THE
.A.N EXCELLENT
Official Organ of Washington County.
FIRST OF ALL THE NEWS.
ADVERTISING MEDIUM.
Circulates extensively in the Counties t
WasliiDlBn. Martin. TyrraH and Eaaafort,
JsbPrlntlns In ItsYarlous Branchas
l.OO A YEAR IK ADVANCE. " FOR GOD, FOR COUNTRY, AND FOR TRUTH." SINQ1.E COPY, 5 CENTS.
VOL. X. PLYMOUTH, N. C., FRIDAY, AUGUST 18, 1899. NO. 48.
POSTPONED.
,
' Anyone at all familiar with farm life knows that when the old dog becomes blind,
toothless and helpless, it is the sad but humane duty of the farmer to put an end to his
Bufferings; it is generally done by taking htm off to the woods and shooting him. Al
though the new dog quickly wins bis. place in our an"ecUons,tbe old is not soon forgotten,
ud more than one story begins: "You remember how old Fide."
Come along, old chap, yer time's 'bout up,
We got another briudie pup;
I 'lows its tough an' mighty hard,
But a toothless dog's no good on guard.
Bo trot along right after me. '
An? I'll put yen out o' yer misery.
Now, quit yer waggln' that stumpy tall
We aln t a-goin' fer rabbit er quail;
'Sides, you couldn't pint a bird no more,
Yer old an' blind an' stiff an' sore,
An' that's why I loaded the gun today
Yer a-gittln' cross an' In the way.
I been thlnkin' it over; 'taln't no tun.
I don't like to do it, but it's got to be done;
Got sort of a notion, you know, too,
The kind of a job we re goin' to do,
, Else why would yeh hang back that-a-way?
Yeh ain't ez young ez yah once wuz, hey!
Frisky dog In them days, I note,
When yeh nailed the sneak thief by the
,, throat;
Can't do that now, an' there ain't no
need
A-keepin' a dog that don't earn his feed.
So yen got to make way for the brindle
- pup;
(tome along.old chap, yer time's 'bout up.
HER FIRST ASSIGNMENT.
1 Tragic-Comic Experience of a Woman Reporter. E
She had just come "out of the
back woods" they told her when she
mentioned the place. Of course she
did uot call it "the back woods." She
epoke of it reverently by the tender
nauie of "home," and usually there
'sfrere tears in her eyes when she men
tioned it. But no matter; it was not
,New York, therefore it was "the back
woods," they told her when she asked
for work.
"What can you do?" asked the first
editor, and he did not take the trouble
to look up or to stop the pencil that
was scrawling over the paper in front
of him.
"Anything you would give a woman
to do," she answered.
"Nothing," he said.
"Good morning," she said.
"Good morning," he said, surprised
into looking up by her prompt depart
ure, but she was gone.
"Bring any stuff?" asked the next
one. He was too busy to waste words.
She handed him the little flat manu
script silently.
He fingered it a second. "I don't
waut it," he said.
"Thank you. Good afternoon," she
said.
"G'd afternoon," he said.
For the next she had to mount to
the eleventh story, and she looked
dubiously at the sign in the little
ante room: "We do not undertake to
preserve or return unsolicited manu
script." ' But when the editor came out he
looked at her really as if he saw her.
"I'm awfully sorry," he said, "but
just now there isn't a thing in sight.
Let me hare , your address, and if I
hear of anything I'll be glad to give it
to you. "
Of course she knew what that meant,
but still she was grateful for the cour
tesy. In her part of "the back woods"
people had time to be courteous, and
this man left a pleasant memory that
made her almost hopeful of the next.
"What you want to do," the next
one said, and he was very nice about
it, "is to get a place on a magazine;
T wouldn't advise you to go in for
newspaper work. What you want is
a magazine."
"What I want, yes," she saiJ, smil
ing, "but probably not what I can
get."
' He smiled, too, very pleasantly, but
still he did not quite like her correct
ing his grammar. The next chanced
M be rosy and round and bald. He
2s reading a note when she went in,
f nd he held it in his hand while she
alked. Presently it reminded him of
something,
i "Why, the very thing," he said,
briskly. "Here's a note from my
wife. Just reading it when you catne
in. Quite a coincidence, surely. You
eee, my wife has a friend who's a er
literary lady, gives talks, lectures,
or some such things. Now, this er
literary lady is going over into Jer
sey, to Orange, in fact, to give a talk
before a club there, the Ultra Matrons,
you know, and my wife ' wants me to
tseld somebody over to report it. But,
of course, I couldn't do that, you
know." He looked up over his glasses
as if he needed confirmation, doubtless
Heause he was defying his wifely in
structions, so she mildly said:
"No.""
"Of course not," he went on.having
taken heart of grace from her approv
al. "Of course I can't send anybody
out of the office for that, but my wife
says," he hesitated a moment, then
broke off with: "Now.how would you
like to run over and do this lecture
for us? Not much in it for you, of
course; we couldn't use more than a
stick at the outside; but better start at
that than at nothing. It's the open
ing wedge you want, you know. What
do you say? Let's see; round trip
ticket t jJrange would cost you 50
cents; lulu ways on the elevated, ten;
( Jkat's 60. Not much in it for you.
Wht ar? Win von do it, or Dot?
We'll travel along at an easy jog
Course, you don't know, bein' only a dog;
But I can mind when you wuz sprier,
'Wakia' us up when the barn caught Are
It don't seem possible, yet I know
That wuz close onto fifteen year ago.
My, but yer hair wuz long and thick
When yeh pulled little Hally out o' the crick,
An' it came in handy that night in the storm,
We coddled to keep each other warm.
Purty good dog, I'll admit but, say,
What's the use o' talk in', yeh bad yer day.
I'm hopln' the children won't hear the crack,
Er what'll I say when I git back?
They'd be askln' questions.I know their talk,
An' I'd have to lie 'bout a chicken hawk;
But the sound won't carry beyond this hill;
All done in a minute don't bark, stand still,
t
There,that'll do; steady.quit lickln' my hand.
What's wrong with this gun, I can't under
stand; I'm jest ez shaky ez I can be
Must be the agey's the matter with me.
An' that stitch in the back what! gllten' old,
too?
The dinner bell's ringin' fer me an'
you.
Charles E. Baer, in Philadelphia Fres3.
"I'll do it, thank you," she said.
"That's good," he said, folding up
the note in a relieved sort of way.
"Thank you. I'll tell my wife."
"See here," he said, as she was
leaving, "better take this card and
call for the literary lady in the morn
ing and go down with her. She'll put
you through."
She thought he looked like a cherub;
she lived to learn he was a prophet.
She took the card, had herself awak
ened early the next morning and called
for the literary lady at the hour ap
pointed. She wasn't up; call again, the
boy brought back the message. She
called again. Literary lady had de
cided not to go so ear y; call again.
She called , again. Literary lady was
dressing; would be down. She
waited. Literary lady came by and
by in a great rush.
"So glad you are going with me,"
she said, and then raced her to the el
evated station till both were fairly out
of breath. They regained it.however,
on the way down to Christopher street
and started on a fresh race to the
ferry. The gate was closed, so the
literary lady walked up and down im
patiently and finally bought a paper
at the newsstand just as the gate
opened. When they had found seats
on the boat she unfolded the paper
and turned to the woman's page. The
first thing that caught her eye was
her own name.
"I see I'm to lecture before the
Ultras," she said, smiling. "Good
graciousl" she broke off suddenly.
"What is it?"
"Why, gracious me," said the liter
acy lady, "the notice says there will
be a reception after the lecture, and
look at this gown! That's what they
meant when they kept telling me to
dress up! A reception in this thing!"
It was only a plain tailor gown.
"Gracious! I wonder if they told
me and I forgot?"
The young woman felt quite sure
she had forgot, but she didn't dare say
so.
"What would you do?" asked the
literacy lady.
"What can yon do?" asked the girl.
"Nothing," said the literary lady.
"Then I'd try not to care," said the
girl, philosophically.
The literary lady evidently tried not
to care, but she failed, and her face
bore a careworn look. When they
were seated on the train the girl
thought she had "forgotten, but she
had not.
"I'll tell you," said the literary
lady, grabbing her arm, "I am sorry
to trouble you, but I'll have to get you
to go back for my gown. . I simply
can't attend an Ultra reception in this.
I know I forgot. But you must go
back and take a later train over, the
next if you can. My satin skirt is in
the bottom bureau drawer; the waist
is in my trunk; it isn't locked. Hurry,
you must get it for me."
The train was beginning to move,
but she followed the girl to the rear
platform and called to her as 6he
jumped oS':
"My room is second to the left on
the third floor."
The girl was almost convulsed with
laughter at the humor of the situation.
She caught the ferryboat back, but had
to wait at Fifty-ninth street for a
Sixth avenue elevated. When she got
to the house she pushed the bell fran
tioftll', but got no response. -Once,
twice, thrice again, but still no an
swer. Moments were precious. Final
ly some ladies opened the door and
went out. The girl seized the oppor
tunity and went in. There was no one
insight. She went upstairs and to
the second room on the left, third
floor. She knocked dubiously, not
knowing whom or what she should
find. No response. She opened the
door and entered. Books and papers
everywhere; evidently this was the
literary lady's room.
She found the eatin skirt in the
drawer without any trouble, but had
to light the gas to look in the trunk.
Beside, there were two trunks,
and there was no way of knowiug
which. Suddenly it occurred to her
the possibility that someone might
come in, discover her prowling and
mistake her for a thief. There was
not a person in the house who knew
her. She rang the bell, meaning to
explain to the maid. Then the im
possibility of being able to explain to
a maid who had never seen her sug
gested itself, and she locked the door.
That very act made her feel like a
thief, and she crept about stealthily,
fearful half lest the maid should not
come, half lest she should. She
waited breathlessly; no one came.
After much searching she found the
-waist and made up the package in a
newspaper. There was not a bit of
string anywhere, so she snipped off
the curtain cord and tied it up. Now,
the question of making an exit was an
important one. Surely she could not
get away with that big bundle without
being seen, but get away she must. It
suddenly came to her that she might
be mistaken either for a laundress or
a sewing woman, and in that hope she
opened the door, but in spite of her
self she could not keep from feeling
guilty and trying to steal out noise
lessly. When she got to the door it
seemed as if she could not get it open,
and when the outer one slammed to
noisily behind her she thought surely
discovery was at hand, and she could
not restrain herself from running
down the steps and, indeed, to the ele
vated station at the corner. If a voice
had by any chance cried "Stop, thief,"
she would have collapsed. She even
glanced furtively around at the people
on the car. What if that harmless
looking little man in the corner should
turn out to be a detective? Beally
she could not compose herself. For
one thing her bundle was too big, and
for another she feared she would miss
her train. W7heu she got off the ele
vated she looked behind to see if the
little man in the corner was following
her. She bought a ticket to cross the
ferry and asked the time of the next
train to Orange.
"Do you want a ticket to OraDge?"
the man at the window asked.
"No, I have one," she said.
"Then why don't you cross the
ferry on it?" he asked. She felt that
he suspected her and snatched her
bundle and ran.
When at last she was seated on the
train, with the big bundle in her lap,
feeling fairly comfortable for the first
time, her eyes fell to scauning the
newspaper that inclosed the precious
gown. Suddenly they were caught
by the notice of the lecture. Heavens!
It was to be at 2. 30, and she was then
on the 1.30 train. She had never
been to Orange before; she knew no
one; she had no idea where the liter
ary lady was to be found. If she was
not at the station to meet her, all was
lost.
She lo ked out eagerly when the
conductor called her station, but the
literary lad;.- was not to be seen. She
struggled across the platform with her
bundle.
"Drive me to the club," she said
desperately to the cabman who came
to her assistance.
"What club?" he asked.
"The Ultras," she said.
"Oh, the hall," he aswered.and she
thought she was saved.
She pictured vaguely the consterna
tion she would create by bursting into
the hall in the midst of the lecture
possibly, but by this time she was
physically exllausted and mentally
blank. She paid the cabman intuitive
ly and had started up the stairway be
fore which he had stopped when she
thought she heard voices calling and
a heavy step running toward her. At
last she wa3 pursued. But save
the gown she must and would. Spring
ing up the stairway she burst open the
door into the hall. The platform was
empty, but there was a noisy hum of
expectancy running through the
crowd. At first she heard nothing
distinctly. Then a heavy hand was
laid on her shoulder, and a voice be
hind her said:
"Give me your bundle, miss."
She looked up at the blue coated
policeman, who had come up behind,
and fell in a faint at his feet. When
she revived she was lying on a rug in
a little white plastered room. The
window was open, the cold snow-laden
air from without was blowing on her,
and a sweet-faced, gentle woman was
bending over her, holding a bottle of
smelling salts to her nose.
"Are you the matron?" she asked,
feebly.
"The what?" asked the woman.
"The matron?"
"No."
She waited a moment. "Then were
you put in, too?" she said.
"In what':" the woman asked.
"In priso )," she said, shudder iag.
- "Why, this isn't a prison, child,"
the woman said with a smile. "Why
did you think you were in prison,
pray?'"
"For stealing that gown," said the
girl.
"Why, you didn't steal the gown,
did you?" And the womau burst out
laughing.
. "No, but I thought they thought I
had, and the policeman arrested me."
'How very funny," the woman said,
still laughing. "Why, he was only
ccttinc the sown to take to the liter-
ary lady, who was waiting at the mil
liner's across the way to put it on.
She saw you come and got him to run
after you. But how very funny."
"But where's the gown now?" the
girl asked.
"Why, the lady has it on and is
speaking away; don't you hear her?"
"Thea for heaven's sake let me get
out and report her," said the girl,
struggling to her feet.
"Not before you've had this cup of
chocolate and a sandwich," the woman
said, putting them before her.
"I am hungi-y," she said.
"Of course you are; that's why you
fainted."
When she went out by and by and
saw the literary lady in all her glory
"arrayed like one of these," she felt
repaid for her excitement over the
gown.
That night when she got back to
town she took iu her "stick" to the
office, and credit for that amount was
duly given her on the books. But
somehow one of the men in the office
had gottea hold of the adventure, so
he made a full column story about it,
with a picture of her with her big
bundle just as she fell at the police
man's feet. So, to put it mildly, her
fortune was made. Philadelphia
Times.
HE LOST HIS PENCILS.
But the Iteporter Wrote Hi Story with
an Electric Lie tit I'ulb.
'Did I ever tell you about the time
that I wrote a story with an incan
descent light bulb?" said the police
reporter to a few of his professional
friends.
"No? Well, it's a fact, just the
same, and all I had to write with was
one of these glass globes."
The hearers moved uneasily and one
was heard to sa something about
taking another draw. The police re
porter was undaunted, however, and
went on:
"This is no pipe dream. I was
working on the Brooklyn Eagle and
had been sent down to a small inter
ior town on one of the 'hottest' stories
you ever heard about double murder
with a good mystery end dead peo
ple both prominent, and suspected
murderer a prominent citizen.
"I pulled into the station at exactly
11 o'clock and of course went into the
station, the only telegraph office in
the town, to tell the operator that I'd
have some 'stuff' to file not later than
1 o'clock in the morning. Hewas an
agreeable fellow, and he said he would
go home and get two hours' sleep and
be back iu time to handle my story.
I jumped ia the towii and in an hour
was back to the telegraph office, which
the operator had left open for me.
"I peeled off my coat and vest and
sat down to write the crime story of
my life. My hand sought my upper
vest pocket, where I carried my pen
cils, and, jumping Jupiter! I had lost
every one of them. I remembered
that I hal them a little while before
when taking some notes, but they
were gone now.
"I then began to gaze around the
office. The operator had plenty of
ink, but nary a pen or pencil could I
find. I was in a beautiful hole.
Within an hour of filing time and uot
a thing to write with. I just thought
and thought, and in doing so hap
pened to look again at the operator's
desk. There lay a pad of 4hia paper
and betweeu the first and second
sheets was a piece of carboii paper.
The way out of my difficulty came to
me like a flash.
"In the little office were three iu
candescent lamps. I turned the key
and put out one, unscrewed it, and in
auolher moment had the pad of papor
with its carbon sheet in front of me.
At the big eud of the bulb was a pro
truding point of glasc I took the
globe in my hand, holding it like a
stylus, and marked on the top sheet:
'The Eagle, Brooklyn, N. Y.' Imag
ine my joy when I lifted the upper
carbon paper to fin4 that it had taken
the impression perfectly. Then I went
to work audat 1 o'clock when the op
erator arrived, had a starter for him of
a thousand words."
"Did you fihish the story that
way?" was asked.
"Yes. The operator offered me
writing material, but the noveliy of
the thing had taken hold of me. So
I ran the other 1500 words out. in the
same way."
"Then, " drawled the court recorder,
"you waked up." Atlauta Constitu
tion. Left Ills Daushter in the' Well
George Smith of Blaine, Me., while
drawing water for his cows, lost a tiu
pail iu the well. He had let his eldest
daughter, a girl of 17, into the well by
a line to recover the pail, when he
saw that his cattle had entered a field
of potatoes that had been newlj
poisoned. Iu his desire to save his
cows from death he forgot all about
his daughter When he came back
half an hour later she had wejt her
self into convulsions and was making
a desperate effort to cling to the
stones in the well to escape drowning.
Smith has promise 1 her an $85 organ
if . she will atop talking about the
event New York Sun.
Tetnienee rv and Skill.
A Gil-s county citizen is reported
to have carried a bushel of eggs in a
meal sack ou horseback, to AspenHi 1
without breaking au egg. NashVille
(Tenn.) Banner. 7
THE BOERS AT PRAYER.
Their Army on Its Knees Before Going
Into Action.
An Englishman who accompanied
the Boer army under General Joubert
in the recent campaign against M'Pef u,
chief of the Makatese, in the north
eastern part of the Transvaal, gives
some interesting details of the Boer
military organization and other mat
ters. The commando under General
Joubert was the largest ever assem
bled in the Transvaal, numbering with
the native allies nearly 10,000 men.
This force was divided into five laagers,
each under its commandant. The first
impression of a Boer army, the writer
say?, is not flattering. There is no
appearance of order and the men are
not uniformed, which is in striking
contrast with the regular armies of
other countries. But the apparent
absence of discipline is on the surface.
Commandos are made up of burghers
drawn from various districts, each
man considering himself on au equali
ty with any other. They are only
subject to orders from their own dis
trict commandants, who in turn are
responsible to the general. In the
field all fare alike, the commissariat
knowing no distinctions. The only
regulars are the state artillery drawn
from the sons of buFghers, and paid
about $2 a day. "
One of the principal features of the
Boer laagers in the campaign was the
religious exercises each eveuing, when
the men v would assemble under their
leaders for prayer, concluding with
the singing of their battle hymn,
"Bust myn ziel, nev God is Ivoning"
(Rest my soul, your God is King.)
War, with the Boeis, is considered a
religious duty and enforced by the
state only in self defence. The night
before the storming of M'Pefu's strong-,
hold, in the Magato mountains, a
united prayer meeting was held of
all the laagers under the personal
leadership of General Joubert, and
the scene is described as singularly
impressive. The day following, the
Makatese position was carried with
only trifling loss, after the Kraals had
been subjected to a heavy artillery
fire; and the remainder of the cam
paign was pushed with such vigor that
several of the chiefs, with their men,
surrendered, and MTefu, with about
10,003 followers Jtook refuge in Mas
honalanJ, iu Rhodesia, across the
Limpopo river. The victory of the
Boers was complete and was a signal
t:inmph for General Joubert, the Ma
gato mountains having been considered
impregnable and the strongest nat
ural fastnesses in South A rlca.
Of General Joubert himself, known
among his meiK as Slim Piet, the
writer says he has been uniform
ly successful, notwitstanding that
his detractors have proved to their
own satisfaction, times without num
ber, that he has neither military
talents, courage, nor backbone. That
may be, he says, because of his ap
pearance on the field of battle, which
is not impressive, his costume during
the Magato campaign Laving been a
tweed suit with a tail coat. But nei
ther the general nor his men care for
externals, and although their clothes
would hardly excite the envy of a
self-respecting tramp, they do excel
lent work in them.
CALIFORNIA'S OLIVE OIL.
An Infant Industry That Adds Greatly to
Her Wealth.
The olive oil industry, is likely soon
to attract attention and add greatly to
the wealth of California. It is now
in its infaucy. The young orchards
are just beginning to bear, and as they
show large profits many people are
going into the business. There are
now about 30, 000 acres of land devoted
to olives, and one-third of it is in
bearing.
We import from Italy and Spain
about 1,000,000 gallons of olive oil
annually. There is a popular belief
that much of it is cottonseed oil, sent
over from this country for adultera
tion and brought back in bottles bear
ing Italian labels. But the rapid de
velopmeut of the oliva oil industry in
California will soon make .this unnec
essary. Italy markets 70,000,000 gal
lons of oil, valued at $120,000,000,
annually, and the product of Spain is
not much less. Last year the ship
ments from California amounted to 50
cars in bulk. This year they will be
nearly double, and when all the groves
in southern California come into bear
ing and the superiority aud purity of
the American oil become known the
industry will assume great impor
tance. But the olive oil growers are
meeting with the same prejudice that
was formerly felt against California
wines. People were persistent in
their preference for the adulterated
logwood and vinegar concoctions that
were imported from France rather than
the pure grape juice from California,
and even now more California wines
are sold iu London thau in any city in
the United States.
The olive was introduced into Cali
fornia by the Franciscan friars, the
first tree being planted at the San
Diego mission about the middle of the
last century. The Californians like
the natural or black olhes, which they
consider as au article of food rather
than a relish. When ripe all olives
are purple black, but the curing proc
ess cau fix that color or cbr.nge it to
tbe familiar shade of ci ee l that is
oor.t by imported fruit. Tke yield
of an olive tree varia with its age.
When eight years old it will produce
about 100 pounds of. olives, from
which about one and one-half gallons
of oil may be extracted.
HIS NOVEL POINT OF VIEW. -
Thought One Lang Made Him a Bettei
- Insurance Klik.
The young man was either an opti
mist or the possessorsof a Harveyized
steel armor-plated nerve. Perhaps ha
was a little of both.
A short time ago he came to the
conclusion that he would like to in
sure his life. With this object in view
he made application to a prominent
company. After filling outj the neces
sary blank he received an invitation
to call opon the medical officer of the
company and undergo the usual physi
cal examination. In due course h
presented himself at the office of the
examining physician.
Bequesting the young man to le
move his coat and vest the doctor pro
duced a stethoscope and began his ex
amination. All at once he stopped
and regarded the candidate with an
expression of alarm.
"Young man," he said, "do yoV
think you can bear a shock?"
"Oh, I guess so," was the cheerful
resposo. "Fire away aud let me
hear the worst."
"Yon have only one lung!" an
nounced the doctor solemnly.
"Well, what of that?" retorted the
candidate, with the utmost composure.
"I never told you I had any more, did
I?
"What!" exclaimed the doctor, "do
you mean to say you were aware o
your condition?"
"Of course Iwai. Do you suppose
a man could have only one lung with
out being aware of the fact?"
"And yet," said the doctor, "you
apply to a respectable company for a
policy of life insurance. Do you ex
pect to get it?"
"I csrtaiuly do. Not only that, but
I think I ought to get it at a substan
tial reduction in the premium."
"Upon what ground, may I ask?"
"Upon the ground that having only
one lung I am 50 per cent, less liable
to contract consumption than if I had
two lungs." New York World.
How Jones Beat a Rival.
A reporter named Jones, on a daily
in St Loui, was detailed to inter
view the governor of another state,
who had slipped into the city on a
secret political mission. He learned
to his disgust that Jackson, the star ,
reporter of a rival sheet, was on to the
fact and proposed to call in an hour. -Acting
on inspiration, he sent up a
card bearing Jackson's name, and was
promptly admitted. ..-'..-.
When he had learned all he wanted, ,
he asked with gross and intentional
impudence, whether the information
was really true. The governor turned
purple.
"D'y question my word?" he said.
"Oh, don't get gay!" replied Jones,
angrily; "common governors cut uo
ice with my office."
The old man foamed at the mouth.
"You insolent scoundrel," he roared,
"get out of my rooms!"
That was exactly what Jones want
ed, and he went. Presently Jackson
showed. up.
"Here, boy," he said pompously,
"take my card to the governor. '::
When the old man lookeil at fha
pasteboard he nearly expired. . "The
blankety-blanked infamous villain !" he
spluttered; "I never heard of such ef
frontry in my life! Tell that miscreant ,
if he or anybody else from his infernal
paper comes up here I'll kill 'em!" -
The word was carried to Jr.ckson
who went away raving. Next day his
paper intimated the governor was in
town on a bender. Jones' paper had
a capital interview and a big "scoop."
"Jahart" iu the Argonaut.
The Air Cnre.
"It's queer to me," said a healthy
looking citizen, "that more people
don't take the air cure. There's
nothing like a breath of fresh air; it is
delightful and refreshing, uplifting
and invigorating, stimulating aud ex
alting, and without a iy depression,
and all this is absolutely free. There
are far more people now than ever be
fore in this cenntry that goin for out
door sports, for bicycling and all that
sort of thing, and so get the fresh air;
but there are many left who do not
give themselves the benefit of it as
they might. It isn't necessary for a
man to have a bicycle or a xhorse
or a steam yacht to enable him
to take the , air cure; such helps, of
course, might make it easier to take,
but they are not essential. '"It can be"
taken effectively walking; aud there ia
nothing like it. Air might not heal a
broken lg, but formMiy ills'-of mind
and body it will be found. a sovereign
remedy. "New York Sun.,
A Wester n Society Notice.
Here are soaie extracts from a rather
odd marriage notice which appeared
in the Stockton News; "Miss Delia
Hill is married. Her husband is a
traveling man of considerable means,
and she does not have to labor, not
even to make her own bed. Her hus
band is some yoirs older thau she is.
and weighs 2"6 pouud. Their Lo ne
ia iu Louisville, Ky. They were mar
ried iu la isiiH ity, Misa Hill's
frieuds hore will all re;oic3. Kansas
City Journal.