“Make Home Happy.” More than building showy mansi More than dress und fine ei More than domes and lofty steeples, More than station, power and sway, Make your home beth neat and tasteful, Bright and pleasant, always fair, Whore each heart shall rest contented, Grateful for each pleasure there, There each heart will rest contented, Seldom wishing far to roam, Or if roaming, still will ever Cherish happy thoughts of home, Such a home makes men the better, Sare and lasting the control, Home, with pure and bright surroundings, Loaves its impress on the soul, —————— Lights Along the Shere, The wild sea thunders on the shove, The wind blows chill from off the wold. The sea-gulla gather on the cliffs, And prate and chatter of the cold; The hoarse winds blow, the sun has set, And “Life,” I said, “is like the sea Cruel, it casts our wrecks ashore, In tempost and in misery.” A singing voice came up the oliffs, A ohild with blue eves, grave and sweot, And fair hair blown about her face, Sped up the path with flying feet, ““The fishing boats are in I" she eried, “ We've watched for them a day or more” And looking down I saw the nets, And lights were glancing on the shore, H At yastor eve my mother wept, The white gulls flew far out to sea, The great waves boat upon the sand, The surf rolled in so heavily; At yonder door she stands and waits” And singing still, she fitted past, “1 thank Thee, oh, my God I” 1 said, Amalie LaForee, in Soribner’s, A FIERY CHASTENING. stoke, and there were sounds of fes- tivity within. of the principal banking firm of the town, was giving his annual ball. All the select society within several miles was gathered there, and was described THE FRED KURTZ, Editor and ——————————— RAN VOLUME XIV. i tion for myself. I hope I have a free! will, Mr. Howell.” | Miss Grey I" He would hear no more. With a| “Stay—stay, Churlie! mournful wave of his hand he rushed | what her Ohristian name away, through the erowded ballroom, | now.” downstairs into the street. In thegray | And there was dawn he left by the mail train for Liv- | deep tones that arpool, | heart, She stood motionless, where he had * N-no, Unole George; I can't think.” left her. But only for a moment, and! “Was it, Lilian? Can vou remember then she started forward, stretching out | that : her fair, white arms, and eried, faintly, “Yes, ves-—it is! “George, George! don't leave me. |in her music case,” Come back, my love I" Charlie. It was no use. He had gone beyond “It can't be her.” sound of her voice; i heaving sob, she sank on the seat and | buried her face in her hands. Presently footsteps approached her. “1 have been looking for you every- | he put his i where. What is it, Lilian? And the diagonally, “ But her eaves are very | tall gentleman stooped over her. pretty. She was burned" : } Nothing. I felt a little faint, my “ Burned I" came the whispered voice, { lord. ! breathlessly, | He seated himself by her. Half an| Spe felt, at any risk, she must pre- | hour after they entered the ballroom | tang sleep now, rather ‘than admit she | Again, where her varioas partners had | had heard so much. { been searching for her right and left, “Yes, uncle. It was at {and had nearly gone orazy in their | years Ago. i search, She was immediately pounced { upon, but excused herself fulfilling any | more engagements that evening. ® ® * x * “1 think so, too, is? an earnestness in the I ‘member; it is exclaimed little she heard the mur she very beautiful, Charlie ¥" ‘* No, Uncle George. She has a big little finger along his face to a lord; but after that he wouldn't have her. I know, because I heard i he | mamma tell Mrs. Green all about it.” There was a sad, fearful scene inthe | She heard a deep oatehing of his | ballroom that same night. | breath and a hurried step forward, and The gorgeous chandeliers, pendant | then he said | from the ceiling, and adorned with glit- | « Oharlie, would vou like me to give i tering lusters, shed a brilliant hight you that Chinese top I* bought? Very well, then. Go up to my room and get it, and you may set to work and play - | from the dancing caused one of these | { candles to slip from its socket, and it | fell on a lady sitting beneath it. But { the work of a moment, and then the nette, and as undeniably the belle of ! fleecy, white texture she wore was in a ow ball. A face of wild, haunting | cloud of flame, and she rushed hither { and thither frenzied—shrieking in her { agony. The gay crowd of dancers made { way for her, terrorstricken, as if by | magio, some calling for water, others | vainly endeavoring to escape in mortal you have heard what was said. Are you | fear. One or two of the boldest then | ihe Lilian I once knew—the Lilian I | watched their o portunity, flung her left to become the bride of Lord Wals- | down and rolled her in a huge rug, ex- | gyer? Nay, I know you are, and that in the ensuing number of the Bridge stoke Guardian as *“‘ a very brilliant assembly.” ; Lilian Grey was undeniably a co- with it there for half an hour.” Off scampered the boy with a crow of delight, and then the school-room door | was closed behind him. Light steps approached her, and she i felt a light hand on her shoulder. She was quivering all over with emotion,and the great sobs would surge up and have a vent, “ Miss Grey,you have notbeen asleep; beauty, with its flashing eyes and wealth of raven hair, a superbly molded figure, and an air of gueenly grace werg fasci- nations that proved irresistible to the male admirers bukzing around. Mrs. Grey sat watching her all charming daughter, with a complacent smile on her stately features. She was a widow, with comfortable, though not considerable, means, her only child. They lived at Burn- ham house—a Landsome residence standing in its own grounds in th outskirts of the town. gentleman of distinguished appearance, | who was some fifteen years her senior. | After the second time, he stood by her | chair, talking to her, when a handsome, | brown-eyed, brown-haired young man | approached them. ” My next partner,” said Lilian, with | a faint change of color. “ Will you introduce me ?’ observed the tall gentleman. “Certainly. So you have come to claim me, George? This is an old friend of mine, your lordship. Mr, George Howell—Lord Walsover.” They shook hands, and the introdue- | tion was made. His lordship was a widower, with one interesting little girl, and also a large landed property. He was the best matrimonial catch in the county, as every match-making mamms knew; and that he—a man of more than local grandeur—shounld be present at the ball to-night was a mat- ter of much comment. A few minutes after, when the music commenced, Lilian arose, and with George Howell's arm around her waist, floated around the room in the mazy waltz. They stepped by a casement leading into a conservatory, from whence issned the perfume of choice exoties. * Lilian, I wish to speak with you a moment. Will you come in here with me He drew her through the casement, notwithstanding that she hesitated; and after wandering a little way in silence, they sat down. “ Will you let me look at your pro- e?” It hung *by a silken cord from her waist. Without a word, she handed it to him. “R. W., once, twice, three times! Who ir R. W,, Lilian ?" “Lord Walsover,” she replied, gently. “What does it mean?” he asked, ina low tone. She toyed with her fan and was silent. “I thought we had known each other too long, Lilian, for there to be any secrets between us. When I told you of my true, honest love, did you not bid me wait? I am not wealthy, but I have sufficient to provide a comfortable home for you. Ihave waited, snd what do you say to me now?” “That I wever can love youn, George, dear, as vou wish,” she said, tremu- lously. “You must not speak to me so again. You forget that we are not still boy and girl together. We have grown up, (leorge.” “I know it to my cost,” he said, bit- terly. “In the old days you did what youn liked with me, blew hot and cold on me by turns, and, by Jove! you are as bad as ever,” She bit her pretty nether lip, and bent very low over her fan. “You must not hope, George; yon will know why, later on. My present answer is final" . “Yes, I know! Your answers are always final, Lilian, and are subject to changes like the weather. Really, I think I'm a most long-enduring swain.” f- “But I mean it this time. I have reasons.” “What are they ?” “I onghtn’t to tell yet; but you will know soon enough. Iam engaged to be married, George.” “Engaged |” he gasped, beneath his breath. “Yes; to Lord Walsover. lace yesterday.” ittle. He was quiet a few moments, and then he asked in a sad, changed voice, “Do I understand, Miss Grey,, that everythisg is settled ?” - She nodded, without looking up. *“I shall go away,” he said, strangely, after a further pause. “You need not fear my ce any more, Miss Grey, I shall leave by the early morning mail for Liverpool. I shall try to mend a broken heart in a foreign land.” And he rose as if to go. “Oh, do not take it to heart so, George,” she murmured, and her little white-gloved hand crept up entreatingly to his arm. ** Don’t hurry away; there are others as beautiful as I.” “Beautiful!” he exclaimed, turning on her fiercely. ‘‘Lilian Grey, yon have sold yourself and your beauty for wealth, rank—to the highest bidder! Have I loved you for beauty’s sake? Never! I knew that within that hard shell of worldliness, which has fed it- self on flattery of your beauty, there lay a kernel of goodness and womanli- ness, for which I was content to wait. Your beauty is your curse, and you will find it out in time.” As he tooka step or two away, she stood up, her flushed face and burning eyes turned to him. “Stay, Mr. Howell I” she said, haught- -ily; “what my beauty is to me concerns myself alone. I thank you for your good opinion of me, but I don’t require it. You are incensed because I have only done what the world approves, what It took And she sighed a tinguishing the flames, : you remember George Howell still.” They picked her up and carried her Bat her face was buried on her arms, away, a charred mass of quivering, ago- | 4 before, and the tears were flowing silently. He continued, tenderly and gravely: “Do you remember I said I was very | patient, Lilian ?—1 could wait and hope? | And do you remember what answer I asked you for that night in the conser- vatory ? now, my love ?’ And he bent over her, and gently tried to raise her head. * No, George,” she sobbed; “Iam 1g contortions were heart-rending, and vet after days of doubt and infernal torture, and months of nursing, she re- covered—recovered in health, strength, body, in everything but one thing— her beauty was gone forever. For the poor sufferer was Lilian Grey! * * * * Four years passed, and people said that times were hard. Robertson & Co,, the great bankers of Bridgestoke, | 41tered since my socident. You haven't had failed and brought ruin on hun- | oon me. You would not ask me if you dreds of the confiding householders of | yogi) . fare that town. Among these was Mrs. Gray, of Burnham house. Mr. Robertson bad been a friend of her husband, and | iq about your beauty, Lilian? after his death had offered to manage | 1 : and invest her fortune for her. Un- | known to her, he had absorbed it into his banking business, and after the final crash had passed, scarcely sufficient was retrieved to secure to her and her | daughter a bare pittance for life. | Greatly was Mrs. Gray distressed when | they were compelled to leave Burnham | house and take up their abode in ob- | secure lodgings in the town. | Needless to say, after Lilian Gray's accident, nothing further was heard from Lord Walsover. He did not even trouble to inquire whether she recov- ered or not. A great change came her with their reverses of fortune, and But, then, the soft, wistful finding that at times her mother | oj up at him through a mist of scarcely had the necessities of life, she pocketed the remnants of her pride and started as a music teacher. It was up- hill work at first, and she had to endure many half-concealed sneers at her | former arrogance, but she lived them down, and after a while gathered a decent little connection for herself, But Mrs. Grey fell ill, and despite all Lilian’s endeavors it became a difficult | yoo matter to provide the comforts for a | 4,4 he told her so; and when he s ck person out of her slender means. | pressed her’ for his answer, she whis- She slaved all day at her various pupils pered, * Yes, George, if you will have residences, and then set np half the | me.” night, tending the invalid lovingly. And \ yet the rent went back, and the surly | { the sheltering arms, Your face would always be beautiful to me, Then give me your answer before I see you, love.” He drew the music stool toward him, and sat down beside her with his arm round her waist. “Never! You shall know whom yon would marry, George.” And she raised her head bravely. | There certainly was a change, A big, | dull scar down one side of the face, and cutting into the curved upper lip; the eyebrows grown again, but not so finely penciled as of yore; and the dark lashes OVEr | were when he last saw her. | and the chastening finger of sorrow had left a light on the pale features sweeter and calmer than pride could give. And George Howell, as he gazed on her, forgot the scars and all that was appertaining to that fiery hastening, landlord was inexorable, and if it were | pot paid within three days out they must go. In this extremity Lilian bethought| , of asking a highs favor at one place | ““ Half over the world, my love,” he hae a attended, ” This yu Where | eried, merrily; “and in luck’s way, too. wealthy retired merchant, named Price, | a Nearly half the quarter had ron; she! would explain her dire necessity, and | ask to be accommodated with that and | the remaining half quarter in advance. Modestiy she stated her case to Mrs. Price, a stout, florid-looking woman, of rather coarse manners and appear i how she often wondered where he had you will.” | looking for her; and he laughed, and ance. But this worthy lady replied, with | some show of surprise, that it was im- | possible she could accede to Miss Grey's | request—that it was a most unheard of | roceeding, and where wonld her house- | Bold allowance be by the middle of the | quarter if every one wished to be paid | in advance? She should have thought | that a young woman, who at one time | had occupied the position of a lady, | would have had more breeding than to ask such a thing. And with this ill- natured sneer, Mrs. Price swept from | the room. | Smothering her indignation and her | sobs, and feeling doubly the burden of | her troubles, Lilian repaired to her | school-room to give her pupils their music lessons. Only one child was there, a pretty little girl with flaxen hair. “Oh, Miss Grey, Uncle George has come! And he has brought me such a beautiful doll! It can turn head over heels, and can squint, and he says it came all the way from Japan, where the tea-trays are made, you know.” But this gratuitous information did not secure the attention expected; and a few minutes after the child stum- bling through her * scales” In a most reckléss and unchecked fashion, as far as Lilian was concerned. When half an hour of this sort of thing bad passed, the child got down off the stool without a word, : “Yes, Fanny; you may go,” eaid Lilian, rousing herself. *‘ Bend Charlie to me for his lesson.” Away went little Fanny, and Lilian was left to her reflections alone. Some minutes elapsed, and no *‘ Char- lie” appeared. Very bitter were her thoughts, and the tears kept stealing to her eyes, how- ever much she tried to hold them back. At last they welled up so fast they top- pled over their brims and rolled down her cheeks. She buried her poor, scarred face on her arms, leaning on the desk, and gave way to a little ¢“ weep” over her cares. Presently she heard voices approach- ing, and little Charlie entered the room, accompanied by a gentleman, both talk- ing vivaciously; but they stopped as soon as their eyes fell upon her. Then she heard the gentleman ask in whis- pered tones that sent a strange thrill through her: “Who is the lady, Charlie ?” % That is Miss Grey, my music teacher. She is going to give me my lesson, Uncle George.” €“ She seems asleep.” : With that tear-stained face Lilian dare i i i i | i } all sensible girls in my place posi after they were married. And when Mn. disturbed the tete-a-tete she was con- had taken. That George Howell—-her cousin only, in his pockets, should already have dering. And she was And so they were married some three months afterward, and Burnham house there happily. A cloud hovered over them a short time after, when Mrs. Grey died, but it soon passed away. And in years to come often would Lilian, when, nestling in the arms of her stalwart husband, as he stroked her scarred cheek, whisper in his ear her night when he started for distant lands she had suffered and come forth the purer from her fiery chastening, An interrupted Wedding, Uniontown (Ky.) society has been given a shock from which it will take a long time to recover. The trouble cnl- minated at a wedding. The about-to- be bride was young, refined, and, as her masculine acquaintances aver, beauti- ful. The groom had been introduced into the best circle of Uniontown peo- ple a few months before, and had com- pletely won the confidence of the young woman's parents, He was handsome, scholarly and of fascinating manners, A week or so ago the friends of the bride met at the church where the cere- mony was to be performed, and soon the bride herself entered, with flowing veil and rosy cheeks, The clergyman, whose services had been secured for the occasion, eyed the bridegroom closely, and when the latter drew near the good man dropped his book as though both amazed and horrified. “I cannot marry this man,” he said, recovering quickly. “Why not, sir?’ asked the bride's father, riting in anger from his seat and moving toward the clergyman, “ Because I married this man to an- other woman at Evansville, Ind., less than a year ago.” Some of the ladies fainted, the bride- groom-elect gesticulated violent pro- lapsed. Investigation showed that the charge was well founded. The ring of the street car bell is not look up toshow them that she was not, sometimes fare warning. / THE FARM AND HOUSEHOLD, A Tenie for Fawlis During the winter season it will be | found a very good plan, twice or thrice a week, to drop an even spoonful of common cayenne pepper into say two | gallons of water given to the fowls for their daily drink, This is a good tonie, and it works very kindly toward warm ing the blood on“ehilly days. Another excellent provision is to place at the bottom of the pail or vessel containing their drink a bit of assafetida. This | impregnates the fluid with its tonic qualities and it is verv wholesome for fowls in the wintry days. Clover Hay for Harses, Clover hay is very nutritious food for horses, and when well cured and put up so as to be free from dust and mold, may be fed with entire safety, The principal objection to its use lies in the great difficulty which attends its curing and preservation, found in the fact that sometimes the second crop excites in horses an unusual and exhausting flow of saliva. When it is better to dispense with its use en tirely, so far as the horses are concerned; but otherwise it is a good and safe food. Some Advantages of the Silo, A silo properly constructed will not burn up, rot down, blow over or wash away. It will require no insurance and need no repairs. It can be filled in any state of the weather. If farm. ers are driven out of the harvest field their time in filling a silo. A great variety of substances can be preserved lin a silo that cannot be cheaply dried *0 #8 to insure their preservation. During many seasons it 1s extremely difficult to cure fodder so that it will not lose its leaves and become black. It is difficult to dry corn fodder #0 as to insure the preservation of the stalks without causing the leaves to become vory hard and crisp. When clover is | dried in the hot sunshine a large pro- | portion of the juices it contains passes off by evaporation. ceived in the air a mile away, Every | chemist and physician knows that | plants dried in the open air and nnder able properties. All know that the tables are better preserved by the pro cess of canning than by that of drying It will be eaten by all kinds of animals at an earlier age. It requires less mastication, Times, v { AT dO How te Treat Animals, Another individual attempts by run. ning and yelling to cateh his cow or cows. Why do these naturally gentle animals ran away from him? Because they remember full well that on former ocensions when he has succeeded in catching them a series of blows from some heavy cudgel has been their re Wass i, Is there not some better way of Was sas cow, just behind the junction of the horns, which is commonly full of dust, short hairs and the like, causing the It is a to have the spot scratched, and since from its location the animal cannot to scratching the hollow spot, w i shy, offer her from one hand a nubbin of corn, while with the other hand you gently scratch the particular spot in In a very short time, whenever you go into pas- ture, the whole herd will come to you to have their heads scratched, and you will soon be satisfied that it is as easy | to have them follow you as to resort to American Cul | tivator, Home-Made Fertilizers. An English gardener says: I have long had great faith in foot as a ma- pure, and have here a covered box placed near the castle into which the sweep puts all the soot from the chim- handy and useful we find it. | erop. This really means running a harrow or rough rake over it, and it | mixes the soot nicely, and the result is | always satisfactory in the erop. Last | year our onion crop showed unmistaka- ble signs of the maggot. 1 immedi- | Heavy rains set in just after, and soon | the onions were on their legs and the maggots were gone. The rain water into a tank and is heavily charged with soot. This is handy to the flower gar- | den, and we find it capital for watering flower beds in summer, The park one | people here call “old to r"—why I know { not, but it means a lot of old, coarse | grass—a good dressing of soot in the | spring, and it soon gave place to fine, young, fresh grass, and ever since the deer and Highland cattle may be found at pasture on this brow, While I am on this subject of home- made manures, allow me to mention a few others, and the next shall be ashes, more especially wood ashes, This is | invaluable in a garden if kept dry till used. We all know what a terrible plague *“ the club ” is among the Bras. sica tribe; well, if the seed is sown on the surface and covered with ashes, and at planting time a hole, with a large dibber, is made in the ground and filled with the ashes, inserting the plant into this, I have never known the club to trouble one, and it is the very best thing to dress lawns and meadow lands, encouraging the best grasses and olo- vers. In a woody country like this there is plenty of charcoal dust at the bottom of the heap; this is most useful for potting and fruit-tree border mak- ing; some say it makes grass extra dark in color—that I cannot positively be sure of, although I rather side with the belief. Lime is not nearly enough used in the gardens. Every bit of ground should, in my opinion, be limed once in five years, It Kills slugs and insects and lichen on trees, and acts chemi- cally on the ground, and is often bet- ter than manure for certain crops. I remember once seeing ground dressed in the gray lime produce barley fifty-seven pounds per bushels, Horse-hoof parings make a most excel- lent manure for potting pines, vines, pelargoninms, ete., and one can easily make arrangements with the nearest blacksmith to save them. When one reads of horn shavings being run after, I often think there are as good at the village forge. Bones are most valuable in a garden; they decompose but slowly, keep the ground open, and are invalu- able in vine border making. The champion bench of grapes grown at Edinburgh some years ago, weighing over twenty-six pounds, did the clever heaps of bones in the border, A gar where, but the bones were saved; these, bottom of two vases on the terrace wall, two good plants of om Thumb pelar soventeen feet six inches in eiroumfer neo, of water, Hecipes, ArrLE Brow, in cold water over a slow fire; when soft, skin and core. Mix with a pint of | sifted white sugar, beat the whites of { twelve eggs to a stiff froth, then add to the apples and sugar. Putin a dessert dish and ornament with myrtle. It will | be found much better if frozen. Mux Toasr,—Cut your bread rather | thick, about three-quarters of an ineh, allowing a slice for each person; toast | it quickly before a bright fire to a rich | brown ; | butter each slice and pile into the bowl jit is to be served in; for five persons {take a quart of milk, boil with a tea | spoonful of salt, and when at the full [boil add a heaping teaspoonful butter, creamed with a light one of stir the milk until it is as thick | 3 | flour ; i i 3 LS EE A RL NS SENOS THE AMERICAN NEWSPAPER, i | Extracts from Charles Dudley Warner's Paper, Hond Before the American Mecial Melence Association, The newspaper isa private enterprise, { owner. Whatever motive may be given {out for starting a newspaper, expecta {tion of profit by it is the real one, | whether the newspaper is religious, The ex- | to ideas of * causes” without regard to (rule, Commonly, the cause, the sect, { the party, the trade, the delusion, the | idea, gets its newspaper, its organ, its | advocate, only when some individual { thinks he can see a pecuniary return in { establishing it. | The chief function of the newspaper {is to oolleot and print the news. The { second function is to elucidate the news, | and comment on it, and show its rela- { tions. A third fanction is to furnish | reading matter to the general publie, | Nothing is so difficult for the man. {ager as to know what news is; the in- stinet for it is a sort of sixth sense. | To discern out of the mass of materials collected not only what is most likely to interest the public, but what phase {and aspect of it will attract most atten. tion, and the relative importance of it; to tell the day before or at midnight what the world will be talking sbout in { the morning, and what it will want the | fullest details of, and to meet that want j in advance, requires a peculiar talent | immediately. | There is always some topic on which the | PmaPasu on Murrox.—Take any | public wants instant information, It is { lean mutton, cut it in small pieces with- | easy enongh when the news is de- | out any fat or gristle, boil it down into | veloped, and everybody is discussing it, | a nice broth, Then take out the meat. | for the editor to fall in. But the sne- | Wash a teacapful of rice nicely, and boil | cess of the news printed depends upon {it for a little while in the broth until | a proapprehension of all this. Searcely {it begins to look transparent. All |less important than promptly seizing grease to be skimmed off. Then take a | and printing the news, is the attractive | mutton chop or two, take out the bone, | arrangement of it, its effective presenta- | | cut in dice. Boil the whole together | tion to the eye. Two papers may have | | with a whole onion and a little pepper | exactly the same important intelligence, | and salt for a quarter of an hour. Berve | identically the same dispatches; the one | without straining. The same receipt | will be called bright, attractive, “newsy,” {i does for beef, chicken, turkey or rabbit, Cuocorare Pores. —Beat stiff { whites of two eggs, and teat in gradu | scrape fine one ounce and a half pre | pared cocoa, dredge it with flour, mix- ing in the flour well ; add this gradn ally to the eggs and sugar; stir the | whole very hard. Cover the bottom of ia pan with a sheet of white paper ; place on it thin | Pile a portion of the chocolate mixture on top of each, smoothing with a knife {wet in cold water, sift a little sugar | over each. Bake in a quick oven a few | minutes. When cold loosen them from | the paper with a broad knife. Cooke Prans.—The usual way to { cock pears for pickling is to make the syrap of vinegar, sugar and spices, and drop the fruit into it and boil it until it is tender. But if the pears are large iand hard the syrup bolls away, and {there is danger of the outside of the pear becoming too soft to keep its hard, These difficalties may be done | away with by simply steaming the pears | unit! you can pierce them easily with a broowm-splint. Then have the syrup hot | and drop them in and let them come to {a boil. These pickles will keep in un- sealed jars, but if von have plenty of | canned certainly retain a peculiar fresh. Dess, Successful Skin-Grafiing, Some months ago we made reference to a case of skin-grafting in this city, | may now state that the operation has | proved wholly successful and the high- | est expectations have been realized. It | will be remembered that the person { operated on was Mary Foster, a little {girl of ten years, who lives in Mill | street, who had the misfortune to | plunge into and overturn on herself a | boiler of very hot water. The upper | part of her body was badly sealded, | particularly her right arm, which was { wholly divested of skin from the { shoulder to the tips of the fingers. The the great discharge from it was neces. | sarily very weakening, It was at this state of the case that skin-grafting operation, which he per- | formed on Sunday morning, May 1, | calling into service four or five young | men who volunteered to take part in the interesting case of surgery. These young men bared their arms, and one at a time sat close to the bedside of the suffering child, while Dr. Deyo care- fully cut from one arm of each man the | grafts of skin and quickly placed them, while yet full of vitality, on the ex- | posed, quivering flesh on the scalded arm of the little sufferer. Some of *‘the boys" had sore arms for a few days, but this was little thought of, | and they now have the satisfaction of knowing that their self-denial was not in vain. The second day after the operation was performed it was found that about three-fourths of the trans. planted grafts of skin had adhered and taken root, and the little white specks slowly grew in circumference till they covered the intervening space, and joining together gradually began to afford that protection from air of which the injured arm was in need. The arm was pretty well healed in six weeks, and the child was able to be about, but since then she had in play twice hurt the still tender limb—once in the latter part of June and once in July, the latter time being struck with apiece of sod, which raised a very large blood blister. The set-backs have been overcome, however, and the arm may now be said to have got completely well—just as good as ever. There is not a cicatrix in its whole length--not as much as there is on thearms of some of the boys who suppliel grafts—and the skin is as soft and smooth as any of the rest on the girl's body. It only differs from the rest in being somewhat red in color, but this redness is gradu ally passing away, while the girl uses the arm with perfect freedom and seems to have in it the normal quantity of strength, — Newbury (N. Y.) Journal, The Whirling of the Earth, The earth's eastward rotation, to- gether with the increase in rate from the poles to the equator, has a tendency to throw the waters of streams against their western banks sufficiently to pro. duce quite marked effects in many parts of the world. It is noticeable in large rivers where the deposits are earthy and the pitch of the water is small and in the direction of the master, the bank against which the water strikes the more forcibly being high and steep, while the other is low. The effect has been observed in many steams of Europe and Asia, and on the rivers intersecting the low land of the Atlantic border of the United States. A young clergyman in Iowa recently married a couple in the following brief manner; “Do you want one another?” Both replied yes, ‘Well, then, have one another,” { the other dull and stupid, AMERICAN AND POREIGN JOURNALS, In particularity and comprehensive. | ness of news collecting it may be ad. | mitted that the American newspapers for a time led the world. I mean in the | picking up of local intelligonce and the ed 27, a 1881. news. It is of recent date, Horace Greeley used to advise the country edi- tors to give small space to the general news of the world, bat to cultivate as- siduously the home flald, to glean every possible detail of private life in the cirenit of the county and print it, The advies was shrewd for a metropoli- tan editor, and it was not without its profit to the country editor. It was founded on a deep knowledge of human nature, namely, upon the fact that peo- ple read most eagerly that which they already know, if it is about themselves or their neighbors, if it is a report of something that they have been con. cerned in, a lecture they have heard, a fair, or festival, or wedding, or funeral, or barn-raising they have attended. The result is column after column of short paragraphs of gossip and trivi. alities, chips, chips, chips. Mr. Bales is contemplating erecting a new counter in his store; his rival opposite has a iting her cousin, Miss Smith, of Boz rah; the sheriff has painted his fence; Farmer Brown has lost a cow; the emi- nent member from Neopolis has put an Lon one end of his mansion and a mortgage on the other. Oa the face of it nothing is so vapid and profitless as columns after columns of this reading, These * items” have very little interest except to those who already know the facts. But those concerned like to see them in print, and take the newspaper on that account. Aretic Explorations, Every once in a while a newspaper breaks into declamation over the perils of Arctic navigation. Referring to the fact that it is now two years sivee the departure of the Jeannette and that nothing has been beard of her, the Bpringfield Republican remarks: **The search for the golden fleece fades into flat prose beside the dar ng and subtle sentimentalism which sustains these re- great mystery of geography.” In the first place it shows a weak head to assume yet that an evil fate has be fallen the Jeanette. Bhe was provis. ioned for three years, and other sup plies were cached at St Michael's to | news is made important by the mere fact of its rapid transmission over the wire, { The English journals followed, speedily | overtook and, some of the wealthier { ones perhaps, surpassed the American | in the use of the telegraph and in the | presentation of some sorts of local | news; not of casualties, and small eity iand neighborhood events, and social | gossips (until very recently), but cer- { tainly in the business of the law-courts and the crimes and mishaps that come | within police and legal supervision. | The leading papers of the German press, | though strong in correspondence and in | discussion of affairs, are far less compre- | hensive in their news than the Ameri. can or the English. The French jour | nals we are accustomed to say are not newspapers st all. And this is troe as | we use the word, Until recently noth- ing bas been of importance to the { Frenchman except himself; and what | | happened outside of France, not directly affecting his glory, his profit or his pleasure, did not interest him. Henoe, { one could nowhere so securely intrench | himself against the news of the world, {as behind the barricade of the Paris | journals. But let us not make a mis- {take in this matter. We may have {more to learn from the Paris jour. {nals than from any others. If they | do not give what we call news, local | | news, events, casualties, the happenings | | of the day, they do give ideas, opinions, they do discuss politics, the social drift, they give the intellectual ferment of Paris, they supply the material that Paris likes to talk over—the badinage of the boulevard, the wit of the salon, the sensation of the stage, the new movement in literature and in polities; this may be important or it may be trivial; it is commonly more interesting than much of what we call news. : WHAT 18 NEws? What is news? What is it that an | intelligent public should care to hear of and talk about? Run your eye down the columns of your journal. There was a drunken squabble last night in a | New York groggery; there is a petty but earefully elaborated village scandal about a foolish girl; a woman acci- dentally dropped her baby out of a fourth story window in Maine; in Con- necticut a wife, by mistake, got into the samo train with another woman's husband; a child fell into a { well in New Jersey; there is a column about a peripatetic horse-race which exhibits, like a circus, from city to city; a laborer in a remote town in Pennsylvania had a sunstroke; there is the edifying dying speech of a mur. derer, the love-letter of a suicide, the set-to of a couple of Congressmen, and there are columns about the gigantic war of half a dozen politicians over the appointment of a sugar-gauger, Grant- ed that this pabnium is desired by the reader, why not save the expense of transmission by having several columns stereotyped, to be reproduced at proper intervals? With the date a it would always have the original value and perfectly satisly the demand, if a demand exists, for this sort of news, This is not, as you see, a description of your journal; it is a description of only one portion of it. It is a complex and wonderful creation. Every morn- ing it is a mirror of the world, more or less distorted and imperfect, but such a mirror as it never had held up to it be- fore. But consider how oD space is taken up with mere trivialities and val. garities, under the name of news. And this evil is likely to continue and in- crease until news-gatherers learn that more important than the reports of acei- dents and casualties is the intelligence of opinioms and thoughts, the moral and intellectual movements of modern life. A horrible assassination in India is instantly telegraphed; but the pro- gress of snch a vast movement as that of the Wahabee revival in Islam, which may change the destiny of great prov- inces, never gets itself put upon the wires, We hear promptly of a land- slide in Switzerland, but only very slowly of a political agitation that is changing the constitution of the repub- lie. It should be said, however, that the daily newspaper is not alone re- sponsible for this. It is what the age and the community where it is pub- lished make it. So far as I have ob- served the majority of the readers in America peruse eagerly three columns about a mill between an English and a naturalized American prize-fighter, but will only glance at a column report of a debate in the English parliament which involves a radical change in the whole policy of England; and devours a page about the Chantilly races, while it ig- nores a paragraph concerning the sup- pression of the Jesuit schools, NEIGHBORHOOD GOSSIP, Perhaps the most striking feature of the American newspaper, especially of the country weekly, is its enormous de- velopment of local and neighborhood railway provide for the emergency of the aban- It the vessel and her entire company should disappear and leave no trace. Ounly once in modern times has a whole expedition been lost, and the fate of Sir J i Franklin's companions was due to the fact that he had no steam power and that the art of traveling on the ice had not then been reduced to the perfection which the genius of Bir Leopold McClintock afterward developed. Indeed, under the improved oon- dition of later day Arctic explom- tions, it may be guestioned whether NUMBER 42, FOR THE LADIES, The Fillet, “Tt is strange,” said a dealer in new articles of fashion, * that the vice of drunkenness should contribute anything to the adornment of women, but the origin of the fillet was among old topers, The fillet eame back into use with the fashion that superseded the heavy plaits of hair, the innumerable curls and the Suge pully with thestyle | ad of arranging the hair so that it would show the general contour of the head, Although the new fashion was said to be an imitation of the Grecians, yet it is conceded thet women cannot do bet. ter than imitate the most beautiful na- tion of the world, The fillet came buck with the low classic eoil, for bound | around the bead it defined more Joints take” “BE ihe liberty I 20 when he ec nviet remarked State prison * | its shape and brought out in effect {all the slumbering warmth that might exist in dark or light hair,” “But what is a fillet?” “Don't you remember Popés line, ‘A belt her waist, a fillet binds her {bair? It was the original disdem | worn by kings, and in those days it was woven of silk thread or wool, and was sometimes embroidered in gold and set | with precious stones. As lazury in- | creased it beeame larger until it became the golden disdem. The fashionable fillet of to-day is not necessarily of gold or precious stones, but some of the dames of our millionaires will probably appear st the balls this winter with s {forvune in a fillet. For the masses | however, there are offered pretty bands tongues of fireh ing heavens, as * bright faces of the twinkl It was only a 850 stable, cos Worth of hay, but th x rior fo WAY really couldn i Free Prem, a | of faceted steel and brilliant jets vary- {ing in width from a fourth to thres- { fourths of an inch, The steel fillets or | bands are usually worn singly; that is, a single band is considered sufficient ornament for the hair; but in jets the fillets are made in double and triple as well as single bands, those consisting of mora than one piece being joined at the ends. The pieces converge where they are concealed by the bair, and di- verge at the crown, The ornaments are almost universally becoming. The in- teresting point about them is that Bacchus invented them for wear in the morning after his revels. His followers complained so much of their heads after a bout with him that he devised the fillet to relieve the after effects of the wine, and taught the old topers to bind it tightly about their heads so as to cause intense compression. This is the origin of the most becoming head- dress ever known, and women with low, broad brows, oval faces, clean-cut fea- tores, and general Grecian cutlines must sing the praise of * Bacchus, ever fair and young.'"—New York Sun. A few drops of mariatic seid on a of pulverized will produce carbonic acid gas. Athaatis cota gisnlied wiles being t 1, the former is L138 and the latter | 1.02. = i Fashion Notes. Among the greater variety of forms A new model for a wrap designed by la mound-builder’s pipes are those Worth has groups of shirring set some of animals like the elephant and mas. distance apart at the neck, and is plaited ' todon. Ee throughout. The material is of bro-| The liver and respirstory s are cade, the lining is of violet plush, snd | evel in an inverse ratio, the liver there is anything more perilous in un- dertakiog a voyage in search of the | pole than in embarking in the fall of the | year on an overladen wheat carrving | schooner at Chicago for Buffalo. Non. | denskjold made his great voyage from | sea to sea without losing a life. Even | on board the Polaris, a vessel ill-pre- i pared for everything exoept mutinyand | disorder, with two rival captains who | were sailors and a commander who was | not, the only men who did not come | back safe and sound after all those ro- | mantic adventures was the chief, Dur. | ing the search for the Franklin expe- dition, which was carried on by a large fleet first and last, and was kept up for many vears, although vei] vessels were abandoned, very fow lives were sacrificed—probably not more than wonld have been lost in the ordinary naval service covering an equal perio | of time. Neither the ice, nor the snow, nor the cold, nor the sea has been the explorer’s worst enemy, but the scurvy, and the process of canning meat and vegetables offers an excellent means of defense against this scourge, It issaid that Nordenskjold bids defiance to the disease. As it is too soon by a year to give up the Jeaunette, so long as any. thing remained unexplored, it is too soon to talk about the futility of ex- | ploration. We know no more what we | may find or to what use we may put the knowledge to be gained than Christo- her Columbus knew of America when ie sailed from Palos to find a new pass- age to the East Indies. IN The Fat Woman, Speaking of the recent death in In diana of Mrs. Craig, known as Baraum's fat woman, the New York Sun says: Dr. Oscar Kahn, who was doorkeeper at Barnum's museum, and acts in the same capacity at Bunnell's, remembers “There is a big differgnee in fat women,” he said. “Some are very con- trary and hard to get along with; but Rosy was very sociable and willing. We were very good friends. She was the only daughter of an Indiana farmer of ordinary size, and when Barnum got her she was about twenty-five years old and weighed 425 pounds. It is not true that she was the A woman in the United States; neither was she tall, as the account says. She was only about four and a half feet tall, and that made her such a good fat woman, for she seemed as big aronnd as she was tall. She was very fond of her meals. When the fire in the museum took place I rushed to help Rosy, and a lot of us managed to get her out: She was eat- ing at the time the fire broke ont, and all she saved of her things was a spoon and one potato, “ About a year afterward she married Craig. He was not a big man, but he seemed to like bigness in others. The account is wrong in saying that he was a big man, too. He came from Indiana, and took her around and exhibited her at fairs. The last time I saw her was in Troy in 1870 or 1871, when Barnum's cirens was there. She and her husband cams to the circus, They had been do- ing very poor business and were hard up. We took up a collection for them. After that I guess she got out of the show business and went back to Indi- ana to live. It has been ten or eleven years since she was in New York. 1 guess she was about forty-five years old.” Speaking of the claim that Mrs, Craig was the largest woman in the country, Mr, Starr, of Bunnell’s mu- seum said : “ Mrs. Annie Battersby, of Frankfort, Pa., is doubtless the largest woman. She weighs nearly 600 pounds, and is about six feet tall. She came from Portland. Her maiden name was Perking. She married a living skele- ton named John Battersby. He was a tall man, with a Jarge bony frame, but he weighed only sixty pounds. He had a long beard and whiskers, and had no use of his lower limbs, It looked very funny to see her pick him up and carry him in her arms like an infant. At length Battersby began to pick up until he fattened out of the living skel- eton line of business. Mrs. Battersby is about forty years of age. Ada Briggs, now in Europe with the midgets, weighs 520 pounds, and is five feet tall. Mary Cannon, who is with a traveling show, is bearded as well as fat. She weighs 385 pounds, and is five feet ten inches tall. The claim that Mrs. Oraig was the largest woman in the country can- not be substantiated ; but she certainly i i i | { her. there is a jet fringe for & border and a | being where respiration is most i feeble. : Bilk stockings must invariably mateh | That fish sleep Las been well do- the toilet wherewith they are worn, un- | termined by observations conducted by less the dress be black, when avy shade | Dr. Hermes and others in the Berlin of red is in good Site, If the blsck | aquarium. So dress is trimmed with gay colors or em- | ion, garlie their broidered with flowers in their nataral | nm, ar 2h lock Cue hen hues, black silk open-worked stockings | (hose oil and contain mueh phos- are then appropriately ne Bo gen- | phorie acid. eral wear, stockings of pale silver gray, | : viained 4 ss an maiive, dos-color aud. deep dial, Molueas A yart of Sonth ia the a’ more ready market than the more fancy- | is used to forward digestion, as opium colored, profusely decorated styles, ! produces sleep. In the mstterof coiffure, the dressing | Some spe of the bair still remains simple. The Secdstoa and the dressing of the hair over the Jerk when ripe. Mr. HC forehead is left to the taste of the | ; wearer, as are also the equally fashion- | perature of the moth eave, Ken- able modes of arranging the small coils ' tucky, to be fifty-four degrees Fahren- of hair in the back, a la Greque, a la ' heit in summer. For those who have been suffocated i i when they have just about three min- | of ammonia has been utes in which to “do np” their tresses, ' efficacious remedy. as one simple twist of the wrist is ali | In & recent note Mr. W. T. Blanford that is necessary to produce a Bernhardt | gocoribed the distribution of land in the coiffare of the most approved design. | 1 ien Peninsula und the intervention Young ladies are seen stylishly of a vast plain traversed by the Indus, dressed in black surah costumes, with | Guages ani Bramaputra. This pla tunic slightly draped and close-fitting | has generally considered to ha Jersey bo ice of black stockinet. Over | been the basin of a sea, but in this is always worn a fichu, eape or | the opinion of the the evidence scarf of black Spanish lace, which con- ' advanced does not to contain a vor of the sea having at occapied fe ceals in a ekgire the severely pista ‘single fact in fa appearance of this waist. With this § logical period dress are worn broad-brimmed hats of | Gey Ee or eastern of black cactus lace straw, trimmed with plain. The tract is evidently a depres- feathers and deep red roses, with corset sion area filled up to above the level of bouquet to match. Long Danish kid the sea through a long period of time. gloves, or those oo fine Wak sill; : whi bh reach to the elbows, are drawn His Honer and the Small Boy. th tside of the Jersey sleeves. ; - over the outside of the 3 «Bub. said his b ahh a over the desk to look down upon a red- No bangles are worn. A pretty school-dress is made of beige headed rat of twelve, “do Yonexpeot to material dotted with seal-brown and combined with a plain beige fabric to | match. The skirt of the plain beige | has a deep fluting of the sume. The overskirt forms two shawl points in | front, and is draped over the left side | with two pointed lappets loosely tied | together. The deep jacket waist isalso of plain beige, but with a bias shirred border of the dotted fabric, and a col- lar and facings of the same. The tight | sleeves have a prettily-devised facing | opening to show a tiny fluting, which is | of the plain material, while the facing itself is dotted. A novelty in lingerie is a graceful fichu cat in deep Vandykes and richly embroidered around the long points with clusters of the darkest roses and small black poppies with golden hearts The edges are finished with gathered rufiles of black guipure lace, with a high plaited frill of the same lace about the neck, These fichus are worn without a vestige of white about the throat. Beautiful fichus in this style are also made of black satin, hand-plaited in pomegranate blossoms and pale yellow star blossoms, and for evening wear are those of tinted or white surah, embroidered in white Mar guerites, outlined with pearl beads and edged with frills of pearl-beaded Auril- lac lace. A stylish bodice for a satin dress is made cuirass-shape with deep points front and back. The edge of the basque is trimmed with three plaits, wide on the hips and narrower toward the points. These drapings are to be em- broidered with be ive small bands edged with bows of satin, trimmed with the beading, alternate with the drapings and form facings down the front of the bodice, which is out low a la Vierge, and veiled with Spanish blonde lace. A straight Medici eollar in satin and a high fraise of plaited lace are added. The tight sleeves, reach- ing below the elbow, have deep turn- over cuffs matching the straight collar and lace fraise in shape and finish. er e——————— The Rev. William Arthur, father of the President, was remarkable for his resdiness in debate. Some years ago, at a meeting of the old Hudson River Baptist association, the Rev. Mr. Wal. den, who had been settled in the West but had recently taken a church at Troy, said: “I can tell the brethren that if they think that any sort of min- be sent to State prison for life?” “ Y.yvith, thir,” was thing for a boy apple and hi left eye?’ “Jt , thir.” “ How «I throwed at a b-boy, an’ it went t'other way.” “Throwed at a boy, eh? Su you had killed the boy?” oe “ Yith, thir; I'd like to kill him, ‘cause he clubbed my dog.” i His honor looked wnder the desk for an imagi umbrella, and it was a long minute before he up and said: “* Yours is a serious case.” : “Yith, thir.” fea “ You must be checked in your young career. If you will assanlt an alderman now, what wouldn't you do when you are a man - «Yith, thir, I wouldn't.” 7 “1 don’t want to send you to the workhouse, and yet I feel that you muss be made to respect the law. hadn't you better take care fg boy ?" . Bijah led him into the corridor shut the door. What Ee baad aun i of shin an gone around the a Those who saw him said that he looked mfiled the back of his neck down to his heels, and that he was in a great hurry. Detroit Free Press. E i ———— The Place to OE . > A few days ago a lot of Carron youngsters were discussing wi would be the best place to steal wi "TH tell ye the pliceto “uy ye a 2 to old —. He Tf wo the papers or even take one, and Ww. a man don't show any enterpris may bet there's five or six h fence ; he's too “to ki and it's two to one his isters will do for the West they are mistaken. It won't do to send second or third rate men there.” Mr. Arthur was on his feet in a moment, exclaim- ing, “Mr. Moderator; I never knew be- was a very large woman,” fore why Brother Walden came back. 3 we 501, $5,000,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers