Evening Star Newspaper, March 16, 1895, Page 21

—— THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, MARCH 16, 1895-TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. 21 fort, and Comfort choked out something about losing her ring. “Where did you lose it?” asked the wo- man. “I don't k-n-o-w,"? sobbed Comfort. “Well, you'd better go right home and tell your mother about it,” sald the stout worn, and went her way, with many backward glances. Matilda dragged her sled at Comfort’s » and eyed her dubiously. Why didn’t you get the ring when you were right there with the gold dollar?” she demanded. “What made you run out of Gervish’s that way?" “I'm go—ing—home,” sobbed Comfort. “Ain't you going to wait and ride in the stage coach?” “I'm—going—right—home.” “Imogen said to eo in the stage coach. I don't know as rother’ll like it if we walk. Why didn’t you get the ring, Com- fort Pease?” “I don’t want—any—ring. home-—to—tell—my mother. “Your mother would have been real pleased to have you get the ring,” said Matilda, in an injured tone, for she fan- cled Comfort meani to complain of her to her mother. Then Comfort agony of confe: know anything abcut it, the ring unbeknow I'm going ned on Matilda in an ‘My mother don’t aid she. “I took to her when she “You Ask Him; It’s Your Ring.” said I couldn't, and then lost it, and I was going to get the new ring to put in the box, sv she wouldn't ever know. I'm going right home and (ell her.” Matilda looked at her. “Comfort Pease, didn’t you ask your mother?” said she. Comfort shook her head. “Then,” said Matilda, solemnly, “we'd better go home just as quick as we can. We won't wait for any stage coach, I know my mother wouldn’t want me to. S'pose your mother should die, or anything, be- fore you have a chance to tell her, Com- fort Pease. I read a story once about a little girl that toid a lie and her mother died and she hadn't owned up. It was dreadful. Now, you get right on the sled and Ill drag you as far as the meeting house, and then you can drag me as far as_the sawmill.” Comfort huddled herself up on the sled in a miserable little bunch and Matlida dragged her. Her very back looked cen- sorious to Comfort, but finally she turned around. “The big girls were real mean, so there, and they pestered you dreadfully,” said she. ‘Don’t you cry any more, Comfort. a tell your mother all about it, and I don’t believe shi scold much. You can have this gold doilar to buy you another ring, anyway, if she'll let you.” The road home from Bolton seemed muck longer than the road over had done, although the little girls hurried.and drag- ged each other with fierce jerks. “Now,” said Matilda, when they reached her house at length, “I'll go home with you while you tell your mother if you want me to, Comfort. My mother’s got home. I can see her head in the window. I'll run in and ask her.” y “ld just as lief go alone, I guess,” re- plied Comfort, who was not crying any more, but was quite pale. “I’m real obliged to you, Matilda.” “Well, I'd just as lief go as not, if you want me to,” said Matilda, “I hope your mother won't say much. Good-bye, Com- fort.” “Good-bye,” returned Comfort. Then Matilda went into her house, and Comfort hurried home alone, down the snowy road in the deepening dusk: She kept thinking of that dreadful story which Matilda had read. Anxiety and remorse and the journey to Bolton had almost ex- hausied poor little Comfort Pease. She hurried as fast as she could, but her feet felt like lead and it seemed to her that she should never reach home. But when at last she came in sight of the lighted kitchen windows her heart gave a joyful leap, for she saw her mother's figure moving be- hind them, and knew that Matilda's story ‘was not true in her case. When she reached the door she leaned against it a minute. She was out of breath and her knees seemed failing under her. ‘Then she opened the door and went in. Her father and mother and grandmother were all there and they turned and stared at her. “Comfort Pease," cried her “What is the matter?” You didn’t fall down or anything, did you?” asked her grandmother. ‘Then Comfort burst out with a great sob of confession. ‘‘I—took—it,” she gasped. “I took my gold ring that Aunt Comfort gave me for her name—and—I wore it to school, and Miss Tabitha pinned it in my pocket, and I lost it. And Matilda she gave me the gold dollar her Uncle Jared gave her to buy me another, and we walked a mile and a half apiece to Bolton to buy It in Gerrish’s and I couldn’t—and I was afraid something had happened to mother, and I'm sorry.” Then Comfort sobbed until her very sobs seemed failing her. Her father wiped his eyes. “Don’t let that child cry that way, Em'ly,” sald he to Mrs. Pease. Then he turned to Comfort. “Don’t you feel so bad, Comfort,” he coax- mother, Comfort’s father gave her a hard pat on her head, and then he went out of the room with something that sounded like an echo of Comfort's own sobs. “Comfort,” said Mrs. Pease, “look here, child, stop crying and listen to what I’ve got to say. I want you to come into the parlor with me a minute.” Comfort followed her mother weakly into the best parlor. There on the table stood the rosewood workbox, and her mother went straight acress to it and cpaned it. “Look here, Comfort,” said she, and Com- fort looked. There in its own compartment lay the ring. “Miss Tabitha Hanks found it in the road, and she thought you had taken it unbeknownst to me, and so she brought it in here,” explained her mother. “I didn’t let you know because I wanted to see if you would be a good girl enough to tell me of your own accord, and I'm glad you have, Comfort.” Then Comfort’s mother carried her al- most bodily back to the warm kitchen and set her before the fire to toast her feet while she made some cream toast for her supper. Her grandmother had a peppermint in her pocket and she slid it into Comfort’s hand. “Grandma knew she would tell, and she won't never do such a thing again, will she?" said she. “No, ma’am,” replied Comfort, and the peppermint in her mouth seemed to be the very flavor of peace and forgiveness. After Comfort was in bed and asleep that night her elders talked the matt over. “I knew she would tell, finally, said Mrs. Pease, “but it's been a hard lesson for her, poor child, and she’s all worn out; that long tramp to Bolton, too!” “I most wish her Aunt Comfort hadn't been so dreadful careful about getting her eine big enough,” said Grandmother At- ns. Mr. Pease looked at his wife and cleared his throat. “What do you tkink of my getting her a ring that would fit her fin- ger, Em'ly?" he asked timidly. “Now, father, that’s all a man knows,” cried Mrs. Pease. “If you went and bought that chi a ring now it would look jus as if you were paying her for not mii ing. You'd spoil all the lesson she's got, when she worked so dreadfully hard to learn it. You wait awhile.” i “Well, I suppose you know best, Em'ly, said Mr. Pease, but he made a private resolution. And so it happened that three month§ later, when it was examination day at school, and Comfort had a new blue thibet dress to wear and some new blue ribbon to tie her hair that her mother handed her a little box just before she started. “Here,” said she, “your father has been over to Gerrish’s and here’s something he bought you. I hope you'll be careful, and not lose it.”” And Comfort opened the box and there was 2 beautiful gold ring, which just fitted her third finger, and she wore it to school, and the girls all seemed to see it at once, and exclaimed, “Comfort Pease has got a new gold ring that fits her finger!” And that was not all, for Matilda and Rosy Stebbins also wore gold _ rings. “Mother said I might as well spend Uncle Jared’s dollar for it, ‘cause your mother didn’t want you to have it,” said Matilda, holding her finger up. “And father bought one for Rosy, too.” Then the two little girls took their seats, and presently went forward to be examined in spelling before the committeemen, the doctor, the minister ahd all the visiting friends. And Comfort Pease, with all the spelling lessons of the term in her head, her .gold ring on her finger and peace in her heart, went to the head of the class, and Miss Tabitha Hanks presented her with a prize. It was a green silk pincushion, with “Good Girl” worked on it in red silk, and she had it among her treasures long after her finger had grown large enough to wear her Aunt Comfort’s ring. ——.—__ ‘TOOK THE WRONG MEDICINE.” Why This Hendline So Often Appears in the Daily Newspapers. + From the New York Herald. It is an odd trait in human nature that a man who has been ordered by his physician to take paregoric will never take it if there is any carbolic acid or prussic acid in the house that he can absorb in preference. Statisticians who have studied the thing declare that an invalid will search the whole house for a poisonous drug and drink it rather than the medicine ordered by the doctor. The death notices in the newspapers in cases of that kind are gen- erally headed: “Took the Wrong Medi- cine.” A man arrived. at his home the other evening, and glancing on the bureau saw a bottle of liquid that he had been ordered by the doctor to take. : “That looks like the stuff," said he, “but I'm not sure. As I was locking up the cel- lar I saw behind an old shelf a blue bottle that looked as if it hadn’t been touched for years. It said on it, ‘Sulphuric Acid.’ Now that bottle on the table looks exactly like the one I drank out of last night, but still I have an idea that the stuff down in the cellar is what the doctor means for me. I don’t know how the dickens it got down there when it's meant for me to take, or how this bottle that isn’t meant for me to take got on this bureau. But I'm not going, to take any chances. I'll just go down into the cellar and make sure and I'll throw this stuff out of the window.” The he cautiously went down stairs’ and took the culphuric acid, and he was buried in due form after an ambulance surgeon had done his best and the coroner's jury had made a complete investigation and autopsy. It isn’t only children who make these blunders. Doctors will tell you that they have only to label a bottle “Lotion; for Ex- ternal Application Only,” to make sure of its being drunk. If a patient gets a bottle of corrosive sublimate to put on a felon on his great toe and doesn’t use it all he will carefully save it. Ten years afterward a doctor gives some cough mixture to him, and then he goes and hunts up the corro- sive sublimate bottle, plays three card monte with it and the cough mixture, gets them thoroughly mixed up so that he can’t tell one from the other, and then when he feels that tightness across the chest that the doctor told- him about he swallows a part of the corrosive sublimate and leaves his widow to collect the life insurance. By no accident is the cough mtxture ever taken—it is always the corrosive sublimate. ca: SMALLEST OF BOOKS. One French Volume the Size of n Cent Piece. From the N..¥. Sunday Advertiser. The smallest book ever printed has just been issued by Messrs. Pairault of Paris. It is the story of Perrault, “Little-Hop- My-Thumb.” This diminutive volume contains four en- gravings and it is printed in movable type. It cor.tains eighty pages. of printed matter. The book is thirty-eight millimeters long by twenty-eight millimeters wide. The thickness of this volume is six millimeters, and its weight is only five grammes. The “dwarf book” of the Chicago exhibi- tion could be held on a postage stamp of the Columbian variety, but it is quite sur- passed by this product of the French press. The little French volume, with its illustra- tions and its eighty pages of printed mat- Le is not much larger than~a one-cent Piece. ————+ee+____ Chicago Social Forms. From the Chicago Record. The teacher of an intermediate grade in one of the larger public schools was “show- ing off” her pupils before a number of visi- ters. The spelling class was on the floor, and one small shock-headed boy was given the word “introduction.” He paused,twist- ed his lips, stared, and then in a faltering way spelled it correctly, and seemed rather surprised that he had done it. “Do you know what the word means?” asked the teacher. “No'm.”” “What! you don’t know what introduc- tion means?” “No'm.”” “Well, now, I'll explain it to you. Does your mother ever have callers?” “Well, now, suppose that two ladies came to call on your mother. Your mother knows one of the ladies, but doesn’t know the other. She has never seen the other lady, and doesn't even know her name. Now. how would she become acquainted with this lady and find out her name?’ “She'd send me out for a can o’ beer.” As that was the correct answer, the teacher had nothing further to say. a ae Her Accomplishments, The Usher in the Mirror revives this fa- miliar story, which will bear repetition: An actress who leased apartments up- town last week was advised, when the mo- mentous servant question was reached, to secure a Swede or Norwegian girl. She went to a bureau that supplies ser- vants of these nationalities and found a gocd-natured specimen fresh from Norway who spoke English. “Can you cook?” the actress asked. ”” answered the candidate sweetly. ash and iron?” OL can milk a reindeer.” ——_—+e+ No Help to Nature. From Harper's Bazar. “I'm so angry with my laundress,” said Chappie. “She's put so little starch In my collar that positively it’s no help to me at all in holding; up my head, and I'm just worn out.”” “You say we must try and get along with only necessities, and here you came home from your club in a cab." “Tha’ "Life. ‘S$ a—nezess’ ty. HEARING BY SIGHT| The Art of Speech-Reading as De- scribed by Mrs. Bell. AID AFFORDED BY FACIAL EXPRESSION How Language That is Unheard is Understood. +—_—__ EDUCATION OF THE DEAF Mrs, Alexander Graham Bell in Atlantic Monthly. I was so young when the severe illness which deprived me of my hearing occurred that I cannot remember ever having heard, or havirg been in a materially different position as regards articulation and speech- reading from the one I have occupied for many years. I presume the reason why I can recall nothing of my first steps insspeech-reading and articulation is due to the long period of mental and physical weakness which followed my illness. My mother says that for many months I expressed no interest in or desire for anything, and the baby speech I had previously possessed seemed entirely gone, During all this time she was work- ing and planning. endeavoring. by every means in her power to give me back the speech I had lost, and to make me read her lips. She talked to me continually long be- fore I cared to talk back, and gradually, 1 suppose, both language and the ability to read speech came along with increasing mental and physical strength. To me it seems obvious that I must have learned to speak and read speech simultaneously; for if I had learned the one art before or to a greater degree than the other, some im- pression would have been made on my mind which I should have remembered. However this may be, it remains true that my earliest recollections are of being able to talk, end of understanding what was said to me, at least sufficiently well to satisfy all my requirements. I recall no stormy outbursts of passion, such as I believe are too often consequent on inability in the deaf child to make his wants known. Looking back now, it seems to me that whatever method my mother and the young teacher who assisted her (Miss Mary H.True) pursued in my instruc- tion, it must have been a true and natural one, simply because it has left no trace upon my memory. All natural processes of growth are gradual and imperceptible; there are no violent shocks and sudden changes, such as leave their imprint upon the memory. It is the unnatural method of instruction, which, by demanding unnat- ural and therefore painful efforts from the child, leaves marks of the work on his mind. To Understand Reading. This accounts, I believe, for my remem- brance of one item in the plan of my in- struction—a daily drill in writing from dic- tation sentences which our teacher read from a book. I do not think that I objected very strongly to it, but it was most slow and irksome work, and I always recall it as the one lesson I did not, like. Even to- day dictation of this sort is very irksome. It is no uncommon occurrence for my hus- band to talk to me perhaps for an hour at a time of something in which he is inter- ested. It may de on the latest geographical discoveries, Sir Robert Ball’s Story of the Sun, the latest news from the Chinese war, some abstruse scientific problem in gravita- tion—anything and everything. Very rarely do I have to ask him to re- peat, and at the end I should be ready to back myself against almost any hearing person to give the substance of what he has said nearly word for word. But it is almost impossible for Mr. Bell to sit down and read to me a short paragraph from the simplest book, and have me understand him without very great difficulty and strain of mind and eye. I have often wondered why this should be so, and have tried to detect where the dif- ference came in, but without success, so slight is it and imperceptible. Mr. Bell is a good and expressive reader, yet there is a difference between his manner of speaking and of reading which makes all the differ- ence between ease and difficulty of compre- hension. What is true of Mr. Bell is true of every one with whom I have had com- munication. I am convinced, therefore, that the drill in dictation, so far from aid- ing, was a distinct hindrance to my learn- ing to read speech. Fond of Reading. The method cf instruction pursued by my mother and teacher, picneers in a new world of effort as truly as Columbus him- self, was essentially the same as that pur- sued with my hearing sisters with whom L was educated. At a very early period books were placed in my hands, and I be- came passionately fond of reading. I did not care to play and romp out of doors; all I wanted was to curl up in some quiet cor- ner and read all day long, if allowed. My father’s library was well stocked, and 1 had almost free range. When eleven years old, I delighted in reading such books as Jane Porter’s Scottish Chiefs; and before I was thirteen I had read through, with intense interest, Motley’s Rise of the Dutch Republic, most of Prescott’s Histories, sev- eral large volumes relating to the civil war, and books of travel, as well as all the sto- ries and novels I could get hold of. We went abroad for three years, and my moth- er made a point of giving me all the his- tories and historical novels she could tind relating to the places we visited. 1 read through a good many books in this way. Carlyle’s French Revolution was the only book at which I rebelled; and when I made @ list of the words I could not understand, my mother did not insist, as they were pretty well beyond her own comprehension! I have dwelt thus at length on this mat- ter of reading, because upon the habit thus formed rests all my success in speech-read- ing. I have looked back over my life, I have studied the mechanism of my speech-read- ing apparatus, I have thought carefully over all my experiences, and the result at which I have arrived is, that not only ts sucéess in speech-reading dependent upon reading—or rather on the extensive and inti- mate knowledge of language imparted by reading—but good speech-reading is impos- sible without it. Of all my mother and teacher did for me, the greatest gift was- in their teaching me this love of reading, and giving me the means to gratify it. Not the Eye Alone. “The observant Ele can Heare” part of what is said; yet not only have Helen Kel- Jer and other blind children, by successfully substituting the fingers for the eye, proved that it is not so eSsential to the “‘sutile art” 2s our philosopher thought, but my own practice shows that the eye alone is quite incapable of interpreting correctly the ya- rious movements of the speaker's lips. The reason for this is clear, when we glance at the structure of the English lan- guage. Its consonants give form and char- acter to speech, and are therefore the most Important elements in its intelligibility, alike to those who depend upon the ear or the eye for comprehensicn. Unfortunately for the speech-reader, many of the labial consonants are distinguished from each other solely by sound, as m, b, and p, f and vy, t, d, 1, and n; while gutturals, like g and h, are not only indistinguishable from each other, but can scarcely be seen at all. These are the sounds that form the basis of nearly all our words, and especially those in commonest use, like cat, mat, bad, fat, van, laid, lane, good, kind. It is im- possible for the eye to distinguish between “pan” and “mad,” and even words appar- ently as unlike as “Flushing” and “Fletch- er’ present astonishing difficulties to the uninitiated. Then there are hosts of words, which, without being very much alike, are yet easily mistaken for one another in the haste of rapid speech. Some of the Conditions. Good eyesight, therefore, cannot alone surmount such obstacles to easy, rapid and accurate speech-reading. There must also be, first, an intimate knowledge of the English language, especially in its vernac- ular form, so that a speech-reader shall have at command a large stock of words from which to select the right word used by a speaker. Thus, one with the fequisite knowledge of English would not make the mistake of supposing that he was asked to wipe his feet on a “man” instead of a “mat;” while one without this knowledge would happen on the right word only by accident, “man’? and *tmat” looking alike to the eye. J a Secondly, the habit of making the selec- tion must be sop well established as to be accomplished instantaneous!y, automatical- ly, and without conscious effort. Thirdly, the mind sould be trained to perceive the meaning of what is said as a whole from perhaps a:few words, or even parts of words, recognized.here and there, as “this boy—cote; brium—ote” (this boy is cold; bring him hts coat), and not al- lowed to waste time ‘lingering over the words, trying todecipher them one by one. The art of speech-reading, then, consists in the ability instantaneously to select the word used by the speaker out of half a dozen that resemble tt, and rapidly to build up a correct conception of what he has said from occasional words distinctly recognized here and there in his speech; in other words, reading by context. My practice is to allow a talker to go on with what he is saying, even if not one word is understood, in the hope that before the end a word or two may be recognized which will, as it were, throw a flood of light upon the whole’ speech, rendering previous words intelligible. In this way it is often possible for me to understand the long story or speech of a person whose short remarks are hard to follow. Ordinary questions and conversational remarks, being composed of a few words, and these few words of the shortest, few- est syllables, might be almost incompre- hensible but for the natural expressions of the face which generally accompany them. The Spenker’s Manner. For instance, one day some one said to me, “Webetnorfrtnor.” For a moment I was completely nonplused; it scemed im- possible to make sense out of such utter nonsense; but presently, seeing my friend glance at the further ‘of two doors be- tween which we were standing, it flashed on me that the words were, “we better go to the front door.” I can almost always tell by the speak- er’s natural involuntary glance whether a question is asked or a casual remark made. I bend all my energies to master the question, and if I cannot understand it in one form, I beg that it be repeated in another; the remark, if I fear a tussle to understand, I pass by. Fancy the feelings of a shy, innocent stranger at seeing a speech-reader strug- gle laboriously to comprehend some care- less remark about the weather! How he wishes he hadn’t said anything; how quick- ly he edges off from the embarrassing per- son, and how carefully he avoids further : ation with her! How much better for the speech-reader to encourage him to talk on and on, until at last words are Tecognized to which the speec! ader can and conversation becomes estab- If I needed proof that speech-reading is essentially an intellectual exercise, demand- ing good vernacular knowledge of lan- guage, I should find it in my experience with German. For six months I lived in a German boarding school, with only one friend with whom to talk English. -Before the end of that time I could read German speech by eye nearly as readily as Eng- Ish, and it was but rarely that any one had to write off a German sentence for me. This was many years ago. Since then my opportunities for talking and listening to German have been yery few. I find now, when I meet a German friend and try to carry on a conversation in Ger- man, I cannot do it readily at ‘irst. I can put together a few German phrases to ex- press my own ideas, but I cannot decipher the movements of the speaker's lips. Why? Because the German vocabulary at my command is too §mall to,allow me to select from it words that may.be those that my friend is using. I find jyself consciously and painfully rughing over my small stock of possible words, muchas a miser counts his store of coin, and chances are in- finitely against my fnging the right one. This would be disheartening if I had not found by experiguce that by reading Ger- man books for awhile, steeping my brains in German, as if,were,.so that I think in German and segin German, it becomes comparatively easy to eatch the German words on my friend's lips. Depends on the Speech-Reader. It would be Hird to‘say what makes intelligibility to a.‘speech-reader. A great deal of lip action may pe difficult to un- derstand, yet teo little.is equally detri- mental. Again, the Mp action may be good, and yet some peculiarity of topgue b or teeth, or of pronunciation, may render the speech difficult, to read. Mustaches, {f not too heavy, make little difference one way or another, except at night un- der a hanging light, when, of course, they shadow the mouth. 'I think, take it ‘all in ail, that {f there ate no abnormal pecu- liarities of the organs of articulation, or of pronunciation, it depends principally on the speech-reader whether spefch is in- telligible or not.. Practice makes perfect, and although I have met many persons whom I could not easily understand, I am not coqvinced that I could not have readi- ly understood most of them in time, given the opportunity, and the desire, to become accustomed to their peculiarities of speak- ing. Besides, I am not as good a speech- reader as some I have met, and people whom I find diffleult to understand they might find easy. An active, alert mind, constartly on the qui vive to receive impressions, keen as a razor in reaching the sallent points of things,and bright,sharp eyes that see every- thing and let nothing escape, are quali- fications for attaining a high degree of proficiency in the art, and these I do not Possess. The best system of education, without special talent, will not create a Michael Angelo, but it may make a very fair practical artist, who can do sufficient- ly good work to support himself and his family in comfort. So, without any special inberent fitness for ‘speech-reading, and with the distinct disadvantage of beingy short-sighted, I have attained skill enough to serve all practical purposes. My father and mother, my husband and children, relatives and’ friends, and my servants, all talk to me, and I, at least, have never felt that there was any bar to the fullest and freest communication be- tween the immediate members of my fam- ily and myself. The occasions when one of them has to use paper and pencil are of the rarest; perhaps once a month, to spell some unfamiliar word or name. With less intimate friends and business people, ccmmunicatioa, naturally, is much more restricted, and often I get one of my daughters to act as Interpreter. I might, to be sure, use fencil and paper, but the strange part of my experience is that no one will take the trouble to write to me if it can possibly be avoided. If an in- terpreter is not at hand, the speaker will prefer to repeat again and again, until my patience is exhausted, and I insist on the pencil and paper, which, reluctantly used, are dropped the instant I show signs of understanding without them. This experi- ence is universal. Ladies and gentlemen, tradespeople and servants, all regard writ- ing as something to be avoided as much as possible. — They Forgot About the Cars. From the Chicazo Record, A cable train was moving east in Mon- roe street, and just before it reached Clark street a horse cdf, sbuffbound, crossed in front of it. >a wide When the cabie, traig stopped, a man With 2 valise jumped off and started on a run for the horst'car, which by that time was about sevent{“five feet away. Almost at the same mgment.g man without a valise jumped off,a nonthbound horse car in Clark street and started on a run for the cable train, which bad begun to move. The two men tam wildty. One turned to the right and the; other} to the left, and they collided. ook out!’ shouted one. e’me past!” said the other. “Ten one mam {drepped the valise and said, “Well, I’ll swan. ‘The other had his mouth open, and his eyes seemed to hulge out but he extended his hand and then said with an effort: “Well, cf—all—pepple.” ‘They were cousins and hadn't seen each other for fifteen years, and neither knew that the other was in Chicago on the day of this meeting. Both of them forgot all about the cars tHat had to be caught. They locked arms and went to a cigar store together, and there the man with the valise told the story. —_—_—_e-_—_ Mouseltine de Suisse. From Harper's Bazar. A Birmingham poet has written a poem in honor of a frecki:1 Chamoun beauty he met at the fuot of Moun: Jlanc last summer. He begins it: “Oh, my beauteous dotted Swiss!” BRAIN-WORKERS Use Horsford’s Acid Phosphate. When night comes the literary and active business man’s brain is hungry from the exhausting labor of the day. Horsford’s Actd Phosphate quickly sap- Biles the waste of liwue, and refreshing sleep re- sults. JUDGE'S FAMOUS CARTOONIST. Bernard Gillam Recommends Paine’s Celery The Buffalo News in a recent article remarks upon the fact that “Bernard @tltam, the cartoonist of Judge, is one of the few living men whose car- toons have ever changed a vote in the U. S. Sen- ate.” Bernard Gillam is a young man, but 35. He re- ceived his art education in England. He is today the foremost cartoonist of Arner! In 1880 he came to Harper's W of the immortal Na: Frank Leslie's and Puck well fitted him for bringing Judge to its present success. jam went into partnership with and bought Judge. The full-page colo o Mr. Gillam’s special province on Judge, equal the remarkable efforts of the great Keppler, in Judge's older rival. ‘There is probably no form of brain work that is so exhausting, so exacting and so intense as the work of the great artist on the large comic papers. ‘To turn out brilliant ideas with the regularity of machinery and yet keep their work up to the high standard set by their splendid reputation makes rful demands upon thelr nervous vitality. Mr. jain knows what severe work means. ! Exhaustion. ‘The nervous strain of his responsible position has at times brought him near to prostration and the giving up of his work. He says in a letter dated New York, Nov. 13, 1894: ‘No tonic that I have taken has done me so much good as Paine’s celery compound. When I am run down or exhausted after particularly exacting work on cartoons and in other artistie <ccupations I have found a dose of the compound exceedingly beneficial as a restorative for the nerves.”” The racing speed of the marvelous new processes for swiftly carrying out men’s ideas js taxing to their utmost the nervous systems of countless men and women. A cry of protest is going up all over the country from medical men against the suicidal waste of nerve force. Preachers, editors, lnwyers, even doc- tors themselves, from their dally round of bard, anxious work—every brain worker, in fact, who labors draws heavily upon his nervoas vitality, must take alarm at the first sign of brain-tire, pressure, fullness or tension in the head, or nervous fatigue. In every city in the United States physicians every day are not only prescribing, but themselves using, Paine’s celery compound for weakness and nervous debility, for curing the effect of poor and Compound for unhealthy blood, disorders of liver, kidneys, stom- ach, heart and the nervous system. An effective remedy must first enter the blood to cure rheumatism. Local treatment for a constitu- tional disorder will do no good. Rheumatism, gout, blood poisoning, scrofula, etc., are diseases lodged in the blood. : Just why Paine’s celery compound cures, while other remedies fail, is because all {ts ingredients effectually aid the system to rid itself of any pol- sonous humors in the blood. Hundreds of cases have within this year been re- ported directly from persons, between the ages of 45 and 65, suffering from acute Bright's disease, who have been permanently cured by Paine’s celery compound. It stops the gradual structural changes in the kidneys, restores their vigor and removes such alarming symptoms as the gradual loss of strength, pallor of the face, shortness of breath, pain in the back and sides, dropsy and a puffy con- dition of the skin. As a spring medicine it is ab- solutely without a rival. Every overworked man and woman, reduced in strength, flesh and nervous vigor, will find a power- ful restorative in Paine’s celery compound. It is food for the brain and nerves. It sends new, healthy blood through the arteries. It makes people well. TO START A TRAIN. It is Really Quite an Event and In- volves a Complex System. From the Philadelphia Presa. The 4:10 Harrisburg express, “No. 67,” will leave in two minutes from the Broad street station. A stream of trunks files through the door of the baggage car and passengers hurry through the gate and down the platform, amid a chorus of good- byes and tears, mayhap. When the stout gentleman on the parlor car platform sees that the time is up, he jams his watch into his pocket and retires to his seat, knowing or caring nothing more about the starting of his train than that “she” is on schedule time today. Beyond getting a ticket and a seat, the average traveler notices little else connected with the pulling out of his train. The train is there, and there is nothing for it todo but go ahead. It can’t go backward without tearing up the Broad street station, and that’s the end of it. Notwithstanding this very logical answer, the starting of a train is a complicated af- fair, involving a large number of men be- sides the engineer and fireman in their grimy cab, the natty biue-coated conduc- tor on the platform and the busy station master, who are prominently in evidence. “No. 67” arrived from New York six min- utes ago, and as the long train was backed into the train shed, the engine panted off up the track to rest, and a fresh locomo- tive puffed jauntily down to take hold for the next stage of the run. Two very en- ergeti@é men in overalls, the ‘steam inspec- tor’ and the “air inspector,” have been dodging around under the cars, and as the new engine backs up the “air inspector” is seen to be a very important person, for the engineer does not couple on to the train until he has been given permission by the inspector, and then there is a great hissing of steam and whistle of air brakes as the engineer tests the heating and the brakes, under the critical eye of the inspector. One of them sticks a small blue flag on the front car platform and nothing in the world would tempt the engineer to move a wheel while that blue signal flies. It means that the inspector doesn’t want the train to go, and you may be very sure it won't go. They Push the Button. When the “air inspector” has reported to the station master that all’s right, the latter hurries to an electric button just un- der the edge of the platform, along the track, and pushes it five times. Pushing buttons is the most prevalent occupation in this neighborhood. This “tapping the train” rings a bell in a little cage of a box up in the air over the entrance gates where the “train starter” sits and plays a keyboard studded with wonder working buttons. The “‘train starter” taps a reply to the station master, and one minute be- fore he sends out the train pushes a but- ton which tells the signa] tower at 17th street to look out for “No. 67” on track No. 8 Then the man in the cage fingers his keyboard with one tap that tells the ticket office to close the sale for “No. 67,” and with another tap notifies the gate- keeper down below to close the entrance against any belated appealing passengers. Then the ‘‘starter’s” duty is done. The gateman looks down the platform and sees that all the passengers and bag- gage are on board and he presses a button which does the final trick. Up in the gloom above the gates gleams a row of red lights, one for each track. At the gateman’s sig- nal, the red disk falls from the front of the light, and to the watching train men it gleams out clear and white. “All clear,” sings out the station master, the conductor waves his hand to the engine man watch- ing from his cab window, and with a mighty pant “No. 67” starts into life, but not before the blue flag has vanished, and the man at the lever has looked ahead to see his “tower signal.” Over the outer entrance of the train shed, suspended from the great horizontal truss, is a row of semaphores, looking like huge birds with a wing apiece. The train director in the tower pushes a button when “No. 67” is due to leave, at which the particular bird interests this engineer, drops its one wing as though shot, from the horizontal to a pathetic droop, or from “danger” to “‘safe- ” while the point of light at the end of ‘ing’ changes from red to white. At last all is clear, and the Harrisburg ex- press can steam out without more to do. But its path through the mazy network of rails for the first three miles is guided all the way by bobbing semaphores in da: light, or twinkling points of light at night. \ HIS WARES An Old-Time Engl did Even the Department Store. An ancient sign, said to be still in exist- ence, at Falmouth has the following an- nouncement: ROGER GILES, Surgin,Parrish Clark & Skulemaster,Groser & Hundertaker, Respectfully informs ladys and fentle- man that he drors teef without wateing a minit, applies laches every hour, blisters on the lowest tarms and vizicks for penny a peace. He sells Godfather’s kordales, kuts korns, bunyons, docters hosses, clips donkies wance a munth and undertakes to looke arter every bodies nayls by the ear. Joésharps, penny wissels, brass kanelsticks fryin pans, and other moozikal hinstru- mints hat grately reydooced figers. Young ladys and gentlemen larns their grammur and langeudge in the purtiest mannar, also grate care taken off their morrels and spel- lin. Also zarm-zinging, tachying the bass vial and oil other zorts of fancy work, spudils, pokers, weazels and all country dances tort at home and abroad at per- fekshun. Perfumery and snuff in all its branches. As times is cruel bad, I begs to tell ee that I has just beginned to sell all sorts of stashonary ware, cox, hens, vouls, pigs and all other kinds of poul- try, Blackinbrishes, herrins, coles, scrub- bin-briches, traykel and godley bukes and bibles, misetraps, brick-dist, whisker-seeds, morrel pokkerankerchers, and all zorts of swate-maits, including taters, sasssages and other garden stuff, bakky, zizars, lamp oyle, tay kittles and other intoxzigatin lik- kers, a dale of fruit, hats, zongs, hare oyle, pattins, bukkits, grindin stones and other altables, corn and bunyon salve ard all hardware. I as laid in a large azzortment of trype, dog mate, lollipops, ginger beer, matches and other pikkles, such as hap- som salts, hoysters, winzer sope, anzetrar. —Old rags bort and zold here and nowhere else, newlayde heges by me Roger Giles, zinging burdes keeped, such as howls, don- kies, paykox, lobsters, crickets, also a stock of a celebrated brayder. P.S.—I tayches geography, rithmetic, ener Jimnastics and other chyneesy tricks. WERE VARIED. Dealer Who Out- seo Fred. Dougiass on the Negro’s Nose. From the Buffalo Courier. Some years ago Frederick Douglass ad- dressed a convention of negroes in Louis- ville. He said in the course of his remarks that he did not think an amalgamation of the white and black races is desirable, the pure negro being, in his opinion, the best of the race. While speaking his eyeglasses continued to slide from their perch. “But I wish,” interpolated the speaker, “I wish we could get up some sort of an alloy for the negro which would insure a nose capa- ble of holding spectacles.” THEY DON’T HURRY. An Incident Mlustrating an Amusing Feature of Tennessee Bargaining. From the Chicago Inter-Ocean. One bright forenoon last fall near a de- serted mill in the outskirts of Chatta- nooga the following bit of Tennessee bar- gaining was overheard: An aged negro, driving an old, slowly moving mule hitched to a two-wheeled dumpcart, came along. He was bound for a wood yard on the banks of the Tennessee river near by, where that muddy stream sweeps around the foot of Cameron Hill and begins curv- ing a graceful bow to bold Lookout moun- tain, which looms up before it. Just as the outfit had crossed a rickety culvert the negro was accosted with the customary “Howde?" by a lazy-looking native wear- ing a jeans suit and a broad-brimmed hat. “Howde?” grunted the negro, as he stop- ‘ped his mule with a fierce jerk, which sent the front of the cart against the beast’s haunches and the shafts higher than his ears. When the cart had come to a standstill the young man took a portly chew of to- bacco, slowly adjusted his right foot on the hub of the cartwheel, and, with slow, measured accents, asked: “How much be ye sellin’ wood for?’ “Two bits a load, boss." After mature deliberation and mastica- tion the prospective purchaser drawled out: “Two bits a load.” “Hit's little ‘nuff, boss,” replied the col- ored man. “Hit leaves me only two shi lin’ fer totin’ gin I pay two shillin’ fer dat th’ little "nuff fer totin’. es. I reckoi Then the languid young man picked up a stick and began whittling, and the team- ster sat mute in his cart for five minutes, breaking the silence finally with: “D'ye reckon you'll want a jab o’ wood?” “That's wat I ‘lowed I would, but I dunno,” replied the other. There was another silence of ten min- utes, broken only by the slash of the jack- knife through the yellow pine stick. A horseman rode by “totin’” a bag of meal in front of the saddle. After the usual speculation as to whom the stranger “‘mout be,” the whittling and the blank-staring Processes continued for several more min- utes. Finally, when the stick had been all whittled away the prospective purchaser sald: “Wall, I don’t ‘spect I'll take any wood today. His foot fell lazily from the hub, thi wood hauler clucked to his mule and the two men slowly went their respective ways, Cissy McGrath—“Sloppy Slocum, if yer don’t stop this rig in a minute, F swear never ter take a nuther ride ofa tcrough-bred.” Sloppy Slocum—“If you jist let go, he'll ketch der cat, an’ der danger will be over— we can’t make no headway wit so muck baliast—sce?”