damp autumn night. ,
It was dreary evorywherc. The wet silk.-
Weii:~j,§:li:~ltcllcd. A. moist warmth, of the sort
which freezes you with sudden chills—an Op— '
pressivn. wzzriziili of line, irnpalpuble rain on—
VCIOpD'I 311:; street and seemed to lcsseunnd ;
()b€l'!‘l‘r_s ilk) flame of the gas. I walked slow- 3
Iv. repeating to sziI'.';;cli" as I went: “I shall.
find no one to talk to."
For blocks and blocks I searched the cafes.
The tired looking L'l Bil sitting at the tables
apix‘arv‘ed loo listless to finish their repasts. I
I wondered about thus for some time, and ;
toward midnight started homaward. I was
calm but very tired.
M y concierge, .who retires before 11 o’clock,
Opened the door for hr..- at once, contrary to
his usual habit. I thought: “Doubtless an—
other lInlg't‘el' has just gone. up.”
(in {.zoinzrout I always double lock my door.
I fouu i ii: simply latched, a. fact which struck
me. l supposed letters had been sent. up
during; Elieea'ening. Ieutcreal. "'i‘nc fire was
still burning and faintly illumiued tho apart—
ment. I look a candle, intending Lo light it
at th.» lire, when, turning my eyes in that
dirgziliou, I saw some one sitting in the arm
(tilful‘, with feet to the fire and back toward
Kim.
I isms not afraid. Oh, no, not the least in
thy world. Probably it was one of my friends
who had called to see me. The concierge, in-
formed by me on my going out, had told him
I V/{Hll'l return, and given him apass key.
And. instantly the circumstances of my re-
turn r-w-urred to my mind—tho cord pulled
without Ill-lay the door on the latch.
My friend had fallen asleep while waiting
for um.
I saw him distinctly; an arm hanging
[luv/n on the right, his feet crossed one over
thootbcr, his head leaning over a little to .
the in! t side of the chair—unmistakable evi-
dance of slumber.
“Who is itl" I asked myself.
It was impossible to see clearly in the dim
light. I reached out my hand to touch him
on the shoulder? *- * * I encountered the
wood of the chair! There was no longer any
one there. The seat was empty! ‘4‘ *, *
Merciful heaven, whatnshock! 4‘ * ‘3‘ I
remind at first as if before some terrible
: same thing.
When the day appeared I felt that I was
: restaurant; I went to the theatre.
' started for home; but on approaching the
sol-{WALK GAZETTE, WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 27 .1559,
danger. Then i turned suddenly, feeling
that some one was behind me.
But I am a man of considerable nerve, and
I presently came to my sonses.1thonght:
“I have had an hallucination, that is all."
I had had an hallucination—that was an
'nmontes'tablo fact. But my mind had re-
mained clear all the time. acting regularly
and logically There was then no trouble
with the brain. The eyes alone had been de-
ceived—the eyes had had a vision, one of
those visions which lead the simple to believe
in miracles. There wasn nervous affection
of the optical organs, nothing more. A slight
congestion, perhaps
I lit my candle. I noticed, on bending
toward the fire, that I was trembling, and I
raised myself with a start, as if some one had ,
touched me from behind.
Assurodl y, I was far from tranquil.
I walked about, I spoke aloud, I sang in a.
subdued voice.
Then I double locked my chamber door and
felt somewhat reassured. At least, no one
could enter.
Isat down and reflected over my adventure
3. long time. Finally, I got into bed and put
out the light.
For a time all went well. I was lying
quietly on my back. Then I felt a desire to
look around the room, and turned over on
my side
The fire had died down, only two or three
feet of the arm chair, and I thought I again
saw the man sitting there!
I hastily struck a match.
I no longer saw anything.
I had deceived
How«
and endeavored to sleep. .
I had not let consciousness for more than
. five minutes before I saw, in a dream, and
plainly as the reality, the whole scene of the
evening over again. I awoke in consterna-
tion, and havintr made a. livht remained sit-
, v o a O .
ting on the bed without even daring to try to
sleep.
Twice, however, slumber overcame me in
spite of myself, and twice again I saw the
I thought I must be going mad.
cured, and slept soundly until noon.
It was over—well over. I had had a fever,
_ a nightmare, I know not what. I had been ill.
But I considered that I had acted very fool-
ishly.
I was very gay all that day. I dined in it
Finally I
house a feeling of uneasiness took pomession
of me. I was afraid of seeing him again—
not afraid of him, not afraid of his presence,
in which I did not believe, but afraid of a re-
neWed trouble of my eyes, afraid of the hal-
, lucinatien.
For more than an hour I wandered aim-
lessly up and down the streets; then, ashamed
of my weakness, finally entered the house. I
was breathing so hard that I could with diffi-
cultyniount the stairs. I halted again on the
landing outside my door, for more than ten
minutes. Then, in a burst of courage, I un~
loclml the door and dashed forward, candle
in hand, pushed the half open door with my
foot and cast a startled ' glance toward the
fireplace. I saw nothing.
‘What a relief 1 What joy! I’Vhat a deliv-
erance! I went and came about the rooms
with a jaunty air. But I did not feel reas-
sured. I turned with sudden starts; the
shadow in the corners disquieted me.
I slept ill, constantly wakened by imagin-
ary noises. But I did not see him. No. It
was ended!
Since that day I am afraid—alone at night.
I feel it there, near me, about me—the vision.
It has never appeared to me again. And
what does it matter, moreover, since I do not
believe in it, since I know that it is nothing?
It harasses me, though, for I think of it
unceasingly. A hand hanging down on the
right, the head leaning to the left, like that
of a man asleep. * ’1‘
name! I will think of it no longerl But
what is the meaning of this obsession? Why
this persistcncy?
lie haunts me—it is folly, but so it is. Who!
He! 1 know that he does not exist; that is
nothing! He exists only in my apprehension,
in my fear, in my anguish!
But I may reason with myself, upbraid my-
self, in vain.
alone, for he is there. I shall never see him
again, I know. He will not show himself'
again; that is ended.
But- he is there all the same, in my thoughts.
He remains invisible: that does not prevent
his being there.
He is behind the doors, in the closets, un-
der the bed, in every obscure corner, in every
shadow. If I turn the doors, if I open the
closets, if I throw the light under the bed, if
I illumine the corners, the shadows, he is no
longer there; but, then, I feel that he is be-
hind am. I turn, certain, however, that I
shall not see him, that I shall never see him
again. He is none the less behind me still.
It is foolish, but it is atrocious. What
would you? I can do nothing.
But if there were two of us, I feel, yes-l
feel certain that he would no longer be there.
. For he is there because I am alone—~solely
because I am ulone!—~Trauslated for The Ar-
gonaut from the French of Guy de Maupas—
sent by H. 'L'. It.
Au Aristocratic Canine.
“You mean dog collars,” said a New York
Press reporter to the omniscient society man.
”No, sir; I mean a dog ring. You see,
fashionable people who love their pets tired
of gold and silver and studded colars, so, after
much laborious brain searching, they hit upon
the idea of u. jeweled ring.”
“Isn't the ring liable to slip off the animal’s
leg when in action?"
"It isn’t for the leg. It's for the tail.”
“Don‘t you think their jewels will excite
' the cupidity of the dog stealers?”
“Undoubtedly; but you must remember
they will only be worn by animals who are
well able to take care of themselves.”
“Don’t you think that it would be an ex-
cellent idea if society people provided their
dogs with eyeglasses and toothpicks?” .
"I never gave the subject any thought."
“And with increasing civilization, culture
and refinement, oughtu’t society cats to be
provided with bracelets?”
“Really now, don‘t ask me such questions.
We men look after the dogs. The welfare
and adornment of the cats is a matter for
the consideration of the ladies.”
At first the reporter was inclined to believe
that his informant, who sucked most of his
knowledge from the head of his walking stick,
was lying with Munchausen-like aplomb. A
stroll up Fifth avenue, however, convinced
him that he had not been listening to an inno-
cent fiction. Within a quarter of an hour half
a. dozen riugtailed bulldogs were encountered.
Each of them waddlcd along with a proper
pride, and each of them was accompanied by
one or more of those vapid specimens of in-
cipient manhood known as dudes.
Discournging.
“Is this the road to Camden?” asked a gen-
tleman of a boy sitting on the doorstep of a
little house by the wayside.
“What!" asked the boy. .
A woman hastily appeared at the door and
said in a tone of sharp reproof :
“There you go again with your ‘what,’ Ira!
Why didn't you say ‘ma’am’ to the gentle-
man, as I’ve told you to time and ag’ini I
never can learn you mannersl”-Yonth'a
Companion.
* Enough, in God's I
I can no longer remain at home I
LIFE IN
THE TIMES AND SEASONS OF OUR
FELLOW PLANETS.
Searching the Possibilities of Existence on
Celestial Bodies Whose
Best Known to Us~-We
Stay Where “’0 Are.
Coneti tut firm 1:!
Shall Probably
I do not think that it is at all probable the.
a. man could exist even for five minutes on
any other planet or any other body in the
universe. We know that even within the
limits of our own earth each one of us has to
‘ be provided with a constitution appropriate
for a particular climate. An Esquimanx is
suitably placed in the Arctic regions, a. negro
on the equator, and were they to change
places it is hard to say whether the. heat
would not have killed the Esquimaux even
before the cold killed the negro. But such
an attempt at acclimatization would be easy
when compared with that which would be
required before an inhabitant adapted to one
globe could accommodate himself to a resi-
dence on another. Indeed, there seem to be
insuperable difficulties in supposing that
there can be any residence for man or for any
beings nearly resembling man elsewhere than
on his own cart-h.
rm: SUN IS TOO nor.
Let us begin with the sun. I think we
need not give many reasons; to show that a
man could not live there long. Eve' y boy
knows how a burning glass can kindle a piece
of paper by concentrating the sun’s rays.
Some great burning glasses have been con—
structed with which iron, steel and even
flints have actually melted by the sun’s heat.
It can be proved that the sun himself must-
be hotter than any temperature that can be
produced in the focus of the most pQWerful
burning glass. Assuredly there can be no
life on the sun.
The next celestial world to the sun in im~
portauce is, of course. the moon. Could we
find here an eligible abode for mankind! The,
moon would, no doubt, provide the necessary
alternation from day to night, but the day
on the moon would last for a fortnight, and
then there would be black night for another
fortnight. During the long day the moon
would be terribly scorched, a. circumstance
which would be hardly compensated for by
the fact that even if we survived the scorch—
ing we should certainly be frozen to death
during the ensuing night. But there would
be other insupcrable difficulties attending an
attempt to make an abode on the moon. The
absence of water is one of them, while a. still
more immediate trouble would arise from the
deficiency, if not total absence, of air suited
for respiration.
It is almost impossible for us to conceive
what an airless world would be like. Fishes
out of water would be not more uncomforta-
ble than we should find ourselves.
Let us now conmder some of the more dis- ’
taut worlds and examine their claims to be
regarded as possible homes for beings in any
degree resembling ourselves. There are many
of these worlds with regard to which we may
at once decide in the negative. Could we,
for instance, five on a planet like Neptune?
It lies thirty times as far from the sun as we I
do. The share of the light and heat from the
sun which a Neptunian inhabitant would re-
ceive could only be the nine-hundredth part
of the! which is dispersed to every dweller
on this earth. This fact alone would seem to
l show an iusuperahle obstacle to the existence
I
of any life on Neptune resembling those types
of life with which we are familiar. The 01'-
bit of Neptune is also so vast that the planet
requires a period of 1655 years in order to
complete a single revolution. The changes
of the Neptunian seasons, if indeed Neptune
can be said to have any seasons at all, must
therefore be extremely protracted. A man
who was born at midwinterin Neptune would .
have reached extreme old age if he survived 1
until the next ensuing midsummer.
JUPITER AND nuts.
The day and night on Jupiter are both ex:
tremely short, for together they do not quite
amount to ten hours. J upiter’s your, how-
ever, is almost twelve of our years. Although 2
a man on Jupiter would only receive one- i
twenty-fifth part of the heat of the sun that
he would do on the earth, yet it does notseem
likely that there would be reason to appre-
hend that Jupiter would be uninhabitable
from cold. Quite the contrary is the case. .
Indeed, it seems not unlikely that the excess ‘
sive heat of Jupiter would be found intolera—
ble by beings with nerves like ours. This heat- I,
has, however, not come from the sun. It is ;
the internal heat of the planet itself, which
has not sufficiently cooled down from that *
original fiery state in which every body of our
system seems to have had its origin.
, Jupiter certainly has an atmosphere, but
we do not know from what gases that at-
mosphere may be constituted. It might cou-
sist of materials noxious, if not actually
poisonous; and in any case it is extremely
unlikely that it should contain both the in-
gredients and the proportions suit-ed for our
respiration.
There is one body in our system whose
times and whose seasons accord so closely with
our own that it is impossible not to believe
that life of some kind may there be found.
The length of the day and the night together
on Mars is 24 hours 37 minutes. That is prac-
tically only about half an hour greater than
the corresponding period for our own globe.
The year of Mars is no doubt longer than
ours, being about a. your and eleven months.
The size of Mars is less than the size of our
earth, and, therefore, the gravitation on
Mars is not so great as we have here. I do
not mean to say that it is the least likely that
any man, woman or child transplanted from
this earth to Mars could live and thrive there.
The temperature might be oudurable, and
water appears to be not wanting, but Ido
not think we have any reason to expect that
the atmosphere would suit human beings
either in quantity or quality. Still the con-
ditions on Mars are so nearly parallel to
those we have that it seems reasonable to
think that the ruddy planet is a. suitable
home for some types of life.
Of the other planets, such as Venus, we
know too little to say anything with regard
to their times and seasons, while about the
countless worlds which depend upon those
other suns, the stars, we must be content not
to know anything whateve'r.—Robert S. Ball,
F. R. S., Astronomer Royal for Ireland, in
Philadelphia Times.
A Cabin Boy ‘71“: a. History.
William F. Cody, a cabin boy on the oyster
ship W'ater Lily, gave this story of his life in
a New York court, after pleading guilty to
a charge of theft: “I was christened by Buf-
falo Bill himself," he said, “and never knew
who my father and mother were. I was with
the Cheyenne Indians in Wyoming until I
was4 years old,when Bufialo Bill Cody found
me and brought me to New York. He put
me in charge of a friend of his, Stafford
Grafton, Who made me not as page in the ’
play of ‘Monte Cristo,’ of which he was man-
r. I traveled through England and
France with the company, and then came
back to this country and joined the navy.
After two years' service I deserted, but went .
back into the navy after a few months. Net |
long afterward I was discharged for incom-
petency, and then got a place on the Water
HUN—Philadelphia Hedger.
OTHER WORLDS. I
\
AN INCSUENT OF THE RAIL.
The Brave Act of an Engineer Who 39-
meuibered His Own Little Girl.
We went winding up the mountain's, our
massive engine drawing as up the curving
grades without an apparent effort.
crossed an iron bridge and made a curve, at
the end of which anoihc- was in sight, wind-
ing to the left, and a short distance from the
track a cottage home stood in the shadow of
the hills. Looking past it to a point just
beyond, which was visible from my sided
the engine, I saw—and I excitedly exclaimed.
“A child on the track!"
At the exclamation John sprang from his
seat. One glance down the track and his face
became pallid. A child—i} years old. per-
haps—stood midway between the rails and
not 100 yards from the engine. I looked from
John to the child. It stood facing us, clap-
ping its little hands as it was went todo
from its mother’s arms, perhaps, at the pass-
ing of the cars. In another instant I was
l
We had .
QU:
[I Is All I . \tury :. < .‘t ) .‘fl .3»;
l: Br ('i.
We our .. ' .-.~ tin to; ‘l ('UllVCl‘l--
ieures" undo. : tally unu. .ng what is
meanl by im "‘w'l’PSwIHll in - log rabnmf
two or rim-.- ramp a. modern in oniencr.‘ are
not Illl)|l;,ll: or it is n gl- .. uuul curler. as
far as ll()ll!~c‘l{t‘exllllg is ('nllrcl'mni. to cure for
I oneol i. = .4 housesihan it is «.t u larger house.
. There is noi so much of it. there caimoi be
- so ll:ll(‘ii work todo. Honrvm', il we take
, the general conditions whim apply to house-
thrown forward—almost pitching through ‘
the glass window in front. At the same mo-
ment I heard a scream, a woman’s voice, and
with arms aloft and face paralyzed with ter~
ror the mother stood upon the steps of her
cottage. We were nearer the child—it was
not twenty yards from the engine, which,
under the pressure of the air brake, was
bumping and jclting furiously. I looked for
John, his seat was vacant; again ahead; the
pilot was within twenty feet of the child, the
train still in motion, too rapidly to be check-
ed before rearhing it! I shut my eyes, my
heart stood still. Again the mother’s heart
reading scream, and I opened my eyes to see
the child tossed several feet in the air. My
head swam as I averted my eyes, and I fan-
cied I heard the crushing of the little form
by the now slowly revolving wheels, when in
husky tones I heard a. man’s voice utter:
“Thank God!”
I opened my eyes, and standing upon the
pilot was John Akers, holding in his arms
the child, its face wreathed in smiles. The
engine was now at a standstill. From the
cottage the father came with blanched face
and trembling steps. The child in merry
accent called out, “Want to ride, papa?”
He took his baby from John Akers’ extended
keeping in the log cabin and iheronVcnicnres
which are attached thereto, and apply (hum
to an eight or ten room house, we find a
change, The work of caring for this house is
slavish. Modern conveniences are the rom-
pensnting details which are applied toa larger
house and which undertake to reduce the
labor ()1 housekeepiig to that which ap—
proaches the work to be done In a smaller
house. But they do not accomplish this.
Modern conveniences merely make it possible
to live in a larger house and do the work con—
, nected With it with an ordinary expenditure
hands, and, folding her in his arms, sank ,
down on the earth beside the track.
John clambered back to his perch, and
sounded the whistle. The passengers looked
out of the window, wondering what had oc-
curred. A trembling hand drew the lever,
which started the engine, pufllng and hissing
until it was going at full speed again. I
looked toward John—his blue eyes were on
the track ahead, but they were dimmed.
Tears were on his cheeks, as be perhaps
thought of what would have been his feelings
if his own little girl had been the one on the
track. Not a word did either of us speak
until at Christianburg, on the top of the
Alleghanics, 2,000 feet above the level, the
train stopped. As I started to leave the en-
gine, I turned and grasped John‘s hand.
of money and energy. Generally speaking
the saving of money is accomplished. For
the most part, however, little surplus energy
remains.
r «r -: , .
irritant . . w “"=_9:.
Mum”!!!VI'IIIQFIIIIII"WUL _ ..—
} ‘ -:w-"'“ I; ‘3?
VIEW.
In the old house we had two fires: in the
large one we have five or six, unless we have
a furnace. Hence, the furnace is a modern
convenience, a labor saving device. in the
small house we had only to carry water to
the kitchen. A wash bowl and pitcher in a
bedroom was unusual. There was little wa-
. w~~~td~ -
ter to be carried. When one had (tension to .
use the wash pan he was supposed to empty
the water himself. In the large house, with-
out the modern conveniences there would be
a wash bowl and pitcher and slop jar in each
of the bedrooms. Hence, a great deal of
water to be carried to and from these rooms.
’ Plumbing apparatus with hot and cold water
supplied to the kitchen, one or more station-
ary wash stands on the second floor, a water ‘
closet and bath tub in bathroom will par—
tially compensate for the added labor of
housekeeping in a larger house
In the three room house the kitchen, china
closet, pantry, dining room, sitting room,
were all in one: not infrequently there. was
no cellar. A parlor was not thoughtol' in
connection with that house. The require—
: merits of modern living cell fora separate
“You did a brave thing, John—a noble ;
act.”
“ Twas the air brake,” he modestly and
blushiugly replied; “ ’twas the air brake that
did it!”—-—Philadelphia Item.
Fiercer Than Beasts.
No, we will not go squirrel hunting this
year. we have been reflecting on the mat-
tor and have concluded that the destruction
of happy, innocent lives should not be re-
garded as sport. The little hearts that beat
beneath the velvet coats of the gay and frisky
denizens of the forest are just as susceptible
to joy and pain and terror as those that throb
within our own breasts. They are all God’s
creatures, and have a right to life, liberty
and the pursuit of happiness. How few of
us think of the tens of thousands of animals
that must die daily that man may live. Man,
the arch devourer, the murderous and re—
morseless tyrant.
“The whole earth labors and is in violence
because of his cruelties, and from the amphi-
theatre of sentiment nature there sounds in
fancy’s ear the bloat of one wide and universal
suflering—a dreadful homage to the power of
nature’s constituted lords.” Man is pro-emi-
nent among the fiercest animals of prey.
Not content With satisfying his luxurious
appetite, this most ferocious, ingenious and
implacable of the carnivore, who revels in.
flesh and blood with gluttonless glee, also
i makes a. sport of the destruction of life.
When he wants a day off—a day of pleasure
and recreation—he goes forth to the woods,
and, with the eager fierceness of the hyena,
watches for his prey.
The savage beasts of the jungle only de-
stroy life when hunger or fear drives them
' to it, but man, the image of his maker, kills
for sport—for the mere gratification it affords
him to take life. If animals have souls,.as
many good and wise men believe, what must
the departed spirits of the slaughtered hosts
think of the proud princes of creation who
stalk rampant amid the blood and groan:
and agony of their fellow creatures. —Punxsu-
tawney (Pa) Spirit.
Bits of Wisdom.
IIomely people make the best friends.
The more wealth a man has the louder his
children talk.
No girl likes to be seen carrying a corset-
box on the street.
A loafer has no right that a busy man is
bound to respect.
When a man sees a door marked “Private”
he wants to open it.
You can’t realize how few dollars there are
in a $5 bill until you break it.
When you see some children you at once
begin to doubt the good sense of their
parents.
Carry a. dollar and a nickel in a. pocket with
a hole in it and you will lose the dollar and
save the nickel.
The beauty of having children in the house
is that whenever you want small change you
can always find it in the children‘s bank.
A woman believes that there is nothing
that the Lord will forgive more readily than
the sewing of a button on an angry husband‘s
shirt Sunday.
We feel sorry for a boy. To be a. boy of
14 or 15 means to be the occupant of the
worst old lumber room in the house. If there
is any money spent on decoration it is in the
girl’s room, because the girls are supposed to
like pretty things and boys are “rough.” The
average boy carries a feeling of neglect away
down in his heart, and this feeling often re-
sults in bad boys;—Atchison Globe.
Green Haired Men in Nevada.
There is a curious effect wrought on the
hair and heard of men engaged in the Martin
White mine at Ward. The ore is roasted,
but no disagreeable perfumes arise from the
heating process, yet there is some unknown
substance that changes the hair, beard and
eyebrows as green as grass. The hair is not
injured, but retains its softness and gloss. It
is probable that fumes of the green tint of
copper contained in the ore change the hair
to that color. -—Virginia City Chronicle.
A Gifted Liar.
Stern Parent—So you love my daughter!
Would-be Son-in—law—I love her better
than my own life.
“That will do. You will not get her. I
am something of a liar myself, and one good
liar in a family is enough. I don’t care to
have any competition-Texas Siftings.
‘ can be no cmnpremise.
apartment for each of the rooms named. In
the matter of sweeping and dusting there
In the kitchen we
have hot and cold water more convenient
than in the smaller house; we have tables,
sinks and drain boards; and while they af-
ford advantages in preparing the feed. «3511- "
ing and caring for dishes and utensils, it is
true that these conveniences require acer—
tain amount of care to keep them clean. The
closets of other rooms and the gas for light-
ing in lieu of lamps and candles are conven—
iences which are supposed to make. the ln- ,
her of living in a larger house measurably 3
commensurate with that of the smaller one.
However, the added number of rooms, the
larger amount of surface to be cared for in
sweeping, dusting and in other ways which
belong to the larger house cannot be com-
pensated for by the addition of modern con-
veniences so as .to make the labor of house—
keeping in the larger house compare with
that of the smaller one. While there is added
comfort and luxury there is added work, even
with compensating conditions of labor saving
devices.
.
l
.
The plan which is here presented is of a one
story house. It is suited to the requirements
of a small family. There is In hall in the cen—
ter, a. small library at one side with a door
closing it from the hall, a sitting room on the
right separated from the ball by turned spin-
dle work at one side of and above an opening,
all of which is backed up by portieres. There
is a grate in the reception hall, library and
parlor.
All of the rooms are heated bya .
furnace. The bathroom is accessible from '
the hall and the principal chamber.
The kitchen is modern in its arrangements;
is provided with the usual equipment of
tables, sink and drainboard. There is a pan-
t 'y and passage between kitchen and dining
room, with a. place for refrigerator and
dough board therein, and slide connections
with the china closet and dining room. In 3
the high part of roof the girl’s room is pro-
vided. By a change in the china closet a com-
bination stairway could be arranged which
would afford passageway from the dining
room as well as from the kitchen to an added
number of sleeping rooms above. It .would
require some change in the general stair ar-
rangement, but altogether would be feasi-
ble.
w"l
L'L'n‘md
”6m
FLOOR PLAN.
If it were desirable the library could be
used as a chamber. There would still re-
main the reception hall and sitting room for
general use. Again, the bathroom might be
placed on the second floor and a stairway ar-
ranged in the place now occupied by the bath-
room. and four or five bedrooms added to
the second story by making it a full two
story house.
The elevation of this house shows it asa.
one story building with all of the walls cov-
ered with stained shingles, though it may be
constructedI of any material by making slight
changes in the design.
The cost of this house without plumbing,
gas fixtures, mantels, furnace, fences, walks
and sheds would be about $2,100. This con-
templatu hard wood finish fox-the rooms on
the first floor. Loom H. Gases.
“ The Old Oaken Bucket,
The Iron-bound Bucket,
The Moss-covered Bucket."
i very likely the one that has conveyed poi-
Ions to your s'stem from some old well
whose waters ave become contaminated
from sewers, vaults, or percolations from the
sod. To eradicate these poisons from the
system and save yourself a. spell of malarial,
typhode or bilious fever, and to keep the
liver, kidneysIand lungs in a healthy and
Vigorous condition, use Dr. Pierce’s Golden
Medical Discovery. It arouses all the ex-
Ieretory organs into activity. thereby deans-
mg and purifying the system, freeing it from
all manner of blood-poisons, no matter from
what cause they have arisen. All diseases
originating from a torpid or deranged liver
or from impure bl yield to its wonderfui
curative roperties. t regulates the stem—
ach and wels, promotes the a petite and
digestion, and cures D epepsia, “ iver Com-
lmnt," and Chronic iarrbea. Salt-rheum.
etter. Eczema, Erysipelas. Scrofuloua Sores
and Swellings, Enlarged Giant and Tumors
disa pear under its use.
“ olden Medical Disoove " is the only
blood and liver medicine, 30 by druggista.
hinder a. positive guarantee of its bene-
tiny.r or curing in every case. or money paid
for it will be promptly returned.
Copyright, I”. by WW8 018- MED. Ass’l‘l‘.
will i. PLEAsA T,
And agreeable , ,.,- N ‘ .
smoke from Hart to . .
finish. is our ruinous _
cigar now know" {is
Sleepers Eye
All den}:
1 nc. catch .
“‘8.
S. P}. SLEEPER 6; 1'0"
Factory. Baotou .
Else-j )' ‘ .' I
‘92. 5 I
f: 555 1" I
Dougie Wagons,
Single Wagons,
Road farts.
Horse Carts,
Coal,
Wood.
Grain.
Flour.
Hay,
Straw
~—~A. .N I) -—
Building; lllfeterial,
Etc Etc.
5' I
fill .,
South Norwalk.
For Sale at a. Sacrifice.
Will be >(lI(I il'upplicd for won,
Tiifsl ROOM COTTAGIET.
within five minutes walk of the
bridge, with never failing well of
excellent water, and a. cistern
holding three hundred hogs-
heads, for laundry purposes
all modern improvements
conveniences, etc. Cost
owner $8,000, and
will be sold for
$5,000 with only
$1,500 ’down.
to satisfac-
tory party.
1m33 Enquireat GAZETTE Omen.
PORTRAI'TS
-——lN———
OIL. PASTEL OR CRAYON
Elegant work, at lowest Prices, by
E. T. WHITNEY. '
Formerly of Norwalk. Leave orders at Art De-
partment of BOSTON STORE, 25! Floor, Nor-
walk, Conn. 88
large Office Room in Rem.
IN GAznrrn Building. second floor front
formerly editorial rooms of the anm
Enquire of
CHAS.{0LHSTEAD. Norwalk.
Norwalk Chronicler