- THE! IDOL.
I have known It yoing. I have known it old,
1 have found an idol of purest gold.
And yet there has alw ays route a day
When 1 saw that the idol's t'eot were olay.
Of purest gold was fashioned the rest,
In that one idol I loved the best;
And ah! that there should be this to say,
That the feet were clay, the feet were clay.
You may watch till watching outdoes your might.
Never the gold is aw hit loss bright;
The idol never shall lose a ray,
But the feet are clay, the feet are olay.
1 had counted, half know ing, the cost before;
"If only the idol is mine to adore."
I cried, "it is naught if the trumpets bray
That the feet are clay, the feet are clay.
"If the thunder's voice should bear it afar
That the idol is what nil idols are;
If I take tliem for gold, what matters it, pray,
If the feet of the idol are only clayt"
And yet the new one day must come
With tune of harp or ro'.tlu of drum,
In strife of squadron.'. ia moonlit bay,
That the feet ..Tier r.U aro nothing but clay.
Let tbe people t .-11 it, and let them repeat
What taJes they like of Hie idol's feet,
To this assurance my life I'll hold,
That the idol's heart is of purest gold.
A worshiper must be brave and wise—
The gold is a dauntless gazer's prise;
"Tis the blind who chant in the same dull way
That the feet of our idols are always clay.
Let the darkened eyes of the blind awake.
Let tbem see the truth for the truth's own sake,
They shull know 'tis a foolish tale is told
That even the feet are of aught but gold.
Let tbe blind but open their eyes to the light,
Nay, let them see truth in their visions of night,
So shall they an idol fashioned behold
Through and through of the purest gold.
—Walter Ilerries Pollock in Longman's
What Is True Life?
Of human life the time is n point, and
.the substeuc 'Li.' n llux, and the percep
tion dull. the composition of the
whole hotly subject to putrefaction, and
the soul a whirl, and fortune hard to di
vine. and fame a thing of judgment.
And, to say all in a word, everything
which belongs to the body is a stream,
and what belongs to the soql is a dream
and vapor. a:id life is a warfare, and a
stranger's sojourn, and after fame is ob
livion.
What, tlien, is that which is able to
conduct a man? One thing and only one,
philosophy. But this consists in keep
ing the demon within a man free from
violence and unharmed, superior to
pains and pleasures, doing nothing with
out a purpose, nor yet falsely and with
aught of hypocrisy; and besides, accept
ing all lliut happens and all that is al
lotted, as coming from thence, wherever
it is, from whence he himself came; and,
finally, waiting for death with a cheer
ful mind, as being nothing else than a
dissolution of the elements of which
every living being is compounded.
But if there is no harm to the ele
ments themselves in each continually
changing into another, why should a
man have any apprehension about the
change and dissolution of all the ele
ments? For it is according to nature,
and nothing is evil which is accordingto
nature.—Marcus Aurelius.
He Would Do.
A good story is told on Bishop Graf
ton, of the diocese of Fond du Lac. One
of his first visitations was at Waupun,
where there has been much church dis
sension in the past, and while there he
was the guest of Mrs. Webster. After
the prelate retired ho was annoyed by a
mouse in the room. lie did not lie awake
and wonder what could be done to
abate it.
He quietly arose, took the remains of
a lunch which lie had been enjoying,
placed it on top of a glass in the center
of a wash bowl, filled the bowl half full
of water, leaned a photograph from the
table to the edge of the bowl, so as to
give the mouse a runway, then calmly
went back to bed. In a few moments he
heard the pattering of the mouse's feet
on the photograph, a splash, a few strug
gles and all was quiet. Then the worthy
bishop turned over and slept the sleep of
the just. As Mrs. Webster remarked
the next morning: "Bishop Grafton will
find no difficulty in governing the diocese
if he can BO easily handle a mouse."—
Appleton Post.
To Hent the Machine.
"Gimme a nickel's worth of buckshot,"
said a St. Haul gamin wearing somewhat
disordered raiment. His head just top
ped the counter in a bazar devoted to
sporting goods.
"I suppose lie will load them into a
rusty pistol and accidentally shoot some
one of his iiftimate friends," suggested a
bystander.
"Oh, no," replied the proprietor of the
gun store, "lie has no firearms. He is
going in to beat the nickel-in-the-slot
scheme, and I suppose I am particeps
criminis."
"How?"
"Why, lie will put them on the street
car track, the car will convert them into
the exact size of nickels and pennies,
Mtd, of course, you can anticipate the
financial panic liable to ensue in St. Paul
shortly, with a gum machine at almost
every corner."—St. Paul Pioneer Press.
Atlantic Cattle Ship*.
The boats each carry from 300 to 000
cattle per trip. The largest cargo ever
taken over consisted of 1,300 head. The
greatest number ever stowed oil an upper
deck for a single passage was 32.1 head.
The voyage consumes from eight to six
teen days.
Cattle are hardly ever sick at sea.
They readily catch the motion of the
boat and after a couple of days find their
sea legs as readily as the most hardened,
weather beaten old salt of the brine. If
they show any signs of "paleness about
the gills" they are doctored with salts.
The system of shipping cattle is encum
bered with far less difficulties titan that
of carrying horses. The horse is a very
troub.esome animal to pilot across, and
one of .te rules applied is never to let
him lie down.—New York Letter.
An Open Question.
It is said that the race of zebras is fast
becoming extinct. Whether this is due
to their ruthless destruction by hunters
or is caused by the zebra's mortification
over the resemblance he hears to a jack
ass with a blazer on, science does not say
—Chatter.
THE DYING HORSE.
Pali bark Fall back! Give him room to die'
Hard is tbe bed where he n< eda muat lie.
For his toilsome life this in tbe end!
Has he no master- no loving friend?
Is it here tbe old horse must welcome death.
Where a gaping crowd watchee every brwith,
Under the midsummer's scorching sun?
Is this bis reward for work well done?
How his limbs shudder! How his eyes roll!
Beek they at last for a pitying soul?
Or only for quiet —quiet to die
In some lonely valley green, where a brook gur
gles by?
No; be knows nothing of clover fields cool,
Where cattle at noonday 6tand deep in tbe pool.
He never wandered the pastures
His roadway through life was the stony street.
Cherished while work brought his owner gain,
To strangers left in this hour of pain;
Deserted nov that Ills busk is over;
Not for Ids old days are the fields of clover.
Not fur blni v. ill lh'* field lark sing.
Not for hini the lush grasses spring;
Nor to him will liberty come.
In his tired old age, in some country home.
Here he must suffer—here lie must die
Under the midsummer's scorching sky.
Him the broad shade tree will never woo;
He has known but the pavement his whole life
through.
Still we in our vaunted pride of soul
Conceive no future, no restful goal,
No ethereal pasture In regions blest
Where the poor old horse may in spirit rest.
—Chicago Ledger.
ONE NIGHT OF HORROR.
One night I went to bed with glossy
brown hair, and the face of a girl of 18;
next morning I left iuy room with hair
as gray as it is now, though forty-two
years have passed away since then.
In one night an awful horror struck
mo suddenly with the weight of scores
of years.
My father was a Mr. Harriot,a ship
broker, who lived in Russell square with
his family, consisting of my mother and
four children, of whom I was the eldest.
One morning, in the December of 1842,
wliilo we were sitting at breakfast, my
mother said, as she finished reading a
letter which had just been delivered,
"It's from Judith. She wants Ellen to
go and stay a month at The Willows.
But I do not like the idea. She never
even called on us when she came hack
to England last summer. Besides, we
have known almost nothing of her for
years past."
"Oh! 1 should like immensely to see
Aunt Judith," I cried.
"But you have never seen, and don't
know anything about Iter," replied tny
mother. "It is nearly ten years now
since I saw her, and she didn't leave a
very pleasant impression on my mind.
I had not seen her, of course, since 1
was a child, but, as I have often told
you, there was something curious and
weird about her that was not to my lik
ing. In fact, she did not seem liko a
sister of mine."
Aunt Judith was my mother's elder
sister by fifteen years. When she was
about twenty she married a German
baron who was a professor in a univer
sity. Why it was nobody knew,' but
some two years or so after her marriage
Aunt Judith became very apathetic as
regarded her relations in England, and
but rarely corresponded with them.
Her husband, the baron and professor,
died about three years before the time of
which I speak. Mourning cards were
unknown in those days; still she might
have sent a word to inform her sister of
her bereavement. To our great aston
ishment, it was only from a friend who
attended his funeral that we heard, cas
ually, that he was dead and that she was
a widow.
Well, bolli my father and my mother
were unwilling to let me go to The Wil
lows: my mother, because she had, or
seemed to mo to have, a prejudice
against her sister; my father, for no
reason that I could make out, except that
he echoed my mother. At all events, 1
overcame their opposition at last, and
started, one fine, or rather gloomy, morn
ing—for the clouds were dark and heavy,
I remember, as I left London—for The
Willows, a mansion in Warwickshire
which had been left to my Aunt Judith
by my grandfather. Traveling was slower
in those days than it is now, and it was
not until nearly C o'clock in the evening
that I drove, in the lumbering coach
which conveyed me, up the dreary car
riage path which led to The Willows.
Aunt Judith had only returned to live
there during the past six months, so 1
was not surprised to find the place in a
very untidy slate. Such, at least, was
my impression from what I saw through
the darkness of the evening.
Things, however, seemed to change
for the better when we drew up at the
house itself. It was a great, straggling
building, which had stood for more than
a century, and was cold and forbidding
to look at from the outside. But from
the windows, and what I could see of
the hall, it seemed to bo well lit, warm
and well appointed within. A female
servant came out to meet me as the coacli
stopped at the door.
'•Mile. Marriot?" sire inquired, in a
German voice, as 1 descended.
"Yes," I replied.
"Ah! your aunt would like well to see
you," she said. "1 shall take you to her.
She is dressing for dinner." I followed
her up stairs, and into a large bedroom.
Standing before a glass at the end of the
room was a tall woman whom, from the
description I had heard of her, I imme
diately recognized as Aunt Judith.
Her figure was very erect, almost ma
jestic, but her face puzzled me. The
features were very regular, and clearly
drawn. There was in them a consider
able amount of power, and yet, what I
could not understand, a curious, wizened,
almost craven expression, which just
bordered on being sinister. I was only
a girl at the time, and knew nothing of
physiognomy, but, instinctively, I felt a
sense of uneasiness as I met her keen
gray eyes, which seemed never to rest
for a moment, hut to wander about as if
at the bidding of an uneasy spirit, though
her demeanor was otherwise curiously
calm and self possessed.
"Your room is not ready yet, but it
will be presently," she said, when we
had greeted each other; "you can dress
here. AVe have a few friends to dinner
to-night. Your parents are well, I hope."
"Your parents!" and this in allusion to
her own sister, whom she had not seen
for years! Her greeting—in fact, her
manner, everything about her—was per
fectly polite, but strangely cold.
"Yes," I replied, "they are quite well,
thank you."
"You can come down stairs when you
are ready," she continued, as she stood
before the glass, giving the last touches
to her toilet. "Dinner will be on the
table in about twenty minutes. I had
better go down—they will be waiting for
me," saying which she left the room.
A curious woman, I thought, when she
was gone; and, altogether, I did not care
much about her—perhaps, also, I was a
little sorry that, against the wishes of
my parents, I had come to The Willows
at all. When I came into the drawing
room 1 found a party of about a dozen
people assembled there. There were, be
sides my aunt and an elderly German
lady, who was a relativo of her late hus
band, the clergyman of the parish with
his wife and two daughters, the local
doctor—a good looking young man of
übout six or seven and twenty; the squire
and three or four others, who, like myself,
were staying on a visit at the house.
Dinner passed very pleasantly. We had
music and a dance when the gentlemen
came up stairs. Altogether I enjoyed
myself very much, and it was past mid
night when wo rose from the supper
table. One thing I did notice almost un
consciously during the evening, and this
was a strange, absent, and at the same
time searching, expression which some
times came upon Aunt Judith's face. It
was as though she were looking at or for
something which was invisiblo to every
body else.
Well, when supper was over, and those
of the guests who were leaving the house
had taken their departure, I went with
Aunt Judith to her bedroom, "to see,"
she said, "whether Sophia had got my
room ready yet."
Sophia was waiting for us when we
entered the room, and my aunt and she
immediately began to talk in German.
What they were saying I could not tell,
as I did not understand the language;
but somehow, from their manner or the
tone of their voices, it seemed to me as if
they were discussing something which
they did not want me to know about.
At last my aunt said to me in English:
"My dear, 1 am sorry the room 1 had
intended for you is not ready yet. It will
be ready to-morrow, but for to-night you
must sleep in another room."
Here Sophia said something in German,
and after a moment's pause Aunt Judith
said, as if in answer;
"The blue room. Yes, my dear," she
continued, speaking to me, "it is an old
fashioued room, but very comfortable.
Sophia will show you to it. Good night,
dear."
Again the curious look I had noticed
before came over her face as I left the
room with Sophia, who walked before
me with a candle.
We went up a flight of stairs that led
to a part of tho building which seemed
to be but little used. At the top of those
stairs there was a long narrow p.-issage.
the walls of which were lined with oak
panels. When we got to the end of this
passago we turned to the right and went
a few yards down another and similar
passage, until the servant opened a door
that led into a spacious bedchamber.
Having put the candle on the mantel
piece, and laid my traveling bag, which
she carried with her, on the floor, she
looked curiously round the room, and
then, when she had bidden mo good
night, went out and shut the door, i
felt very nervous as I looked about the
apartment, which seemed to be in an un
inhabited part of the large house, end
was furnished, I thought, ir an antique
and rather grewsomo manner. Tho lofty
walls, paneled as they were with wood
painted blue, contrasted strangely with
the heavy silk window curtains, which
were of a dark red color, and with some
old portraits in oil that hung in massive
oak and ebonv frames. The chairs and
tables were all cumbrous and old fash
ioned, and, as to the bed, it almost fright
ened me to think of sleeping in it, so vast
and gloomy did it look with its huge
canopy and somber curtains.
It is not easy to go to sleep at once dur
ing the first night of one's stay in a strange
liou.se, especially if anything has hap
pened to make tho mind uneasy and sus
picious. For a long time 1 lay awake
wondering at the curious look I had seen
on Aunt Judith's face, and shivering,
now and again, as I thought how far
away I was from the rest of the house
hold. If I were to be taken suddenly ill,
or if anything were to happen to me
during the night, whatcouhl I do? There
was a bell rope in tho room, but I bad for
gotten to ask Sophia whether it commu
nicated with a bell, and, if so, whether
there was any one to answer rny ring.
Isolated as I was in this large and gloomy
chamber, my mind was agitated with
vague fears, and it must have been near
ly two hours before I got to sleep.
llow long this state lasted 1 do not
know, when suddenly I awoke. In a
moment I was wide awake, staring be
fore me into the black darkness and list
ening intently to the profound about me.
Why was I doing this? I asked myself,
but could not give any answer. Some
thing must have happened to awake me.
What was it? I wondered. I looked and
listened. There was only blackness and
silence.
For many seconds I lay thus peering
and listening, and was just on the point
of shutting my eyes again, when, glaring
at them through the darkness, I saw two
other eyes, and hot on my cheek came
the breath of something—man, or beast,
or monster! I drew my head some inches
back; the eyes, to which mine were rivet
ed, advanced. I felt a form bending over
the side of the bed. It stopped. The eyes
stopped, the form became motionless. In
the pure agony of the moment —actuated
by that alone—l rose a little in my bed,
and bent my head forward; the form
also rose, and tho eyes, which wero still
fastened to mine, retreated. As they did
so, to my unutterable horror I discerned
, the outline of a human facel
i It was within a few inches of my own;
i and now my eyes, becoming accustomed
■ to the darkness, could see that it was
covered with hair. There was a dread
ful gibber—such as might come from an
ape or a dumb man in pain—and before
my fascinated gaze flashed two rows of
shining teeth. The creature—monster
or maniac—was by my side, ready, wait
ing to spring upon me. Hot upon my
face came its breath, while the awful
eyes shone like the eyes of a tiger. It
was on the spring—to tear me limb from
limb. Just one thing stayed it. Just
one thing was keeping off the awful
death that threatened me. In all the
ecstasy of my terror I comprehended
what that one thing was. It was the
power of my eyes. I was fighting an
eye battle with the monster.
Into its dreadful eyes I gazed, as
though I was gazing into the very gates
of hell. Like the eyes of a wild beast,
they seemed ever restlessly pouring forth
a tumultuous torrent of passion, and
ever restlessly in search of mine, which
yet they shrank from when they met.
Constantly as they did so there was the
same hideous, inarticulate gibber of baf
fled rage.
Thus some two or three hours at least
must have passed until the daylight be
gan to steal in through the curtains,
which were only partly drawn.
When the light canie the sight before
me was even more horrible than my im
agination had conjured in the dark.
Crouching by the side of the large bed,
between the window and me, was a man.
But such a man! A tall man in a flow
ing gown, with long, matted, unkempt
yellow hair and beard, his face deadly
white, but every muscle in it throbbing
in convulsive sympathy with the fires
that blazed from his wild and awful
eyes!
Minute after minute passed, though 1
took no heed of theui. All my thought,
all mv strength was concentrated into
the one weapon I had—my eyes. Still,
I felt at last that I could not prolong the
battle much longer. What was Ito do?
My strength was giving way. The mon
ster or maniac was becoming more and
more excited, foaming at the lips and
uttering short, sharp cries, while his
long, cruel fingers worked convulsively,
as though they were impatient to be on
their prey.
So long as I could ward him off with
my eyes, ho dared not approach me
nearer; directly, through faintness, 1
dropped them, he would fall upon me
and tear me to pieces. My strength was
going. A look of exultation came upon
his face. The daylight had lasted for a
long time. Oh, Godl would no one ever
come? I could hold out no longer. His
glare of triumph increased. My eyes
were getting dim. His face was getting
nearer and more exulting.
It seemed as though another spirit
came suddenly into my body—l was
hardly conscious of what I did—looking
into his eyes with a strength that did not
seem to he mine, 1 roso in my bed, bent
forward my body, eye to eye, drove the
creature hack till lie was more than n
yard from the bed—slipped from tliobed
—gave one spring—caught the handle of
the door, and was in the passage run
ning. Thero was an awful noise behind
me of wild yells and laughter and pur
suing feet. As I fled, screaming, down
flight after flight of stairs, it grew near
er and nearer. The monster was upon
me. A number of people seemed to be
about me. 1 heard shouts and blows—a
confused trampling, shouting and scuf
fling—and then all was dark.
When I awoko I was in bed. I had
been very ill for many days, they said,
it was a long time before I was allowed
to see a looking glass; when 1 did, 1
found that my beautiful brown hair was
gray. It had changed its color in that
one awful night. The maniac was Aunt
Judith's only child, who had escaped
during the night from the room where
lie was confined. Aunt Judith, and the
baron when he was alive, had secretly
kept the poor creature since it had been
discovered during its infancy to be in
sane. The constant sorrow and anxiety
which it entailed was, I may add, the
cause of most of what was strange
about Aunt Judith. —Saturday Review
and Republic.
on a Volcano.
A special dispatch from the City of
Mexico states that William B. Richard
son, the young Boston naturalist, has fin
ished his work in the Sierra Nevada
mountains, and on the active volcano of
Colima, where he has been camped for
the last two months. From the extreme
summit of the Sierra Nevada he could
look down into the crater of the volcano.
There were every five hours or more
signs of activity, great clouds of vapor,
gas and ashes coming up with magnifi
cent effect and rising to a tremendous
height. But from the Sierra Nevada no
sound could he heard,
Richardson, being determined to in
vestigate nearer at hand, moved his camp
to the side of the volcano at great per
sonal risk, pitching his tent at the upper
line of pine trees and just below the
lower lines of ashes and lava. From this
point Richardson and his Indian follow
ers could hear the sounds of the volcano.
One night during the eruption they
could distinctly see the deep red glow of
molten lava as it ran down the mountain.
Richardson was regarded by the natives
as phenomenally daring, but his expe
dition resulted in no harm to himself or
to his party.—Boston Cor. New York
Herald.
l'lie Muacle Shoals Canal.
The obstruction known as the Muscle
Shoals, in the Tennessee river, which
covered about 23 miles out of the 453 be
tween Chattanooga and Paducah, at its
mouth, are at length overcome by means
of locks and dams built by the general
government, and the river is now open
so that boats loaded at New Orleans can
at all times proceed to Chattanooga, and
most of the time to Knoxville, The dis
tance from Chattanooga to New Orleans
is 1,601 miles, as against 2,067 from Pitts
burg and 1,567 from Cincinnati, and it is
claimed the coal freights from Chatta
nooga to New Orleans will be between
80 and 90 cents, as against $1,05 from
Pittsburg. The improvement of this
short piece of the river has been more or
less under construction for sixty years.—
New York Telegram.
Thff Late Orlow W. Chapman.
Orlow W. Chapman, solicitor general
of the United States, who died suddenly j
at his residence in New York lately, was
born in 1833 at Ellington, Conn., and
twas graduated at
Union college
with the class of
1854. He was pro
le ss or of lan
guages at Fergu
sonville acade
my, and in 1856
began to study
law. Two years
later he began to
practice at Bing
ham ton. In
ORLOW W. CHAPMAN. i BO3 he waß ap _
pointed district attorney of Broome
county, and a few months later was
elected to the office, holding it till 1868.
He was made a state senator in 1867 and
re-elected in 1809. He also held the office
of superintendent of insurance for his
state. In 1869 lie was appointed solici
tor general, the office being that of the
legal adviser of the government. Mr.
Chapman was a large man, of genial
temper and uniform kindness and cour
tesy.
4 Question of Sides.
Lady in Drug Store (who has just taken
a dose of belladonna, picks up a hand
mirror) —Oh, my! My right pupil's ever
so much larger than my left.
Drug Clerk (gravely)— You probably
swallowed your medicine all on that side,
madame.—Detroit Free Press.
No man was ever so completely skilled
in the conduct Df life as not to receive
new information from age and experi
ence.
Monkeys as Crab Catchers.
The way in which monkeys catch land
crabs is described by a sportsman who
made an expedition to the jungles around
Singapore, and there enjoyed sport which
makes the contemporaneous records of
Indian experiences pale into insignifi
cance. The monkey lies down flat on its
stomach, feigning death. From the
countless passages piercing the mud in
every direction thousands of little red
and yellow crabs soon make their ap
pearance, and after suspiciously eying
for a few minutes the brown fur of the
monkey, they slowly and cautiously slide
up to him, in great glee at the prospect
of a big fe. 1 off the bones of Jocko. The
latter peeps through his half closed eye
lids, and fixes upon the biggest of the as
sembled multitude. When the crab comes
within reach, out dashes the monkey's
arm, and off he scampers into the jungle
with a cry of delight to discuss at leisure
his cleverly earned dinner.
"Rarely did the monkeys seetn to miss
their prey," adds the describer of this
scene. "I saw, however, one old fellow
do so, and it was ludicrous in the extreme
to see the rage it put him in. Jumping
for fully a minute up and down on all
fours at the mouth of the hole into which
the crab had escaped, he positively
howled with vexation. Then he set to
work poking the mud about with his An
gers at the entrance to the passage, fruit
lessly trying every now and again to peep
into it." These same monkeys, the so
called pig tailed variety, are taught by the
Malays to pick fruit for them in the for
ests. The monkeys select the ripest fruit,
and their masters, by following their
movements, catch them in a cloth before
they reach the ground. The monkey is
too well trained to attempt to eat any
fruit while at work, but when sufficient
are gathered ho is duly rewarded for his
self denial. —London Globe.
Reporting Rupi<l Talk.
"Speaking of rapid talkers makes me
think of the time I was sent to report a
lecture by Henry Ward Beeclier," said
the mayor's private secretary, Tom
O'Neill, at the Press club the other day.
"I was something of a stenographer and
had always been able to keep pace with
every man I had been assigned to take.
So, with no misgivings, I sharpened my
pencil and took my seat at the reporters'
table and waited for the distinguished
divine to begin. The subject was 'Evo
lution,' which, in those days, I knew ab
solutely nothing about. Well, he started
in, and for a minute everything went all
right. The second minute he took a
spurt, and I found myself pushing my
pencil at a high rate of speed. The third
minute he put on moro steam and I had
to write so fast my pencil got hot and
came near setting the paper afire. The
fourth minute ho spurted again and I
waslcAt. He kept on 6purting until at
last he struck his gait.
"Heavens! how he talked. No manu
script. No notes. He just stood up there
by his desk with one hand on it, the
other by his ide. His mouth was open,
and without changing the expression of
his face or moving a muscle tiro words
came rolling out one after another like
drops of lead from the summit of a shot
tower." —Chicago Journal.
Mrs. Stockbridge, of Michigan, likes a
good horse. She knows one, too, and
can judge of an animal's points as keenly
as a Kentuckian. "At times I like horses
better than people," she remarked naively
once, and she genuinely has a love for
the noble animal. Of all colors she pre
fers the blacks, and the Stockbridge
stables will have three spans of magnifi
cent black horses this winter.
About Money Making.
No one who has any experience can
doubt that money is one of the great
practical forces of organized society.
The poor boy who resolves to "make
money" is not necessarily mercenary in
his spirit or low in his aims. To gain a
foothold by the ownership of property is
simply one step on the road to success.
That gained, he has gained a great lever.
Every energetic, aspiring American boy
may rightly and naturally look forward
to the accumulation of property. But to
wish for money, to seek it, or to use it in
a selfish, base spirit, to make it in itself
the first and most important object of life,
is contemptible and degraded inannood.
Think about making money then; think
about it earnestly and with a fixed deter
mination to do it; but think quite as
seripusly of other and higher things te
| be done.—Country Gentleman.
B. & B.
The Ac Spring Assortment are
Xow vll in.
Il is a great pleasure to us to offer this
season's productions, because tbey are Ike
most elegant and satikfactor for the prions
we have ever seen.
Our Mail Order Department will cheer
fully submit samples by mail, and your
order will be tilled at the lowest prieea
and as satisfactorily as though you were
here to do your shopping in person. Have
you tried it ?
Special mention is made of a few items
only.
A very large assortment of All Wool
Imported Suitings, 38 to4o inches in width
in large assortment of stripes, plaids aad
mixtures, at 50 cents. This is the most
comprehensive offering of 50 cent Dren
Goods ever made by any mercantile
house.
100 pieces 40 inch Imported Plai Is, 4k
cents.
Also, at 50 cents, large assortment of
All Wool, 50 inch Scotch Cheviots.
New and stylish Cloth Bourettes, 88
inches wide, at 50 cents.
A 75 cent offering—the moat for the
money ever offered—lmported Tailor
Suitings, in large variety of styliah
stripes, 38 inches wide, elegant quality.
At 33 cents, 36 inch Wool Suitings, new
stripes and plaids.
500 pieces extra One Satmcs, 15 cents.
35 cent quality.
New Zephyr Ginghams, 15c, 20c, 250.
Anderson's Ginghams, 40c, 45c.
Challis—largest variety in all qualities
up to the Imported All Wool Goods ut 50
cents.
Our Large spring and Summer FASH
ION JoUKNAI. AND CATALOGUE will be
ready April 1. It costs nothing but your
name on a postal card to get it.
BOGGS&BUHL,
US: m Federal St,
ALLEGHENY, I'A
SILKS.
If you want a handsome, wearable
Silk Dress for Spring and Summer, buy
the material of us. Samples cheerfully
furnished upon request.
SURAHS.
COLORED:
19 inch at 50c a yard.
19 inch at (ion a yard.
20 inch at 7flc a yard.
24 inch Standard at SI.OO.
24 inch at $1.20.
BLACK:
19 inch at 50 cents.
21 inch at 75 cents.
20 inch at 75 cents.
25 inch at 85 cents.
23 inch at SI.OO.
25 incli at SI.OO.
24 inch at $1.20.
These arc leaders—selected from done as
of grades ot Surahs, also Gros Grains,
Failles, Ann ores, eto., etc., colored and
black, the best values we ever offered.
Dress Goods.
Our complete new Spring stock is now
comph te. This means the grandest array
of beautiful goods shown in this country.
Goods and prices are all on the buyer'*
side of the bargain.
Send for samples.
CURTAINS.
Complete new Spring stock. Write for
Curtain Circular.
Our 1890 Spring Catalogue will be reay
in March, Send your name and you 91
receive it.
.JOS. IIOENE ct O;
(109-621 Penn Avenv>
PITTBBf° H > P*-
f) ATVMfO obtained forifflffg*
rAlcNla Vices, medlc^ 1 r " COM
pounds, ornamental designs, tv ana
labels, caveats, Assignment n ' es
Appeals, Suits for lnfrlngemc , A a ~„ al i oases
arising under the PaTIIJM'I' AWB ' PTOMP-
Iy attended T HAVE BEES
nr by tlu atentomce m,IT
we can make closer search-'"" 7°"™>' • 'ten™
mere promptly, and wltu''"|'" l "" tt
those who are remote fru',7 f r ,o, h
*••*•■"" 118 11 model or
INVENTORS S, tch of your device;
we mokef vamlnailono?'V and advise
MmMtentabllltv strictly
OTimtlrnuial l'llees kI, CUAKGE UN
LESS PATENT 18 Patent Offlcf ♦txmr
We refer to official,mTp rinion riinvZl
I clients In every Sta,,lvelnconv'ress SneelsS
t Senator and
! references given w a. gNowTco
Opposite Pa> ° mce - Washington, Di'c.
ADMINI AATOIi ' S NOTICE.
Estate :°" ratl Baker, deceased.-Let
bfAdmino 1101 ! 111 u ."' l>! " a ieof t'onrad
mwnr late 6 J'°. wu borough, county of
( iimhrl i anf) . e ,°f Pennsylvania, deceased,
havli ghee"/!, n undersigned, notice
us those knowing themselves
Indebted It f sU V e 10 make ""mediate pay
ment aml Vi '}**< clalms against said
' t ite t.o Vir them a "'y authenticated for set
tfem^t P L. r.. CATHAHINB BAKE It,
' Borne' ' AdmlastratrU.