Alms, She came to me and asked for alms In low and plaintive voick; I gave her from my humble store And bade her go rejoice. i 7 SF A Khe came to me for alms; I gave Her from my yearning heart Enough for many days to come A feast, of life a part, The crute may fail, but nevermore The full and loyal soul; For giving to the giver adds As years on vears do roll, - Henry A, Lavely, A Kiss for Sister. She was a very little girl, And as I bent and Kissed her, “Thore, that is for yourseif,” 1 said, “ And this is for your sister,’ Last night 1 called in friendly way ; Some gay girl friends were there, And laugh and jest went gayly rou Tn © banish weary care, nd The little girl came rompiy And unto me said she 1 dive that tiss to si Fy On left for her wi “she tissad me lots o When folkses ‘ouldn I might dive ‘om to ‘ou MISE fant lane Te By Till "ou's alone w I wai} as § JOUSKHQ MUGS al =a FROM NATURES LIPS, 1 WHAT THE NIGHT SAID, in the dimly-lighted car and thought. It was an nacommon thing for John hich thinking itself or the subject of w VOLUME XV, be, there was a orash, The ear torn and twisted and ernshed; men an woman and children went from the un consciousness of sleep down | unconsciousness of death, Others, less fortunate, were priscned in the wreok which took fire almost at canoe. car went over on its side the old who had watched and studied Franch fell seross the aisle him--fell with his corner of the seat an instantly. But in the ons which the spirit held the trol before | hand of the strange | handle Rise with an grip as might have been expooted itfo depended on his getting an ing it, French was unhurt, The man i hind and the woman in front were kille | instantly, and Frenoh, who had though | with pleasure of a grave in the lake { among the hills, had not even a serateh, { He aided those others who were not | disabled, and those who came from | outside, in the resena. Most of those | not killed at once were saved. But | when the dead were dragged from th t t} a 130 13K § COLT | hn of John's i aided, no friend could have identified ithem. The man whe had made John > Ty . : French his study might have been young or old for all that one could say ditor and ' Wisi it of the HOD WO walls PW Will to the Tho of the file p Wel and sail uted and t hey wero of human weakness rs waptain ealled the pas he women and children t them, Dat he had done his best, and in hall an hour the boats must stand between them and eternity, Ho could not save the ship, torn discipline held control there; the boats were loaded rapidly and with in the eves ol wo § } : 3 WI 100KL d Hn last of all, No braver man among the passengers helped the captain in his control of a brute force which conld have crushed all physical opposition, which made it darker even than either nature or the shadows of the night could have done. It did not make the face less handsome, perhaps, but made it less lovable ; it changad it from & face that would have else been ealled good to one which could oaly be called strong. A man across the aisle from John French was studying him. Too full of ni it it theless, was honestly treing to banish the thoughts of business by studying intently the face of a man whom he had never seen before, in the hope of fixing upon the natare and character of a man who would probably never cross path again, “This man has seen a great deal of life," said the gray-haired student of 118 ! ing the remains of the valise. | French was thoughtfal of the woman ihe was to marry—thoaghtfnl despite | the lack of love, and he wrote a tele { gram to send to the station a mile and { & half away, It was as follows: i ribie accident. 1 escape : { Joux Faexcu.’ | As he went to hand the message to the train hand «ho was to go to the station with messages for help, he passed | the man who had died at his side. The accident had happened in the “ny ss Jerre i 1 unhurt, seemed to say : | for a night, but joy cometh in the morn- { ing.” The strength of day, which grows will-power, than did John Arlington. He was no coward now whatever his past had been, A woman came slowly across the deck jst the last boat.load was almost ready to go. There was vo fear in her as she looked on the waves and the storm. But one wonld have guessed that she cared but little {or life by the lock on her face as she came to boat. She evidently had no faith in the boat saving them; she looked upon death as inevitable; and the words she muttered were almost the words of a prayer this time: of ]s aves Perhaps I know the \'} John Arlington heard the words and More beantiful in which he has not found ont yet. world is not in harmony ‘with him nor he with the world.” And the observer was right. “ He is a man with tastes beyond his means; he has the conraze of a ma who believes he can trifle with evil Labits and escape their natural results; he is noble in many things—mean in some; he drinks, while he takes a pride in never being under the influence of patare, bat I wouldn't trust him.” And the looker-on was right again. Bat he know as little of it all as we generally of those whom we merely meet in the bustle of life. He would never have guessed that John h was on his way to a wedding, 4 1 hi 80 n fis 13 every but the The young man pressed his face against the window, shaded the glass from the light of the carand looked out into the might. A farmhouse, with a wooded hill behind it, dim and dream- like in the uncertainty of the night of mist and rain, shot, like a scene in a panorama, back into the obscurity, and the man who was flying with the wings of steam toward the woman who was to be his wife in Jess than twenty-four hours, followed the scene backward with v eyes, and envied the humble happiness which he pictured as the lot of those who lived there. He coveted a place in that humtle home, nung IR of causa of it. tered, and then shut his teeth closer tegether with a round that was half-way between a groan and a curse, A cool, dark lake, with little ridges of white rolling over its Llackness, stirred his heart. It seemed to whisper of peace. The thonght of suicide, which comes sometimes to every man, however sane, stole through his mind, Not death by any of the means he had at hand ; not in any of the ways he might readily command ; no, not that; but a thought that when life had become more unbearable than now, when heart and brain and nerves had grown wearier, he would seek out this little lake—seek it ont in the night—find It with the white waves just breaking its surface, and lie down under it toPrest and dream for ever. . Long reaches of plowed land and pas- with a dall pain at his heart, how those who gained a living there could bear to live so, toiling early and late, summer and winter, for the little they could get. Then his own pain came back again, and his head sank more heavily and wearily against the pane. Perhaps he slept a little then; but if he did the drip of the rain against his window seemed like tears shed by the night for him. And later, when he surely slept, the monotonous sound of the train was changed by his dream into the beat of knew was for him. The whole night seemed seying to him some of the stern- est things which nature can say to man —3ome of the most fearful things which truth can say to falsehood. —poor in every sense of the word, had engaged himself a year ago to one of the loveliest and noblest of women, and bad known, without feeling, the goodness and truth of her nature. She was heiress to an enormous fortune when he won her, and with the unself- ish trust of her sixteen years had given he: love to him unreservedly. Had she been older or wiser this story wonld never have been written, for she would have laid aside her bridal robes, made sacred by her fears, and proved herself a heroine; while he would have accepted freedom from her hands and proved himseif a coward and a villain # week ago. Dut, not because of the love she had for him, but because of that which she was so sure he had for her, Geraldine Royal had not of- fered him his freedom. And John French was hurrying to his wedding with a woman he did not love, lovely and noble though she was—a woman whom he had never pretended to his inner self to love'—and over his heart her last letter to him laid like a “Jump of lead, For if told him that the foxtpne sho had once enjoyed was gone; that her father would have nothing whatever left when all his debts were paid. And #8 he struggled slowly back {o painful consciousness from scarcely less painful sleep, the beat of the hoofs of the magic steed of the rails was thundering in his ears: “You cannot cseapo! You cannot escape! You cannot escape |” And the frown which had slowly drepened as he slept darkened into a fierce scowl as he said, between his set tooth: * No, I cannot escape! It is poverty life-long poverty, toil, drudgery, for evermore I” As he settled back into his seat to got a little more of that physical gom- fort which men always instinctively seok, whatever their mental pains” may ghastly record night bad made. The i {as John pansed—it brightened aud this woman In her eyes he saw Was possible, sill. { as though there were no care nor sorrow in the world. { were dumb ; day reigned again. i { the dead said : ** We can identify this | one. { on the plate which still remains { valise. His name is John French ”» | had died. { French lived to prove himself a scoun- | woman who loved him by the use of i { hand. He did not send the message. II, -— WHAT THE DAY TOLD. i i { there would be no bad men. If their | prosperity never ended there would be | a dearth of good ones, | of the bad does not belong in romance ; it is an inevitable conclusion of logic { Nature is truth; and so John French | prospered. Or, rather, since ‘John { French” had been carved on a white {slab in the churchyard at home, and | written in tears young girl, left desolate by worse than { death on her wedding-day.. let us say that John Arlington prospered. F {in that new life which accident had i enough to refuse. { father nor mother, sister nor brother to { mourn for him. | entirely from those he bad known and | there were no ties of kindred to bind { him to them. { among strangers; he allowed his beard | to grow; he welcomed the ruddy tint { which travel and exposure gave to his { face; he visited various countries; he ! tried many ways toward wealth and he { succeeded in them all, | So the strong man who took steamer | for America ten years after the night | when John French died and John { Arlington first appeared among men { man. He bai acquired his possessions { by honest toil—by mental thought and | endeavor; no one could say that any act { of his had been an act of fraud; so far { honor, Arlington never touched liquors; i he had no bad habits; his life would { have been to him the straightforward, | honest, open, manly one which it { seemed to other men, bat for the blot | he had placed upon it when he found a woman with a loving heart needing ten- derness and mercy, and deliberately re- solved to give her neither. The passage was a stormy one. Most of the passengers kept to their rooms for days at a time. Bot Arlington was too much used to travel to mind a rough sea. He staid on deck many hours each day. John French had failed to love a most beantifnl and worthy girl when he was a young man; and John Arlington, now in the bright days of a strong man- hood, sometimes scuzkt to excuse it t himself by the plea that he had no ca- city for loving; in all his wanderings e had never seen a woman who had claimed his serious second thought or look even. Bo it is not to be wondered at that he smiled a little contemptuously to himself when he found, as he did one day, that he was getting in the habit of listening anxiously for the voice of a woman, in a room not far from his own, who read for long hours at a time in a full rich voice, evidently unconscious of any listener. She never went on deck, and Arlington found his room be- coming more attractive than the storm outside. He wondered what it meant. He felt he would be a fool to fall in love with a voice when he had passed fair faces untouched by love. He found out that the woman only read by day, and he took to spending the evening hours outside, while in the daytime he waited and listened. He found out early in the long voyage, made longer by adverse winds, that, read what she might and as long as she might, she always read one poem after a while, and then read no longer. And John Arlington used to go up to the deck in the gathering darkness and look away over the storm-tossed waves while thinking of his past, and begin- ning to dream a little of his future—of a future for even him—wiih the words of Jean Ingelow ringing in his ears : “Wo shall part no more in the wind and the rain, Where thy last farewell was said; But perhaps I shall meet thee and know thee again, When the sea gives up her dead.” He never doubted that the poem was a favorite with the woman because of some bereavement in her past life; the sadness in the tones told him that. He believed that the verse stood in her mind as a finality, the end of some heart history; comeinto her life when death indeed i i i | i | | for dead John French. John Arlington. And he stepped into must be saved with or die with Geral. work ; knowing that he loved her with IL~—WHAT THE STORM SAID, Had Geraldine Royal been earlier when the ship was sinking she and John Arlington would have gone in different boats, and the story of either would have been a fragment. load of passengers was saved ; but the boat which left the ship last was the one. to give her a year of travel in the Old World and allow her to settle in comfort in the New. Jobn Arlington followed He found out where her home was to be made, and he bought a large estate, He from the cottage she had rented. wedding which had never taken place. was glad she had not gone as far as place where the accident had been. never wanted to see that place again. He found the home he had pur- chased to be all that the agent had said it was. A large roomy house stood in the rounded by great trees, park was a lake, all his own; away, hidden from sight of the house, but not from sound, by the noble trees, was the railroad. Not far away in the other direction was the honse where Around all were the eternal Miss Royal had received some favors She liked him. She was pleased to find that he had settled near her. Time had aged the man, and her loy- the possibility of this man loving her. Arlington never looked in the great rooms in his house without thinking how munch she would brighten them and his life if he could win her, He did not try in one year; he did not try in two; bu! one hot August af- ternoon he stood with a letter from her in his hand, He remembered burning a half hundred letters she had sent to John French; this was the first one she had ever written to John Arlington; ing his love; her companion had brought him a letter which ho almost feared to open. He removed the en- velope after n while. The letter was very brief. Bhe respected him, but she had loved a man, John French by name, who had died while coming to marry her; her heart held his memory sacred; she had no room for other love; she should always love John French; she should be done; she kindly, but firmly and beyond appeal, declined the offer John Arlington stood with a white,stern face and fought the most terrible battle with himself thut he had ever fought. It was the battle of a man mad with despair. Should respected John Arling- ton live and try to live content without that which loved John French might have had? Or should living John French go to the woman he had wronged, tell her his shameful secret and dere the worst? He made a cowards choice for a second time in his life, and went, The wind was rising and the big drops of rain were beginning to fall as he knocked at the door. The woman re. ceived him kindly; she liked him yet. But they both stood, and the face of each was whiter and sterner than usual, “Js there no hope?” “J am sorry, but there is none. 1 loved John French too truly to ever marry another,” Miss Royal—Geraldine—1 am John French!” For a long minute she stood looking at him, her face growing older and whiter and more sad as she looked, Then she sank into a chair with a sob, “Why is all this as it is?” she moaned. He told it all ; he did not try to spare himself ; he saw it would be useless before he had gone far with the dread. ful story. Bhe heard it all in silence. He did not ask for her love when he “If it is possible for a woman to love ator. HALL, CENTR same time, 1 do it my shame | I did love yout it To my you yet Bat in all y of no more done. | BAY I love i Call COHCvLY all you Have has I love you, (i)! you or know you or hear of vou again this world or ny other, Ci) forever i” And Jala sench went ont with howe : tha rain and storm, vid aver heard of BILCH, y luke next day, but ng, They might have they had known of o eves that watohad its white waves i longing twelve years before, But they might have found nothing even He wont away; he has never re he never will; that is all that laos i doped siiaae 1 sav HVOrsa is ¢ilgge Wd 1830 Vi i as mun I never want to seo iu him Or All that was over found that might have served as a clow was a little sorap of paver witha few lines written on it 1 or little. They were these only: “ Forever is a long word, outlive her forever" And oun the other side: “* The storm is abroad. It speaks to me, It tells that terrible truth: ‘What soaver a man soweth that shall he also reap. I hope to a A AB HAS SB, The Center of Population, What statisticians understand by the torm center of population, it may be well to explain, 18 the point at which equilibrinm wonld be reached were the country taken as a plane surface with weight, and the inhabitants distributed over it in number and position as they are found at the period under consider- ation, each inhabitant being sapposed to be of cqual weight, and consequently to exert pressure on the pivotal point in direct proportion to his distance therefrom. The first censns of the United States, taken in 1790, showed the center of population to be on the eastern shore of Maryland, about twenty-two miles from Baltimore, and near the thirty.ninth parallel of lati. tude, From that point it has moved westward at the average rate of about fifty-one miles in a decade, never devi ating as much a8 a degree tc the north or south of the thirty-ninth parallel. In 1850 the center was near the vil i lage of Taylorsville, Ky., about eight miles west by south of Cincinnati, the westward progress being fifty-cight ! miles, and the deflection to the south | about eight. The census of 18380 will | probably discover itin Jennings county, in Southeastarn Indiana. If there is no great ohange in the rate of Western ‘ movement of population, the central | point, still traveling, as it doubtless will, on a line closely corresponding to the thirty-ninth parallel of latitude, | will not cross the Mississippi river un | til 1950, when it will be found not far { from the mouth of the Missouri. It is | not improbable, however, that it will pever reach that stream, but will re main nearly stationary somewhere in Sonthern lilinois. There are large areas of country in the far West unfit for habitation, save where deposits of the precious metals are found, and other considerable | araas where grazing, which supports but a scanty population, will always be the chief indastry. The increase of popu. lation in the trans-Mississippi region { may not, therefcre, mush more than | counterbalasce the increase in the older settled portion of the country after the close of the present century, In esti. | | mating the changes and progress of the | future we must not forget that, marvel. ous as is the growth of the new West, it is only a little more rapid than that of the great middle region between the Hudson and the Mississippi. The State lof New York, it must be remembered {added 700,000 to her population be- [tween 1870 and 1880. Pennsylvania | { 460,000, and Ohjc 532000. The in-! crease in each of these old States wou!d | | made a Western State as populous as Nebraska.— New York Tribune, ren —————— Cannibalism in Fiji, It certainly is a wonder that the Fiji | | isles were not altogether depopulated, | owing to the number who were killed. Thus, in Namens, in the year 185], | fifty bodies were cooked for one feast. And when the men of Ban were at war | with Verata they carried off 260 bodies, seventeen of which were piled on a ca. | noe and sent to Rewa, where they were | received with wild joy, dragged abont | | the town, and subjected to every spe- cies of indignity ere they finally! reached the ovens. Then, too, just think of the number of lives sacrificed {in a conntry where infanticide was a | recognized institution, and where wid. | {ows were strangled as a matter of | | course | Why, on one occasion, when | | there had been a horrible massacre of | Namena people at Viwa, and upward of | 100 fishermen had been murdered and {their bodies carried as bokola to the ovens at Ban, no less than eighty women were strangled to do honor to the dead, and | corpses lay in every direction of the | mission station! It is just thirty years | { since the Rev, John Watsford, writing | | from here, described how twenty-eight | victims had been seized in one day { while fishing. They were brought here | alive, and only stunned when put into {the ovens, Some of the miserable | creatures attempted to escape from the | scorching bed of red-hot stones, but {only to be driven back and buried in | | that living tomb, whence they were | taken a few hours later to feast their barbarous captors. He adds that more | human beings were eaten on this little {isle of Bau than anywhere else in Fiji. | It is very hard, indeed, to realize that { the peaceful village on which I am now { looking has really been the scene of such horrors as these, and that many of the gentle, kindly people around me have actually taken part in them, Cumming, Equivalents of Measures. The following statement of the equiv alents of foreign standard measures of wheat will undoubtedly be of interest to many. A quarter of California wheat weighs 500 pounds; of American, Chil- ian or Danubian wheat, 480 pounds; of South Russian wheat, 465 pounds. A sack of flour weighs 280 pounds, nearly equal to a barrel and ahalf. A Russian chetwert of wheat equals about 354 pounds. An Egyptian ardeb of wheat is 300 poands. A Trench kilogramme equals 2 1.4 tons. A German last of wheat equals 3 tons—200 Foands, A Bmyrna kilo equals one bushel. A Malta salma equals about 450 pounds, A Spanish fanego equals 99 pounds, A Ohilian fanego equals 32 pounds, An Austrian staga equals 137 pounds. A maund of Indian wheat equals 80 pounds, A Portuguese alquire of wheat equals 24 pounds, A Barcelona oras equals 1,925 bushels, A Norway maller is 10 mas or 4,126 bushels. A German maller is 12 scheffeln, or 18,145 bush- els. A Vienna metzen equals 17-10 bushels, A German ccntner is about 100 pounds. A French quintel is 220 pounds, A European firm has patented a news- paper printing press which, it is claimed, prints in four or five different colors at the same time. 1tis somewhat similar to E CO., FOR THE LADIES, News and Notes tary Women There are in Paris a hundred wor journalists Many Bt, Louis ladies are play on the banjo Widows, save now. A young widow with any eh at all can have ¢! suitors elie wants Mass Rosa Rosen hal, af A the honor to be the lad) in the State to receiv which entitles her to write M, er namo, thie tant trast a diplowa 1D bh L230... young The employ ment of a fomale eian as the head of a female insane treat at Harrisborg has been 80 s full that Dr. Alice Denpeit has} placed in charge of the 400 women at the Norristown (Pa) ¢ Certain philanthropio you of Fort Smith, Ark., have o band ealled the *Orphanps' for the purpose of sew eto., for the young ba away from home and assistance ia keeping their repair. physi re gani : Friends, ing battons on, ehelors who are harnes in Worldly mutation never had a more in London, the other 1 of Lady Agnes Maclean, Bhe was the daughter of an Faglish marqais, the widow, first of tue Comte Montmorenoy, and afterward of a clergyman Maclean; and she was e)acl d from her poor tenement in London and died in the waiting-room of St. Pancras house, ’ A fashionable novelty in perfumery has been invented in Austrnie, and is caded “the book of soap” Eseh leaf is enongh when torn out for one good wash. The books vary in sizes; the smaller are for the hands only, and are no larger than pocketbooks. The leaf is soaked in a basin of water for three seconds, then it floats and is plaged in the center of the hand, where it with gentle friction, froths, soap sounds strange, and stranger yet, the soap is excellent; it is nos unlike an ivory tablet, fa Fuahios Fancles. Lace frills are worn around the neck and wrists as much as ever, Lacs of various kinds is the preferred trimming for silk underwear. Large sagging pufls form the paniers of many new model costumes, Now table linen of the finest grades comes in tinted grounds, with damask designs in white on one side, while on the other the order is reversed, Baby dresses without waists, the skirts attached to the yokes or bands lar summer garments for little girls under ten. Dress skirts are surely growing fuller snd wider, and this decided tendency to bouffant styles has, as history plainly shows, been almost invariably the fore- ranner of crinoling, Pretty damask towels, with Mother Goose's melodies illustrated in the colored borders at ths ends, are out in two to make fancy bibs for children. The figures and the legend in verse are both put into thg desigus, thus far are those of vermilion satin, lined with old gold silk and trimmed with donble rufiles of wide gold lace. The ferrules are surrounded by =a wreath of brilliant scarlet roses mixed with small yellow sunflowers, For small boys and girls there are Manila hats with wide brim springing up in basin shape from the erown. The brim is faced with velvet. The trim- ming for girls’ bats is ostrich plumes ; boys’ hats are trimmed with a large cord and several silk pompons, Pleasing costumes are made ol camel's-hair cloths in dark colors, finished with many rows of stitching done on machines which make the chain. stiteh, in silk twist, shaded colors, The liarly suitable for dresses worn on the street, Velvet is used as drapery and finish on the most most ethereal materials, A late costume is of nun's veiling in groundiag pale maize color, with a floral design thrown up on the face of carnations in shades of made up with scarf drapery and other finish of moss green velvet, The newest caprice in French lingerie is to combine laces of two lints in one collarettes and vests of the flax-gray twine lace have ruches and plaitings of and the same arrangement is seea in fichus and doubled frills. Paris millinery presents many new caprices this season, such as a saucy sailor hat called the Boston, a hand. chon, soft crowned turbans of new shapes, and finally the climax is reached in a revival of the ealeche bonnet with a shirred rattan top, that this genera. tion has only seen worn upon the stage. Wash dresses of linen for summer mornings in the country, are made as simply as even the laun- dress conld desire, with a round basque, apron overskirt and gathered rate effect by their garniture of em- broidered muslin for collar, vest, cuffs and edgings on the flonnces. A Hanging in London, After the sentence of death has been passad the condemned person is at once placed in solitary confinement, where he remains under close surveil- lance until the time of his execution arrives. When the fatal day arrives the paraphernalia of death is brought forth in the shape of a movable scaffold, which is kept in a convenient place ready for service, and hardly a week goes by that it is not used, The exe. cations all take place in the jail yard, which is a paved court surrounded by a high stone wall, The scaffold is sur- rounded by a rope ten or twelve feet distant on all op to keep back the few spectators. When the appointed time arrives, which is generally about 12 o'clock in the day, the condemned man is led from his cell accompanied by a priest or preacher, according to the creed of the condemned, anda single guard. Standivg upon the raised platform, awaiting their coming, is the man who is to [do the work which requires so much fortitude and physical courage to carry out. He 18 dressed in plain black clothing, and his face is covered with a black domino. When the ocon- demned man is placed over the trap, a short time, say ten minutes, is allowed the priest to offer up a prayer for the rest of the soul of the depart- ing man; then his legs and arms are firmly bound, the black cap pleted over his head, the noose properly ad- justed around his neck, the lever pulled and the man dives through the trap about four feet and all is over with him, When the prison dooator pro- nounces life extinet the body 1s cnt down and taken into a receptacle under the jail and buried in quicklime, which causes its almost immediate decompo: presses used in printing wall paper, sition. - i ——— ATTEMPTING SUICIDE, J nwmes, of the Louisville Courier-Journal nar rates this striking incident in the career James ; While so much is being said and am foreibly reminded of an incident in connection with them in which I was a It may prove not uninteresting to your readers and serves to illustrate some of the characteristics which their time of which I the in At the write Jesso was suffering from effects of a gunshot wound his right breast, and from the long-continued discharge was rather thin and in feeble health, and was spend- In a fit low state of health, and partly, as | afterward learnad, by his bitter opposi- afterward married, Jessie determined to commit suicide, and impelled by his impetuous nature lost no time in his efforts at exceuting his desire, For arrival at his unele's, which was late in the afsernoon of a January day. When he felt the drug beginning to produce its effects and he deemed it too late for he called his brother Frank and sister Susie to him, advised them of what he had done, and gave such directions in regard to messages and trusts as he wished. trate the design, immediately posted a messenger after a physician. It was about 7 o'clock r. » when I ar rived, and found him apparently in the embrace of death, in a profound stupor, insensible to his surroundings, except under the influence of the strongest ex. citement, pulse slow, fall and very for eible, and respiration of that heavy, slow and stentorous nature characteristio of opium poiscn. There had been some degree of tolerance to the drug sequired by a resort to it for some weeks previ referred to. I found willing and very capable assistants in Frank and Basie, whose attentions and ministrations were In addition to the usual remedies it was imperatively necessary to combat the sources of mental and physical ex. citement that could be brought bear. I shall never forget the prompt response he continued to make when Frank would whisper to him cer. tain warning words as if certain per sons very obnoxious to him were coming aud it was necessary to escape. Whenever he would seem sunk into the fatal narcotism Frank's cabalistios flourish them while carried aronud the room botwoen two amistants, every few ber, even while walking, but instantly His evelids seemed to have millstones possible for him to keep them open. About 4 o'clock a. a. all efforts to keep him awake proved futile; his pulse bad reduced in volume to a mere thread, his breathing was feeble and very slow, and it seemed the death angel was hovering over him. i sat with my finger on the pulse for perhaps half an hour, when it began to show evidences of improvement in volume, with greater regularity, sand with more frequent and natural breath. ing. When this improvement had continued till there could be no longer any doubt of its existence, the fact was communicated to the relatives and friends. Within an hour he was sleep: ing a natural and refreshing sleep, which he really very much needed from the exhaustion induced by his long continued forced efforts to keep awake and moving. By 6 o'clock he aroused and recog- nized his friends, sad by the time breakfast was announced he was ready for a hearty meal. When conscious- ness was thoroughly aroused he ex. pressed considerable emotion of joy that he had failed in his efforts at self. destruction, and was profuse in thanks to Mrs. Hite and all parties for their strenuous efforts through the long night to restore him. He evinced both sss IAI SN Jim Fisk's Slayer. Speaking of business men, says a New York correspondent, let me mention one very different circumstances from those latter. I killed Jim Fisk,” as everybody eays The public have The Hofl- mau bas long been noted for the excel- They vie with Delmonico's and the Brunswick's. The barroom of the establishment, world. The walls are fairly covered with beautiful pictures— high-priced ones, too—including one that cost §10,- 000, The whole room with its lobbies and entries is littered with costly brio- a-brao, statuary and expensive rarities, him. His hair is whitened by the of care, preserved, - I Dr. Chapin, tees for which he was noted. when Dr, Chapin was dining at a hotel, he was Arba with what was called barley soup on the bill of fare, ‘That is not barley soup,” maid he to the waiter, * it is barely soup.” On another occasion, while traveling in the South with his wife, who was uncommonly dark complexioned, he addressed an old colored man as “Uncle,” ‘How bap- pens it,” said his wife, rognishly, that the colorad man is your uncle ?” * Ha is my uncle by marriage, I suppose |” was the quick rejoinder. He once asked his daughter, who was also a pronogneed brunette and very small, ‘“ Marion, why are you like a certain Boston book-publishing house?” 1] give it up, father,” said she. * Because you are little and brown,” was the an. swer, THE FARM AND HOUSEHOLD, A Gardener's Becret, Peter Henderson, the veteran gar- dener, made & very significant state ment before the convention of nursery- raen and florists, This statement em- bodies the remarkable faes that if gar- pressed when under the earth by the ball of the foot, at the time the gardeners are putting them iuto the ground, they will invariably grow, drought or no drought ; and what up earlier and grow faster and mature better than any of their kind which have rot been subject to this discipline, The regard to transplanting trees, shrubs and plants. This is an item of great suburbs, — Cleveland Herald, Bones tor Trees. Plant food is concentrated in bones, and most gardeners who make a busi appreciate their value. In tree plant. about twenty-five to fifty cents a barrel, lies, This kind of bone is fine enough to be put into borders for grapevines frees without any prepamstion. A bushel of these bones to a newly planted tree is none too much, and any a bearing spypls tree or grapevine. Bo ately from these coarse pieces as from phates. But there will be in the soil u supply of food fer many years to come, and the roots will appropriate it as they have need. The fine rootlets will seek the bones as eagerly as they seek water ina tile drain. We have frequently taken up grapevines planted roots. We doubt if any investment in fertilizers pays better than in these bones from butchers’ meat, which are quite plentiful in villages. Agricul- Easilage Experience, Testimony of a Chenango farmer in the Country Gentleman : uring last summer [ built a silo in the bay of a twenty-two feet clear, and sixteen feet of stone up to the sills of the barn, pine boards, two thicknesses, nailed to two by ten inch studding, with tarred paper between to make it air tight. The I should match both courses mented the bottom two courses. I put in three acres of corn on the 2d and 3d of September, the cor. baing Biate eight-rowed yellow, Stowell s evergreen making very rich fodder. It was about vleven feel in depth when allin, I covered it with inch pine boards, planed acd notched in sections three and a quarter feet wide, letting cleats extend out #0 as to stiffen the joints of I covered this with two. planks and upward of twenty tons of stone. It settled to eight feet in depth, end weighs ont fifty pounds to the solid foot. I think I did not trample it enough. It was put in quite taking two men to handle and feed the corn cutter. It inch only half to two-thirds of a crop. The seed did not come good, The silo test makes about fifteen tons to the acre. 1 am confident that I can grow twenty- five to thirty tons in a good season of Some stalks of Western corn up in the field. We were two days putting 1t in, using a No. 2 Cummings work necessary to save expensa. About in length, the remainder one-half inch. Half an acre of the Btate corn was heavily eared and glazad. We ent by in the forenoon and seventeen in the afternoon of the same day. The cutter so situated that we had considerable de- lay between loads, With silo and barn machinery properly arranged I am sat- can, with the same help, I used a two-horse railway tread-power, and two teams to draw from the fleld. The corn to advantage. I employed twelve to pense of about $20 per day. The cost of the silo azd putting in the corn was about three doll . of cost of raising the corn, counting nothing for I#nd and manure used. It is worth about three dollars per ton as isfled myself by tests in feeding. It came ont bright, with strong sleoholie It was bright and sound next to the board cover in each to the cows at two feeds of thirty quarts of ground oats and corn meal per day, with dried cornstalks or hay for The milk increased about with ensilage. feeding of butter, as ascertained by churning separately the cream from fifty-four pounds of milk. The butter is fine in appearance. The cows are eager for this food and if we have the stable doors keep them out of the stable. They lick ont the mangers as though it was salt. I had some doubts at first as to how the eattle would thrive on it. But I shall, if possible, en- Having in view a winter dairy, I intend to eneilage in June next five acres of rye which was sowed last fall for soiling. My calves, six in number, seem to be as fond of this food as the cows, eating it greedily from the first and doing well on it, The ensilage is much more acid than I anticipated. Still, if cows do well on it, where is the harm? Poultry ints, Do not fatten your breeding fowls. Treatment of discases of poultry must Legin with the first symptoms, Meal must be mixed dry and crumb- ly, since it causes illness when too wet. Glass fronts for coops for young chickens are of great service in cold or windy weather. Gather March eggs hefore they be- come cold, aud save them from being broken in the nest by freezing. : "Try and set your hens so as to have NUMBER 22. NB AE HAE MI RN two hatch out at the same time, and give the broods to one hen, Care must be taken that chickens are not brooded on cold, damp ground, and the bed, whatever it be, must be re. newed when soiled. A constant dropping will wear ar ock Keep dropping your advertisements on the public, and they will soon melt under it like rock salt. Do not try to keep too many breeds of fowls. You will succeed better with one or two varieties, with good niten. tion, than by trying to keep a dozen sorts ard neglecting them. It is estimated that 45000000 eggs are consumed every day in the United States, and yet there are people who fear that the poultry business will be overdone, Old breeders declare that chickens from the eggs laid earliest in the season are the most likely to live and thrive after hatching. It is claimed that eon- tinuous laying enfeebles the hens’ tems tosuch an extent that the later eggs in the spring litters are not seo well endowed with vigor, When soft eggs are laid by fowls they intimate usually that the egy organs are inflamed. This state 1s occasioned by the birds being overfed or too fat. Spare diet and plenty of green food, espe cially lettuce leaves in suthmer or cab bage in winter, is the best treatment for fowls in such condition. Poultry need far more care during damp, rainy or wet weather than dur ing the dry, warm weather of summer or the clear cold of winter, for damp- ness engenders numerous disorders, many of which are difficult to cure; therefore it is always better to apply the preventive than to administer a supposed cure. Feeding pom that will admit little chickens and restrain grown fowls will be found very useful and convenient after a while. Why not take advantage of a leisure hour and make one? A { bundle of ceiling lath, a few roofing | lath, some nails, a saw, hammer, square, { a little ingenuity and elbow grease, and | it is done, Many times beginners wonder why their little chickens, who seem to be as lively as crickets when they are a few days’ old, begin to droop and generally drop off one by one cil they are all dead. Look ou the top of the bod and | under the throat and the cause will soon | be discoverad—lice. Prevention in this { is far better than cure. For young stock corn and oatmeal is best, with vegetables added. But cooked food two-thirds of the time is better than a large proportion of dry | grains in any description. Those who | have never tried this mode of feeding { fowls will quickly discover the difference | between this and the old plan of throw- | ing whole corn and oats to their flocks | continually. | A firm in Reading, Pa., which uses { the yolks of thousands of eggs in tan | ning kid, has put in operation a steam i egg-beater having a capacity of 20,000 | eggs. The tank, made of cedar, is two | and a half feet in diameter and two and {a half feet in height, and contains two | revolving rakes, bevel wheels and pin- | ions running in opposite directions. { Hens do much better when allowed a | free range outdoors than when confined. | Darwin says: “In Europe close con- | finement has marked effect on the fer- j tility of the fowl; in France it has been | found that with fowls allowed consider- | able freedom twenty per cent. only of | their eggs fail to hatch ; with less free- | dom, forty per cent. failed ; and in close confinement sixty per cent. were not batched.” These facts should be borne in mind by breeders of fowls. Recives, Hou-0AxE.— Seald one quarter of corn thick batter; stir in two large spoonfuls of butter; beat this a little before mix- ing it with the butter so it rise rapid. iy; add a half a teaspoonful of salt. This should be baked at least three quarters of aan hour; butter the tins well in which it is baked; serve hot. This is decidedly economical, and it is very nourishing. Cracker Propive,—Oracker pudding is made by taking six milk crackers and rolling them very fine. Let them soak in two teacapfuls of water ; then add the grated rind and the juice of two large lemons, and two and a balf cups of sugar. Make some nice .puff paste with which to line the pudding dish. Bake for hall an hour. This may be eaten with or without sance. If with sance make that in this way: Beat one egg, add a little water, thicken it with cornstarch, sweaten to taste. Reserve a little of the lemon rind for flavoring. Let it just come to a boil. Brows Srtew.—Take three pounds of good round of beef, cut it in small squares, brown them in a stewpan in two tablespoonfuls of butter; add two tablespoonfuls of flour, sifting it gradu- ally in and stirring till the flour is brown ; cut a carrot small, peel half a dozen small onions, and put with the beef; season with half a dowen cloves, as many allspiece, a half saltspoonful , & pinch of cayenne, a tablespoonful of mixed herbs, thyme, sage and majoram; cover with boiling water and let it simmer steadily for throe hours; just before serving a gill of tomato catchup can be added. Onraxpergy Jeuty,—Oran jelly that is pleasing to the eye as well ss to the taste is made in this way: Dis- solve one ounce of gelatine a little water, and to this add one pint and a half of cran juice, strained so that it is perfectly clear, While you are straining it let the gelatine and water boil until it is thick, then stir in the juice and half a nd of sugar; let this come to a boil; have jelly boards at hand and strain the jelly through a muslin cloth into them, Iiouschold Hiats. Kerosene 'oil will soften boots or shoes which have been hardened by water and render them as pliable as new, but it is very sure to injure the leatherat the same time. Castor oil is the best thing in the world to use on boots and shoes. To remove the iron taste from new bottles boil a handful of hay in them and repeat the process if necessary. Hay water is a great sweetener of tin, wooden and iron ware, In Irish dairies every- thing used for milk is scalded with hay water, ‘ To remove milkdew soap the spots, and while yet wet cover them with fine chalk well rubbed in. A red-hot iron will soften old putty go that it can be easily removed. A Lucky Dog. A St. Louis dog lost his master by death some years ago, but the friend bequeathed him a house and lot in Shurge of a trastee, the income to be devoted to the dog's food, lodging and attendance. Notwithstanding his wealth, he was not too proud to fight with any cur that came along, and chewed the ears of a loafer's dog with the same relish with which he hashed those of a lady's poodle. When this aristocratic animal died the other ho was placed in a costly casket, and lokea on & hearse to the family ceme- ery. . pd it : i § E (ELLE hil il EF if He § g ¥ in pith E ; ih £f FFERiE +d i i E 11 i Hid i i} i i | i i : = £ i : : i i pipet 11 | H 1: & i | E Al E gt Edg if f fi i EH E 5 i : i $ B Be H E 3 ; : i i ; Ey £ 8s ia is £5 F g i Q Z Bf EEL fie ; g g E BE for the niceties of her On the contrary, a with her shove that she She complains of and it is the opinion of he her mind is irretrie
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers