————————— ———————————"
TWO COUSINS---A RONDEAU.
And so you vow 1've grown strait-laced,
And call me prude, and say I'm fickle!
You tell me how we've often raced
To reach the bank where cool drops trickle,
You seem to think I'm still a plekle
Add never can be taught good taste; -
And yet you vow-I've grown strait-laced,
And call me prude, and say I'm fickle!
That down is long enough to tickle,
And I'm too old to be embraced;
It almost forms a double sickle,
And shan't be over my lip placed;
“That's why you vow I've grown strait-
laced,
And cail me prude; and say I'm fickle.
HRT Sn LE
THE MISSING WITNESS,
«I'm afrmd it is a bad case,” I said
to myself as 1 laid down my brief after
roading it over for the third or fourth
time, and leaned back in my ohair to
reconsider it for about the twentieth.
«A bad case, and I am sorry for it.”
1 was a barrister, young both in years
and in professional standing, and this
was the first brief of any importance I
had ever held
My client was an Italian sailor named
Luigi Bernini, and the crime of which
he was accused was robbery; the plun-
der being the life-long savings of a
woman upward of eighty years of age,
which the poor creature kept hidden in
the thatch of her little cabin,
The witnesses were the old woman
herself,
theft, and a neighbor who deposed to
having met the prisoner in the immedi-
ate vicinity of the cabin. When Ber-
nini was arrested some days later, a
curious foreign coin, identified as a part
of the missing hoard, was found in his
pocket. This, howeyer, he accounted
for, by saying that he had picked it up
on the road.
The weak point in the chain of evi.
and had afterward adhered to this state-
ment with what appeared to be dogged
obstinacy, rather than real, true oon-
wicti~n,
The prisoner himself positively de-
at all on the day of the robbery, but
unfortunately he could not speak with
certainty as to his whereabouts, He
had been lately dismissed from hospital,
scarcely convalescent, after a bad fever;
his own ship had leit the port, and he
had been rejected by the captains to
whom he had offered his services, as not
being sufficiently robust for a sailor’s
work,
therefore, took to wandering aimlessly
of her again. His mind had been
weakened and confused by his illness,
snd sithough he knew that for several
days preceding and following that of
the robbery he had been in a part of
the country fally twenty miles distant,
he could not positively *say where he
the day in question.
many persons interviewed who remem-
bered ‘the poor foreign chap,” but no
sccurate information as to dates was
forthcoming, As the testimony of
would not, unfortunately carry much
weight in a court of justice, I had to
trust for a defence to the cross-examina-
tion of witnesses, whose character for
veracity I hoped, by judicious manage-
ment of the nsudl forensic weapons, to
compel them to annihilate with their
own lips.
dence, as I was strongly prepossessed in
favor of the prisoner; something frank
and honest in his face making it difficult
for me to believe him guilty of the
cowardly crime of which he was ac-
cused. Beside, it was, as I have said,
my first important case, and self-interest
and professional instinct alike prompted
me to desire its successful 1ssue, But of
this I had little hope.
1 laid aside my brief at length, and
went up to the drawing-room, where I
was greeted by my cousin and hostess
with a somewhst petulant repreol for
having lingered so long over those musty
old law papers,
Alice and I tad been children to-
gether—a big girl and a little bcy—we
had grown from playfeliows into friends,
and since her marriage her house in
Carrigarvan had been my resting place
in assize times. 1 was at no loss to un-
derstand ber vexation al my tardy ap-
pearance, She was somewhat of a
matchmaker, and having no one but
myself on whom to exercise her talents,
she had devoted them exclusively to my
service, She had already decided on a
suitable wife for me, and was now exerting
herself to the very utmost to bring about
the marriage,
The chosen young lady was present,
and I knew that Alice was much an-
noyed with me for devoting the evening
to my brief instead of Dora Lyne. The
1atter was the danghter of a solicitor in
goed practice, and was herself a v
pretty, bright looking girl, who Thc |
1 was compelled to admit, be a most
desirable wife for a young,unknown bar.
nster,
I was thoroughly fond of Alice, and
she was my chosen confidante, whenever
1 needed one; but I could not tell her
even that the true reason which pre-
vented Dora liyne's brown eyes and
aweel voice their due impression
on me was the remembrance of a {ace
seen but during a three hours’ railway
journey, a face with dark gray eyes and
quiet, Shoughiifal expression, aud of a
voice heard at somewhat rare intervals
in the space of time, whose full, low.
pitched tones still vibrated in my 1mag-
ination, Alice would have been too
good natured to laugh at me, but 1 felt
ware tnat, had she known the state of
the case, she would have entertained,
end probable expressed, fears that over-
study had affected my brain, an oplmon
that would probably have shared
by all persons whose characteristic was
©0ommon sense. '
Miss Lyne, perceiving that Alice was
'
| vexed with me, and wishing, I think, to
show that she did not share the feel
ing, oalled me over to look at some
prints and photographs she was exam-
| ining.
“Alice,” said Miss Lyne, at length,
“did you show Mr, Lestrange that
sketch “you found in that book?”
“No,” said Alice, “‘I forgot it, You
will find it in that volame of the
‘Stones of Venice’ on my table, Rich-
ard. It is really a beautiful sketch, I
wonder how 1t came to be forgotten in
the book?”
I brought the book to Dora Lyne,
who turned over the leaves until she
found the drawing. which she put
into my hands, The moment I saw
jt I uttered an exclamation of sur.
prise, which brought my cousin to my
side.
It was a spirited water colored sketoh
of a man's head—a dark, foreign-
looking face, surmounted by a red
cap. It was, however, neither the
skill of the artist nor the picturesque
beauty of the model that a%tracted my
attention; it was the fact that in the
somewhat peculiar features of the latter
I recognized those of my client, Luigi
Bernini,
“What an odd coincidence!” said
Alice, when I had explained. ‘‘J. won-
der who could have taken the sketoh—
some one who knows how to handle a
it. “See, here are initials and a date,
but they are so faint that I cannot make
them out.”
“Let me try,” said Dora;
good sight,” She took the sketch
closely. “W. M. D,, bat I cannot make
out the date,
tenth, 18-—."
“May tenth-—why. taat was the very
day o! the robbery,” 1 said,
| full significance of this
| turned giddy. “The alibi!” I gasped—
| sketch, we might succeed in proving the
alibi,”
ready quickness,
| from, was it notpAlice? They ought to
| be able to tell you there who had it
| May.”
| is, will have to be hunted up,” I said,
tiand there is so little time,
nesday. I suppose Morrison's is closed
by this, Alice?”
| “Indeed It is,” she answered,
| You must wait patiently nntil to-morrow,
| Richard.”
i
!
| the batter,
| The following morning found me at
{ Morrison's Library.
| charge of the library department, from
| whom I totally failed to obtain the re-
| usually attended to that part of the
business was away; if I could call next
| week-—
me, at the time,
| self-control, that
most praiseworthy
next week would
| not do, giving a partial explanation
| of the circumstances. Bat the clerk,
although apparently willing to help
do 80,
“You see, sir,” said he, *il yom
wanted to know what book any sub-
| seriber had out at a given time I could
{ probably tell yon, but as for ascertain.
| ing the whereabouts of a special book—
{ it's an impossibility, If you like to look
| over our entries for yourself, you are
| welcome to Jo so,”
I accepted this offer, and spent a
good part of the day turning over the
blotted pages wherein were inseribed
subscribers of Morrison's, And an un-
profitable morning's work it was, The
record was to all appearances imper-
fectly kept, aud I failed to trace the
second volume of the ‘Stones of Ven-
ice” through a pericd of longer than
three weeks, duricg which time it had
twice changed hands,
Some hours more were spent in hunt.
ing up the persons in whose possession
it had been for that length of time,
neither of whom could give any infor.
mation concerning the sketch, An ap-
plication to Bernini himsel! was equal-
ly fruitless, He remembered that a
lady and gentleman whom he had met
during his wanderings had asked him
to sit to them, but he did not know
who they were, nor could he even
make it clear where the imcident oc-
curred.
1 returned home at dinner time, tired
and baflied, to report my failure to
Alice and her husband, from whom 1
received munch sympathy, but no sug-
gestion of practical value. I had given
up hope, and was endeavoring to dis-
miss the subject from my thoughts,
when late in the evening the hall door
bell sounded, and a message came up
that a person wanted to speak to Mr,
Lestrange. Going down, 1 found wait-
ing for me a bright-looking boy, one of
the shop agsistants at Morrison's, who
had been for a short time aiding in my
investigation of the entries,
“¥ think I have what you want, sir,”
he said, as I entered the room. ‘It was
in my mund all that day that I had given
ont that book to some one, I couldn't
think who, and a chance word that I
heard this evening brought it all back
to me like a flash, It was to Mrs,
French of Redeourt that I gave it, and
it must have been on the third or fourth
of May, Here i= ths lady's name and
address, sir;” and he handed me a
slip of paper on which was written,
Mrs, French, Redecourt, Kiloarran,”
It was in Kiloarrap, or the neighbor-
hood, that, scoording to Bérnini's own
statement, ho had spent the day of the
robbery,
Thanking and dismissing the lad, I
returned tc the drawing-room with m
e, The next step was to CL
cate with Mrs, French, Kiloarran was
fully fifteen miles from Carrigarvan, and
the trial was to begin the following
morning.
“Hand me over that railway guide,
Dick.” said Alice's husband, “1
thought so —no train before ten, There's
nothing for it but for me to drive to
Kilearran the first thing in the morning
the mare can easily do it in two hours
~and if I find that any one there
oan give evidence worth having, I'll
bring them back with me, and have
them in ocourt before the case for the
defence opens”
The trial began next morning, pro-
ceeding at an unusually rapid rate, It
seemed to me that the learned counsel
for the prosecution had never before put
forth his wisdom and legal knowledge in
so condensed a form, The cross-exam-
ination of the witnesses was of course
in my hands, and 1 did my best to make
it as tedious as possible, totally failing,
however, in my attemps to confuse
them or enuse them to contradict them-
selves, My only hope now lay in the
unknown witness, and of him there
were no tidings. The ease for the prose-
oution closed, and the court adjourned
for lunch; I was standing in the bar
room, thinking over my speech for the
defence, and mentally re-arranging my
sentences after the manner of the most
prosy member of the circuit, when a
note was handed to me:
“All right—the witness is in the sher-
iff 's room.”
Going into the sheriff's room, 1 found
my cousin, accompanied by a strange
**This is the prisoner's conusel,”
the former, ws I entered,
said
“Allow me
I turned to the lady as her name was
bow, in my surprise and delight at
me my dream of the last six
my nuknown love, another |
whom had been my chief |
desire over since I lost sight of her |
as she stood on the platform of the
little roadside station where she had |
alighted,
“It was Miss Darcy who did that |
members all about it.”
“Yes,” said the girl, “the sketch was i
Having by a few hurried questions |
Daroy’s testimony, I took her and placed |
prisoner,
latter for a minute or two, and then said |
She looked attentively at the |
“Yes, that is the man.”
I opened the case for the defencas in |
as possible, and then
Hhe stated |
that she lived at Rdeourt with her |
sister, Mra, French, and that on the |
tenth of May she and her cousin spent |
the greater part of the day sketching |
by the river side at Kilcarran, At about |
two o'clock a gust of wind had carried
her hat into the stream, whenoo it was
recovered by the prisoner, who hap-
pened to pass by at that moment. In.
terested by something io his appearance,
with him, bat without much success, |
his English being very imperfect. They,
however, managed to make him under-
stand that they wished to employ him |
as a model, and he sat to them patiently
for more than an hour, at the end of
which time he went away with many ex-
gratitude for the money
they gave him, Miss Darcy would have
(which was produced
her cousin aad
the ninth of
in court) as
arrived at Kiloarran on
May and left on the |
Cross-examination failod to cast auy
her veracity was of |
The jury
professed themselves satisfied with the
evidence, and pronounced a verdiot of |
“Not Uailty,” The prisoner was |
scized upon by some of his ocom- |
patriots, who were serving on the |
mixed jury, and carried off in tnumph,
somewhat dazed by the change in bis
prospects,
Some months afterward a man, dying
from the effects of a hurt received in a
drunken brawl, acknowledged himself
guilty of the erime of which Bernini
had been scoused. He also was an
Italian, and bore sufficient resemblance
to Lis countryman in height and com-
p.exion to account in some degree for
the mistake of the witnesses,
As for me, I date the beginning of
both my professional sucoess and my
life's happiness from the day of Ber-
nin's trial
Chicago Cheek.
* May I bave this seati” she asked of
the genteel looking drummer whose bag-
was occupying it
“[ don’t know, ma'am.” he answered
politely. *‘It belongs to Lhe railroad, you
know; but 1'll see the conductor, and may
be he can give it to you.” .
She grew purple and said.
“You don't understand me. | mean,
can I take It4”
“Well, I don’t know that, either. Youn
pee it 18 fastened very firmly to the car
floor, and would be troublesome to get up;
however, 1'll have a carpenter {0 come on
board at the next station and ask hus ad.
vice."
+4 don’t want to take the old thing, ’
she howled. *‘Is this your traps on 1?”
“No'm,” blaandly answered the drums.
mer; ‘they belong to the firm 1 travel
for.”
“Well, can [sit down herel” ste fin-
ally screamed, after shifting from one foot
to the other,
«1 don’t know, madam; you are the best
judee of your muscular powers."
“Where do you travel fromi” she
“Chicago,” he replied.
“That settles it,” she said meekly;
‘will you please move your valises, and
permit me to ocoupy a small’ portion of
this seat?” .
“Certainly,” he replied, “why didn’t
you say that at feat?”
The train sped on, while he sat count.
ing up his ex and she wondering it
Ohieago prop ogo.
any equal under the
sun.
An Indian Trias
In the Bummer of 1847 a young brave
was tried in Michigan for the murder of a
chef. The trial was conducted in accord-
ance with the unwritten law of the In
disns. IL 18, or was, an Indian custom
that when a murder is commitied among
them the murderer flies to the protection
of the chief and band to whom he is the
nearest akin, and remains there until the
chief secures a court or council for his
trial. In the meantime the murderer
must remain in the wigwam of the pro-
tecting chief (unless the latter accompany
him forth) until the court assembles,
‘I'he chiet who is nearest of kin to the
murderer calls the court in conjunction
with the medicine man. It is alwaye held
in a new wigwam in which no one has
ever slept, eaten or lived. The wigwam
on this occasion was large enough to hold
about two hundred persons. When the
time for convening the court is fixed, all
the relatives and friends of both sides are
secretly notified, and they at once begin to
make preparations for the feasts which
are to be celebrated in the forenoun in
the village where the court 18 1 con-
vene in the afternoon. The chiefs and
relatives of the murdered man meet in
one wigwam, and the medicine man, the
chiefs and the relatives of the murderer
meet with the latler at another wigwam
and feast together. This party has
brought the presents which are to be given
by the medicine man during the open trial
to the family of the slain. After tbe
feasts are ended the prosecuting parily
march in single file to the new wigwam,
which they enter with funereal solemnity,
Zressed in their gayest attire. The
most distant relative filed in first, walked
half way across and sat down op lhe
The wife and children of the
defendant party made
front of the wigwam
very quietly, shaking
8 semi circle
and then
hands with
(How do you do?)
The murderer was &
forlora picture of human
medicine man
sullen,
depravity.
were
the last
soal 10 denote his sorrow, and his blankets
pathy of his opponents. The
in the ogntre of the
wigwam, with the criminal on one side
ard the presents on the other to be given
In froot of ths wigwam
perhaps a hundred lodisos,
come to witness the trial
of
who had
All
dealh
the speakers,
in council on the great
This fools
chief.
friends,
felt
When we, his
heard this bad
very sorry in
to-day. And we are
sh Ww you
buy of you
reistives and
news, we all
mel bere to
to try and the, life of this
, The medicine man now ar
ried across the wigwam some new Indian
Mackinac Disnkets, and sud them down
in front of the mourniog family. here
me and car-
He
aod pro
his own family.
sixteen years old, has
to hunt and get food for his mother
her other children. His place the
council is vacant, sod this makes us all
(dar
wl for
TH
in
there (pointing to his stricken family); his
3C Cle<ba
sod bis spirit
hunting grounds
We all mourn, 1
is gone Lo the great
beyand the selling sun,
we 3 pv
wir brother.
There were other speeches, and the med-
young. The prisoner re-
mained silent and motionless, and did not
look up. ‘Lhe medicine
stowed more gifts, All
him as he took from his fawn-sgin pouch
a plug of Cavendish tobacco, carefully
With
dint and punk and steel ready, in a very
unpressive manner he thus addressed the
eourt:
“Brothers, we have met here before the
(ireat Spirit, who sees us all, who knows
why we are met, who sees into our hearts,
who knows what your tongues have
talked, and what your hearts have thought,
and He knows what these presenis are that
i have carried over and given to this fam.
ily to make peace.
“*Now, if you are all true to each other,
snd intend to settle ihis trouble, and let
thie young man live who has brought it
into our hearts and wigwama, then I will
have to strike this flint once only with this
steel to Light the pipe of peace,”
All on both sides responded **Ahl” in
token of assent,
There was a momentary pause, and
every eye was turned upon Mus-kah-ke-
ne-ne-ne, or medicine man. For the
first time since he entered the court the
murderer lifted his eyes and fixed them
on the medicine man's nght arm that
was raised to etnike the flint. The steel
clicked against it, and in an instant
there arose from the ignited punk a curl
of smoke--and the pipe of peace is
lighted. The medicine man imperturbs-
bly takes a few whifls amd moves, emo-
tionless, across the space, and offers the
pipe to the son of the murdered chief.
Onca—but the ‘boy took it not. Again
1s it offered, but not & muscie moves.
A third time, aad still there is no sign.
The medicine man was about ts turn
away, when the boy's mother quietly
touched his arm and looked an appeal
for him to take the pipe. He instantly
obeyed, ook one whiff, and then it was
handed to the widow. Up to this stage
in toe tnal the proceedings have been
conducted with the utmost decorum, but
now the widow gives way io a wall of
sorruw, while tears run down her cheek in
token of her deep loneliness and her
mourning for her murdered husband, She
arew a whifl, and 80 procisimed ber tor.
giveness of the crime.
The mediator goes on from judge to
judge (for they are all judges bere),
There are two young men md «
way of the circle, cousins of the murdered
chief, They had declared their unwilling.
nest to forgive. It is the unwritten law
that if any relative of the murdered dead can
not forgive toe slayer, then in « pia coun
cil, where the pipe of peace is offered, he
who will not smoke it may rise and in the
weners! nrosence kill the murderer witn his
tomabawk., It wag the sapren: manent /
when the medicine roam stood ap before
the inexorable avengers and presen.ed the |
pipe to the first of them with unusual de- |
Iiberateness. The young brave was in a |
quandary, What should be dof He
seemed to struggle with Lis impulse to |
brain his chiet’s destroyer, but when the |
pipe was offered to him ihe third tune he |
slowly reached forth and with it ok a |
single whiff. The other followed huis ex-
ample and the deep suspense was ended,
Then all except the murderer smoked
again, and one by one the offending par-
ties shook hands and glided out as undeui-
onstratively as they had entered.
- tl RA
Catching Whales,
An old whaleman says: 1 have been in
the business 8 long time. [ first went |
to sea when I was 12 years old, and |
had command of a ship at 20. 1 have
been round the world three times, and
killed 800 whales. By that 1 don't
mean that I first struck them all—by no |
means. That 18 done wilh the iron, as
we call it—what you call the harpoon.
1 mean I have lanced so many.
The best man | ever had with me was
a Bhinpecook Indian, from the east end
of Long Island. He was with me seven
years, and rendered me jmportant serv-
jces 1m some cases in which I thought |
any other man I ever koew would have |
been unable to act quite in time or with |
sufficient strength, coolness, and dex- |
terity.
One day 1 was out
whale rode my boal;
up and threw himself right scress the
middle of it, and, of course, broke it |
in two and instantly threw us ail into
the sea. I beheve he did it by acci-
dent, coming upon us in thal manner
merely because we happened to Jie in |
his way. 1 recovered mysell and got |
into the mate's boat and helped to get
in my boat's crew. The whale, in a
few minutes, made his appearance again
did not observe him, |
The boast was crowded, having two crews
in, and I was sittiog with a lance in my
hand and the line which belonged to it |
about my feet. Suddenly wy Indian |
called to me: “Look! He's coming!” And |
1 saw the whale swimming right down |
toward us, just ready, I thought, to strike |
our bows with his hesd. 1 had heard 1t
with lum and a |
that is, he came
it will stop him 1mmedistely, as it seems |
to take tum right aback, and be will sud-
denly op sad turn away. I determined
to try 1% and struck him with my iron |
and wounded him deeply; but he did not |
mind it inthe least. On be came, and the |
pext thing 1 knew 1 was deep in the |
and going deeper; sod, what |
sround my ankles, and Kpew that when it |
ughtened 1 should be tied tight] for one |
end was fastened to the bost and the other
1 strove to clear away the
took me 8 Jong time to get the other free. |
However, 1 sucoeeded, and then began 10
This, as 1
have remarked, I slways had presence of |
mind enough to do; and I can tell yon it
1s highly importani. Oilher men gener-
ally do not slop to look, but do what they
first think of, and #0 are as hkely 10 jump
into danger as oul it. 1 mever took
much time, commonly a single instan!, a
single turn of my eyes was sufficient; and
80 it was in this case. I Jooked above me
od saw it was dark, and therefore
1 was under the whale. 1 then
attempted to swim out a little one mde,
but that brought me against his fin; and
then “1 dove,” kmnowiog that the fins of
that kind of a whale were very broad, s
ot
pre-
gets between them. When 1 bad swam
were in company, and very near esch
be haz.
1 should
I thought it maght
ardous Vo rise among them, as
moment for them to pass |
This they soon did; and 1 was giad
once more on the tp of the
water, where I could breathe; for, al
been under it much less
strength somewhat reduced. 1 got into
the boat and began to get all ready and
pursue the whales and get one of them at
past.
Seeing one of the crew In the stern-
sheets, bending over the water, I ordered
him to the bows, and was surprised snd a
nittie vexed that he did not obey me. 1
did not at first see that 1t was my Indian;
but I saw at the next glance that he had a
man by the hair, who was sunk in the
water. Gong to help him pull lnm out,
1 discovered that he was a young man
who had shipped for the voyage for the
benefit of his health, sod had a large
circle of highly respectable relatives in
the Uaited States, to whom his death
He was a
man of uncommon stature and frame,
spd had gained so much flesh ai sea
that he was almost unmanageable even
in the water. 1 attempted to ssast my
faithful Indian, but found my grasp so
much weakened by exhaustion that I des-
paired of getting hum into the boat, when
1 reflected that my crew bad been strug-
ghng with the waves as well as myself.
1 then resolved to save the young man if
posmble, and gave orders to row for the
ship, which we reacted, dragqing the
young man after us, managing after a
while to get his head and shoulders clear
of the water, and afterward to pull lum
into the boat, When we came alongside,
thay lowered a tackie-fall, and we howted
him on board, where many hour: were
spent in endeavors to restore him. They
were at last successful; and the boat which
1 had sent after the whales on reaching the
vessel, returned with one of the best of
them. which they had taken.
It 1s thought by many persons tbat the
most dangerous thing that can happen to
a man is to be thrown into the air by the
blow of 8 whale, 1 have not found it so,
although 1 have had frequent experience
in that vay. It is certain that the strength
of the anima) is so great that nothing ean
withstand! its direct force; bul a man may
be thrown up with a boat without being
struck himself, and without having his
booes broken or his skin torn by the tim-
bers, and then he has nothing to fall mto
but the sea. Now it always to
me to be unhurt, and 1 got only a ducking,
and was usually soon picked up by an-
other boat. 1 have been thrown a dis
tance of several rods through the mir,
and, put it all together, 1 suppose the
eolire distance that 1 tave bees thrown
wv whales must be sbout a mile!
F Log vig Ooty Hindle.
Tie seversl loguieg camps of Woods,
Pack, Periy & Co., in Northern M-chigan,
have 1urne out au aggregate of 40 000,000
feet of lumber iu the season just closed.
The camps are scattered along the Au
Sable and Pipe nvers, some of the logs
floating one hundred and fifty miles before
the mill is reached. The logs are hauls d
from where they are cut to the river on
low bob sleds over a carefully prepared
roadway, These roads, after & spow
foundation 1s formed, are carefully
scraped with a pstent scraper. Then a
sprinkling car, with an abundant flow of
water, 18 run over the road at night, This
water freezes snd makes the road-bed a
mass of solid ice. Esch spowlsll 1s care-
fully scraped off and the flooding process
continues until the icy driveway i 18 or
20 inches above the surface of the adis-
cent land. Thus built, the road-beds are
firm and not as susceptible to a thaw a8
the ordinary snow-packed roads. In lay-
ing out thess roads a distance of two miles
fourth of a mile distant.
in making 1t perfectly level, or what with
a slight incline toward the objective pont
of the loaded sleds. On such magnificent
roads immense hauls can be made and the
in bmilding and carne
In the company
office 1n this city is a photograph of the
largest Joad of logs ever drawn by & single
tenr of horses, The picture was taken at
Otsego Lake, Micthigsa, the head
waters of the Au Bable niver. There are
21 pine loge 60 feet long, and ihe load
50,008 feet of good umber,
board measure. The hollow butte, bark
This is requisite
on
A close estimate of the weight of
$0 tons The team
pounds, and be
apart, the neck yoke
The “bunks’ or bol-
which the load rests
logs rise LO 8
The boss of the
weighed about
horses stand wide
o.200
5 HJ
height of about 16 feel
camp, six feet tall, stands DY the side of
wd and hus hesd wiih the
third tier of Jogs. The runners of the bobs
are about four inches thick. The bobs are
connected b cross chains which run from
the heel of the tront bob to the toe of the
rear ope, crossing in the centre. ‘The load
was bauled a distance of a mile and a
quarter. A few years ago three or four of
these logs, scaling 1,500 or 2,000 teet of
even
have largely con-
tnbuted to the increase. The next largest
haul on record was made in anolber camp
of the company. This losd consisted of
20 pine logs, 52 feet long, scaling 20,000
feet of good lumber. This was hsuled
three-fourths of a mile. These logs are
loaded by means of skids which reach
from the ground to the load. By means
tackle the horses roll the
isto plsce with the
logs greatest
case,
up
se——— cs A A
Five Cents a Day.
power Of
The cumulative
fact very generally apprecialec.
are few men living at
harping on 0 existence by
employment, or pensioners, it may be, on
the bounty of kindred or friends, but
might, by exercising the smallest partic ie
of thrift, ngidly adhered 10 in the past,
have set aside a respectable sum wbich
would materially belp them 0 marian
their independence in their old age. Let
us take the small sum of five cents, which
we daily pay 10 have our boots blackened,
to ride in a car the distance we are able to
walk, or to procure a bad Cigar Wwe are
better without, and see what its value is
We will suppose a
boy of fitteen, by blacking his own boots,
going without
Lis cherished cigarette, puts by five cents a
day; in ome year he saves $15, which
being banked bears interest si the rate of
nve per cent. per annum, compounded bi-
yearly. On this bssis, when our thrifty
money 18 &
There
age of 75
some
the § dy
slender
4
set his five cents per day religiously aside
surpris-
po lefts a
A scrutiny of the
At
ing. He has socumulsted
sum than $2,895.18.
progress of this resuit is inleresting.
the age of thirty our hero had $395; ai
sl fifty, $1,667; at sixty,
$2,962. After fifteen years’ saving, his
annual interest more than equals his
original principal; in twenty-five years
it 1 more than double; in thrty-Lve
years it is four umes as much; in forgy-
five years it 1s eight times as much, and
the lsst years’ Interest is $56, or ten and
sa half umes as much as the annual
amount he puts by. The actual cash
amount saved in fifty years is $912.50,
the difference between that and the grand
total of $3,8030.17—wiz., $2,080.67 is ac-
cumulated interest. What a magnificent
premium for the minimum of thrift that
can be well represented mn figures!
——— i ———
Leave It.
“How shall | eat an orange in soci-
etyi” asks a reader. Now, what in all
the world do you want to eal an orange
in socsety forf They are not there 0
eat but to jook at, or to hold mn a void,
clammy way.n your hand, or roll off
your plate while you are using both
hands to steady it. But if you will per-
mst in peng odd and eccentric, and est.
ing your orange before the world, there
are several ways of sacrificing it and
yourself. First, oatch your orange.
Then skin it gently, and throw the pulp
away. Or you can quarter it and choke
to death on the sections. Or you can
dissect it, toy with it, and run your
own clothes, and your bost’s furniture
with the julce. It 1s usually adventure
enough for one evening, to cut the thing
up. Bither it is a ripe orange, and holds
a cistern full of juice whith squirts all
over creation, or it 1s dry with a hide like
a rhinoceros, and nothing inside. You
can impale yourself on either horn of
the dilemma. The only safe way 10 eal
your orange 18 to leave it.
Sansui AMI ARI 5 33 —
April Events,
the month of April. On the 19th of
April, 1776, the battle of Lexington was
fought, the beginning of the levolution.
In 1861, on the 15th, Fort Sumter was
taken, and on the 19th, the mob attacked
the Massachusetts t m Baltimore.
In 1865, on the 3d, fell; on
the 9th Lee surrendered, and om the 14th
Lancoln was assassinated,
A sini I I IIIS,
A runsace should be like a gooa
singer—-able io Yeath the upper regis.
*