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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1896-5-8, Page 2T1U VI softeleeloVenersanannt AR'S GOVERN TRE 711:x ' 8, 1890 Ila:: a elshcarleudng offeet, and— '' "1 wish they could hear you," days flanseombe, with a slight shrug. "it is as well they carnet," say's the ei.ai , !bough I doubt if free speaking — does much harm; and, really, perpetual , though you had no Interest loft in life." grinding does destroy the genuine love CHAPTER ?:YX "Yes, y , o es with a for 0uC grand eat n 1lle dolt see should hese been yrs, 1 have' days th rn , il• 811 feel deep down' in our souls;' "Ott the l the 1 triage whioh ha I ova the newel ch t.i L 6 Abut settle, h "i'`ee11n6 has gone out of fnshfon" to them Peery i go t the past dreii yet. Yell know Ielver, He nays Dorian, so distinelIn that, Georgie and the would to oblige the alc:ti , - in Lim distance hears him altd winces tel ld h t so sorry it l lead de , w'e)'. 3,'st. JU'IY In mensoi y s resurreotionl 13ut Bears in her ut'ms this Present fuleru " woo ado leen a "'Well, I3ailay+ serlecl lham,'lpattuso tkta>>� 91•(341• fund of Il, it " as says 'd cot that reason, 1 was o vicar. "There J a sp can t be a doubt at 1t, when n Of course it Is quite hernial le to hide lhp best teusber In the pariah, bee u i,f the nlra+'ati 1 the h se ' um and iso said. r ih ue thinks i s 1 of y u aunt made from Clarissa Payton that (Weill 1110E 1 dtdu't bora them:' Sore alto is Ufl" in (loot fine old 13oolt, There aro ln- is going wren at Serlorle. Georgee"s quite 10 leer; as tbo01.118 grief novneions fi'OIA morning till night, and pato unsmiling face (so different .from . known u liar; bol'• a minute a got a to made u t i this to the Lwe net the joy Endes front her g gamed by them. , Surely 11 we that of olcl,) and Purian's ovld:nt, de- faoo, leaving her sader than before. "1. 00' i the Bible as tt emeln tion to absent himself from all might be Irish," she says, 'emotion is termination 11 ith me Come down 6 ociety, toll their own tele. do changeable tit with Ino now to the village, will you? She has, of course, hoard 01 the un- It is my day at the school.' comfortable gossip that has ponied- "We11S.come np,stairs'p1114 me while cd Ruth Annetsley'Is mysterious dlsap- T put on. mythins, says Cllieart, she pp 1•. nae with Dorian, but •-- stanch then, . though. really sae l', art, she I a a cannot s4s rt Un from , 6 friend as she is—Las 1pugltt+tl .to sc+ern jet, the last person to rho world;' sltc all sucb insinuations; that Cleorgle can guys, "ono would acenee 01 teaching believe them, puzzles ber urore than she Scripture, or lbs Catechism, noorthat.""i<1 d remark ing o s ' • was it serves 410 00400 to alter a word here and there, or a.sentence that was dear to es from our childhood. it brings us t10 nearer God, but only unsetLiee beliefs that, per- haps,, nip to this were sound enough. The times are not to be trusted," "Is anything worthy of trust?"" says Dorian bitterly, 1 doubt I'm old-fashioned," says the dear vicar, with a deprecating smile.. I dare say change is good, and works tares to.eontess. For a long time she Wktat a very ane ter wonders in mai ways. , We old has fought. against the thought that tiimegto=dn • ".Anaturally sea verYf m ,pie stick fast, and can't program. I 6 ecu bink alt ht bad of moral ,young woman?" suppose 1 should be content to be put on Dorlan's wife a k g G psis ono side." Dorian; nut time undeceives n or a en ` Watts To -day, Georgie,' who 3e now thvwys ,to save my 'life," sena Clarissa. "Goole feverishly restless, tells herself she will or we shall be late, and Pullingham go up to Gowran and see Clarissa, To Junior without Watts. would, I feel Eros - b t' d her."No Only I could eat teach an th T Commandments, 00 "f hopa,you will be piet on my side," says Dorian: "I should feel pretty safo, then, Do you know, I have not been in this room for so many years that I itive, sink into an abyss of vice: ay am afraid to count them? When last. here, it was durina holiday term; might bark and bete and do other don- gq' and I remember sitting beside youand gerous t*hings." , thinking, how awfully jolly glad I was Mrs. Branscombe (with Clarissa) to be well out of it, when other' chit - reaching the school -house justin time dren were doing their, lessons!' to take Ler class, the latter sits down Comfortable reflectlots, and thane in a disconsolate fashion upon a stray 1008,th a laug e' selfish," says the vicar, bench and aurveys the scene before her '"Was it selfish? I suppose so," His with wondering eyes. face clouds again ; a sort of reckless de - There sits Georgie, a dory fragile sits fia:uue shadows it. "You must not ex- teacher for so rough a class; harehim pct much from mo," he se s, slowly; the vicar with the adults before , deep in the mysteries of the Thirty-nine Articles. Tha head teacher tis nearly in fears over the Creed, because of the stupidity with you, or you would not ea speak. ot her pupils; the assistant is raging don't askyou now what it is ; you shall over the Ten Commandments. A11 .is gloom1 Clarissa is rather delighted than otherwise, and, having surveyed everybody comes back to eeorgie, she being the most refreshing object on view. At the top of the class, faring the bit window sits John Spriggs (aetat, ten on his hands. He has utterly declines heral0ne she clings,—not outwardly, in any marked fashion, but in her inmost soul„ -as to one who at her worst ex- tremity will support and comfort her. The day is warm and full of color. Bound her "flow the winds from snoods and fields 'Lth gladness laden;" the air 11 fall of life. The browning grass rustles beneath her feet. The leaves fall slowly one by one, as though loath to leave their early home; the wind, cruel, like all love, wooer thein only to their doom. "The waves along the forest borne," beat on her face and head, and half cool the despairing thoughts that now always lie hidden deep down within her breast. Coming to Gowran and seeing Clar- issa in the drawing -roam window, she beckcns to her, and C,nrissa, rising hast- ily opens the hall door for her, her- self, and leads her by the band into auother cozier room, where they may talk without interruption. 1t so happens that Georgie is in one of her worst moods; and something Clarissa says very innocently brings on a burst of passion that compels Clarissa to understand (in spite of all her efforts to think herself in the wrong) that the dissensions at Sartoris have a great deal to do with Ruth Annersley. "It is impossible," she says, over and over again, walking up and down the room in an agitated manner. "I could almost as soon believe Horace guilty of this thing!'" Georgie makes no reply. Inwardly she has conceived a great distaste to the handsome Horace, and consider him a very inferior person, and quite unfit to mate with her pretty Clarissa. "In your heart," says Miss Peyton, stopping before her. I don't believe You think Dorian guilty of this thing." "Yes. I do," says Mrs. Branscombe, with dogged calmness. " I don't ask you to agree with me, I only tell you what I myself honestly believe." She has given, up fighting against her fate by this time. "There is some terrible mistake some- where," says Clarissa, is a very dis- tressed voice, feeling it wiser not to argue the point further, "Time will surely clear it up sooner or later, but it is very severe on Dorian while it lasts. I have known the dear fellow all my lite, and cannot now begin to think evil of ben. I have always felt more like a sister to him than anything else, and I canna believe him guilty of this thing." 1 am his wife, and I can," says Mrs. Branscombe, icily_ "If you loved him as you ought, you could not." This .is the one rebuke she cannot refrain from. Georgi: laughs unpleasantly, and then all in a little moment, she varies the performance by bursting into a passion- ate. and most unlocked for flood 00 tears. "Don't talk to nee of love 1" she cries, miserably. ' It is useless. T don't be- lieve in it. It is a delusion, a. mere mockery, a worn-out superstitution. You will tell me that Dorian loved me; and yet in the very early days before our marriage, when his so-called love must have been at its height, he in- sulted me beyond all forgiveness. "You. are =akin& yourself wretched about nothing," sins Clarissa, kneeling be ide her, and g-ntly drawing her bead dawn on her shoulder. 'Don't, darling don't cry like that. I know, I feel all will coma right in the end. Indeed, unless Dorian were to come to me and say, 'I have done this hateful thing,' I should not believe it. " 1 would give all the world to be able to say that from my heart," says Mrs. Branscombe, with excessive sadness. 'fry to think ii. Afterward belief swill be easy. Oh, Georgie, do not nour- ish hard thougthe; tear than from Your , beart, and by and 1 y, when all this is explained away, think how glad you will be that without tweet you had faith in hint. Do you know, unless nay own ey0s saw' it, I should never for any reason lose faith in Horace." A tender, heavenly antic creep's round her beautiful lips as she says this Georgie, seeing it feels heart -broken. Oh that she could hive faith like- this 1 "It is too late," she says, bitter ty ; "and I des:'rve all 1. have got. ,I: my- self have been the cause of my own un- doing. I married Dorian for no other reason then to escape the drudgery of. teaching. Yet new- ;vitlt a sad 51)0 8 I know time are worse things than Murray's Grammar. I am justly pun- ished.' Her lovely face is whits with grief. "I have tried, tried. tr:ei to dis- believe, but nothing will raise this cloud of suspicion from my anasl.. It weighs nee clown and crusbcs me more cruelly day by day. , I avid -1 wise" --cries pcor little Georgie, from iter very soul— that I had never been horn, because I shall never know a happy moment again." The tears ran silently down her cheeks one by one. She puts up her small hands to defend herself, and the action Is pitiable in the extreme. 'How happy you were only a month ago!' says Clarissa, stricken web grief at the sight of her misery. Yes. I have had my day, I suppose," gays Mrs. Branscombe wearily. "One can always remember a time when 'Every morning was fair, And every Benson a 1b1ay1' But how soon it all fades I" "Too soon for you," sills Clarissa, with tears in her eyes. Sou speak as 'they don't accredit nee wit any good. nowadays." My dear fellow," says the vicar, quietly, "there is something wren tell nee when and where you please. only entreat you to believe that no one, knowing you as I do, could pcssibiy think anything of you but what is kind and good and true."- Branscombe draws his breath quickly. His paleface flushes; and agleam,' that is surely born of tears, shines in his een to bestow hie body in any other fashion, talkinggs. Clarissa, toevof the Malayathisn. comes being evidently imbued with the belief I up to him at this moment and slips her that his bands were made for the sup- hand through his^arm. Is be not al - Port of the body,—a very correct Idea, most her brother 1 all }hinge considered. Only his wife stands apart, and, with He is lolling fromside to side in • a white lips and dry eyes and a most reckless way, and his eyes are rolling miserable heart, watches him without in concert with him, and altogether hie caring—or daring—to go near him. She behavior is highly suggestive of fit is silent, distratte, and has altogether li.S Lower down, Amelia Jennings forgotten the fact of Kennedy's en- ing a surreptitious cat's cradle, which istencethough he still stands close be - Ls promptly put out of sight, behind her side here—a. state of things that young back, every time her turn comes to give gentleman hardly affects, an answer; but, as she summarily dis- Has your class been too much for misses all questions by declaring her t you? Or do other things -or ppeople— simple ignorance of every matterco distress you?" he asks, presently, in a s neoted with Biblical history, the cradle meaning tone. Because you have not progresses most favorably, and is very uttered one word for quite five min - soon fit to sleep in. Mrs. Branscombe,baving gone through You have guessed correctly: some the seventh chapter of St. Luke with people do distress me—after a time, ' out any marked success, falls back upon says Mrs. Branscombe, so pointedly that the everlasting Catechism, and swoops Kennedy takes the hint, and, shaking down upon Amelia Jennings with amild hands with her somewhat stiffly, dis- request that she will tell her her duty appears through the dcor-way. to her neighbor. "Oh, yes," the vicar is saying to Clare Amelia, feeling she has no neighbors tees, in a glad tone, that even savors at this trying moment, and still less of triumph, "the Bateson have given Catechism, foes her big round blue eyes on Mrs. Branscombe, and, letting toome Methodist h vehforgiven aboutbthe the beloved cradle fall to the ground be- the bread. though they made a heavy bind her back, prepares to blubber at I a second's notice. struggle for it, lire. Redmond and 1 "Go oil," says Georgie, encouragingly. Miss Jennings, being thus entreated, takes heart, and commences the diffi- cult injunction in excellent hope and spirits. All goes "merry as a marriage bell," until she Games to the words"Love your neighbor as yourself," when John Spriggs (who is not by nature a thor- oughly bad boy, but whose evil hour is now full upon him) says audibly, and without any apparent desire to torment "and. paddle your own canoe." There is a deadly pause, and then Amelia Jennings giggles out loud, and Spriggs follows spit, and, alter a bit, the entire class gives itself up to mer- riment. Spriggs, instead ot being contrite at this' flagrant breach of discipline, is plainly elated with his victory. No smallest sign of shame disfigures bis small rubicund countenance. Georgie makes a praiseworthy effort to appear sltoaked, but as her pretty cheeks are pink, and her eyes great with laughter, the praise -worthy effort rath- er fails through. At this moment the door of the school -house is gently pushed open, and a new comer appears on the threshold; it is Mr. Kennedy. Going up unseen, be stands behind Georgi, s chair, and, having heard from the door -mem all that had passed, in- stantly bends over and hands the no - tempts Spriggs a shilling. "Ahl .you again 1" says Mrs. Brans- combe, coloring warmly, merely from surprise. You are like Sir Boyle Roche's bird: you can he in two places at the same moment. But it is wron to give him money when he is bad. It is out of all keeping; and bow shall I manage the children if you come hare, anxious to reward vice and foster re- betlion ?" She is laughing gayly now, and is Iooking almost her own Bright little put our heads together and wondered what we should flo, and if we couldn't buy anything there so as to make up for the loss of the daily loaves, because she would not consent to poison the children. And you would!" says Clarissa, re- proachfully. Oh what a terrible ad- mission dmission I" "We won't go into that, my dear Clarissa, if you please," says the vicar, contritely. "There are moments in every life that one regrets. But the end of our cogitations was this: that we went down to the village,—Mrs. Redmond and I,—and, positively, for one bar of soap and a package of can- dles we bought them all baok to tbeir pew in church, You wouldn't have thought there was so much grace in soap and candles, would you?" says the vicar, with a curious gleam in his eyes that is half amusement, half con- tempt Even Georgie laughs a little at this, and comes nearer to them, and stands close beside Clarissa, as if shy and un- certain, and glad to have a. sure par- tisan so near to her,—all which is only additional pain to .Dorian, who notices every lightest word and action of the woman he has married. How did youget on to -day with your little. people?" asked Mr. Redmond, 'taking notice of her at once, some thing, too, in her downcast attitude ap- pealing to his sense of pity. "Was that boy, of the Brixton's more than usually trying ?" "Well, he was bad enough," says Georgie, in a tone that implies she is rather letting off the unfortunate Brix- ton from future punishment, 'But I have known him worse ; indeed, I think he improves." "Indeed, I think a son of his father could never improve," says the vicar, witb a melancholy sigh. There isn't en ounce of brains u1 all that family. self again, when (ttt:ing her eyes, she Long ago, when first I came bare, Sam sees Dorian watobing her. Instantly Brixton (the father of your pupil) her smile fades; and she ?stains his gaze !'ought a cow from a neighboring fixedly, as though compelled to do it by farmer called George a Gilbert,hand h - some hidden instinct, named it John, I to call that an. ext He has entered silently, not expect- snld tonary name d to call a cow, ea 1 ing to find any one before him but the did him one day, tam, way if wive vicar; •yet• the very first object his eyes did you christen that poor inoffensive t meet. 1s his wi.fc, smiling,radiant, with •past John? John? soul he, wouldn't I Kennedy beside her. strange pang calldhimJo John? Why 01(rI contracts his heart,and a terrible call John, when I bought hem from amount of reproachpasses from his ingth re—and, I unlet see his mean eyes to hers. beg tit since.—but 1 confess, I haven't ex- ile 1s sad and dispirited, and full of seen since.—hut 1 *as afraid to t {:ase my stupidity, so I hotel toy tongue, melancholy. His whole lila has proved A7u you see it?" He turns to Dorian, e failure; yet in what way has he fallen "Not inueh," says Dorian, with a faint short? laugh. Kennedy, seeing Mrs. Branscombe's (To be Continued.) expression change, raises his head, and BO berome-s aware of her husband's pre. ?RACAICAL 1 ARMING! NUTS ON WAGON AXLES, ',Were riow nod then one hears 0f a wagon 11014801 coating off througb the 1058 of a nut, and tuts aeoident of this sort Is apt to be attended tvitit furtber injury to the vehicle or its: load, If the latter )s hdavy the end o£ tho,axle is liable t0 strike the ground abrupt, ly enough to break off a portton, or at least to spoil a screw thread, This thread, by the way, is riglithanded at one end of the axle and lafthanded et the other; so that the nut 14 going on turns in the same direction that the wheel does lehen the wagon is moving forward, If rho wheel exerts any in' fluence on tile out through friction, therefore its tendency would be to tighten the nut, It would only be in backing,; apparently, that the nut could bo loosened from that cause, IL is sur, prising, : perhaps, that such a thing would happen at all, but 11 does, and a good many people, farmers' and black- smiths, have wondered haw it could bast be .prevented," says the Tribune. "A generation or two ago some carriage matters put a, pin through tj,1e nut and axle top. This, of course, would serve well enough for a while, but after tele nut had been removed several times, in order to allow the axle to be grossed, the thread would be worn a trifle. Hence, if the nut were tightened uP properly with a wrench the holo would not be in the right place for tbe pin. A subscriber recommends a slight improvement on that plan, Ile fixes a Coil spring in the aperture in the nut into whtoli the pin is insartedt and the spring tends to thrust the pin Into place when the nut is on. But the improved pian does not seem to meet the ob- jection just mentioned. Another scheme which has been tried with great success on fine carriages for many years is to have two nuts, one going on after the dther, and each screwing in a different direction. A pin ties the two together, and the double nut is thus perfectly locked. Tho patent on this idea ran out long ago, and there are several makers of this style of axle. But one must pay an extra price for it. This is the most efficient plan in use, probably ',but it has been suggested that nuts, not only on axles, but also on the bolts through the ends of the springs, might be kept in place by using spring -washers, such as are now employed in certain parts of :a trolly car goer, and as nut looks for railway track bolts. Again, a wonderful grip is secured in One of tbe track bolts late- ly introduced by nutting the thread in a. .peculiar way. The same scheme ought to work on a wagon axle. How- ever, there are plenty of country wag- ons and city trucks, some of which are used in hauling enormous loads over rough highways, which are provided with no special means of securing the nuts, and yet which never lose one. The secret of this, probably, is that the nuts are well fitted and are closely watched. If the nut pinches tightly enough and if -the screw thread is kept free front grease when the wheel is off, no accident of this sort ought to hap- pen. But when the nut 1s worn by long service and goes on too easily, there is always a certain amount of risk, especially if a man is careless in greasing the wheels. And such a man, too, will probably neglect to examine the nuts occasionally and try to tight- en them with a wrench." A PEW THOUGHTS ON DAIRYING. As a general rule, dairymen keep too many cows for their pasture. This is a great mistake that tells largely on the profits of the dairy and may leave it without profit at all. 1t is often said that a cow is a macbine to convert grass, hay and Brain into milk. Other machinery is necessary to convert the milk into butter or cheese. In order to run this caw machine to advantage, we must have plenty of raw material— grass, hay, roots and grain. In the summer time plenty of good grass, with water and a little salt, is sufficient. With these the machine will turn out milk to the satisfaction of the owner, and at the same time keep up repairs and motive power. But with poor pas - tare the result will ise different. The motive power will be weak. The ma- chine will get out of repair. The pro- duce will be small, and of inferior quality. The better a. cow is fed the more profitable she will be to the owner. No more stock should be kept on the farm than can be well fed and attended to at all times. Scarcity of food will keep stock poor, its owner, tco. The produce will be inferior, both in quantity and quality, and must ha sold below the market quotations. We have frequent- ly seen eight or ten milch cows m a pasture field where there was not to be seen a spear of grass more than about one inch above the surface, the poor brutes laboring hard to collect a seanty bite to mitigate their ]danger. The owner will tell you that dairying "dont pay," He tells the truth, whorl it is conducted on his system. 14 he could keep four or five caws instead of eight or ten, the pasture would got a chance to grow, the investment in stock would. be less, the produce would be larger and a better quality. •A certain portion of food must go to sustain animal life in the first place, before there is any for the secretion of intik or to lay un fat. lf one cow be fed an what has been allotted to two, only half -fort the amount required to keep up the system. of one will be prac- ticitlly'saved, and there, will be double the amount to convert into milk cr fat.. It is singular that some tarmers do not see things in this light. They seem to think that the more acres of land they have and the greater number of cows on it, the richer they are. Some (once. Being a wise young man In his think that the more stock they keep on own generation, ha smiles genially upon A SLIGHT DIFFERENCE.I n. farm, the sooner they will enrich it. Dorian, and, going forward, shakes his As 1 understood it, doctor, if I be. This would. be trio if they had plenty of hand as though yes of tie tion have neve I'm well, I'll be well. Is that the Moil for that stock to subsist on; but served to forge e. link likely to bind idea? where that is not the vaso, it is a great them each to each forever.. it is. mieteke. Fields should not be pastured "Charming day, isn't it?" he soya, Then, if you believe you're paid, T too bare. Stock Should not have to with it beatific smile. "Quite like sup ose you'll be paid, ss'ork all the time to find enough to live an. They need rest in order to summer." Not necessarily I thrive. They need contentment also, Rather more like January, 1 think." But why shouldn't faith wot'k as well , A. hungry animal s not contented, says Dorian, calmly, who is in histveri in one case as in the other? " therefore capnot thrive, Neither well worst moocFirst touch of Winter, wen, you sec, thane is considerable the owner thrive by having his capital should say."He laughs as he says this; difference between having faith in,the invested r such stock. but his laugh is 08 wintry' as the day, Almighty and having faith in you and chills t e hearer, ".hen he twee ' aside from his wife and her companion, and lays his hand upon the vicar's shoulder, who has just risen from his Mass, having carried it successfully tbrougli the bent part of lbena.h. 11.17 dear boy,—yon?" says the. vicar folio pleased to see him. But in bed time: the lesson is over, so you can learn nothing. I don't like to give them toe much Scripture on a weekday, 11 IT WAS NOT LOST. TASTE IN THE BARNYARD, while the cattle stand at their staooh- Ions. There etre too many who a141 cling(1'' to tile praeltoo of compelling stool?, reg8r)11pss of the weetber'8 f ever- ity, !10 410111k front a bele in tale lee, at an w)s1ieltered trough .or et a brook some fifty rods iron) the 'stables, Seel). Where rarely admit that farming pays, In the progress 01 improvements, it 1e' to be regretted that provisions for en- larging and protoottng the manure (file ere not morn generals' made, Saoh improvements are exeasable with these making a frequent appitoatioo of the manure to Heide; but it le atoll the prepn. t1ce, of many to allow manure to lie fully erposed to the weather,—gener- ally under the eaves,—from one seeding Cline to another. Such negligence is often an offence against common de - coney, and. what otherwise might be at- tractive surroundings is an offensive eight, es seen from the publio highway, eat JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN. The lies}.Inrer,ntd`MIMItln In Elnitand an titteatlens or 1'nbuie inter•ese. The most industrious statesman in English public life Is Joseph Chambel'- lain. He has a passion' for hard ts'ork and never Seems to eerie from his la- bers..He requires only a few hours of sleep, rises early tor an Englishman, and plunges eagerly into the business of the day. At the Colonial Office he is .'closely occupied with the countless questions of imperial administration and policy, and he astonishes Lhe oldest officials with the facility with 10111011 he masters the complex details of publio bust - nese.' He works all day and a good part of the night. This has been the habit of his life. Whether he has been mayor of Birmingham, or an active political organizer, or a leading member of the opposition, or a member of the govern- ment, he has always been at work and has never spared himself. In consequence of his persistent In- dustry ho is today one of the best -in- formed men in England on all questions of public interest, and is perhaps the best equipped debater in the House of Commons with the widest range of accurate, well -digested knowledge. What is most remarkable is the foot that this hard,,plodding worker never takes any exercise. He has never played cricket or golf; he takes no in- terest in boating, yachting or any out- door sport; he does not know how to handle a gun; and be finds neither plea- sure nor recreation in country life: He never rides in Hyde Park; he has not learned bow to mount a Liaycle, and he never walks. His carriage takes him from his bouse to the Colonial Office, and be returns in .the same way when his dining -hour approaches; but he never takes a drive for pleasure. According to all rules of health Mr. Chamberlain ought to have broken down and have been a physical wreck long ago; but he is never 111. His bodily vig- or is unimpaired. He bas good health at all times and seems to need neither exercise nor : sleep. It is the exception„ perhaps, that Few the rule. public men in En land, where the strain of political and social lite is very great, could or- der their lives as be does, and contrive toretain physical vigor and good health. Most of them make a dally practice of taking open-air 'exercise. Mr. Gladstone has been a walker and a wood -chopper, Mr. Balfour bas been an enthusiastic golfer. Lord Salisbury drives for pleasure and finds constant relaxation in country life. During the long session of Parliament the great majority of thereal leaders of public life have their morning hour Dither for a horseback ride, a long walk, or some other congenial form of exercise; and their vacations are largely devoted to recreation in the open air. Mr. Chamberlain, as a worker who never rests, is a law unto himself. The pace which he sets would exhaust any of his political rivals. It of course re- mains to be seen whether this violation of physical law inflicts an apparent. penalty later in the statesman's life. ' BULLETS IN BATTLE. An Old Soldier Tells Flow it F'ee1s 10 be Shot. The old soldier, w'itb a hot toddy be- fore him, was communicative. "How did you feel when you wont into your first fight?' the reporter enquired, as most people do when they begin to ask a soldier questions about his ex- periences. "! felt as though there were a mil- lion places in .the world I'd rather be than where I then etas." ss'as the frank' response. "Were you afraid? "Of couse .1 was, I knew those fellows shooting at us weren't doing it for their health or for ours, either, and I knew enough about guns to knosv that they were dangerous." "But you overcame your fear as the. fight progressed?" "Anyhow, I don't mind it so much, After a while I got mad, and then I forgot al;out myself and wanted to lick the entire army against us." "Did you over get, shot?" "Once only, and it was queer about that. You read stories in the papers . about how it feels to be shot, and I sup- pose they are correct, for every man has a different way of taking his cold lead. I've seen men shot square in the fore- heads, stand for an instant as if turned to stone, and thendrop without ever; bending a joint; some .l've seen run sorennung awoy and fall dead with the scream on their lips; I've seen some grab andelutch at themselves ane spin around. as if they had been hit With a club and didn't know what the platter was; some drop quietly .and say nothing about it, some jump !ugh in the air and fall stiff as pokers, and so on through a list of them, no two alike. "!n my own wee, I WAS fighting in the woods in a skirmish on a terrific hot day. It was lively in there, I can tell you, and I wasn't thielting shout mysell at all. We had started on arae through an open space and just as we slowed down, when we sate they had got too close to the main body for us to go after them. I began to Leal'siek and weak and told the man next to me that I must be sunstruck. He began to say something and everything ,grew. dark. The ",next I linea' -I was in a hospital, with a hole through my chest. Wh 0n I got 111' or how' I never knesv, but it couldn't have been more than ' ten minutes before I collapsed, because a man couldn't, stancl'up long with that lire. Vansock (indignantly)—Mrs. A commendable and noteworthy fen kind of a. ventilator in hie bosom.":. O'Lone, the color all ammo out of my tare in modern farm buildings is the , new table cover. on account iof the tor- improved and ample facilities provided A Corean envoy has been despato1M' rilele washing fluid you use. Cor the feeding, watering, cava e.nd. ed ,to St. Peterslnixg to negotiate a Mrs, 0 Lone (parifyingly) Never a •3 in loan of, eight million annexe, giving mond, mum. Shure it all suint into the cenitort of stock, 1118 �rs watering ng ins ti,r Ilamgyong, 1118 northern province at antler cover, and generally I Corea, as security. other clothes mum,• ,Lin * stone $PitING SMII+} S, Ilen0renee, ldlse; !knowledge, blister -M She—'Ween Yee Married? e 7011 said 7011 were weld eft. Ile—"J was, but slid net lenely Poetry lnr0d-She (sentimentally)41 - hat poetry there is in fire!' He (sadly)—"Yes; a great deal 01 MY pretl7 poetry lies 9(3410 }•hero," 1Alf t the Soule T11ing',--"SPY loan ane # of about a week? "Cann; ltav nt got but five, That'll dentend No tile fire for two weeks!" As 11)0 hurricane swept the deck and upset a new ysehtsmen it breezily rel. marked: I guess .1 ,can teem ;(11 000oilstone' sammelt• salt myself," Wizway—"What is meant by as pass- ing: regau•d? J'uzby— "Che regat'd in which you're held by people wit! bow to you, but don't stop to speak.' "Got on your husband's otatvat, have► n't ,you?'' asked a notgLibor of 7ffrs, B31101ns. "Yea,.'r'epiioci 1vlrs. B. sadly, "s.anti110it41."'s the • only tic there is 1pelween n "Oh, mamma," said little 'PV11)io, as be"madehis first close •inspooticn of e bicycle, "this tneehine bas got rub- leers on to keep its wheels from getting web" bulman—"I often hear people speak about brain work being so' awfully bard; it doesn't appear to me so.' Cut= teri—"ber' Qfbrayecour' rse wo''rnod; k es 10easy mon" 01 your cal Mamma—"You move, Johnny, when mamma whips her little boy she does it for his own ,good." Johnny—"Marne ma, I wish you didn't think quite so much; of me." Really Unjust—"I have done nothing but blush all day," complained the rose, "and still that idiot of a Poet goes on talking of tbe modest violet, as if tbere were not others," She—"We've been married four mon- ths dear, and I haven't given you a chance to try my, cooking yet."He of "1Vmehyalreadlove, yyou,are're notyou?getting, tired " Mama—"Russell, stop teasing your brother; I'm tired of hearing him cry." Russell—'It won't make any difference if I do stop, 'cos if I don't tease him he'll tease me and -make me cry." The sopranothrew the basso In the choir a loving lance; She was Muth a pretty !asst -o, And they only met by chants. Winterbloom--"Don't u think $200 is rather high for a tailor made gown? 'Pon Blumer tells lee his wife paid only dear, buts. Winterbloom—"'True, my got• hers before I got mine." Garro Warden—"Look here. Don't you know: that you can't shoot deer just now?" Proud amateur sportsman — Cnn'1 I? (pong to 1(410 yodead book.) Look al that and Bee whether I can'te' Teacher—"Can any little boy tell me which Billy—"Some fellows say the day before s the longest day 10 the year?" Billy—' Christmas." I don't believe you know who I am " said Mrs. Gayleigh to Tommy: "No, ma'am," said Tommy, I don't know who you are, but I know who you was. I beard mamma telling Aunt Susan." Mother—"Did you try to make your self agreeable at Mrs. Highstone's?" Little iaugbter—""Yes'm; I told box all ested." superstition at last," the philanthrope funny things our salters said about her, and she seemed to be real inter, I have cured Bliggins of his horrible 1st exclaimed, How- did you manage lt? I offered to lend him thirteen dollars.' "Sing?" said the specialty artist to the manager, "I can sing to beat the band." owever, on his appearance that afternoon it was noticeable that the orchestra, as usual had the better of the contest. Mrs. A.—"I am surprised that your husband earns so little if he works as hard as you say. What does he do?" Mrs. B.—"The last thing he didwasto calculate how many times a clock tick- ed m the course of 1,000 years." "My dear," he said t0 his ladylove. "I've been busy all day—not manual •labor, youknow, but brain work, which is the hardest kind." "Yes, indeed; I know it must be for you," and there eras a tender look of sympathy in her eyes which aroused him. CLOSE SHOOTING. ene- ,t 31aa sheets it Yton '1/h•e0113' Over 0 hay's Head. Alt Englishman svho lived many years in Africa says that it is new several years' since ho ventured to take one of the most daring shots that ever was hazarded. His wifo was sitting in the house near the open door, the children were playing about her, and be was without not far; away, busy with a wagon.. Suddenly, he says, though It tyros midday, an enormous lion appeared at a short distance, slowly advanced, and laid -himself quietly down In the shade upon the very threshold of the door. My wife, frozen with foal, remained motionless in her place. The children Look refuge in ber lap, and the cry they uttered attracting my attention, 1 hastened toward Lha door. My aston- ishment and horror may be imagined when I found the entrance barred 'Ln such a manner. The kion had not . scan me, and I gilded gently, scarcely knowing what 1 meant to do to the side of the house,. and to the window of my chamber, in which I knew my loaded gun was stand- ing. y 'a happy chance I' had set it in a corner close by the window, so that .1 could reach it from the outside, and: still more fortunately, the door of the room was open so that I could see the whole, danger of the scene. There' was no time to think, for the lion was beginmling to move, perhaps with the intention of making aspring. 1 called -softly to the mothdr not to lie afraid, and then fired. The ball pass- ed directly over my boy's head and lodged in the forehead of the lion im- mediately above his eyes, and stretch- ed tretch ed him on the ground. There woe an instant of fearful sus- pense. Then I 'fired again ; but the sec- ond eaand bullet was thrown away, for his majesty never stirred after the fira shot, and I looped over has prostrate body to clasp my wife and children in my arms. THE EFFECT 011 A CAN.NViiriDE. Six William. Thomson bus recently been making experiments to discover what the effect of a cannonade of quick -firing guns would be on board the vessel firing and the ship subject to the fire. He fiuds that after fit- teen minutes' firing the survivors ot the orew of both Vessels would be re- duced to a state of mental, if not phy- sical incapacity, owing to the concus- sion of the projectiles on the sides of the Vessel lain the noise of the guns.