Our Own.
Our oettage may be small, the landesape imme
Our flowers may lack a new highweoundin
name;
Our chosen paths be reeky or wind-blowns,
And yet we love our own!
The little ohild that site beside our fest
May rob us of our strength and rest so sweet
And oause omr way with cares to be thisk
strewn,
And yet we love our own!
There may de fairer lands and brighter skies
There may be triends more faithful or more
wise
Than any we have ever seen or known;
But each will love his own!
Clara B. Heath,
Pilikia.*
{The incident narmted in the following lines
actually corurred pear Avon, N, Y., and the innocent
viotim of the joke is 8 lady dearly ninety years of
munity where she resides. |
A Indy of age, and experience rare,
Sat knitting and rocking her old-time chair;
When on the cold wintry air there came to
her ear
Through closed windows and doors, distinot
and clear,
The tell-tale onckle of hens from the barn;
And laying aside her bright needles and yarn
She sighed, “Oh! tobe young! But I'm not
too old now
To go hunting agin for eggs in the mow,
For since the lar-time when but a wee girl,
whirl;
That old dominic hen thinks her nest hid
AWAY,
But 1 know her trick—she has laid in the
hay.”
So straightway she entered the barn's open
door,
Where a ladder invitingly stood on the floor,
And mounting as fearless us any hall stair,
She climbed the steep ladder with dexterous
Cae.
One step at & Lime, one round after round,
And a nest in the orisp, fragrant hay is scon
toand.
Now a soft faint peep irom a corner is heard,
And sha doubts it the veipe ean be chicken or
bind,
Heard apn and againg after searching and
bother
The chickens appear and their fidgety mother;
Fresh wges, ill.timed chicks and hen well
secured
In apron all seug, the long-rearching endured ;
what work
Had been dose by a peripatetio barrel of pork —
Ur what would have been pork in a day or
TWO INOS
{What a pity it bad not heen made so before);
Now & pig's not a dunce, the' pig-headed,
is rue,
} :
1G ahow;
for while the lady was busied, piggie was
busy below,
osopher’s oar,
And be reasoned, * the barn door's now open,
to me it is clear
Go in and come out ?—Uil try my luck then;
| remember tie sheaves and piles of sweet
wheat,
Some few grains, perchance, are yet leit to eat.
"Tis good tor my diet —for die-it I should,
One cannot always eal corn be it ever so good.”
So roasirg himself from his nest near the door,
To the inquisitive pig came disappointing
surpra Oo
beady eyes; :
"Twas ail safely stored or transformed into
d,
For antumn had gone; t'was winter and cold.
But bent on discovery, this soquisitive pig
Rourd the barn floor begins to soull and to
di
With - long strong nose—soon the ladder he
spies
“ Why,
cries;
“Of what use is it now, for the summer is
over,
And the tresh, cool grass and sweet-smelling
clover
Are spoiled for me now, for I canvot eat bay;
1 could est it while growing in flelds far away
Now it's piled sbove there for somebody's
nse
An! nothing's left piggie save corn and
he
der and madder;
Isdder »
Or, it may be, to judge this poor beast with
due charity,
He assayed to asoend it himself, for a rarity
ose,
A bry push he gives it and over il goes!
Ussaspecting and careless of the mischief now
done,
Like thousands of human ones under the sun,
He bhastes in affright to get safely away,
While she poor lady above him is exiled in
bay
The wintry hall.day is tast nearing its close,
That she has been there alone & long time she
OWS;
It is strange she is missed not- that ne onc
comes near her,
And vainly she cal’s, she's so far none can
hear her.
of her going,
But believed her still busied with reading or
sewing;
Bat the quietness there, too profound sod too
k
ong, :
Hint surely what research proves, something
is wrong.
Long searchings, loud callings, prove quite to
be vain
In her chair only Bible and knitting remain
All the house ard the garden, hunted over and
over,
No trice of dear grandma can any discover;
When at length from the barn, eries a well.
known voice,
At which all the household exclaim and re.
joice;
“Girls, the ladder's fallen—I guess the pigs
can tell how—
Please put it ap for me, I am here in the
mow."
80 the Inder is placed; * angels ” ascend and
descend,
Like the angels of Jacob, and grandma attend.
Half laughingly, seriously, they chide her and
tell her:
“ Until all mischievous jigs are packed down
in the cellar,
It is saler by far, than to hunt eggs in the
barn,
To be in your own room with needles and
yarn.”
* “ Pilikia ” is » Sandwich Inland word meanivg
“ in a tight place,” or, * in & corner.”
~8. P. Walsworth.
A RARE CASE.
Mattie’'s story was simple enough.
The orphan child of a former servaut in
a wealthy family, Mattie had shared
the lessons and she play of the young
daughter of the bouse, until a time came
when it was convenient to turn the hum-
ble companion adrift to work for her-
self. It may have been a piece of the
ill-luck his neighbors ascribed to Drew,
that it should have been to his farm the
girl came as help to his sister, or it may
have been a piece of his good-nature
that made him agree to take under his
roof this pretty lass, untrained for ser-
vice and educated far above her station.
Drew’s widowed sister, Mrs. Bankes,
who lived with him, and whose child it
was Mattie had come to nurse, amongst
other duties too numerous to mention,
for there was but one servant kept—
Drew's sister exclaimed in despair
when the farmer brought home the
yours, lady-like, delicate-looking girl.
“ We want a strong, hard-working,
lass! This one does not know her right
band from her left. She is as good as a
lady—or as bad—and has never milked
acow in her life! What were you think-
ing of to bring her here?”
** Ah! that's just my luck; well, we
must do the best we can with her. If
the steward had never mentioned her
to me, now—but then he did mention
tier, and here she is.”
There she was, and there she stayed.
Apt to learn, willing to be taught,
grateful for the real kindness she me,
with, Mattie was soon the best hand at
miiking for miles round, soon devoted
to the baby. Three years passed quietly,
nid then came the romance of Mattie's
ile.
She was twenty that summer and
Adam Armitage, a grave man, was fully
ten years her senior. A great traveler,
member of a world-renowned scientific
soviety, a student and discoverer— he
was, between two scientific expeditions,
refreshing heart and brain by a walk-
ing tour through the home counties.
Adam’s walking tour ended at the
farm Drew had taken only a year be-
ore, and the dwelling house it had been
ound more convenient to inhabit than
he smaller building on the old land
lose to the road. Mr. Armitage found
the pure air of the Downs good for him.
Ile made friends with all the family.
To Mattie it was delightful to meet once
more some one with all the tricks of
speech and manner x jag mute refined
society amongst whic youth had
been passed. Little Harry followed
this new he went;
——— EP A SARS ID
VOLUME XIIL
!
i Pe a good man,
They all missed him when he went
{away. Mattie most of all; but the fol.
lowing summer saw him there again, a
! welcome old friend this time, and no
| stranger.
i Drew, a keon observer of all that!
{ went on around him. was not so much |
{ taken by surprise as his sister was,
{ when one day, toward the end of this |
second visit, Adam and Mattie were
| both mysteriously missing, A strong
farmed court:y lass made her appear
! ance before night. She was the bearer
of a note from Mattie, confessing that |
she and Mr. Armitage were married,
and hoping the servant sent might sup
{ ply her piace so that no one would be
inconvenienced, Drew mightshake his
i head and look thoughttul, but Mr, |
Armitage was his own waster, and it
was not the first time a gentleman had
married a country lass. Besides, the
| deed was done and past reeail. They
had gone quietly to one of the churches
in the town from whence the sound of |
i bells @oated up to the farm, and had
been married by special license. Adam
had taken a lodging for his bride, and |
| there they passed one brief, bright week
"of hanpiness; then one morning walked
quietly hack together, Mattie blushing
Iady-like in a simple dressthat she used
to wear before she came to the farm,
Adam explained that he meant to
in the care of her old friends: at the |
There were arrangements to
make with regard to the scientific ex-
pedition about to start immediately. It
would sail without him now, but it be-
hooved him to do his best that his place
prepare for receiving Mattie,
Mattie walked a little way with her |
and the farmer along the |
breezy uplands, and then Adam sent her
back, and hastened his own steps in the
dircetion of the little station at the toot
When he came again, he
Mattie went away smiling as he meant
It was
a little
as they remained in sight.
she should feel
mother, but that fear was the only
| shadow on Mattie's path, It was an
| idyll, a poem, as true a love story as the
i world has seen, that had written itself
i here in this out-of-the-way spot on the |
On the third day they might look for |
| and many another, until the days were
weeks, and the weeks months, and he
| neither came nor wrote, Mattie remem-
| back for the last time upon that home-
| tinct against the sky for one instant, |
‘and in the next lost it entirely as he |
line of hills, Just so she seemed to have
And yet, she never lost faith and trust |
Drew after a time, either goaded to
ments, or prompted to it by his own
the
ing the address of Adam Armitage in |
London. It was strange how this girl |
and her former master both trusted
silence; in the face of even a more
in town—the discovery that he had |
never mentioned Mattie’s name to his |
mother, or alluded to Mattie at all.
he was not with her then, and that she
could not give an address that would |
find him: an assertion that confirmed
Mattie in the idea that he had started on
those far-away travels he had so often
spoken of to her.
As autumn passed and the evenings |
grew chill with the breath of the coming
winter, Mattie's health seemed to faii. |
The deep melancholy that oppressed her
threatened to break the springs of life. |
In order to escape from Mrs. Bankes the
girl took to lonely wanderings over the |
Downs; wanderings that ended always |
at Stonedene; until, with the instinct of |
a wounded animal that seeks to endure
its pain alore, or from the ever present |
recollection of the last words of Adam,
when he had said it was by way of
Stonedene that he would return, she
besought the farmer to send away the
woman in charge of the house and allow |
her to take her place.
Drew yielded to the wish ot the wife, |
whose heart was breaking with the pain |
of absence, and the mystery of silence,
and Mattie, on this foggy day had al
ready lived months at Stonedene, on the |
watch always for the coming of Adam. |
The fog increased instead of diminish-
ing with the approach of evening.
Drew could not see his own house unti| |
he was close to it; as he had remarked, |
the mystery of Mattie's aflairs was not
more impe 1etrable than the veil hiding |
all natural objects just then. When he |
had put up the horse and gone into tea |
Mrs. Bankes, as she bustled about, pre- |
paring the meal that Mattie's deft little |
fingers had been wont to set out with
so much quietness as well as celerity,
did not fail to greet him with thie ques-
tion: ** Well, how is she?”
“She” had come to mean Mattie in
the vocabulary ot the farmer and his
sister.
““ About as usual in health,” Drew re-
lied, lifting the now five-year-old
arry to his knee; “ but troubled in
mind; though, to be sure, that is as
usual, too.”
** She is out of her mind,” exclaimed
Mre. Bankes, irritably. * Every one but
yourself knows that; and if you do not
know it, it is only because you are as
mad as she is—or any one might think
80 from the way you go on.”
** Nay, nay,” said Drew gently, as the |
butter-dish was set upon the table with |
a vehemence that made the teacups rat- |
tle. “There are no signs of madness |
|
1
about Mattie—unless you call her trust
in her husband by so hard a name.”
* Husband! a pretty husband. indeed!
I've no patience with him, nor with
you, either. As if it was not a com-
mon tale enough! It would be better
to persuade the girl to come home and
get to work again than to encourage her
in her fancies, while you pay another
servant here—and times so hard as they
are.”
“I was thinking to-day,” the farmer
went on, softly passing his broad palm
over the blond head of the child upon
his knee, ‘*1 was thinking as I came
along of how it stands written: ‘He that
loveth not his brother whom he hath
seen, how can he love God whom he
hath not seen?”
At that instant the shadowy form of
some one going round to the front door
passed the window, against which the
fog pressed closely. Drew set little
Harry on his feet and rose slowly, lis-
tening with intentness and a surprised
Jook that made his sister ask what ailed
im.
“ Rover—the dog does not bark; who
—by the merey of heaven, it is the man
himself!” cried Drew, as the door
opened with a suddenness that caused
rs. Bankes to drop the plates on the
brick floor. For Adam Armitage stood
upon the threshold; Adam, pale and
worn, a shadow of his former self, but
himself unmistakably.
Sem locked around the Joo ; as
ough see 8 omeoue, sm inh
old fashion iy, gave a halt enri-
By
my wife
“ Mrs, Armitage is waiting for you at |
"
wok that way, : .
“* Waiting!" Adam threw up his hands
with a passionate gesture; what can she
* She has thought you were gone after
all upon that voyage, and that your let. |
had miscarried. Sometimes she |
has thought that you were dead, Myr. |
Drew broke |
“We knew
you could explain what has happened,
sir,” he concluded,
Adam drew his own hand across his |
way a man might do who
lately been roused from a bad |
his thoughts. dae]
“That has happened,” he said, |
which, if it had not befallen me myself |
and become a part of my own experi- |
ence, 1 should find it difficult to believe |
possible. A strange thing has happened, |
and yet "here the old smile they re.
membered so well broke slowly like |
light over his face—"* and yet a thing not |
more strange, as the world gOS, than
that vou—1 say nothing of Mattie—but
that you should have trusted me |
throughout. I detected no mistrust in
your voice, no doubt in your eyes, not
even when they first met mine just now.
They call mine a rare case, friend; they |
might say the same of Jour belief in |
me. But-—Stonedene, did you say? |
Walk with me there, and hear my tale |
as we go." ;
“This evening; and in this mist; and
you, sir, looking far from weil," began
sliza Bankes. ** Mattie has waited so
long already that one night more will
* One night, one hour more than I
can help will make all the difference
between willful! wrong and a misfortune
that has fallen on both alike,” said |
Adam. He would not be dissauded
from setting out at once, and in another |
minute the two men were pursuing their
way through the driving mist, Adam
After parting from Mattie he had |
in due course he drove in a cab toward |
his mother's house in Grosvenor treet,
oveturned and Adam was thrown out,
talling heavily upon his head. ARer a
long interval, however, he opened his
eyes and recovered consciousness; and
as he did so slowly at first, alter a time
was made that memory was entirely
gone, :
~ However, this state was one from |
which, so said his friends, science could |
at will recall him, and the operation |
necessary to restore Adam to himseil
was deferred only until his health ad. |
mum of risk.
It was while Adam was in the state |
above deseribed that Drew had seen |
Mrs. Armitage. A proud woman, she |
fact that, stripped of Drew's panegyries |
upon Mattie's superior education and
refined manners, alone stared her in the
ace.
Hastily resolving that there was no
need to embitter her own life by an at.
tempt to rec! to her son this ill-fated
marriage, she did not hesitate to de-
ceive her unwelcome visitor. Change |
of scene had been ordered for the pa.
tient, and before Drew called at the
house in Grosvenor street for the second |
time Adam and his mother were gone, |
It was in Paris, months after, that the |
operation was finally and successfully |
performed, and then the first word of |
Adam's was Mattie's name. The tirst |
effort of his newly-recovered powers
was to relate to his mother the history |
of his marriage and to write to his wife
“(God grant the suspense lias neither
killed nor driven her mad!” he ex-
claimed.
It was to his mother’s hand the letter |
was confined, and with that exclama- |
tion of his ringing in her ears, Mrs. Ar.
with charcoal and burning in the ante |
Elysees. She was not a bad woman, |
». If the girl were |
dead, why no harm haa been done, and |
this terrible mistake of her son's was |
rectified at once. If the other alterna- |
tive were to prove true and Mattie had |
be i
taken to insure so desirable a result. |
Mrs. Armitage tore the letter into pieces |
and waited by the brazier until the |
fragments were charred. Adam asked |
surprised at receiving no answer to his |
The first day his health ad- |
mitted it, he set out alone for England. |
Such was the story. When Drew |
i
reached Mattie, Adam was at no loss |
|
had played. But he never |
spoke of it, then or at any future time.
The house door at Stonedene stood |
the chilly fog was still abroad, but the
Adam hastened his steps.
“ For heaven's sake, sir, be careful!
brain,” cried Drew, laying a detaining
hand upon the arm of his companion.
Adam gently shook him off.
‘* Suddenness,” he repeated. *‘ Aye,
it is sudden to you—and to Mrs. Bankes,
but for me and for Mattie, whose
thoughts are ay and night, night and
1 other, how can it be
Drew stood still and Adam went on
alone until his footsteps became audi
ble and Mattie turned her head to see
him standing at her side.
Adam had been right; no fear was
there for Mattie’'s brain. All excite-
ment, all surprise and wonder came
afterward; at that first supreme mo-
ment, and with a satisfied sigh, as of a
child who had got all jt wants, Mattie
held out her arms to him with one
word -
* Husband!”
As Adam drew her to him it was not
only the mist or the darkening evening
that blinded Drew so that for a moment
or two he saw neither of them.
People say Drew's luck has turned
from the day Stonedene found a tenant
It is newly done up and prettily fur-
come down there once or twice a year,
with their children, for a breath of sea
air and to visit old friends.
The Dairy Interest,
Mayor Caven, of Indianapolis, in an
address to the national convention of
the butter and egg association, a few
days since, said :
~The manufacture of butter and cheese
is rapidly growing in importance. We
formerly imported cheese in large quan
tities, whereas we now export, and in
England Americar produce is rivaling
and taking the place of the best stand-
ards of English home-made, both of
butter and cheese. The Stilton, Ched-
dor, Neufchatel Vashreine and Bric
cheese of Europe find in the United
States an article fully their peer, and
in Oneida county, New York, they are
turning out a brand of Limburg cheese
that has caught in all its delicate per-
fection the exquisite spiritual aroma
of the original, indeed, with a self-
stirring perfumery, beside which the
oldest Limburg cheese in all the king.
dom of Bavaria would be tame and
unromantic.
What the world is in need of is fewer
men of an inquisitive turn of mind, men
who are contented with looking at a
buzz-saw without a desire to feel of
”
HALL, CENTRE CO., PA. THURSDAY, JUNE
TIMELY TOPICS,
nm
EPITAPHS, one er
milos from Edinburg
|
: Owar Hie is but a winter day,
Some Quaint and Cuartows Insoriptions on | Some only breakiast and away;
Tombstones tia Old English and Amerie (thers to a dinner stay
can Churenyards, Aud are full ted
I'he oldest yuan bat sleeps
in
{ Forty per cent, of the Chinese of San
| Francisco have been back and forth be
| tween the United States and China four
cor five times, Most of the Chinese go
{ back once in five years, and rarely any
| One stays longer than eight years contin.
{ wously in this country. Many Chinese
merchants return regularly to spend the
[| Chinese New Year at howe.
{ Bartholdi, the French sculptor, says
a . { there is no doubt that the great statue
Tight Shoes. of Liberty enlightening the world will
The wearing ot shoes which com- | beready for its place in New York har.
Let us pass by the ordi- | press and distort the fect is a singular.y | bor in 1883, the year in which New
| injurious custom. Suppose 1 said that York's great world’s fair is to be held.
| pine-tenths of the feet were rendered This statue, when erected, will be the
misshapen by the boots and shoes worn, | largest in America. It was presented
| the statement would seem extreme, hut | to the United States by the French peo-
it would be within the truth. The | ple, and Bartholdi is hard at work at it
pointed shoe or boot is the most signal | In France,
| instance of a mischievous instrument
designed for the torture of feet, In |
| this shoe the go eat toe is foreed out of
| its natural line toward the other woes,
giving a reverse curve from what is
natural to the terminal part of the
inner side of the foot, while all the
other toes are compressed together to-
wandering through the various And goes 0 bed.
Large is his expense
I'bat lingers out the day;
He that goes soonest
Has the least to pay.
New York Evening Mal,
A"
well exolaim: ** Where are the sinners |
buried? Surely their graves are not |
here; the inscriptions on marble, shaft |
or siab indicate the resting pinoces of the |
But in going here and |
there through old cemeteries, especially |
in England, one often comes across in- |
scriptions strancely unlike those of the |
nary ones, and read some of the extra.
ordigary,
The two wives of Thomas Sexton are
buried in a churchyard near Newmar.
ket, Upon the stone over the grave of
the first one is the following:
Here lios the body of Samh Sexton-- :
She was a wile that pever vexed one Buckley is a Texas horse thief and
murderer, for whom the law officers
| searched long and fruftiessly. A man
| ealled on the governor, ee duesd him.
self as a friend of the outlaw, and said
that he was prepared to buy his pardon
by giving information against other
ward the great toe, the whole producing | criminals, The governor was inclined
a wedge. like form of foot which is al- | to make such u bargain, and sent him
together apart from the natural, Such | to the attorney-general, who recognizad
'n foot has lost its expanse of tread; | him as none other than Buckley him-
Isuch a foot has lost its elastic resist- | self. The rascal drew a long knife out
| ance; such a foot has lost the strength | of his bootleg, but was overpowered
| of its arch to a very considerable de. | and locked up
| gree; such a foot, by the irregular and
| unusual pressure on certain points of | The New York Bulletin makes a com-
its surface, has become hard at those pliation of erop reports which shows—
| points, and is easily aflected with corns | so far as can be shown at this time—
{and bunions. Lastly, such a foot be- | that the wheat preduetion of 1880 will
| comes badly nourished, and the pres- | fuily equal that of 1879. lowa and
sure exerted upon it interferes with its | Kansas will fall off, but their deficiency
cireniation hy nutrition. It ceases to | will be fully made up by gains in 1ili-
| be an instrument upon which the body | nois, Ohio, Minnesota and Pennsylvania,
| oan sustain itself with grace and with | If present promise shall be verified, that
| pasiness of movement, even in early | will be the fourth successive great grain
life: while in mature life and in old age | cvop in the United States—a continu.
it becomes a foot which is absolutely | ance of prosperity aimost if not quite
unsafe, and which causes much of that | without precedent.
irregular, hobbling tread which often | ere——
renders so peculiar the gait of persons |
who have passed their meridian
It sometimes happens for a time that
these mistakes in regard to the boot |
and shoe are increased by the plan of
raising the heel, and letting it rest on a
sone,
In the cemetery of the
Friars, Edinburg, we find
Here snug in the grave my wile doth lie;
Now she's at rest, and so am 1.
Here is another:
Here lies my dear wile, a sad slattern and
shrew;
It I said | regretted her 1 should lis, too.
Old Gray
On a tombstone in Cyford:
Here, doep in the dust,
The old moldy orust
(4 Nell Batohelor lately shoven ;
Who was skilled in the arts
Of pies, puddings and tarts,
And knew every use of the oven.
When she had lived long enough
She made her last puff
A puff by her hasband much praised —
Now here she doth lie
And makes a dirt ple,
In hopes that her erast may be raised.
———
But these are rather unjust toward
the fair sex. Let us look for something
more truthful, We find it in St.
She was
But words are wanting
T'o say what
Look what a wile should be
And she was that.
In memory of Katherine Gray, who
kept a pottery shop at Chester:
The New York State fish commis.
sioners are advocating the culture of |
carp. [he experiments at the govern. |
ment ponds in Washington have been
very successful, fish that were pul in
there three years ago having grown
raised impediment of a pointed shape. | much larger than in Europe under the
Anything more barbarous can scarcely | same circumstances. They are an easy
be conceived. By this means the body, | fish to raise. Any kind of a pond, no
which should naturally be balanced on | matter how restricted, can be used
a most beautiful arch, is placid on an | Providing that the water is not too cold
| inclined plane, and is only prevented | earp thrive, no matter how impure it
| from falling forward by the action of | is. No natural water has been found
| the muscles which counterbalance the | too warm for them, They thrive on
| mechanical error. But all this is at the | plants growing in the water, on boiled
expense of lost muscular effort along | E¥ain or even offal. A pond may be
{the whole line of the muscular track, dug in arable land and used for three or
from the heels actually to the back of | four years as a carp pond, after which
the land may be again cultivated,
Beneath this stone lies old Katherine Gray,
Changed (rom a busy lie wo lifeless olay;
By earth and elay she got her pelt,
But pow is turned to earth hersell,
Ye weeping friends, let me advise
Abmte your grief and dry your eves,
For what avails a flood of tears?
Who knows but in & ran of years,
In some tall piteher or broad pan
She in her shop may be again ?
Upon the tomb of Martha Wells,
wife of John Wells, in Yolkstone, we i
the head --a loss of foroe which is abso.
intely useless, and, as 1 have known in |
several cases, exhausting and painful, A correspondent of the Leavenworth
In addition to these evils arising from | Time: calls attention to the similarity
the pointed heeled boot, there are yet | between the stand storm in Kansas and
In the first place, the elastic | one in the island of Sicily, in the Medit-
terranean, two days afterward, and be.
lleves both were of meteoric origin. The
tact with the earth at every step causes | Kansas dust was composed of brown
a concussion which extends along the and bhiack impalpable matter, and so
whole of the spinal column, and is | abundant that on the next day traces of
sometimes very acutely felt. In the | the deposits could be seen on the surface
second place, the EXPAnSe of the foot | of the ground, and on a north porch
being limited, the seizure of the earth suflicient to receive the hoprints of a
ont's feet, The writer says: The near
| coincidence of dates between the phe.
nomenon in Sicily and here, with an ap-
parent similarity in the physical proper-
ties of the dust, might suggest a common
origin,
We tar from here did some
Each other tor to join,
In peace with all men bere we lived,
And did in love combine.
But oh, remark the strange,
Yet heaven's wise decree,
two more 1
spring of the arch being broken by the
I'm lodged within the silent grave, heel, the vibration produced hy its con-
He's rolling
In wandering through the old Sleepy
Hollow cemetery I paused before an
old mossy tombstone. Stooping down
and brushing away the moss I read the
following:
Pacse, re wer, pause as you pass by,
As YOu are now, so ones was |:
As | man now so you will be,
Prepare for death and follow me.
And near by I read: - ;
Afliction sore long time | bore, Needlessly Frightened,
Physicians were in vain;
Till death did seize and God did please People who fly to pieces at every sud.
I'o ease me of my pain. | den loss or alarm or provocation are the
But enough for the fair sex. Let us | kind « { maniacs who do not goto insane | poi i and the United States, provides
see if the sterner sex can boast of any. | hospitals; but oftentimes SIrRnges | oo 0 subscription of $12,000,000, which
We wilt begin with the | would naturally think they belonged | is $2.000.000 more than the centennial
In the churchyard at Norfolk | there. The Hartford Conrand tells of 81 enodition estimate was based upon,
wamithy W entiierstie 4 plYSieIs who { the commissioners of that celebration
missed HE POCKELDOOK, Bi APPEATSa | 11s itd si Hi TY pf
Crazy SRD. even to an old ante | Suiting Sn ae oa aous. 10
ance. Believing that he had grappe’ | not by any meansrepresent the increased |
the nc during a X hi St Fans | magnitude of the proposed Exposition i
MT. eis, A alcoll ii, thal morn. | sep ¢ last one held in the United |
ing, who had taken him to his stock- | SYeF the dad # a expected
yard to see his fine fat sow, he drove | (nat the receipts alone, owing to the
pell-mell to the place and rushed to the | metropolitan location of the exposition
pen, expecting Jo sue the wreck of his | and its ready means of acoess to ali parts
MOCKELDOOK sCALLETEA Around i o id illbei Pnsely eale
But he was disappointed. Nota sign | 8 he — PioteimEely BT mor
was there. *'Griat guns,” the doctor | Besides this, the commissioners having
exclaimed, “Theoldsow has swallowed in charge the projected fair believe
it wyiiole a Well | there will be no difficulty rh raising
en Mr. lis appeared on the | the amount mentioned in the act, or
scene, and in a moment the excited doo- | sven more.
tor cried cut, “ What'll you take for |
that sow i
“Oh, I don’t know,” moderately re.
sponded the other.
“1 don't want any ‘don't knows’
about it," roared the docter., ** What'll
you take for that sow?"
“1 don't know as I want to sell it,"
replied Mr. Wells, who evidently didnt
understand the situation.
“You must sell it. Set your own
by the foot is incomplete both in stand.
ing and in walking, so that it becomes a
! new art to learn how to stand erect or
| to walk with safety. Harper's Weekly,
i ———————
| The act incorporating the New York
{world's fair of 1853, in celebration of
the treaty of peace between Great
we find
God works a wonder now and then;
He, though a lawyer, was an honest man,
And in Stepney churchyard, London,
upon a lawyer named Strange:
Here ies an honest lawyer—-that's Strange! |
Upon the tombstone of Stephen Bum-
bold at Brightwell:
He lived one hundred and five,
Sanguine and strong;
An hundred to five
You live not so long!
Which is probably true concerning the
most of us. In Walton churchyard we
read upon the tomb of George Miles,
| Women are doing a good work in
{ foreign fields under the direction of the
| Woman's Union Missionary society,
| whose nineteenth anniversary was cele-
| brated recently at the Broadway taber.
[ nacle in New York. In Calcutta and
| Rajpore 1,162 women and girls are under
| the instruction of one iady and her assist.
ants. An orphanage has been estab-
| lished at Calcutta, where more than
My
My
My
My
My
My
And upon a collier:
Here lios the collier, John of Nashes,
By whom death nothing mined, he swore;
For, living, he was dust and ashes,
And being dead, he is no more.
sledge and hammer lie reclined,
bellows also lost their wind;
fire's extinct, my lorge decayed,
vice i’ the dust my (riends have laid,
coals are spent, my irons gore,
nails are drove, my work is done.
Here is one which 1 fear the majority
of the male sex will never deserve.
will not vouch for the truth of it:
An honest fellow here is laid,
His debts in tull he always paid;
And what's more strange, the neighbors tell
us,
He brought back borrowed umbrellas.
We pause before a stone in Luton
churchyard, and this is the warning it |
gives to us:
Reader, 1 have loft a world
In which I had a world to do,
Sweating and fretting to get rich
Just such a fool as you.
In Lillington churchyard upon the
tomb of John Trees:
John Trees, aged 74 years,
Poorly lived and poorly died;
Poorly buried and no one eried.
The following curious epitaph will be |
found in the churchyard at Lyford, |
Devonshire:
Here lies, in a horizontal position,
The outside case ot
George Kontledge, Watehmaker.
Integrity was the main spring, and pradence
the regulator of all the actions
of his life; i
Humnne, generous and liberal, i
price, but I must have it," pleadingly |
“Well, then, say seventy-five dol
named it, supposing the price
And he
ns he
would cool the doctor's ardor.
was astonished at the reply,
“I'l take it: now kill the hog," was
Mr. Wells now knew he was crazy.
but this only added fuel to the flames,
“Kill that hog, 1 say,” again thud.
“She'll digest if you
don't.”
“* Oh, come, get into your wagon and
ride home with me,” soothingly sug-
“Bill Wells, doyou think I am crazy?
lars in it, and if you don’t hurry up and
have her killed she'll digest it and I'l}
lose every dollar.”
Mr. Wells still looked on in silent as.
“My friend, will you kill that hog?”
overcoat he discovered a hole in
of the pockets, and as he dove
his
one
500 children receive eare. Twenty-five
pupils are now boarding at the mission
in Pekin, and there are also a large
number of day scholars. Moreover,
village schools are being opened in
China. In Cyprus a school has been
opened for Greelegirls, and about sixty
are in attendance, In Allahabad, India,
where there are about 450 pupils under
instruction, the earnestness of the
women in their mission work has been
rewarded by a gift of $4,000 from the
government.
A Mexican Hacienda,
A long train of Mexican carts, such
as do much of the general freight busi-
ness of Mexico, wended its way into the
city yesterday and stopped on Commer-
cial street, The carts were drawn by
fine- conditioned mules and were laden
with beans. The beans were produced
on the Hincenda del Rosario, at Parras,
Mexico, distant from San Antonio four
hundred and fifty miles. The freight
was consigned to the wholesale grocer
house of Hugo & Smeltzer, and consist
of one hundrod and fifteen sacks of beans,
»
in weight aggregating thirty thousand
pounds. They were raised on the naci-
enda above named by Madero & Co.,
whose enterprise is unexcelled in ali
Northern Mexico. The land under cul-
His hand never stopped till he had relieved deeper his excitement gave place to a
distress; | feeling of satisfaction. Between the
So nicely regulated were his movements that | lining and the cloth of his coat Le found
he never wont wrong,
| the lost pocketbook with its contents un-
Kxeept when set a-going by people who did |
not know his key; !
Even then he was easily set right again. i
He had the art of disposing his time so well |
That his hours glided away in one continued |
round of pleasure, i
Till in an unlucky moment his pulses stopped |
beating.
Ho ran down Nov. 14, 1802, aged 57,
opes to be taken in hand by his Maker, |
Fhoroughly cleansed, repaired, wound up and
sot a-going
In the world to come, when time shall be no |
more.
Wandering to Gillingham church-
yard we will rest awhile beside the |
grave of Thomas Jackson :
Sacred to the memory ol Thomas Jackson,
comedian, who was engaged December 21,
1741, to play a comic cast of charactors in this |
great theater-~the world, tor many of which
he was prompted by nature to excel. The |
season being olosed, bis benefit over, the
charges all paid, and his accounts elosed, he
made his exit in the tragedy of Death, March
17, 1798, in tall assurance of being once more
onlled to rehearsal, where he hopes to find
bis forfeits all cleared, his cast of parts bet.
tered, and his situation made agreeable by
Him who paid the great stock debt by the
love He bore the performers in general,
In the Roman Catholic cemetery of
Mayne the following epitaph has caused
considerable trouble between the priests
and the people, the former declaring
that it is * profane, immoral and scan-
dalous,” while the latter maintain that
it shall rewain as it is:
Beneath this stone here lieth one
That all his friends did please;
‘Lo ueaven I hope he’s surely gone
To enjoy eternal ease,
He drank, he sang, while here on earth
Lived happy as a lord;
And now he bath resigned his breath,
God rest him, Paddy Ward,
Bankes, and
ous, half indifferent glance to Eliza
| then turned to the farmer
it with their fingers.— Danielso
Sentinel. gory Ville
had been
He
disturbed. Not a dollar
digested by the innocent old sow.
bill to say nothing about it, but the
5
| Destructive lufluences,
Doubtless countless myriads of liv-
destroyed. One aphis may be the pa-
mies in mass, it 1s no minute individual
as n mouthful for the Balenovtera, they
ox licks up, or the vegetation of a dis
trict that is devastated by locusts. It
is the unwritten law of nature that one
race must die that snother may live;
this other, in its turn, subserving the
same end, and so, constantly, until the
cycle Le complete. Without this law,
against which there is no appeal, na-
ture would be a chaotic 1mpossibility.
The destructive influences are so pre-
dominant that the carnage is indiscrim-
inate and without struggle.—~Contem.
porary Review.
A guide and hunter known as Colo-
rado Bill at Fort Stekle, is astonishing
the far West by his wonderful piste]
shooting. A short time ago he broke
ninety-two out of 100 glass balls with a
45-caliber Colt’ srevolver. Hechallenges
We will olose this grave subject with
the world to shoot with him at any dis.
tance from ten to 300 yards.
tivation in the hacienda embraces eigh-
teen square miles, all of which is sub-
ject to irrigation. Madero & Co. sow
annually three thousand bushels of
wheat and plant four hundred and fifty
bushels of corn. The past year they
produced six hundred thousand pounds
of grapes, and manufactured two thou.
sand barrels of wine, besides a large
quantity of brandy. The population of
the hacienda, which includes workmen
and their families, is nearly twenty-five
hundred. Three hundred men are con-
stantly employed on the farming sec-
tion of the hacienda, while four hundred
persons are kept busy in a large cotton
goo is manufactory. Most of the cotton
used at the mill is produced in a lake
country seventy-five miles to the north
east of the hacienda. In thissection the
plant grows, producing each year, for
from three to seven years, It attains an
immense size. The past season, how-
ever, the cotton crop was a failu e, and
the enterprising manufacturers have
been foreed to look to Texas for their
supply of the staple.—~San Awlonio
(Texas) Sun.
When James T. Brady, the eminent
lawyer, first opened a lawyer's office in
New York, he took a basement room,
which had previously been occupied b
a cobbler. He was somewhat annoy
by the previous occupant’s callers, and
irritated by the fact that he had few of
his own. One day an Irishman entered.
“The cobbler's gone, I see,” he said,
“1 should think he had,” tartly re-
sponded Brady. ‘“ And what do you
sell?” he said, looking at the solitary
table and a fow law ks. *‘ Block.
heads,” responded Brady. *‘Be gorra,”
said the Irishian, ** ye must be doing a
mighty fine business—ye hain't got but
one left.”
srr
THE THUNDERER.
Nome Faets of Interest About the Great
English Newspaper,
A letter to the Philadelphin 7TVmes
ives the following interesting particu.
ars about its great London namesake:
Let me enumerate some of the most im.
portant points illustrative of the seope
ofthe T¥mes:
First— Manufactures its own presses,
Second-—Founds its own type,
Third—-Provides its own EP t-sloo-
trie,
Fourth—Feeds its employees on the
spol,
Jish--Rm its own electrotyping
SHOP.
Sixth—Has its own telegraphic ser.
vice and wires— in the main; and
Seventh—Repair shops for all these
fifferen. machineries,
All these great shops and offices are
under one rool, and the cluster of them,
with the other ordinary departments of
a newspaper office—editorial, compos.
ing, proof, stereotyping, ms king-up,
press, business, advertising and dis.
tributing rooms—form the Tones build-
ing.
i the press-room ef the paper stand
eight presses; six go evory night and
two stand by as a reserve brigade. Each
press prints a whole copy of the Tines,
oth sides, sixteen pages, and at the
rate of 12.000 an hour. These presses
are ranged in three columns in an im.
mense room on the first floor of the
building, the enormous weight sup-
ported by arches. The paper-room,
another [arge space, is just below the
press-room, the paper being hoistea up
by a lift (American elevator) into the
press-room. In the spacious paper
rooms below you wander through long
avenues of huge rolls of paper, each roll
four miles long. 1 watched at one of
these roils, and it was striking to see
how quickly it was done.
Much ofthe mechanical interest of the
Idmes centers in its type department.
1 brought away with me some type
made under my eye in the foundry-
room. But that is only the beginning
of the wonder. Following this type
by machinery. All publishers are
familiar with the history of the long
effort of Mr. Walter in this direction.
Here is the result:
One-half of the Times every night is
set by machinery. One machine does
the work of six or eight skilled com-
positors. It eannot correct, however,
and Lere is its weak point, or the
whole paper would be set withit. As
itis, the work is about divided. Doubt.
ful copy and all revisions are done by
hand—the steady regular work by ma.
A young man sits before what looks
liken piano board, with four or five
banks of keys nil lettered. © He plays
on these keys with the fore-fingers of
each hand rapidly, and the type are as
rapidly shifted into a kind of minute
steel galley, the exact width of the
body of a type. There is po system of
fingering, as with piano music, only
the paws fly like lightning.
The distributing machine just re-
verses the powers of the setiing in.
strument, and in the last stage each
letter of the alphabet is rapidly shunted
off onto its separate side track, where
they stand like Jong trains of freight
cars in the yard of a colossal depot. It
is a wonderful machine, but there are
others I think now surely approaching
perfection, of much wore interest and
importance to newspaper property.
The last permanent investment of the
Times has been the manufseture of its
own light on the electric system, using
carbon points, Thecost for the plant of
this has been ver
sucoessful, and the cost of producing
light is now very moderate,
The entire building is now lighted by
sixteen electric lights, each Right of
from 800 to 1,000 candle power—far
more than is needed, Sixteen wires—
are used to distribute the light, and
posertul steam engine. This engine
iad to be built expressly for the elec
tric battery, and its power cannot be
used for any other purpose; the light
would waver acd be unsteady, Quite
the dark shadows are in part corrected
by reflection from white cowls.
no reason why the new Edison light
desirable.
The electric manufacture has been a
striking advertisement for the Times,
but so far it is not an economy.
liave more light than they need or want
to have, and the cost ot the plant is the
capital of a gas company—not a legiti-
mate expense of a newspaper establish.
ment.
The employees of the Times are fed in
the building—a great Saving of time to
employer and employed. The canteen
consists of a fine, large kitchen and two
dining-rooms. ¥ issupplied at cost
rates to the men—* everything except |
beer, on which is charged a little Profi
which saves the canteen always from
loss, and the margin of profit, whatever
it may be, is always turned into an em-
vloyees' relief fund which we have "—
it was explained to me.
“That is very excellent; but we donot
call beer ‘food ' in America.”
ing institution It supplies a kind of
cheap club to the men, but there could |
be no better illustration of the differ- |
ence of habits and manners on the
liquor question between the two coun- |
tries. Here was a careful and con |
scientious employer furnishing liquor
to his force--and, more than that, long
rows of bright, burnished pewter ale-
mugs, each with “The T¥mes ” proudi
engraved on its beaming face, greet
my vision as one of the embellishments
of the canteen. The electrotyping shop
is a well-appointed room, equipped
with all modern applinnoes of the trade,
where are made the plates for the
weather diagrams of the Times, and
also maps, charts, ete. So well is this
shop perfected that a moderate-sized
hate can be turned out in a few minutes.
Practical newspaper managers will
recognize the economy and desirable
use of this attachment.
The Times has its own wires over
much of England and n ost of thecon-
tinent, and its own service of them by
accomplished correspondents—men of
ability and influence. It uses Reuter
(the associated press of Europe), but
only partially; and, as an incident, its
page or move of telegraphic news being
generally exclusively its own, and the
Reuter news coming in only in a sup-
plementary way. It is a common ex-
pression Among newspaper men in our
country that we only use the telegraph
largely. I think that the special tele-
graph service of the Times exceeds that
of any American newspaper, saving,
possibly, the New York Herald. It
doves not strike the popular and unedu-
cated eye perhaps so strongly as ours,
because it does not deal in criminal
news, small fires, petty accidents, sen-
sations, ete.; but every morning the
Times does have a dispatch from every
capital in Europe, from a “stick” to a
column and a Ralf or two volumns in
length, giving the political situation of
the day snd the great business and
socin | features—the matter that states.
men and scholars and leaders read and
taik about. They nre its constituency.
Its telegraphic service of special matter
averages, 1 think, about a page a day;
and a page of the Times is equal in
superficies to over twenty per cent,
more than a page of the Press or New
York Herald. It is all solid news—no
padding or whipped cream.
The reception of the telegraphic news
of the Tymes is something unique. The
lines from the continental capitals, Ber:
lin, Paris, Rome, Vionoa, ete. all of
course converge in one room, and the
NUMBER 23.
dispatches are received over an instru-
ment that prints. The printing, how.
ever, serves moreas arecord, The dis-
patch, as it is received, is read off by
tue telegraph operator to the operator
of a type machine, who plays it off by
ear, and the dispatch, thus reduced to
a written form, is supplied to the edi.
Wr in Printed pool, of saurse oly
the work of responsible correspon
likely to need no alteration, is honored
inthis way. It would be too expen.
sive thus to treat matter requiring edit-
he type-setting machine compositors
are, of course, a class to themselves,
Every ordinary compositor going ir to
the concern obligates himself to aban-
don all unions or outside organizations,
Indeed, in many things the office is
exclusive in this way. It does not em-
ploy men who serve on other papers,
and those who work on the paper are
protected in many ways from outside
affiliations. As a curious instance of
this fecling 1 was shown in a distinet
| portion of the building s rather deso-
ate, cheerless looking room for casual
| employees or temporary contributors—
| ** persons that we don't want to mix up
with our own men, you know.”
: The New York Reporter,
| A reporter's life is not a happy one,
| He is the slave of duty at all of
| the day and night. To-day hs is here,
| to-morrow there. On Monday he may
| be among thieves and murderers, on
| Tuesday hmong politicians and states.
| men, and on Wednesday smong ladies
| and gentlemen. He may be even
! all three on the same day. | remember
| scold, raw morning in Fe when
| I had to get up long before daylight and
| make a fast out of Oliver Hitoh-
‘cock's coffee nad cakes and run for s
(train. Thatatternoon I found myself on
of a European steamer,
| which had stranded high and dry on the
| New Jersey sands. 1 shared the eap-
tain's dinner while the waves came
dashing against the vessel's side with s
| force that threatened to make us food for
| ses wormsat any moment, [came back
| wet and weary that night, but there was
no rest for me yet. To Delmonico’s 1
i as soon as | could change my
| clothing, and partake of a great banquet.
| Such is the life of a newspaper
| He knows not at any time where he will
take his mext meal. He often is sent
| from a wedding to a funeral, or from a
| ball in the Academy to a murder at the
| Five Points. Likean army on the march,
| he must siways have his baggage pre-
| pared, for at five minutes’ notice he may
{be sent several hundred miles where
| hirt-collars and handkerchiefs are un-
‘known. He may be sent to scour the
| bay for missing Jersey shanties, or Long
i leland woods for mysteriously disap-
| pearing personages.
| Not only must the reporter be able to
tell an interesting s . but he must
also, if he wants to earn his salt, haves
| knowledge of the world and possess that
tact and discretion which comes of such
{ knowledge. Young men fresh from some
| inland college, who come to New York
| newspaper offices under the impression
| that reporting is something that they
| can do if they cannot do anything else,
[are quickly undeceived. half of
| the news which is printed in the local
columns every morning is obisined
| from le who do not care to furnish
| it, and who have to be “run down" very
| often with as much skill as the most
cunning of foxes. And for all this the
| reporter is paid but little more than the
| average mechanic. It may
| some of you to learn that ne gets even
that Tout, Jus pe does if he th good for
{ anything. good ones no more
| is mainly due to the fact that there are
| so many bad ones competing with them.
| Yet with ail the drawbacks of long
| and irregular hours, inadequate remun-
| eration and “assignments” that are often
| uncongenial, there is a ahout a
| reporter's life which all who have ever
been members of the profession must
| acknowledge. There is a romance con-
nected with it which does not entirely
die out of even the older members who
now keep to it because they have been
| spoilt for anything else. The new genera-
| tion of metropolitan reporters, which
| differ considerably from the old, is kept
to its work p ly more by this flavor
i of the adventurous than any thing eise.
! The Bohemian spirit of poetry and beer
| has almost died out and the ranks are
| recruited from a class which has less of
| the literary and more of the “be up and
.
| doing” spirit about it. They want an
active life and they find it here. Asthey
grow older, however, they © more
| straight in their desires snd there ave
| onnsequently constant droppings out.
| Either they work their way into
| the editorial chairs or they go into some
| other profession or business and their
| places are filled by new-comers, who,
nowadays, are generally graduat:s of
the leading colleges. So then, here is
To the truthinl reporter
Who never prints but what he oughter;
An example sublime
Of the men of his time.
— George OC. Clement
An English Moor.
The aspect of the moor is totally un-
like that of any other scene; it has an
yrepares one nst surprise on behold-
ing it for the first time. We could not
see it fairly from the village street, but
sauntering one day across a bridge that
lane, we
came saddenly in view of the rich up.
brown and yellow. No for us to
fee! the strong pure air blown across it;
it typified in a glance the “ wind-swept
mooriands of the West,” We would
scent the breath of the strong air, the
heather, the mingled odors of herb and
earth which made the mooriands keen
with fragrance. We feltall im ence
tor a drive out upon the desolate, fas-
cinating region, but Brunt shook his
head. * Not tew-day, zur,” he said,
looking at the shy. “Yew can’t go on
to the moor if it has been rainy.
“Why not, Brunt?”
“Why, sur, it be so moist and soggy
like horses can’t stand in it; they gets
their feet caught tew once, zur.
A day or two later, however, our de-
sire was gratified, and we drove across
the bridge, snd round by a pretty,
peaceful country, the road curvingabout
a hill. We came suddenly upon =
strong, fresh breeze charged with life.
At the same moment we found the sur-
roundings swiftly changing; from a
grcen-embowered lane we em upon
a rocky, trackless hillside, thick with
furze and heather, except where gray
boulders were heaped up. The groun
was soft and elastic, with a Juxuriant
vegetation. Above, the sky was half
hidden by swift-flying clouds that cast
deep shadows on the moor, with shafts
of purple and golden light between.
The moor seemed endless, yet when we
reached a high point we looked down
upon a wide sweep of country, a group
of villages framed in the rich landscape
of two counties, Devon and Somerset.
Church and tower, park and hamlet
lay peacefully below wus, while the
wild, dark upland we were driving
across had a uliar character of its
own, suggesting perhaps some un-
painted picture, some touch of Hardy's
pen, some bit of witcheraft, yet in
reality wholly unfamiliar to our eycs
and minds. A gale was blowing luri-
ously before we reached the lower plains
again, the twilight was fitful enough to
satisfy our ghostliest farci s, the
two orturee figures we p of women
gathering brambles and furze seemed to
close in the scene with a curious t.
Color, fragrance, solitude and storm—
ments, and it emphasized our im
sions of the western country vi
Harper's
.
Like musio, with no presence of the time
When o'er her lite, which love so lo
Clothed in white—her form We seem to
Shine in the glory of 8 new existence,
Detying time snd night,
And from all earth born memories set free;
While we, like uavelers toiling in the dis.
{ation § or
A display of American plants is to
held sanually in Hyde Park, London.
Two 1 men had a sow race |
te Tht phe
as the country editor ssid Ants 19
TY oh © bask fay v
trian—"* Is your lantern nr
That's slipped into the cans hy stealth.
by pi ain Site ately d,
ytwo -One,
egalizing marriage wih 8
wife's aister or a decessed
with the stiliness which is
the store of the man who doesn’t |
vertise. * a
A wasn who offered fou fee.
a
vestment, an applicant bet
the rails of the Boston and Albany r
road .— Rochester Express.
One of the first things which the class
Wait 10 Jeutl 18 S07 mage the ;
remarks after a cumory gianoe
over the paper as it comes from the
he season w
next few months more Shanti any other
part of the year — Keokuk Gate nd
A koff palace, the resi »
A Bow connected
theater by the telephone, and the czare-
vitch and bis wite listen to the music
without having to go to the theater.
That which takes the conceil cut of a
rising youn esman as quick as any
Sar to Be caught ihe act of going
for a cent’s worth: of yeast in his native
village. He feels like Hing bitmstif
in the hands of his friends. — ;
An old miter, who was notorious for
seif-denial, was one day asked why he
was so thin. *1 do not know," said
the miser; © [ have tried various means
for getting fatter, but without >
“Have you tried vi
friend
Miss Tillie Deversus Blake writes of
4 being pretty.”
ee ered oom Tene Saad Yantates
ves ¢ hese 3
but not much ; not much. — New Haven
The Groonville (N.X.) Zool basa |
The Groans Ni who. writes his
Strange to say, up 0
to press we Lear of no
Ee a
A man bad $100 with which he was
told to buy 100 cattle. He went into the
market and found be rouid buy cows
31810 each, steep at 53 cath 2nd HES
a ]
Animal with his $100. How did he
A report
the Mormons ans ital
ulation i is
Shrch in that Feritors Bas lost,
4 .
and that the receipts in that
period were over $1,000,000.
ing much attention ia
RE
ng n : iN
in bloom and some of its
plant was BD : :
carefully
flowers graced the ast.
The a hy tliis season it has
nt ever since,
ever: into flower for the first time since
he wedding day. kl
A ton of gold or. silver
29,166.66 ounces. A ton of is worth
$602,875. A ton of silver,3% the present :
Tae pb Oe EO
A cubic foot of gold wei unds, :
nd is Worth HON av andis
ver
WORE about $10, We. The yalué of gold
coin, bars an lion ino
the world is estimated at $3,500,000,000.
This would make in a mass s twenty-
five foot cube.
A sub-editor and a reporter were
quarreling one day in the editor's room.
“You are a donkey!” said the sub-edi-
tor. * You are another!’ said the
porter promptly. * i
retorted the sub-editor, (Jou are the
greatest donkey I know!” “Gentle-
men, gentlemen I” said the editor, look-
ing up from his desk. “you 1
think, that I am pre-ent.™ The sub-
editor apologized. — Eubbard's’ Advcr-
Loser. "
&
ré-
im
Railroad Statisties.
T ere are some 85.000 miles of rail.
road in the United States operated iy
some 600 different companies. ; There
are o er 20,000stat ons. On these lines
are 1 000 locomotives, 13,000 passenger
cars, 5,000 baggage, mail and express
cars, and some 500,000 freight cars. No
reliable statistics show the number of
men employed on this 85.000 miles of
ro: d, but it is estimated that there are
about 40,000 engineers and firemen,
20.000 passenger train conductors and
brakemen, about the same number «of
, mail and express men, and at
past 50,000 men on freight trains, A'd
station agents and clerks, train dispateh-
ers telegraph operators, men, Yoni.
masters, trackmen, watchmen, 36,
freight laborers, machinists, ear-buili-
ers and repairers, employees in roun!-
houses and shops, and last, ut not
least, presidents, general managers, n-
perintendents, the auditor's depaii-
ment, treasurer's department, ete, a: d
we ha almost 1,000,000 men e:.-
loyed in the railroad business of tie
i ted States. Add to this sie nui
ber of men employed: in
ture of
ting ties, ete., and,