Miscellany: Carp

At Middletown, N. Y., a stream overflowed, covered with water the garden of one Louis Bell so that, in the night, a 15-lb. German carp slank into his yard, began to feed upon the carrots, the asparagus. Bell rushed out, beat the carp to death with a spade.

Teeth

In Mexico City, one Islas Escandon, dentist, piled 400,000 human teeth in his window, advertised in glaring posters the ease with which he extracted molars, eyeteeth. A rabble, styled by approving officials as "a group of students," questioned patients of Islas Escandon, then advanced upon the quarters of this quack, drove him forth, shoveled his 400,000 teeth upon an ash-heap.

Respect

At White Plains, N. Y., died one James M. Reid, builder, leaving a considerable estate to his children and providing that, "in the hope they might develop a greater degree of respect and consideration for their father than they have shown during their lifetime," they should not receive a penny until they reached the age of 50.

Kitten

In Hamilton, Ont., a boardinghouse keeper clumped upstairs, knocked upon the door of an apartment rented by some Hungarians, received no answer. She called in an assistant, who burst down the door. There were the Hungarians —two male, one female—struck down, their skulls crushed by some, blunt instrument. On the body of one of the men a small kitten smilingly sunned itself.

Glasses

In Manhattan, the Rev. Dr. Arthur B. Churchman, invalid preacher, who speaks from a wheel chair at the Bethany Memorial Reformed Church, distributed glasses of chilled water to his congregation, announced that this practice would be continued throughout the summer Sabbaths, during the hymns. Growing plants in pots will be placed at the end of each pew, that those who cannot drain their tumblers may have a place to deposit the residue. "There'll be no dry sermons here !" cried the Rev. Mr. Churchman.

Season

Late June and early July bring the open season for congresses of Moose, Kiwanis, Realtors, Rotarians, Elks, Veiled Prophets.

Moose. In Baltimore, led by a detachment of police, behind which marched James J. Davis, U. S. Secretary of Labor, with the student band of Mooseheart behind them, 18,000 members of the Loyal Order of Moose, in fervent costumes, assembled for the grand parade when—Wumps, came the rain. It fell heavily. Heedless, the Moose began to march. The rain poured down their backs. They marched on. It wetted the women along the route; those who came to cheer remained to shiver; the Moosemen marched on. It soaked their hats, it trickled down their socks; a one-legged Moose from New Orleans, playing a trombone, hobbled along; barges bobbed, floats floated—floats showing life at the colony of aged Moose at Moosehaven; floats representing the training of the child, boy and man at Mooseheart; the rain fell. The Moose finished their march, elected officers, took rides through Green Spring Valley, dispersed.