Requicsecat.
All night the land in darkness slept,
All night the sleapless sea
Along the beaches moaned and wept
And called aloud on me.
Now all about the wakening land
The white foam lies upon the sand.
I saw across the glimmering dark
The white foam rise and fall;
1 saw a drifting pbantom bark,
I heard the satlors call;
Then sheer upon my straining sight
Fell down the curtain of the night,
What ship was on the midnight deep
What volces on the air?
Did wandering spirits call and weep
In darkness and despair?
Did ever living seaman hall
‘The land with such a hopeless wail,
‘I'he flush of dawn is in the sky,
The dawn breeze on the sea,
The lark is singing sweet and high
A winged melody;
Hero on the sand, among the foam,
‘I'he tired sailors have come home,
Their eyes, that stare so wide, so wide,
See not the blessed light,
For all the streams of death divide
The morning {rom the night,
Weary with tossing on her breast,
“The sea at last bas given them rest.
‘I don’t know how it is,” groaned
Kate Blessington, *but in our family
things always happen cross-grained.”’
“What's the matter now?” said
Georgia, the eldest sister, who, with a
blue apron of checked domestic ging-
ham tied around her waist, and her
luxuriant flaxen hair confined in a red
bandanna pocket-handkerchief, was
cooking tomatoes for ketchup.
“Why, here have the Morelields come
to spend the day, and mamma has just
taken to her sofa with an attack of neu-
ralgia, and there’s nobody on earth to
go to the train to meet the city boarder.
You couldn't go, George, 1 suppose?”
—with a faint gleam of hope,
Georgia glanced up at the clock, and
shook her head.
‘Couldn't possibly,” said she, “There
isn’t time to get ready. Why don’t
you send Peter?!’
“Pgter, indeed! He's cleaning the
cistern out. Such a figure as he is!"
“Then I'm sure,” observed Georgia,
“1 don’t see what you are going to do.”
“Couldn't I go, Kate?’ pleaded a
small, sweet voice.
And the second Miss Blessington be-
came conscious of some one pulling
gently at her sleeve.
lv around. A tall, rosy girl stood there
-a girl just arrived at the age where
“brook and river meet.’ half child,
half woman, but infinitely pretty in
both her personalities, Sunburped,
frock, and with
she stood with
face.
A good ideal’’ said Georgia, tasting
of the bubbling scarlet mass in the ket-
tie. and adding a trifle more red pepper.
let Chrissy gol”
“But Chrissy can’t drive,’
“Oh, yes, I can!” urged Christine,
the youngest and least presentable of all
the Hlessingtons. “I drove old Jenks
up from the farm yesterday with a load
pumpkins, I've often driven him
when you didn’t know it, George.”’
“Oh, you horrid tom-boyl"
Georgia, balf-laughing.
But Kate gave little Chrissy a sound
box on the ear,
wrathfully.
“Christine,” said she, ‘I'm ashamed
of you! You're a disgrace to the fam-
ily. Don’t howl mnowl"” (as Chrissy
rubbing her empurpled ear, broke into
an indigrant wail), “The Morefieids
will hear you. Go quick—-get on your
there, an imploring
ol
said
at the tea-table, Your new frock isn’t
finished, and your old one isn’t half de-
cent; and besides, you’ll be needed in
the kitchen to wash dishes,’
The tears dried on Chrissy’s eyelashes
at the prospect of driving old Jenks to
tiie depot ail by herself,
she made haste to pull a white worst-
ed polo cap over her rebellious hair,
and to scramble into the rather dilapi-
dated buggy that was waiting at the
door.
‘Get up, Jenks!” she cried, brandish
ing the whip with gleeful countenance,
‘Pete, I'm going to drive to the depot!”
“All right, miss,” said Peter, who,
{fresh from the depths of the newly-
emptied cistern, was holding old Jenks,
as if there was any danger of that an-
cient steed running away. “Drive
keerful past Bowery Lane—he al’ays
wants to turn in there—~and mind you
keep a tight grip o' the reins, if you
meet a load o® barrels or ane o’ them
janglin’ tin-peddier’s wagons,’
Away clattered the venerable buggy,
old Jenks falling into a stiff trot like an
automaton horse, and Chrissy fairly
radiant with delight,
“Put Kate oughtn’t to have boxed
my ears,” she pondered, as the first ela-
tion subsided. *‘There was nothing
wrong in driving the load of pumpkins
home. I came by the back road, and
nobody saw me, I don’t love Kate—
por Georgia neither. They're always
laughing at me and making fun of me,
just because I grow so fast, They
won't let me come into the room when
they’ve got company, because I’m only
a child; and they me for running
races with the dog, because I'm a
woman, [I wonder if they call that
consistency? Never mind, 1'll pay ‘em
off yet, see if 1 don’t.”’
By dint of extraordinary efforts on
the part of Old Jenks, and 4 liberal ap-
plication of the whip on that of his mis-
tress, they contrived to reach one side
of the depot building just as the train
steamed away from the other.
Christine looked up and down the
platform, Most of had
already started forth in different direc
tions, but one man stood glanc-
ing and down the s0ad, with a valise
n a newspaper pro
truding from his Stat-pocist,
Chrissy hesitated what to do; then
she rose 35 the y.
‘‘HaHol'’ she , in a sweet, high-
soprano voice, ox Jou
new
pitched
tom from the city —
He advanced, with a rather puzzled
“Yen,” said he, “lL ‘
“I've come to drive to the cot-
wan” said Christine Blossington,
¥
“Jump in, please! Where's your trunk?
There's room for it behind,”
“My trunk is to be sent by express,
But—"'
“Oh, very well!” said Chrissy. ‘‘De
quick, please—the horse won't stand!"
The stranger cast an amused glance
toward old Jenks, who certainly looked
as little like a runaway steed as could
be imagined as he stood there, meekly
balanced on three legs, with his head
hanging down.
“And who are you?’ said he, pleas.
antly, “One of the family?”
“Oh, I'm Chrissy—the youngest girl,
you know!" explained she,
““T'he youngest, eh? Are there many
of you?”
Chrissy eyed him with a sidelong
glance,
“He's curious about us,’ thought
she. “Well, that's natural.”’ And
she answered, complacently:
“Well, there's Georgia-~she’s twenty-
two. And she’s engaged to an officer
in the army, although she thinks I
don’t know it. And Kate is twenty,
and she’s going to set her cap for the
new principal of the school, At least
she says so, She’s tired of making over
old gowns, and dyeing old ribbon, and
keeping genteel boarders. I don’tenvy
the principal of the school,” Chrissy
added, giving old Jenks an admonitory
touch with the whip, as he showed an
undue inclination to sidle toward the
entrance of Bowery Lane, ‘‘Kate has
got an awful temper. 8She flew into a
passion and boxed my ears just before
I started.’
“Boxed
stranger,
ation to laugh,
you?"
“I'm sixteen and a half,”
Chrissy, almost wishing that she had
not told the incident, as the crimson
flush rose up to the very roots of her
hair. *‘“*And she ouglhtn’t to treat me
like a child! I wish she would get
married and go away. I should be a
deal happier without her, Ob, oh!
there comes a load of barrels! Old
Jenks is awfully afraid of a load of bar-
rels, He always shies when he sees
one,”
“Lot me take the reins,’ suggested
her passenger.
And presently, under his charge, old
Jenks, who, to do hum justice, had
| evinced no particular emotion of any
sort, was engineered safely past the
fearful object.
And then Chrissy pointed out
various localitiss to him, told him about
the ghost that was said to walk in old
your ears!”
repressing a
“ Why,
repeated the
strong inclin-
how old are
the spring, and confided to him where
to go if he wanted to find the finest
nutting copses of the vicinity.
subjects, old Jenks stopped sleepily at
| the front gate of the pretty Blessington
i cottage,
All the Morefield heads were at the
window — Mrs, Morefield, Jeannette
Morefield, Susanna Mosefield, and the
married Miss Morefield, whose present
| name was Mrs. Josiah Stubbs,
“Bless me!" sald Mra Stubbs, ina
| stage whisper, “what a very genteel
{ young man.”
“It’s the city boarder,” explained
Mrs. Blessington, between the twinges
of her neuralgia. **Doctor Buffer rec.
{ alr,
| and needs change, and Doctor Buffer—
{ dear, good man—knew how we were
situated, and that we had a nice front
room to spare,’
“Humph!” commented Mrs. More-
field. “He doesn’t look much like a
sick man.”
While Kate ran out to open the door,
all smiles and freshly-tied pink rib-
bons,
*Is it Mr. Dorrance?’’ she said, *‘I
am Miss Blessington” —with her most
engaging air of welcome. ‘Please
walk in. I hope you haven’t been very
much tired by the journey?”
“It’s Kate,”’ whispered Chrissy, sud-
denly overcome by pangs of compunc-
tion. “Don’t let her know I told you
about her temper.”
“I am afraid there is some mistake,”
said the gentleman, pausing in the very
act of taking his valise out of the wag-
on, “My name is not Dorrance, And
I was going to Mr. Falkver's place,
where I have engaged board for the
winter, I am John Wilder, the prin-
cipal of the Graded School.”
Chrissy dropped the reins, jumped
out of the wagon and ran to hide her-
self in the hay mows of the barn,
The Morefields stared harder than
ever. Kate Blessington looked infi-
nitely puzzled,
“Dear me!’ said she; “it’s one of
Christine’s blunders. We were very
foolish to bave trusted her, Do come
in, Mr, Wilder”—with a still more
winsome smile—‘‘and rest yourself, and
have some tea. We are all anxiety to
become acquainted with our new prin-
cipal. Pete! Pete! don’t unbarness the
horse! Go right back to the depot.
Mr, Dorrance must be waiting there
yet!
But Mr. Wilder, with a curious ex-
pression of the mouth and eyes, declin-
ed Miss Blessington’s invitation,
He would go immediately to Mr,
Falkner’s, he said, if they would be
good enough to tell him in what diree-
tion it was,
And so he bowed himself away,
An hour or so afterward, the depot
wagon from Smileybridge, the next
station above, brought Mr. Dorrance,
a withered little old man, who wore a
wig and walked with a gold-headed
cane,
“There wasn’t anyone at the lower
depot to meet me,” said he, “And I
was told I could get a hack at Smiley-
bridge, two miles further on; and I'm
no walker, so I just stepped back into
n; 80 here [ am! And I'd like
“I'm so sorry that I said those fo
ish things!” burst out Chrissy, with
tears sparkling in her eyes, ‘‘Thatday,
Jou know, that 1 took you for the city
parder, and drove you to our house—
please, please forget them! Kate and
George are always telling me that I
shall get into mischief with my tongue
~and now I know that they are r-r-
right!”
And poor Chrissy broke into a sob,
m spite of all ner self-control,
“My child, do not fret yourself,»
said Mr, Wilder. “I will remember
nothing that you would have me for-
gt]
At the end of the year, when the
snows lay white on the hilltops, Mr.
Dorrance was still boarding at the Bles-
sington cottage, and tormenting every-
body on the subject of his *‘diet.”
Georgia was getting ready for her
marriage to the army officer, Kate was
lamenting her solitary biessedness, and
Chrissy—little Chrissy, who was not yet
seventeen—was actually engaged to Mr,
Wilder, the new principal of the Grad-
ed School.
“Though, of course,” said Mrs, Bles-
sington, ‘‘she can’t be married for a
year yet, Why, she is nothing but a
child!”
“Hut I don’t mind walting a little
while,” said Chrissy, to her fiancee.
“For the family all treat me with re-
spect now. Kate don’t care to box my
ears any more,’
*‘I should think not,” sald Mr, Wil-
der,
mr ssn CU AR
THE PERILS OF A COWBOY.
Stampede,
A letter from the wilds of Colorado
gives the following interesting descrip-
guard 8 till 12,” called the captain,
with the additions looks
The three men rose from
stretched and yawned, and
the
pleking
slouched away into the darkness, their
clinking spurs sounding fainter and
more indistinctly in the distance,
low murmur as they handle their stak-
el horses, a few hoof beats and the
guard, half a mile away, are saluted
with three laconic “‘relief good-nights’’
and the new guard are riding slowly
around the bedded cattle, Perhaps half
a dozen or so of the latter are standing
and uneasily snufling toward the south-
west,
and the scrubby cedars of the South
mingle their sweet breath with the
air heavy with its weight of perfume,
lowly
that jar the
of
occasional sighs
like the mutlerings
The slow-riding guards start the old
_. 5
songs to the cattle—quaint, old-fash-
lullables—coaxing, with drowsy
ens
neither heelflies nor gnats to molest and
roundups once in ten years lound
sionally to converse
THE DREAKING OF THE STORM,
Eleven o'clock and the black clouds
across the
scud dart
The bulis are on their feet,
The thun-
and bright
horning them till they rise,
factions, A
motion, a rattling erash of Heaven's
artillery, and the floodgates of wrath
are opened, the deluge let loose, The
morphoses the cattle into prehistoric
yellow slickers, look
phantoms as they flit around the surg-
ing mass that commences to overflow
back on the other. Back and around
ride the threes men,
ing to break and scatter anywhere,
above and around it,
side of the herd and settles the ques-
tion,
With one mighty cry of terror the
panic-stricken mass surges to the oppo-
site side. The living sea has broken
its frail bounds and is pouring forth in
terrible fury of fear, horn rattling
against horn, crowding, slipping, tramp-
ling and crushing, but flying us only
stampeded cattle can, Side by side
with the head of the herd race the
guards, urging their little ponies with
voices and heel, leaning forward and
panting with their eagerness to go fast-
er. On, on, over gullies and prairie
dog holes, scarcely seeming to rely upon
their feet, so little do they regard these
death traps, the faithful little horses
are carrying riders Indian file, with the
first one racing neck-and-neck with the
foremost long-horned pilgrim.
A moment thus and then the rider's
pistol sands a stream of fire hurtling
about six inches in front of the steer’s
nose and directly across his path, As
the steer swerves to one Side tho poney
stumbles, and horse and rider are hurl
ed in front of those thundering hoofs
as the herd goes rolling on. The next
is now racing neck-and-neck in
the first one’s place, and once more a
come the heralds of the God of day to
waken the world to welcome his com-
ing.” The two wet and thoroughly
chilled Justa hail his coming with infil.
nite delight, while the feathered clioris-
ters make the whole air vibrate to their
musical welcome, .
But two miles away lies one who will
never welcome his coming more. The
loving tingers of the sunshine kiss the
brown balr and white set face and
caress gently the cruelly bruised body.
The hat has fallen off, but the cold
fingers of his right hand still hold his
pistol, while his left still clinch the
reins connecting him with his faithful
pony, whose one misstep cost both so
dearly.
So God's choristers sing his requiem,
and so the searchers find them with
God’s golden sunlight glorifying both
alike, for both alike have been relieved,
FOLLOWING THE HOUNDS.
Cheat About Fox Hunting in England.
What Its Defenders Say.
The first week in November is the
hunting starting point, and it con-
tinues all through the winter until
March without stop, check, impedi-
ment or interruption, save by one inex-
orable enemy. That enemy is a gentle-
man popularly known as Jack Frost,
No weather, be it wind, fog, hail, sleet
or rain, will hinder hunting. Indeed a
‘*A southerly wind and a cloudy
sings
the old song, and no man {or woman
who hunts) would dream of staying
away from a meet because it
It isa curious thing
that following the hounds should offer
to get a welling
without minding it,
the average English lady or geatiemen
hunting proclivities are as much
against going out in the rain as they
are then in favor of it, or rather indif-
Except when hunting is
on the tapis they certamly *‘know en-
Grener-
ally a wet day keeps every one indoors,
for “‘enough
about at pool or pyramids in the billiard
The ladies get no end of crochet
vast stock of long neglected correspond.
insvitable
hand, ready for any shower or down
up unawares,
in the workl so
wet; but if rain
does,
There is no hunting, there can be no
hunting, when there is frost,
two reasons: First, the ground would
be too hard for the horses’ hoofs, and
jumping very dangerous; second, there
is no scent,
hounds wouldn't Know where the fox
had gone, A long spell of frost is there-
fore a disastrous condition of things for
fox hunters, Days and weeks go by,
hopes that “this beastly weather would
Last win-
ter was a particularly hard one, in more
than one respect, on hunting. One
growl and stamp.
ing but stand in their stalls and loose
boxes eating their Leads off. Thus far
roads are full of blanketed and hooded
nags exercising with their grooms,
I date say
some people will differ with ne at first
glance. But I wish to lay stress on the
word regularly, Off and oun, as occas-
ion offers, business and occupation per-
thousands of others who hunt,
they only hunt when they can. They
hunt! whatever nags they may possess,
from carriage horses to ponies. Some
people hire a horse now and then, others
get their friends or relatives to give
in the scason, and army officers, on oc-
casion, may so utilize their chargers,
But such irregular proceedings cannot
be dignified by the term **hunting,” or
considered so, when hunting as a reg-
sion. Did hunting depend upon such
people, 1 am afraid it would very soon
fall into disuse. Yet, I venture to say,
and I think most men who know any-
thing about it will agree with me, if
you want to hear hunting talked up,
descanted upon, praised, upheld and de-
fended, you'll find it among these spas-
modic sportsmen,
To judge of hunting, and determine
whether its observance as an annual
custom is beneficial or injurious, one
must weigh all the pros and cons worth
considering, Judged by the principal
of the greatest to the greatest
number, it must fall to the ground. It
affords a certain kind of sport; there is
a vast amount of exhilarating excite-
ment in a good run across country, if
you are well mounted, and there is
much that is pleasant in the social char-
acter of a meet. You are thrown inal
most daily contact with your neighbors;
riding across country is said to give a
FASHION NOTES.
~Bodices of red faille or surab,
finely plaited on to a plain shoulder.
piece and fastened around the waist
with a belt, are very fashionable for
young ladies to wear with various
skirts, It is called the Odette bodice.
It 13 said that the spring fashions
will be remarkably rational, It Is to
be hoped that this will prove true, The
skirts of dresses are to be scarcely
draped at all. Very many will wear
the plain round skirt.
~Moire silks are also used much as
underskirts, with tunics of cashmere,
veiling or Bicllienne, A great success
is the dolman cloth, which is covered
with a pattern in relief simulating
braid. This pattern, or rather this 1m-
tation of braiding, is formed of a sort
of frizzy velvet over a plain ground,
Very pretty jackets are made of this
new style of cloth.
—Costumes of plain cloth or cash
mere have the akirt draped up at the
side over a wide panel in brald work.
The close fitting amazon bodice has a
DArrow platted plastron braided to
match, ore simple and less expen-
sive costumes have the self-colored
skirt or tune draped over a striped
underskirt. The striped material is
also used for trimming the bodice and
sleaves,
—Bonnets made of gay embroidery,
silver, gold, steel or jel passementerie,
are worn at the theatre. Small they
| are and pearched up high on the head,
{| They always nave strings, which are
| tied under the chin orin a long bow
| pinned up tight, on each side with all
sorts of jewels, These bonnets are
worn with the most elaborate and gay-
est open-neck evening dresses, Bonnets
{ are discarded only for grand opera.
Feather fans rule the breeze. They
are either gray or black tortoise shell,
—Colored cloth will be quite the
favored material, so thick, soft and
smooth and shining as to resemble
| thick silk, and its lights and shades so
| harmonious as to recall the most beau
tiful glace plushes and velvets, This
fine cloth eciings closely to the figure,
fitting like a glove, drapes beautifully,
and will certainly be Lhe success of the
spring season. Many fancy woolen
materials are attempting to rival it,
but without success, Sore, however,
are exceedingly pretty.
— Braiding looks remarkably well
upon cloth, Very rich costumes and
mantles are obtamned by braiding a
close pattern in black over cloth of
either a bright or light amber. With
braided cloth fancy tissues striped with
| great effect,
' are charming, forming wide stripes,
| some plain, others speckled In various
(colors, Bo are the phosphorescent
moire velvets lovely with their brilliant
| ehangeful tints glinting like sunshine
on the crest of dancing waves.
| Some of the new very elegant and
{ expensive sashribbons are made nto
| pretty fichus that cover the waist and
| shoulders almost entirely, The Per
sian brocaded sashribbons thus ar-
ranged much resemble the kerchiefs of
| the Swiss peasantry, only they are of
rich silk instead of cotton. The sash
brought down and crossed below the
| chest in front, Smshing with a large
| buckle that holds the ends. In the
| back there are loops and long ends fall
| ing from the fichu.
Some very lovely luncheon and
tea gowns for summer wear are already
on exhibition, These are made of
China silks figured with small but gay
Walteau designs, flower striped India
| silk musling, real French challies as
flue and sheer as the most expensive
| veilings, and also a soft finished fallles
{in plain shades of primrose, cresson
| green, mauve, apricot, tea rose, cafe
au lait, silver, fawn, bebe, blue or pale
golden terra cotta with olive acces
sories, These are fashioned in princess
style and opened broadly over petti-
coats of Persian silk net.
~The trotteur, or short costume for
morning walks or shopping, is chiefly
made of fancy checked cloth of va-
rious shades of brown, with streaks of
bright red, bine and yellow. The skirt
‘has one deep plaited flounce, with
i stitched heading and short drapery.
The amazon bodice, close and clinging,
{comes down a few inches below the
| waist and is buttoned down the front.
| The out of door jacket of the same ma-
| terial is lined throughout with fancy
i striped silk. It is tight.fitting at the
| back, with loose front; the neck is fin.
ished with a turndown velvet collar
and revers, and it is fastened with one
double button only.
~The new silk-finished Venetien
veilings are exceedingly delicate and
beautiful, These come in plain shades
of golden bronze, olive, Roman red,
new terra cotta, moss green and other
fashionable colors, and also in pale
hued and neutral tints strewn with
delicately colored buds and blossoms,
These fabrics will be made into attrac.
tive tollets for the summer season, with
slight draperies and piain full skirts
The corsages to such dresses will be
cut in a V, or mediam low square in
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HORSE NOTES,
RE ——
—Jm Gore is at the Louisville track.
and he may stand training.
Jockey Garrison has gone to Cali-
fornia to join the Haggin stable.
~Gireen B. Morris has skipped his
horses from New Orieans to Mobile.
~Mary Overton has returned to
Nashville from his visit te Califor-
nia,
~ American jockeys will soon be re-
quired to procure a licenses to ride, as
their English cousins do,
— Dan Honlg’s 3 year old filly Omaha,
by Tom Ochiltree, died at St. Louls,
the first week in February from pneu-
monia,
—Columbus, O,, will have a fall run-
ning weeting, commencing on Beplem-
ber 6 and ending on the , in cele-
bration of the Ohlo centennial,
—T.ady Blueher, dam of Pirst Call,
2,214, dled at Janesville, Wis., recently.
She was owned by H. D. McKlaney
and was by Richards’ Belifounder.
—Charles Marvin says that the Palo
Alto colt will not come East next sea-
son, but next year he expects to bring
out a string that will do creait to Cali-
fornia.
— Axiom, a full brother to the great
Tom Bowling and for half of which
$1000 was paid as a yearling, does duly
between the shafts of a dray at Lex-
ington, Ky.
~The 2.20 list has an active mum-
being new moterial, < the 2.19 class
over fifty horses are liable for duty; of
the 2.20 class the ratio increases.
~The American-bred horse Blue
Grass, by Pat Malloy, out of Amy
Farley, by Planet, took a prize at the
recent horse show at Nottingham,
England,
—A number of prominent trotting
horsemen and others are talking of
giving a meeting at Belmont Course,
They propose making the stakes $40.
000 each day, to have a $5000 purse.
~Unolala, 2.22}, sister of St. Ju-
lien, 2.111, and St. Remo, 2.28}, died
of paralysis at Woodburn Farm re.
cently, Shé was in foal to Lord Rus-
sell, and was owned by J. B. Bales, of
Pittsburg.
—The purchase of the stallion Alarm
for $4000 vy B. G. Thomas, Dixiana
Stud, Ky.. from Commodore N. W.
Kittson, Erdenbeim Stud, Chestnut
Hull, Pa-, is looked upon as a great bar.
galn for Major Thomas,
~There is yet hope that Major
Dickinson may vet become the owner
of Bayonne Prince, 2.21}. Al present
there 1s only a difference of $1000 be-
tween the amount offered by the Major
and the price asked by Mr, Cadugan,
~The Brooklyn Jockey Club elected
this Board of Directors recentiy: P. J.
Dwyer, M. F, Dwyer, Richard Hyde,
I. C. Behman, A. C. Washington,
John McCarty, John Delmar, B., A.
Haggio and James Shevlin,
—W. J. Gordon, of Cleveland, is m
poor health and may sell ail his horses
at public auction. Should his health
tmprove Mr, Gordon will be represen
Mambrino, Sparkie and Guy.
—R, 8. Veech has secured the serv-
joes of Phallas for the season ending
May 1, when the horse will be returned
to Hickory Grove, Phallas will be bred
exclusively to Indian Hill mares, ex-
cepting a few belonging to the Gilen-
view Company.
~ Walter Gratz. the Philadelphia
turfman, who has been spending some
time in California, says he likes the
Australian horse Sir Modred much bet.
ter than Darebin, Mr, Gratz is pow in
Mexico, and will visit the Sandwich
Islands before returning to Philadel
phia.
—Manxman, the best stallion at Tas.
carora Farm, Frederick, Md., died
from infammation of the bowels re-
cently. He was a chestnut borse, 15}
hands. foaled 1882, by Harold, dam
Fairy Belle by Belmont Tuscarora
Farm is owned by C. M. DeGarmen-
dia.
—A Poston paper says that the for-
mation of a jockey club in that city bas
long been talked of, bul was never s0
near being realized as at present
Charles Thayer, the manager of the
Point of Pines Company, bas taken the
initiative and decided to fix up the old
half-mile track at the Pines, extend It
to a three-quarter track, and have rac-
ing there three days a week.
~The wife of a prominent breader of
trotting stock, and one to the manor
born, was chatting the other day with
a lady friend who resides in the same
house, and who has heard more horse
talk than anything else for the past
quarter of a century, something in
the conversation caused the breeder's
wife to exclaim in surprise: “Why, I
don’t believe you know what a Apoiing
sl” L. F. (ndignautly)—*Why, of
course 1 do; the idea.” L, F. (triumph
antly)—*“1t’s a mare that never had
baby.”
FE. 8, Edwards su that the
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