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fVASK. r •m raunuim STORT. ? Vtaafa m • wwIM •WBM, an* ran on No. 9; Ha* much stable wnnan an average hone to m«; ' Motional in hi* methods--strong in love an hates: Kot very much respected, or popular 'mongvt Msmatm} f Boll MI' moody •«' Mhmj on "off" an* <PJIET „ day#; ,• ;|jTull of tnrhlcnt aour looks, an' femaU saroaflUo »" f ^Scowled an' bit at his partner, an-' banged the , stable floor-- « r - o t h e r ( r i o k a i n b e a d e d t o d t t i p t t t o U f a a 7> ** • ,Knre- " - ]Bnt when, be't day or niffht time, he heard the alarm-bell rine, •t M* He'd rt* ̂ <"or his place in the harness with a regular tifrcr spring; •s , Am' watch with nervous shivers the clasp of * - ' * buckle an' band, j* > I,;<» It was plainly er'dent h#8 ltk» to lend a <•' i An'when the word was gtveo, away he wonld k ' rush an' tew, | f « Aeif a thonRan' witches was nunpUn' tip his f hatr, % - , Ait wake his mate up cracy with its magnetio | charm; !'f / •, SFor every hoof-beat sounded a regular Are HI alarm! : JNever a horse a jodkey wonld worship an' ad- mire ILike FUsh in front of his engine, a-racln' with a .̂JNever a horse so laiy, ao dawdlln', an' so slack jAiCf CT <» .llvtW OV Ow UftnUIUI ) Ml W IM1 Aa Flash upon his return'trip, a-drawin' engine back. IKow, When the different hones gets tender* footed an' old They ain't no use in our business; so Flash was finally sold v,( «To quite a respectable milkman; who found it not ao fine ii ili-boesin' of God's creatures outside o' their fareg'lar line. lBee«»s as if I eonld see Flash a-mopin*itong here now, « f ̂. that he was simply assistant to a oow: sometimes he'd imagine he heard the alarm- bell's- diti, :.l&n1 jump an' rear for a minute before they could ,4 , hold hina in; ;:An' once, in spite o'his master, he strolled to MK";--. "monjrst ns chaps, ' *Fo tallt with the other hors '̂W former fires, 1 A|: perhaps; ,s ."Whereat the milkman kicked him; wherefar, as bovB to please. -M<He bewted that horse's pardon upon his bended , V. knoes. jBut toe day, for a big fine as we was matin' a dash, 5if ^4A xf t he horses we bad on somewhat resem- ; blin' Flash, Yellin' an' rincin' an' rnshin', with excellent •' ̂ lisiL ,yoice s*n" heart, >. passed the poor old fellow, a-tuggin away , < at his cart If ever I see an old horse grow upwards into a Sgi, - new, * If ever I Me a driver whose traps behind hixn , > flew, ' *Twaa that old horse, a rompin'an' rapftip'down •z&jj the track, i"? /•.. • -An*that respectful# milkman,a-tryin'to bold Si him back.""*1 •.. ' ""Away he dashed like a cyclone for the head of 4ti No. 8. 0ained the lead,an' kept it, an' steered his jonr- '•ssiti. ncv free: , %®odgli»' the wheels an' horses, an still on the keenest- "silk," „ An' furnishin' all tliat district with good re­ sectable milk. V ' • - N Crowds h-Vellin* an' rnnnin', and vainly holler- '•1^* to', "Whoa!" Milkman braoin' an' sawin', with never a bit of show; .Firemen lautrhin* an' chncklin', and hollerin*, • "Good? «roin!" ^®oes p-ccttin' down to it, an' sweeptn* along like sin. f Finally oome (where Uie fixe was, halted with ia " l i r a t t . 1 * : ' . • ' • * • • " ' • • 4 ' jy __^eBt the respectable milkman heels over head in TVatchert till he see the engine properly worktn' . .8. thert^- After v hich he relinquished all interest in the IM. atfair. • .• sn' wilted atod dawdled--faded away onoe „ more; ' Took up his old-aecupatton of votin' life a bore; 'J JLaid dtffra ffz TiH harness, andr-sorry I am to of i*Ti»e miitman J»e had drawn there drew bis dead -at i i. bo«y away, ffhat's the whole'o' my story: Tve seen, more'n oaoe or twice, *9%at iMjor dumb animal's actions are full • lujr.ian advice: , , * if you ask ivhat Flash tanstht, I simply an­ swer yon, then, ---.L,. . jsoor old hrtfgg Itfrent men. H7/' Carleton, in Harper's Mtmuiue. '•5* THE SMALL BOY'S STORY. f .It all e^me of my having a railway . ^ TTfcey aud oeing made to take music les­ sons. Thompaon gave me the key when he r v>m's6B leafring last term. I don't know «ame "by it, or what good it was . t» liira. as he never saw a train except iwhen he weat, home for the holidays; tout lie was always talking of the con- , •? ®*vertienee of paving such a thing when / you were traveling, and hinting at the ĵSny-stenons penalties the companv might . - $£nflict if Jiliey caught yon using it. : §,i He gave it to me in exchange for a 1-: *«bit of Letty's hair (she's my sister, and Thompson waB dreadfully in love with \ Tier ,i and a scrap of the bonnet trim- ;) gibing ghe woTe in chnrch. I stole that, ;Mbnt had to ask her for the hair, and she gg£ brought out a whole bundle and said I : fjjmigfet trade away the lot if I chose, jfc * ,j4* Hair wasn't worn much now." I? 4i M-psic was another tiling altogether. i:,.i Herr Otto Finlie was an old friend of into the middle seat opposite, where I safe, scared <*nd speechless, till I caught the eyes of the lady 'next to him fixed on me. , Ugh! such a had old face! A tight, cruel month, with all sorts of coil-lines about it, and wicked, sharp, gray eyes that screwed into one like gimlets. I didn't care much for Redface by this time. I didn't believe he would "twist my neck and chuck me out of the win­ dow," as he suggested; but I hated her all over at Once, from her sausage-curls --grizzly-gray, two on each side--to her hooked' claws of fingers that were tVit-ching away at her knitting-needles, in and out of a big gray stocking. "Hush, Sammy," she said quite sweet­ ly : "the poor child means no harm, and he can easilv get out at the next station. "Where are you going to, love?" I could only gape in reply, and she must have thought I was a softy, for she twisted my ticket clean out of my hand before I knew what she was after. "Mosslands. Very good. That's the next station. Til see him safe out, Sammy dear." Sammy growled an inarticulate re­ sponse from under his rugs. The third passenger had neither spoken nor stirred. She sat on the same side as the other two, covered with a big plaid rug and a blue woolen veil j tied over her head. I could make noth- i ing out except that she seemed asleep j in a very uncomfortable attitude. J I sat in the middle opposite the old | woman. It was so disagreeable, finding j her sharp eyes on me while her needles j clicked on just the same, that I thought I might as well pretend to go to sleep, J too. So I curled myself up and gave ! one or two nods, and then dropped my { face on my arm so that she couldn't see 1 i t . - ; . " v \ • ' | Presently I heard the needles go i slower and slower. I peeped and saw j the big bonnet and sausage curls give a lurch forward and then backward, once, twice; then a big snore; and then she was off, too. 1 didn't stir for a minute,' for I saw that "Sammy" wias up to something. He leant forward and peered at her to make sure she was asleep; then cautiously groped in the seat beside her and hauled up a little black bag. He opened it softly, drew out a silver-topped flash and closed it just as a jerk °f ^e train roused the old lady. Sammy dived back into his corner, and she sat bolt upright, rubbed her eyes hard, felt suspiciously about till. she found the bag, stowed it way behind her and resumed her knitting. Only a few moments, though. With a weary groan she let stockings, needles and all go dOwn with a run and dropped back sounder asleep than before. Then from Sammy's corner came a gurgle--soft and low--many times re­ peated, then all was quiet. Now was my time. I began to look about and think what I should do first. Whether I dared get up on the seat and see how the communication with the guard worked, and what would happen if I pulled it. If the train did stop I j could make off or say it was Sammy, j He was half tipsy now and people wouldn't believe him. First of all I i went to the window to look out a little, i It was pitch dark outside, and all I j could see was the reflection of the i carriage and of the lady in the blue j woolen veil. She was sitting up now j and looking intently at me. What an ] uncomfortable set they were, "to be j sure. « " ~ | • I looked round at her directly. She } was very young--younger than Letty, i and siie's just 17, and not pretty--but So thin and frightened looking that I felt quite unhappy about her. ~ " Oh, my bones and body I" she groaned, presently. "Oh, what a time it has been! Sammy l" . No answer. ^ , "Sammy!" She was up again tmd I think she hauled him tip and shook him, for something fell with a crash, like a broken bottle. "You idiot!" she screamed. "When you want all the brains you've got, and more too! To play me this trick! Serve you right if I get out and leave you at the next station--ugh!" It sounded as if she were banging his head against the carriage. That and the fresh air seemed to rouse him. He got up and put his head out of the win­ dow for a short time, and then replied slowly arid impressively: - "Now, look here, old woman. None of your nonsense. When he's wanted, Samuel Nixon is all there. And no man alive can say he isn't," he went on sol­ emnly, holding on to one word till he was sure of the next. "As to this busi­ ness, I nsk you--is it mine or is it yours ? Now, then ?" "Yours, I should think; as it's your wife who is giving us all this trouble. I wish I'd left you to fight it out your­ selves." "Stop that," said Sammy, who was talking himself sober, and, consequent­ ly, savage. "Ill not have it put upon me. , I didn't want to marry her; that was your doing, and I don't want to make away with her; that's, your doing, and, if it's a hanging matter, I am not the one to hang for it." "Heaven forgive you, Sammy," said the old " woman, evidently horribly scared." "Don't you talk in that way to your poor old mother--don't. If the poor creature was in her right mind she'd be the first to say her old nurse was her l>est friend--the only one she had in the world when her pa died and left her." Here she sniffled a little. Sammy gave a sort of derisive growl. "And as to her marrying you, it stood to reason she must marry some­ body, sometime, left all alone in the world -vtfth her good looks and her fortune; and why not my handsome son ? It was luck for you, Sammy, though you tuwi against me now. There you were, just come home from foreign parts, without a halfpenny. in your pocket or a notion where to turn to find one; and there was she without a rela­ tion or friend to interfere with you--as a baby--not a creature to stop her do­ ing as she chose with herself and her money., It would have been a sin and a shame to lose such a chance! Of course, I wanted to see my handsome lad as good a gentleman as the best of them." The old woman seemed ttf be talking on and on purposely, like tell­ ing a rigmarole to a child to keep it quiet. •! Sammv growled again in a milder tone. "Oh, yes. Spy it .was mv fault, do! You can talk black white when it pleases you." "It was yotrr fault, Sammy. You might have iived happy and peaceably if you'd chosen. Haven't I been on my bended knees to beg you to let her alone when you was treating her that shamefully that the whole country-side was ringing with it ? You know it and others know it. And I can tell you what, Mr. Samuel Nixon, if she'd been found dead in her bed, as I expected every morning of my life to hear, there wasn't a servant in the place that wouldn't have spoken up before the Coroner--and glad to do it. Who'd have swung for it, then, I'd like to know?" The brute was mastered. I heard |l^Mtar'ft#and lived at Luckborp', ojqr lownv_y ' ' ' T" '• He took a fancy to . me--bother hin^, » 5 arid ac.tuatly persuaded my father and j mother to let me come over to Lmek- * iJ3*nro' market-day, with my father, »|^>r ft Jftsaon in German and music. I y didn't; mind dining with him first <un- » • queer messes we had, and ; J lots'of jam'witli them)--but the music ^ wag t-iiiiply disgusting--(in the holidays, j |k^OO i,kr-r-^<Mhe lessons generally ended ,! V.Y rmke to the piano himself j .and warMing sci^gsjjf his Vaterland by litheliour. He duTso once too often, I tlw>Tj i^h--and now I • have got to my Utory. '»• ; ft*' 'V»> 'rt*ed to' corfte and fo between rT^'Slosslifttds and t„uckboro* Trr omnibus. ;•>; There, yas a Mosslands station on the line between Luckboro' and London, N* kut my father never went by it if he » * «ould help it. When he did, though I -S t^d thte key with me, I never dare use it, and began to think I had made a bad bargain with Thompson. Tuesday, however, last winter, ' got so carried away by his own singing that he kept* on , long I ought to h#ve started to meet t|ifer, and then got so remorseful ['thought he was going to cry, or perhaps want torkeep me all night _ - "i^k here," I said, "it doesn't mat- jy »ter:" There's a train that getq in as soon ,.v. ( as, thfti T)na. I toan catch' it if I run-- E Oood by!" And off I scudded, one p|; inland .OM arm out of my top coat, for I was sui-e he'd Obje< Object or want to off. I had money, and there kin, which, came up long before sen air I -wanted about the sta- aee me was A ti I hid 1 ; ti0U. i I made a dash at a carriage. It wasn't , locked, as I half hoped it might be, and " ia I .scrambled, but was nearly blown out again by a volley of the -strongest • language I ever did' hear. The train ( started and jerked me down into a seat - before I'd time to get my breath. I was liot used to bad expressions, and my fellow-traveler's remarks made my *' bkx*l run coid. There were ladies in the carriage, but ne didn't seem to mind that. He had a red, scowling face, with heavy red eye- T aiu^ bloodshot eyes. All the rest a mass-of railway rugs and wraps. I had tumbled over his toes She fixed her big bright eyes on me and put up her,finger. "Don't speak," she said in a clear whisper. "Keep looking out of the window. Can you hear what I am saying ?" I nodded and she went on, looking now at me and now at the old woman. "If they get me to London I am a dead woman. You are my last chance. Will you help me?" I nodded very hard indeed, fend looked at the communication with the guard. She shook her head. ' "No, tji'at's no good. I m\i'st get a^ray at the next station. He is safe. Can you stop her from following me?" I didn't believe I could. I might have thrown, a rug over Sammy, and -at on Irim for a minute or two;" but that old woman was too much for me. I felt that .directly she woke she'd see what I was thinking of, and strangle me before I could stir. The precious minutes were flying--the miles were hurrying past ns in the outsiofte gloom --the girl s big wofrtl eyes were fixed on me in desperate appeal. ' •,"" "' "I have friends that will save me if I cun but get to them," she panted. "Just J one minute's chance--only one--* j All at once I had an idea. A splen­ did one! "Look at this," I whispered, j and held irp my railway key. "If" I I open this door, dare yoti get out? You | can hold outside till the trim stops, j Bun straight across the down line. • There's only a gap and a Hedge on the ! top. Lots of gaps in it nearer '.he sta- j tion. There you are on the Luck- borough road. Do you hear ?" I I was quite hot and out of breath whispering all this as plain as I could. She caught every word as fast as I; could think it almost. * What with the feelings of my ow* .cleverness; hatred of that nasty old woman and delight in spiting her, and pity for the poor girl, I felt as l«rave as any fellow, however big, could do, aud full of ideas as well, r, " Give me that," I said, pointing to her blue veil; "Tliey won't see you're gone if I sit here with it over my head.,'V " Oh, no, no! They'll kill you." "Not they! They can't interfere with Jne_" (I declare I felt as if I could fight Sariimy and a dozen old ladies just then.) "Quick! now or never." I tied the veil over my head and lowered the window as softly as possible. .There was no time to lose for the train was slack­ ening speed even then. I unlocked the door.; She gave me one look that made me feel braver than ever, and inclined to cry, ppth at once; and in a second she was out "on the step. The train stopped. I saw her skirt flutter in the stream of light that fell from our open carriage door across the down line of uim auuiumg then, in a maudlin whimper: "It was drink, nothing else, and her aggravat­ ing, whining ways. Don't be hard on me. old woman, I'm sure I've given in handsome to all your plans." "Because you couldn't help yourself --you fool. Now you see what it is to have yohr poor old mother to turn to. Your wife may talk as much as she pleases now. Who'll believe her when we've got it written down by two grand London, doctors that she'a as mad as j mad can be? "Who's to mind her talk, I or any one else's? Aren't we taking her | up to London just for the good of her i health, to a nice safe place where she ! will get well looked after and kept from getting herself and other folks into anv more trouble; and then you and me will go back, Sammy, arid live as happy and comfortable as you please." "They will treat her like a lady--eh, mother?" . , - * "Of course they will; a beautiful place, and the best of living. Bless ! you, shell be. as happy as the day is i long. It does you credit being so ten­ der-hearted, Sammy. I knew you | couldn't abide seeing her storming and | raving as she did that night, so i I just gave her a little sup i of something before we started, | and you see she's been sleeping like j a baby ever since. And the gen- ! j tleman--where she's going you know l --he gave me this bottle; and when j we get to London I've just to give her ! a whiff of it on a handkerchief, and off I she goes as quiet as a lamb. No screams j or tantrums this time; and he and hid ; nurses will be on the look-out for us ] with his carriage, and before sKe know^ it there she'll be as snug as you please." This was awful! > What should I do? Were we ever going to stop ? Was there^&nother sta­ tion before London ? 'Should I be drugged, dragged off and made away with! I knew if they found me it was all over with me. The pattern of the blue Shetland veil danced before my eyes---the noise of the train was as the sound of the roar of artillery in my e&rs. I sat up, ready for a spring and a struggle. ~ . J ^ • A jerk! Another! A stop, and the door flung open] ° ? f Tickets, please." - t . • • I made one plunge. I flung the rug clean over the old woman, dashed my arm into Sammy's face, and tumbled headlong out into the arms of the as­ tonished ticket collector. I felt him clutch me, and then the ground rose up, or I went down--down--into an unfath­ omable depth of blackness! "Hullo! old fellow. Better now?" were the first words I heard. Thomp­ son's voice! There he was with a glass Letty burning the bltie Shetland veil. I've had tto more music lessons since, that's one good thing. The railVWf Oh, I left that sticking in th® door. That's aJX^The Arfesy. " - ^ lyfrfro What the Pb îdiM #f the Fatnre Unit Physiology especially has developed during the last fifty years, so that it has almost become a science- by itself, but it still remains a part of" the wider science of biology. Here again we see a difference between the studies of the ancient and modern physician. Today, and still more in the near future, the physician must extend his studies be­ yond man, and the reason is plain. Man, with whom alone the physician former­ ly supposed himself concerned, is but an isolated being disconnected from the rest of nature. Nature tolerates no such isolation! No living being, even the simplest, exists, independently of other things. It affects them and is affected by them, and what is true of the simplest is yet more true of the more complex, and most of all of man. Nature is one, and all her creatures are parts of the whole. For this rea­ son man cannot be fully known merely as man, he must also be known as a part of the animal kingdom. No one call well understand human anatomy or physiology who knd#s nothing of that of the lower animals. Comparative anatomy and physiology have thrown much light upon many obscure pror blems to which the study of man gave rise. Therefore, I would most earnest­ ly urge upon all medical men the study ' of biology. It may be replied that the courses are now crowded, but it is cer­ tain that the successful physician of the future must know something of nature as a whole. Already many of our most important theories as to disease--the structure of organs, cell-growth, cell- life, and many more--have come to medicifie from biology. In an address before the International Medical Con­ gress held in London in August, 1881, Professor Huxley remarks that "the search for the explanation of diseased states in modified cell-life, the discove­ ry of the important part played by parasitic organisms in the etiology of disease, the elucidation of the action of medicaments by the methods of experi­ mental physiology, appear to me to be the greatest steps which have ever been made toward the establishment of medi­ cine on a scientific basis. I need hard­ ly say, they could not have been made except for the advance of normal biolo­ gy. There can be no doubt that the future of pathology, of therapeutics, and therefore of practical medicine, de­ pends on the extent to which those who occupy themselves with these subjects are trained in the methods and impreg­ nated with the fundamental truths of biology. And I venture to suggest that the collective sagacity of this con­ gress could occupy itself with no more important question than this: "How is medical education to be arranged, so that,fwithout entangling the student in those details of the systematist which are valueless to him, he may be enabled to obtain a first grasp of the great truths respecting animal and vegetable life without which, notwithstanding all the progress "of scientific medicine, he will still find himself an empiric?"-- Popular Science Mon thly. Yellowstone Park. The Yellowstone Park embraces about 3,660 Square miles, or rather nfore 'than the total areas of Rhode Island apd Delawaw>togptb«»r. .Tt lifts in three territories, the greater part being in "Wyoming territory and the remainder partly in Montana and partly in Idaho. It is all reserved from settlement for the purpose of a National park. It is one of the most wonderful regions of the globe, full of magnificent mountain, valley, and forest scenery. Mineral springs abound in every part of it, some of them in the form of geysers spouting water into the air in columns of from 35 to 250 feet or more, and emitting gas and #team with strange noises that echo among the wonderfully colored cliffs in all varieties of sound, from that of faint music to that of a cannon peal. It was feared that if this region was left open to settlement under the same laws as the rest of the public domain, its choicest portions would be selfishly appropriated by speculators, and these impressive exhibitions of nature's won­ ders would be shut in as private parks, accessible to the public only on pay­ ment of such fees as the owners might dictate. At the present rate of railroad construction this park will soon be ac­ cessible. It is now in charge of a su­ perintendent, and a telegram received from Washington since the above was written says the Secretary of the Inte­ rior is about to sign a lease for ten years of a portion of this park to a company which proposes to build ho­ tels, supply guides, transportation and telegraph facilities, at fates to he ap­ proved by tlie Secretary. THE FAMILY DOCTOR. rails, and that was all, and I was hud- | °f water in his hand, stooping over me. died down under the big plaid rug with the old woman wide awake standing qver me. »' "Drat the boy. Sammy, call the port- cr; h^s got out at the wrong side." "C ili-un-yre-self," answred^ammv, all iu one word. • - She pulled the dOor to and tramped back to her seat, taking no more notice of me than if I had been a cushion of the carriage. "It don't matter if he has broken his neck, either," she muttered, "perhaps we'd better make-no fuss." The train was Off again. I dared not jump up while she was in the Wav, and thought I must4pk©my chance at the I next station. ' *" ' Thompson's mother was kneeling beside me, cuddling me up against her nice soft sealskin. I was on the waiting- room sofa, and about a dozen people were all standing around. Thompson went an l telegraphed home I was safe, and then he and his mother took me to the house in London where they were staying. I can't remember much after that. I Was ill for many weeks, I believe. I tried to tell people what had happened, but no one would listen. They try, •even now, to ms*ke me believe I dreamed it in my illness I've got it told now through, and every word of it Is solemn truth. Beside/didn't I see and smell John Bright. John Bright, the great English states­ man, born in 1811, entered public life in 1839, when in. the interest of the labor­ ing classes he joined the Anti-corn Law Association, just formed in Manchester, and beff&n the struggle against the enormous duty on corn, which ended in the repeal of the obnoxious corn laws in 1849. In 1854 he aided in sending a de­ putation of Friends to dissuade the Czar from making war against Turkey, and three years later he opposed the English war in China. He negotiated the commercial treaty with France in 1860. His name has been associated with Mr. Gladstone's in the Irish re­ forms, and hip efforts had .much to do with the extension of tfie franchise. When Mr. Gladstone' became Prime Minister, in 1868, Mr. Bright was ap­ pointed President of the Board of Trade, being the first Quaker who ever be­ longed to an English Cabinet. He still retains his seat in Parliament, which he entered first in 1843, though failing health prevents him from taking such an active part as formerly. He is con­ sidered one of the few eloquent states­ men who have entered Parliament du­ ring the past forty years, and in all his public life has been noted for his un­ swerving adherence to principle and his equity. . ? The Melodious Hand Organ. The poet Grillpazger says of Vienna: "Happy the young man of artistic en­ dowments who can live in Vienna. His imagination will here receive food and stimulents in the life of the people and every possible way; but the ripening man l>elongs to the more stable North. The air of Vienna is too balmy, the women too beautiful, and Strauss's ftiusic warms the blood too much. We lack the dot on the 'i* in all our serious work, oft, perhaps, because a hand- organ is just playing otuf favbrite mel­ o d y o n t h e s t r e e t . " ' v . ' ONE USE or THm LIVKB.--The liver is one grand filter of the body. All of the blood which passes from the smaller intestines passes through it, that it may be filtered, deprived of its grosser im­ purities, called bile--as one means of avoiding harm to the lungs, the great mission of which is to purify the blood. This bile is passes into the duodenum at an angle to indicate that its course is Onward and not into the stomach, where it comes onlv by accident, as an in­ truder. In tlie bowels it serves the val­ uable service of "nature's physic"--all that is ever needed, in health, when the liver does its duty. The bile never "overflows into the blood," but the liver may fail to filter out its impurities, when a sallow look will show that the blood remains impure, from this cause. SALT FOB THE THROAT.--In these dayi when diseases of the throat are so uni­ versally prevalent, and in so many cases fatal, remarks an exchange, we feel it our duty to say a word in behalf of a most-effectual, if not positive, eure for sore throat. For many years past, in­ deed we may say during the whole of a life of more than forty years, we have been subject to a dry, hacking cough, which is not only distressing to our­ selves, but to our friends and those with whom we are brought into business con­ tact. Last fall we were induced to try what virtue there was in common salt. We commenced by using it three times a day--morning, noon and night. We dissolved a large table-spoonful of pure table-salt in about a half a small tum­ blerful of water. fVitli this we gargled the throat most thoroughly just before meal-time. The result has been that during the entire winter we were not only free from coughs and colds, but the dry, hacking cough has entirely dis­ appeared. We attribute these satis­ factory results solely to the use of salt gargle, and most cordially recommend a trial of it to those who are subject diseases of the throat. Many perso: who have never tried the salt-garg have the impression that it is unplea; ant, but after a few days' use, no perso who loves a nice, clean mouth and first-rate sharpener of the appetite abandon it. BATHING.--Since about three-fifths the food and drinks should pass o through the 7,000,000 of pores of tl skin, and that in a semi-putrid stat bathing or washing of the whole bod as a matter of cleanliness, is an absolu necessity. This perspiration--settsibll and insensible--passes most profusely while one is at hard labor, violent ex­ ercise, or in the night, while one is un­ usually warm. As has been intimated, it is waste, worn-out matter, more or less poisonous, dead, unfit for further use, and is cast off as such. Some of it escapes by evaporation, some adheres to the'surface and some is lodged in the meshes of the clothing. It is reasona­ ble, therefore, that the clothing should be aired as much as convenient, that worn by day removed at night and hung where it may be aired as much as pos­ sible, and that worn by night placed in tlie sunlight, which is equal in some cases to a half of a washing, while a thorough washing should be made as soon as a decided odor is observable. What kind of bathing shall be adopted and how often ? In general terms the bath should be comfortable! It is not too much to say that most of the swimming--the victim remaining in as long as he can well endure it,, is a Curse rather than a blessing. The safe bath or wash of the whole body in the room, in warm weather, is^ preferable io aii others, in ordinary5 circumstances. Any individual with a reasonable amount of animal heat and vitality will be able to wet the hand and rub the whole body as often as cleanli­ ness demands it, this to be followed by a thorough rubbing with a crash towel, till a glow of heat is secured. To say the least, the body, as a matter of clean­ liness, needs a wash as often as the face does, since the surface of the face is so exposed that much will be carried off by evaporation. In addition to this, a weekly wash in warm water and soap will do no harm. If there are those who fancy that it is unsafe to clean themselves at all, from the fact that once, at least, they have taken a cold by it, I simply say that such should never allow such a thick coat of dirt to ac­ cumulate that a sudden removal of it will thus expose them to chills. I admit that such a "coat of mail" may protect the body from cold, but claim that it is not judicious to wear such clothing! Alexander the Great. Alexander, , son of Philip, King of Macedon, was born at Pella, 356 B. C. His early education was intrusted to the philosopher Aristotle. When 16 he acted as regent, during the absence of his father, aud two years later he fought at the battle of Chaeronoa, that sealed thfc fate of Greece. At the-age of twenty he mounted the throne, and immediately prepared himself for the conquest of Persia. Crossing tho Hellespont, in 334, lie met the Persians at Graniens, and there won his first victory over tlip Persian king, Darius. He then marched through Asia Minor, conquering as he went until he reached Gordium, where, unable to loose the famous Gordian knot., which, it was said, only the conqueror of Asia could untie, he cut it with his sword, as a proof of Iris futtire suceess. In . 333 he defeated Darius at Issus. He next beseiged Tvre for seven months, until that city was forced to surrender; then he entered Egypt, and was gladly re­ ceived by the people as their deliverer from the Persian, yoke. While there he founded the great city of Alexandria as a monument to his own power. Soon after his return to Asia Minor occurred the battle of Arbela (B. C. 331), which ended in the final defeat of Darius and the subjection of all Asia Minor to the rule of Alexander. It also opened the gates of Babylon and Susa, but having robbed them of their gold Alexander passed on toward India. During this campaign he married Roxana, a daugh­ ter of one of the conquered chiefs of Punjab. His plan to invade India failed through the insubordination of his troops, and he returned to Babylon, which he designed to make the capital of his Asiatic empire, but while plan­ ning improvements for the city he was attacked with a feve%,which proved fa tal, and he died B. C. 323, in the 13th year of his reign and the 33d year of his life. would restore a larger per cent, of the sick than now resist the combined at­ tacks of the disease and of the so-called medicine now gmn by the ignorant, alike unacquainted with the nature of the drugs recklessly given, and the dis­ eases for which they are given.--Dr. J. H. Hanqjord. . Bishop Clark on Incorrect * Though the schoolmaster holds his receptions in almost every nook and cor­ ner of the land, there is a great deal of incorrect talking even among educated people. Bishop Clark gives a few spec­ imens of these popular errors of speech in the form of a dialogue betw^een : a careless talker and his critical friend: "Goodafternoon, John,how long have you been 'setting' here ?" "I have been 'sitting' here for about an hour watching to see these men 'set' te stones in my wall." "It'kiudof' seems to me .that the the work is done rather 'illy.' "Perhaps it is not done quite as 'wel­ ly' as it might be." "I'kind of' think "that word 'welly' sounds odd." "It is as good a word as 'illy.' But why do you ^ay: 'It kind of seems,' and 'I kind of think,' when yon might just as well say: 'It seems' and 'I think'?" "I've got 'sort of used to talking in that way." "It is a very poor sort of way." "I never had nobody to 'learn' me any- better." "You mean that you have had nobody to teach you." "I am getting tired, and think I will lay' down on the grass for a 'spell.' " "You can lie down^but it would be well for you to lay your cloak on the ground for you to lie on." * " 'Be'you going to 'stop' here lor long?" "I stopped here when I arrived, but shall not 'stay' long, Are you tionip |m|i[ nig; he DOB strong r o u g h It will going a i u i f c K 1 1 U I ! our gfoods. O Doubt About Drags. Admitting the legitimate use of medi­ cines, I still believe that, as they are now used, the most virulent poisons given in large doses by the young prac­ titioner, with quack nostrums in the gro­ ceries, thick as the frogs of Egypt and taken at random by the thoughtless and reckless people, society would be bene­ fited were all the drugs to be banished from the world. Nature would then have a fairer chance than at present and [ u a l l y . nasal f Ca- s, oa u i- mation colds, es the --0ief4TSIK*""TiSy,"«ll^ iWTi con must have 'quite' a fortune," "What sort of a fortune?- Quite- large or quite small ?" "Quite large, of course." "Why did you not say so?" "My next neighbor has just put up a fence on either side of his front yard." "I suppose you wish to say that he has put up a fence on both sides." "Between you and I " "Please change that to 'Between you and me.' You would not say: There is no great difference of opinion 'be­ tween you and he." "I usually say: 'Him aifd me agree pretty well.'" "Then you speak very bad English, and you probably say 'It is me,' instead of 'It is I.'" "Of course I do, and «o does 'most' of the people I know. My boy is just go­ ing to school, aud as lie* is a 'new' be­ ginner I suppose he will appear to be rather green." "Did you ever hear of any beginner who was not new?" "I Avish to simply state----" "That is, you wish to state- "iivuvufil' rrn-iixl-- "Please say our common friend. You would not call him a 'reciprocal' friend. "Why do you interrupt me so often?" "Because you make so many blun­ ders." . ^ Jennie Lind's Courtship. "I am a Quaker, as you know,", a Philadelphian recently said to mie, "and it is reported*that, shortly before Jennie Lind's visit to our city, an aged lady arose in one of our meetings and said she had heard that 'Jane Lyon, a very wicked woman, was on her way to this country to sing,' and hoped tlit^ none of the yoiing people would be drawn away to hear her. Nevertheless, an uncle took me and my brother to the Saturday matinee. We had seats in the balcony and so near the stage that we could in a way see behind the scenes. Early in tlie entertainment Jenny Lind sang, 'Home Sweet Home,' and the audience was. beside itself. Among the members of her Company was her future husband, Otto Goldsclimidt. He was to the audience simply an unknown pianist, and to be obliged to listen to anything but the voice of Jenny Lind was provoking. Well, the man played, and from where we sat we could see Jenny Lind behind the curtain listening most intently. When he had finished, the audiencc seemed in nowise disposed to applaud; but Jenny Liffd began to clap he hands vigorously, observiug which, we boys reinforced her, and, observing her face light up--I can see the love-light on it yet-^we clapped furouslv until the applause spread tlirough, the audience. When he had finished playing a second time, my brother and I set the ball in motion, and the applause was great enough to satisfy even the fiancee of Otto Gold­ sclimidt."--Century Magazine. A Sliarp Question to the Bishop. When Bishop Whitaker was in Can- delaria, Nev., he took a stroll in the outskirts of the camp with a party of ladies and godly gentleman. A man was seen laboriously turning a windlass which hoisted from a shaft a bucket filled with rock. The only thing re­ markable about the man at the wind­ lass was his hat, the crown of which was cut clean off, allowing the hot sun to pour, down upon a perfectly bald head, some waggish friends having recommended this arrangement as sure to produce a crop of hair. The Bishop and his party stood watching the man toiling and grunting at his heavy labor for several minutes, and the kind- hearted clergyman spoke up with con­ cern, and said: "My friend, why don't you cover up your head? This-hot sun will affect your brain." "Brain, is it?" cried the man, as he gave the windlass another heavily- creaking revolution. "Begob, an' if I had any brains d'ye think I'd be here pullin' up this bucket?" The Bishop and his party hastily re­ tired as the gentleman at the windlass proceeded to express, between tugs and in a very strong way, his opinion of men who had been born, like himself, without brains. A LADY writing from England com­ plains that the restaurant waiters thero always wait on tao gentlemen first. Perhaps the waiters have learned from experience that a man generally knows what he wants as soon as he sits dowp. --Philadelphia News. , ffiK Aifli voonr. TH* modern pie-rate--li oeats a piece. - THE best thing to take before singing --Breath. THKRE'8 very little or ao opposition to a red-hot poker. ' * A MICHIGAN applicant for a tqacher's certificate defined a man as a "Maska- line noun." -- "IF I rest, I rust," is a German prov­ erb. "IF I trust, I boat," is the Ameri­ can version. A CHILD, being asked what were the: threejafat%asts of the Jews, promptly: rejflM(|[ " Breakfast, dinner and sup per." "FAT boy"--"No, you cannot raise- chickens from egg-plants. You might as well try to raise calves from a cow­ catcher. " ' t A LATTEB-DAT philosopher has said: " Send me all the dresses a woman has worn in the course of her life and I will write her biography from them." PBOFESSOR in hydrostatics--"If you had purchased a crown of gold and thought part of it was silver, < what would you do?* Junior--" Take it back." A NORTH CAROLINA man fired six shote from his revolver at a stranger sitting on thjj^fence fourteen feet away. The stran^Si slid down with the re­ mark : "Land alive 1 but why don't vou throw a log?" IT is heart-rending to make such cor­ rections. but it is very necessary some­ times. "In speaking of the President of our local bank last week,". says a county journal, "for' skedaddled,' please read 'His schedule.'" THE rector (to Irish plasterer on lad­ der, pointing a wall)--" That mortar" must have been very bad." Pat (with a grin)--"Faix, ye can't expict the likes o' good Roman cimint to stick to a Protestant church, sorr!" " A LECTURER wants to know,'"what shall we do with our girls?" How would it do to give them three square meals a day and try to raise them up to help their mothers until they are called upon to help their husbands ? WHEN Dumas was on his death-bed and his end rapidly approaching, his faithful servant, who adored his master, was sobbing audibly in a corner of the chamber. Turning toward the spot, his eyes dimmed in the death-struggle, Dumas faintly uttered: "Don't weep, my friend; if I want anything up there­ in ring for you." A PRETENTIOUS person said to tho leading man of a country tillage, "How would a lecture by^pfe on Mount Vesu­ vius suit the inhabitants, of your vil­ lage?" "Very well, sir; very well in­ deed," he answered. "A lecture by vou on Mount Vesuvius would suit them a great deal better than a lecture in this village, sir." ' "How OLD are you, Fanny?" asked little Johnny Fizzletop of a neighbor's little daughter, living in the suburbs of Austin. "I'm 5 years old," replied Fanny. "She is telling a lie," said Fanny's little brother, who was present. "She was 7 her last birthday." "Ah!" said Johnny, "that's the way it is with these women; they are always trying to make themselves out younger, than they are."--Texas Siftirigs. ^ Two COUNTRYMEN from Onion ereek came to an Austin lawyer to consult about bringing a joint suit against a neighbor. The first granger began to tell the lawyer the cause of the trouble, embellishing it rather liberally. "Don't tell him any lies, Bill," interrupted the other. "It is his bil&iness to put in the lies. You will get him confused if you go to mixing your lies with his."--Texas Siftings. y "MARY JANE," said Dickey. "What?" said Mary Jane. "Mary Jane," said Dickey, "what is the difference between an affectionate wife and one that isn't affectionate?" "Why," said Mary Jane, "one loves him and the other doesn't, you ninny." "What a fool!" said Dick­ ey; "that isn't the answer. The differ­ ence is this: One hugs her husband and the other husbands her hugs." "Don't you wish you had a husband, Dickey ?" said Mary Jane.--Louisville Courier- Journal. BEWAILINGS OF A "BROKEN BARITONE." A las! alas! "my cake Is .• DO,"' "My sun of life has set," B ut could I keep a single RE, "I might he happy yet." 0 -banting on E's no ease to MI, At upper notes I strain, D oubtful of F--"so near, yet FA," I strive for it in vain. E 'en dead-heads long have "dammed my.SOL, "Too flat," "You're old," they cry- „ F ools! "Old Sol siaks by nature's LA, So "how is that for high?" - Q one are t.hosp that, T nsf>d to.. . ..r.--.^... ..81, . ADO, RE, MI, FA and near. Naught's left be but to drink--to die-- My SOL, LA, Si's my "bier!" --Boston Times. Face Difficulties. Have the courage to face the diffi­ culty, lest it kick you harder than you bargained for. Difficulties, like thieves, often disappear at a glance. Have the courage to "leave a convivial party at the proper hour for doing so, however great the* sacrifice; and to stay away from one upon the slightest grounds for objection, however great the temptation to^t>. Have the cour- rage to do without that which you do not need, however much you admire it. Have the courage to Speak your mind, when it is necessary that you should do so, and hold your tongue when it is better that you should be si­ lent. Have the courag'e to speak to a poor friend in a seedy coat, even in the street, and when a rich one is nigh. The effort is less than many people think it to be, and the act is worthy of a king. Have the courage to admit that you have been in the wrong, and you will remove the fact in the mind of^ others, putting a desirable impression in place of an unfavorable one. Have the cour­ age to adhere to the first resolution when you can not change it for a better, and to abandon it even at the eleventh hour upon conviction. A Gentleman. A gentleman is one in whom the. vig­ orous and the delicate are happily united. The soft, the refined--that which comes from frequenting the so­ ciety of women of culture--lies in the "gentlethe strong, the firm, the stern --that which comes from battling with men--lies in the "man;" "gentle" im­ plies the possession of all the social, "man" of all the civil virtues; "man" is the fiery wine, "gentle" the tasteful goblet; "man" is the sharp, correct drawing, "gentle" the warm, soft color­ ing; "gentle" might be the Sybarite who is disturbed by the falling of a rose leaf; "man" is the Brutus, who, as judge, knows not even his own child. Pericles, the brave, magnanimous, ami­ able, refined Athenian, might be offered as an example of the true gentleman. ELECTRICITY displaces oil in forty-two lighthouses on the French ooast.