Duluth, Minn.—William Burgson, the 11 year-old-son of a farmer living near Fertile, Minn., imagines he is a rabbit and his life is despaired of. He was placed in this condition by a hypnotist, who called himself Prof. Isolde and who gave an entertainment at Fertile.

The lad went on the stage to be hypnotized. He readily succumbed to hypnotic power and while in that condition the professor told him he was a rabbit. The lad immediately became a rabbit in the spirit and the "professor" was unable, after working all night to bring the boy to his senses.

This was ten days ago. The "professor" left for Minneapolis, saying he would return with a nerve specialist, but nothing has since been heard of him. The father swears vengeance.

The boy is in a pitiable condition. He makes no sound except to squeak like a rabbit, and is afraid of dogs. Adolph Burgson, the father, has trouble to get the boy into the house or to keep clothing on him.

The commonness of ghosts depends upon the credulity of the people. They were formerly abundant in some parts of New England, where now they are almost never heard of. In these days ghost stories are mostly invented—confessedly so—but the historian of Weare, N. H., relates two which are sober matters of history. One of the leading citizens of the town, John Hodgson, was returning home on horseback one dark and windy night, and while passing a big cornfield belonging to his farm he caught sight of a white object standing upon a knoll. The sight made his flesh creep and his hair stand up. So he afterward confessed, at all the events.

The uncanny thing stood still for a moment, and then, like a flash, disappeared. At the same moment Mr. Hodgson heard a strange, weird sound. He thought the apparition was gone for good, butt just as he was starting up his horse, behold, there it was again, just as before.

What could it be? Happily the farmer was not without a grain of courage. He dismounted, climbed the fence, and crossed the field to the knoll. If there was a ghost there, he wanted an introduction to it.

He found it in the shape of a big basket. His men had left it there lying in a little hollow. When a gust of wind too it, it stood upright; when the gust subsided, down went the basket into the hollow out of sight.

In the outskirts of the town, in a shanty, lived Mr. and Mrs. Purington. One winter they were terribly troubled by ghosts in their attic. At last t a brave neighbor, a Mrs. Peaslee, called one evening to hear the strange noises. Sure enough, they began very soon after her arrival—first a ghostly rapping, then a succession of bumps, and then again, rap, rap, rap.

Mr. Purington grew excited. He rose from his chair and cried out:

"Winthrop Clough, what in the name of God are you troubling this house for?"

Winthrop Clough was the name of a former occupant of the shanty. He made no reply to this except Mrs. Peaslee. She, like a sensible woman, refused to be frightened, but got a ladder, and proceeded to climb into the attic.

There she found and old hen. Its legs had been frozen, so that it could not walk well. The bumps were made when it fell. The raps were its attempts to pick up something with its beak. Mrs. Peaslee brought the hen down the ladder, and that ghost was laid.

"I'm going to give up the business," said the life insurance agent, with a sigh. "I don't care whether they meant it for a joke or not. It's a hard life, and people have no business to be funny at my expense.

"I have always prided myself up on my ability to laud a man when once I succeeded in getting his attention. But I had a new experience the other day. I was working hard to convince a party that it was his duty to take out some of our insurance upon his life for the protection of his family, and I saw that I had him wavering when I had to pause for breath, and he broke in with:

"'By the way, how much do you carry on your life?"

"While I, taken unaware by the abruptness of the question, was stammering a reply he escaped. The incident set me to thinking. I had induced hundreds of men ot insure their lives for the benefit of their families, and yet I had never thought far enough to carry any insurance upon my own life. It didn't look consistent, now that I came to consider the question, and I resolved to remedy it at once. To think is to act with me, and sat down and filled out an application at once for a good round sum.

"I got the application back today marked 'Refused: occupation too dangerous!' The next paper they get from me will be my resignation."—Detroit Free Press

William Stonestreet, a twelve-year-old son of Mr. James Stonestreet, had a narrow escape from a sudden and terrible death yesterday. The boy says he was throwing a base ball up against the side of his father's house, near Hancock and Lampton streets, when the ball lodged in the gutter at the top of the house. He immediately started up to get it, getting out on the roof through a hatchway. The house has three stories and an attic; the roof is rather steep and as the boy slowly edged over toward the gutter he felt a sinking at his heart. His little sister Mary was standing in the yard eyeing her brother and calling out to him every instant to come down. He made some boastful answer and continued his dangerous journey. He reached the edge of the roof, caught a firm hold of some projecting shingles, and leaning over seized the ball. before he could arise from his stooping position he felt the shingles to which he was clinging giving way with him. He clutched them nervously and began to draw himself up slowly. Suddenly the shingles gave way and in an instant the boy seemed to be hurrying to instant death. The pavement was fully thirty feet below, and there seemed nothing to prevent his being dashed to pieces on the bricks. Just as he was rolling over the gutter he involuntarily seized hold of it and clung there desperately. The gutter was an ordinary tin affair, not very strong; nor was it bound to the roof very tightly. The sudden weight of the boy made the tin sag down and a few of the fastenings gave way, leaving the boy hanging down over the abyss, with only a broken, rotten piece of tin between him and eternity. William was now thoroughly aroused to his danger and cried out for help. His sister ran into the house and happening to find a colored man there told him of her brother's danger. The man ran out and getting a long ladder which was lying in the yard put it up against the house. The boy was now almost exhausted. The perspiration was running down his face in streams. His eyes were dilated with terror and exhaustion and it seemed almost impossible for him to hold on till the assistance came. The colored man ran up the ladder nimbly. Scarcely had he reached the top when the boy, who could hold on no longer, dropped into his arms. The colored man took him down and when the boy reached the ground he fainted. He was taken into the house and physicians were summoned. At night he was till insensible and it is not known how serious his nervous injuries may prove.—Louisville Commercial

A number of persons more or less prominent in different walks of life have died in this city within a few months from the direct effect, it is said, of hypodermic injections of morphine. Most of them had, according to the report, begun the injections in order to relieve themselves from pain caused by neuralgia, rheumatism, or some other distressing disorder. The effect was so pleasant, so delicious, indeed, that they were gradually seduced into such use of morphine when they had no need of it, and, soon yielding completely to the habit, were destroyed by it. Physicians say that this has grown to be far from uncommon among persons of wealth and position particularly among women, who, after having tried it a while, have not had the strength to relinquish the delightful anodyne.

The effect of the morphine under the skin is described as peculiarly and wonderfully agreeable. A delicious languor steals over the frame, the senses are wrapped in a voluptuous waking dream, and most joyous consciousness of perfect yet fascinating repose softly overflows the mind. even strong men and women have frequently found it hard to resist its allurements, and have not been able to surrender its beatitudes without arousing all their will. On this account some physicians will not administer or prescribe morphine under any circumstances, fearing the consequences to their patients. Not a few women of the finer type have been wrecked by the habit, and many men, professional and commercial, are steadily ruining themselves by its indulgence. It was hailed as a great blessing once, and so it is, properly regulated; but, like so many blessings, it may readily be converted into a curse.—New York Times

To Remove Pimples.—Two ounces of bi-carbonate of soda, one drachm of glycerine, one ounce of spermaceti ointment.

Curry and Kidneys.—Remove every particle of fat from the kidneys, cut in squares, put them in salt and water for thirty minutes, then on the stove to cook in clear cold water. When cooked add one onion and one apple.

Iceland Moss Chocolate.—Dissolve one ounce of Iceland moss in one pint of boiling milk; boil one ounce of chocolate for five minutes in one pint of boiling water; thoroughly mix the two, and give it to the invalid night and morning. This is a highly nutritive drink for invalids.

Broiled Tripe.—Cut up honey-comb tripe into pieces from three to four inches wide; rub a little oil or melted butter over them, dredge them in flour, and broil over a charcoal fire; squeeze a little lemon-juice over each piece, and serve. Never broil tripe over a hard-coal fire; the gases arising from the coal spoil the flavor of the tripe, making it indigestible and unpalatable.

Dried Apple Pudding.—Wash ten ounces of apples well in warm water. Boil them in a quart of water. When soft, add ten ounces of sugar, eight ounces of butter, the juice and grated rine of two lemons. When cold and ready to bake, add five well-beaten eggs. Bake with or without pastry. Ten ounces of apples will make a common-size pudding.

Irish Potato Pie.—One pound mashed potatoes, rubbed through a colander; one pound butter, creamed wit sugar; six eggs, white and yolks separately; one lemon, squeezed into the potatoes while hot; one cupful of milk; one teaspoonful of nutmeg, and the same of mace; two cupfuls of white sugar; bake in open shells of paste; to be eaten cold.

Hair Invigorators.—A wash to stimulate the growth of the hair in case of baldness is made from equal parts of the tincture of sulphate of quinine—five grains in an ounce of alcohol. For those who will use hair oil, pure sperm oil of the very finest quality, is the best. This must be procured in proper freshness and cannot fail being a powerful hair invigorator.

Because he recently declared that he believed the country would be much better off if many of the churches were ordered closed by law and the people given an opportunity to enjoy themselves as they thought best, Professor Willard C. Fisher, one of the most noted educators in the country, has been forced out of Wesleyan university faculty. The resignation was at the direct demand of President William A. Shanklin of Wesleyan.

In an interchange of letters Professor Fisher told the president that in his address in Hartford he advocated a more open Sunday, allowing a man to do pretty nearly everything that did not disturb the day for others.

The president said in part: "I am constrained to the conviction that your attitude in the matter is so far out of harmony with the spirit of the college, which is, and always has been, profoundly in sympathy with Christian churches, that your continuance in your present official position is undesirable for the college or for yourself."

Professor Fisher is a graduate of Cornell. He has been professor of economics and social science for twenty years.