-
q
mn
ARBUTUS,
If spring has maids of honor—
And why should not the spring,
With all her dainty service,
Have thought of some such thing”
If spring has maids of honor,
Arbutus leads the train;
A lovelier, a fairer
The spring would seek in vain.
For sweet and subtle fragrance,
For pink, and pink and white,
For utmost grace and motion,
Of vines and vines’ delight.
For joy of love and lovers,
For joy of young and old,
No blossom like arbutus
In all that Springsimes hold,
The noble maids of honor,
Who earthly queens obey,
And courtly service render,
3y weary night and day,
Among their royal duties,
Bouquets of blossoms bring
Each evening to the banquet,
And hand them to the King.
if the spring has maids of honor,
And a king that 1s not seen,
His choicest springtime favor
Is arbutus from his queen.
LEAT IR
POOR SNOWDROP,
“Never did I know anything so ridic-
glous in my life!” exclaimed Murs,
Spence, angrily. ‘The idea of asking
a little chit like Nella to a ball because
Lord Wilton happened to meet her in a
grain.”
“Nella was eighteen last Monday, so
I suppose she is old enough,” said
Elizabeth, the eldest daughter; “bus I
really think she must have behaved yery
improperly, or Lord Wilton never would
have spoken to her.”
“Of course rhe
sountess makes such a point of it, I am
afraid we must let her go.”
©] can tell you what, mamma, will be
the best plan,” and Clara looked up
sagurly. “Dress her as if she were a
child in the school-room, and then no-
body will notice herat all. A few yards
of white tulle over a muslin skirt won't
cost very much, and it needn't have
body.”
This was nareed to, and soon after
luncheon Rirs Spence and her daugh-
the two ball dresses which had been
ordered long ago from the best dress-
maker, and to purchase the simple
materials for the one that was to be
made at home,
Eleanor Lestrange was an orphan
niece, who had been received into the
houseliold much against the will or her
two cousins, She had two hundred a
year of her own, and a lovely face, so
she might be considered a dangerous
rival by the girls, But there was no
thought of nvalry in her gentle breast
as she strolled down the shrubbery and
across the paddock into the cool woods
of Wilton Hall, Her eyes were full of
tears, for her cousins had been very
rude to her about that little episode In
the train a month ago, when Lord
Wilton, the eldest son of the Earl and
countess of Canterbury, had come to
her assistance, and saved her from the
lmpertineuce of a fellow traveler.
She sat down at the foot of a gnarled
oak, from which there was a lovely view
through the branches of the trees, and
resting her head on her hand, fell ito
the saddest thoughts possible for youth,
No one wanted her in her new home.
Mrs, Spence did not understand ber;
the girls were jealous of her. Even a
JEopes dress for the countess’s ball had
n denied her, and she would go
it looking like a country dowdy.
Oh, if her own idolized father, Col
Lestrange, were only alive, or she lay
at rest at hus side in the quiet el
yard at Beverly!
“Miss Lestrange!” The soft, rich
voice startled her from her melancholy
dreams, and she looked up to see Lord
Wilton standing before ber with his
fishing rod in his hand, “How glad 1
am I came this way!” throwing down
his encumbrance and seating himself on
the grass at her feet, “Do you know
that 1 have done nothing but think of
you from morning till right,” looking
ap into her fair face with his bold, bine
eyes,
“Then you have waisted your time
shockingly,” trying to appear at her
ease,
“Don’t you deserve it more than the
dogs or horses?”
**No, I'm not half so useful.”
“Nor half so nice,” 1 presume. But
what is the matter? Youve been ory.
ing?”
“It was nothing,” growing crimson,
“only —"
“Ouly what?" creeping up closer to
ber side. ‘‘Have they been bullying
ou?”
* would have liked to bully them,
“No.”
“What then?” They are not going
fo prevent you from coming to our
dance?”
“No, I'm coming; bat—" her lips
trembling.
“I am going to have such a horrible
dress.”
“Come in the one you've got on,”
looking down at her pink cambrie, and
you'll cut out all the rest. Mind, the
first dance is for me,”
“I shail look such a fright that 1
tering at something in his eyes.
“Then 1 shall come and drag you
out. But what's the matter with the
dress? It isn't , is 12”
**No, white; but oh, so terribly sim-
plel Just like a child's.”
“And so much the better,” with a
look of relief, “You will look like a
sweet littla snowdrop a them all,
He bout over her, AT her
band in kis, raised it to his tawny mus.
tache, Sbe suatched it from him, snd
sprang to Ler feet like a startled fawn,
a vivid enmson dying her cheeks with
a suddon glow.
“Nella?” he cried, jumping up ae
quickly as his Jong legs would let him;
but sho was gone, and only a distant
flutter of piuk could be seen through
the trees,
Lord Canterbury’s grooms. I am sure
there's some take about it, but you
must open it, as it is add to you,”
With eager fingers Nella undid the
fastenings, raised the lid, and removed
| lavers of cotton wool aud silver paper,
| Then a ory of delight burst from her
lips. An exquisite bouquet of white
| flowers lay inside, with a lovely wreath,
| to he pinned on the shoulder and hang
f down to the skirt. Lord Wilton's card,
| “with his compliments,” was pluned on
| to the first,
“Oh, auns, isn’t it beautiful?” ex-
{ olsmmed Nella, eostatioally, but Murs,
Spence walked ont of the room with a
| thunder-cloud on her brow.
At dinner it seemed as if a storm was
heart was brimming over with joy. He
j had thought of her among all his fine
| friends,
| dress without trimming.
|
| over; “*‘come into the drawing-room.”
{| Nella followed in a fright. Mrs,
| Spence had not been particularly kind
{as to prevent her going to the
| Her heart nearly stopped beating at the
| thought,
“I have been thinking the
| over,” said Mig, Spence gravely, «s she
| seated herself on the sofa, that it will
| be better for you not to wear those
| flowers to-night,”
“No; we consider that you must have
behaved in a forward and uniadylike
| manner to induce Lord Wilton
{ such a liberty as to send them! We
i do not blame him, but we blame you,
| because. of course, a man will always
{ hum.”
her foot,
“Yes, my dear Eleanor, youn did, He
| taken such a liberty with them. Now
i ance,”
*I don’t care, I wont go to the ball
{at all.”
“Nonsense, child, yon must, Go up
stairs to your room and compose your-
(self, and I'll send out into the garden
for a rose,” ’
| obedience ended, for she threw herself
tears,
knocked at her door and asked if she
might have the bouquet, as 1t would go
80 wall with her dress,
“Good gracious, Nell, the carriage
will be round in half an hour,” she
cried in dismay, as she went out of the
room with the flowers in her hand.
As soon as she was gone, Nella got
|
reno
lowed you to send them,” her bosom
heaving as she thought of her wrongs.
“Bat I never oy you,”
**No; but-—she thought—I—" hesitat-
ing and orimsom, ‘She didn't blamo
you.”
“I see, she thought you had been
flirting,” bis eyes twinkling. *‘Did you
tell her that it didn't matter one brass
farthing if you had?”
“No”
“Nella; do yon love me?” No an
swer, “Do you know that I can’t get
along without my little snowdrop, Do
you know that I shall shoot myself if
you won't be my little wife? Nella,
look st me!”
One shy fluttering glance, when the
fluttering heart seemed to shine out of
the g owing eyes, and then her head
dropped on his shoulder snd his mns-
“Eleanor!”
The roses were swept aside by a hasty
hand, and Clara Spence stood traps-
fixed by the sight before her,
of being in the least absshed, Lord
come in time,
i
i A
Coffins of Many Colors,
While riding with a triend through a
town 1n Lincoln county, Maine, not long
KgO We came
different colors, The front locked as
though the occupant of the shop, when-
ever he wished to test a newly mized
color, dipped his brush in it and then
wiped the brush on
| Cologne, arranged ber sunny hair with
the utmost care, and scrambled into her
dress with the housemaid’s help. Then
she tossed aside the red rose which ber
aunt had sent her, and detaching =»
lovely white bud and spray of lilies
from the wreath, pinned them on her
shoulder,
Mrs, Spence noticed the change when
si'e came down stairs, but thought it
best to make no remark, lest another
, burst of tears might be the ocouse-
quence,
The two sisters looked gorgeous, but
nothuog could make them look pretty;
while Nella, in her simple dress out
them out completely.
Her heart beat very {ast ns they were
warshaled through the spacious hall
into the bnlliantly lighted room where
Lady Canterbury was standing to re-
ceive her guests,
Toe couutsss gave her a pleasant
smile and a hearty shake of {be hand,
then Neibe slipped behind her cousins,
casting a shy glance around, She had
before, aud the flash of jewels on every
side seemed to dszzlo her,
Mr. Uppleton, a tall curate, came up
and talked to Elizabeth, Mr, Madway,
a young barrister, asked Clara after her
brother, but no one noticed Nella,
Presently there was a movement in
the throug, aud a pair of broad shoal-
ders crowned by « handsome face, came
ia sight, As Lord Wilton shook hands
with the Bpences, the band struck up
and, with a certain
bowed low to a certain little form in
the background, and said with a smile:
“This is our dance, Miss Lestrange,”
The curate started; Mr. Midway put
up his eye-glass, while the sisters grow
pale with jealonsy:
“Where are my flowers?” said Lord
Wilton, as he led his partner into the
ball-room,
“Here!”
der.
“Only thosel But where are the
rest? Why did you give them away?”
*I didn't.”
“Do you mean to say they took
| them?” the fierce fire returning to his
looking down at her shoul-
the outside
“What?”
“Yes. Nearly all the people in this
past ten years have been buried in col-
ored coffine. Light blue 1s the favorite
prevailing shade for old people. Yon
see this is one of the most retired vil.
lages in the State, and he 1s the only
The
and wow they rather like the painted
cofline, One old fellow got disgusted
and took a solemn oath that this under
taker should never make a coffin for
him,
was yet in this land of the living and
The
homes, He triod his best to i)duce his
wife {0 have ber coflinfmade, too, She
sald it was ridicuious-- the idea of hav-
ing your coffin made before you were
dead!l-—and plumply refused to be meas-
ured. This made the old man so mad
and he and the old Iady had many a
jar after that, although they had pre-
viously lived in peace and content, The
old man fpat his coffin in the barn,
and used it to keep his yellow-eyed
beans in, In the course of time he died
and was prepared for the grave, The
yellow.eyed beans were turned out of
the collin and an endeavor was made to
put the old gentleman into it, They
found that his body after all was so
large that it conld not be squeezed into
tue coffin, They had to patronize that
isting botween him and fhe late la-
mented. They tried to get him
swap one of his coffins for the old gen-
tleman’s Augusta purchase, bat tuis the
undertaker positively refused to do, and
the coffin,
A ——
Daniel Webster,
Webster, as told by the late Col, Mun-
never been published,
Cot,
State House one day when a distin.
a young lady, came in, and asked if they
cottld see the legislative chambers, Col,
Munford at once recognized, from por-
traats that he had seen, the face of
Webster, and wishing to see as much of
& sccompany him through the Htate
trembled. :
“Never mind,” he said, more gently,
“they can't take you from me,’
Then he put his arm around her waist
and they floated together sround the
| room, the lights reflected in countless
| mirsors, the sweetest music in their ears
| and a delicious happiness stealing from
| heart to heart, To Nella it was like a
| delightful dream, from which she would
| be sure to wake in another minute,
When the ha dance was over,
| Lord Wilton introduced her to his
cousin, the Duke of Portsmonih, a very
| taire as big as a sixpence,
| Toward the end of the evening, Clara
came up to her mothe: and asked her
:
young lady, turning to Lim, exclaimed:
“Now, everybody says you are a great
:
3
|
time to {30 oma,
“Oot m
know where she |
“With Lord Wilton again,” lowering
her voice. Isn't it atrocious?”
Mrs. Spence shook her head and
“You eried before you came to-night,’
said Lord Wilton, softly, as they sat
together under the drooping branches
of a yellow rose in the conservatory,
wt deny it, I saw i in your ayes,
ne because they aw
flowers?” uy. my
“Partly,” her lashes drooping on her
“Why did take them?”
“hut ‘said T" oughta %o have al
any preparation. I want you to prove
it.” As she said this she moved to the
7ostrum and took possession of the
president's char,
“The House will please come to
order. The gentleman from Massachu-
setts has the floor.”
“Webster,” said Colonel Munford, re-
lating the incident, '*took, as if by in-
stinct, the most favorable position in
the room, so that his voice could best
be heard, and for ten or fifteen minutes
Druggist’s Mistakes,
‘‘Are druggists’ mistakes of frequent
ocenrrenee?” a physician was asked by
a revarter,
“No; they are noi nearly so frequent
8 oue not Lo the profession would sup-
pose.”
*"Are there no means by which they
i
ik
could bo made preventable?”
“1 don’t know whut could be done
more than has been. Yon see, it is
human to err. Take the most careful
man in existence, 1 care not what busi-
ness he is in, and he will slip up some
time. How often do men who are
{ thoroughly conversant with their trade
| or profession make mistakes? A man
gets proficient in hus business, and this
| very proficieney makes him ofttimes go
| about it mechanically, and the first
{ thing he knows he makes a mistake,
it is a small one or is detected in time
to prevent serious injury or loss the
men grits his teeth, gives himself a
| mental kicking, and is more careful for
{ awhile, but soon he is back in the old
mechanical rut.”
“What means do druggists employ to
| prevent these errors?”
‘Every first-class drug store is ar.
| ranged like eloek work, The different
| poisons are either placed ig separate
| compartments, put in a peculiar style
{ of bottle, or the botties which contain
| them have an odd label, something
the moment he uses it, Then, again,
the clerk who puts up an order for a
| medicine of that character is under spe-
cial instructions to register it in a book
{ kept for the purpose. What other
means can be gotten up to prevent a
mistake creepingfin I don’t know.”
“Do not many errors arise from the
miserable chirography of physicians?”
{ *No, for the simple reason that if a
| druggist can’t make out what a physi-
| cian means he will quietly send word to
structions, telling the customer it will
| take twenty or thirty minutes to put 1t
up.”
‘As a rule, what is the general char-
acter of physicians’ handwriting?”
“My brethren in the profession will
bear me out in saying that it is the
| most miserable that can be msgined,
Sach scrawls as are sometimes sent out
i would tax the logenuity of an expert to
decipher, Many asolemn conclave have
| I witnessed in drug stores over the pre.
scriptions written by one of the most emi-
nent physicians of this city. He will
start a word all right, but ir it is over
four letters long ‘the conclusion will run
off into unintelligible hen tracks; and it
is true of many others, Bad writing is
as the proverbial slowness of tailors and
shoemakers,"”
es A =A
Lafayetle 1n America,
France hasshown its good will to the
United States on several occasions, the
Bartholdi statue being but a trifling
episode thereof; but it is a curious fact
of some interest, and not generally
known-—a fact I have ¥ ately and
accidentally come across myself-—that
Americans in Par's, especially several
New Yorkers in Paris many years ago,
showed their appreciation of France's
fnendship by getting up in short metre
a subscription fund, which, and which
alone, enabled General Lafayette to pay
his celebrated second visit to this coun-
try and this city, where he was received
with such honors,
in brief, Geperal Lafayeile was so
poor in ns old age that if it hadn't been
for the generosity of New Yorkers he
wounldn® have been able to visit
America at all. This | the
generally received idea that the oid man
| was well fixed, which idea owes Its ori-
gin to the fact that the old Frenchman
owned some lands in Louisiana, This
is true, but il is also true that these
| lands had only a prospective and nota
real and present value. They proved
of some sdvantage to Lalayetie’s heirs,
but were almost worthless to him, or
cost fully as much to hold as they were
worth.
When be was liberated from his long
political imprisonment at Olmutz, he
hadn't a dollar in the world, and owned
onl
# arity $
8 CONT ALS
| Loulsiaua lands,
his good record, his friend Baring, the
| banker, lent him about $35,000, to be
i ropaid al his convenience, A few years
| later Lafayette had spent the money,
| baat
{some jof the louisiana land to his
{ benefactor, Baring being a business
| man accepted the offer, bat being also a
| at a fancy price, taking them at about
eleven dollars an acre, or about thres
auyBody would have given.
Lafayette at once accepted Baring's
proposition, and wiped out the amount
of his pecuniary obligation to Baring
by transferring to him less than oue
fourth of the land. Itcan't be that
Lafayette was aware of what a purely
friendly and generous spint had aclua-
ted Baring in this transaction, or he
wouldn't have taken the advantage of
it he did. For pretty soon an English.
Paris and opened negotiations to buy
some of his remaining Louisiana lands,
Lafayette immediately told him what
Baring had paid for his share of the
lands, and proposed to let Coghill have
what land he wanted on precisely the
same terms, Coghill, not knowing of
Baring’s special friendship, thought, of
course, that he was perfectly safe in
paying for lands exactly what such a
smart business man as Baring had paid
for them, and nceordingly at once made
out his check for a large sum of wonoy
on that basis,
Just three times too much for the Lou-
isiana lands. Then there was a circus,
ol
a friendly transac
tion showed that
Jake it up by offering Coghill more
But Coghill didn’t want any more of
the land at any price, Then Lafayette
tried to get the balance of the money
due in honor to Coghill from Baring, by
selling Daring some more of the lands,
But Baring by this time had got enough
of the lands himself, and shut down.
Finally Lafayette tied up the lands by
making them over to his heirs, they are
not to be sold till a certain time, when
they would probably be worth some-
thing to somebody,
Well, Lafayette was thus high and
dry financially when the United States
Congress sent him an invitation to come
over Ito America. The gratitude and
honor pleaased Lafayette immensely.
| He was crazy to accept the invitation
{and come over, but he had no ready
{ money to take with him and besides
| the old fellow was heavily in debt In
{ Paris and he was bound in honor to pay
{ his debts before he left, Here was
rather an odd fix, A great nation was
waiting to welcome a great man, who
| wanted greatly to be welcomed, but the
great man couldn’t get over to the great
| nation for the lack of a small sum of
| money, At this juncturd of his affairs,
{the United States, pamed Vincent
Nolte, a New Yorker then in Paris, a
{ particular friend of his, and laid the
case before him,
The two bad several talks together,
and the more they talked the less prac-
tical result seemed likely to result from
| the talking.
his mind there was only one thing to do,
he also made up his mind that he
wouldn’t say a word about it to Lafay-
ette till it was done. He must get up a
{ subscription fund for Lafayette among
James
F.
then in Paris, and he did so.
Brown, Jacob Gerhard Knock, J.
took hold of Nolte’s idea vigorously,
and quite a sum of money was raised in
j less than a week, which was handed
over to Lafayelte, who received it as
| but an additional token of the esteem
{ in which he was held by Americans,
| apd looked upon it as but one more of
| thy numerous ties that bound him to
| the great American public,
i
for him to his house, where he treated
two English adie to whomjhe had taken
a great friendship, Fanny Wright and
her sister, who did the honors,
Then, two weeks later, Lafayette, his
son and his secretary salied from Havre
in the Cadmus to New York,
A A nN
Sergeait Molile Fricher,
The bas relief for the monument cele-
brating the famous battle of Monmonth
Lias been east in Justice Yowers’ found-
ry. The most noted of the four reliefs
is that of Sergeant Molly Pitcher,
Waguoer's command.
ean foroes retreated from Fort Clinton
and the vnemy was scaling the ramparts
ber husband dropped his match aad
fled. Molly caught it up, fired the
and also fled,
the battle of Monmouth, on July
piece
A
28 75, she brought water to her hus.
band and his companions from a sping
near by. A shot killed her husband,
and the officer in charge having no one
piece to be withdrawn. Mollié beard
the order as sho was coming from the
spring, dropped her bucket, seized the
ranuser and worked the cannon till
the Sghit ended. ’
Un tne following morning, General
(Gireen presented her, still covered with
dirt and blood, to Washington, who at
once gave Leora commission as Sergeant.
| She waa placed for life upon the list of
haif pay oflicers, and soon after the bat-
| tie left the army,
| Meuigomery, on the Hudson,
venerable widow of General Hamilton,
Lossing adds, ‘told me she had often
seen Captain Molly, She wae a stont,
#193.
| woman, with a handscme, pisrcing eve
The French officers, charmad by her
bravery, made ler many presents,
lines, with her cocked La, snl get it
almost filled with crewan,’
25 at the timo of the parle,
{ing by Oolonel Casts, Washington's
i of the sceue,
I'he reliof represents Sergeact Molly
| Pitcher as a beasti'nl youug woman,
{ She stands berefoowol and bareheaded
| in front of a catnon, rammiog a charge
home. Her dead husband lies at her
| ivet, The ponderons wheels of the gun,
; with old-laahioned iron bands holding
the joints of the felloes, are well brought
out. A bare-headed gunner stands close
by, ball in hand, Opposite another
unner thumbs the vent, holding the
bucket stands in place. An enemy's
ball ploughs the grassy field. A batvery
flag sticks in the sod, with the old Free-
hold meeting house in the background,
Artillery-men approach beneath its
steeple. In the foroground General
Knox rides away, flourishing his sword,
EE
Ladies’ Club.
A ladies’ club, patterned upon the
Union, is soon to be organized in New
York city, Its membership will becom-
posed of the most prominent women in
society of the metropolis, Tho names
of Mrs. Rivers, Mra. Willinn Asior,
Mrs, John Jacob Astor and Mrs, Adrian
Iselin have ilready been supested for
idant, and the Misses Hewett and
alas May bury will almost certainly be
among the goveccotses, It good with.
cua’ eaying that ro men are to be ad.
mitted to the club; either as ricmbers
or visitors. The servants are all to be
women, A) tho stewardess will be a
person onK expenence as.a house
keeper. As might La expected, many
of the hasbands of present and pros.
pective members do uot favor the new
olab, Several who do not happen to
ba clab members tu particular frown
severely upoa it, and say thay do not
seo w wives
husbands have not done so,
not come,”
eh
i
Parade Day in Mexico,
The eelbbration of the of
the repulse of the French, st the storm«
ing of Puebla in 1872, by Gen. Loren
ces, occurred not long ago, Two re-
views took place, one on the plein of
Ban Lazaro, outside of the city, and
| another in the city. At the shooting
{ school there was a sort of tribune
erected on the roof, from which the
president’s wile, the ministers’ families,
ete, had a good look at the review,
As it occupied little over an hour, many
who went a long distance to see it were
disappointed and the booths for refresh
ments made a scanty harvest,
In each review marched sbout 15,000
men. The uniforms are simple, of dark
bine cloth, relieved in the line regi
ments with gilt buttons and scariet
stripes on sleeves and trousers. A cloth
“kept” is covered with white ootton
stuft, from which hangs a *“‘havelock”
of the same when in ““latigue dress,”
The police also wear the **havelock.”
The cavalry have silyer buttons and
galloon, and black braided jackets are
added for the artillery, Their appear-
ance was good, aud many of the regi-
ments marched well,
The corps of cadets made a brilliant
| show, and they do credit to the military
! sechool of Chapultepec. But the most
| brilliant of all were the *‘rurales,” the
| policemen of the rural districts, as their
| name indicates, It is a treat to the
| eyes to see them galloping slong in
| their high and richly embroidered
Mexican saddles, on their flery horses.
| The jacket and breeches are of buff
| leather, and the hat a wide-brimmad
| light felt *‘sombrero,” with silver braid
{on rim and silver cord and tassels; the
{ boots are afso of buff leather, like the
saddle and stirrups; a crimson sash is
| worn around the waist and the long
| erimson serape hang in tight and nar
row folds behind ou each side of the
| saddle, The officers hafs and jackets
| are the same, but covered with embroid-
| ery of solid siiver, Their black eyes,
| ruddy, dark complexions and jetty
| beards form a striking contrast to this
| picturesque snd brilliant dress. Their
| rifles hang at the right side, and in all
| respects the display was a fine one,
Koocxing out Burgilars,
‘“*Any of your detectives got on to
that new mob of burglars yet?” he
seked, as he centered the office of the
Chef of Police of Detroit,
“Well, no arrests have
made,”
“And there won't be. The chaps
have got enough, 1 reckon, and if they
haven't left town by this time I'm a
sinner,”
“What do you know about burglars?”
“See that?” he queried, as he held
out a hand with every knuckle skinned,
“1 don't wait for burglars to come up
and burgle me; I try to get in the first
blow, Last night I took a little walk
| around snd met a burglar.”
| **How do you know?”
“Well, I asked his name and busi
ness, and he told me to go to Sheol
With that I popped him, and you ought
to have sees him get and fly! In
Ladf an hour 1 wet another.”
“How did you identify him?”
| “1 took him by the coliar and told
| him that his jig was up, and his confu-
sion gave Lim away. With thas 1 pop-
ped him, and you ought to have seen
| him take the grass! The third one I
met at about 11 o'clock.”
“What! Apother?”
“You bet! He was walking along as
softly ss you please, and I dodges in on
him and says I:
“Spotted, old fellow, and you're my
meat!”
“He yells for the police, but I'm up
to all these dodges. With that I pop-
ped him, and I left ham crawling around
on the grass. Say, I want to be a de
teotive.”
He was told that the matter would
be considered; and within the next
| hour three eminent citizens, having an
eminent black eye, called at the office
| and each story began with
| “As I was about fo enter my gate
iast night a desperate scoundrel rushéd
| upon me and dealt mea stunning blow.”
yet been
ae I
Hn —— ——————
Mexican Feather Work.
While in Mexico I tried hard to find
out how ¢hey made the lovely birds on
| cards which they offered for sile on the
streets. A freind took me to the house
{ of one of these artists, It was a little
{ hovel, where he sat on the mud floor
| and tolled. Dut when he heard uscom-
ing he put away all his work and
would not let us see it. Ie was an
| Indian, with browns skin and black,
| straight hair. He wore ragged clothes
and had an old blanket to keep him
| warm at night. Poor as he was, no
| money would tempt him to show us the
| secret process he had learned from his
| father, which had been kept in the
family for hundreds of years. Great
skill 18 required to produce a perfect
picture, First, the Indian traces on
the card the outlines of the body of the
| bird in wax, just enough for the feathers
to stick te. Then he begins at the
lower part and places them one at
a time, one row lapping over other
as a slater lays slates. He works Foor
slowly and patiently, Perhaps this |
the secret of hus perfect work, and the
reason that no ", Jeopls fave been
able to equal him, result is a bird
that looks as thoughit might sing or fly.
The eyes are le with an lass
bo TIChly thet thes, apes to Do mt of
80 that they appear
the bird. Then he paints a
branch for it to rest on, or
from a feather, and bis work is
Do that which is assigned
you cannot hope 100 much or
much, Bev ;
A Now Yon man went into a crowded
onr, and asked if be could have the seat