< T$ ~ ̂ if'Tfl Wf&Sm'SS s&4ia»ftfc •">?'; •'tv THAT GIRL of JOHNSON'S ;• my J£AA K.A.T& LVBtVW, $&<>! S < 1 *t<j r , * Amiksr if "At m GM't Merty," BU. r-S.$- .̂v|;i;v • •;< '• JV..7 •l|fefc •' 4-v."' ' k*X'~ ft Batsred Aceordfnc to Act of Congress in the Year 1890 by Street 9t Smith, la the Offic* of the Librarian of Cctfnu, at Washington, D. C, W¥ : ) W:: • •• pjfc-) hf!" 'Mv. CHAPTER XIV Continued. "He Is my father, and they will Stot let me In there, yet he can see him." The nnrse laid her hand caressing ly on the girl's arm. **jOf conrse," she said, In a matter *Bt fact tone. "Remember, Dolores, It Jls. years since he has seen your fath er. And do you know, as soon as he la better we are going to take him •over to the town so you can nurse him to your heart's content? There «u*e pretty houses in the town, and your uncle intends buying one and furnishing it for you. There's a fine blacksmlth',s$fcshop with a good busi ness for your father, and he is to have a housekeeper and everything com fortable while you are in New York with us. "Your uncle will be ready in a mo ment, and he does not like to wait; you needn't change your dress, and can wear my wrap and bonnet. Dora will 8x everything when you get there. Here is her note; you have not yet read it. Shall I read it for you while you get ready?" She-stooped and picked up the note where it had fallen, talking continu ally, giving the girl no time to reply had she so wished. "Dora writes such a pretty hand; they say those who draw well write well, and Dora makes charming sketches. Here is your note; it reads like her, bnly one misses her pretty voice." ; Mrs. Allen spoke rapidly, but with not a trace of excitement; more as though she would give the girl no time to think. She unfolded the soft gray shawl, and laid It over a chair, then she opened the note with no break in the conversation, and read aloud: I "My Dear New Cousin:--Nurse Al ien has told you I 'have come to claim you, or rather have come part way to claim you. They will not allow me to go out to-day, so father has prom ised me solemnly that he will bring you with him to me. Nurse Allen will . take good care of him, and bring him to us by and by, and we can go over to see him when the weather is dry. Oive him my love. I hope he is better, and will go to see him soon. Come to me at once; I wish you, Dolores John- <**»•, and can wait no longer. "DORA." voice jras almost sharp as he an swered*. * "There is nothing going on here to interest you, Tom, and Mr. Johnson must not be left \lone one moment If you are tired, I will take your place until-2-" "Until it's over," the other Inter rupted. "Lord knows I wish It were well over; it's a dused bad piece of business, anyhow, and I wish I were cut of it" He was stopped by a gesture from Dr4 Dunwiddie. Young Green also turned on him with flashing eyes. Dolores seemed turning into stone; her face was whitening, and her eyes dilating; her voice sounded strange even to herself as she laid her hand, on the doctor's arm as he was passing her. I "You will not go until you have an swered me, Dr. Dunwiddie?" It was more a command than a query; her eyes were full on him,.and he paused instinctively. Her uncle spoke impatiently; -like all men, he disliked scenes; this girl V ' fe f , ' W-, V'{ V W-><; . - : CHAPTER' XV. Dolores' Reply. Dolores listened quietly. with no Vtgn of impatience or interest; she stood erect and silent, her eyes rest ing calmly on Mrs. Allen's face. The bedroom door opened, and her uncle came out, accompanied by young "Green and Dr. Dunwiddie. He no ticed the wraps made ready, and spoke cheerily: "Well my dear, are you ready? My girt will be watching for us--eh, Green? And if you are ready We will go at once." Mrs. Allen advanced and began put ting i'the wraps arotfnd the girl, but Dolores- stepped back to avoid her, giving1 her a slow glance as of re proach, then she turned away from the others toward the physician who vas talking earnestly to young Green at the farther window. There was no trace of agitation in the young girl's face or manner as she crossed the room to the two at the' •malt south window. "Dr. Dunwiddie," she said, gravely. Her eyes were searching his for the Ifvth; she never glanced at his com- ipanion. "Dr. Dunwiddie," she con tinued, slowly and distinctly, "you can tell me if you will. There is no rea- •son why I should not know the truth; 4s he not my father? Have I not a jgjght to know? Do you think this Is fcjt qt just? All the other women of the settlement care for the men when (liBre is need, there is no reason why I dhouid not do the same if there is need, and there must be, else why are these strangers here, and why is he kept so quiet? I do not understand it, fuid I cannot unless you will tell me. And here is my uncle here waiting to take me away from my father, to leave hiia to be taken care of by strangers. I <|o not know my uncle; no doubt he wishes us well, but he is a stranger to me. Dora does not know," she lin gered over the name--"how could she know, or I am sure she would not wish me to go; she could not wish to go; she would not do it herself--you know lit imdd not do lt herself. Do you can tell me If you will." tfeink I do not know something alls ; My father more than you have said?" < The bedrbom door opened noiseless k and Dr. Grey came out As he •Pepped into the room, closing the door fejeblnd him, Dr. Dunwiddie motioned fbr him to return, but he shook his Head emphatically. 4 "He's like a log, Hal; the trump of :fbe archangel alone could arouse him. J!'ve Btuck to him day and night like an " ^Obedient puppet; now I want Change; What's all this going on out ||,^_%ere? W^at ails you people? *Vl V*"""'! Dr. DunWiddie jrowned, i W \\\\ "Don't go in yet, Dolores." seemed capable of getting one up at almost any moment. "My dear Dolores," he said, "Dora is waiting for us. Why do you bother the doctors ̂ They know much bet ter than we do what is best to be done. Come, like a good girl, let us go; we are only hindering the others, Why should I hinder them?" she asked, gravely. "They are strangers here; he is my father. "Yes, of course," he said, brusquely Of course, Dolores. We all know that, but they know much better than we do what is best to be done. Dora is waiting for you--it is better in every way for us to go." She stood erect and slender among them, her print gown falling around her to her feet, her face catching the shadows of the storm upon it "Did I not say," the voice was al most solemn in its grave earnestness, that I will not leave him--ever-- while he lives--not for any one?" None of them spoke for a moment; not tone of them was capable of de ceiving her as she stood so grave and quiet waiting his reply. That she had right to know, a better right than they, could not be denied. She had spoken the truth; she was a woman capable of enduring much, of suffering much; she was not a child to be put off with evasive replies. Dr. Grey stood at the bedroom door; he had not moved since the girl spoke; she impressed him as she. impressed the others. Young Green looked trou bled; he started as though he would go to Dolores, and checked himself. Even Dr. Dunwiddie was somewhat disquieted; he looked beyond the girl otu of the opposite window They waited for him to speak; the girl knew be would tell her; the oth ers were sure he wouid do what was best. As his gaze left the window and he turned to Dolores, he caught the ltyok on young Green's face. Ills own cleared instantly; he was himself again, grave, practical; a thorough phy sician and gentleman. "My dear Miss Johnson," he said-- he was grave, courteous; hor eyes did not leave his face--searching, steady eyes--"when your father fell--fully twenty feet it was--he struck the ledge with great force; bad he dropped it might scarcely have hurt him, though It is evident that the ledge below is rocky and the bushes scrub by and sharp; as it was, he lost his balance and slipped down suddenly with a force I wonder did not kill him outright. "As it is, he broke both legs and an arm, besides internal Injuries which cannot be determined upon at once " She watched him steadily; Instinc tively she knew he had not told her all. Her lips were white, and set in a straight line. Mrs. Allen crossed over and touched her hand, but she paid no heed, to her; she was waiting to know the worst. 'You know how he was brought home," continued Dr. Dunwiddie. "You were the one who found him; to you he owes his life--you and Charlie. His right leg was broken below the knee; we set that and his arm yesterday, but his left leg--" His voice was steady and grave Mrs. Allen's face was blanching; how the girl would take it she did not know; she was used to many affecting scenes, but this was totally different "His left leg is broken in two places. Miss Johnson. We did not wish to tell you till the worst was over, but it is best you should know. Your father remained so long in that position In the night dampness, in his exhausted state, that we dared do nothing yes terday. We wished to save this limb if it were possible; it would be worse than folly to attempt It; It Is best that It should go. Then, with careful nurs ing, we may bring him around all right" Still Dolores did not move; she wished to understand It thoroughly, as yet the truth was but slowly dawning and ]$s upon her. "I thought that you were net capa ble of hearing the truth;' I believed you were like many women; I see how1 mistaken I was; your friend here,"' with a movement of his hand and a half smile toward young Green, "tried to impress upon me that you were braver than other women, but I would not be convinced. I know now that you are brave--brave enough for this --and worse." She understood. The truth was up- on her in all the blackness of dark ness. There had been little love be tween her and her father, but he was the only one in the world to her, and now-- . 1 "Then--he will--die--you think?" She asked it calmly, except that her lips were whiter than usual and stiff, so that the words came uneven ly. ° "I think that fie may die. Miss Johnson, but we will hope for the best" "You will Jet me nurse him?" she asked. Her face was lifted to his, and there was not a quiver of a muscle, not the trembling of the white lids fringed with the silken lashes over the stSady, searching eyes. ( "*Tou shall nurse him." Dr. Dnuwld- dSm replied, gravely, a flash of wonder s' admiration in his black eyes meet ing hers in that coiAprhensive glance that showed to him the depth of this woman's soul, the paarvelous strength of her self-command. Ah, indeed She should nurse him. As he turned away toward the bed room she started to follow him, but Mrs. Allen laid her hand upon her Hi L ^houlder, and young Green crossed m |C ^/quickly to her side, his face softened |p| H strangely. ~ ' "Don't go In yet, Dolores--not just yet!" he said, entreatingly, bending his fair head on a level with hers, the kindly light deepening in his eyes as they met the half-dazed look in hers raised to his face. "You shall.go as soon as it is best I will let you go there now." Her eyes searched his face, large and dark and beautiful eyes they were; she scarcely recognized him for the moment Why should I not go?" she asked, gravely. "I am to nurse him; Dr. Dunwiddie has promised that I shall. Is he nor my father?" But his hand was upon her arm strong and warm and tender, and she obeyed him silently. Her uncle left soon after, and Mrs. Allen sent a note to Dora explaining the strange scene. Dolores said no word. She scarcely heard what was going on around her; when her uncle stooped to kiss her forehead and promised that Dora should come to her as soon as it were' possible she looked through and through him; she heard his words, but they made no im pression upon her; her thoughts were in the quiet room beyond the closed door. (To be continued.) GCiPHER SNAKE IS CLEVER. Simple But Effective Way In Which He Captures Hit Prey. It has long been a question In our minds as to how the gopher snake caught the gophers on which he lives and to-day Mr. H. C. Heitzer told a representative of the Advance how it was done, having just witnessed^ a catch. Mr. Snake coiled his tail over the gopher hole, setting a snare for him. When the gopher had crawled out of the hole sufficiently to premit the snake's tail to be drawn about the body of the gopher, the coil was fastened about Mr. Gopher as quick as a flash. It was gradually drawn tighter and tighter until the gopher fell over dead, the life having been completely squeezed out of him. After the gopher is dead the snake swallows him whole, and it is not an unusual thing to find one of these.snakes with a number of gophers in him. The gopher Is a great fighter, and If he was not caught in a snare as the one men tioned, he would doubtless make a hard fight for life, eve.i wijth a snake.--Tulare Advance. NO CAKE FOR HER. Youngster Thought He Had a Griev- ance Against His Mother. The late Mrs. James- G. Blaine used to relate charmingly the unconscious witticisms of her sons' and daughters' childhood. She once said: "When James, his father's name sake. wan a little chap, he discussed for a long time one day the subject of wedding cakes. He made me tell him all about wedding cakes--how they are made, how they are cut, and how pieces of them are sent to the friend* of brides and grooms. This last custom he was especially pleased with. He thought a piece of wedding cak* made a delightful gift "Then he pondered for a moment He frowned. Ho said. " 'But, mamma, I shan't send you any of my wedding cake when I get married.' •"Why not, my dear?' I asked. " 'Because.' he said, 'you didn't send m® any of yours.'" Not Much Use for a Trunk. Gen. Joseph W. Congdon, the presi dent of the American *Silk Associa tion. was traveling some time ago In Georgia. He says that in a little Georgia town be one day heard two colored lads conversing. "I'se gwine No'th," said the first, "Das so?" said the second. "Yep. I'se got a trunk to take wlv me, too." "A trunk? What am a trunk for,?!' "W*y to tote yuh clo's In." "An* go naked?" EASTERN FLOODS ARE CAUSE ^ OF IMMENSE FINANCIAL LOSS 'fy.y "V • ."vT-nijtn?-{•". ••'K mi tPhotograph of ftto pun Just After th« Break* 3$ r r • \ RAJ WALL fft t 6PEATZR NEW YORK J,, rci? 30Hcvrs ...T i PRZCZ'DTJYG- j <3 <1? FRIDAY i I OC T. &TMT • • \VOuLJp FJLI A 73NK: -L™ +.Z0Drr.msff „j ] t̂ oo/rinAffrrzis. • 2S3SI2t Death and widespread rain over an area bounded by Portland, Me., Nor folk, Va., and Oswego, N. Y., followed the unprecedented rain and the heavy gale of Oct 9 and 10. The financial loss Is placed at $2,000,000. From practically every town in this great area came reports of destruc tion. Large areas in citieB were deep ly flooded, bridges and houses swept away, and persons drowned in num bers and there was much loss of life and property at sea. JULIET'8 HOME IN DANGER. Paterson, N. J., was for a time la extreme danger. The flooded river reached such a stage that a horror similar to the Johnstown flood was ap- prehended. Heroic measures, how ever, averted a catastrophe, but the population spent the night in keen apprehension. The coast of Virginia was strewn with wrecks and great loss of life re* suited. Several communities had their water supply cut off by bursting dams, broken flumes and a scarcity of food existed at many towns. Great anxiety was at one time ex pressed at the Brooklyn navy yard for the battleship Massachusetts. It was lying in dry dock No. 3. The sides of the inelosure showed signs of caving in, and heavy timbers were used to shore up the weak places. Whole sections of Paterson, N. J., were converted into islands. The water was two feet higher than in the flood of March, 1902, but only one man was drowned. Freshlets between Paterson and Philadelphia had an effect on the busi ness of the United States subtreasury. Part of the usual daily consignment new currency from Washington was found to be soaked with Delaware river water. It was so injured it'was decided to return It to the capital. The total consignment was about $3,000,000 and the amount sent as un usable was about $40,000 in silver cer tificates and $800,000 in gold certifi cates. The bills were so wet the colors had run on some of them. Passaic suffered grievously. Wal- lington, Duttonville and Garfield sub urbs were submerged, and houses were floating in the flood. The loss sustained in the Passaic environs ceeds $1,000,000. Along the Passaic and Ramapo val leys, Rutherford, Athenia, Ridgewood and Lyndhurst were practically suljv merged. At Athenia the mills u^fltler construction were demolished. At Rutherford the dam restraining the water supply burst, inundating the city. In Greenwood cemetery, Brooklyn, as the result of a half dozen landslides on the hillsides, tombs were opened and headstones torn from their fasten ings. Portions of coffins were scatter ed about over a large area, and in other sections the slide of dirt, weigh ing many tons, swept away the monu ments and buried scores of gra^§s so that it is feared it will be impossible again to locate them. -LOSS IN EASTERN FLOODS. New York.--Train service on all railroads blocked for twovdays; workmen buried in cavein in Pennsylvania tunnel; surrounding towns flooded. Pateraon, N. J. -- Twenty-two bridges swept away; city isolated. Bristol, R. I.--Passenger steamer City of Worcester on rocks; pas sengers rescued. Norfolk, Va.--Beach strewn with wrecks and several seamen drowned. Philadelphia, Pa.--Townsend In let hotels destinyed by seas; streets flooded. Washington, D. C.--Deep sand covers coast railroads. Sir Edwin Arnold Would Save Abode of Shakespeare's Heroine. In a letter to a London daily Sir Edwin Arnold bewails the impending destruction of the ancient Varona building which was the home of Shakespeare's Juliet It Is now be ing used as an inp, with stables at tached, but the owner has decided to demolish It, as it is not a profitable possession. Sir Edwin makes eloquent plea for the preservation of this in teresting structure, but It is pointed out that, inasmuch as Englishmen are allowing London landmarks to be re moved to make room for modern buildiLgs, his appeal Is likely to fall On heedless ears. "This is a practical age," says one writer, "and Juliet has been dead 600 years." Owl Was Very Much Alive. Here is a story of a pet owl, told by its owner: "I remember once when a doctor was called in to attend to some trifling ailment he was some what surprised. *What a beautifully stuffed owl!' he said, and putting on his spectacles advanced his face and peered closely at it But the creature, which was accustomed to being teas ed, fluffedx like a cat and made a dab at the olp gentleman's nose which made him draw back more hastily than he approached." -- / .. " Traveling Christian^,. ' It Is stated that "The Gid'^iiiw'are growing at the rate of ISO members • month. Qreat French Philanthropist. M. -Chauchard, the director of the Grand Magaslns du Louvre, whose collection of painting by French ar tists will go to the government mu seums, has the honor of a statue be fore his death. The sculptor Wigele has modeled him in modern dress, bis long whiskers falling in ample splen dor on his shoulders. The seated Statue has been placed In the Pavilion de Madame at Versailles, which until recently was his country seat. In the park belonging to this estate he has built 100 small cottages. He has pre sented the property to the employes of his famous shops. When they retire from active life they will become ten ants of these homes without paying rent. Aged Minister in Hard Luck. Rev. Tostein Eggers, a regularly or dained minister of the Norwegian Lu theran church, but now old and infirm L has been sent to the poorhouse in .§; Minneapolis. His church has no pro- ^vision for the support of superannu ated preachers and his former friends will not undertake his care.---Chicago Chronicle. Heavy Catch of Mackerel. An extraordinary take of mackerel occurred at Folkestone the other day. It was during a heavy sea, in the Eng lish channel, so heavy that many of the nets had to be cut away In order to save the overladen boats. Three smacks got 50,000 mackerel, on^ hav ing to its own share 20,000, and six others had each about 10,000. This great catch was disposed of partly by being sent to London and Paris in ice and partly by being retailed on the .street, the price being $1.44 for 120 and sixteen and eighteen for 24 cents. Almost at the same time Scottish Ash ing boats were achieving a remarkable catch of herring off the coast of Scar borough, which has given employment to the troops of Scotch fisherglrls who follow the boats at this season of the year. 1 3^ Blssell's Business Metho<||&;;; It is said of the late Wilson S. Bls- sell that when he became postmaster general he mastered the enormous amount oi detail In that office months earlier than any of his predecessors Lad ever been able to do. The tradi tion of his systematic and thorough business methods still lingers in the department as a high-water mark. Urge Importance of Washington. A petition has been sent to Rome, asking that Washington be made an archdiocese instead of the Baltimore see. The request is made on the ground that a prelate of high rank should be stationed at the national capital. The petitioners also ask that Archbishop Ireland of St Paul, Minn., be placed at the head of the new see. Last of Wellington's Aides. The last of Wellington's aides-de- camp passed away when the duke of Richmond died recently. He had the unique distinction of being a duke four times over, having the strawberry leaves of Richmond in England, Len nox in Scotland, Gordon in the United Kingdom and D'Aubigny in France. If the proposed barge or ship or any Other sort of canal could receive all the flames of criticism and the fire brands hurled at the poor thing in Windyvllle, it would dry up and dis appear like a dead eel In the sun. Perkins' steadies have raised that $101,000,000, dug the canal, and en riched every contractor, as well as Im poverished Si Pembrook, who runs a sawmill, and have sent to the poor- house Eli Pivlns. What'll Eli do if the new canal drains his sulphur spring and renders inactive his famous summer resort, where he has entertained as many as sixteen resort- ers in one season? What'll the cows and horses d6 for drinking water if the canal takes Gum Creek for a feed er? "Condemn the goshderned bid ditch! It'll spile the scenery, disrup' pol'tlcks and dlstroy feelin'r 'mong* friends, dummit! Now, thur hain't no more use fur thet canal than thur is fur nuther teat to a cow's bag " "How's your barn foundashun gittin' on, Lena?" broke in Poot. It was a sore subject with^feem, and Poot knew where the wound hurt the most, hence never failed to apply his finger whenever occasion presented: "Same's 'fore, slow-like. Bui I hain't gdb no more courage fur barn buildin' pince thet pesky canal bizness come 'long sweepln' through Windyvllle » "But she hain't doin' no sweepln' to speak on jest now " "She will though. She'll come ewoopin' 'long here, an' she'll cut a big slice off my lower cornfield, dum mit! If thet pesky ole canal destroys my cornfield I'll sue the Leglslatoor fur heavy damages, b'gosh!" "Let's see, Lem, you laid oat the^-fl lines fur the barn foundashun in thefl^1 year o* '79. didn't you?" "No, 'twuz in '80 I got the thing^ 1 all figgered out, an' had my mihd^,,' made up what color paint I'd paintjp| the barn. I sot up two hull nights^-; aettlin' whether I'd have a roster or: a hosa fur a weather cock. It toofc^v two weeks fur me to locate jest thef-|i^ proper place fur my oat bins an' fan-y-^- nin' mill--then I lost a cow an' gotlfei; discouraged." "But you felt better T»out It,. Lem, j* in 'bout the year of '89, didn't you?"^'!^ asked Poot calmly. "Yes, on'y 'twuz in '90. Had it al^'4| worke l out in black and white on pa-^ v per, an' wuz purty nigh ripe to tackle^;; the job when my darter Tildy Jan-^-'*.. ette up an' married the travlin' slng-j|? • in' teacher, an' the extra expenses hitrf^l thet barn an' knocked it into a cockedvV- hat--spasbhaly arter they both corne^^ to live hum wuth ma an' me, dum« " mlt!" "An" you took a new holt 'long 'bout, the year '99 " "Wrong, Poot; 'twuz year o' -v thet I got up my dander an' started-;# ag'ln to 'rect thet barn. Then I spit^Vi: on my hands, brushed my hair the^f? other side to fur good luck, an' made0J:1 up I'd either up wuth thet barn orGif else the pesky thin'd down me. Thetj^!,,. year I commenced to dig out Polly-lift wog Crick thet leads frum ray back-* yard to the stun quarry; goin' to makei t a stun boat canal so's I could git stun../;; fur the foundation easy an' wuthoutj|?^ expense, you know. Had ten rodsfM dug out all slick as you please, wheifc'% 'long come the freshet an' washed thei;^ bank in an' buried the canal deeper'npf? Chinay, dummit!" f The Office Boy's Lessoa . In.a down ,town real,estate office the boss called up an office boy who was first in line of promotion, to a clerk's desk. "Here, John," he said, "Is $60 I want paid at once to Mr. Blank. Be sure to bring the receipt with you." John took the roll of bills handed him by his employer and hurried away. He was obliged to travel to Harlem, and in three hours he came oack look ing very much upset But he handed in the receipt all right, and went to his desk. The boss looked at him curiously several times during the day, but said nothing further to him until closing-up time. Then he asked John: "What did Mr. Blank say when you took him that money lais morning "Nothing," was John's brief re sponse. . "Now, John," said the boss, _ "I want you to tell me the truth. I gave you only $55, and you brought me back a receipt for $G0 Where did you get the other $5. I wanted to teach you a lesson be£ore promoting you in handling cash. Never trust any man'a^ V* word when he hands you a roll of bills^ ? > count your money every- time, myfi boy. I merely wanted to teach yoi*^' a lesson in business." "You mean old cuss!" shouted John^-i- "I never suspected you of a trick like^J that. When Mr. Blank counted only!'4| $55 I told him you said it was $60&i?< when you handed me the roll, tie lookV-j- ed at me kind of queer and said. 'What ^ are you going to do about it?* ^ " 'Goin' right honpe to mother,' says, 'an' get the money.' | j "I went home and told mother lost one of the five-dollar bills, an®;! she lent me $5 out of dad's insurance^ money, which she'd been savin'. When! I paid Mr. Blank he says: 'Sonny, iff,'::g ever you want to change yoiir jobf|^ come to me.' % ^ "And I'm going to do it. Please pay*f^| me back that five dollars and what'®' *" coming to me in wages. Tou are,; losing a «good ofl.-e boy and Mr^' Blank's getting one. That's wh'ere I'mfe glvin' you a lesson in bus.ness."--Newf^ York Press. " %'s Salt Cures Snake Bites "Salt is a good cure for snake bite," said a man who has been in the hills of Alabama, "but I did not know it until recently. 1 spent several weeks In Alabama with a friend of mine, and while up there learnel something about snakes and snake bites that I never knew before, and, more than that, I saw practical demonstrations of the efficacy of salt as a cure for snake bite. "By the way, the crop of rattle snakes in Alabama is larger this year than ever before in the history of the state, and that is saying a good deal, for it has been a long time since there was anything but a big crop of rattlers up in that section of the world. Dur ing one day spent in the cane which grows in abundance at the foot of the hills I personally killed twenty-five rat tlesnakes of various sizes and ages. I never saw as many snakes in my life, and I would be ashamed to tell you the vast number I saw but did not kllL But I was speaking of salt as a cure for bite of a snake. Most every one in that part of the country when tney go into the woods will carry a small bag of salt alofcg in order to pro tect themselves against snake bite. Snakes are so plentiful that they never know when they will be attack ed by one of these members, and so they go prepared for an emergency. "It seems that the salt Is a good ab sorbent and In a very short while? a after its application it will draw the|'^|; poison out of the body. J knew thatj^fl salt was frequently used to drawfe^J stains out of soiled linen and things 4*' of that sort but the fact that it is>' - good for 8naKe bites is a new thing for me. The plan works in Alabama, but I suppose it would be an awfully hard .» matter to convince some of tJjie old codgers that mere was not a better remedy than salt for an affliction of this sort And I may add that I am willing to concede that the other well- known remedy is a bit more pleasant." --New Orleans Times-Democrat The Gettin* Back Home Oettta' tack hnrn Cram a Ions time a- wanderln'; Gettln' back home where J used to be a boy; Gettin' back home, and my heart's Jest a-squanderin" All its wealth of teelln' In a big toast of Joyi Want to see the boys agin, who used to go a-skurrytn* All tha while and ev'rywhere as boys are bound to do. Recollect. with sorrow how we kept our folks a-worry In' And how our parents lots of tips* would keep us worried, too. v Want to see the boys who, down around the swimmln' place. When I'd sneak out to dress myself would spatter me with mud. Never'11 get so old but I can call to mind the jtrinnln' face Of ev'ryone that soaked me with a mortifyin' thud. Want to meet the ones who. Jest for the fun of it, When cockle-burrs ana beggrars -lice was grown' all about, Would All a feller's hair with them so full that hardly none of 'It Waa left remalnlii' by the thus., his mother combed 'em out. , - Want to find the trees that we got the slippery elluih from. Want to see the marsh where the sweet-flag- growed, Want to get the boys all together Ilk% and tell 'em some Things that used to happen they've forgot I ever knowed. Want to see the schoolhouse, and all that's surroundin' It; Want to see the church and the Uttls .u-" graveyard, too. *:?• s Sometime, I s'pose, there'll be another,- s mound In It, Where old-fashioned roses 'ill be kissed with the dew. - ' ,'i But it -ain't my way for to go about vv worryln'; Things are as they orter to be, ori'l. purty near, I 'low; ' f. And so I'm done with the fret tin' and -H, the worryln'; Goin' to And a paradise, and goin' to " And it nOw. Gettln' back home from a tong time a- wanderin'; Gettin' back home where I used to be a boy; Gettin' back home, and my heart's Jest ; a-SqUanderln' All its wealth of feelin' in a big feast of joy! --Hank Spink in Postoa G^lobe. s;;.f • i \„ ' he Busy Drummer. No, thanks, I shouldn't care to be the snare drummer in the band, the duties are too diversified and tho ac tion a trifle continuous. I started to count the number of parts taken by the Individual who holds the post, but lost track of his multifarious stunts at seven. Apparently, the manipulation of the drumsticks is but a secondary accomplishment In one piece, fifor in stance, he started off at his nominal duties and rolled and sattatted right merrily, then, abandoning the sticks, he did funny things with a couple of pieces of sandpaper, which he dropped for a tambourine. This, In turn, was discarded for a triangle, and then oame another Intermezzo, on the Sheepskin. Having got thus far he displayed •till further versatUlty and opening his mouth gave voice to a cock-a-doodle- doo. Then came the barking of a dog, the soft sighing of swine and the love song of a well-developed calf, winding up with an unexpected per formance with a genuine revolver that brought four women to the verge of nervous prostration. O yes, he waa also an important member of the chorus in several songs. No, thanks, I shouldn't care-to be the suare clruo^ mer in the band.--Worcester PojiCrfl Miners' Wages in Bohemis. ; V In the great coal mines of Bohemia the average wages inside for hours Is 86 cents. . , Loae on Postal Telegraph. The deficit on account of the British postal telegraph Is $4,600,000 for the year. ^ 'm