MM,, v XVI TfILMMKMJD, '* «? AAAAST-L *' ! 30 S- MA I M.ST. Our . pringgoods which comprises the latest novelties at tainable, in Foreign and Domestic markets, HAY K ARRIVED. it is a consideration of all gentlemen who desire to iln-s w-11. wh tto wear for Spring, and where he shall pur •hns4', we invite you to inspect our immense stock, and you can readilv select some thing ui table. Sec Our Window Display. Tl E VERY PEOPLE WHO ; H..V_ TH£ LEAST MONEY | Are your wages small. TO SPEND ARE THE ONES j Are you the 1103,1 ol a family? C'JR hELIABLE CLOTHING j ' , With marketing hills KEANS HOST TO |i ßrge ? With house rent"a drag on you? 1.0.v |».ic -s for honest, long-wearing Clothing will be a boon to ycur j-ocket-lKiok and y our bacK. Get an Iron-dad Cloth fc'uit at sl-. Str-auit customers: whether from any or all of them, is for your eyes and judgment to decide—that we do the business is not doubted. Jur-t a moment for a word or two on our latest novelties. The newest thing in dress trimmings is the Surah Sash, very wide, and very handsome. VV'- have a fine stock, at moderate prices. They are beautiful. iiir. (-.,,i ri . Ifats are being worn a great deal, and they are verv becom ing ! i ali.i'Mt any fare and figure. Our stock is unsurpassed and would cer tainly suit the taste:) of the most fastidious. Our (limp and Laces for dress trimmings are quite in keeping with the extent of our stock in other lines. We have everything worth showing. Tite pri cents. SIMEON NIXON - - - PROP'R. WHEN" YOU VISIT PITTSBURGH CALL ON JOHN R. & A. MURDOCH, n smlilitleld street, for Trees, Seeds, Lilies, rape Vines, Hardy Roses, Canary Birds, Gold Glsh. etc. Descriptive Kail Catalouifo mailed free. fi 'f" RTKFRQ o * hL ' f5 ■ , ' w,lo c*annln» WW ■ til I IwCnO tins pape ,of obtain ostimat i on advertising r,f* when in Chicago, will find it on ft'cit \dvortu»ngA£*?» LORD & THOMAS. Lrk'E JUDKIN'S CHEERFUL END. "Tough? lie's all made o" whipcord, I | tell ye. Last? *>' course hc'il last Ain't ;he over ninety a'readyf Smart? See'ui < out there now a-playiu' croky—be an' Henery Green! llenery is a babe as coin ! pared with Luke, an' Henery is over , seventy-five. Ye'll never open the new i cem'tery with Luke, 1 tell ye. Tain t no j use waitiu'." Tiie undertaker moved a quid of tobacco | slowly from one side of his long lautern- I jaw to the other as he replied, dubiously, I "The new eimetery folks say thet the folks ! to East Village ain't respondiu" as they bed ought to the new enterprise." ••Waal, they hedn't ought to eal'late on old Luke, anyhow." The speakers sat on the steps of Enoch Johnson's store in East Village, and look ed across the green to where two old men were playing croquet—a game not yet ex tinct in the mountain farming districts of Vermont. Pretty soon a quarrel seemed to spring up between the two players; loud words rang out under the elms, then came a lierce interchange of blows. The under taker and Enoch Johnson stood up on the store steps to watch the contest at better advantage. Presently Enoch said, as if apostrophizing: "Thet Luke Judkin's the coiisaruedest, eussedest, peskiest old crit ter! nenery is hurted, an' here comes ; Luke with a broken mallet. Shouldn't ; wonder ef he'd say Henery was all to | blame. Spry? Ain't he spry! D'ye ever j hear about his dog? He's cuter than old Luke himself. Here the old reskill comes, ll'lo. Luke!" "H'lo, Enoch! How's folks?" Luke Judkin briskly walked up to the store, holding the parts of a broken mallet handle in his hands. He was a picture of that agile, athletic old age which so often obtains at the present day among the "hill farms'' in Vermont. His nose and chin be trayed a ludicrous intimacy. His back was bent with the weight of years. His hands had grown into long unsightly claws. The day was hot, and it was mid-day, but the sun at 110 degrees only sufficed to pleasant- j ly warm the bald head of the old man. J whose sharp little eyes in their cavernous j sockets gleamed up at the store-keeper in keen recognition. "Been a-playin' croky?" answered Enoch, not replying, according to East Village etiquette, to the old man's inquiry concern ing his "folks." "Yas; beat Henery Green three games rnunin'," said Luke. "Would 'a beat a fourth, only llenery, he said I cheated. 'Twa'n't no sich a thiug!" and his eyes blinked savagely, like the eyeballs of an antiquated parrot. "I didn't cheat no more an' no less than he did." "Come to blows, eh?" "Yas. 'Twa'n't nothin'. Struck our mallets together a leetle. Say, Enoch, j measure niu out a cent's wuth o' glue— I Henery broke my handle." "I'd like to see that cent," drawled | Enoch, slowly rising and meandering with- ! in his store for the glue. Luke took a seat on the steps, near the . undertaker, and proceeded to wipe his per spiring face with his shirt sleeve. The un dertaker lo jked hiiu over professionally a moment; then said, musingly: "Luke,what is your measure? Five foot seven an' a harf or five eight an' a harf?" He put the ques tion casually, as if not personally interest ed. "Mr. Stapples, 3-ou got money in thet new cem'tery enterprise, 'ain't ye?" Mr. Stapples allowed he had—"a few. huiulerd." "Waal, 'tan't nothiu' to you what I measure. I cal'late I ken tire out any cem'tery enterprise as has started to East Village, an' when I decease I purpose bein" buried to Weston," "Sho!" Mr. Stapples leaned over and picked up a straw, to conceal his feeling of disappointment and vexation. "I'm agin all them new-fangled patent iron monitnents an' iron fixin's, an' agin all this 'ere flummery folks is talkin' about. The old-fashioned marblo head-stuns is plenty good 'null'. Ther's altogether too much fancy fixiu' to the new cem'tery. I'm agin fountain play into a cem'tery—yes I be! and ef the old berryin'-ground's full, as they sa.v, I'm a-goin' to Weston.' "Sho!' again ejaculated the undertaker, in an undertone. "Shouldn't think you'd like to make yourself so unpopular." "What's folks to East Village cvor done for met I ain't agoin' to do nothin' for them—no I ain't!" "AVe hed hoped," urged the undertaker, "that you'd open our new cimeteiy, an' we cal'latcd to have the Weston baud." "'Tain't no use argufyin'!" said Luke, stubbornly. "A band an' a address by the Methodist an' Presbyterin ministers," softly smiled Mr. Stapples. Luke moved uneasily on the step. "A adress makin' mention of your noble carrickter, an' praisin' of it, an' makin' out as how you were a great plilauthropeed," smiled Mr. Stapples, affably. "A what is't?" asked Luke, quickly turn ing his sharp, discrediting eyes lull upon the undertaker. "A phi lanthropeed—l cal'late one what is a sorter magnit," Old Luke began to chuckle well within himself. "Me a magnit 'n East Village!" he grinned. "Why, 1 can't get trust fer a bag o' oats!" Enoch came out with the glue done up in a bit of brown paper. "Guess ye hinted Ilenery, ye old sinner," said he, looking across the green. "There's Marier a-doin' bis head up in a hanksher. Look's though his skull was cracked—darn me eft don't!" "llope 'tis," said Luke. "He'd no biz ness to say I cheated. Why, croky ain't no fun onless ye cheat some; an' Ilenery, he's wuss 'n I be." "Waal," said Enoch, slowly, "folks know yeou! and I guess Henry's mostwise in the right, Say, Luke, here's the glue; now where's the cent?" Old Luke folt about in his breeches pock ets for some moments, apparently to no purpose. Then he felt in his boot top, and pulled out a dirty and much-mangled live dollar bill. "Here, Enoch; give me four dollars and ninety-nine cents chauge"—and Luke handed up the bill. Enoch laughed a sickly laugh. "Yeou know I hain't got the change," he said; "but I'll cabbage onter this bill, and yeou can let it go agiu our akouut—thet there forty-nine dollars and eighty-six cents fer store projuce as has stood fer—le's see— three year and over." Luke quickly thrust the bill into his trousers pocket. "I call ye to witness, Mr. Stapples, I tendered the cash. Yes I did; and now Enoch, lo's have the glue." "Le's hev the bill, Luke. Guess I ken get the change up to the savin's-bank." Luke shook his his head. "No bill, no glue." insisted Enoch. "Waal, no glue, no cent!" replied Luke, savagely. "Sho! at yer old games, ain't ye!" said Enoch, and he sheepishly handed over the the glue, and walked back into the the store, while Ltuko Judkin grinned. "Luke's got ye, Enoch. I see'im tender the cash," suid the undertaker. BUTLFR, PA., FRIDAY. AI GI'ST SO. 188H- • Enoch stood in the doorway, shuffled his i feet a little and looked foolish. •He alius do get tlie better o'most." 1 said Enoch. "Hut some day. mark my .' word, Lukc'll pt fetched up short. Some tin will take and thrash him: and lough as i he is. he'll wish he was a daru site tougher i then." Luke said nothing. I'laeinjr the glue in | his breeches pocket, he walked rapidly ! across the green toward his liarn. ••He's smart." ejaculated the undertak er. "and no mistake: but 1 eal'late the new cimetery's smarter'n him. It ken wait : longer'u he ken, and he knows it. I eal i 'late I did them folks a good turn when I put iu a word about the brass band and the j eration. Luke kinder pricked up his ears. I see." Enoch shook his head. "Xo; he'll beat i vou folks yet,"' he said. "He'll trick ye sonie waj-." Shading his eyes with his j hand, Enoch looked down the road. "Daru j me el" his dorg ain't come back home agiu! j Ther's one smarter'n Lake to East Village. Tain't uo man; it's a dft-g! Yas, Luke's j cute, but his dorg—he's cuter'n Luke. Rut both on 'em are a pair. Land! see thet dorg sneak home, hidin' bcliint thet hedge, knowing, sure as guns, he's bin sold agin fer five dollars—the bill ye see Luke hev— and coming home fer to be sold agiu! Why Luke's made forty dollars outen thet p'in ter inside o' three months, to my sartin knowledge." The undertaker laughed. "Make money outen a dorg? Xo! G'way!" "Yep." "The same dorg?" "Yep. I see 'im sell the p'inter yestid dy to Hank Spiuk. Hank's a feller as won't stand no nonsense neither. llank druv off with the dorg in his buggy, him a looking kinder knowing at old Luke, and a-wagging oi his tail ez tho' he knowed what to do without being told. Xow he's back, and Luke'll try and sell 'im agin to some fool afore the week's out." "I swan! Thet's cheating." "Cheating? Luke'd cheat tho store teeth outen his gran'ther. Why, he's the cuss they renegaded into the war fer palming off shoe-pegs on government bosses fer oats. And ye ought to hear him brag o' them war times! 1 shouldered a gun, but he never saw Dixie's land 'cept as a sutler, and now he's a-living off a pension as he got 'cause he claimed he was injured iu the Wilderness, being throwed heavy in a wrastling match—he war alius wrastling— and spraining a shoulder-blade, which he gets ten dollars a mouth fer ever sencc. I'er'aps thet live dollar bill was dorg mon ey; per'aps it guv'ment money; guess like ly dorg money—l dun know." "Ponr me out a gallon o' molasses," said the undertaker as he rose to go. (iuess ef Luke's a reskill we don't want ter open our new eimetery with no such a carrick ter. We'd better be looking around fer a corpse as we ken praise up without lying about. Sho! The village is sodern healthy, and we've waited an waited, and spent our money;" and the undertaker heaved a deep sigh. "Wall, better look fer another corpse as ain't a reskill. and hasn't sold a dorg over a dozen times," laughed Enoch, as the mo lasses slowly d rained from the hogshead into the undertaker's jug. "Luke would spile any cem'tery. (iuess folks to Weston won't thuuk Luke much fer his choosing. Guess likely he'll be forced to try the new enterprise arter all." An empty farm wagon drove by iu the dusty road, m aking a great clatter, and obscuring Luke's house and barn across the green in a cloud of dust. When the dust rose and they could see beneath it, Luke could be seen leading his pointer into the barn. He seemed to be in somewhat of a hurry, and the dog proving unwilling, he led the animal quickly back into the house. At the same moment a liorsonian rode furiously up to the store, threw himself off his horse, and shouted to Enoch, who stood on his door-step, scarce ly ten feet away: "ll'lo, Enoch! Seen any thing of my p'inter I bought o' Luke Jud kin fer five dollars?" "Cheap dorg!" grinned Enoch, in re ply. "Bought 'iin last Thursday, and here 'tis only Tuesday, and the dog run off. I suspect Luke's got 'im back. Ef the con sarned raskill has gone and done me, I'll— I'll—" The speaker, a tall, athletic young farmer, pave a quick swing to his arm as he spoke, indicative of the punishment he would jnllict upon old Luke Judkin if found delinquent. "Hank Spink, you'd orter know better'n to try an' buy thet dorg. Menny liez tried it," said Enoch, "an' uot one on 'em's ev er hed much success. You earrn't buy thet dorg, Hank; you carru't do it! The dorg's too smart, Yes, I see thet dorg not a few minits ago. Guess he's to Luke's bam now." "Well, 1 guess I boughten the dorg; an' I'll hev the dorg, or I'll hev the law outer Luke!" The undertaker smiled. "Mebbe a* you ken arest a dorg!" he said. "As for Luke, lie ain't done nuthiif; it's the dorg's fault." Hank Spink scratched his head. "I ain't no lawyer shark, but guess I know 'null' to know thet dorg's boughten an' paid for; an' he's my dorg, an' I'll get 'im outen Luke's barn, or Luke gets a lickin'.one or t'other!" 1 said llauk, angrily, striding across the green toward Luke Judkin's white house and dingy gray barn. The others followed. Enoch was alto gether too much interested in the event of the "dorg" matter to hesitate a moment about the need of'tendin' his store. Per ceiving his departure, half a dozen young urchins, strolling homeward from a bath and swim in a neighboring stream, stole into the store and slyly helped themselves to "Jackson balls" and 'lasses cakes in the window. Not content with these sweets, they daubed their faces with flour, and ar rayed themselves in the yellow tarpaulin suits which hung over the counter. But if the urchins >vere having a good time, the ill-concealed look of amusement in honest Enoch's face as he crossed the greeu also showed that he too was enjoy ing himself, perhaps equally well. "I'd like to seo how Hank'll go to work," he laughed. "Hank's mad, an' Luke ain't no match for him a bare stand-up fight. Hut Luke's tricky. Hank'll get the dorg!" You see, Mr. Stapples, it'll take a sheriff an' a possy to fetch the dorg away—an' I was a goin' to say a hull jedgc an' jury to hold 'im! Luke is game, he is. Guess he's got the dorg hid away by this time. Sho! here he comes! Now what's he a-doin off" Enoch's genuine admiration for old Luke's shrewdness found vent a moment la ter in a hearty slap upon his thigh. Luke advanced toward Hank Spink with a hearty treble "How-ter-doof and a hand-shake which, by its warmth of feeling, quickly disarmed the stalwart young farmer. "So —ye forgot to tie the dorg up, did ye* Waal, he's come home. Yes he has. Hank, ye didn't feed him 'null vittles. Marier, she used to feed him too much, and the dorg, he likes vittles; so he's run off. I s'pose." "Yes, 1 come arfter the dorg, Mr. Jud kiu," said Hank Spink, mollified. The old man's thin hair was brushed and combed up back over his ears. No rural saint could ever have looked meeker and milder than Luke in his clean lineu duster, his collarless shirt, and his greased boots. "Waal, he's high an' low 'liout the yard some'eres, llank. I see 'im chasm* 'bout though he was glad to get back an' get vit tles agin. Hi. Snapper, Snap! Don't see 'im now zactly." Old Luke gated about the yard and at I the house furtively, as if he expected the j dog to look out at him from the second ; story window and wink. Rut Snap made no appearance at a window or and Hank Spink shoved his lean hands far down in his breeches, with: "Look r-here, Luke; I ain't a-goin' to j stand no foolin*. 1 want thet dog. 1 paid | fer him fair, an' Ido admit that he was & I dern cheap dorg fer the price." "Well, tarnation! Ketch the dorg an' take 'm away. I ain't go' nothin' to do with the dorg. The dorg's yourn; take 'in away ef he's here." replied Luke's high tre ble. "Waal, he's here. I guess, ef he aiu't hid," said Hank, inconsequently. "Come, now, fetch him out!" At the same moment the door opened, .and around chubby woman, with very black bead-like eyes and little black ring lets, appeared. She onl\ T stood in the op en doorway long enoug to make up a face at the strange men in the door-yard, ex claim. •'Linn!'." and retire agaiu within the house, as if provoked beyond all desire for discovery. "Marier's mail's a hornit a'ready," laugh ed Enoch, xotto roce. to the undertaker; "an* see them men trackin' up her clean floor!" Hank Spink had entered the porch at the side of the house, and Luke had followed him. They walked the length of the porch, which had been freshly cleaned that morn ing, and Hank placed his hand on the latch of tho door, when old Luke placed his hand on him. " 'Tain't no use goin' in an' upsettin' ev erything iu this house on 'count of a dorg." "Leggo me!" answered - goin' to hev thet dorg, au' I eal'late no one ain't goin* to stop me!" Luke placed himself before the door. "I'm a-goin' to stop any man openin' my door an' enterin' my house without a search-warrint. Yes I be!" "Oh, you be, be ye?" And Hauk gave the old man a thrust aside. They glared at each other. There was a little sparring for a "side hold," when quick as a flash, the old man threw Hank over his shoulder, landing him a good twelve paces on the grass. As Hank lay there sprawling 011 the turf, Luke, pale with his effort and with anger,shook his fist over his prostrate foe. "You'll never git thet dorg. Hank, on less ye ken wrastle better'll thet!" Then he put his hand suddenly to his heart. "God Almighty!" he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper, as Enoch ran forward. "Some pen's broke inside! Run an' fetch Mariar! Some one go for the doctor! I'm—l'm I'm — He kin hev his dorg." The old man sank to the floor of the porch, aud rolled over ou one side.a ghast ly whiteness spreading over his face. "He's dead—dead as a nit!" cried Enoch, aghast. "Xo he ain't," said the undertaker, kneeling by his side. "He's only fainted. Hauk, you run fer the doctor. Mebbe it's a murder ease. Guess ye'd better kinder let the doctor know, Hank, an' then yeou lite out, an' keep hid away. I'll testify 'twan't your fault bein' throwed thet way, but yeou lied orter got a sarch-warriut—yes yeou hed!" Hank took the hint, and went out of the yard, much crestfallen and quaking with fear. Although he fancied he heard a dog's whine come out to him from the house, he did not stop to look back or attempt to whistle after him, the fatal cause of all his trouble that day. He left word with the doctor, and galloped back to his little hill farm on the mountain-side, a sadder and a wiser, if a dogless, man. The doctor worked over Luke for an hour. Aunt Mdrier, with u seared look, made gruel and poultices, for which there could be no possible use; but ou being so informed, only went ou making more gruel and more poultices, as if by way of proving herself useful in an emergency, if for no other reason. '•Luke Judkin "came round." After a week he was out again, the hard, knotty old fellow. liut he was not the same man he was. "'Pears like I hain't got long fer to live," he said, wjth a melancholy whine. "My innards ain't right. 'Pears my orgius is twisted inside." Hut however great the changes wrought by his last "wrastle" on Luke's body and iusidcs, his mental change and moral re generation were something astonishing. "lie ain't the same cuss," said Enoch, as he sat on his threshold, two weeks later, with one or two farmers, and glanced across the green. "He's sorter meachin' an' wilted down—no spunk left! Land! he as uster be kinder feelin' round ter do somethin' mean ter his neighbors, an' make 'em feel mean ter him, why. he's turned right round! Ouess he won't live long. No! Folks says he's paid up all his debts. Waal, he's paid my 'count—every cent, an' he went an' paid fer Marier's—tliot's his fourth wife, yeou rekleet?—sister's child's fichoolin' uown to Js'orthfield. An' ez fer thet derg o' hizen, Hank got hint back all right; yes, an' Luke, he's tryin' fer to act oh the square. Why, there's Mr. Stapples a-comin'! Dead? Luke Judkin dead? Why, I want ter know! Thet's news! Whew!" "Yes; died half an hour ago," said the undertaker, who came across the green to the store with a pail for ice. "Passed away peaceful like. Yes, yes, I were oil hand; happened so. Luke's dead at last. The strain's what killed him. Yes,looks peace ful an' like a saint." '•1 cal'late he's a saint 'noagh now." sighed Enoch, with a Xew-Englander's readiness to canonize all deceased persons. "He were wicked at times, were Luke, but mostwise he were so dern smart thet ye hod ter fergiv' 'im. An', waal, what ef he did sell his dorg over a dozen times? Wa'n't it half the dern dorg's fault? Dead? Waal, ye don't say so!" "It were part the dorg's fault," replied the undertaker; "but ef I stan' here a-talk in', Luke 'll spile, an' all thet there peace ful ind of hizen will go for naught. I never see a corpse look so mild and good-tcnipcr ed. Most looks sour, Mr. Johnson; but Luke, he smiles away, as ef he hed a easy death, kinder passed over the river, as they say, an' larfm' an' smiling good-by; an' it's jest hit the cinietery folks off right, tew. Mr. Johnson —jest right. Oh, we finished oil'the roadways jest in time, an' we shell give Luke a big funeril—as big as from seventy-five to one hundred dollars 'll buy, yes." Luke's was indeed a grand funeral for East Village. There was some smirking and smiling over the patent fact that the "new cemetery folks" bad got the better ot old Luke at last, and there were some hid den winks over the fervid eloquence of the Rev. Mr. Scrooby as he praised the high character of the deceased—encomiums bet ter fitted, perhaps, to the last fortnight of his life than the previous five-and-eighty years. Hut the band was on hand, and its narrow repertoire, though containing no funeral music, gave the greatest satisfac tion imaginable. Was it not auspicious to open the new ce.uieteiy with the tune John Brown's Body," followed, between prayers, by "The Star-spangled Banner'? j Certes. Old Luke Judkin that summer's i day had a most cheerful end! "tt> her | made him," said the undertaker, solemnly | —"wo liev made him a sorter phi-lanthro peed.—.!. S. W. i„ Harpers 11,,1.'./. The Hydraulic Railway. The hydraulic railway is a novelty at ' trading much attention at P»ris just now. ! It i s the development of an old project of j (iirard. the well-known French hydranlie i engineer. The trains are without locomo ; lives and the carriages are without wheels. being supported on broad rails raised some ' distance above the ground by metal blocks, i Before the train is set in motion, water j under pressure is forced through valves in j these bearing block-, so that the latter are i lilted of] the rails and are carried on a thin j film of water. The same agency is em i ployed tii propel the traius. a pipe, convey ing water under pressure, being laid in the center of the track: from this pipe at short intervals rise stand-pipes with peculiar shaped nozzles controlled by a tap. Be neath each carriage is a long frame in which are a number of pallets, the surface ; of which can be acted upon by the jet cs ■ taping from the nozzles The action is ex tremely simple; the train being water borne, and therefore having its friction re duced to any great extent, is set in motion, ; and as soon as it passes the tirst stand-pipe opens the valve controlling the nozzle, when a stream of water under pressure is forced against the pallets under the car riages, accelerating the speed of the latter. As soon as each carriage passes, the valve controlling the nozzle is shut, and remains closed until the succeeding carriage opens it. The plans of if. (iirard have been worked out in their present form by 11. I*irre. who claims many advantages for tie system. The length of line laid down on the Esplanade des Invalided is about 20(1 yards, and the speeds attained are very considerable. Three Sizes of Postal Cards. People who use postal cards, and every body does more or less, will soon have three sizes from which to choose, the pres ent size and one larger and one smaller. The present postal card is inches. The smaller card will only be one-sixteenth of an inch narrower, but will be half an inch shorter, and probably be gcnerallv used for limited correspondence, etc. The larger size will be the business postal, and will be inches wide by t>i inches long, three-fourths of an inch wider and one inch longer than the present card and giving one-third more surface space. The contract was awarded last Friday by Acting Postmaster General CI ark sou. to Albert Daggett, of New York, for the sup ply of postal cards for the next four years. It is estimated that two billion cards will be needed in that time, or ">00,000,000 a year. The contract price of these amounts to SBOO,OOO, a decrease of over 30 per cent, from the old contract. These two billion cards will require nearly 7,0Q0 tons of card board, or an average of about six tons each working day, to be made, printed, chopped into proper size, put into packages of 25 each, boxed and shipped wherever needed- The average weight of the three sizes will be a little over 0j pounds and the cost to the government about 40 cents a thousand. When postal cards were first introduced into this country, in 1873, their cost was $1.39$ per thousand, or three and a half times the present price. On theso two billion cards, costing SBOO,OOO, the govern ment will receive +20,000,000 in postage. A Simple Relief for Lung Troubles. It has long been known that pine needle pillows would alleviate persons afflicted with lung troubles, and a Florida editor re lates an incident in support of the fact as follows.- During a visit to the home of a most estimable lady living on Indian river, this editor was told of a discovery that had been made which may prove a boon to sufferers from lung or bronchial troubles This lady having heard that there was pe culiar virtue in a pillow made from pine straw, and having none of that material at hand, made one from fine, soft, pine shav ings, and had the pleasure of noting imme diate benefit. Soon all the members of the household had pine shavings pillows, and It was noticed that all coughs, asthmatic or bronchial troubles abated at once after sleeping a few nights on these pillows. An invalid suffering with lung trouble derived much benefit from sleeping upon a mat tress made from pine shavings. The material is cheap and makes a very pleas ant and comfortable mattress, the odor of the pine permeating the entire room and absorbing or dispelling all unpleasant odors. A Quick Trip from Japan. A consignment of silk and first crop teas, occupying sixteen cars, arrived in New York on July 2<> from Yoko hama. via steamship to Vancouver, 11. C.. and transcontinental rail route to New York. The total dis tance wsa nearly 8,000 miles, and it took twenty one days to accomplish it. includ ing a delay of about one day in loading on the cars at V aneouver. —"Pa," inquired Bobby, as they were returning from a Revivalist meeting, "Why do those people shout so loud? is (Sod deaf.'" "No, Bobby, but in a case of that kind He is a good way off." —Out in California they have a man who, it is claimed, is over 150 years old. "Old Gabriel," as he is called, has no use for the Brown Scquunl elixir. —The city of Brooklyn* can probably boast of having the largest bread bakery in the world. Seventy thousand loaves a day it usually turns out. requiring three hundred barrels of flour. Three hundred and fifty persons are employed in the bak ery, and for delivering the bread in New York, Brooklyn and adjacent places, over one hundred wagons, constructed for the purpose, are in constant use. —ln the patent suit of A. L. Ide A Son against the Ball Engine Company, of Erie, l'a.. for infringment of use of dash pot in flywheel governor, Judge Blodgett, of Chicago, on July 22 handed down his opin ion in favor of the Ball Company. In Season. I caught a string of beauties. Away up the river to-day, The finest buss that were e'er pulled out; But the biggest one got away. And down in the mill pond meadow, The boys who were making hay, With forks and rakes killed .'t.OOO snakes; But the biggest one got away. And so I have heard of liars Since Ananias's day; There are just a few who receive their due. But the biggest one gets away. Through years of toil Columbus T'nto our New World came; But a charlatan skipped after, And gave that world his name. All day in street and market The liar's name we see; Columbia!—sweet and seldom—• Is left to Poetry. And the names bring back a lesson Taught to the world in youth— That the realm of Song and Beauty Is the only home of Truth." Saved Her Child. i A most remarkable rescue from death I took place at the farm of Wendell Russell, about three miles from Venice. 111., the I other afternoon, -ay - the St. Louis fihht ' Democrat- Mr. Russell bail removed the ! pump from the well to make some repairs ' anil hail partially covered the a pert are with boards. A little four yoar-old boy playing in the vicinity got on these boards | anil fell throuph. one of the boards going j with him. His mother heard hi* cries and ; rushed to the rescue. There was about twelve feet of water in the well, and the distance from the top to the surfaee of the water was about fifteen feet. She could | see the little one clinging to the board and floating on the water. No assistance was at hand and she was thrown on her own j resources. Her wits worked quickly and -he acted with great promptness. Secur ing a stout rope that was near at hand, she ' fastened one end of it tightly about the body of her nine-year-old daughter and then let her down to the water, where she grabbed the little one and shouted to her mother to pnll her up. Her mother could not do it. While it was a comparatively i easy matter to lower the girl steadily and to hold her it was quite another thing to haul her up, and the mother's strength was not equal to the task. She. however, found : a way out of the dilemma. With a few t words of encouragement to her loved ones clinging to each other just above the sur face of the water, she made the rope fast above and ran to get a ladder that was standing against the house. This she let down the well, but it reached only a little below the surface of the water, and there nothing for it to rest on. She secured a stout piece of timber and placed it across the top of the well betweeu the top rounds of the ladder, thus giving it a firm support, though the lower end swung iu a manner somewhat dangerous to an unsteady climb er. Then she took the rope by which her daughter was suspended and swung her to the ladder. The girl seized the ladder with her left hand, and with her little brother tightly clasped by her right arm, climbed the ladder, assisted by her mother with the rope. I>oth were brought up ( safely, and the only injuries sustained were a few bruises and a thorough ducking to the little one. A Roman Girl and Her Doll. 1 n May last the workmen who are dig g ing the foundation for the new law courts in Rome, discovered a sarcophagus buried 30 feet below the surface. Immediately the telophone called to the spot the mem l hers of the Archaeological Commission, sci entific !»nd literary nun. who watch with ! jealous care all the excavations made in the Eternal City. I'nder their direction it was carefully raised and Opened. Within lay the skeleton of a young girl, with the remains of the linen in which she had been wrapped, some brown leaves from the myrtle wreath with which, em blematic of her youth, she hail been crown ed in death. On her hands were four rings, of which | one was the double betrothal ring of plain gold, anil another with Filetus, the name of her betrothed engraved upon it. A large and most exquisite amethyst brooch, in Etruscan setting of the finest work, carved amber pins, and a gold necklet with white small pendants were lying about. Hut what is most strange, as being al most unique, wasY doll of oak wood, beau tifully carved, the joints articulated so that so that legs and arms and hands move in sockets, the hands anil feet daintily cut with small aud delicate nails. The feat tires and the hair were carved out in the most minute and careful way. the hair waving low on the forehead, and being bound with a fillet. On the outside of the sarcophagus was sculptured her name, Tryphiena Creperia. and a touching scene, doubtless faithfully representing her parting with her parents. She is lying on a low bed, and striving to raise herself on her left arm to speak to her heart-broken father, who stands leaning on her bedstead, his head bowed with grief, while her mother sits on the bed, her head covered, weeping. It seems but yesterday, so natural is the scene, and yet it was nearly 18 centuries ago that these stricken parents laid so ten derly away their tenderly-loved daughter, with her ornaments and her doll. A Goose Story. A young man over iu Hrushvalley town ship was desperately in love with a farmer's daughter. She reciprocated the tender passion, but her father was sullen and ob durate. aud gave the young man to under stand in the most emphatic terms that if lie ever entered that house it would be at his peril. He would, he said, "kick the daylight out of him." One night recently, when the old gentleman had gone to In diana to be absent over night, the young man took advantage of his absence to visit the daughter. They were sitting in the front room, both beaming with joy. It was nearly midnight. Presently the daughter heard a noise which she recognized as her father's foot steps. There was a bed in the room, and the girl drew back the calico curtains and told the young man to hustle under. lie did so. She had forgotten to tell him that there was a goose under there engaged in a motherly effort to hatch out a dozen young goslings. Scarcely had the young man gotten himself securely stowed away.when the girl's father entered. Just about this time the old goose made a hissing noise, drew back its long neck, and Struck the already frightened intruder a smart blow on the left ear. nipping a piece out. That was enough. He was sure he had been bitten by a snake, aud. with a blood curd ling yell, the young man rushed from his hiding-place screaming at the top of his voice; •■Snake! Snake! I'm bit by u snake! and 1 don't care who knows it!" Aud the clandestine lover made a break for the door, and ran home with furious speed, yelling at every jump. The old man was at first very much startled at the strange apparition, but he soon realized the situation, and both him self anil daughter laughed heartily.— I'unxsutatciuy Spirit. —Early apple butter is in market. A SERMON'. He wrote her yearning, burning words. I Itut when his love had wilted. He left the maid dissolved in tears Among the weary jilted. Hut soon a lawyer came her way — Oil him her heart now dotes— He helped her raise full fifty thou. Oil t'other follows' notes. MORAL. For woman full of woe and fury Would*t find an instant cure? A lawyer, letters uud a jury. Vou'll find the inetlii»d sure, A ml to young men we'd say as we Have said to tish, "don't bite;"' When vou are head o'er heels iu love DON'T WRITE. SOCIETY EVENT IN WYOMING. They lit and fit, And* gouged aud bit. And scuttled iu the mud, I'util the grottud For three miles 'round. Was kivered with their bind; Aud piles of noses, ears and eyes, Rose like pyr'mids to skivs. Agricultural. Buckwheat, seeded down now. will kill out the weeds. When it begins to blossom plow it under and seed down to rve. It is work thrown away to kill out weeds iu the field aud allow them to go seed in the fence corners. As a rule the garden at this season is the hot-bed of weeds The toad is a valuable assistant to the farmer iu keeping down insects, but it sometimes destroys ichneumon flies and carniveron* beetles, which are friends to the farmer. I rees for the garden should be well cut back. For the field they should be cut back in u manner to allow for horse culti vation when the trees begin to bear. Cut ting back tho peach the first two years makes the tree very stocky and compact. All insects are not -nemies. Some of them are the best friends the farmers have. Spiders, wasps, dragon flies and other in sec ts that are injurious. There are also other numerous parasites that greatly as sist in destroying insects. The colons bed will thiekeu and thrive better if frequently cut back and trimmed. Ihe cuttings cau be used for new bests. Simply stick the ends of the cuttings in the ground, keep them moderately moist and they will take root aud grow in a few days A small amount of crude carbolic acid (about a tablespoonful in a gallon of soap suds) poured in the sink-hole wiil destroy foul odors and also prevent the propogation of flies, as the acid destroys the maggots. The soap-suds assist in preserving the am monia of the sink. A dozen cucumber vines will produce an enormous crop of pickles if looked over daily and the small cucumbers picked off. They grow so rapidly, thai a delay of one day will sometimes render them too large for use. If picked over earefully the vines will continue to bear until frost. I)o not attempt to save the seed of pump kins, melons squashes unless the vines for that purpose are grown at a distance from all other varieties of the same family. The pollen of such plants is carried quite a distance by the winds, and also by insects. Two or more varieties will fertilize the blossoms of each. It is reported that persons are using paris green on cabbage as a remedy for the cab bage worm. It is dangerous to do so. The leaves of cabbages, during growth, eover the poison, and there may be danger when the cabbages are used in proper precau tions not lieing taken to thoroughly wash them. If the growers use the poison the s ales will fall off. owing to the distrust created. Corn in the glazing stage makes the best fodder. If cut when the ear is hard the stalk is then (to a certain extent) woody, and if cut very young before the ears are formed, the stalk abounds in water and is lacking in nutrition. When the ear is about filled and beginning to glaze the cutting of the corn at that stage arrests the nutritive elements in the stalks, and the fodder is then equal to hay. being fed to stock with the ears on tho stalk or ?ut np in the cut ter. DRAISISO. THE FABM The necessity for thorough drainage is made more appar ent at this season than during any prev ious time, as the continued rains do not al low the ground to dry and become warm. To economize by not providing outlet* for surplus water is to entail a lorn in the crops. While all crops require moisture and are benefitted by it. too much moit turc is injurious. Drainage does not de prive the plants of moisture, but permits of surplus water passing off. This can lie done by open ditches, by "blind" ditches (diJned by covering the ditches by boards, over which earth is thrown) stone ditches or drain tile (laid under ground). The tile drainage is the best, as the supply is carried off rapidly, and no ditches are in the way of cultivation. When the tiles are properly laid, and empty into a natural stream or other water course it drains the land downward, in the same manner that light sandy lands are drained. While much of the surplus water may flow off the surface, the ground be comes thoroughly saturated when there in abundant rain, the result being that until the water sinks down the soil remains cold and plants do not grow rapidly. Much of the water in tho soil finds its way to the surface by capillary attraction and evapor ates, at the expense of a great loss of the warmth of the soil. When the water is carrried off from below that nearest the surface follows it down, and in so doing can create a vacuum in the soil, which is filled by particles of air, doe to atmospher ic pressure. As the air enters it net only warms the soil but assists in reUining warmth that is absorbed by the soil itself from the direct rays of the sun. In this manner the roots of the plants are invigor ated, the soil becomes more porous, and the air and luoistnre exert a beneficial in fluence on the growing j>lants. Drainage mitigates the effects of drought bv permitting the roots of plants to extend deeper into the soil. As the excess of moisture is carried off and the subsoil dries, a larger field is open to the action of the roots, aud they at once go as far down as possible. During the dry season the plants find moisture below and endure the drought much better than do those plants growing on an undrained soil. The soil being wann ed as well as disintegrated to a great depth by action of air, heat and frost it is in finer condition, permits of a supply of moisture to plants during the drought by capillary attraction and the surface soil is less liable to bake and become hard, lience draining is beneficial during both wet and dry sea sons. All plants aud tiees consume water in large quantities. Kir John Laws discover ed that an acre of barley will take np 1, (•94 tons of water in two days. Trees and plants are composed more largely of water than auy other substance. The branch of a tree will lose nine tenths of its weight by drying. Says the Horsrman: Watch the black smith and do not allow him to burn the hoof with n hot shoe because it is easier to do this than to trim or file the hoof smooth. Hurning ruins the wall of the hoof so that it will not retain the shoe so long, besides rendering it so brittle that a heavy strain on it will cause it to break; and if the shoe comes off on the road the hoof is likely to go pieces before you can reach the shop. —A wide-awake down-town barber has has amended bis sign thus: "Cupping, bleeding and elixing.** —An ungrammatical lady wearing very tine clothes stunned a Chestnut street phar macy a day or two since with the inquiry for "Elixir of High Life." Though we have said good bye, Clasped hands and parted ways, "my dream and I, There still is beauty on the earth and glory in the sky. The word has not grown old With foolish hopes, nor commonplace nor cold, Nor i- there auy tarnish on the happy har vest gold. NO. 4 2