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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Advocate, 1892-7-28, Page 6INIMIMMINIMMOIMINIMMelliniMMINIMEMINItenne A. Tirade leor Dress Reform. (From the newness 1V1iller Illestrated Menthes%) Twee !setter by far To be as you are, Then to pull yourself in at the waist. To look es thee laced, Your orgaos misplaced, lee nbet ou tho civilized testa just look et the " Saps " 'With. their series of wrhes ! t Per that's all teeir garments consist in- Wbat freedom end greee in each motion you trace! And yet awkward stays you. persist in. Behold the result I (Not very occult) When you pet on your shoes in the morn- . Jug. You must stt on the floor To push in a drawer- nnurknees you niu.st use, spite of warning. In time comes old ago : With important rage, Your shoulders all bent you're beholding ; Tour lMees filled with water, in plaster supporter - But there ! of what use is my scolding? Auld Lang Syne Prong the.Preneh. (Scottish A.neericane The French have always been enthusias- tic) admirers of Scotch poetry, but their efforts to translate it into their own lang- uage are not always successful, ha the rendering of Auld Lang Syne will ehow. tion is: Must one neglect ono s friend, Should we forge -the tender feelings Of those whona we formerly loved, lit the days of our youth? In the days of our youth I Let a sweet glass again be filled To the days of our youth. We ran upon the grass, Pulling flowers uaccesingly ; But ohwhat tedious Journeys we've it id Since the days of our youth. We played in the water Whon the summer sun oppressed us, The see now seperatiug us, has been roaring Since the days of our youth. Let us embrace then, dear friend! Let my hand pressyours, Let us drink a glass mete full To the days of our youth. Rendere somewhat literally the trensla- ROMANCE OF A DREAM. (By L. C. Lillie.) BELIEVE my old friend Dr. Von 1 Jane would never have told me the storybut for the fact that travelling together one winter's night our train had a slight Resident, causing a long delay, and the dootor and I, ascertain- ing we would be kept until daylight, ploughed our way through the snow to a farmhouse, where a light was burning. We paid the women of the house for the use of her aitting-romn and fireside and for - some simple food. The doctor produced his fiaak of old rye, we had our pipes, and settled ourselves down for a chat by the fire. "It's not more than two miles from here," saidthe doctor, suddenly. "What ?" I queried. "A place where I had the queerest ex- perience -or rather the sequel to one." "Can't you tell the story ?" "1 believe 1 will," he exclaimed, flinging his arm over the back of the chair. "It's not a story I want to tell moat people, but come baok vividly as ever to•night. Now, wait a bit, major. I want you to tenderstand one thing -I'm no believer in spiritualism, or any so called supernatural humbug. As for this experience, I can merely give facts; I pretend to no notation. Perhaps some clever hypnotist could make it clear, I can't ; it's my first, last and only record of the kind." I certainly knew Dr. Von Jarn to be the least visionary of men. He was regarded in the profeesion as a peculiarly hard- headed, practical man, deceived by no fancied ailment -rather too severe upon "nerves "-preferriug acme very delicate surgical operation requiring his skilled and steady hand to anything which merely in. volved the treatment of "symptoms," no matter how interesting. "It was the 14th day of june, 188-," he went on in a deliberate voice. "I made a note at once of the date. I had not been very well -curiously enough for me I felt - my nerves were rather out of kilter, and when I went to bed I determined I would run down to a friend's place for over the Sunday and orace up. I fell into a fitful sleep, noticing the last thing that the clock pointed to 1 a. m. Of course, I don't know when the dream began, but, major, never with my eyes wide open was anything clearer than the incidents of that dream. I saw myself in a large handsomely fur- nished room. The wall paper, very hand- some of its kind, WM light buff and gold, the hangings and chair coverings crimson plush. A chandelier held half a dozen globe& burners, two of which were lighted and made the room brilliant. Seated at a table in the cadre of the room, and busily engaged in writing, was a handsome man perhaps five and thirty, dark in coloring, with regular features, a sweeping mous- tache and no defect save a peculiar scar just under one eye. I meemed present in the room, yet invisible. Very soon- time in the most vivid dreams, cannot becalculated, you know -a knock emended on the door. The gentleman turned his head, said 'Come in,' and there entered a tall, thin foreigner -a man one would atnnce distrust, yet per- haps have reason to fear. He seated him- self at the table, and, twisting his long hands togeeher, began talking in a language I could not underatend. The other re- sponded with angry shakes of the head; the foreigner sneered, shrugged his shoul- ders, finally rose, as did the inan who was writing. Angry words seemedto rain thick and fast There was a brief confusion, then the foreigner, forced his companion back toward the bed -finally upon it. I saw the gleam of a knife -a great spurt of blood flew out, some on the wall paper near the bed, and all Was still. The toreigner bent his ear to listen, waited a tnoment, and then scaled a fire escape I could see to the street below. The door opened again -this time an exquisitely lovely woman in night attire, with rich braids of golden hair falling below her waist, hurried in. She looked at the motionless figure on the bed. She wrung her hands -she called upon laim to speak - and my strange dream ended seeing her sink to the fiber in a moon. I awoke with great beads of cold sweat on trier brow, and trembling from head to foot Had I actually in the waking world witnessed a murder it would have seemed no more real tome than the murder in my dream. Fully awake I cried out, 'Villain - where can / find you?' Well, major, yeti., know my reputation as a cynic and a scof- fer, and I didn't like to tell anyone of the dream or how it had elected me. The been wouldhave had too pod 0. thing out of it, reat I Nab kept 80, hdt I never forgot one detail of it. I would know that room -the tones of the men's voices --the sounds of their unfamiliar language -just as I Would know Umlaute or gest-urea Above ex aid I never forgot the beautiful, Annie*. strieketi &co of the woman. Two years obliterated no part of my 'memory of that -well, I called it, I admit experience in second sight. It was too unlike all other &Wes to °Mender it as stieh. " Engrained as I was ia my profeseion, yob from time to time my strange ' murder ' dream as I Celled it to inyeelf, would °eine to mind foroibly, vividly to ever. My duty eitlk(l me one sultry July to a town near here, 1 arrived lee, saw my patient., and, tired out, hastened to the hotel. The clerk assigned me room 49. I followed the por- ter, feeling dull sae fileepy, into a large room where he apeedily lighted two or three burners in the chandelier, put down my valise, a pitoher of ice water, and then departed. Tired as I was, the familiar aspect of the room suddenly aroused my sews. Where had I seen that room be- fore ? I bad never visited X— in my life ; of that I was certain; and here I found myself in a room where every detail, plush furniture and hangings, gold and buff paper, centre table, mirror and chan- delier were familiar as though I had known them all my life. Suddenly in a flesh, I remembered -it was the roora of my dream. Involuntarily I turned to the wall by the bed, seeking some sign of the blood stain. All 1 found was Peace where evidently some chemical had been used to wash out something, thus de- stroying the patternof the paper. "1 slept lig/ably, and as early as possible sought the clerk at the desk. " I have a reason for asking,' I re- marked, • whether the room in which I slept, number 49, was not the scene of a murder two years ago last June 14th.' "The olerk looked a trifle vexed. Why, not a murder, doctor,' he answered ; 'it Was only a sutoide case. A Mr. Harmon from Stockbridge came on tare, and in the night out his throat.' " Was he alone?' " " His wife or -daughter?' " Oh, he had no daughter; he was a young man. His wife arrived the next morning and was nearly crazy.' " 'Can you tell me where she is now?' I inquired, fairly breathless with interest to follow up every olue in this most singular exy,erience. Why, as it happens,' said the clerk, 'she is in X— to -day, -visiting her sister; but she never comes near the hotel since her husband's death.' "He readily gave me the address w ere mule find Mrs. Harmon, and in the most strained and peculiar fret= of mind you can imagine I went out about 11 o'clock to Orchard street, whereentre. Field, the sister of Harmon's widow, lived. Ushered into a long, cool, shadeddrawing roora, I felt like one living out a dream. How much more so when the portieres moved and a tall, slender, black -robed young figure appeared. I had seen her only in night attire, with long golden braids hanging to her waist, yet there was no diffi- culty in recognizing the woman of my dream. The beautiful pale face, deep blue eyes, the profuse blond hair, coiled now in rich braids about her shapely head -all had been photographed on me mind too clearly to mistake them in life. "She advanced, holding out her hand; then with a faint smile said: I have your card; pray be seated. Is there anything I can do for you, doctor "1 paused a moment. We sat in easy chairs facing each other. The delicate beauty of her face was set off by the dark crimson cushions at her back. Then I said, slowly and impresesively " Yes, my dear madam; will you first tell me where you were on the night ofjune 14th, 188- ? ' "She started. Her face crimsoned and paled. " I ? June 14th, 188-? In Stock- bridge, I was at my home.' " Is ib possible,' I exclaimed, "that you were not here in X— the night your husband was murdered?' "She passed her hand softly over her brow and gazed at me intently. "No' ' she said, almost in a whisper, ouly in my dream ; but he was murdered -I know it. It was no case of suicide.' "Her eyes, feverish and brilliant, were fastened on my face as though seeking what knowledge 1 had of a hidden crime, and her slender little hands were clasped tightly together. " 1 Tell me,' I said, in the soothing voice we medical men must use at tim, es, what did you dream that night! We can help each other to solve the mystery of your hus- band's death.' "Her gaze shifted now. She looked be- yond me out into the fragrant gardens. Presently, in a low voice. and still with averted eyes, she said "Philip left me early that morning to come here and. collect a large amount of money due him. He had put it in a lawyer's hands, but the man was either a knave or a fool, as we could make nothing oue of him. Philip and I were to go the next afternoon for a few weeks to Bar Harbor, and we were like a pair of happy children planning our holiday. There was no reason for his taking his life. He was in vigorous health, well off, and we had been married a year without a really angry word between ne. It was a lover's holiday all the dine. That night about 8 1 began to feel strangely nervous. There was a man for whom my husband had done many kindnesses and whom I entirely distrusted. He was a Polish Jew -clever, capable of earning a good living, but by instinct preferring demons methods whereby to procure a live- lihood. He had been employed by my hus- band as secretary at one time, but dismissed for his lack of punctuality. Yet even atter that Philip helped him constantly. That fatal night he called at our home and asked to see myhu band. sband. I told him Mr. Har- mon was n X— on business, to be back the next day. He left. I went to bed at 10 o'clock. Then came the dream. I saw the room in the hotel at X— as plainly as I see this. I saw myself in the door for a moment only, but in that moment Zobo- rinaki's figure was before me and escaping from a window. I seemed to be alone bend- ing over my husband, who lay upon the bed -the assassin's knife in his poor dead hands -his throat cut. I wrung my hands -I tried to speak -I could not. I awoke about 3 o'clock and took the first train to X—, where I was met with the news that my husband had committed suicide, the proof being the knife clinched in his hand. What could I do? No one had seen Lebo- rinski 1 -no one has since but day and night I pray to God that dreadful charge may be taken from . "She paused, pale, but feverishly intent upon what T had to say. In as calm a man- ner as possible I related the peculiar inci- dents of my dream on June 14th, and my seeing her in night attire bending over her husband. " ' What -what sort of a gown was it? ' she asked, " only remember deep lace on the neck and sleeves.' "She left me and in a few momenta re- turned with a night dress in her hands. 41 Like this ? ' she whispered. "'Yes,' r answered, .16 was precisely White / had seen in the dream. 44 4 What can we do?' the girl said, look- ing at me piteously. 'No one ea,n find Zehorinaki, and two years ago the coroner's inquest ascribed his death to suicide.' Let tie wait,' I said, rising, for I felt as Much nervous strain as ehe could bear had been put upon her. "I returned to the hotel, itild passed two hours revolving this strange edge in my mind. I felt no doubt that the Pole had murdered his benefactor for the money or imperil he bed about him. I questioned the clerk at the desk nein as to who Ind Meele l'Ars Harmon the night of the. supposed Attlee:1e. No one, was the answer. I then gave as geed a de. soription as I could of the Pole, and the clerk et once remembered that such a mae had QQ1110 in about 10.30 p. m., had looked over the register, going away soon after. This provee, to my mind clearly that the I'01Q, having ascertained the number of Mr. Hermon's room, quietly walked up to it, and had left by the ere -escape after looking the door on the inside. It was certainly a cleverly planned and executed murder. "1 presented myself at Mrs. Harmon's in the afternoon with what new points I had in the case. She was, of course, intensely interested. I will find him if the earth holds him,' she said, with an intenseness none couldoubt. " What do you propose to do?' I in- quired. I shall go first to Vienna, where I last heard of him; after that I cannot say; but time, money, strength ahall be as nothing spent in this case.' "1 cannot tellyou, major, how her feel- ings influenced mina Had I been able to do so I would have started with her at once on this strange quest. That being out of the question, all I could do was to help her in so far as I could, ane two weeks loner I Paw her off in a German steamer whereby she could reach Vienna within 18 hours after landing. "A year passed, during which time I heard itt AQ way from my fair friend. I forgot nothing connected with the strange experience'but all such memories were in a hidden part of my brain or mind. I might be conscious from time to time of their • ex• titan's's., but they were not present to me unless summoned forth. On the 14th of the next June I received an unsigned letter, writtep in the third person, requesting me to call at a certain hour at a house in East — street ; a fornaer patient of mine, it said, was ill there. I went. The hour was 9 p, m. The house was one of a dingy row of brick dwellings in a oast off sort of street. On entering I could only ask for the sick person who had sent for the doctor. The woman who had admitted me ledhe way at once to a room on the ground floor. "There, lying on a forlorn looking bed, was the wreck of the beautiful woman 1 had last seen in X—. One glance told me that her disease might be fatal. mhe held out her hand with a wan s "'1 have accomplished my purpose, doc. tor,' she said; I have spent it all-time, money and strength; but I found him and I wrung from him an acknowledgment of his crime.' "She spoke slowly an1 with some diffi- culty, but I knew it was not wise to restrain her. " I found hitn in an Austrian prison,' she continued, 'where he had been placed for a new crime. I told him there had been a witness to the murder he committed, and at last, owing to the money I could give him for his own use in the prison, he confessed it all. He had tracked my husband, watched him draw the money from the bank e.ndalso convert some bonds into cash, and then see- ing him in the hotel had found the number of leis room on the register and -we know the rest. What I want you to do for me is to make the facts known that Philip Ha mon was not a suicide, but a murderen "She handed me a paper signed by Zo- borinski, and giving details, which proved the feet. I tended her for days watching every fluttering of life in the frail body. At the end of two weeks I was able to move her to my mother's house, where I lived and had my office. There she rallied." The doctor paused. Daylight was com- ing in grandly through the shutters of the windows, and sounds of farm yard life were audible. "Our relief train should be here soon," the doctor said suddenly, stopping in his pacing up and down of the room. "Did Mrs. Harmon die?" I enquired. " No,", he answered shortly;"we never talk of that experience now, she and I. You have met her often, major. Don't you know thee she is my wife ?" watermetens lis Washington. It is very hot in Washington. The horses flounder and stick in the pavements like flies on fly paper. The solid asphalt rolls along in the gutters, and even 'Congressmen earn their living by the sweat of their pro- fessional brows. Every man you meet has an infallible recipe for keeping cool, and in imminent danger of sunstroke stops to tell you of it. Sometimes he bears himself up with cold water plunges. Somethnes he driaks quarts of ice water. Sometimes he wears impossible clothes, but in all times he is damplyt redly, awfully hot. The wise maiewho in this matter is almost invariably a woman- for where a clever woman can't keep cool, humanity may prepare to fry - doesn't pretend to be cool. He isn't and he knows he can't be. He simply doeen't mind the heat. He wears low-cut collars and thin clothes. He carries a sun umbrella.. He bathes often in warm water. He drinks cold, but not iced, lemonade. He brushes his hair off his forehead. 1 use the pronoun gener- ally. He goes out without gloves. He knows he is hot, and be makes up his mind to be hot and not say anything about it. A calm mind is the coolest thing in town, but there are two other things that help to make life endurable. One is the cool breeze that alwaye blows through the porch of the capitol,i and the other s the watermelon which hail just come to town. If you want to enjoy life, buy you a watermelon, put it on ice, and, rising in the dead of night, attired as beet suits solitude and the hour, take your prize to a corner where no one can see how you eat, and revel in untamed, sevage satisfaction. If you never were happy before, you will be then, and you won't at all mind the entice of the ther- mometere-Se Paul Globe. The Summer Girl. "You will be mine, then ? " he said, as he clasped her in his arms. "1 will," she replied, as she laid her head upon hit shoulder. "It seems to me that your face is familiar," he said, after a delicione pause; "have we not met before ?" "Why, certainly," she replied, "at Bar Harbor last summer we were engaged." A Good Plan. Old Doctor -No, sir. I never have a patient die on my hande-never Young Doctor -How do you manage a ? Old Doctor -When I find a man is going to die I get him to call a specialist. in a extender". Rowley (soliloquizing before the door at e a. m.) -1f I don't go in (hic) the cop will run me in, an' (hie) if 1 do go in my vvife (hie) will turn ine out What ish (hie) e fellow to do A dinner watt recently given on the eteinp of a tree to 28 persons near Tacoma, Wattle Siinson-Who are you writing to, Willie. Willie -To grandfather. Ittr. 8imson-But he, poor man, is ClAkt Wiflze -I knout it, but I am writing in Greek. hat &lad language, ain't it ? UNDER AN AWFUL. BEAT, Summer Misery itt the Sweltering Beat of New TOXIC. Dreamer of the liberty, avidity and fra- ternity of a republic, go down to the "Bend"of Mulberry street any of these hot days and see Little Italy. Taken from doke far usenet of tne Mediterranean and the slopes of the little Alps, how do the olive -skinned immigrants stand the swelter- ing reflection from the granite blocks of the paving? Under the low archways and in the pinched, alleys the mothers gather, holding moist Pippo or Anita in their bare arms. Overhead a streak of blue sky peeps between the ugly tenements, and below *lashes of white sunlight and dark shadow, and women in totem dresses of gaudy 'eaten But there ie no reat tor the eyes on cool, white marble architecture ; no splash of sparkling fountain, no perfume of the myrtle and the orange bloom, no in- dolent, contented breadwinners. Pent thaw women and children hurry hungry, thirty, perspiring hundreds, many of whom week the stale -beer dives for forgetfulness, or the vendors of oheep notions and cheaper food. At the corner stands, twirling his club, the representative of what seems to them a profounder tyranny than the monarchies of Europe -the blue -coated policeman. When the sun is at its highest during the hot days of last week, a narrow slice of shade on one side of the street is all that remaine an a refuge. The men oreep closer and closer to the grimy walls, the women oling tighter and tighter to the babies, and shift their resting places so as to gain the cooler spot, the children nestling in the narrower spaces. The other day a horse stood in front of a low, heavy-eaved house on Madison street. A mourning coaoh stood a few doors dis- tant, and in the shadow of both sat children at play. Under the very wheels of the waggon of death, and almost, under the homes themselves were the little ones, seek- ing to avoid sunshine as a mole would avoid the light of day. Sleepy, blear-eyed,dirty, they lay in all positions possible, braced against the bar- rels, bales and boxes, as idle -looking as the waves dapping the beams below. The horses lifting the freight into the holds moved with slow steps, the whistles of the skippers had a far -away misty sound as if the worker's lungs were longing tor a sum- mer vacation. -Y. Y. Advertiser. The Paper Age. The world has seen its iron age and its brazen age; but this is the age of paper. We are making so many things of paper that it will soon be true that without paper there is nothing made. We live in paper houses, wear paper clothing and sit on i paper cushions n paper cars rolling on paper wheels. If we lived in Bergen, Norway, we could go on Sundays to a paper church. We do a paper business over paper counters, buying paper goads, paying for them with paper money and deal in paper stocks on paper margins. We i row races n paper boats for paper prizes. We go to paper theatres where paper actors play to paper audiences. As the age develops the coming man will become more deeply enmeshed in the paper net. He will awake in the morning and creep from under the paper clothing of hie paper bed and put on his paper dressing gown and his paper slippers. Re will walk over paper carpets, down paper stairs and seating laimeelf in a paper chair will read the peper news in the morning paper. A paper bell will call him to his breakfast, cooked in a paper oven, served on paper dishes laid on a paper cloth on a paper table. He will wipe his lips with a -paper napkin, and having put on his paper shoes, paper hat and paper coat, and then taking his paper stick (he has the choice of two descriptions already), he will walk on a paper pavement or ride in a paper carriage to his paper office. He will organize paper enterprises and make paper profits. He will sail the ocean on paper steamships and navigate the air in paper balloons. He will smoke a paper cigar or paper tobacco in a paper pipe, lighted with a paper match. He will write with a paper pencil, whittle paper sticks with a paper knife, go fishing with a paper fishing rod, a paper line and a paper hook, and put his catch in a paper basket. He will go shooting with -a paper gun, loaded with paper cartridges, and will defend his country in paper forts, with paper cannon and paper bombs. Having lived his paper life and achieved a paper fame and paper wealth he will retire to paper leisure and die in paper peace. There will be a paper funeral, at which the mourners, dressed in paper crape, will wipe their eyes with paper handkerchiefs, and the preecher will preach in a paper pulpit. He will lie in a paper coffin. Elsewhere in this paper it will be seen that he has a chalice of doing et; already if he is a paper -we mean pauper. He will be wrapped in a paper shroud, his name will be engraved on a paper plate, and a paper hearse, adorned with paper &meg, will carry him to a paper -lined grave, over which will be raised a paper monument. - The Paper .Record. Where the Apostles are Marled. All that now remains of the Apostles of Christ are in the following places, says the Philadelphis Press. Seven are sleeping the sleep of the just in Rome. viz. : Peeer, Philip, James the Less, Jude, Bartholomew, Matthias and Simon. The remains of three lie in the kingdom of Naples -Matthew at Salerno, Andrew at Amalfi and Thomas at Ortona. One, James the Greater, was buried in Spain, at St. Jago de Compoatella. Of the exact whereabouts of the remains of St. John the Evangelist there istauch dis- pute. Mick and Luke are buried in Italy - the former at Venice and the latter at Padua. St. Paul's remains are also believed to be in Italy. Peter is buried in Rome, in the church which bears his name; so, too, are Simon and Jude. threes the Lesser is buried in the Church of the Holy Apostles ; Bartholomew in the church on that island in the Tiber whioh beam his name. The "Legends of the Apostles" places the remaine of Matthias under the altar of the renowned Basilica.. How to Wash Windows. There is at knack even in washing windows. They should be kept clean and thoroughly clear for the display of goods. Cheerio a dull day, or, at least, a time when the sun is not shining on the window, for then it cinema it to be streaked, no matter hew much it is rubbed. Take a painter's brut* and duet the windows inside and out, wash- ing alt the woodwork Inside before touching She glass. The latter must be washed simply in warm Water and diluted ammonia -do not ese soap. Take e. small cloth with a pointed stick to get the dud out of the cor- ners; wipe dry with a soft piece of cotton 'cloth -do not tuse linen, as it makers the glass linty and dry. Polish with tissue paper or old newspaper. This can be done in half the time taken where soap is used. leottidtul. Fweddy-Cholly, I'm feeling wocky. I think Soak my head. Oholly4b 'fetch anything, defsh boyunless the hat gm* with it. Peter the Great fdlperinfmnded the Man agentent of the nest Rittman newspaper. ' ACROBATS W110 WEAll 8104Infir Something About the Novel lintertainlitent Now Being Given by a German "Troupe in Old London. The eccentric' acrobat aware to be more popular than ever in London. But at present the eceentricity takes the feel:don- able phase. Languid dowagers and lOne• limbed youth in dress suits pay half a guinea apiece for the orchestra stall, from whioh to witness the antics of a troupe of male and female tumblers, irreproachably olad in evening dregs. No :maven, no limbs glittering in white tinsel. But instead the men ere habited itt bleale, with, glossy and well -fitting trousers, and the ladies, until they begin their gyrations, might be taken for spectators. These fashionable tumblers call them- selves the Froutz family. The men are handsome fellows. The women are shapely and sprightly. They wear black satin theme, cut low at the neck, with ekirts reaching to the ankle, long gloves and the usual feminine adornments of flowers and plumes. It is, therefore, somewhat aurprisingto see them turning somersaults and going through the usual acrobatic beldam with- out the slightest apparent inconvenience, and without disarranging dress or orna- ments. Suddenly OM of the beauties poises heraelf add one of the male gymnasts leaps lightly to her shoulders. Then up to his shoulders, gracefully and without hesi- tation, goes a second lady, and at a given moment away she goes in a back sornmeoult from her dizzy perch. But this is nothing to the spectacle of three of these lady gymnasts rolling over and over, holding on to each other's feet and !lauds, and forming a variegated ball, whioh flashes gayly under the electric light. -- New York Morning Journal. ABOUT SOIREE DIET. Persons Should Adapt Their Food to the Season. /4alfethe illness that occurs at one season, I thiifit`I can safely say, is due to improper dieting taken at another, says Dr. Yorke Davis, in the Popular Science Monthly. We hear of people feeling weak in the spring, or suffering from theme different ailments due to malnutrition, such as boils, skin diseases, obesity or debility. Now, this would not be so if the person adapted his diet to his requirements and to the season. No sensible person would think of keeping a large fire burning in his room in the summer. If he did he would undoubtedly soon feel the effect of it ; but many, a man who would feel himself in- sulted if he were not thought a seneible per- son wit eat in the %Ammer to repletion foods the particular action of which is to supply heat ia excess. Perhaps I canuot do better here than to explain that the foods that are converted into heat -that is, keep up the heat of the body -are atarolies, sugar and fat ; and those that more par- ticularly nourish the nervous and muscular system are the albumens and ;salts ; and a perusal of or reference to a prepared table will show what these are and also the amounts of the different constituents they contain. At a glance the reader will see that the largest properties of summer food should consist of green vegetables, cooked or as salads ; white or lean siesta such as chicken, game, rabbits, venison, fish and fruits. Musical and Dramatic Notes. Buffalo Bill Cody, Nate Salsbury and Major Burke have been to Wiadsor Castle and were introduced to the Queen. Marie Tempest is to sing the prima donna role in Smith and De Kovenes new comic opera, "The Fencing Master," under the management of J. M. Hill. She has been studying fencing in Paris. A list of musical compositions by women, extended from 1675 to 1885, includes fifty- five serious operas, fifty-three comic opera, and two oratorios, besides a few cantatas- ballad operas, etc. Robert B. Mantell, the handsome roman- tic actor, is threatened with imprisonment in Ludlow street jail. Mr. Mantel), is in arrears to his wife, well known on the stage as Marie Sheldon, for °Antony, and Mrs. Mantel[ threatens to melee it hot for her recreant husband. The startling information is printed in Chicago that a company hes been incorpor- ated by authority of the State of Illinois to produce the Passion Play of Oberammergau in the Windy City during the World's Fair. The plan involves the bringing of seven hundred peasants frotn Bavaria; and an ex- penditure of $800,000. Mr. and Mrs. Kendal are to pey America another visit. With new material they will duplicate their former success. Mr. Irving is also to come here again. He is always welcome, and the announcement that he has decided to make another American tour has been received with pleasure everywhere. Mr. Irving has given Americans more for their money than any other actor or mana- ger who has come from abroad. Ho is a teacher and a leader, and his influence for good has been felt in every city in the countrynand hie work has been productive of excellent results. Mrs. Langtry contem- plate,s a tour of the States in it play founded on a risque subject The Dog Bode Mame. Some time ago the proprietors of the People's Journal offered a prize for the best doggy anecdote. The winner turned up in a Mn Scotland, of Govan, and his story ran as follows: "A.gentleman who was in the habit of driving home in a handsome cab always took his dog, called Scott with him. One day instead of tak- ing a cab he was walking home when he all at once mimed Sooti in a crowd. He looked for him, but in vain. At Test he reached home. About two hours after his arrival a handsome cab drove up te the door and out jumped Scoti. The cabman rang for his fare, and thinking the cabman had caught the runaway the gentleman asked him how and where he found him. Oh, sir!' said the cabby, did not hail him at all, he hailed me. I was standing at the corner waiting for a fare when ni jumped the dog. I shouted through the window, but he would nob stir. got down and tried to pull him out, but he only barked, as much as to sey, drive on As I seized him by the collar 1 read the name and address, so I just let him sit still and shut the doora, and drove on until I stopped at this gate, when out jumps my pamenger and -Walks into the house ad though he had been a regular passenger." • They Keep Better Whiskey. Aneitem Wife -Doctor, my husband was delirious last night, and this morning he lies in bed and doesn't sae. anything. Doctor -4111 this preeeription, and he will be all right Anxious Wife -What drug store shall I take it to 1 - Doctor -You had better get ie fined at a saloon. She isn't an angel, she isn't a goddess, she isn't a lily, d retie or a pearl; Ghee simply what's sweetest, completese and neetelits dear tittles queer little, eweet girL weelasesesseenwe mow TO KISS GI/CLO. tenet Miss 'Ent-letnet Stott to Argue the pout. They were out at the gate, flirting, chat- ting and laughing in the lanooplight He thought her eyes were very lovely, and her red, soft lips curled just too tantalizingly as she mocked some of his words and mildly chafed him. He thought he'd like to Wee he ,r so he "tried it on. ' Now, when it cornes to kissing a gini, there are men and men. Some men -these are the bunglers -ask a girl for a kiss, and then try to persuade her into giving it. The other men -these are the artists -take the kiss and do the persuading afterward. A girl may try to get inad with ono these men, but she feels an awfully strong inclin- ation to laugh when it's all over, and he May be afraid ohs% scold, but he's got the kiss all the same, "Come what may, he has been Weed." This fellow was one of the former kind -- the bunglers. He asked her to give him a kiss, and of course she said she wouldn't do . it. Moreover, she was filled with indignae tion, amazement, shocked feelings and things. Then he started in to persuade her. He is a lawyer, and his logic on this coca- sion was not half bad, so the girl says. ele made an eloquent plea, and it took him some twenty minutes arguing to convince her according to his satisfaction that the kiss was a perfectly excusable piece of naughtiness. He worked hard, but at last he thought he had satisfied his BOru.. pies with sophistry, so he said "Web!, now that I've arged the mat- ter with you I'm going to kiss you." She gave him a. look of greatest naivete and said, in a suppressed, impatient tone r "Well, you didtet expect me to kiwi you first, did you ?" He was flabbergasted. She was the first of that species known. As "the summer girl that he had met and this stag- gered him. -Chicago News. WILT TOMMIE LEFT SCI1001.. A Bright leittie Sketch by Miele D• Holland. "The subject for composition," said Mina Ketcham, the teacher of the high school at VVeighback, "Will be The Domestic Cab'"; and idle wrote the title in large let- ters on the black -board. Tommie Higgina, the bad boy of the school, hugged himself, and, nudging his neareso neighbor, whis- pered: "1 kin yarn 'bout that, you bet." "Silence 1" thundered Miss Ketchum, in her big contralto voice. " Thomas Higginie stand out on the floor." After some slight hesitation, due probably to native diffidence, Tommie did as he wee lioId. The following Monday the compositions were read aloud by their respective authors. All went well until ie came to Tommie Hig- gins' turn to air his literary efforts. With a glance of defiance, miugled with triumph, he read as follows.: "The Don:testi& Cat. -There is cats as fa nice, and there is cats as is not nice. I know it' n old cat and her name is Metier; she is about 40 years old. She has not never had no kittings of her own, but she sets up to boas other fokeses kittinga and teaoh them no end of stuff. Our old cat to home sits on the fence and mows to Mia Black's cat. No cat won't mow to that old cat Mariab, sines so cross and old and homely." The whole school was demoralized by the titne Tommie's compoaition was concluded. Mias Ketchum, whose name was Maria, and whose nodded years exactly corresponded. with those of the feline subject iof the essay, was speechless with indignation. Tommie does not go to that school now. Tommy bas eaten his meals off the mantel- piece for some time. Strange to say, he cannot bear to even look at the family cat, but kicks her remorselessly every time she ventures near hive now to Prevent Snoring. • It is a pity we don't learn a few lesaona from the original inhabitants of this con- tinent and profit by them. Whoever heard an Indian snore? If Indians never wore, why should the pale face? ril tell you why-. Indians have, from the beginnneg, lived and slept in the open air. Snoring simply means sleeping with the month open -a most unbealthy as well as hideous own tom, the proper sieve for air being the nose. For Indians to breath through the month would be to offer a receptacle for many an unwelcome guest, as well as to warn the enemy of them presence. To guard against such evils, indians are taught to keep their mouths shut from earliest infancy. Many a time I've watched Indian mothers close their babies' mouths after putting them to sleep. Habit finally becomes second nature ; hence the Indian is the most silent of animals. The Tickled Toad. Few things are more amusing than to watch a toad submitting to the opeletion of a back -scratching. He will at first look somewhat suspiciously at the twig whiek you are advancing toward hint. But after two or three passes down his back hie manner undergoes a marked change; hes eyes close with an expression of infinite rapture, he plants his feet wider apart and his body swells out to nearly double its ordi- nary size, as if to obtain by these means more room for enjoyment. Thul he will re- main until you make some sudden movement which startles him, or until he has had sin much as he wants, when with it puff of re- gretful delight, he will reduce himself to hie usual dimensions and hop away, bent once more on the pleasures of the chase. -Our Dumb Animals. Little Johnny on Style. I likes to see folks put on style. ff it wasn't for them and the minstrels and the °houses it would be pretty dull sometimes. Mother alweys gets mad when she geese/re. Stuckup out riding, but I can't see anything to get mad at 'cept I wouldn't like to be her little boy. I peeked into the win,dow yes- terday when they was having their lunch and they didn't have anything but bread and cold liver. I hate liver. I'm glad our folks isn't stylish. -New York Herald. Btudness is Business. "Maude, Tam going to teu yoa mime thing." " Yea dear." Now that I'm engaged to the old thing* he wants the' ceremony to take plimet at once. I don't know what to de." "Marry him as boon at you can, ditTlieg. Hill relatives will have him declared insane and spoil it all if vou are not careful. Wilt Assist His Memory. "Who is that fellow t" "His name is -well, I've forgotten itt again.' I never Could remember itt fleit always trying to borrow a dollar or two troinm.' "Andeyou can't remember hie •ninatot Lend him the dollar or two Nottte day." There is a grain blockade et Montreal, resetting, from the atisence of demand front England; where the peopte are too excited over the electioes to Attend to Imeinese. . Crude oil is exceltent to Wipo wood Work Women of every 'tank go letreheaded in j and furniture with, toSeording to a painter. Merino, • - Wipe of with a eleven -loth.