On An Intaglio Head of Minerva.
The cauning hand that carved this face
A little helmeted Minerva—
The hand, I say, ere P ilias wrought,
Had lost its subtle skill and fervor.
Who was he? Was he glad or sad,
Who knew to carve in such a fashion?
Perchance he shaped this dainty head
For some brown girl that scorned his
passion,
But he is dust; we may not know
His happy or unhappy story;
Nameless and dead these thousand years,
His work outlives him—there’s his glory!
Both man and jewel lay in earth
Beneath a lava-buried city;
The thousand summers came and went,
With neither haste nor hate nor pity.
The years wiped out the man, but left
The jewel fresh as any blossom,
Till some viscoutl aug it up—
To rise and fall on Mabel's bosom!
O Roman brother! ses how Time
Your gracious handiwork has guarded,
See how your loving, patient art
Has cows, at last, to be rewarded!
W Lo would not suffer slights of men,
And paugs of hopeless passion also,
To have this carven agate-stons
On such a bosom rise aud fall sol
TITER
THE EMMA-JANE VERBENA.
Vrs. Pease was fond of flowers. She
liked them 1 wasses in a cracked white
pitcher, und she admired what she call-
ed a “set bouquet’’—such as ber son
Orrin carried oir Sunday evenings to
his sweetheart, Miss Abby Swift, over |
in the Center.” Best of all she loved |
them growing in her garden.
The garden was a tangle of color and
sweetness, Ro-es crowded up against
the little brown house, and peeped bold-
ly in at the windows, Morning-glories |
climbed to the low roof. Petunias and |
mignouette flourished in their humble
way; and tiger-lilies, sweet peas, phlox
and hollyhocks mingled with cocks
comb, canterbury bells, nasturtiums
and poppies in gay confusion.
Mrs. Pease spent hours over them,
weeding, training, clipping and water-
ing unweariedly. Her bent figure
could be seen all summer long moving
lovingly about the narrow paths, hang-
ing patiently over the brilhant beds.
The flowers repaid her in many Ways.
They filled the air with sweetness, they
seemed to smile and nod to her through
storm and sunshine, they seemed quite
human in their silent grace. She call-
ed them all by name, often in grateful |
memory of some friend, generally for |
the giver of the plant or precious slip
from which the sprang So
thriftlly.
Her son, too, felt an interest in the |
garden, lle shared her pride in the |
blossoms
lusty roses and geraniums, he liked to
see his other's sun-bonnet bobbing
among the bushes, or bending intently |
to the ground, Ile was interested in |
the welfare of the Liddy Ann pink,”
and solicitous as to the growth of the
“* Ampandy chrysanthemum,”
“1 do declare,” said Mrs. Pease, one
summer evening, *‘that Marthy lily does
look dreadful peaked, just like the
Ponds. I kinder hated to call it after |
one of em, but I see she was goin’ to |
tee! badly if 1 didn’t, and so I did, |
Now look at it, all yeller and droppin’.
Seems as if there was a sort o' sympathy
atween ‘em.’
Orrin was a youth of few words.
looked interested, but said nothing.
that Betsey peony,”
ther, walking slowly down
the path, “how it does grow! Great,
strappin’ thing. Every time I look at
it. a-standin’ up so peart and sassy, I
think of Bangs in her red
jersey.”
is
He
i=
YY
CO
Fhere's
inuad LS md
iil
Betsey
\ hey :
5 the mother?’’ said
verbena,
Orrin.
I'he Emma-Jane?’? said Mrs, Pease,
stooping over a plan whose little fing-
ers, spread in all directions, promised |
to cover a 'arge space with pure blos-
soms. “It's a growin’ beautiful,” and
she sighed.
Her son looked serious for a moment,
then straightened up to hus full height
of six feet, a handsome, stalwart young |
fellow in hus shirt sleeves, with his sun-
burned face freshly shaved.
“I guess 1'll go over to the Center,”
he said,
“Qe
exclaimed his mother |
with a wistful look.
He went into the house silently; and
the good woman picking a dead cinna-
mon ruse to pieces, said in a low voice,
“‘I hope to mercy she'll be good en-
ugh for him, and not one of your
Mighty kind. I s'pose she'll like a bou- |
quet.” And then with care, if not |
with skill, the kind soul gathered a |
large bunch of the different tlowers and
wrapped a bit of
their stems,
When Orrin appeared in his best |
slothes, he thanked her warmly, picked
a blossom of the white verbena for his |
buttonbole, and blithely strode away.
She watched him through the dusk as |
long she could see. He and the flowers |
were all she had to love; sometimes it |
was hard to have him leave her of an
evening—hard to know that a fair face i
had such power to win him from the |
devotion and companionship of years,
“He's better than the common run,”
she thought with pride, ‘more quiet
behaved and faithful, He's been a
good son to me. He'll be a dreadful
indulgent husband. Ef she ain't good
to him-——-=*"
She turned away from the gate and
shook her head as if words failed to ex-
press her feelings. At euch side of the
path the blossoms leaned towards her,
filling the air with their sweet breath,
as if reminding her: “We are always
hers, We never leave you.”
“No more you do,” said the simple
woman, understanding them. And
then she picked a bit of the white ver-
bena.
“Sweet creetur,’’ she whispered, “jest
as innercent and sweet a8 Emma Jane
herself.”
Meanwhile, through the scented even-
ing walked Orrin with his big bouquet.
His honest heart was full of tender an-
ticipations. Wold she be out in the
yard, watching — watching for him?
Would she smile with the look in her
pyes he loved to see there? Or would
she be unaccountably shy and cool,
seem surprised to see him, and take his
offering indifferently? There was no
telling about girls. Somehow he fanci-
sd that his mother had always been
rey
SOO0%
newspaper around |
stratghtforward and easy to understand,
Abby was different, all spirit and
change, one minute wild with merri-
ment; the next, qulet, inscrutable,
ssmad,’? perhaps,
«"Pwill take more than a garden to
satisfy her, I guess,’ he thought, half
amused, half tender. *‘God bless her!’’
he added reverently.
She was watehing for him, with all
her soul in her great dark eyes. She
was thinking, with a pang, how Jate he
was; then a fear flashed over her——per-
haps he might not come ab alll Sud-
denly her heart leaped; a dimness cloud-
ed her sight. She tried to still, with
one hand, that beating in her breast,
He was coming! Ah, she would know
him among ten thousand, with his
broad shoulders, and his springing step.
She learned against the window frame,
and watched him with kindling eyes,
When he opened the gate she was in
the kitchen; by the time he reached
the door she had gained the woodshed.
Deacon Swift answered his knock.
“(Good evenin,” he said politely.
“Good evenin’,”” said Orrin,
Abby to home?"
“(Guess likely. Step in.”” And the
Deacon opened the parlor door invit-
ingly.
Orrin walked in over the rag-carpet-
ad “entry” in:o the dark and sacred
“best room.” An indescribable odor,
musty, herby, close, pervaded it, an
odor pecul ur to New England village
parlors. The haircloth chairs and sofa
stood stiffly on the red and yellow in
grain covering of the floor; the marble-
topped center table bore a lamp and a
few cherished books; the mantelpiece
was loaded with shells, daguerreolypes
and wax flowers. A row of
“In
i
the windows,
of them, saying.
“The wimmen folks hain’t ben
pearances,” Then he went lito the
passage and called.
“Abby! Abby!»
Abby appeared, demure and calm,
“Good evenin’, Orrin,”’ she
“nice evenin’,”
“Yes. 1 walked over,
so pleasant. I've
flowers, Abby.
“0, ain't they pretty!
does have the handsomest
any one I know,”
angi
seein’
Your mother
flowers of
“I'm glad you like ‘em, Abby.”
“How your mother?’ she
asked him, as she put her bouquet in a
china vase painted with red and yellow
TOSSES,
“She's well,”
her lift the
whatnot,
is
replied, watching
to its place
on
up and trying to help her,
They stood close together.
deepening ber
onl
long her eye-lashes were!
held the vase, Above
gazed at her.
“Abby, look up,” he whispered.
A tremulous smile hovered about her
red lips, 8; bit them angril)
ed her head away.
“Abby, dear, look at me,”’ And
put one hand over hers as it It sted
the gay ching She tore it away.
grasp on the vase loosened ;
’
They both
he
His
tL.
©
“I'll go to Deacon Swift's patch
first,” she decided, “The best and
sweetest always grow there.”
In the fleld the sun lay warm on
sweet fern and on vines, A scent, born
of ripening fruit, and wildwood green
things basking in the warmth, filled all
the air. The apple trees stood each in
a little “pool of shade,” The summer’s
spicy breeze swept over weeds and
grasses with a languid sigh of pleasure,
Mis. Pease bent above the loaded
bushes, a patient, homely figure. The
hard, black huckleberries rattled like
hail into the tin receptacle, and while
her fingers moved, she thought.
“Taint much use after all. That
Abby Swift, she’s at the bottom of it
with her triflin’ ways, I'd like to give
her a plece of my mind.”
With the thought a shadow fell across
the grass, and a slim young figure stood
beside her, a girl in a white sun bonnet
and a black gingham gown, a girl un-
mistakably erect and trim, The pink
and white bonnets confronted each
other, Two kindly dim eyes peered
out from the one, two sorrowful dark
ones from the other. Mrs, Pease had
turned with anger in her heart; when
ed look, she softened.
sake, where did you drop from?"
“I come down to pick berries for
tea.’
“How's your mother?”
womnau put on her spectacles for a closer
look at her companion,
“She's tolerable said
listlessly,
“Father well?”
regarding the girl
“Pretty well.’
““ And how are you,
rell.?!
well,
continued Mrs, Pease,
y
sharply.
child?
Seems to
“I'm all right,”
“Hucklet
year,” she added,
“Orrin ain’t right well jest ne
said the old lady after a pause,
t
kleberries plenty this
w,!?
’
floor. He was kpeeling in a moment
them and she was bes
him. They gathered all silently,
laid them on the
Then they looked at each other,
up,
table,
His
the
wi
with tears —the shock,
ing, she knew not
had brought them there,
Instantly his arm was around her,
He said some inart culate words; then
kissed her gently on her forehead, where
the pretty locks were parted—for Abby
wd
ming
re-
'
at,
9
“Don't erv,”’ he whispered. “I'll
IT
you all the world, Abby, if I could,
The tears were rolling fast down her
“Will you come and live in the little
with me, Abby? Will you
my wife? Say, Abby, will you?"
As he stooped to hear her answer the
white flower in his coat fell out. It
be
the carpet, She stooped and lifted it
without a wond, raised her shy, happy
kissed the
som tenderly.
“Oh, don’t, Abby, don’t do
"Twas Emma Jane's you see,
£1
that,
SOIMNe-
“Emma Jane's!’ she
:
i
i
i
i
i
{
“What's the matter with him?” she
said in a low voice,
lately,” she added defiantly.
“No, I know you hain’t,”” said Mrs.
Pease with decision, “Whose
v4.91)
“*Tain’t mine”’
ing a bush toward her.
“ain't his I know for certam,”
sald the mother, rattling her tin pail
“He's the most in his feeli
There
sOL
ain't
change in hun,
rin Pease ’ill get a dre.dful good bus-
And the gal that trifles with
live to repent it. He ain't one
off an’ on like an old sl
you, Abby Swift; and
may come when ae
ill
aL
$1 4 ” ’
can tell the
can't be got
“Who wants him back?”
her face in a blaze. “Not I, for
and she burst into tears.
sobs she managed to say, “You think
he ain't triflin’—kind,
1 34 a ’
one,
the “5
the
all
wer — girl
with me—and
- for anotl}
goods said i»
- a
“ol
“‘Land o' Goshen?
pany
- CATES -
exclaimed Mrs,
Pease, nearly dropping her pail. *'l
't never heard of no such a girl
t § fries? ) oe
hat be you a-thinkin’ of, Abby Swi
rin’ after ti
a4 InAn was
and that
ese Wo years,
dead sot on havin’
you, it’s my Orrin,
t to see your pa's old white
the road-
ickled to death to see that critier
There, chill, fo
don't no such
QOuly be good to
a gal,
or
gi
down he's
a~Con
fairly t
amblin’ along.
land's sake
otion in your head.
get
He's tender-heart-
and
lady put her worn, thin hand on the
girl's shoulder, and looked at her be-
seechingly.
With a ery Abby g her
around her neck and Kissed her,
“(Good to him!” she said brokenly.
him, dreadful
flun
arms
i
on Mrs. Pease's
Orrin helped his mother to a
large slice, As he handed it to her she
sad,
© picked them berries over in Dea
son Swift's pastur
a-pickin’ too.”
Orrin looked
she?’ he sald.
“She looks dreadful peaked,” declar-
ed his mother,
“Nick, mother?’
Yes, real sick.
ed with sugar,
a.
up sharply.
I don’t know,
1"
And at this moment Mrs, Swift walk-
“(100d evenin’, Orrin,
your house, I hope?”
He went home slowly with a puzzled
“yf
could ’a’ swore she almost took me,”
was his thought. **What was it chang-
ed her so all in a minute? What could
it a’ been?"
The summer glowed and deepened.
It reached its height—then waned,
The birds carolled madly in the elm
trees — by August they had changed
their song. The crickets piped with
ominous distinctness through the long
hot afternoons. The locust uttered its
heartless shrill ery from the stone wall
and hedge. A sense of sadness and of
change lay on the hills and pastures,
In Orrin’s heart winter had come al-
ready, His mother now had no need
to complain of his leaving her alone.
He was more silent than ever; and she
wondered and asked no questions, She
tried to cheer him up in every way she
knew, She made as many different
kinas of ples as possible—lemon, cust.
ard, berry and apple, She even con-
cocted an imitation mince turnover-—
knowing his fondness for the real thing
but it was useless, lle tasted them
all with an absent look In his blue eyes,
pushed away his plate and sighed,
“It does beat all,” she concluded.
“I've done my best, Doughnuts won't
rouse him up, and blackberry puddin’
hain’t no effect, “I'll try o huckle-
berry shortcake,”
80 she put on a pink calico sunbon-
net, hung a two-quart tin pail over her
arm, and starced for the berry pasture.
idea that there's another girl
plain to her yourself.”
“ Another giri!’’ cried Orrin
ing. *“O mother!”
“There, eat your supper, and then go
over to the Center. ’'Taint best to let
such things spile your appetite,’’
“Save my supper, mother, I'm off
now.”
“But, Orrin, a leetle more short.
cake, do, Bless my heart, how dread-
ful foolish young folks isl”
The Swifts were all at table, the dea-
con, his wife, Abby, her brother and
the hired man. They looked up sur-
prised when Orrin knocked, There
was no bouquet in his hand this time
as he waited in the dim, close parlor,
As Abby came slowly in he met her, a
determined look on his face,
“(Get your hat and take a walk with
me,” he said, gently, yet so firmly that
she never thought of disobeying. With-
out another word they left the house,
walked down the silent street past the
few shut-up houses, and out to where
there was space and solitude, Then he
stopped and looked at her gravely.
“Tell me,” he sand, * you think
I ever cared for anyone but you?’
Her face drooped before his gaze, At
last she nodded sadly,
“For heaven's sake, who?” he de-
manded,
“Emma Janel’ came the answer,
There was a moment's silence between
them.
“() Abby, he cried, “come and see
Emma Jane with me, Come now.”
The girl shrank away.
“No, no,’ she faltered, “I couldn’l,
You wear her flowers, You
they're too fine for me. You"
“Yes, I do love her flowers, I'll
show vou why I love them. Come,”
and he drew her hand through his arm
and held it there,
Still she resisted him. He stopped
short, clasping her reluctant hand firm-
ly, and sald in a voice that shook,
“[ swear to you, my love, 1've never
cared for any girl but you, only just you,
Abby.”
“Then why?’
“Come, trust me, and 1’ll show you
why.”
They walked along through the soft
evening light. The hills lay bathed in
sunset splendor; above them shone a
strip of palest amber sky. Everything
seemed strangely hushed and peaceful.
Even the village graveyard wore a
sweet, restful aspect as they passed
through its gateway. Over the quiet
sleepers the grass waved gently, field
flowers nestled lovingly about the head-
stones, and wild strawberry vines clasp-
ed the graves with clinging fingers.
In a distant corner a hemlock tree sigh-
ed above a little green bed, on whose
small slab wus
EMMA JANE,
AGED FOUR YEARS AND ONE MONTH.
| Suffer little children to come unto me
| for of such ts the Kingdon of heaven.
think
And over the tiny mound spread and
wandered, like an exquisitely embroid-
| ered pall, the starry blossoms of a white
i verbena,
Orrin took off his hat and stood be-
side the grave, You see,’ he said in a
| low tone, “Emma Jane and me was
| great friends. 1 played with her. 1
| made her boats and whistles, I took
| flowers to her when she was sick and
dyin’. She'd hold ’em in her little
| hands and smile and thank me, poor
| little girl! She come to our house once
| when you was away to school—like en-
| ough you never heard about her.
| warn't here long. Mother took care of
| her. She was my cousin Lucindy’s
| child, left all alone without a home,
| and mother took her, We loved her
| like she'd been always with us, And
| we called the plant we've got to home
| the Emma-Jane verbena, cause she was
| fond of it.”
Abby was crying softly.
{ arm around her.
“I thought,”
He put his
he said, ‘‘that
| when you was a-kissin’ the flower,
nwarn't a lucky thing for you to do,
| seein’ she drooped and died so easy, It
seemed as if ‘twas a bad sign when
was makin’ promises for life, my love.”
The girl in her impulsive way sank
| down by the little grave. She flung
! her arm across it,
| on the white, radiant blossoms,
| knelt beside h
| toward him.
“We shan't never misunderstand
| each other again, Abby?" he whispered,
“No, Orrin, never!”
Orrin
. and tried to draw her
«1
The Petersburg Crater.
First
It was
| a magnificent spectacle, and as the mass
| of earth went up into the alr, carrying
| with it men, carriages and tim-
| ber, and spread out like an immense
* 3
cloud as it reached its altitude, so close
the
Just as I arrived in rear of
livision the mine was sprung:
il
guns,
| peared as if it would descend immedi-
ately upon the troops waiting to make
the charge, This caused them to break
i watter to the rear, and about ten
consumed in reform
| for the attack. Not much was lost by
this delay, however, as it took nearly
time for the cloud of dust to pass
The order was then given for the
| advance. As no part of the Union li
| of bLreastworks had 1 removed
which would have been an arduous as
| well as a hazardous undertaking),
| troops clambered over them as best
This in
{ I Bs were
He
ne
wen
‘5
«0
they could,
FASHION NOTES.
—A new soft, flexible silk Is among
the novelties of the fall season,
— Plaids, associated with plain dress
goods, retain their well-deserved popu
larity.
—Fur shoulder-capes, lace capes
lined with plush or soft fur, are carried
te throw about tie shoulders.
—There 1s a gigantic effort making
to fight against the coming short waists
and full round skirts en attendant this
odious revival,
—Elaborate costumes for children
are no longer considered good form.
The sensible English fashion now pre-
valils among the best people.
Few women can appropriately
wear the hair in Greek style. To be in
with, the locks should be very abund-
ant; secondly, the features should be
classic in outline; and lastly, the face
should be beautiful, or at least attrac-
tive enough to bear the test of this se-
vere style of coiffure. And to band
down the waves of hair (for fnll-dress
occasions) with a filet of velvoi or sil-
ver i8 a style that is rarely becoming.
The women of Greece adopted this
in place their over-
—Stringless bonnets and hats are
and set with imitation and real jewels,
cat's eyes, tiger's eyes, Calrngorm
stones, or Scotch pebbles, and imita-
tions of these and carnelian, coral, jet,
Some of these bon-
the heads of animals and birds,
—a sort of cache poussiere is absolutely
indispensable for mail-coaching parties.
Sometimes they are shirred back and
front under a velvet yoke, the latter
coming down in points below the waist,
A silken and gold girdle gathers in the
folds loosely at the belt. Frequently
out and encircled with velvet
open-work embroidery, and a maid can
vary the linings to salt the toilets or
—Silk-warp French cashmeres In ex-
coming season. Samples of new
Parisian dyes and textures just for-
importers show exquisite
For evening wear isa list of
too numerous
hues never before seen and impossible
to describle,
—In ladies’ toilets light fabrics are
being exchanged for thicker textures,
require but little trimming. They are
sxirts, the front or side piece of which
guipure or blonde to match; all the
Old
gold, heliotrope, leather color,
aler
| but pushed ahead toward the
| about 130 yards distant, the
| from the explosion having covered
| the abatis and the chevaux de frise
| front of the enemy’s works,
Little did those men anticipate what
they would see upon arriving there; an
enormous hole in the ground, about 30
feet wide and 170 feet
’
* ,
debris
| feat deep, 00
| riages, projecting timoers and men bur-
jed in various ways—some up to their
necks, others to their waisls, and some
| with only their feet and legs protruding
| from the earth, One of these near me
was pulled out, and he proved to be a
| second lieutenant of the batlery which
had been blown up. Toe fresh air re-
vived him. and he was soon able to
walk and talk. He was very grateful,
and said that he was asieep when the
| explosion took place, and only awoke
{to find himself wriggling in the air;
then, a few seconds afterward, he felt
himself descending, and soon lost
| consciousness,
EE
It Didn't Work.
An old colored wreck recently limped
into a certain bar room aml requested
the bartender to give him a trifle of
corn juice, After turning out some
three or four fingers he stood a Tew
minutes before hiding it from sight, as
it in deep thought, Finally he said:
“I've a right smart attack of gripe in
my stomach and don’t just figure that’s
going to get along well with it. Do you
mind changing it for a bit of gin?"
The bartender replied that he wasn’t
in the habit of taking back goods in his
line, but anything for business, The
old man turned out his gin to the ex-
tent that a mateh would easily float off
from the top and fall on the floor. Af-
ter drinking he smacked his lips and
started on his way,
“Hold on, Uncle,’ says the manipu-
lator of stomach washes, “you didn’t
y me for that gin.”
“That's all right," said the old man,
“I swapped the whiskey for the gin.”
“Yes, but you didn’t pay me for the
whiskey,’’ was the reply.
“Why the debbil should I? I didn’t
take the whiskey.”
There was some little chance for
litigation, but the old gentleman Was
induced to compromise at 100 cents on
the dollar.
——————— A ——
There ia time enough for everything
in the course of a day, it you do but
| one thing at onoe.
made gowns are calculated to wear
well and stand the
DATY COUNtry wear, and are sure to
Some
too thick, but perfectly close
—————————————————————
It has dark reivet collar and
euffs. It entirely covers the dress and
a point round which the fullness of the
skirt is gathered. It has a hood lined
with dark silk to match the velvet, and
is loose in front. Dut the distinctive
novelty is bell sleeves about twelve in-
ches wide, bordered with velvel, A
compressed, as was the case with fash-
fonable ulsters for a while. A most
excellent coat, which finds favor with
American as well as Eoglish women,
is made in dark blue beaver cloth, the
same as that used for men’s best over-
coats; it fits the figure exactly, and
is full in the skirt, and handsomely
braided in knots with tubular braid,
having Astrakhan collar and cuffs and
a strip down the front. IL 1s a gar-
ment that would last for years, 18
eqaally fitted for town or country wear,
and always looks weil. The shape of coat
which Mr, Dore has had the honor of
making for the Princess Louise 1s also
much in favor. It basa loose double
front and a cape, is sufficently long to
cover the dress, and is made of the
most durable materials, Another new
mantle, made in threk self-colored in-
terwoven check cloth, shows a still
more important change in sleeves; they
start trom the back seam, and are
sufficiently wide and long for the
points to reach to the hem. Many so-
called circular cloaks are made in tar.
tans, which are much the fashion now.
This make rather supersedes the cirou-
lars, and can hardly be sald to come
under the same class, It fits at the
back, is all round and develops the fig-
ure. Perhaps, however, there is no
kind of serviceable wrap coat that is
so generally appreciated as the Derby
coat, with sling sleeves, made in good
checked cloth, A new shape, in green
bright-faced brocaded cloth, fits the
figure back and front, and has long,
hanging sleeves; so that, belog trim-
med with beaver, it recalls the Polish
dress pomewhat,
HORSE NOTES.
—Majolica (2.15) has been fired and
blistered on the right foreleg.
—Sunrise Patchen, owned by Dr,
Day, is suffering from pinkeye.
—L. E. Herr, son of Dr. L. Herr, the
well-known breeder of trotting stock
died at his home, near Lexington,
Ky.
—Harry Wilkes and Atlantic are
onder engagement to trot at Dallas,
Tex. Both horses went from St, Louis
to Kansas City.
~—]1t 1s said that Mike Wilkes (2.15%),
Gossip, Jr. (2.14), Rosaline Wilkes
(2.181), and Harry Wilkes (2.134) will
winter in California,
—~John McClelland, the trainer of E.
J. Baldwin's Santa Anita Stable, is
seriously ill at Brooklyn with 1oalarial
fever,
—D. A. Honig bas purchased of KE,
W. Walton the br, f. Omaha, 2 years,
by Tom Ochiltree, dam Jenny McKin-
ney, by Planet, for $3000.
—Messrs. Gray & Co., have pur-
chased of P. Corrigan, for $2500, the b.
c. Free Knight, 4 years, by : en Broeck,
dam Belle Knight by Knighthood.
—At Indianapolis, Ind., an assoCia-
tion has been formed, with a capital of
875 000, for the purpose of building a
mile track north of the city, snd have
ing 1t ready for racing next season.
—JIt has become a sharp practice
among jockeys to intentionally gel left
at the post for the purpose of affecting
the betting In in
{ which Lhe same en-
| tered,
—Samuel Coleson. of Montreal, I.
{ Q., has bought from Angus Sluclair,
Esq., of Roslyn Stock Farm, Chatham,
Ont. , the chestnut colt Wilkes Chief,
by Red Wilkes, dam Maud Muller by
Clark Chlef.
~The American Jockey Club has re-
moved the ban against M. J, Daly rac-
ing at Jerome Park, the latter having
satisfied the stewards that the runniag
of Neptunus at Clifton was without his
knowledge or sanction.
—The morning after his race for the
Grand National handicap Eurus was
seized with one of the most vielent fts
of colic ever seen. The horse rolled
around like mad, suffering the greatest
agonies, and at one time he thought he
would die.
subsequent
horse has
i ACES
been
~The great little horse Jack of
Hearts. that was sold early in the year
to a breeding company of Canada, died
shortly after his arrival at the North-
western ranch. He was a bay, foaled
1878; got by imported 111. Used, dam
imported Nellie James,
—R. Tucker purchased Monocrat
from a selling race at Louisville, pay-
ing for him a little over $1500. Since
| then the new owner has won the horse
| out three times over, as he captured no
jess than four races, having backed the
horse each time to win a good round
sum,
—The Bard has been shipped from
| Jerome Park to his home ab Chester-
| brook, and will be jogged during the
He has recovered completely
| trom his recent iliness so far as can be
| ascertained, and will be trained next
season, as Mr. Huggins says he has no
reason to think the horse has been per-
manently injured, and the attempt will
be made at all events.
— Previous to her winning the selling
race at Jerome Park, Ed Garnson pur-
chased the filly Nellie Van, 4 years, by
| Enquirer—Orphan Girl, for $1200; but
| winter.
| when she was put up for sale he had to
| pay $1950 to retain her, Mr. Jeanings,
the owner of Armstrong. who ran sec-
| ond, bidding her up. As she was en-
| tered to be sold for $1000 she cost Gar-
rison $2150.
—W. H. Hamilton made a bet of
| $100 that his bay mare Western Belle
| would beat her record (2.264) Ly one
second. John Murphy drove between
| heats during the New York meeting;
| and she trotted the mile in 2.244, and
| won the wager. This is now her rec-
| ord. The mare bas shown more miles
j over Fleetwood track in better than
{2 30 than any other mare gelding or
| horse started there.
—T. J. Middagh, owner of Myrtella
| G. and other well-known trotters, was
| thrown from his sulky daring the re-
| cent Port Royal, Pa., meeting and had
| both legs broken. Mr. Middagh will
| be unable to get out for some time,
| and, having a stable of horses on his
| hands, has concluded to dispose of
| them. The lot comprises the chest-
| nut mare Myrtella G., 2.28; the black
| gelding Dick Organ, 2.244; tne roan
mare Kitty Wood, 2.24} the roan mare
Blanche, 2.30; the bay gelding Mack,
| 2,34, and the roan mare Etta.
—The accident to Fred. Littlefield,
the young jockey who fell from Rupert
at the post in the race for the M anhat~
ten handicap at Jerome Park, was very
enrious. The horse stumbled at the
start and fell on his head, throwing
Littlefield who was picked up uncon-
scious, and, although no bones were
broken, the lad did not recover his sen-
ses for forty-eight bours, and whether
be is injured internally time alone can
tell. Just how the stumble occurred
no one can tell. Donohue’s fall from
Rapert onthe 11th was a singular coin-
cidence, following so close upon
same horse throwing Littlefield. But,
unlike the latter case, Donohue was
thrown just as they entered the stretch
in the run home, The horse was sud-
denly thrown, and Donohue was
pitched headlong breaking his collar
bone. He says it was caused by some
of the other horses closing in upon
him. Donohue has certainly some res
son to complain at fate, for he has had
more accidents than has fallen to the
fate of any jockey in America Only a
Foar ago received a broken leg and
other injuries at that kept
him out of the saddles for a long
time.
Small, short curls are again worn
on the back hair, sometimes with a coil
or a Psyche knot, and agmn forming all
the back of the colffure.
7%e French are experimenting with
a new rite, for infantry use,
which is said to discharge three projec.
tales at a time,