THE UNSOWN SEED. BY CLARA M. HOWARD. I WW & garden, in springtime, Prepared with f-iviiteat euro, And 1 thought wl"'" tlio sumine* ltare flowers w/M I"" blooming there. But summer A'liud in the garden Full ninny " noxious weed With i).• •' i a (lower among tliem, For i: ne lia 1 sown the sued. I saw n li'e that gave promise < if a harvest rich and rare, Ha I t ho tortile soil boon tended, And the seed been planted there. Neglect wl and uuplauted- OVrgrown with sin's foul weeds— O, the llowers we might gather Did we only BOW tlio seeds! Oh, tlio precious moments wasted I The doeds f Jove undone; Tlio hitter thoughts wo cherished Come back to us one by one ; And wo sigh for the vanished Hpriug-ume Of which we took no heed. Oh, the harvest we might gather Did we only BOW the seed! Hud wo sown the seeds of virtue, Of holy love and truth, Of charily and kindness In the -piiugti : oof our youth; In the nut m we'd have gathered A harvest li -h and rare— A harvest of fragraut flowers Been blooming for ua there. We'd have nover cause to murmur At the hardness of our lot: Our lines full of contentment— DM \!r improve the golden springtime, Hoot out each noxious weed— Whft' a bountiful harvest waits ÜB, Do wo only sow the sued! HARVEY. Wis. HANKS HITTER LESSON. BY WM. ALEXANDER BOWEN. KBA V F LING the great I ** • piue regions oi I Fast Texas ouc, S(J summer Satur- 1 \y day afternoon , ' v r l found mo on one j of those dcop sand v \ roads, several miles from the ; /p IT nearest town. I Tgt knew that all \ vJ : business was SUB- , ponded in those country towns on | I Sunday, and that j jiltill the entire popu- i lation attend ; via BtDn C^ * N IE N ' morning, and the men sit out in front of their stores | in the afternoon and whittlo goods ] boxes and gossip. Talk about a church j sewing society! No association of J women 1 ever know of can compete I with these gatherings oi men in our , small towns on Sunday afternoons, or ! on election, or holidays, for gossiping. Many family feuds have arisen from | these Sunday male gossip gatherings ! in the towns and hamlets of the South I which resulted in assassinations and bloody battles between the families in volved for several generations. 1 did not care to spend the Sabbath in one of those small towns, so I stopped at the first inviting house I came to on the road-side that looked like there was plenty of provender for my team, a shelter for my buggy and room for o "stranger," as wayfarers are called iu the provincialism of tlio country, tc sleep in. In response to my "Hello!" an old lady came to tlio door, vigorously knit ting on a woolen sock. Peering ovci her steel-rimmed spectacles, she asked what was wanted. "I would like to stay here over Sun day, if I can. Ido not wish to spend the Sabbath in n town, and I am will ing to pay for my accommodation and for my horses." "Wall, my son Hank ain't here now, but liia wife is. I'll fetch her. Hank's gone ter town, an' I Tow she kin tell you more about it. Oh, Jinny!" In answer a young woman of about twenty-two years came to the door. She said 1 would be welcome to stay if I would "put up with what the family had,'' as they hud made no prepara tions for company. "My husband will be home soon," she said. A boy was culled, who took my team to the "lot," and I went into the house. It was one of those great double log houses, "chinked" with cement, and whitewashed outside and ceiled within and papered. It was a warm day, about two hours before sunset, and the great open fireplace was used to set flower pots in with native flowers, which filled the rooms with a delicate perfume. In looking over the album on the table, 1 came across a girl's face I had seen in Illinois years before on a trip to the country. As the hostess passed through the "front" room, I asked her if she knew the original of that little girl's picture. Sho stam mered. and said it was hers when she was small. 1 then told her when and where I was at her father's house, and ascertained that she had met her hus band, Mr. Hank Adams, a Texas planter, uncultured but big-hearted, while he was up there buying some fine horses; they fell in love at sight, a fid had been happily married more ( than a year. As she said this, her j beaming face told of supremo happi ness and contentment, and in speak ing of lier husband, her voice took on ! that soft, low accent and tone which told of deepest love and entire confi dence. I mention these things be cause i han IMJV ON K.>. W W V unt.lL ABOUT. four o'clock in the afternoon, I strolled out in the woods with a hook, about noon, to enjoy a quiet repose under the shade of the trees and the thick hang ing vines so common to that locality. It may have been imagination, uml it may have been the spirit of proph ecy, but I stopped reading to hear the sighing of the great tall pine trees as the zephyrs gently swept through them. It seemed to be whispering to them a story of sadness and tragedy. As the soft voice of the southwest winds played upon the long needles of the pines, I could hear them say, "Go oh, o o-o-h! W-w-o o-e-e, w-w-o- O-e-e! 8-s-s-o-o-r-r-row!" 1 closed mv book, the soughing, mourning pines making me too sad and lonely to read more, and went back to the house. As I drew near 1 heard the voice of old Mrs. Adams crying and moaning, and adding herself why was she ever born, and what had her "dear son, thor best an' kin'es' son au'trust fulest husband in the world, ever done ter deserve sich deceit an'sich er blow tor liis liap'ness?" 1 was amazed be yond measure; but when I went in my amazement was turned into bewilder ment at what 1 heard and learned. Mrs. Adams started in fright when I entered, and 1 asked her what was the matter, and she shrank from me as if I were a ghost. "Whur is Hank? Didn't he fin' yer?" she asked, as if amazed. "Where is ho? Find me? Why, what | has happened, and what docs he want with me? Where is Mrs. Adams? ; lias anything happened to her?" ! For a moment she eyed me in sol- | emn silence, then said, slowly, as if I weighing every word, and prepared to 1 doubt anv answer I might make: "Wliur"is Hank? Gone ter tin' you with er Winchester. Whur is Jinny ? | Thet is jes' w hut he's agoin' to ax you. Look hour, Mr. McPherson, ef thet is ver name, haven't yer seen Jinny?" "Not since she left here this morn ing. My God! what has happened here that your son is looking for me j with a gun, and wants me to tell him where his wife is? I don't under- j stand." "Wall, it'pears'sif yer wuz speak in : ther truth. But yer'd better be hidiu' when Hank conies tell I kin tell him wlmt yer said. Jes' read this," and she thrust a piece of note-paper into mv hands. Before I could read it we heard Hank coming up the road, mut- "BACK I DON'T YEH DARE TER TOUCII ANYTHING WIIUT HUE HAS WRIT," tenug curses on some one, and alter nately blessing and cursing liis wife and calling down imprecations on liis own head l'or being blind to something or other. 1 could not comprehend any more than I did what it was all about. His mother snatched tho paper from me and thrust me into tho other room and shut the door just as he came in. * "Wall, I coulden tin' tlier white-liv ered cuss, an' I tolo yer thet all yei talk fur him wur in favor of a sneakiu' wolf, mother," he said, as soon as he came in and saw no one but his mother | there. "O, ef I could jes' got a beadoll him, I'd show him how ter steal inter a man's house liko thet. Poor little Jinny. God knows I meant well by her, mother; an' I wuz a fool not ter see thet she wur pinin' fur somthin' whut I could never give hur. Ef she had only told me thet alio wanted tei go 'way, an' thet she coulden love me as she should, I'd liev sent hur any wliur. Hut ter leave like this, an with a man whut " I could hear no more. I saw ib all now. His pretty, innocent-looking wife had eloped, and lie thought I was the scoundrel. I burst into the room, and exclaimed, before ho could say a word in his astonishment: "Mr. Adams, I have just learned what all this trouble is about. I am innocent of this, in thought, word, or deed. As God is my judge, and as I hope to receive mercy above, I have not seen nor heard of your wife since she left here for cliurch this morning. You may bo mistaken. Why do you think she lias left you? Let me see that paper your mother had just now." For answer ho gavo liis mother a terrible look, and she cowered before liis gaze as if in terror. He then reached for his gun, and said, in a voice so low and calm as to he more terrible than a cyclone of wrath: "Back! Don't vor dare ter touch anything whut she has writ with yer vile serpent paws. 1 will give yer jes' two minutes ter tell whut yer done with lier, an' then I'm goin' tor make yer swar ter keep her always. An' ef I over hear thet yer liev lot her want fur anything, or tlict yer liev got tired of her, I shall kill yer on sight, jes' as I j would a miserable, cowardly cyote thet yer are. Whur is she?" j "My dear sir, you must bo mad. I ! swear to you I liev not " I With a quick motion ho brought liis ! gun to his shoulder, when his mother caught it and held on to it with a death-grip. "Don't, Hank; not thet way. Give thor stranger time ter pray. Give him a chance. Let him read ther letter. Don't yer see liis bosses an' buggy air in the lot. Don't yer put blood 011 yer soul whut yer can't ever wash off. Hank IUV sou. wait ies' a little. His com in' back shows lie might be inner cent." "His bosses an' buggy ain't 110 sign, nor bis bein' back bear, nutlier, 'cause he'd be sharp ernough ter try an' blin' us that wav. But I'll let yer liev yer way, mother, : e. in' as yo air all I hev lei' ter me now." He handed me the paj or, andT read, in a clear, feminine hand, these terri bly plain words, the outraged husband watching ine closely as I read: "Dear Hank I thought I loved you once, but I find I do not. I ought to have told you before, but could not bear to do so, as you scorned so happy. T cannot longer bear the loneliness, and the drudgery, and tho desolation of life here. If I staid longer I should hate you for bringing 1110 here. (), how can I sign my name to this terrible let ter? Igo awav with one you do not I know, but do not try to find me. It will be useless. I will not sign my name, becauso I want you to forget it. l'orgivo me, as I hope God will." 1 hat was all. But I trembled as 1 read it, and staggered, and would have | fallen, had not his strong arms caught me. i . r \ Adams," I managed to say, I ' this is, indeed, terrible. How yon ever came to imagine I was concerned j in it Ido not know. Hut. kill mo il i you will; but, if you believe I did this I I terrible thing, I ' shall die forgiviug i you. I believe that if God ever doe.-t forgive a murder, it is when a man, suffering the wrong you have suffered kills, in a moment of mad anguish, the man who stolo his happiness and robbed him of his wife's honor. But, before you commit this rash act, ask yourself if you have any grounds to oven suspect nie? None, except that I am a stranger, and happened to meet your wife when she was a young aud innocent girl. And, as T heard her speak of you yesterday, and as I saw her face beam with a happiness which could not have been feigr ed while tell ing me of how much she loved you, L believe there is some terrible mistake here—that your wife has either played some joke on you, or that this letter was not meant " "Stop, stranger! I believe ye air innercent; but ef yer try ter preach j ter mo erbout lier, I shall curse her I purty face. Oh, fool, that I ever 1 brought her ter sich a lonely place as this. But If!thought she meant it j when she said she'd be happy any- I whares with me. God curse ther day tliet I ever thought she could be liappy here. I wuz so happy I thought of none but myself. 1 see now she hain't been ther same since I got lier tliem new dresses, an' the books of city ways an' styles, an' thet line lookin'-glass tliur. An'ther little gal has changed since ther papers I 'scribed fur came nil tilled up with love, an' grand ways ! o' livin', an' plenty o' company fur young wives. {She wur all alone. I know I ougliteu ter expected she'd like it, an'it never oughter come 'tween us, me bringin' her here. It's awful rough, stranger, but I guess I'm ter blame. My God! she mighter stayed 0110 ay longer, an giv me warnin', no 's I could er drunk in ernough o' ther music o' her voice ter las' me, an' so's "STOP THERE, OAIJ ! WHUT YF.LL COM IN' HACK PUR?" I mighter bathed myself in the sun shine o' her hi ight eyes one 1110' day. Hut she's gone, as I mighter expected ef I'd thought ernough ov anything 'eept myself. An' here's her noto, as slick an' nice es enny sehoolmarm coulder writ—but ther words seem hard and cold ter me, an' 1 feel like er man tliet's dying by inches of ther bite o' a pisen narpent; but yet I can hoar the music o' her voice's if it wur sound in' ter 1110 from away off What's thet? Her voice? What's slio savin'? Excuso her fur bein' so late, but she stopped by Mrs. Quillin's,whose baby's dyin"? Stop thar, gal! Whut yer comin' back hear fur?" Poor Jennie, who heard these words as she started lightly up tho steps, with her lips pursed up for the usual kiss, stopped as if petrified at hearing these words, and seeing her husband with a gun in his hands. Before she could reply, 110 had flung the paper at her, and hissed: "Ileur, take yer note, an' go with ther man who will treat ver better 'n T hev. Go, quick, befo' I furget thet " She glanced at the note, recovered her spirits in a moment, and then burst into a peal of the merriest laughter I ever heard—laughter in which real mirth was mixed with the melody of a happy heart suddenly relieved of a great burden. Then, before he could recover from the stupor into which this throw him, she ran up the steps, grabbed his face in both her hands, looked into his honest eyes n moment, and then kissed him ropeatedly, laugh ing and crying, and exclaiming : "You sweetest of husbands, and did this littlo note make you jealous? And did you have that gun to kill me 011 sight, or the man whom you thought I had gone with V" She explained tho noto was one slio had penned as the beginning of a little story she was going to write for an Eastern paper, and which she did not intend Hank to see until she read it to him in tho paper. She had written several stories, and had been paid for them, and was going to use his name in this one, and then road it to him, and tell him the secret. It was a merry household that night, and I never was treated so royally in my life. Hank took me out into tho "horse lot" after dinner, and saw that 110 one else was near, and then said : "Mr. McElierson, I hope yer will not hint ter Jinny whut er blamed fool I mado o' myself over thet fool thing. By jings, I trimble when I think how near I come ter shootin' yer. I hev told mother tor never breeth er word o' whut carryin's on we had 'fore Jinny conio hack. It haslarned me er lesson I —a bitter one, too. I'll never be jeal ous o' my wife ergain. I think a jealous man is ther bigges' fool on earth. I said this onct befo', when I saw er play erbout thet feller, 'Tliello an' Desaymony, but I never knew whut I it meant till now. A man whut is I iealoua ova wife whut is lovin' an' gentle an' bright to him at home is a villain; that's wliut I think. An' I don't want Jinny ter ever know whut er blamed fool I wuz fur notliin'." I promised I never would tell, and I have never done so. If they see tliia they will know who wrote it, perhaps; but I know they will forgive mo, and I know that Hank will bear me no ill will for thus breaking the spirit of my promise, as there is a great lesson in this experience to others. I think most of us can profit by "Hank Adams' j Bitter Lesson." IN THE ROYAL MEWS. How tlie Ciorgeous Equipage of England's Sovereign Is Housed and Cared For, / a number of \\ U,> ( the Cosmopolitan V \ tT/ ( flßu was a vor -V attractive \ !■( ul c^e b y Charles S. I IM lhdham - Clinton on an abstract of which |W|' an scarcely fail to bo )\/f7rmr7T^'read with interest. Vv Uij jlj! i "The stables, w liich 1 MM Mil K°. VJl l Mews, adjoin lj| L-iiu—-Buckingham Palace, but, however, are not under the same management. The head functionary is the Master of the Horse, nt present the Duke of Port laud. The otlice goes with the govern ment. and is always given to a man of rank and wealth as well as of great po litical influence. "The main entrance to the stable is through the handsome gateway that opens upon Buckingham Palace road. In the quadrangle formed by these gates and the archway leading to the j main courtyard are the offices of Wil liam Norton, Superintendent of the Hoyal Mews, with those of the Duke of Portia d and his lieutenant, Sir George Maude. The main part of the work of arrangement and management falls upon Sir George Maude and Mr. Norton. The former selects all the horses, arranges the processions, and has the general ordering of affairs, while Mr. Norton looks after the minor details. Some idea of the work of managing such a large affair as the Queen stable's can be inferred from t he fact that there are 110 horses in tlie stables and eighty men employed as coachmen, grooms, and outriders. The head coachman, G. Paine, has been for fifteen ye-ars in his present position and for fifty years in the Queen's employ. He always drives the state carriage in which lier Majes ty iits, and handles the ribbons over the famous 'creams.' "We enter the Boyal Mews through the main gateway, which is surmount ed by a hirge clock that chimes the THE QUEEN'S COACH. hours. Tho whole Mows was designed by John Nash, of Dover, Kent, and was completed in 1825. Tho court yard is about 400 feet square. The right side is taken up by tho royal car riages. Opposite these are the sta bles for the chargers, tho harness room, and several stables of carriage horses. Opposite the entrance are 'creams' and'blacks,' and the celebrated thirty-two-stalled stable. "I suppose in no stable in tlie world can such a collection of horses be seen. All are over 10 hands high, and most over 10J. The general color is bay or brown, and white legs and feet are conspicuously absent. Tho animals are all given names that commenco with as many letter* of tho dealer's name as practical, as a record of their purchase. Thus Blackbird and Black cap were both purchased from a dealer named Blackmail, and Jonquil came from Jones. All the names are placed on iron plates above the racks. The Hoors of the stables are all sanded in patterns, and the straw litter is fin ished off with a neat straw plait. Against the posts are neatly arranged sheafs of straw. There is a foreman in charge of each stable, and to every eight horses a coachman, who has un der him a competent number of men and an assistant coachman. "The horses are all clothed alike in ZULU, ONE OF THE RLACK WHEELERS. neat red, white, and blue rugs of a small check pattern, bound with red. The initials Y. li. are on tho quarters, and tho quarter cloths have the same initials, with no display. Tho price of tho horses varies from £l5O to £250 apiece. They must be young and pass a rigorous veterinary examination. After being purchased they are thor oughly trained. The chargers havo a special drill in the riding school over timber, walls, aud hurdles and are also taught to ' stand fire.' "The coachmen have four liveries apiece—the state livery, which is a mass of gold : the epaulet livery, which is but a little loss costly; tlie ordinary scarlet livery, and the plain black liv ery with whito waistcoats, that is used on all ordinary occasions. All the men live in the rooms abovo tlie stables, and almost a military dis cipline is maintained." A Neglected Condiment. An Englishman partakes freely of mustard ; he w ill never eat beef, bacon, ham, or steak without it, and many oi them season mutton with it. An En glish tramp to whom you gave an un seasoned beef saudwhich would Htop and ask you for mustard beforo he com nienced to devour it. With Americans it is different. They never take mus tard with beef, and rarely with any thing else, unless it is very fat ham. Americans deluge their meat with hot Indian and other sauces, but they let mustard alone. There are few restau rants that use a pound of mustard a week, SOME NOTED BRUISERS. CHAMPIONS OF THE PRIZE-RINO IN THE PAST. Hconan, Yankee Suliivun, Tom Sayer*, Tom Hyer, anil Otlur Pintle Artlsta— Some of Their Mont Noted BaMos Ko calleri. *"T" *HE first pion of ittfjfljml er, who was born WjfMlie held the title iVTSa' * for a long time, until Yankee Sullivan fought him for SIO,OOO and the championship at Still Pond Creek. Md., Feb. 7, 184!). It took Tom llyer but 17 minutes and 18 seconds lo oontirm his light to the title of championship. Then Hyer retired, and Sullivan succeeded him. Sullivan fought John Morrissey at Boston Corner, N. Y., Oct. 12, 18."3 f for $2,000, and, though ho really had whipped Cr~.Of (w Np|j Q MB ■WV rj,, l \Jot A QUARTETTE OF KILRAIN'S FORMER COMPETITORS. his man. he left the ring during aw raugle and thus lost the tight. A vigilance committee executed Sul livan in California. It was in 1H55 that John C. Heenan flashed into view in the constellation of pugilistic stars, lie was familiarly kuown as the "Benicia Boy," from his residence in Benicia, Cal. Ho fought John Mor rissey May 20, IKSB, at Long Point, Can., for $2,000 and tho championship. Mor rissey won through Ileenan injuring his hand. The latter soon challenged Mor- again, but ho would not accept, and Heenan was declared champion, and soon issued n defiance to the world. This led to the great battle between Ileenau and Sayers in England in 18G0. The battle was a lively one. Sayers stood up before Heenan for thirty-seven rounds, but had the worst of it at all times. At tho end of tho thirty-soventh round the referee loft tho riug. Then seven more rounds woro fought, when Sayers'friends, seeing that their man was whipped, cut the ropes and the tight endod in a general row. Heenun challenged Sayers to another fight, but the latter refused. After Heenan'a retirement Joe Coburn claimed the championship, but had to defend it against Mike McCoole, of St. 51 j| YANKEE SULLIVAN. TOM HYER. Louis, and also tried to make a fight with Jem Mace. After Coburn's retirement Bill Davis, of California, loudly trumpeted his claims as the first man in America, but lie was silenced by James Dunn, of Brooklyn, in Piko County, Pa. Then McCoole became ambitious and he challenged Davis, who had again be come blatant after Dunn's retirement. The fight took place at Rhodes' Point, Mo., September ID, 18(5(5, and McCoole won in thirty-four minutes. He had to defend his trophy against Aaron Jones. Joe Coburn again entered the ring and a match was arranged, but the police pre vented the fight. Bill Davis and Tom Allen, of St. Louis, next tried conclusions, and Allen won. Tom Allen, the English pugilist, met McCoole on Poster's Island, near St. Louis, Juno 10, 1801). McCoole, though badly worsted, was declared tho winner on a foul. Jem Mace and Tom Allen fought for the championship and $">,000 at Kenner villo, near Now Orleans, May 10, 1870, nnd Mace won. Then Mace and Coburn mndo a match, which was a fi.isco, but they finally got together at Bay St. Louis, Miss., Nov. 31, 1871. The tight ended in a draw. Mace next went to England, and, when VOX ALLEN. JEM MAOH. he returned, brought Joe GOBS with him. Goss was matched to light Tom Allen for $2,0(0 aud the championship. They mot iu Kentucky Sept. (', 187G, and Goss won on a foul. Jimmy Elliott and Johnny Dwycr fought for SI,OOO a side nnd tno champiouship May 0, 1879. Dwyer won the battle, which was fought iu Canada. Paddy Ryan was the uoxt champion, as Jo I I Nr. 11E ENA N. TOMSAY E It S. he defeated Joe Goss at Collier Station, Va.. May 30, 1880. About this time there seems to have Hogau and Tom Allou fought for $2,000 been a multiplicity of champions. Ben at Pacific City, lowa, Nov. 18, 1873. The battle ended in a wrangle in three rounds, lasting sixteen minutes, although Aller was in a fair way to win. Tom Allen beat Miko McCoole at Chouteau Island, near St. Louis, in sever rounds, Sept. 21, 1*72. Feb. 7, 1882, John L. Sullivan nnd Paddy Ryan fought for $5,000 and an out side bet of $2,000. Sullivan won in nine rounds, lasting eleven niinutos. The bat tle took place in Mississippi City, Miss Sullivan-Jackson. The proposed match between John L. Sullivan, the American champion pugil ist, and Peter, Jackßon, tho Australian negro giant, who l.itoly defeated Jem Smith, tho champion of England, has brought to tho surface several Questions or Interest to the sporting World. It would certainly bo an event in the his tory of the prize ring in this country if, after nil the triumphs won by Americans in this special held of skilled athletics "PP.TNTF" MOTiIN'ETTX. hero ana nnroaa, the laurels were to be handed over to a negro who had fairly earned them by his superior skill, prowess, and endurance. In a majority of cases pugilists begin their actual experience early in life, and soon reach the zenith of their powers. I should say that twenty-five years is the average ago at which they reach theii GEORGE GODFREY. fistic prime, although there are, of course, notable exceptions where a man is even better after that age than at any time of his life. Still, the rule holds good that for a pugilist who, like most men in his profession, has begun early, say at sixteen or seventeen, the maxi mum of bis powers is attained in eight or ten years thereafter, at the very farthest. I have known many young fellows in England who fought twenty battles before thoy reached their prime. Of eouffte, where a man's life is full of such experiences he matures physically all tho faster and is the sooner worn out. There have been several noted pugilists PETER JACKSON. of color at different times who hav mads surprising records. The question has often boen asked: Has tho negro tho grit and the Haying qualities of tho white pugilist? Can he stand the punishment and face the music as well, and is he hjs equal in skill? I know of no reason why a colored fighter should not possess all . those qualities. One of the earliest and best was Thos. Molinenx, who was called in England tho "Morocco Prince," and who won nino battles in his day. Another .was Bob Travers, whose real , name was Charley Black. Travers won everything. before him until lie.was beaten by -Job Copley in 185(>. Ho was afterward defeated by Jem Mayo in 1800., There was another Moli neux, who fought eight battles. Still another good lighter was GeOrge Pierce. All were tremendous hitters. I regard superiority in height and reach as of tho greatest advantage to a pugil ist. Other things—weight, skill, eu durance, and condition -being equal, the difference in height and the consequent advantage in-reach will tell heavily in favor of the taller man. This, however, is the only point where a big man has the advantage ovor a shorter one. He roaches farther, and, if lie be equally, clover and scientific, it is obvious that the greater roach will make all the difference between tho two. Weight is not of so mtlch importance as some imagiue in a fight. Take any good-sized man of 156 or 158 pounds, and he is fit to fight almost anything under ordinary conditions. Tom Sayers, one of tho best men in the- world, was only 6£ feet high and weighed 156 pounds when in condition. Jem Mace, who was 5 feet 9 J inched in height, weighed 150 pounds in his bost days, when he scored all his famous victories. I have seen him box when he was much heavier, but it was later in life, when he was getting old and far beyond his prime as a pugilist. He •weighed about 150 pounds when he de feated Travers and Beardon. WIWUXNC EDWARDS. Five milium* or M>:aierH. Some years ago an idea suggested itself to an obscure workman of Belle ville, an idea that since then lias en gendered an nriny, amply qualified, were it a question of numbers alone, to realize tho dream of eternal peace, by keeping in check tho assembled armies of Europe. He sots on foot 5,000,000 soldiers a year. These soldiers are of humble origin, but so was Napoleon. They spring from old sardine boxes. Relegated to the dust hole, the sardine box is preserved from destruction by tho dustman, who sells it to a rag mer chant in Belleville or in Buttes Chau mont, who in his turn disposes of it to a specialist, by whom it is then pre pared for the manufactories. The warriors are made from tho bottom of the box, tho lid and sides are used for guns, railway carriages, bicycles, etc. All this may seem unimportant at first sight, but the utilization of these old sardino boxes has resulted in tho foundation of an enormous manufac tory, at which no less than 200 work men are employed. Tho poor work man, out of whose head the armed tin soldier sprung—via the sardine box— is now a rich man, and, what is more, an eager and keen-sighted patriot, who in his sphere deserves the grati tude of his country. VISIT TO A PERSIAN PRISON. Bow the Prisoners Are Confined and Treatod in the Orient. A mud wall about twelve feet high surrounded an inolosure of a quarter of an acre. On one side was an arched entrance, guarded by massive wooden gates covered with sheet iron. Over the gateway were two rooms, the abode of the jailer and his family, which were reached by a rude flight of steps. Squatting at the gato was a guard of three soldiers, needy-looking fellows in tattered uniforms of gray. Three muskets, with rusty bayonets attached, rested against the wall close behind them. Upon seeing a Fcringhi—European— and two of the Governor's fan-ashes ap proaching, the soldiers rose to their feet, seized their muskets and favored us with a military salute. The slight commotion they made in doing this brought to the door of the bnla khana above the jailer, who at once saluted us with "salaam aleykum" and invited us up. The farrashes explained the object oi our visit; the jailer stroked his henna stained whiskers in token of approval, spread a piece of carpet on the floor and bade me be seated. Two kalians or water pipes were quickly produced, one of which was handed to me and the other to the farrashes. The pipes being finished we descend ed the stairs and entered the gate. Thfi jailer and the guards who accompanied us carried in their hands iron maces with spiked heads. These weapons were intended to warn the prisoner? against attempting any violence. Seat ed beneath tho further wall was a row of about forty miserable-looking wretches, with hut a few tattered rags to cover their nakedness. Around each man's neck was an iron ring of rude workmanship. Heavy iron chains, passed from collar to collar, bound each prisoner to his neighbor. In another place were several poor wretches lying on their backs with their feet thrust through holes in a log of wood. Heavy iron fetters passed around each ankle and held the feet secure. The jailer explained that the men with the iron collars about their neck? were the ones who had committed small offenses, petty thieves, debtors and others who were in for short periods of time. Those with their feot in tho rude stocks were criminals of more impor tance, murderers, highway robbers, old offenders and jail-breakers. On either side of the gato was a long, low room, built against the wall, also of mud, and without windows or venti lation save two or three small, round holes in the side. These were places of confinement for the prisoners at night and in rainy weather, hut there was neither bed nor furniture. In one of these dons were seated three prisoners with huge blocks of wood chained to their feet. The jailer explained that they were refractory new arrivals who were being brought to terms. Thomas Stevens, in Youth's Companion. Properties oi qmcKsnna. The properties of quicksand are thus described in the Mechanical News : "The difference between building sand and true quicksand is most easily ex plained by comparing building sand to road metal, while the quicksand must he represented by fragments no larger than largo buckshot, but shaped like very smooth potatoes. In a word, the quicksand is small and thoroughly waterworn; so that every fragment has been deprived of all its angles and fairly well-polished. Its particles are very small as compared with those of tho building sand. Tho smaller the size and the more complete the round ing the more nearly will the sand ap proach a liquid condition when it is moistened. The first glance at a fairly mounted sample of quicksand under a microscope is sufficient to show that the quickness of the sand is amply ac counted for by tho innumerable fric tion wheels which the particles them selves furnish. Sharp or building sand, on the other hand, will show few round corners, many angles, corners and a general condition like that of broken stone. Sea sand is often unfit for building, even though perfectly de prived of its salt, the reason being that the particles have been worn and pol ished till they have no more binding powers than so many cobble-stones. It is well to remember that quicksand when dry, if very fine, shows tho same properties as a liquid. In holding up the centers of large bridges it is some times put into cylinders with a plunger on top of it. It will, when thus con fined, hold up the load like a column of water. When it is desired to strike the center a plug is drawn out of tho side of the cylinders, and the sand flows out like so much water. The ad vantage, of courSo, is that the sand does not need a packed piston, and does not leak out, though the work be Srolonged for years. Quicksand when ry and confined forms an admirable foundation, and when wet can be load ed over its whole surface, and give a good support if side openings can be avoided." She Would Like to Be Wicked Just for Once. There is an inherent desire in the breast of nearly every woman of life and spirit to be at times just the least bit wicked. She wants to don the un mentionables occasionally, figuratively speaking, and go out and have a time. As a young married lady remarked the other day to an intimate female friend: "How I would like to go rut on a 'toot' some night. I want to take in the back rooms of two or three saloons, drink a glass or two of beer, and eat some dry bologna and Swiss cheese. My hus band occasionally brings a lunch of that sort home with him, and accom panies it with a bottle of beer, but there is no fun in it unless you go to headquarters. I have often urged my husband to show me tho 'elephant' to a mixed extent, and have offered to wear a veil or his old clothes, but he always frowns down my importunities, and I don't think it would bo much fun, anyway, to go with one's own hus band. "Why should we be so circum scribed in our amusements ? I for one propose to get out of the old rut some night, and, while 1 don't intend to be too wicked, I shall be just wicked enough to enjoy myself." And there is no doubt but tnat she will. Her ideas may be condemned, but in how many feminine hearts will you find a reflex of her desires \—Sacramento Bee. THE every-day cares and duties which men call drudgery, are the weights and counter-poises of the clock of time, giving its pendulum a true vi bration, and its hands a regular mo tion.