The Bright Gide. There is tranny a rest tu the road of life 1t we only would stop to take it, And many a tons from the better land 1f the quernlous heart would wake it. To tie sunny soul that ts full of hope And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth, The grass is green and the flowers are brighs, hough tho wintry storm prevalleth, setter to hope though the clouds hang low, And to keep the ayes stil lifted, For thw aweet blue sky will soon vhrongh Wien the o:ninous clouds are rifted Tiere was never a mght without a day, Or an evening without a morning, And the darkest hour, as the proverb goes, 1% the hour before the dawning, peep There is wany a gem in the path of life W Lich we pass in our idie pleasure That 1s richer far than the jeweled crown, Or the miser's boarded treasure. It may be the love of a little child, Or » mother's prayers to heaven, Or only a beggar’s grateful thanks For a cup of water given. Better to weave in the web of life A bright and golden filling, And to do Ged's will with a ready heart And bauds that are swift and willing, Than 10 snap the delicate, tender threads Of our curious lives asunder, And then Llame heaven for the ends And sit and grieve and wonder, tangled BT SARI MR. MULTAHNEY. Grandfather didn’t leave me property, after all I might known hie wouldn't, because he would. thing entirely set out to do. There, for instance, was the day— we had just got nicely settled in our country home—that we were all wait- ing patiently for the cow grandfather wanted to buy and brought an organ instead. Nobody could play on it. Grandfather said somebody could learn, but nobody ever did, and so we had to try and console ourselves for the disap- pointment of reflecting what a fine ad- dition to our somewhat scanty parlor furniture the organ was, until the morning grandfather suddenly made up his mind that he needed another horse, and brought our gentle, star faced Daisy home. There were four of us in the family; grandfather, mother, the sweetest and dearest woman that ever lived, myseif, a plain, quiet girl of five-and-twenty; and my cousin - Etta, just of age, but looking about 17—pretty, selfish, idle and vain, Now you're thinking I added the last three adjectives on account of the first one, for 1 tried my very best to love the blue-eyed, fair haired, teasing thing when she first came among us, her father and mother both having died said he Grandfather always did some- different from what he she was so thoroughly wrapped up In herself, and so utterly insensible to even the rights of others, Grandfather was forever scolding and finding fault about her, and won- me, who was the child of his second son William, and saying that 1 was the cottage and grounds when he died, but I “must promise’ —this was the invar- until she married, which is sure to be before long, as men are always taken with a pretty, doll-like face and kitten- jsh ways, and never care much for sen- sible-looking, sensibie-acting girls like you, my dear."’ Of course I promised, although I hadn't the slightest idea of grand. father’s dying soon when be talkel in this way. build a hen-coop, and beginning to dig and died in an hour. And when his will was read the day after the funeral, I, for one, was very little surprised to Lear that all his pos. sessions, with the exception of $500 to my mother and $500 to myself, were left to *‘that good-for-naught,’”’ the daughter of his son John, And it was only a week after the reading of the will when my cousin Etta sid to we, with a calmness and coolness somewhat astonishing in such a baYyish looking little thing; ‘You must be looking for another home. Faith. I am going to marry James Read’—a young man grandfather had detested —*"in a short time, and we will want the whole cottage ourselves, So mother and I went up into our rovimn—a fine large square room it was, i sultation as to what we had better do. I wasn't well enough educated to be a governess, and, besides that, mother and I couldn’ bear the thought of be- ing separated—we never had been since the day father died, ten years before; and we finally came to the conclusion that a small store was the very thing, What kind should 1 be? was the next question, “he ouly thing that I think qf I said, as at all suitable is a fancy store, with a great variety of small goods, Tuat I am sure we could man- age, and make eiough to support us comfortably all our lives long; for of course I shall never marry, being so plain und sensible, as grandfather used to say, and we will never never, be parted” and I kissed her, and she kiss- #J) me in return, with a tender look in her gray eyes (mother has the softest and tenderest gray eyes in the world): and the very next day we set about looking for the store, and in less than a week had found it; a nice new little place in a thriving village a few miles away from yrandfather's — 1 mean Cousin Ftta's—cottage, just completed the very morning the agent gent us to look at it, The street on which it stood was the main one of the village, and before the door grew a splendid old hickory tree, which made it less sad to part with our oak; and directly opposite wis a large comfortable~looking house sitting well back from the road, with unlf an acre of garden about it, Weil, that small store did look pretty when mother and 1 put the fnishin touches to the contents of the good- sized window, and stepped out on the sidewalk to the general effect, It was a lovely sunshiny summer morning, and feeling singularly Lope. # ¥ ful and cheerful after observing the generat effect, 1 reated myself in the sitting-room at the back of the store and waited for my first customer. Mother went into the tiny kitchen and began making cherry tarts, and had just ealled to me to come and see how splendid the cherries were, when the store bell rang loudly, and some one came in and shut the door with a bang. I went out as quickly as 1 could, and there stood a rather stout middle-aged gentleman, very red in the face, and evidently in very bad temper. “Look at that, ma'am, look at that,” said he, as I came forward, holding out his hand and directing my attention to the bLuttonless wristband of his shirt sleeve. ‘*No buttons, and I buy but- tons by the gross, and, by heavens, there's never one in the house. You keep buttons?’’ “Yes, sir,” “11 take one — and you look though you would sew it on for me.” “With pleasure,’ said I, going for a needle and thread, with a smile, for it struck me as being somewhat odd that my first customer should want one shirt button, and almost demand my services as a seamstress, and it was with the is tensed eo awful. I think the fairies gent + uh 1e—don't you?” The. wore girls followed Robble— Rosie and Frankie (round, rosy, dim- pled wee bodies, with a great liking for mother's tarts) and Mollie, the two- year-old baby, The shirt button I gave away on “opening-day?’ brought us luck, for Lhe Multahney family bought more al our store than any other three families In the village, never going, as some of the well-to-do people did, to the neighbor- ing city for things which we had equal- ly good and cheap, but getting every- thing they could get from mother and me. Well, life went on smoothly and hap- pily, mother growing prettier every day, and Mr, Multahpey and nurse and the children wn and out all the time, and before we were really aware that autumn had left us, behold, it was the day before Christmas! Mother and I had bought a large as- sortment of toys and candies, and had been well patronized all day, but were disappointed and surprised when even- ing came and 9 o'clock struck and Mr. Multahney had not made his appear- ance; for the dear, romping, laughing children had contided to us, weeks be- greatest difficulty I resumed and kept a demure countenance while sewing it on. “Nin?” sald the gentleman, half aloud, as I fastened the thread; ‘‘nice, though not at all handsome, and would wear well I should think.” 1 iooked up and saw his eyes fixed upon a crimson and green rose and-bud tidy (one of mother’s preitiest patterns), and thought that if it didn't suit lnm, he must be hard to suit in the way of tidies, After the gentlemen bad said “Good day, ma'am,” to mother, who into the store looking as sweet as a roll | and “thank you miss,” to me, and gone | away, we had a dozen or more callers, amoung them two dear little girls, to whom mother gave the two biggest cherry tarts; and altogether our first day of shopkeeping was a profitable one, it was the beginning of my business life, anyhow. We soon discovered that the jolly- faced gentleman was the owner of the comfortable-looking house across the way, Mr. Multahney by name {though that blessed mother of mine always called him Mr. Mullagatawny, aftera caine | fore, what gifts they hoped Santa Claus would bring them; and, of course, we tion of a pony for Harry and a diamond ring for Lily, which articles were a Aittle beyond our means, apd had laid them aside to produce when the indul- gent father asked our advice on the subject, as we were sure he would, jut the clock had scarcely ceased striking when he came in. The small store looked uncommonly pretty dressed in Christmas greens and bright paper flowers, and we had four and I wore my new gray merino dress, with a blue bow at the throat and an- other in my hair (my hair doesn’t rip- ple and wave as much as mother’s, but it is the very same color), and mother wore her gray dress, with a handsome black lace rosette among the waves and ripples, “Very preity, indeed!” said Mr. Multahvey, going up to the stove lo warm his hands a moment, and then turming his back upon it and smiling approvingly around, “We're trying to rig up a Christmas tree at our house, Mrs. Welton," he fashion she had of mixing up names in her mind, as, for instance, calling the | baker, Mr. Black, “Mr, White,” and our old lawyer, whom we had known for twenty years, ‘‘Mr. France,” stead of Mr, Paris.) His wife had died nearly two years inl~- the charge of an old nurse, who was to- | tally incompetent to manage sO large an establishment. “But you , ma'am,” said Mr. Multahney, one afternoon, to my moth- er. “1 couldn't place auy one over nurse. 1 would break ber heart, and I'm not good at breaking hearts—never was and never will be; but, to teil the ma'am, we're all at sixes and less your heart, Jee st} 1h, ma party with the little tea-set I bought | suppose they had for tea and milk and pudding sauce, ma'am?” “I'm sure I can’t guess, gatawny,’’ said mother g “Laudanum in the tea-pot, hydrale | of chloral in the milk jug, and arnica | in the sauce-boat! Yes, ma'am, bad taken the bottles irom my medi- cine chest, which nurse had placed on | the floor of my room while she tried to | capture the canary which Mollie had | let out of its cage.” “The darlings!” sad my mother, ¢1ssing the dear little upturned face of the child on her Knee, “Certainly, ma'am,” sald Mr, Mul- | tahney; “but I was frightened all the | more because they are dariings, and I | came nearer discharging nurse than I | ever did before, and I’ve been develish near it before, ma’am; but the young ones set up such a hullabaloo that, to i stop it, I was glad to let her stay. And so, ma'am, the old confusion and mis management goes on, with meals so irregular that I don’t know whether | I'm eating my breakfast or my lunch, | my dinner or my supper.” i “| assure you I sympathize with you | heartily,” said my dear other. “I believe you do, ma'am, Good- | evening.” said Mr. Multabuey, carry- | ing sleepy little Mollie away in his | arms. The Multahney children were the | Mr. Malia- t sy they Harry, the oldest, named after his father was a frank-faced, merry-hearted | boy, immensely pleased when I made hit a gay neck-tie, or hemmed his new | handkerchief, or arranged a bouquet for his buttou-hole, The second child was Lily—a bright | little thing, and, like all the bLuman Liilies I have ever known, brown as a berry. It was her delight to keep store, It's awful cunning to truly sell things, Miss Faith, Faith, Faithey,” was the bur- den of her song; “and when I grow up I mean to have a store zackly like this, if papa will let we; or p'raps you'll take me for a partner, dear Faith papa has a partner,” “Most certainly I will, my dear, I} promise, if at that time you continue to wish it, and papa cousents,”” Then came Robbie, a lame little fel- low, with large serious brown eyes and pale wistful fuce, who bad fallen from the high porch one day. Mother and I used to spend’ hour after hour telling him stories, and reading to him from his favorite fairy books, and teaching him pretty verses, which hie was very fond of reciting. We had a small lounge on purpose for him in our pleas- ant sitting-room, and when the noise at the big house made him nervous and restless he would limp over to us, and lie down, Lis head on a soft little pillow 1 had made, and on which I had em- broidered his name, and his pet Kitten curled up by lis side, Ie was only six years old, but a wise little chap for his years; and 1 used to smile, with a tear in my eye, when he said, as he often did, I don’t know how I ever lived before you and Auntie Welton came here. 1 was so sick, and papa had to go away every day, went on to say, ‘and I'd be pleased to will Wiil y The children gone to bed in a few momenis— be ¥ - ning in, little Robbie them. “Oh, papal?’ cried Laly, “nurse says if vou don’t come back ‘mediately she’ll for we will peep impin into pound on (he door when she locks us out, and the grocer forgot the 13 and currants for the pudding, and- “Oh dear! oh dear!” said Mn Mulla ,, grasping his curly black hair as wo meant to lear it oul RAISINS ‘t nen with you, Mr. Muil 3 sald my mother, distressed 1 poor wan, as she always is for anybody in trouble, *‘and do all I can toward preparing a merry Christinas for you," “Thank you ma'am,” said Mr. Mul- tahuey, “it's very kind of you; and if anybody can bring order out of dis order, you can. 1 wish from the bot tom of my heart you would stay forever” 20 Lae prise, and went for her bonnet and shawl. “{"lease come too, Miss Faith, for half an hour,” said Mr, Multaliney, coaxingly; **we can come back to the store afterward, and." broke in been that darling Harry, who had prancing about, flourishing a coupler. “And so do 1,” said dear little Rob- bie, climbing upon the stool al. my side Don’t you papa?’’ With all my heart,” said papa, ping the cat and looking earnestly up in her father’s face. “We all love her dearly—Dbest of any body but you.” “The Gray children have a new mamma,’ sald that dreadful Harry, “and she ain't half as nice as Faith and Faith's mother.” I felt the blushes rising to my face and spreading all over it, until I must have been red from my chin to my forehead and away back to my ears, “My dear Faith,” sald Mr. Multah- ney, his eyes sparkling mischievously ssthe children have proposed to you, Will you accept them-—and me?’ I stood confused aud silent; for though I liked Mr, Multahney very, very much, I had never thought of him as a husband, having, in the first place, made up my mind to be an old maid, and, in the next, never having suspect. ed for an instant that he thought of me save as the daughter of my mother, sho being so much more attractive, When mother returned: ‘Say yes, dear Fairy,” whispered lobbie, Kissing my cheek. “Say yes, Miss Faith,” shouted Harry, “and we'll have no end of fun.” iar yes, say yes, say yes!’ teased Aly. “Yes to what?” asked my mother, smilingly. “To a question I've just asked her,” answered Mr, Mualtahney “whether she would be my wife," “Mr, Mullagatawny!”’ said my moth- er; and then laid her vonnet on a chair and sat down upon it, : “Why, ma'am, there's nothing sur- prising about my part of the affair,” said Mr. Multabney, “A young lady. sunny faced, sweet tempered devoted 40 her mother, endowed, in fact, with wore virtues than any woman I have ever met before, comes to a country place where a poor devil of a widower is struggling along with six young hi and from the very first day and so has the father too. And I shall be honored, proud and honored, ma'am, if you will accept me for a son- in-law, and Faith for a husband.” “Mrs. Mullagatawny!”? murmured my mother. ‘1 never thought Faith would Lave such a queer nams as that, But, dear me’? (in a louder tone), “jy isn’t hers yet, and perhaps never will be.” “Don’t say that,” said Mr. M ultah- ney, with emphasis, “‘or I'll go and drown myself,” The children set up a howl, Robbie hanging around my neck, and Harry and Lily clinging to their father. “Ohl oh! oh! our darling papa going to drown himself! Dear, dear, dear Miss Faith, you, won’t let papa drown himself?” “I won’t,” said 1. {¢ canis SI SN ONE OF THE FINEST. A Four-Year-Old Joins the New York Police Force and Thinks It's Fan. wandering around aimlessly near Thirty-fourth street and roadway. He took him in charge and handed Lim over to the sergeant of the Thirtieth Street Police station, saying that he thought “*the kid too well dressed and too young to 1 When the sergeant asked the boy what his name was he said that it was Char. ley Smith. “Where do you live?’’ asked the ser- geant, kindly. “Don’t know exactly; somewhere near Central park, 1 guess, I'm Cene- tral Park Charley. Guess 1 am lost, ain’t 17? “Yes, I think you are,” answered the sergeant, with a laugh. “What's your father's name?” “Charley; same as mine, Say, mis- ter, I like you. I don’t mind stopping here.” “Well, you're welcome, Come into the back room and make yourself at home,” and the man took the curly haired child into the patrol room. were some sixty big policemen there, washing up, polishing their boots and getting ready to go before the captain before relieving the day force. They and gave him so many pennies that the pockets of Lis diminutive ulster were | filled, * This is a pretty fine place,” he said | to a red faced, smiling policeman. 1 sof $y | (8 ty a grin, **it's line, “I think I'd like one of those sticks,” { sald Charley. “Would they care irl " { lice ¢lubs, Ne ’ x ¥ . im 3 —t Now, you're a policeman, said one of the men, wiping lus dripping face and bending over the child. He his club almost as tall as he en with | he, The laughing fellows clapped { bowed low wilh Some one ment great dignity, RO see Lhe to fail in little fellow ile TOUnGs~ said he guessed be'd They asked him with the rest, and the so, his stick over ched by the side | man, whose knees almost came the boy's head. As the line the door and before the captain’s desk, the young policeman st unpoed Lime with his little boots, marching prou ily with the others, The men were all | laughing at the boy's jaunty air and Capt. Bellly « be der.” They could not | however, and the captain rose from his Charey captain, 5 % tla & shiouiqger. of al iar - sie 4 up wo filed oul $2uck ¥ 1 dled ont sharply. | more men, As he leaned over his de sk { up at him, “Hello, captain,’ said Charley, nod | d1og Lis head at the grizzled one just above him, “Well,” said the captain, Lreathiess- ly, “who are you?”’ “Policeman Charley, © Central | park,’’ said the boy knowin | ing with his big club, “Weil, Policeman Charley,’ the captain, *‘just sit up here along- | side of me. I will detail you on special duty.” The little chap was lifted up on one of the high stools next to the captain’s, | He looked over the register, pretended to read all the letters within his reach, brushed a thread from the captain's coat, and then began Industriously to scrawl all over the papers before him with a pen, friendly chat for half an bour. Then the two dined together, and afterward the captain hunted around until be found a smaller club for the boy. When he was taken away the next day, all the men gave him a hearty farewell and the captain gave him a watch charm and a quarter as a reward for faithful service. Charley said when he left the station that “being policeman was fun.” f i or » ’ speech and Silence. Anu old adage reads, “Speech is sil- ver: but Silence is golden!” Like other general sayings, it is not always applicable. There are times when speech is golden, and silence is shameful, For stance when the vile tongue of slander assails the fair fame of a friend, to keep silent is base. When wrong or injustice is being done to the helpless and weak, to keep silence is cruel When scoffers sneer and skeptics laugh at our faith, to keep silence is cowardly. And yet there are times when silence is golden. When anger arises, and bitter words rush from the overcharged heart to the lips, then indeed should the golden seal of silence be placed upon the ton- gue, And ab! how golden is silence when we are tempted to ridicule the unfortu- nate! --1o be witty ut the expense of a friend,~or to be sarcastic in speaki of the faults of those who err through ignorance! : The Author's Hardest Task. Probably the mose dificult task in the construction of a story is the man- agement of conversations, so that the individuality of the dramatic persone may not be mixea, The character de- FASHION NOTES. — Evening gloves should meet the sleeves, of whatever length. In some cases they reach quite to the shoulders. ~The lopg *IDirectoire’ coals are usually worn with plainly draped skirts, but when they reveal only the immediate front the foundation Is made of Russell cord or slpaca In a corresponding color, and faced only in front with the material. — White dresses for home Wear are even more fashionable than last season, only they are no longer made of vig- ogne, a rough, heavy material which does not drape at all nicely. The fab- ric in vogue is fine white cloth, soft, light and warm, which fits beautifully and 18 wonderrully becoming. — Elegant visiting dresses are made with the jacket bodice opening over a vest of white cream or pale rose col- ored cloth, with a trimming of light gold brandebourgs Across and gold buttons in the middle. Others are notched out at the top and at the basque, sbowing a bit of gold em- broidery or of brocaded galloon, in the Russian and Byzantine style, —Dodices are still very jauoly, with cutaway, rounding or sharp pointed fronts, shorter sides and sharp points at the back and set one above another shaped to flare a little,. Collars a Ja militaire are still in high vogue, especis ally at the back; for a frool the col lar very usually turns with a natty revers, which is bralded, velvet faced or otherwise decorated to match the tnmming on other portions of the gown. i | Home and evening dresses are | made with narrow skirts, very close | fitting on the hips, and defining the Og- ure as much as possible, while the long | trains of casaque and Princess dresses, i without | gathered at the and tournure or steels, Lop, | folds at the back. Tournures are only worn with walking dresses to keep oul the short skirt, and then only small | steels are used, and 50 as not to be de- | tected. | ing popular fancy seizes with avidity | everything that has a Russian sugges- | tion about it. Russian styles ure more | generally admired just now thau are | jes modes Parisienne. The Russian | much worn. | broadcloth, | cloth, light olive in color, worked with silver braid. san paletot is one of the favorile | wraps, also the jaunly Russian juckels heavily { neath is barely visible, and bultoned | ACTOSE, double-breasted, with oroamen- al ‘*frogs,”” which are in high popu- | larity. —So infatuated is the fashionable girl that she hesitates to relinquish them even when the winter crispness creeps into the alr, and the cosliines for | these same exercises cause ber no leas | concern than do Lhe proportionately ing room | more than one of these sports has | considerabie designing to do, for to be | strictly correc: she spective costume for each. | 10be of many a fashionable lady Iin- cludes a trim fitting riding babit of gioth, of course, & huniing costume of | dark hued corduroy, & tennis suit of | striped flannel, a driving costume of y warm cloth jacket and | hood, finished off with the indispen- | sable . castor gloves, and she even singles out a special toilet for her early which is usually a striped or small checked woolen goods, | supplemented with a jaunty English | jacket and a felt English walking hat, Mrs, Cleveland has, by the way, stim- | ulated the feminine ambition to learn how to shoot at a targel Rifle prac- tice was one of this much-copied lady’s favorite pastimes during her au- tumn sojourn in the Adirondacks, —A more simple costume was of gray cloth and velvet. The skirt was gathered and quite plain, flow of gray ribbon on one gide. But the velvet jacket 18 exquisite in shape and cut, moulding the figure to per- fection, and trimmed with beautiful The upper part of each front is cov- ered with this embroidery, the pattern jacket rounded off under the arm. Epaulets of the same cover the upper part of the sleeves, which are of gray cloth. The velvet jacket remains shight- ly open in front over the cloth bodice, which forms & sort of vest, buttoned down the middle; it comes down in a long point on each side. Another dress is of tan colored cloth. The back of the skirt is slightly draped ; the side and front are arranged in triple plaits, and each plait is orna- mented with a peaked pattern of black silk braiding; the bodice is plain, with tight sleeves; there is a light braided pattern on each front and at the top of the sleeves, also on the collar and on the wrists; a full rufile of black crepe lisse comes down the front of the bodice to the bottom of the waist, ~A pretty home dress for a young lady is of white cloth, trimmed with dead gold braid two inches wide. The skirt is quite simple, gathered round the waist, just draped least bit in front, to break the monotony of ihe t folds, There are three rows of braid; they come down {from the waist on the right side, and, are continued at the foot, but only as far as the left side, not coming up but finished each just beyoud one being the tons of white cloth, em od on each side down the & HORSE NOTES, Long Dance will bs backed by his owner for the Kentucky Deby, The two New Orleans poo!-100ms cleared about £00,000. last year. —Jt 18 reported that James Gold smith will condition Lis stable of came. paigners on the Fashion Farm track. —TRumor has it that the real pure chaser and the real owner of Galore, the crack English race-horse, Is Mr. Astor, —R. Tucker has matched Btride- away against the mare Nellie for a quarter of a mile dash, £500 a side, Lo be decided shortly at New Orleans, ~The Northwestern Dreeders’ Ase sociation will hold its annual meeting | for 1859 at Washington Park, Chicago, | August 20 to 24 inclusive, —J. M. Pettit will drive for A. J. Haws, of Johnstown, Pa., the com'ng season. The string will const of Decorator (2.231) and the pacers Patsy Clinker (2.20) and Harry H. (2.22}). —Captain John B. Wiigus, 6 Fex- ington (Ky.) horse breeder and backer, died recentiy from a cancer, aged 65 years, The stallion Allie West, sire of Jewett, 2.224, was owned by Mr, Wi gus. —Robert Steel, of Philadelphia, pur- chased in California the stallion Ae tevolo, 2.10}, 5 years old, by Elec tioneer, dam Columbine by A. Ww. Richmond, and the horse will soon be quartered at Cedar Park Stud. Repor- ted £30,000, —Jobn Splan is kept busy with his book, t will be interesting as well as useful. There are many subscribers for it, and there should be a number of “second money” horses first under the wire next season since the book will how show to win. —The Executive Committee of the Driving Clubof New York has decided to give a spring meeting and also 0 renew the Fleetwood and Mornsania stake races of $5000 each at the fall meeting. The Morrisania stake is for a 5.00 class and the Fleetwood for 2.25 class, ~*Plunger” Walton, sioce going | into the hotel business in the East, has | been valnly endeavoring to sell the last relic of his racing days, the famous | stallion, imported Richmond. The | equine is now at Captain Sam Brown's stable being used for stud purposes. —The Washington Park Blakes, which closed January 15, filled well The Quickstep has 175 nominations: Lakeview Handicap, 150; Dearborn Handicap, 65; Maiden Stakes B84: Boulevard, 53, Oakwood Handicap, 06. and Great Western Handicap, 54. —Frang Herdie, the poolseller, ar- rived in Philadelphia from Texas Januvary 18th looking as jolly as usual, although he claims to have dropped $2500 by backing the runners at New Orleans. Frank says he left every- thing all right on his 1100 acre ranch in the Lone Star State, — James O'Neill, of New York, who carries on the horseshoeing shop of the late Dan Mace, makes most of the | shoes for the trotting horses that are shipped to foreign couniries. When Mollie Wilkes was shipped eight dozen pairs of shoes went with Ler They | were made in Mr, 'Nelll's shop. The noted stallion General Stan- | ton, by Rysdyk's Hambletonian, dam | the Keefe mare, by One-eyed Ken- tucky Hunter, died on January 10 at | Thorold, canada, from blood polson- | ing. General Stanton was the sire of | Fides, 2.224; Nettle T., 2.221, and | Geraldine, 2.28}, and was owned by | John Batten, of Thorold, at the time of his death. | Inthe last twelve years the get of | op. Billet, Messrs. Clay & Wood- ford’s stallion that died in Kentucky | recently, started In 3061 races, of which | they won 542 and $580 747 50, The | best of Biliet’s get were Miss Wond- | ford, Volturno, Runnymede, Barnes, | Raceland, Sir Dixon, Belle of Ruony- | mede, Burton, Elias Lawrence Delvi- | dere, Biue Wing, Dinuelle, The { Lioness. Rosalind Bengal, Ballston | and Brookwood. | —Tbe Pullman Car Company bas | been engaged to bulld a number of cars | especially adapted for the traunsporia- {tion of horses from one pant to { another, These cars can be atiached | to express and other fast trains, avoid- ing the inconvenience and delay inci- dent to freight trains pow generally | ysed in transporting horses. Each car will have room for sixteen horses; and will be fitted up with special regard for the comiort of the animals, —D. Swigert, of the Elmendor! stud, bas purchased of Crooker & McDon- ald, of New York city; on private terms, the bay colt Gaudeloupe, for merly Hayden Edwards, 4 years old, by Prince Charley, dam Nannie Day, by Glexelg, and he will breed Triangle, the dam of Champagne Oharley, Salini, the dam of Salvator, and other noted mares to him, Gaudelonpe was never started, owing to an socident, but he possessed a high private reputa- tion. At a year old he sold for $1910, and he cost his new owner a consuiera- bie sum in excess of thal amount, «f(3lepelg heads the lis. of winning sires for 1838. sixty-two of his get hav- ing started 761 times, win 121 races (110 times second) mth 12, Glenelg headed the list in , 1886 and 1884, while he was fifth in 1885. Last season his largest winners were Los Angeles and Firenzi, farnishing between them the sum $71,031, the former winning thirteen races out of
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers