A Lessen. A little elbow leant upon your knee— Your tired knee that bet to much to bear— A child's dear eyee are looking lovingly From underneath a thatoh oi tangled hair. Perhape you do not heed the velvet touch Of warm, moist Angers holding yours to tight Too do not priae the bleatingt overmuch— Ton are almott too tirod to pray to-night. Bat it it bleated neat! A year ago I did not tee it at I do to-day— We are all to dull and tliankleta, and too tlow To catoh the aunahine till it slips away. And now it teems tnrpaating strange to me That while I wore the badge ol motherhood I did not kias more oft and tenderly The little ehild that brought me only good. And ii tome night, when you tit down to reat, Tou miss the little elbow on your tired knee— This restless eurly head from off your breast, This lisping toDguo that chatters constantly; If from your own the tjimplod bands had slipped, And ne'er would nestle in your palm again, If the white teet into the grave had tripped— I could not blame you for your heartache then. I wonder that some mothers ever fret Their little children cling to their gown; Or that the footprints when tho days are wot, Are ever black enough to make them frown; _ If could And a little muddy boot, Or cap or jacket, on my chamber Aoor— -111 could kias a rosy, restless foot— And hear it patter in my houso once more. If I could mend a broken cart to-day, To-morrow make a kite to reach tho sky, There is no woman in God's world oould say She was more blissfully opntent than I! But ah ! the dainty pilllow next my own Is never rumpled by a shining head! My singing birdling from its nest has AOWL The little boy I used to kisa is—dead. ANGELICA'S MAYING. "No May-flowers in May! What is it called May for, then? Why, Kent is ftill of themcried Angelica; and she tied her hat with a flirt—a pretty flirt that only made her the more charming. For little Angelica, who had happened to spend several summers at school in England, could not be brought to un derstand, after returning to her native wilds, that the climates ot all English ■peaking people were not as much one and the same as the tongues they used. And having settled the point to her satisfaction, as usual, bv declaring it was so, anyway, and if it wasn't, it ought to be, delighted with such form of speech because it would never have been allowed her at school, she started out to make it so, apparently, by letting the climate see what was expected of it. "I hope you have ovcrshoeson. Angel," said her grandmother, rather timid about encroaching on Angelica's newly fledged liberty. "Nonsense! Overshoes! This time of year! Well, to oblige you, little granny;" and she called for her tiny sandals. But a moment after Angolica ran back. " I believe I had best take overshoes," she said, and she tore off her sandals for Nora to put away. " Let us sec—where's my blue scarf?" "Take your tippet. Angel." "Furs in May, grandma!" and she was gone again, only to run back, nevertheless, and exchange her mantle for a thick sack. "And they're bare headed In Kent to-day," she said. "Angelica," called her grandmother, " if you really are going Into the woods, do put on another flannel petticoat." " Humor the weather in that way?" with a laugh like a bell. And this time she was decidedly off, by the slam of the door, enjoying tremendously those first experiences of her American liberty. " How absurd!" said Angelica to her self presently, as she was passed by a band of ragamuffin children decked out in paper roses and garlands. As if they could not have some real flowers by this time, the idle little things! With the woods full of them, too! "If there's anything disgusting, it's the unreal, the artificial," she thought, and she still pur sued this line of meditation after getting beyond the garden border* of the town. " All the girls are now wearing false white-weed in the bosom, when the fields are white with them probably. How sur prised they will be at home when I come in with my hands foil!—things are al ways there for the eyes that know how 1o look for them. Mr. Wilston had to confess that he had picked liverwort himself in the third week of March. I wish lie wasn't so positive about the bad walking and the cold ground and the swamps. He acta as if he had a right ovei me already, and I've never said whether I meant to give him the right or not. And if he isn't careful, I'll say 'not,'and he needn't be looking at me with his lordly glances. I don't care whether a man's as handsome as An tinous or not, but I don't want a tyrant for a lover. And of course," she con tinued, coherently, " everybody knows there are violets, and columbines, and ground-laurel—" Here Angelica paused to rescue an overshoe from the mud, and, finding itdifficult, to leave the other ene beside it. " I don't carc," she said. " Good thick boots do for England; they'll have to answer here," and she went gayly 'or ward into the edge of the wood by the river. "The idea!" said Angelica. "I'ui awfully afraid they're right at home. Not a leaf on any tree, nothing hut tho beggarly willow catkins, and the oaks looking callow as goslings. Why, isn't America a civilized country? Oh, yes, there's a maple, all red and blushing. I told you so. I knew there were flow -And she stooped for a cluster of yioiets that were shivering in the breeze, and put them into her basket. 'Dear me! it won't take long at this Pan I Bbal i iu f l 16,1 Mr - Wilston that 1, ! . ™y b ket in half an hour, fir all his theories, and we have as many ' n New England as they do in Old England- so!" And the sanguine little creature hurried on to do it. She L ou ?d one pale little hepatica, and a bud beside it, and after an hour's dill *enc? 51* / ou "d nothing else, not one sweet bit of eplgsea. and she was getting highiy irate with the American flora, when she paused to see a bird wing through the spaces, and to toll hiin how silly he was to think it wis summer yet, after all. " Mr. Wilston wlil be so pleased!" sho said, indignantly, as If nature ought to take her part. It was a picturesque bit of woods just there; the lon* lofly stems of the undraped trees crowding up into the light, and the aisles on one hand extending into shadow, and on the other huge moss frown bowlders and thorny thickets ining the bank, where, some eighty feet below, the river went brawling along over rapids and falls in away to please a poet or a fisherman. And it was a picturesque little body in the wood that Angelica looked, the wind tossing her liat half off, her glowing cheexs, her sparkling brown eyes, and her great sliock of light brown curls blowing all ways at once as she leaned over the edge of the bank to gaze into the scetning torrent below, and won dered, meanwhile, whether pond-lilies Srew in that sort ot water. Just then le wind slapped her skirt round a young walnut sapling. Vexed with the rudeness, she slapped it back again; she lost her balance as she did it, and over she went with a cry. Poor little Angelica! How many thoughts there are in a second! Her first thought was, " It's the end of me; I'm being torn topieces on those rocks!" Her second ane was, "Oh, what will grandma do without me now?" The third one ran, "And I've been so bad nhout Mr. Wilston.and he'll be so sorry for his little Angelica; and I pushed Tommy yesterday: and once I told grandma a lie—" " And then there was a wild whirl of horror, of sharp rocks and drowning whirlpools, and great gulfs of hated and oblivion. When tho little body came to herself she was lying comfortably suspended in mid-air, in acra 110 made of wild plum bushes and the old horse-brier and grapevines that had interlaced them selves together there, growing from the crevices. Above her was more than twenty feet of almost sheer rock, and he low her the boiling river, rushing and roaring on. With a start of terror, as memory swept back upon her, she seized a stout stem of the vine, and clutched it with all her might; but a gust ot wind coming at the moment, and rocking the cradle well, assured her that her clinging amounted to little, and she presently found the thousand and one briers of the wild smilax holding her more securely than it was possible her tiny fingers should. Before long she was able to gather her senses from their trance of horror, in which all reason had been dissipated, and she loosened her dress, and sat up in her nest to look about her. " It's of no use," she Baid at last. "The only way to get down is to free a grape-vine, and climb down on it: and it wouldn't be long enough, ancl it wouldn't he strong enough, and if I got down at all, it would only be into n boiling pit of deep water, and in freeing it I might be like the man who sawed off the end of the branch he sat oil—if I could free it any way. And I might as well die of starvation and he picked by the birds, as die cf drowning and be picked by the fishes. But, oh, dear! dear! dear! what are they doing at home now ? Why cant some of them come after me P Why doesn't Mr. Wilston know how horribly I hang here between heaven and earth? Why doesn't somebody follow me? Oh, what have I done, what have I done, to be punished this way? Oh, you don't suppo9? I nm really going to be left to die here! Oh, how eruelP' And then there was a great hurst of sobbing, and she wrung her hands, and cried again. But the crying over, for the time be ing, Angelica began to look about her. The blow had been struck too power fully to do much less than stuw, ancl she yet hardly realized her situation in full. "I don't quite give it up," she sail. "Somebody may come this way;" and she hallooed till she was out of breath. "It wouldn't bo a bad place for pleas ure," she thought, "if one could get down or up when one wished, and if one had plenty of books and a lunch basket. Oh. how hungry I am!" Certainly it was not at all a bad place of its sort — swinging cradled there securely in mid air, with tho birds darting all about one; with the great sky full of sunshine overhead; with that fish-hawk sailing in slow circles ere he plunged. "This is the way some of tho Puget Sound In dians bury their dead," she thought, "high up in air among the branches. Only they have tin pans hung with them. And that docs so put me in mind of our Nora's cream—the very last pan she let me skim. And now I'm hungrier than ever. I wonder what time it is long past lunch, of course. I'm hollow now; I shail be famished by dinner time; to-morrow morning I shall be giddy. I wonder how long it takes peo ple to die ot starvation, and if it's very fearful? 1 mustn't think about broths, and haricots, and stews, and chicken pies, and—" And Angelica paused, holding this unprofitable meditation for one about to die. " I ought to be read ing my Testament," said she. * "And yet the only thing I should enjoy reading just now would be a cookery book. Oh, I didn't know I was such a glutton! I suppose in my heart oi hearts I am sure that Mr. Wilston will come alter me." It was in the pause of thought follow ing that she heard voices—a myriad, it seemed to her. She had shouted from time to time ever since she fell: now she raised her voice again, and she couldn't make ou' whether it was the children answering her or a flight off echoes from the opposite rock. No, it was the children, she at length was sure. Yes. yes, indeed, there were the Mttle faces peering over lilt brink, through the stems of the saplings—faces ol those very children at whose paper garlands she had laughed; and she called out lustily ngain—called, and called, with furious and half-frenzied cries, till her voice refused to come for more. Plainly as she could see them, looking up, the children could not see her for the interlacing and protruding vines and brandies. But they could hear her all too well—a viewless voice; it roused all their little imagina tions, and _ they scampered away as fast as their feet could carry them, in ninnzement and fright, to tell of the mysterious sounds they had heard. "Now I must die," said poor little Angel; and she fell back in her nest, worn out with her frantic exertions. " I suppose there is some purpose in it. If sparrows don't fall to the grouno un heeded," she said, "God knows I am herq." And it would have been very much fo her surprise, if it had been pos sible for her to know it, that here she fell: sleep. The nun WM still shining brightly when she awoke; but she wu unable 10 tell whether she had last herself for A few minutes.or hnd slept over night And it WAS now next dny. Site felt so faint, however, tliat slie WAS quite sure it WAS next dny. " And 1 £ hasn't come for me yet," she sighed. "There is a great deal of vitality in young people, she said,"and lam only seventeen. '* And then in spite of her effort at rsiena tion, tears welled over her eyes, to think of the light of her swsst seventeen year BO early extinguished. She put her hand into her pocket for her handker chief, to wipe the tears away, before she remembered that site had hung it out as a signal ol distress; and she drew forth, instead, a letter, one that Mr. Wilston had slipped into her hand the evening before, and that she hnd crumpled up, hardly glancing at it, and had then taken with her in the morning, thinking she would read it in the wood. What did ho write Her such letters for? Why did he wnnt to love hor? Why did he urge it again and again? She was only a child; she had just be gun to taste the sweetness of life. Why couldn't he let her alone for a little while, till she had looked on her sur roundings and seen what the world was; laid had a little freedom and pleasure—at any rate, till she needed nim P Till she needed him! the next thought came. All, Ileavcn! did she not need him now? And a storm of tears answered for her. "Oh, if he did love me, if he really did love me, he would know what I am suffering; he would come and help me and save me. It would break his heart to see me!" she sobbed. "It would breuk mine to see him so." And then all at onoe she paused in her crying and exclaiming, and opened her brimming brown eyes wide to the sunshine, what! Would it really break hor heart to see Mr. Wilston suffering so? Would she care? Did she—could she— Oh, if she never saw him again at all! Was it possible that, after all, she really, really— Was it possible that site—she loved Mr. Wil ston? And if lie never knew!—if he never knew! How good he hud been to her! how patient with her! what a noble fellow he was! how tenderly, how pas sionately, his eyes had followed her! If he was ugly—well, she had never thought so. Now that she should not. see his fnee again, it seemed beautiful to her. It was the first faee she Bhould look for when they both woke at last in the life beyond this. And what a forward nnd perverse child she had been! What had he ever seen in her to loveP But he did—he did love her. And she hugged her little hands over her honrt, suddenly conscious that the fact was precious. Well, if she must die, she must. But here was a mercy in the very act of dentil. It had been given her to love. It seemed as if the Angel of Death had touched her heart with the living fire. This great joy, this great rapture had buoyed her heart over the abyss. There was a first moment for everything, and the first moment of her awakening love, of her recognition of her love, had been like a winged spirit soaring over death, the seraph springing from the grave. "My love is my HOUI." she cried, "and my dying sets it free." Ard now if he never knew! But he should know. Some dny they would find her, and the letter in her hand. And she refolded that letter, took her pencil-case, and addressed it to Mr. Wii ston, and wrote with her trembling fin gers underneath: "I never knew I loved you. You must forgive me. But I do—indeed I do. I am going to die presently. If I had lived, I would have tried to be a good wife to you." And she signed herself his angel, and lay back in her nest, half coutent. She lav there a little while, looking up at the blue of the sky rising from the red and purple of the rooks, with the white flashes of wings across It, her mind so mad" up to the inevitable that she had hardiy any fear; and she began softly singing a hymn to herself. "If man s love is so precious." she was thinking, " what must God's 1 .ve be?" In the midst of this trannuil moment, however, she was roused by a singular vibration running through the stout vine rones of her cradle, and quite another lino of thought as instnft'.ane ously suggested itself. She had been fully prepared for this fainting, pain less passing away, high up in air. al most in the blue sky itself; hut falling on the jagged rocks and boiling water— all that was horrible, and she felt her heart shaking. All, yes, orrtainly the vine ropes were shaking, too. Were they loosening?— were they falling? Oh, what was this? And gome great flapping object was (ly ing over her with a scream—an eagle startled frorm its perch—and a rope was following it, a great noose, nnd then a hand andarm had suddenly closed round her from behind,and a voice wascurtly toiling her to "obey, and spring back ward. ' And Mr. Wilston was drawing her out ot the nest of the cradling vines, and she was standing, trembling in his grwp on the shelf of rock where he leaned, with a ropo round his waist made fast to a tree above —a shelf of rock, she thought, with a swift pulse of chagrin, that had been there all the time, in a crevice round the corner of the cliff, and leading a narrow way up to the od and the saplings above, if she had only had the sense to turn her head and look for it. Mr. Wilston did not sneak a word. He was white as ashes, and she thought she could hear his heart heat. Still holding her and his rope, he crept slowly up the narrow shelf; then he set her down before him, untied I.is rope, and slowly coiled it away, looking at her all the time, with her downcast eye and reddening face half hidden under all the right brown blowing hair. " Now, if you please," he said,gravely, at last, " I will take that letter which I saw you had addressed to me." "A letter addressed to you 1" she said, looking np then, a spark of the old spirit half eclipsing that new light which had dawned in her face. _"Angel, how much longer—" " linger! I wish yon would tell me," she said, " how long I have been bore already, and whether It is to-day or to morrow, and what—" " How much longer." he cried again, "do you want to torment mef 1 could claim you as my property by all the laws of saivage," he said, stepping toward her. " Hut it isn't necessary, tor I read the letter as you held it in your hand before I threw the rope over you. You signed yourself my angel. You said you would be a good wile to me." "Well—l-will," said litt 1 Angelica, And her face grew so rosy red that she had to hide it, whether she would or no. in the first shelter at hand—and if it was her lover's arms, how was that to be helped? " It wasn't such a bad Maying, on the whole," she said, presently, as they wi nt their way home together. " After all, the American flora isn't much be hind the way-side hedges in Kent. I didn't get much of anything but a fright and a cold, to be sure, and tome love-in idleness, but you got an armful of An gelica." "The sweetest flower forme." he said, "that blows under heaven."—Earner's Batir. PA KM, UAKDKN AND HOUSEHOLD. IV•adieu at the Barn. It is not necessary for the farmer to build a highly ornamental edifice in ordor to have a neat and attractive ap pearance in his barn and about his barn yard. Specimens of neatness and purity are often seen where the owner could afford only cheap and imperfect struc tures. The management depends on the man. not so much on the character of his buildings. Nevertheless, when the owner takes the pains and incurs the expense of finished erections, he will be more likely to feel an interest in keeping everything in and about them in good condition. ltmustbe confessed that there is great room for improvement in the majority of farmers in this oountry, although much progress has been made, an badly abused as the pig, in being thrust into apartments which are permitted to become polluted from neglect. The hired man, to whom we gave the pigs in charge, thought it a great hardship that we required uira to clean the floor thoroughly twice a day. But he ultimately found it much easier in the long run, as each daily cleaning, was a mere nothing. I'igs are naturally clean, if they are only permitted to be so, and when comfortably provided for. thrive better and fatten faster, and one would think the farmer would prefer to eat such pork to that taken out of a ma nure hole. Sweep the harm floor often, sweep out the horse stalls at least twice a day, pro vide clean and dry litter for all animals, give them pure water, let their food b" sweet and nourishing, avoid all fet'd ac cumulations, shelter your barnyard from cold winds by evergreens, and keep every square foot of ground about your buildings free from offensive rubbish, and you will not only preserve more self respect for this care, but will en joy the pleasure of giving comfort to the living creatures under your control; and wiiat is not least in the eyes of money making managers you will derive a greater profit, preserve yonr buildings from decay, and will have a place that will sell at a higher price if you should wish to dispose of it.— Country G nile man. Trnlt froiu Barren Trees. A correspond-nt of the American AijricuUuri.it says: I wish to describe to you a mthod of making fruit trees bear, that I blundercc' % on. Some fifteen years ago I had a small apple tree that leaned uonsiderably. I drove a stake beside it, tied a string toa limb, and fastened it to the stake. The nxt year that limb hlwssomed full, and not another blossom appeared on the tree, and, as Tom Bunker said, " It set mo to thinking," and I came to the conclusion that the siring was so tight that it pre vented the sap returning to the roots; consequently it forme d fruit buds. Hav ing a couple of pear trees, that were large enough to bear but had never blos somed. I took a coarse twine and wound it several times around the tree above the lower limbs, and tied it as tight as I could. The next spring all the top above the cord blossomed as white as snow, and there was not one blossomed below where the cord was tied. I have since tried the experiment on several trees, with the same result. I think it is a much better way than cutting off the loots. In early summer, say June or July, wind astrong twin the tree, or a single limb, and tie it, the tighter the better, and you will be bless ed with the result. The next winter, or spring, the cord may be taken off. ItonMhold Hint*. Cream of tartar rubbed upon soiled white kid gloves cleans them well. To ex tract grease from papered walls dip a piece of flannel in spirits of wine, run the greasy snots once or twice, and the grease will disappear. To make paper fireproof take a solu tion of alum and dip the paper into it; then throw it over a line to dry. Try a slip of paper in the flame of a candle, and if not sufficiently prepared dip and try it a second time. To prcveift iron from rusting, warm the iron until you cannot bear your bond on it without burning yourself. Then rub it with new and clean white wax. I*ut it in again to the fire till it has soaked in the wax. When done rub it over with a piece of serge. Tilts pre vents the iron from rusting afterward. To take stains out of linen, place the stained spot in a tin pan; pour boi ling •water enough to entirely cover; let ft steep like you would tea or coffee, then rinse well, and hang it out of doors; iron the spot and it will not show. For fruit stains you must wash directly after pouring on the boiling water. We know this to tie good, for we get all the stains out this way. "Steveplpe" lints n Relic of Bar barism. Speaking of what are known in this country as "silk dress hats," Charles Blanc, member of the French institute, and formerly director of fine arts, Paris, says: Our tabular hats, which artists, in their every-day discourse, have cast sucii withering scorn upon— these hats without front or back, without direc tion, w thout.a culminating point, and whoso cylindrical shape is altogether at variance with the spherical form ol the head—are assuredly the last relic of barbarism, and we must not be aston ished if their use spreads in our day over the whole world, sinee nothing has more chance of lasting success than uglintesand absurdity. ro* THE FAIR HEX. VMhlon R*lm. Grenadine dresses entirely black are made over glossy Surah skiris to make them light. Barberry fringes are in vogue, of long ish satin drops strung in musters from the. head ing. Plaited skirts forming double kilts are very fashionable for foulards and for thin wool dresses. The gay cotton dresses are quite as effective as those of foulard, and are se cured for Newport and Saratoga. A new fancy is that of using creamy white India muslin shirred inside of open necks of grenadine and foulard dresses. Satin drop fringes mingle with the Chinese nettings, and add variety to the three thousand and odd styles al ready known . Hoods are about to be revived, and are mode on round capes that reach only to the elbow, as well as on the long straight gowns that form overdresses for suits. Large pelerine collars, reaching far down on the shoulders and finished with a high fraise in the noek, are found among collections of fashionable lingerie. Dragons, beet, butterflies, and birds in shadowy forms, almost hints of the real objects, appear among the palm leaves and other Oriental designs of late importations of dress goods. Handsome brocaded wool goods have delicate tinted grounds—cameo, sal mon, cream and sky blue—while the brocaded figures are of satin in dull red, old gold, heliotrope and sapphire blue. A novelty in hosiery consists of a Lisle or silk lack sto king; at the clock covering the entire stocking is very open, the hose is worn over another stocking of the same or a contrasting shade. Directoirs collars and square cuff J are made of jetted net, and edged with a row of cut jet beads like thote used on the brims of bonnets; these trim basques of black grenadine, and also of silk suits. Surplice and square necks of such dresses have black beaded tulle draped inside of the opening. Two kinds of black grenadine are in the same dress; that for the plaited flounces is striped with satin, and the stripes are made to go around the figure, instead of being lengthwise. For the body and overskirt satin grenadine with transparent open figures outlined with jet is used, also the large satin frills and olka dots. flow on Amrrlron Momma Manogrd. A Paris newspaper gives a recent in stance of the great success of an Amer ican mamma. Her elder daughter had sailed from New York with some friends for a tour of Europe, and, after doing the continent had returned to the French capital for several months of rest and pleasuring. Attractive and clever, she had many suitors, sooi" more, some less desirable. She could not marry them all, so she adroitly re duced the number to two—the best of the lot, of course. Then she wrote the fact to her mamma, adding that they were both so handsome, agreeable, wcil connected and rich that she could not decide between them, and closed with the question, " What shall I do?" Ten days later she received a cablegram from m'mma, " I sail to-morrow. Hold both till I come." The next transatlantic steamer carried Mrs. with her younger daughter, turned eighteen, and just out of school. On arrival she im mediately took the helm of affairs, and steered so deftly through the dangerous waters that in a few weeks she had reached port with all the colors flying. To drop metaphor, she attended the wed ding of her two daughters at the Amer ican chapel the same morning. After due examination, she had decided that neither ot the nice fellows should go out of the family. A M>-frr ofth* Hone} moou. The courtship, the rngagein n nt, the ceremony are over. The bridegroom hands his bride into the carriage, and the lmn"yraoon begins. Now observe one of the most singular facts in the whole history of courtship, a fact to which there is no known exception: The bridegroom never can recall the first words spoken by him to the bride in that carriage. Why? This question bas been asked a hundred thousand times, and never satisfactorily answered yet! Some attribute the forget fulnrss to joy; some to confusion; some fancy the words are of such an extremely roman tic nature, the man finds it more consis tent with his dignity not to recall theai. The answer is none of these. It is much more prosaic and practical. The secret of forgelfulness is that he has already said to her everything he could think would interest her, every thing that does interest him. His conversational re sources are exhausted and he has noth ing to say. Instead of an important speech, he utters some dreary ommon place, throws him elf hack in the cush ions. devoutly thanking heaven "the thing is over. 1 ' Thus, before the honey moon is fiveminntesold the bridegroom breaks down.—TTinsfey's Magatint. Fighting Sharks Under Water. A sea diver tells the following story of the way lie managed to keep out of the laws of the sharks: I dived onee in Mobile bay, where I put over 300 chains under an ironclad. The greatest annoyance that we had there was sharks. They didn't hatdlv tackle us, because with our armor we looked more like scarecrows than anything else. They would conic sailing along, and gradually swim toward us with their big mouths wide open; but when within a few feet of us lliey would stop and Ho there flapping their fins, and looking, i seemed to me. like the evil one himself. Finally, we devised away to scare them off that never failed to frighten them, so that they would stay away an hour or longer before the.v dared to come hack. The armor we wear is airtight, you know. Our jacket-sleeves were fastened round our wrists with an elastic, so that the air could not escape. By running my finger under the sleeve of my jacket, I could let the air out, and as it rushed into the water it would make a sort of nissing noise, and a volume of hubbies slioot up. So, whenever those sharks would come prowling around me, I would hold out my arm toward them, and patting my finger under the elastic of my jacket-sleeve, I would let a jet of air out and send a stream of bubbles into the shark's face with a hissing noise, like steam from a go age cock. The way those sharks would go scooting off was funny to behold. AMKKHA'S MINERAL WEALTH. The Amount of 001.l eut lUttr | the Oiuntry-The Onilook. In the opinion ot soim: experts the production *f precious metaU in the United Slutes Is but just beginning In the last ten years we hare a£ vanned from $17,330,000 in siiv-r and $33,750,<5X) in gold to $45,846,109 j ( , B j|. ver and $44,800,833 in gold, but it is said that the next census (tn years) will more than quadruple this production During the lirrt seven years from 187 it to 1877 the production of go.d exceeded that of silver in our country, but since then the production of silver lets ex ceeded that ol gold 95,502,505. This was caused in part by the discovery of I the great silver mines at Leadvilie, Colorado, and in part by the decrease in the gold production of the Comstock lode in Nevada. It is a fact not gener ally known that in the production of the Comstock lode 41 30-100 is go d. The decrease of yield in Comstock was $13,404.48) in silver and gold during 1878-1870, while the increase of silver production in Colorado was $",000,000. The exact production ol gold and silver during the last census, as near as it can be ascertained, was as follows: Year. Silver. Cold, 187 $17,390,000 $33,750 000 187 19,386,000 34,308,000 1973 1 024.499 38,177,305 1873 97,483,303 30,306.558 1874. 20 60 1,133 38,466,488 187 \ 31,635,330 30.068.101 187 39,309,034 43,936 035 1877 45,846,100 44,800 933 187 37,348,137 37,576,030 1870 37,032.857 31,470,363 In this country $4,000,000 iB annually consumed in making jewelry and forth" arts. Last year about $74,700,000 in gold was imported to America, and his added to the home production gives an increase of floe 170.363. If w add still further the $37.n32,857 in siiVir pro duced, we have $143,3*r2,119 of a mone tary increase to our national wraith. Large as this increase may appear, it is as nothing when compared with our future possibilities. The sudden influx of Eastern capital to the trans-Missouri country will meet a want lone felt and cause the great mineral wealth of the West to be rapidly developed. Tic rich deposits of gold and silver there bidden in the earth will now IK- brought forth, converted into money and made to administer to the wants and conve nience* of mankind. America will as tonish the world in the next ten year* and perhaps shake the value of precious meta's by her enormous production of them. General Ilrisbin, of the United States army, says: "I have lived ten years in the West, and I sineereiy be lieve 1890 wiil not pass without giving us an annua! pre>du< tion oi $400.000 000 of goid and silver in these United Start Hiiladiltihia Time*. What Doctors Should Know An exchange which devotes S| [*] attention to sanitary affairs KUggtsts tiial the several hundred young physi cians ju't graduated should supp in'*nt ; their studies by a course in hygiene. The advice is eminentiygood, hut many a man will open his eyes in astonish ment when he rcalir/s that fdiysi' ians need any such counsel; iw r'etus as stiange as to advise business men to study arithmetic or preachers to p' rus the Bible. Tiie plain truth is, how vtr, tiiat while the medical schools teach young men how to alleviate pain and heal the sick the greater art of prevent* ing disease is in its infancy. How many physicians are competent to discover whether the atmosphere of a residence i is pure or poisonous by reason of im perfect drainage? How many ran de tect impurities in drinking water—one of the l most prolific cause* of dt alb in country houses? Have dcath-d- aling hot air furonces been banished from every considerable number of hone s by medical advice? Have manv fami lies boon instructed by tli ir re spective physuntss upon the i ncceesity and methods ol home venti lation? Is the faniiiy food supply an J the manner oi preparing it a frnjU'nt subject of professional advic ? All j these are mntt-rs of the gravest impor j fnnce as fiflfecting huu an life, yet nine | families in t< n are continually vio'.vinc sanitary rules regarding one or the other I without a word ot remor v< . "i i mere pottering. I>et tfie new genera tion of phy*ieiaiis regard these things if they wouid secure and retain a flood class of patients. To atUnd a family of children through diphtheria without losing any is quite a success, but a greater one wou