Bellefonte, Pa., November 7, 1890
pts _—-
NOONTIDE.
‘Sunshine upon the lard,
Aud fields of golden grain
Where busy reapers in a faithful band
Toil on thro’ sun and rain.
And swinging scythes that circle to and fro
Across the summer air,
Where rows of stately wheat in beauty grow
Resplendent there.
Sweet are the pastures green
Where cattle graze around
And flowers within the thicket bloom un-
seen,
And babbling brooks resound,
Or inthe topmost branches, one by cne,
Among the forest trees,
The merry birds sing out in joyous tone,
Tuned to the breeze.
Sunlight upon the sea,
And snowy waves of foam
‘That scud along the level stretch of lea,
Torn from their ocean home,
*Or dancing on the topmost waves that ride
“The warm blue hazy deep
Merges within the ebb and flow of tide,
Where billows sleep.
"Noontide on sea or shore
When summer suns are high,
“Ah! rest thy weary foot steps evermore
Where fragrant grasses lie.
Ere silent night has come in solitude,
With stars of countless hue,
And shadows fall upon the leafy wood
Or cloud the ocean blue.
Mabel Hayden.
TWOMBLEY’S FOLLY.
The Widow Appleby, called Aunt
Samanthy by her neighbors, was tidy-
ing up a room which had been furnish-
ed for a sleeping-room, and had in it
also a desk, a bookcase and a little row
of drawars, in which fragments pre-
cious to a geologist had been carefully
stored. The desk and book-case Aunt
Samanthy regarded with reverence.
The case she did not understand. Bits
of stone, bits of ore; she emptied them
alk ino her apron and dumped them
with other odds and ends out of the
window upon a flower-bed that had
not been dug up that year. Aunt Sam-
anthy had no heart for gardening.
Things had gone very wrong with her,
and the death of her old boarder, a re-
turned California miner, who had made
and lost several fortunes, had put the
finishing touch to her woes. His room
it was that she was now putting to
rights; knowing that she should never
see the old white head and kindly smile
again.
I feel it more than anything else,
after losing poor Peter, she sighed, as
a tear rolled down her cheek. He was
always so kind to me.
As she spoke, there came a heavy
step on the porch, and, looking out of
the window. she saw her eousin, Jede-
diah Twombley, standing there. Je-
dediah was a rich man, lately made
richer by an inheritance from his
grandis ther, who had lived to be one
undred and five years old, and died
leaving all to his wealthy grandson and
nothing to his extremely poor grand-
daughter. It was nataral that the
thought should sting the widow as she
looked at him.
Morning? said Jedediah.
Cousin Samanthy. T stepped up to
get the shade. I feel the sun consid-
erably, and my horse has lost a shoe,
and I've sent Simon to get it fixed;
thought I'd light here and see how
you got on.
I don’t get on at all, Jedediah, said:
Samanthy. Not as I should if Grand:
pa Twombley had left me suthin’, as T'
always reckoned he would; and now
my poor old boarder is gone, I've got.
to that pass I've had to sell the cow.
Too bad? said Jedediah. Well, come
and get a pan of milk any time,
Two miles there and back; thank
ye! said the widow. De you knew if
I was you, Jedediah, what I'd do? I'd
say, Cousin Samanthy, T am rich and
you are poor. [I'll giveyou a littleslice
Morning,
off the big un grandpa left me. That's
your Christian duty, seein’ grandpa:
was a hundred and five, and weak
minded when be died. He'd have
done it himself ten years ago, and you
know it.
Pshaw! laughed Jedediah. But
you're a wonlan, that’s your excuse for
talkin’ idiotic.
I'll give you five dollars down, Sam-
anthy, and property is property, and
wills is wills, and rot to be broken.
Well, I don’t set up for proud, and:
‘T'm so poor that this is a good deal to.
‘me, said Samanthy, taking the money.
I reckon grandpa’s spirit is around
somewhere, prompting vou to do right,
-geeing you influenced him to do wrong.
Now, Samanthy, grandfather wasn’t’
influenced by me! That 1 can tell you!
said Jedediah. He always felt ‘you
made a mistake stepping off with Pe-
ter. Peter was one of them folks that
never prospers. What's the use, grand-
faiher used to say to me, of helping
Samanthv, when Peter—
Poor Peter is gone, said the widow
taking her handkerchief from her apron
pocket. Don’t talk against him. He
was just as kind as kind could be.
No doubt, said Jedediah, hurriedly
—no doubt. I didn’t mean any of:
fense. TI always thonght Peter quite—
- quite— But what was you a doin’ when
I came in—house-cleanin’?
I was a cleanin’ out the spare room,
said the widow. It's been shut up
quite a spell—since the California gen-
tleman died. I might take a few
boarders this summer, if they'd come.
I'll pay for an advertisement, said
Jedediah, who was worth a hundred
thousand; and I'll let you have lots of
cucumbers off our place. You could
grow things here now, if you was to
seed this bed up instead of pitchin' rub-
bish on it; you could grow radishes
right under your window. Summer
boarders generally thinks radishes hul-
some.
I jest emptied the bureau drawers
out onto that bed. There was a lot of
rubbish in ’em ; and I meant to die it
over, only I ain't very strong i
I'll let Simon dig it, said Jedediah ;
and you seed it, and it will bea com-
fort to you.
1 Don't tell him nothin’.
I'm not a mean man.
By this time, Simon, who had been | thought Samanthy.
slowly driving up hill, stopped at the |
Well, she said, if you'll drive over
gate, and Jedediah called to him, | to the lawyer's and pay now, I'll do it.
sharply :
Ten minutes after this the two were
Simon, you jest take the spade, and | sitting in the wagon. Two hours more
dig over Mrs. Appleby’s garden.
drive home myself. Gooa bye, Sam-
anthy. 1 think that idee about the
I'll Samanthy was, in her own opinion, a
I rich woman, with no fear of suffering
before her, and no more need to toil for
summer boarders is a good ove; and | her bread. She was to leave the cot-
jumping into his wagon, drove up the
road, glad to be rid of his poor cousin.
Simon looked after his master with
a very peculiar expression.
Some foiks is born for luck and some
forchildren, he said, sententiously. I've
got four
And Dve got three, said the widow.
Now, Simon, don’t you do that unless
vou feel like it. I know you have
plenty to do-
I'd jest as lief, said Simon. What
you been throwin’ out here, Mrs. Ap-
pleby ?
Rubbish out of my Californy board-
er's bureau drawers, said Mrs. Apple- !
by. What he kept 1t there for I dunno.
Simon laughed, and, stopping, pick-
ed up one or two bits of something,
and put them in his pocket.
The bed was nicely spaded when
Mrs. Appleby looked out again, and
Simon was gone.
As Mr. Gedediah Twombley sat on
his porch that night, counting up the
profits of his hay-crop, a voice behind
him cried :
Mr. Twombley, I've got suthin’ I
want to show you!
He turned. Ii was Simon who had
spoken, and he held in his hand a
fragment of something that looked
dark and heavy.
See here, he said in a whisper ; I've
been to the gold-mines in my time, and
if this ain’t gold, 311 give up and say
I'm lacking.
Why, to be sure! To be sure! said
old Jedediah, clutching the chunk of
ore in his hand.
To be sure: Where did you find it?
Why, in the Widder Appleby’s gar-
den. Dugitup ont'n the flower-bed
you told me to spade up for her, said
Simon.
Then there's gold on the place, said
Jedediah. I've always thought there
was gold there. I've always said so.
Yes, ive heerd you, said Simon,
with a twinkle in his eye. Now, what
a thing that'll be for the widder. A
gold mine on her place.
Hush | whispered Jedediah, with his
eyes gleaming greenly in the twilight.
Hush, Simon; promise me vou won't
tell her or anybody. I'll makeit all
right with you. You're kinder uncow-
fortable where you be, with your small
tamily. I'll allow you to hev the
frame house on the hill at the same
rent. Don’t mention anything about
it. I'll make it right for Mrs. Appleby.
Though, after all, this mayen’t be gold.
P’r’aps so; but old miners hike me
rather galealates to know, said Simon.
Ef you don’t mind, I'll move to the
frame house to-morrow. Wait a bit.
Let's go over to the the widder’s. I'll
pretend it's to sow the radish-szed, if
you'll give me some; and we'll see if
there's any more there.
Good ! said Jedediah Twombley. A
bright idea!
Aceordingly, to the widow's surprise,
Simon took the seed over; and the
sowing done, brought back to his mas-
ter, waiting in the wagon under the
trees, three or four specimens of the
same ore, which Jedediah took at once
to a celebrated mineralogist of the near-
est town, who declared that where these
came from there was assuredly a gold
mine. And trembling with delight
Jedediah went back to walk around
the widow’s house in the moonlight,
where she, seeing him through the cur-
tains, took him for a tramp, and was
| frightened almost out of her senses.
Several things happened to startle
her that day. The first was the ap-
pearance of Simon at her door in the
early dawn, as she was boiling her soli-
tary cup of coffee over some splinters
of wood.
Widder, Simon whispered solemnly,
Tend to what I say, and don’t forget it.
Master Twombley is goin’ to make you
an offer for your place. Don’t let him
have it cheap. Rise on him as bold as
brass. Don’v chia about anything.
Jest say: I
won't sell for that, until you get what'll
keep you comfortable, Mind, do as I
say ; don’t ask questions, don’t chin;
you'll give yourself away.
I don’t half understand you, said the
| widow; you hev such curious expres-
sions kinder, but if Cousin Jedediah of-
fers much for two acres of stones and
a house like this, he’s goin’ crazy.
Mebbe he’s seen a ghost, said Simon;
but you mind me.
He was off. Not too soon, for the
wheels of Jedediah Twombley's wagon
rattled down the road the next moment,
and Jedediah stood at the door in the
place ot his servant.
What you said kind o’ tetched me
yesterday, Samanthy, he said, and I've
been thinking. What you want is
rest. Sell your place and go to board
in the village. I'll buy it. It ain’t
worth much, but what'll youn take?
The widow looked at him. It was
not benevolence that shone in his eyes,
but greed.
Well, she said, cautiously, some of
the same blood ran in her veins, and
she could bargain also. Well, what'll
you give ?
Five hundred dollars! said the rich
man.
Eh?
Samanthy shook her head.
Eight!
Lor’, no, said Samanthy.
A thousand!
Samanthy turned pale, but shook |
her head.
Two thousand! said Jedediah.
I reckon you're calculating I’m half:
witted, said Samanthy.
She knows about the gold, said Jede-
diah to himself; or—yes. some one
else knows and has made an offer.
The miser and the gambier some-
times mingle in one man. They had
in Jedediah Twombly.
Fifteen thousand dollars! he cried,
hurriedly. You can live comfortably
on that, eh ?
| Grandfather's ghost has appeared,
| tage that day, and bewildered by her
sudden prosperity, she was packing her
few poor possessions, when again, as in
the dawn, Simon stood at her door.
Sold it ? he asked. :
Yes, said the widow, breathlessly,
for fifteen thousand dollars. I reckon
grandpa appeared to him.
Simon put his hand in his pocket
and drew out a bunch of something.
What's that ? he asked.
The widow looked at what he held
toward her. ;
It's a bit of rubbish I threw out of
that case there, she said.
IVs gold ore, said Simon. Your
Californy boarder had a lot of speci-
meus of it in that case; he often show-
ed em to me. I was a miner once. I
took an interest in em. You throwel
‘em into the radish bed; I dug ’em ont
ot it. I jest showed them to Master
Twombley. Hisidee has always been
that there's gold in these mountings.
He thinks there's gold on your place.
And he wanted to give me five hun-
dred dollars! said the widow.
It’s all right for you, and I didn’t tell
no lies, said Simon. TI did dig up those
specimens in that radish bed.
The widow lives at ease in the vil-
lage now, and keeps her own counsel;
and there is a big hole, with a windlass
near it, where her home once stood.
People call it “Twombley’s Folly,” but
Jedediah Twombley intended it for a
gold mine, and spent a littte fortune al-
so in working it several years.—New
York Ledger.
A Business in Snakes.
The number of deaths from snake-
bite in our great Eastern dependency,
and the difficulty of coping with the
matter, have often been commented up-
on. It basalso been pointed out that
many unrecorded deatns in out-of-the-
way places must occur, and thus add to
the number of victims. The Indian
Government has for many years dene its
best to mitigate the evil by the offer of a
reward for every poisonous serpent kill-
ed But it has recently been discovered
that these money rewards have brought
about a most unexpected result, a re-
sult, too, which wonld prove that the
natives have some of the cunning of the
heathen Chinee in their composition.
The Chief Commissioner of the central
provinces points out that the astute na-
tives of those parts of the country are
beginning to breed venomous snakes, so
that they may secure the usual price for
the reptiles’ heads. This is decidedly =a
more immoral practice than that which
is said to have been in vogue some time
back in two districts of Australia, in
one of which a reward was payable on
the production of rabbits’ heads, and in
neighboring district on the presenta-
tion of the animals’ feet. In this case
heads and feet became objects of system-
atic exchange between the two dis-
tricts.— Chambers’ Journal.
Starved in the Midst of Plenty.
It seems strange that in this city a
man should die of starvation, but such
is the fact in reference to Professor San-
born, the elecutionist, who died at St.
Stephen’s hospital. Professor Sanborn
came to this city some eighteen months
ago and began teaching elocution.. He
was of a quiet tarn of mind and his
habits were good. He obtained a few
pupils, but not enough to earn him any-
thing like aliving. He rented a room,
and by the most rigid economy and by
doing without food was able to save
enough to pay the rent. Failing to get
pupils he has been starving himself for
months.
Not long since, when giving a lesson
he fell in a faint from exhaustion on ac-
count of being so weak far want of food.
From this his friends suspected his con-
dition and they brought him plenty to
eat, but he had done without food for so
long that his stomach would not digest
the food. He was thoroughly honest,
and had with him that pride which
made him feel that he would rather go
hungry and, if need be, starve than tell
his friends he was too poor to buy =
meals vituals.— Richmond (Va.) Whig.
Brothers and Sisters.
Brothers and sisters are all the better
for sharing one another's studies and
games up toa certain point. The girl
who can handle a tennis racket and a
croquet mallet vindicates her right to
consideration. The boys will never
speak of heras “only a girl,” and she
will be all the franker and none the less
sweet for a healthy mixture of work and
play. Good comradeship between broth-
ers and sisters is a thing much to be de-
sired; it sawes the girls from prudery
and the boys from boorishness, sweetens
the natures of both, and acts by restrain-
ing every one irom doing or saying
what would be shameful in the eyes of
the “other side.”
“NATURAL HIsTORY.”—A class in
natural history was called ap for recita-
tion. The teacher talked to them a
while about the relations of friendship
between man and animals, and then
asked a girl:
“Do animals really possess the senti-
ment of affection 2”
“Yes, almost always,” said the little
girl.
“And now,” said the teacher, turning
to a little boy, “tell me what animal has
the greatest natural fondness for man.”
“Woman 1” said the boy.— Youth's
Companion.
Success IN Lire. —Dr. John Hunter,
the eminent surgeon, adopted a rule
which may be recommended to ail.
When a friend asked him how he had
been able to accomplish go much in the
way of study and discovery in his busy
life he answered: “My rule is deliber-
ately to consider before I commence
whether the work is practicable: If it
be not practicable I can accomplish it if
I give sufficient pains to it, and having
begun I never stop until the thing is
done. To this rule I owe all my success !
in life.” — New Fork Ledger.
Culture of Beans.
A Neglected Crop in Which There is
Always Profit.
It may hardly appear reasonabie to
some to write an article on planting and
cultivating beans when the time has
gone by for harvesting them, but we do
not regard it as untimely. Itis none
too early to lay plans for next year’s
crops, and if any kind of crops with
| which they have had little orno expe-'
rience they can not begin to seek infor- |
mation a day too soon.
In many sections of western New
York beans have for many years held
quite an important place among staple
crops. With many they take the place
of corn to quite an extent in the rota-
tation, many growing a greater breadth
of the beans than of corn.
same as they would corn, only it is
not considered advisable to
with fresh manure stable, as that causes
too rank a growth of plant, or haulm,
instead of beans. Many have realized
good results from drilling in with the
szed 100 or 200 pounds of a good super-
phosphate.
To follow the record of questions, tbe
most usual time for planting is about
the first of June, that they may avoid
late frosts, the bean plant being very
sensitive to the effects ot frost. On high
warmjland some will venture to plant a
little earlier, from the 25 to 31st of
May, but we think the majority
deter planting until after the first of
June. Sometimes they plant clover
stubble, after the clover has been
cut for hay, the latter part of June, but
this is hazardous, for there is danger of
bringing them so late as to be in danger
from early autumnal frosts.
We will here volunteer the informa-
tion that successful bean growers often
bistow a great deal of labor in the pre-
paration of the seed bed—plowing, har-
rowing, rolling—untilallumps are finely
pulverized. We once saw a luxuriant
piece of beans growing that had been
harrowed and rolled five times, the thor-
ough farmer being datermined not to
plant it until every clod was pulverized.
Our large bean growers generally
plant with a drill. Some use an ordin-
ary grain drill, making the drills about
30 inches apart, dropping the beans thick
enough to make a good stand without
crowding With such a drill the amount
of seed can not be controlled with much
exactitude, hence our best growers pro-
fer a planter manufactured for the pur-
pose, with which they plant two rows at
a time, in hills about 15 inches apart
dropping some 6 or 8in a hill, accord-
ing to size of beans.
Most farmers feel surest of a crop in
planting an early ripening bean that re-
quires but a short season and is pretty
certain to get out of the way of Septem-
ber frosts, should there be any. The
Marrow Pea has of late years given
best satisfaction, although some venture
to plant Marrow or Kidney or even Red
Kidney, or Navy. When they do make
a hit with these large varieties thev gen-
erally receive larger returns than from
the Marrow Pea.
As soon as the beans are up so that
the rows can be followed, the cultivator
is put through, and 1s kept moving
pretty often until when pods begin to
form when the beans should be perfect-
ly clean. To cultivate after this and
throw earth on the pods is pretty certain
to cause them to rot, soiling some of the
beans necessitating hand picking, a te-
dious operation. 1t will proably be nec-
essary to give the bears at least one
cleaning with the hoe during the
season.
It is very desirable to have the beans
ripen up as uniformly as possible, so
that they may all be pulled at one oper-
ation. Then they may be pulled, or cut
off by machine. Machines are made for
the purpose, and: cut off two rows at a
time an inch or two above the surface,
gathering them in a windrow behind the
machine. Then they are left a few days
to dry, when they may be drawn into
the barn. If, in the meantime, it rains,
the winrows will have to be turned, and
they may need turning any way if the
ground is moist, as they will absorb some
moisture from the ground. Where it
is not thought advisable to use a machine
they can be pulled quite rapidly by
hand, pulling until the hands are filled
and dropping three rows into one, tops
downward.
The beans are generally hauled on an
ordinary hay rack, and are pitched on
from winrows, or bunches, with a long
handled three tined or four-tined fork,
the wagon being driven between the
winrows or bunches, two or three
pitching on the wagon while one attends
to driving the horsesand loading. They
can be gathered with forks by quick
motioned men much more rapidly than
one without experience would suppose,
As to the time of harvesting, that de-
pends largely upon the variety and the
season. The Marrow Pea, in ordinary
seasors, ought to be ready for harvest
early in September, and the season
sometimes extends inte October, but it
should commence before the middle of
September.
After the beans are stored in barn it is
considered advisable to let them go
through the heating and sweating pro-
cess of curing before threshing, after
which they may be threshed at once or
left till winter. An ordinary thresh-
ing machine with the cylinder 1aised a
little higher than for wheat, does the
business very well. We think some use
a cylinder made for the purpose. We
understand that the buyers are offering
to contract the growing crop at $2 a
bushel which ought to be equivalent to
$40 to $50 per acre.— Rural Home.
Her TrrrLiNg OMmission.—“I can’t
see what is the matter with this cake,”
the young wife said. “I’ve put in the
eggs and the sugar and the cornstarch
and the flavoring, just as the recipe
says, and its a horrible mess. I don’t
believe I can make anything out of it at
all; its too bad !”
“You haven't forgotten anything,
have you!” inquired the hasband, look-
ing up from his newspaper.
“Nothing. It says: ‘With one
quart of sour milk and a teaspoonful of
soda make a batter in the usual way.
Then add the other ingredients.’
I added them but it doesn’t seem to me
to look like a batter. [t's just a nasty
mess of eggs and sour milk and things.”
“Where is your flour, my love ?”’
“Flour, Horace?” exclaimed the
sweet young wife. “Do they put flour
in cake ?"'—Mercury.
Generally |
they prefer to plant a clover sod, the |
manure
WHEN FRIENDS ARE PARTED.
Time keeps no measure when true fricuds are
parted,
No record day by day ;
The sands move not for those who, loyal
hearted,
True friendship’s laws obey.
It is not well to note with dall precis’on
The flight of days or years;
Memory depends not on proof by vision,
And has no foolish fears.
The migrant birds when thoy are southward
flying
Think not of time; they go
Full of knowledge, born of faith undying,
| That they again shall know
hind them,
Not marred by change the while ;
The southern lands they seek will but remind
them
Of the north land’s summer smile,
And so I know that you will come to meet me
In the old, well loved way :
! As kindly as to-day,
! Washington Post.
ms
| Congressman Allen's One Lie.
This is Private John Allen’s latest
cloak room story :
“You know I never told but one lie
in my life,” said the Mississippi Con-
gressman., “That cured me. It wus
back in 1862, a day or two after the
i second battle of Manassas. I was a
i small, barefooted soldier boy, about fif-
teen years old, marching with Lee's
army toward Maryland.
rocksthat I had to fallout of line, and be-
came separated from my command, and
consequently from ail commissary stores
on which I could draw.
had been so often raided by both armies
that it was difficult to get anything to
eat. I was very hungry, and thought 1
should starve, when I suddenly spied a
house away from the read which seemed
to have been missed by the soldiers.
The family was just sitting down to a
good dinner, and at my special request
they invited me in. I d» not remember
ever to have enjoyed a dinner so much,
and, not knowing when I could get any-
thing more, I tried myself and ate a
very big dinner. In fact, I took on
about three days’ rations. I left this
house and had gone about half a mile
when I saw some nice-looking ladies
going toward a hospital with a covered
basket. TI was sure that they had some-
thing for the sick soldiers, and while I
did not feel that I could eat anything
more then, I thought I had better make
some provisions for the future, and that
I might get something to take along in
my haversack. I was small for my age,
and a rather hard-looking specimen
You who have supposed I would
have developed into the specimen of.
manly beauty you now see before you.
I approached these kind-hearted ladies
and putting on my hungriest and most
pitiful look said :
‘Ladies, can you tell me where a poor
soldier boy, who has not kad a mouth-
ful to eat for three days, can get some-
thing to keep him from s‘arving.
“You should have seen the look of
sympathy on their faces as they said :
“We must not let thig poor boy starve,”
and opening their baskets, in which
they had two pitchers of gruel, they be-
gan to feed me on gruel out of a spoon.
Now, when I was a child they used to
feed me cn gruel when I was sick, and
I disliked it above all things eatable,
but, having told my story about the hun-
ger I bad to eat it. Well, I never was
so puni.hed for a story as I was by hav-
ing to eat that gruel on my dinner. But
I have often thought that maybe it was
a fortunate thing for me. It broke me
from telling stories. I have never tol d
one since.”—New York Sun.
ST ———————
House Flies.
“The popular notion that house-flies
walk on the ceiling by the help of
suckers on their feet is a mistaken one,”
said a man of science to a reporter. :
“Notwithstanding the testimony on
this point of many old and respected
authors, the fact is that the fly: has no
suckers on his feet at all, but each of
those six members ends in a pair of little
cushions and a pair of hooks. The
cushions are covered with ever so many
knobbed hairs, which are kept moist. by
an exuding fluid. Thus afly is able to
walk on a smooth wall or ceiling or
window pane, and apparently defy the
law of gravitation by the adhering
power of the moist, hairy pads. You
will understand the theory of it, if you
will touch the moistened end of your
forefinger to the window glass or any
smooth surface and perceive the per-
ceptible adhesion. For walking on
rough surfaces the fly’s foot cushions
are of no use; but the insect is pro-
vided with the twelve strong hooks
mentioned to do its rough travel with,
clinging by them to any such sarface as
a white-washed wall or cloth.”
“Another prevalent fallacy is that the
smaller flies seen in households are
young ones. Asis the case with all in-
sects, the fly’s growth is accomplished
in the larva state; it ends with the
issuing from the pupa and the expan-
sion of the wings. Individual flies
differ in size on maturity, just as is the
case with man and other animals. Every
house-fly that you see was once a crawl-
ing maggot. The eggs laid by the female
fly are usually deposited in warm manure
or in decomposing vegetation. Each
stable in summer that is not kept re-
markably clean is a hatching and pro-
pagating place for fiies. Within twenty-
four hours after the eggs are laid they
are hatched out into footless maggots,
which inhabit the filth they are born in
for a week, and then contract to little
brown objects called puparia. Within
this hardened skin the maggot is trans-
formed into the perfect fly, which crawls
| out of the puparium five days later, al-
| ready grown to full size; and wings its
way to share your luncheon. A fiy
lives about three weeks. When the
| cold weather comes the flies nearly all
| die; buta few vigorous females remain
| torpid in nooks and crannies, thus sur-
viving the winter and continuing their
species.”
{ A BrAIN DisTurBER.—A Neosha
j county farmer sent this mixed order to a
; Chanute merchant: “Send mea sack
of flour, five pounds of cofe and one
| pound of tee. My wife gave birth to a
big baby boy last night, also five pcunds
of corn starch, a screw driver and a fly
trap.
straw hat.— Kansas City Star.
RE ET I TR RR RS TF RT DR OT
Rochester's Waterfall.
How a Brilliant American Orator Li
His Grip.
Hon. Thomas F. Marshall, who once
foucht a duel with Gen. James Watson
Webb, of New York City, was one of
the most brilliant men America ever
produced—a sort of Chauncey M. De.
pew of half a century ago—and he was
the pride of Kentucky. His wit and
eloquence were matchless and he had
an education almost as perfect as 8 man’s
mind could accept. Thus he was fre-
The homes and nests which the have left be- |
That, though a year go by, you still will greet
m
My feet be- |
came so sore from marching over the |
The country |
quertly invited to deliver addresses on
| great public occasions, valedictories at
! commencement exercises of colleges,
i speeches upon the dedication of great
buildings, the unveiling of monuments,
i ete. Once he was invited to make a
speech at Rochester on the dedication of
a building which had been erected for
{ eelemosynary purposes by a coterie of
benevolent ladies there. Mr. Marshall
. arrived at noon of that day and was (oa
make his speech at 2 p. m, A comuit.
tee of gentlemen took him in a carriage
and drove him shout the city, its su-
burbs and its environs, and on the way
the party absorbed large quantities of
the vintages of Veuve Clicquot. The
result was that when they reached Falls
View Park Mr. Marshall conceived the
idea that Genesee Falls, really forty feet
high, were 140 feet high, When he
went to the hall to deliver his address
he was somewhat “obfusticated.” But
it was said of him, and doubtless with
considerable truth, that if he could get
a position with his right hand grasping
his left wrist behind him he could go on
eloquently and impressively with a
speech which would be interrupted and
! become maudlin if he lost his grip.
Obtaining the necessary position, he
: began his address :
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the City
| of Rochester :—Since my arrival in
your thriving metropolis I have had
! the pleasure of a drive about the sub-
urvps and environs, and among the
places we visited was the splendid park
of groves where I saw a superb water
fall a hundred and forty feet high. In
my peregrinations through this vale of
tears I have had the pleasure of a visit
to La Belle France, a land of vine-clad
hills and the home of a happy peasantry.
I have seen Paris, the magnificent queen
city of the world. T have driven about
her Bois de Boulogne and Champs Ely-
sees and bave rambled through the
galleries of the Tuileries.”
Here Mr. Marshall lost his grip and
winking and hiccoughing he went on
to say : “But Paris and France and all
that ain’t cot a waterfall a hundred
and forty feet higch--by a darn sight.”
Then seeing bis left hand waving aim-
lessly through the air he managed with
some presence of mind to get a grip on
his left wrist again, and proceeded calm-
ly and eloquently tosay : “I have sailed
up the beautiful Rhine to its confluence
with the silvery main. I've seen the
grand old ivy-covered castles that
stand upon her historic banks, around
which cling legend and tradition and
story. I bave met Germany’s warm
and generous-hearted people—the pa-
trons of the arts and the sciences. IT
have grasped in strong and cordial
friendship the rugged hand of her great
monarch, King Williain—"’
Here Tom lost his grip again and
proceeded to declare that Germany had
no waterfall a hundred and forty feet
high. But quickly he regained the
grasp of his wrist and proceeded :
“I havestood on the prow of a ma-
jestic ship and sailed along beside the
white chalk cliffs of Albion—proud old
Britain, the mistress of the seas. IT
have rambled through her shady lanes
and among her pleasant fields. I have
had the distinguished honor fo meet,
almost in her youth, the peerless Queen
Victoria—a kind and gentle mother, a
true and faithful wife, a royal and regal
monarch--"
Here Marshal lost his grip again and
said : “But lemme tell you, hic-——Great
Britain ain’t got no (hic) waterfall a
hundred and forty feet high.”
The remainder of the address was de-
ferred.— Kentucky State Jou nal.
The Largest Rose Bush.
The largest rose bush in the world is
probably that which adorns the resi.
dence of Dr. E, B. Matthews, of Mobile,
Ala. It was planted in 1813 by the
doctor's father when a young man and
is green and flourishing after its eighty-
seven years of summer's heat and win-
ter’s snow. Its branches have entirely
covered the house and extended io the
surrounding trees, so that when 1t is in
bloom it forms a perfect bower of roses.
Its trunk for upward of five feet from the
ground is nearly a foot in circumference
and it has been estimated that if grow-
ing as one continuous vine its ‘branches
would extend a mile in iength.
During the past spring three and a
halt bushels of roses was gathered from
it one week, while when shedding petals
in the autumn the ground about it white
with its fragrant snow. It is of the va-
riety known as the cluster musk rose.
It issaid that this vine several times
saved the residence from being burned
during the late war, the doctor having
been a surgeon in the Union army.—
Philadelphia Times.
‘What Mustaches Tell.
There is a great deal of character in
the mustache. As the form of the upper
lip and the regions about it have large-
ly to do with the feelings, pride, seif-
reliance, manliness, vanity and other
qualities that give self-control, the mus-
tache is more particularly connected
with the expression of those qualities or
the reverse.
‘When the mustache is ragged, and as
it were, flying hither and thither, there
is a lack of proper self-control. When
it is straight and orderly the reverse is
the case, other things, of course, taken
into uccount.
If there is a tendency to curl at the
outer ends of the mustache, there is a
tendency to ambition, vanity or display.
When the curl turns upward there is
genialty, combined with a love of ap-
probation ; when the inclination is
downward there is a more sedate turn of
mind not acecm panied with gloom.
It is worthy of remark that good-
natured men will, 1n playing with the
It weighed ten pounds and a
mustache, inva riubly give it an upward
inclination, whereas cross-grained or
morose men will pull it obliquely down
ward. — Northwest Magazine.
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