The Telephone=register. (McMinnville, Or.) 1889-1953, May 03, 1887, Image 1

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NO. 93
---- Issued-----
Garrison's Building. McMinnville, Oregon,
—BY —
At Turner,
Publisher« and Proprietors.
one year................................................................. <»
Six month»....................................................... 1 *
Three months...................................................
Entered in the I‘oatoffice at McMinnville. Or.,
as second-class matter.
H. V. V.
Northwest corner of Second and B streets,
I do not care
If I may never climb the heights of fame.
If I may never win a glorious nama
Nor hear, with well pleased ears, the world’«
I do not care.
I should not care
Though all obscure and lowly be my lot.
Though men pass idly by and know me not,
Though I should die and straightway be forgot,
1 should not care.
I would not care
Though all the world should shun the path I tread.
Though words of shame and scoru of me were
said —
Why, when the grasses waved above my head,
I would not care.
I would not care a cent
Were I a pious hermit, most austere, ~ ’ r*
Living, in lowly hermitage severe,
On thirty thousand dollars, say, a year.
I would not care.
May be found at his ottica when not absent on pro­
fessional business.
i Only a simple servant lassie? Yes, but
for ’a that there will be servant lassies in
•heaven just as well as braw folk. The
poor wi’re never despised by Him when
He was on earth.
Heigho! I havena written half a dozen
lines o’ my story yet, and I’m sadly con­
scious that I’ve made blunders already.
I mpan to write it a' in English, and if a
bit Scotch wordio does tumble in noo
and again I’m sure you’ll forgie me.
When I warm to my work I’ll get better
on. This is the way wi’ a’ Scotch folk;
when no excited it's their own broad
Doric they speak, but my conscience, if
you once put up their birse it's as fine
sounding English they'll speak as any
southener that ever stepped in shoe
My name is Jeannie, Jeannie McLean,
that’s it a’ tliegither, or complete as I
ought to say. From far, far north the
Tweed I come, ay, and north the Dee as
well. As far west as the train can pene­
trate among the Donside hills, on a bon­
nie braehead, among bonnie green knolls,
among woods o’ dark waving fir and
spruce, lighted up here and there wi’ the
tender green of the feathery larch, and
begirt wi’ bands o’ yellow broom and
gowden furze, there stood my father's
humble cot. And every night of my
happy young life I used to be lulled to
sleep by a sound like waves breaking on
a shingly beach; for, if it wasn’t the
wind whispering and moaning through
the trees, it was the incessant hurtle o’
the Don rushing on over the pebbles and
bowlders. So near were we to the river
that dear Johnnie could throw a stone
right A strong, strong arm had
Johnnie. Johnnie was my only brother,
and I never had a sister.
My mother died when Johnnie and I
were so young that neither of us could
rememlier her, and Grannie kept my
father’s house. Dear auld Grannie, with
her clear caller, canty face, and her busy,
happy ways, it is years ago since she has
gone to her long home in the auld kirk­
yard. She aye had a pleasant smile for
Johnnie and me, and used to tell us old
world stories in the long forenights ’o
Imagine us, if you can, gathered round
that Scottish country fireside, a great fire
of peats and wood is blazing and crackling
on the hearth—there is no other light.
At one corner sits my father in an easy
chair, his day's toil is past and his pipe
is alight; at the other is auld Grannie,
«nd click, click, click, click, go her knit­
ting wires as she tells her tale, Johnnie
and I complete the circle; our eyes are
riveted on Grannie’s face. The smoke
goes curling up the wide chimney, the
blaze sometimes following yards high,
the wind without is roaring and whist­
ling round the house, shaking doors and
dindling windows; but it makes us feel
aW the snugger within. I just creep
closer to Johnnie, lean my head on liis
shoulder, and listen.
By and by Grannie stops speaking, and
for a while the wind has it all its own
way: then my father rises solemnly and
puts his pipe away in the wa'-hole.
“Bairns, let us worship God,” he
Grannie lights the black oil lamp, with
its dried rush wicks, and father takes the
Book. He reads a chapter, then, to the
half mournful notes of some such tune
as Martyrdom, we sing, perhaps, “The
Lord’s My Shepherd.”
There was always plenty to do, and
Jolinnie and I were never sorry when
Sabbath came. Sabbath and a long
walk to the wee bit kirk on the hill head,
where in earnest and impressive voice our
good minister would point the way to
happier spheres; he never failed to breathe
words of comfort for the weary, consola­
tion for the bereaved, and hopes of future
joy for all.
Never a Sunday passed that Johnnie
and I did not linger behind, till aU the
other kirk folk had passed away out and
homewards, then we would go quietly
round and visit mother’s grave. This
was not all sentiment, both of us loved
mother, though we hardly remembered
seeing her. But her mortal remains were
there in that auld kirkyard, and they
would rise again, such was our simple
faith; and we never looked upon mother
as dead, but as a saint in heaven, She
could see us. we thought, nay. might
even be permitted to watch over us, and
lovingly guard and befriend us in trial
and in danger. She saw us each Sab­
bath, then, as we bent low and touched
the grassv knoll and laid thereon our of­
ferings of flowers. Humble enough
these might be. but in spring there were
the sweet scented yellow primrose and
sprigs o' crimson may, in summer tliere
were alwavs rich buttercups and nch ox-
eved daisies, and a hundred wild flowers
from hedgerow and copse; even winter
brought its garlands of red rowansand
its evergreens, so all the year round
mother s grave never wanted beauty.
old churcbvard and tha wen mt
and Surgeons,
M c M innville , O regon .
Office over Braly’s Bank.
S. A. YOUNG. M. D.
Physician and Surgeon,
M c M innville
Office and residence on D street.
answered day or night.
oregon .
All calls promptly
M c M innville
oregon .
Office—Two doors east of Bingham's furniture
Laughing gas administered for painless extraction.
UpStairs in Adams' Building,
M c M innville
The Best in the State.
1« prepared to fuiniah music for all occasions at reason
able rates. Address
Business Manager, McMinnville.
Livery Feed and Sale Stables
Corner Third and D streets, McMinnville
The Best Rigs in the City. Orders
Promptly Attended to Day or Night.
A Strictly Temperane« Resort.
bme good(?) Church members to the contrary not­
be only Bret class, and the only parlor-like shop in tha
city. None but
First-class Workmen Employed!
Km door south of Yamhill County Bank Building-B
M c M innville , oregon .
H. H. WEI ..CH.
Digging in a Glacier.
A well at Yakutsk, to Siberia, has
Nin a standing puzzle to scientists tor
lany years. It was begun in 1828, but
¡11 in frozen earth. Then the Russian
cvleni v of Sciences continued for some
®sths the work of deepening the well,
•1 stopped when it had reached to the
pent of some 382 feet, when the ground
F still frozen as hard as a rock. In
p the academy had the temperature
I *he excavation careftllly taken at
fions depths, and from the data thus
Pined the ground was estimated to
[frozen to a depth of 612 feet. Asex-
1 cold could not freeze the earth to
F4 a depth, even in Siiseria. geolo-
P have concluded that the well has
Pirated a frozen formation of the
period which has never thawed
■A cable dispatch from France says,
* left will deckle upon the future
»7 of the Government.” When a
s left over lucre he very rarely
'nilits to decide anv thing.— Phila-
kw Coll.
* rs (taking account of stock)—
1 “aataloons <m dat top shelluf, Mr.
'"'em, have, been folded, so longdal
vox afmest vorn tlWough. Vat
* do—mark itose gnots down?
«aacstein—No« mark 'em oop
cead. Dot crease vas dat
Uftli avenue >agoay shule. —
kirk. I have but to shut my eyes and
they rise up before me. What though
the kirk itself was steepleless, the bell
devoid of mudlc, the grass long and
green on the graves, and after rain look­
ing as though it had been combed down;
what though the tombstones were gray
and lichen clad, and leant in everydirec-
tion except the right one—mother's grave
was there!
You English maids may laugh at me,
but all! you little ken how dearly we
Scotch mountaineers love our wild I
homes; besides, you know—I’m only a
simple servant lassie.
Our Johnnie could play tho fiddle so
sweetly. It was the merry airs auld
Grannie liked the best, but there was one
thing that Johnnie used to play and sing
that never failed to bring tho tears to my
eyes at least; though somehow it was a
sweet kind of melancholy it inspired, and
neither grief nor melancholy ever injures
the heart if tears can flow.
Had I any other companions except
Johnnie? Yes, a neighbor lassie would
sometimes drop in, and—well, why
should I deny it, sometimes a neighbor
laddie—why shouldn't a simple Scotch
lassie like me have a bit sweetheart?
What for no?
But it was only on Sunday evenings in
the sweet summer time that Jamie and I
used to take a lonely walk. And where
did we walk, think you? Why, down
the line. You see in the far north of
dear auld Scotland trains don’t run on
the Sabbath day, and the line is the favor­
ite promenade. Green, feathery larch
trees bounded the banks all along, and
the banks themselves were painted with
wild Howers in tne sweetest colors you
could imagine—patches of crimson clover,
patches of white clover, beds of orange
trnfoils. lieils of bluest speedwell, anil tall
red ragged robins everywhere. Then
there was the hum of the bees, ds they
bummed from flower to flower, the sweet
perfume of the clover and the wild, glad
notes of the chafiie near his nest in the
larc tree. And—yes, and Jamie’s voice,
sweeter to me than all. Did I love Jamie?
I dinna ken. Jamie never what you
might call made love to me, but I dare
say I did like him a wee bit. Bonnie
black hair had Jamie, blue, blue ecn. rosy
dimpled cheeks, a cockit lionnet wi’ long
strings that fluttered o'er his liack and
shoulders, and such a winsome smile!
No, he never made love like, but he
would talk for an hour at a time about
his horses and kye, and I used just to
look and laugh and listen.
You may be think I'm dwelling too
long on my younger days and our happy
life at the little farm on the braehead—
but the rest of my story is all so sad.
I’m sure enough that neither Johnnis
nor I ever gave a thought for to-morrow.
In this respect we fulfilled the Scriptures
right enough. It never struck us that
our present life would not last till we
closed our eyes for aye and went to sleep
in the mools.
But one wet, rough winter’s evening,
with the wind moaning in the chimnr y
and the cold snow anil sleet tearing over
the hills and through the woods, father
came homo looking wan and queer. No,
no, I cannot dwell on this. That night
ho took to Iris lied, and in spite of lhe
doctor's attention, in spite of the kind­
ness of an English lady who was dwell­
ing at the big house, he slipt quietly
away one night and joined our motile
in heaven.
What a change! The funeral past and
a broken up home. Everything except
the old eiglit-day clock, which Grannie
wouldn’t part with, sold by roup, Gran­
nie herself dwelling in a little hut by the
hillside, and Jolinnie a soldier in the gal­
lant Forty-twa. And right handsome
did lie look in his Highland dress, with
his brawny legs and his bonnet and
And I—a simple servant lassie. For
the kind English lady had taken quite a
fancy to me and I was bound for the
south as her maid. As the train rolled
away from the station, as I lost sight > f
the **
oods, and hills and bonnie braes,
what could I do but lean liack in a comer
of the carriage and cry—lassie like. Poor
Jamie, too!
Grief does not break young hearts, and
in my new home at Southsea, everything
was very new indeed, and my heart leapt
up one day with a nameless joy wh«-n 1
heard that the Forty-second was coming
to Portsmouth.
My mistress was kindness itself, and
consideration, too.
She was a lady,
though not rich, and Im sure would
have bitten her tongue at any time rather
tlian say a single word to wound the
feelings or hurt the heart of a simple ser­
vant lassie. Ah! would that all mis­
tresses were the same! She never hin­
dered me from going out. and, indeed,
often suggested it. And so, many were
the walks Johnnie and I hail on the
ramparts, and many a talk of the dear
old times that even now seemed so far
And my mistress had always a kind
word and a smile for me, and talked so
naturally and so encouragingly that st
any time I believe I would have laid
down my life to save hers. After a few
months of Portsmouth life my mistress
and I started to spend a few weeks in
France. Johnnie saw us off. and I think
I see the handsome, manly boy yet, with
the sunny smile on his sunburnt face, in
the dark tartan kilt and white spats,
standing there on the station waving us
good by with his bonnet and plumes.
We were two months away, but re­
turned at last, and the very next morn­
ing I went to see for Johnnie.
I was rounding the corner of a street,
•when the slow, half muffled sound of
drums fell sn mv ear, and presently I
could hear the music itself. It was a
dirge, a coronach, played by the pipers.
It was no ordinary dead march. It was t he
grand old hymn, Johnnie's song and
To-Kirk rsrd.
To every word there was a stroke of
the drum and a step of the men. And
yonder is the coflin and the bonnet and
“Who is—d—d—dead?” I cried,
clutching the arm of a soldier who stood
near me.
He must have seen I was choking.
He put one arm round my waist kindly
as he replied :
“Poor Jack McLean, my lass. Are
you his sweetheart?”
I remember nothing more for weeks,
for all this time I lay raving with brain
A year had passed away and a cliange
had come over my situation in life. For
my dear, kind mistress was obliged to give
up house and go abroad, and I was en­
gaged as general servant to a lady in
Now I was to know what indeed it
meant to bo a simple servant lassie under
a thoughtless and unkind mistress. Per­
haps slie did not really mean to be un­
kind, perhaps she could not help it. I be­
lieve that, hard though her lieart un­
doubtedly was, she would often have felt
for me could she but have known how
her words used to burn into my feelings.
I’m sure I tried to please her. I’m sure
I did what I could anil as well as I couid,
but my whole life soon becamo a burden
to me. I used to go to my room and.
don’t laugh, cry and pray. That helped
me some—don’t forget I'm but a simple
Scottish lassie.
Did my mistress scold? No. not down­
right. She nagged. Oh! that worrying,
nerve breaking nagging, how much more
mean it is than any scolding!
When mistress first asked niv name
and I told her “Je'nnie,” “I shall call
you Ami,” she replied. “I call all my
servants Ann.”
I'm sure master felt sorry for me, but
he dared Bay nothing. I believe he was
as much afraid of her as I was, though a
kindly hearted gentleman he was. He
would come in to dinner happy li»king
and singing, and at table begin to talk
and laugh with his pretty pets of chil­
dren. Then mistress would begin to nag
at me as I laid tho dinner. And poor
master's face would fall at once. There
would be no more talking or laughing
with tiie children after that. He would
hurriedly and silently swallow a few
moutlifuls, then, making some excuse
about work to finish, disappear.
But the room never was dusted enough
to pl 'use mistress, the tiro never burned
brightly enough, the things were never
properly put on the table.
I used to dread so lying too late of a
morning that ray night’s lest yas all one
painful, confused dream. I would start
may lie at 3 and look at the watch again
and again at 4, and if I did this I
dreaded to fall asleep again. I would lie
and read for an hour or two, then go
down to the cold kitchen among the
beetles and struggle for another hour
with wet sticks and damp coals before I
got the fire to light.
Was it any wonder I got thin and
worn ;«id so nervous that my mistress’
voice suddenly calling "Ann” felt like a
red hot knife jerked into my heart?
I now come to the turning ¡»int of
my somewhat sail history, which would
never have been written hail I not
thought this simple narrative might move
some mistresses to be a little more con­
siderate of the feelings of their servants.
What was my fate to be. I often
asked that question of myself, lassie
like. Would Jamie be my fate? Though
I know ho liked me, in his letters he
never breathed a word of love, but al­
ways told me about auld Grannie and
the eight day clock and about his horses
and kye.
I had only one friend now in the
world. And he—I feel sure you will
laugh—was the brewer’s drayman.
When he called for an empty cask or to
deposit a full one in the cellar, he always
nad a gentle word and a smile for me.
He was a jolly looking young man with
a handsome face, a burly form, and an
apjon big enough for a bathing tent. And
if you’d only seen him pitch the great
casks about—why John was strong
enough to lift a cow.
One day mistress had been more tank-
ersome than ever, and my eyes were red
with weeping. John noticed it, and
talked ever so kindly, and I told him all,
and from that day for months I took to
telling John all, and he always had a
word of comfort for me. Is it any won­
der that my heart warmed to him?
I used to light him down to the dark
cellar, and it was down there wo used to
hold our little confabs.
But I’ll never forget tho morning John
asked me to become his wife.
The tallow candle barely dispelled the
gloom of that damp, ftirk cellar, and the
daylight streaming in above us from a
grating, fought with the gloom and was
swallowed up.
“Which I've loved you for a long
time,” said John, “though I dursn't
summon up coinage to speak my mind.
But I have the prettiest little cottage anil
garden in the houtskirts as ever ye seed.
And it only wants a mistrins, Jeannie,
Which it'll be your sweet self and nobbut
I was glad the cellar was so dark, so
he couldn't see my face; but next mo­
ment I was pressed close to John's big
apron, and it did smell of malt and hops
Yes, it is o sweet. wee cottage, and
bonnie do the roses look twining round
the porch in summer, and John is the
dearest and best of husbands. Yes, I'm
happy, and I’ve almost forgotten that
ever I was a simple servant lassie.
Grxxi by—there is John coming.—Gor­
don Stables in Home Chimes.
—What i* remote and difficult of *
we are apt to overrate; what ia
really beat for ua lie« always within
our reach, though often overlooked.—
A Flatboat Load of Contrabands Wait­ How the Fast Indian Turns Everything
ing to Towed to Freedom.
As we returned down the Yazoo, at
every possible point where lie river could
be reached there were throngs of negro
families waiting to be taken away.
Many of them had flat boats in which
they were already embarked, ready to
fasten a line to the returning Federal
boats and be towed down the river and
to freedom.
I rumember one instanco connected
with this liegira that was somewhat out
of the usual course of events. At one
point where the Silver Wave halted
there was an immense encampment of
negroes with their scanty furniture wait­
ing for removal. Attached to the shore
was a large flatboat, which lay just at
the stern of the steamer. I happened to
be lounging in that portion of the boat,
and was attracted by the character of the
contents of the flatboat. There were at
least twenty colored people in it, of all
ages and both sexes. In the stern sat a
venerable African, who at once attracted
my attention. He had a heavy beard
and very thick hair, which, with his
dense eyebrows, were as white as wool.
There was something noble and impres­
sive in his face and ¡xisition, and interest
in him was increased as I saw that he
was sightless. He was grand as he sat
there; grand in his years, which must
have been close to a century; grand in
tho immobility of his countenance, the
repose of his position, iu his helpless
blindness, and in a perceptible expression
of patience and hope that characterized
his features.
The other people in tiie boat were prob­
ably his descendants. There was a white
headed woman who was his daughter,
then a stalwart man and a woman who
must have been his grandchildren, and
then a host of children of all ages from
20 down to a little pickaninny lying on
its liack that sucked its thumb, kicked up
its heels anil gazed witli its black, Ix’ad-
like eyes into vacancy. They were all
chattering, laughing, screaming in the
exuberance of their delight. Freedom
was before them and tiie world was
ablaze with the glory of antici|>ation.
♦dy the patriarch was silent; to him
there perhaps mingled with tho hoj» of
tho future a recollection of tiie old home
and the old life. The deep grown roots
of his existence could not tie easily ex­
tracted from the soil of the south, and
yet there wax a glow on his face such as
must have come over the faces of the
wandering trilies as they xtixxl on Nel»
and their weary eves took in tin1 spread­
ing fields and the fertile plains of tiie
A line was dropptxl from the deck of
the steamer to the tlatlxiat and made fast.
The next moment the wheel began to re­
volve. It threw back waves which en-
velo|xxl the tlatlxiat, and then, as the
speed increased, the flat bow of tho latter
was drawn under, and the entire Ixiat
with all its human freight, its infancy,
its years, its hopes, disap[»ared under
the greenish waters of the Yazoo. As
far as I could see the locality I watched
for some sign of the engulfixl unfortu­
nates, but not even a rag, a fragment of
any kind, came to the surfaco. Tiie cruel
waters held them fast, and not even a
ripple dixturlied the placid surface ubove
their place of disappearance.
Nothing that I saw during the war
shocked me as did thia occurrence. Ri’s-
cue was impossible; tiie boat did noteven
It steamed swiftly away, and I
felt in my heart that another and hum­
bler Moses hud died at the moment of an­
ticipated deliverance.—-“PoHuto” in Chi­
cago Times.
Fngllxli rr<»r«
It is stated on what seems good au­
thority tlHit tiie festivities of the present
season will be fostered by a new kind of
entertainer. From certain firms from
whom parlor wizards, drawing room
Punch and Judys, etc., can lx1 hired, it
would seem that professional funny men,
warranted to keep’ any moderately festive
table in a roar, can be securixl for so
much a night. These “funny men” will
mix with guests, and are guaranteed not
only to be primed with all the newest
funny stories anil topical jokes, but also
to be well up in impromptu efforts of an
amusing kind. For instance there are
no less than seventeen assorted tricks
which can lie performed by them while
actually sitting at a table without any
apparatus, and with the simple nid of an
orange, a wine j lass, a serviette, and a
walnut shell. For a “funny man," with
ventriloqnal ability the price |x-r evening
is five shillings more than for one who
does not go beyond "imitations of con­
temporary actors, "in a mimetic dime
tion. In cases where it may be desired
that this hired entertainer shinild ¡xiax ax
a facetious relative of th«1 host and hosti-xx
it is suggextixl that a “preliminary inter­
view should be arranged between him
and the heads of the family whose rela­
tive lie is supposed to be,” with a view,
doubtless, to tiie maintenance of his part
later on.—Ixindon Figaro.
He lko»»e»ses into Jewelry.
Never during its existence lias India
been so rich in jewelry as now. Tho
people are always adding to their stock.
Savings from nearly all sources are dis­
posed of in this way, and these savings
are being constantly made—often at the
exp mse of clothing, sometimes at the ex­
pense of greater necessaries of life.
The making and the storing away of
wealth in this form is the national pe­
culiarity of this country. It is indulged
in by all classes of natives. Jewelry is
regarded as the most staple kind of
wealth, and fortunes are never counted
without estimating tho value of tho stock
of jewelry. It can always be pledged or
disixised of. The market for its sale is
never closed anil never depressed.
The most ignorant native who wishes
to sell a piece of jewelry knows its market
value quite well. He can scarcely be
cheated. Jewelry forms tiie greatest
factor in matrimony. The most lowly
bride has her stridhan, which is often
equal in value to five years’ income of the
bridegroom. There is often a scarcity of
clothing, sometimes a scarcity of cooking
pots, generally not a particle of furniture,
but nearly always a stock of jewelry.
The wife that has no jewelry ¡xissesses
nothing else; she cannot be robbed. The
family that does not ¡xissess jewelry is
alieolutely indigent. One of the greatest
boasts of the jewelry owner is that his
hoards cannot lie taxed. A man may
own jewelry valued at a lakh of rujxies
and pay no income tax. This is a source
of great satisfaction. Jewelry yields no
recurring income, but it is prized more
than government ¡viper. “If it never
increases it never diminishes, ” is a na­
tional saying, common among men and
women alike.
No native marriage, except among the
most impoverished, takes place without a
transfer of jewelry, and very frequently
of new jewelry. So great in value is the
now jewelry that is introduced into new
families by marriage, that wo dare not
estimate it. the amount would be bo fab­
ulous. Truly the investment of wealth
in jewelry in India is the greatest and
most remarkable institution in the coun­
try. Every other investment sinks into
insignificance beside it.
Under no native prince or rajah of
former times has jewelry accumulated as
it has accumulated under the British
government in British India. For a cen­
tury past the sacking of towns has been
unknown; the plunder of individuals has
been greatly restrained, and wealth in the
form of jewelry has accumulated.
One-half of the people of India are
jewelry owners. It is only when the day
of taking stock of tho family jewelry
comes round, such as tho occasion of a
wedding or a great gala day, that a
stranger can form the slightest concep­
tion of the amount of wealth in the fam­
ily in the form of jewelry. Amazement
at once strikes him as he for the iiprt
time is ¡x-rmitted to see the amount of
accumulated wealth.
The inventory day is, par excellence,
the women's day. Gathered round the
iron safes, the cash l»xes, the metallio
Ixixes, the neatly carved wixxlen boxes,
tho delight of the vrnnrn is observed
in tlieir eyes as each pair of golden brace­
lets studded with ¡icarls; each pair of
diamond, or emerald, or sapphire ear­
rings. each nixie ring with large pearls,
massive gold chains and a large number
of rings; expensively and even extrava­
gantly gemmed, are banded round t'sa
family circle for admiration. And great
is the family delight.—Advocate of
To Prevent Bednores.
When a jx-rxon in obliged to lie con­
stantly in one |>oeition. as is the cam
with a broken log, the premure coming
constantly on the same place. Iiedaorea
must I* guarded against.
The lower
part of the liack is most frequently at­
tacked. Tiie nurse should ¡ mibh her hand
under it at least twice a ucy to see that
the draw sheet is free from wrinkle, and
creases. Morning and night she mart
bathe it with a small sgionge dipped in
alcohol, or a solution of tannic acid, and
when it is dry rub it with corn starch or
buckwheat flour.
It may seem im­
possible to her to get her hand under­
neath, but most Ixxlx will yield a little to
pressure anil by working in a roll of old
linen under the liack aixrve the place to
be Inthed, she will obtain a little s|>ace to
work in. If in spite of precautions the
Iwk liecomeH sore an air cushion with a
hole in the middle must lie used to pre­
vent the sore from coming in contact
with any surface, or it cannot heal.—
Good Housekeeping.
Chinese I nd I/Terence.
Chinese indifference is still worse than
Chinese «Ufx-rstition. “The Chinese k
bom a man, lives a dog, and dies an
ass.” No assistance can be found in
that country, wliere one has to rely on
himself and believe no man. The want
of a xenxe of th<- common good, and of
all self sacrifice, is so great that all the
Frying a« ft It Ahnnetl.
celebrated fall into decay, such as the
Frying, as the operation is usually done temples and royal tombs, many of which
in this country, constitutes the Ixaiis of are beautiful.--London News.
American simplicity in the culinary art,
and all physicians are agreed that proba­
ijswaldus Nothingerus is said to have
bly no other single factor is so prominent made 1,600 dishes of turned ivory, all
in the production of otir national dixcase, perfect ami complete in ev, ry part, yet so
dyspepsia, as this. I do not desire to lie thin and slender that all of them were in­
underxtixxl as condemning frying or any cluded at once in a cup turned out of a
of the modifications of this process of pepper com of the common size. They
cooking, when properly done. On the were so small as to bo almost invisible to
contrary. I think it ixan excellent inethixi the eye. They were preaented to Pope
of ¡cejiariiig meats, fish and many vege­ Paul V. — Boston Budget.
tables for the table. But how rarely ia
the American frying jxm anything else
Whale« Not Flehee.
than a utensil for slowiy stewing an arti­
are not fislw
They have no
cle in grease. Maturated and permeated ' scales tlwy have warm blood; they give
with fat. the fried article of food becomes milk to their young, and finally, they
an indigestible mass, incapable of acting would be drowned if they were to remain
as an aliment.—George II. Robe, M. D. ! longer tlian lialf an iiour ui.Jer water.