TO THlt UNATTAINABLE.
Dear, how cany the songs I bring to you
Woven of drcuin-stoflr*. pleasure, anil pain,
All the songs of my life 1 sing to you,
Aud you hear, and Answer again.
Though no rhyme do your dear lips say to
me,
Yet, my poet, sweot songs you bring;
When you suiilo, then the angels play to me
Tunes to the silent songs you sing.
All my soul goes forth in a Bong to you,
All my deeds for your sake are done,
All my laurels and bays belong to you,
In your name aro my battles won.
Just by living you make my life dear to nio.
Though your lips never speak my name:
'Tie your hands that in dreams appear to tue,
Bringing me all that I ask of fame.
What though here you are wholly lost to
me,
Though you never will know or see,
Though life's pain be the worship's cost to
me,
Ami not richer than great Kings he?
Have I not you, in the holiest heart of me—
You, in the eyes which you see alone?
•Shall I not rise to your souJ, which is part j
of me,
Till you shall meet me and know your
own?
—[E. Nesbit, in Longman's Magazine.
A WAR CLAIM.
BY CRAS. T. MURRAY.
"Hurryup, men! No skvlurking about
that crib! Lively, now! Let the chick
ens go. Let 'ein alone, I say! Bring j
out that corn!"
The commands of the young sergeant
were sharp and quick. Two or three
of his men who had been chasing the
frightened fowls about the backyard
hauled off grumbling with but a single
capture. To make that capture certain
the soldier who held the chicken had im
mediately wrung its head off.
4 'Do you suppose we're sent out here
to steal chickens, you fool?" cried the
sergeant, kicking the Hopping rooster
out of the way. "In with that smoke
house door! Bring out the bacon and
anything substantial. Bacon and corn— j
that's the kind of grub for you!"
Crash! Down went the padlocked
door'.
In half a minute half a dozen men
were passing out smoked meats, bacon
and ham, while those who had attacked
the corn crib were actively lugging the
well-ffllcd sacks down the shady path be
tween the magnolias to tiie big army
wagon in the road.
An armed guard in charge of a corpo
ral stood in or about the wagon still re
taining their loaded muskets, while the
teamsters bestrode their mules, keenly
alert for any manifestations on the part
of the scattering cavalrymen along the
country road and across the fields in the
distance.
The guns of ihc foragers at work were
stacked in the front yard and over them
stood another man in blue, Springfield in
hand, his eyes strained upon the house. I
This soldier was myself. And to- j
gether we formed a detail of a grand for- i
aging party, a brigade of infantry, a 1
couple of squadrons of cavalry and a bat
tery of light artillery—that day stretch
ing over a wide strip of territory on
either side of the columns sweeping!
down upon the field of Perrysville. j
The house was the typical Kentucky'
farm-house of the middle class, backed
by the usual outhouses for slaves and j
storage and flanked by Lombardy poplars, 1
magnolias aud shrubbery. Off the main
road it had escaped the ravages of both ,
armies that had swept and reswept the |
neighboring region. Yet now the house
seemed to be deserted. Our repeated
knocks had failed to arouse anybody.
Even the negro cabins wore teuantless,
though all indications pointed to recent
occupancy.
"If orders hadn't been so strict about
entering bouses," said the Sergeant
to rnc, fingering his quartermaster's
receipts. "I'd get inside and see what
kind of a place this is. Lovely outside
isn't it i Now where's that young Peach
and-Honey?" he shouted to the noisy
group in the rear. It was the sobriquet
of oue of the foragers.
4 'Stealinghoney, no doubt,'' grumbled
Sergt. Hale. "I never saw such fellows
for chicken and honey. Listen to that
tiring, too," looking anxiously across the
fields whence came the sounds of irregu
lar musketry. The men also stopped to
listen.
"Come, boys, hurry up!" hastening to
the rear. "Never m nd, nobody's shoot
ing at you! Where's that confounded"—
The sergeant was cut short by a loud
noise iu the bouse, as if in a struggle a
heavy table bad been overturned, and
then a woman's piercing shriek.
4 'Guard! Look alive, there!" cried
Hale, and lie made a dive for the front
door, fixing his bayonet as he ran. As
he reached the door it swung open and
a slender, white-haired old lady ran out,
wringing her hands and wailing.
"For the love of heaven, gentlemen!
Oh, take that man away! Your man in :
there—take him away! You can have!
everything! Only let us alone! Surely, -
you do not war on helpless women and
children !' 4
The Sergeant had dashed past her, his '
rifle in his sturdy grip, when she dis- j
covered me standing with mine at a
"ready" directly in front of her on the |
lawn. The poor old la ly was so fright- !
encd she fell upon her knees, and, cover
ing her withered face with her tremb
ling bauds, begged me for God's sake
not to shoot her. I was actually too
astonished at the idea of shooting a
woman to reassure her, or even to tell
her to get up.
As if to make my temporary dumb
ness permanent, just then a young girl
rushed out, and with a loud, despairing
cry threw herself between the prostrate
lady and myself. She was of that love
ly, slender, ox-eyed type often seen in
the Blue Grass region. Her attitude of
protection and self-sacrifice, her quiver
ing figure, her flashing eyes, her dis
tended nostrils, her dishevelled hair—l
>vill never forget.
At this moment an apparent hand-to
band struggle inside attracted my atten
tion, and, remembering the sergeant, I
found voice enough to shout, "Stand j
aside! stand aside!" waving my left
band as I kneeled on one knee and 1
brought my gun to bear on the doorway.
It couldn't have been over half a
atu ? l^at time men
had fallen into ranks, taken their guns
from the stack ad had deployed as
skirmishers across the yard.
And then came a scuttle, a low cry of I
pain, and thump, bump, burapty- thump ,
then a demoralized and battered man in \
blue pitched down the stairs and out
into the jurd. Sergt. Hale kicking him
at every bound. It was Peach-and
Honey, lie slunk slowly down the path
way towards the wagon amid the jeers
of his comrades.
"Now, ladies, 1 began the Sergeant,
brushing his coat sleeves across Ins
handsome face - then he stopped.
IThe mother hud risen, and the look
of despair upon the daughter's face
had given way to one of tumultuous
gratitude. Before he had fairly compro
| hended the situation, the young girl
i stepped forward and, beudiug over
1 Hale's baud, reverently kissed it, thcu
turned upon him a look having no
i equivalent in human words.
He blushed like a girl and she was as
i red as a rose in June. Neither uttered
a word. Then she fled within.
"Attention! Well, boys—we—get out
of this!' 1 he Anally shouted.
We are very grateful to you, sir,"
broke in the elder lady. "We are Union
women, Belle and I—but my poor son"—j
"Is a rebel, eh? Oh, well.'l suppose
he thinks he is right. Your name,
madam—the Government will pay for
the property. Parkcs? Here is your
receipt- keep it. Sorry, I'm sure.
Have to live, you know, and war—but
we don't war on women, and—and—
♦ \For-w-a-r-d J ll
I It was midnight and pitchy black.
Only the somnolent figures, shapeless in
j blanket and oilcloth, stretched immedi
ately about the low camp-tire, and the
dim outlines of similar figures in the
near foreground told where the weary
column slept, every man on his arms.
Sergt. Hale sat close to the fire, with
his knees drawn up and his finely chiselled I
face upon his hand; while I was pre- j
paring in the only skillet of the company ,
the first morsel of food we had had since |
morning—a solid cake of flour and water.
The rest of our company had eaten the
same and fallen asleep one by one. We
had waited our turn at the only skillet, 1
and here it was midnight.
The ground trembled and shook the
ashes Into our cake.
"We ought to be there," said the Ser
geant with a sijrh. ' 'That's all right—
the ashes will improve your cake. Ash
cake for dyspepsia, you know."
As I dumped the mess out and we
broke in two equal pieces I asked him if
we would get to Perrysville in timo to
help the boys out.
"Very unlikely. This corns can't 1
make ten miles to-morrow and help any
body. About a third of it is being
goaded along into camp by cavalry |
sabres, or is lying dead beat in ten miles
of fence corners, checked for the bullet ] 1
of the bushwacker or the military 1
prison."
'•Lord! what a round that was!" he j'
exclaimed upon a heavier discharge than I
usual. 'T wonder if she heard that— 1
Belie—l mean that girl we—robbed, i 1
I)ou't you know I feel as if I had per
sonally robbed her and our fellows over j
there were now killing off her family?
Fact! I caa't get her face out of my
mind."
"Have you been trying?" I laughing
ly inquired.
"N—no; I can't say I have." He col
ored up a trifle and then, like the gallant j
soldier that he was, came straight at the j
mark. "I don't want to try. That girl |
is the only woman in the world who 1
could tempt me to marry—could tempt
me to anything—yes, even dishonor,"
he added in a whisper.
| "Mere fancy," I said. "You didn't
see her half a minute, by the watch.
You don't know what sort of a woman j
she is."
" Could you see that face and manner i
—those eyes—and not read the soul I
within?" He continued, moodily: 41 1 j
have felt that every mile was a dozen
because placed between that girl and
I me."
i " The miles were long enough the way
j they are."
" God kuows they were," he replied,
! fervently, "and I could not have marched
another mile if I was to have been shot
for not doing it. Yet I could go back to
that place, I believo, without food or
1 rest, now 1"
"With the early bugle and drum we
were dragging our stiffened limbs across
j the fields, down the road toward yes
terday's battle-field, a comparatively
j happy lot of cripples. For the daylight
| courier from Perrysville had brought the
: news of the retirement of the enemy,
1 with our troops in pursuit.
! We finally reached that memorable
battle-field, still literally piled with Con
federate slain. Our dead had already
. been buried, by the troops who had
I moved on. In a stroll over the field
j Sergt. Hale and I counted not less than
| a hundred partially nude and charred
j bodies of men who had fallen in the
i fence corners, the leaves having taken
fire during the engagement. Some,
wounded and unable to move, hud evi
dently been burned alive. Many bodies I
| elsewhere had been stripped of all de- |
1 sirable clothing where they lay and the |
hot sun had caused them to swell horri
bly and this added to the sickening
1 sight. All had been robbed and the
I pockets of the clothed dead were invaria
. bly wrong side out.
i On a hillside, somewhat remote from
the central scene of the engagement, we
were sadly attracted by a vision that for
the moment brought us back to human
ity and Christian civilization. It was j
the body of a young man wrapped in an j
ordinary bed sheet of fine linen. The j
j face was tied iu a lady's handkerchief. !
The eyes had oeen closed and the hands
were folded upon the breast.
Alone, rudely enshrouded here on the
hillside, was at least one late human
being, of all the mangled, charred,
stripped, robbed remains of liumau
beings that dotted the fields under the
corrupting sun, that had appealed to
human sympathy not in vain.
We stood reverently silent before it,
with instinctively uncovered heads. The
Sergeant then knelt down and slowly re
moved the eoveriug from the dead face.
"Great God!"
He started to his feet, and both of us
were for a moment spell bound.
It was the cold image of her face!
The same wavy, chestnut hair, the
same brow, nose and chin, the same
general contour, only masculine in
strength—only waxen in death.
"It is he—it is her brother 1" said the
Sergeant, with forced calmness. "Poor
boy ! poor girl!"
lie gently replaced the handkerchief.
And as he did so, the unbidden Union
tears fell upon the sheeted form of the
i dead rebel.
The Hon. James Hale was a member
of Congress from the —th District of
Illinois. He was a plain, blunt gentle
man of some forty years of age, given
to attending to his own business.
That business had consequently thrived
and was now attending to him. He had
I already achieved the distinction of be-
I ing known as a hard committee workci
lin the House of Representatives. He had
never made a spec-h, and therefore was
comparatively little, known to the gen
eral public. With matters pertaining to
i tensions and witli all other interests of
\ the e\ so dier he was thoroughly convcr
\ *ant.
In my capacity of Washington corres
pondent I often met him, and as often
we invariably reverted to our military
comradeship and incidents of the war.
He had never married, and I alone knew
the romance of tint ito hinO fateful
half minute at the Kentucky farm
house. He was not morose or cynical.
Quite contrary. He simply put society—
female society—aside.
"I want to introduce you to a lady
constituent of mine," said one of his
Southern frieuds to him one day.
"I have no time for cultivating the
ladies," replied ho, "though of course,"
he added, "it would be an honor to meet
any friend of yours."
"Thanks, Ilalc; but this lady has a
claim before your committee aud baa
come all the way from Kentucky to see
about it, and she has a right to see you
on business. You will not deny her an
interview?"
"Does she kuow me?"he asked, quick
ly. "What is her name?"
"She is a widow, my dear sir—a most
lovable creature —Mrs. Louden—belongs
to one of the best old Kentucky families.
The claim is a war claim, for property
taken. I don't know anything about it,
and told her you would probably know
all about it and that you were a fair
man and would give her a hearing. By
the way, Hale, how does it come that as
good a man as you never married?"
"My dear fellow, because I never saw
a woman I would have cared to marry—
savo one, and"
"And she wouldn't have you, oh?
The old story."
Congressmen are a good deal like
school-boys, and indulge in many play
ful personalities that would not be
pleasantly received outside of the
cloak-rooms. Mr. Hale merely smiled
and made an appoiutmcut for the next
day at his committee room ; then forgot
all about it.
The next day a lady in black was
shown into the room of the Committee
on War Claims by the Kentucky member
and was introduced to the Chairman.
"What? You have met before?" said
the volatile Keutuck'un with some sur
prise.
"I'm not certain," she stammered,
"unless"
"Unless your name was Miss Belle
Parkes?" suggested Mr. Hale.
"Aud unless you were the Union nou
commissioned officer who wouldn't steal
chickens." (Smilingly.)
"But stole everything else? Yes,
we've met before," said Hale.
Then there was a general laugh at
Hale's expense—a laugh in which other
Committeemen heartily joined. The
story was repeated and repeated—all
save the incident of the kiss, and wheu
the narrative had reached that point Mr.
Hale glanced meaningly at hi 9 Land and
the lady looked slyly down upon the
lloor. Sho was still a line looking
woman, he noted.
"So you've brought that old claim
with you, eh?" said he, "knowing I
couldn't get away?" in a tone of badi
nage.
"Brought it with me? Dear me, it
has been here a dozen years or more,"
and she looked around the room as if it
were the only war claim unsettled aud
might have dropped on the floor some
where, rolled under the committee
table and been forgotten.
A messenger was summoned and the
claim brought in from the tiles. Mr.
| llale found his own receipt as a Gov
| ernment olficer duly Ret forth. He also
found favorable reports on the case that
it had been twice passed by the House
and once by the Senate, but had some
how never got through.
After adjournment ho sought Mrs.
! Louden. A long and interesting con
■ vernation ensued, during which each
learned all about the other. She told
him of the death of her mother, of her
| brother, of her widowhood. He des
cribed the finding of her brother and his
Christian burial.
"It was his dear aunt, who lived on
i the hill just above the battle field She
knew where his command was statioued
during the tight and sent her old ne
gro to look over the dead. He found
the body and they shrouded it, but tho
two were unable to move it before your
troops came that day. The negro was
terribly seared, but was in hiding near
by and saw you bury it. We removed it
1 to our family ground shortly afterward.
Poor boy!"
"Poor girl!" added Mr. Ilale, seeing
that she knew everything.
"It was so good of you, sir, to feel for
us. When aunty told me what you had
said and done there I was sorry I had not
kissed you again!" Her soft Southern
! eyes were melting and she smiled through
her tears.
! "You can do so now," said Hale, ten
derly taking her hand and pouring out
! the eloquent story of his heart.
I And when the story was finished she
I did so.
"You alone have ever had a claim up
i on my heart," said he, returning the
embrace.
" 4 A war claim,' " she lightly replied.
"It is now settled, at last," he said.
"Having unanimously passed both
houses at tho same session," was the
smiling retort.—[New York World.
j A Large Feather Market.
"Cincinnati is the largest feather
market in the West and demands more
feathers for home use than any other
city in the union,"said a leading dealer
in feathers and manufacturer of feather
| goods to a'l imes-Star reporter. "How
many pounds of feathers does tho city
I handle and use annually?" Over
5,000,000 pounds, there being one con
cern alone that bundles over 1,000,000
pounds, which, by the way, is the most
extensive firm dealing in and shippiug
feathers in the United States. Nearly
1,000,000 pounds are used in this city
every year and there are now fully 850,-
000 to 400,000 pounds in use here. There
are at least 150,000 pounds in use in the
third, seventh and eleventh wards
alone." "Where do most of the feath
ers come from, aud what kinds are used
the most?" "From shippers in Ohio,
Kentucky, Tennessee, Indiana and Illi
nois, which are the best feather States in
the Union, Illinois leading all other
States in the quantity of feathers fur
nished annually."
An Indian Drink.
The greatest curse of the Southwestern
tribes is their fondness for "tiswin," an
alcoholie drink made by fermenting corn.
When uuder its influence the males abuse
their families, murder their friends, and
commit other crimes which render them
liable to the law, uud fearing punishment
they abondon the reservation to join
some hos ile band. It is next to impos
sible to break up all 44 tiswin" bouts, bui
by using Indian police much can be doue
to lessen their frequency. It is dauger
ous duty uud may be compared to the
1 pursuit of 44 moonshiner8 " in the Bouth.
A drunken Indi in docs not listen tc
reason, and has lost his own, so when the
police approach, all the rifles, knives.and
other weapons he can lay his bauds on
are brought into use, and he is seldom
confined v/ithoutbloodshed. —[New York
j Times.
TVIE GIRL OF THE FUTURE.
j Tiembling Youth—Madam, I love you
i to diairactiou; will you be my wife?
* 1 Girl, of the Future—You may leave
your references and call again 1
THE JOKER'S BUDGET.
JESTS AND YARNS BY FUNNY
MEN OF THE PRESS.
Brought Him Around—Why He Was
Whipped—Cause of the Muss —All
Right, etc., etc.
BIIOUGHT IIIM AROUND.
Boarding-house Mistress—l thought
you said your appetite was poor when you
camo here?
Greedy boarder—lt was, but starvation
has got in its work.
WHY HE WAS WHIPPED.
Ethel (to her younger brother, who
had been whipped) —Don't mind, Bruz
zer, don't minu.
Brother (between his tears)— That's
just what I was licked for, not minding.
CAUSE OF THE MUSS.
"Daughter," said Mrs. Bellows, indig
nantly,after John Jimpson had taken his
departure, "how came your hair so disar
ranged?"
"1 shook my head so much while he
was trying to get me to say 'yes,'" re
plied the quick-witted girl.—[Epoch.
ALL RIGHT.
"See hcah, Cadley, did you call me a
a common ass?"
"No,Snobbuton, I said you wercanun
common ass."
"Aw, that's different. I cawn't stand
having anybody call lr.e common
y'kuow."—[Epoch.
JUST TIIE OPPOSITE.
"My dear," began Mr. Bloobumper.
"Don't call me dear!" snapped Mrs.
Bloobumper; "you made me feel very
cheap by contradicting me before the
company a while ago."
THEN THE BARBER PUT ON BLACK.
He came in the barber's in such a dread
ful state of nervousness that the barber
locked up the razor.
"What's the matter?" ho inquired,
holding a whetstone behind him in case
of any outbreak.
"Why," he answered in an agitated
whisper, "I have just noticed my nair is
turning gray."
"Oh, that's nothing."
"Yes, not much to you, perhaps, but
I feel that bad about it I'm ready to
dye."—[Philadelphia Times.
A FLAT FAILURE.
"Scliua," ventured Noah Count, "how
would you enjoy living in a flat?"
"Not at all," snapped Mrs. Count.
"After living with one all these years I
prefer to go out of the flat business." j
THAT STRANGE BOY.
'Tis now tho chilling winter winds so
very fiercely blow.
They nearly freeze a boy to death who
lias to shovel snow.
To make him clear the walks, poor boy!
seems very like a crime,
He can't stick at it longer than five min
utes at a time.
And yet—of course it's very strange and
still it's very true—
You'll really be surprised to learn what
that poor boy can do.
For though while shoveling snow the
cold may freeze him right away,
Just give him skates aud ice and he can i
stay out doors all day.
—[Chicago Herald.
TIMES CHANGE.
"Ah! so it goes!" sighed the ice man
as he half rose from his seat in the car
and then sank back again.
" What is it?" was asked by an ac
quaintance.
" Did you sec that man make up a face
at me as we passed?"
"Yes."
"Well, he's a butcher, and uses 400
pounds of ice per day. Last year at this
time he was sending me up some roasts
of beef and tickets to the theater."—[De
troit Free Press.
HIS IDEA OF BLISS.
Mr. aud Mrs. Cooper do not get along
well together. She is not to blame, for
he is always saying spiteful things. For
instance, when she happened to say that a
murderer had been sentenced for ninety
nino years in the Penitentiary, he re
marked :
"Well, he's in good luck."
"How 80?"
"He will have a quiet time of it until
hegcts out, and then he will be too old
toniarry."—[Texas Siftings.
OMBLETIC.
"Isn't that omelet rather overdone,"
paid the guest.
"Yes, sir," said the waiter, a gentle
man recently from Boston. "It Is ova
done. Anything else?"—[Chicago Tri
bune.
THE DIFFERENCE.
"Here, sir, is a fino silver watch for
sls. Here is another equally as good for
$10."
" What's the difference between
them?"
"Five dollars."—[Jewelers' Circular.
NO ARREBTB.
Indignant Citizen—Don't you see those
two boys down there smoking cigarettes ? j
Why don't you arrest them?
Policeman—Fact is, Mr. Tax pay, one
of them is my son, and the other is your
son.
Citizen —Um— er very pleasant
weather we're having.—[Good News.
EXPERT TESTIMONY.
Judge (to witness) —Who are you?
Witness ( who is a physiciun)—l am an
insane expert, your Honor.
Judge (with dignity)—Oh, you are?
Well, get out of this. We don't want
any crazy people giving testimony in
this court.—[Washington Star.
A SYNDICATE POEM.
Gwcndolin—Horace Fissett scut me
to day a lovely complimeut in the shape
of a poem.
Alice—Does he rhyme "love" with
"dove," and "heart" with "art?"
Gwendolin—Yes! Why do you ask?
Alice—Oh, he sent me the same poem
last week.—[American Stationer.
SHE KNEW THE HOURS.
Mr. Cheapside —I thought you said
you were going to Mrs. Brick's 5 o'clock
tea this afternoon. It's after 5 now.
Mrs. Cheapside—There's uo huiry.
Her 5 o'clock tea isn't likely to be ready
before 7. She's got the girl I used to
have.--[New York Weekly.
FRESH OYSTERS.
Eastern Man (in Western restaurant) —
I sec you have oysters on the bill of fare.
Arc they fresh?
Waiter—Yes, sab, jus' out ob dc can,
sab.—| New York Weekly.
AN APT PUPIL.
Mrs. Younghusband—Now that it is
the new year, John, I hope that you will
be able to say no; ami, by the way,
won't you let ine have a little money?
I John (heroically)—No.—[New Haven
News.
WENT FOR ALL IN SIGHT.
Citizen (speaking to Wall Street king)
—Good morning, Mr. Plunger. Are you
going down town now ?
Mr. Plunger—l'm going down after a
little.
Citizen —I thought you usually went
there after a good deal.—[Munsey's
Weekly.
MR. AND MRS. B.
Winkle—Kh! How is this, Binkle ?
I've heard you say many a time that every
man should be master in his own house;
but—ha! ha!—old boy, you don't seem
to be master here.
Binkle (sheepishly)— This is my wife's
house.—[New York Weekly.
A RESPONSIVE AUDIENCE.
Bawley—Why, Curtin, how is it you
were not a first-nighter at your own
play?
Curtin—l was too ncrvou9. Are you
ju9t from the theater ?
Bawley—Yes.
Curtin—Did my pathetic scenes bring
any t€nrs?
lhawley—-Yes; the people in the house
laughed till they cried.—[Munsey's
Weekly.
DIDN'T FOLLOW THE PRESCRIPTION.
Dr. Pillsbury—Well, Mr. Sceptic, did
you follow my prescriptions ?
Sceptic—No; if I had I would have
broken my nock.
Dr. Pillsbury Why, what do you ;
mean ?
Sceptic —I threw the prescriptions out
the window.—[Chicago America.
HARD TO FIND.
First Astronomer—ls there any men
tion of comets in the MclCinley bill ?
Second Astronomer—l don't know.
Why?
First Astronomer They seem to be un
usually scarce and high.—[New York
Weekly.
THE GIRL WHO SNUGGLEB.
She—George, you are a bundle of in
consistencies !
George —Why, what do you mean!
What have I done?
She—All last summer at the beach you
gave me nothing but gas; now you be
come economical and want it turned
downl—[New York Herald.
LOOKING FORWARD.
Tommy is very hard on shoes and
trousers. His mother understands this,
and governs herself accordingly when
she goes shopping.
One day, while out with another lady,
she was buying cloth for a pair of panta
loons for Tommy, and ordered a good
deal more than seemed necessary.
"Why do you get so much?" asked
her friend.
"Oh," was the reply, "this is for re
served seats I"- [Youth's Companion.
HIS NEIGHBORS.
Victim—See here, sir! When you sold
me those lots you said they were in a good
neighborhood, and I find they are sur
rounded by livery barns.
Beal Estate Dealer—Certainly. It is
the best neigh borhood I know of.
NOT WHAT WAS EXPECTED.
"Well, Kenniboy, whom do you love?"
asked Ksnniboy's father.
After a moment of deep thought the
answer came:
"Kenniboy," he said. [Harper's
Young People.
THE RIGHT MAN FOR THE PLACE.
j Will Putougli- Cutaway, who is that
' nice clerical looking old gentleman that
called around yesterday with a statement
of my account?
Cutaway (the tailor) —That is Profes
sor Mustee, the famous collector of an
tiquities. I have just engaged him.—
| Puck.
IT WEIGHED ON niS MIND.
Mrs. Magnus Scott—lf I tell my hus
band to perform some unusual errand it
worries him se much that he can't get it
out of his head.
Mrs. Billsdoo—l have noticed the same
thing in my husband. Only yesterday I
ordered a load of wood, and during his
sleep last night he frequently exclaimed :
"Let's have another dollar's worth of
chips."—[American Stationer.
HAD GRADUATED.
I Crabapple —Don't you believe, .Miss
I Swcete, tnat I could teach you to love
| me?
I Miss Sweetc—Possibly; but as I have
i made my debut it is rather late to go
back to u tutor.
THE GIRL ON HORSEBACK.
' Bessie (to horse dealer) —I thought you
told me that that saddle horse I bought
would take in the bit without the slight
est trouble?
Dealer—Well, doesn't he?
Bessie—No, he doesn't he! I held the
bridle right up to his nose, and ducked
several times; but the ugly thing never
made n move!
Painless Death.
Dr. Conrad Wesselhou, cndoiscd by
the Homeopathic Society of Boston,
Ala*.s., recommends the use of chloroform
to solve the problem of euthanasia—the
execution of criminals in a swift aud
painless manner. That electricity acts
with lightning speed on some animal
organisms, can, however, be hardly de
nied, nnd the variation of its effect is
i he chief argument used against the rep
etition of the Kemmler experiment.
Exactly the same objection might, un
fortunately, bo argued against the use
of chloroform. Under the influence of
ether some persons swoon away like
children falling into a deep slumber,
while others cough, sputter and strug
gle under a more and more suffocating
difficulty to breathe. Prussic acid, ju
diciously administered, acts about ten
times as quick, and wourali, the arrow- j
poison of the South American Indians,
is said to produce a sort of letlfcirgy
which in less than five minutes progresses
from a feeling of languor to loss of con
sciousness; still it may be questioned if
anything but old age can cause such a
thing as an absolutely painless death.—
[New York Voice.
How Hardtack is Made.
Not one person in 100,000 knows how
the army "hardtack" is made. Let mc
induct the world into the mystery. You
take some flour, a pinch of salt, a little
water; mix the three ingredients well, ,
cut the preparation into regulation size
and then proceed to bake the same.
Time hardens the "tack" and improves
it. When it gets to the consistency of
granite it is at its best. The hardtack
has imprinted on its face the letters B.
C., because they were so hard to masti
cate the boys in the army interpreted tho
initials to mean that they were made be
fore the birth of Christ.—[St. Luls
i ulobe-Democrat.
AN OSTRICH FARM.
AN AFRICAN INDUSTRY .IN
CALIFORNIA.
Profitable Birds to Raise -How
Ostriches are Hatched by
Means of Incubators An
Ostrich Plucking.
A mile below Santa Mo'uica. Cal. is I
an ostrich farm of something like sixty
or seventy birds. Some of these are of
the original stock brought from Cape
Colony in 1882, but most of them are
natives. These awkward birds are a !
never-ending source of iuterest to the j
tourist, a.iu many an honest two-bits j
drops into the slot at the gate entrance j
as tne fee for seeing the ostriches. But >
the South Afric an bird has proved profit- j
able 011 American soil, not alone as an j
attraction for a Sunday garden or a side-1
show for a land boom. Every bird is J
worth money, and every bird makes its '
owner money.
There are at least half a dozen ostrich
farms in Southern California. They have '
ceased to be a curiosity there, and each j
now represents a commercial enterprise.
Americans buy one-half the millions of |
ostrich feathers produced annually. It is '
estimated that this country expends $3,- :
000,000 a year for these ornaments. Each j
ostrich when full grown yields a feather I
income of from S2OO to SBOO per annum, j
The elegant, long, black and white
plumes sell for $3 each at the farms, and
readily bring $lO each at retail in New ,
York or Chicago.
Every feather lias a value. If it is
sufficiently large for use it is worth at
least 10 cents. The very small ones,
otherwise useless, make up into cheap
souvenirs and are eagerly purchased by
visiting tourists at prices varying from 10
cents to sl. The plumes produced in
•Southern California are fully as valuable
as those from the far-away Cape Colony.
The eggs, if fertile, sell for $23 each
and generally from 73 to 80 per cent, of
all eggs produced will hatch. If not fer
tile the shells arc in demand at from $2
to $5 each as curios and ornaments. A
young ostrich just out of the. shell is con
sidered equivalent to S3O, and his value
increases until he is full grown, when
SSOO is a low market price.
The expense of maintaining an ostrich
farm is comparatively slight. The birds
in this country are usually healthy.; their
appetites are appalling.but they are satis
fied with alfalta, cabbage and crushed
bones for a regular diet. On occasions
they expect large and small pebbles, bits
of iron, old shoes,tin cans and such deli
cacies. A hungry ostrich is not particu
lar about his food. It is merely a ques
tion of deglutition with him. If what he
eats will go down—or rather up—his
somewhat elastic throat (for he eats and
drinks head downward) he feels safe to
trusts his digestive organs to do the rest.
The senses of sight, smell and hearing
of the ostrich arc keen. He is very
timid, and is startled by a slight noise.
He can see a man at a distance of three
miles, and the ostrich hunter who ap
proaches his game with the wind will be
discovered long before he is within guu
shot.
Ostriches are not only cautious and able
to run at great speed, but they are fight
ers. A stroke of one of the powerful
wings will fell a man. and a kick from a
full-grown bird would be more disastrous
than a well-directed blow from the right
arm of John L. Sullivan. Ostriches are
very curious, and their inquisitiveness
will sometimes lead them into trouble, but
if injured in any way and they escape,
nothing can persuade them to repeat the
same experiment.
One day at the Santa Monica ostrich
farm, a keeper accidentally knocked the
top rail off one of the paddocks. A
large male ostrich had been watching
him with interest. The rail fell upon
the bird's neck and caused him some
pain. lie rushed away from danger,
and, though not alarmed by the presence
of any other keeper, he never recovered
his confidence in the one to whom he
charged his mishap, but when the keeper
appeared took a post at the farthermost
end of the inclosure, and could not be
coaxed to come within reach of him.
The ostrich egg shell is sometimes
one-sixteenth of an inch thick. It is
fully twenty-fonr times the size of an or
dinary hen's egg. Incubation requires
forty days, during which period the male
and feniulc alternate in the domestic duty
of keeping the eggs warm. Most of the
hatching is now done by incubators. A
three-hundred-egg incubator has a ca
pacity for but twenty-seven ostrich eggs.
At the farm to which special reference
has been made I saw tho birds on the
nest, and the young ostriches ufter they
were removed from the nest are to be
seen.
The eggs at this sitting nearly all
hatched. The nest consisted of a pile of
sand in the center of the small field as
signed to the two breeders. The male
bird manifested the utmost interest in
tho business in hand and devoted more
than fifteen hours a day to the maternal
duty of sitting ou the eggs. When his
mate was on the nest ho would shield her
from the excessive heat of that semi
tropical sun by extending Jus ample
wings over her. The two ostriches were
models of parental affection. The ex
emplary conduct of the male specially
won my admiration, for he was ever on
the; alert to render assistance to his patient
spouse, and when the little fellows pecked
their way through the hard shell he kept
vigilant guard over them. The old story
of neglect Its offspring is clearly dis
proved. There are no feathered animals
more dutiful.
The old birds are not awkward, but
the young once have no sense whatever,
and so it is necessary to remove the lat
ter as soon as possible after they escape
from the shell to prevent them from
wandering into danger. It requires
skillful coaxing aud no little maneuver
ing to entire the fond parents from the
nest, but this accomplished, the young
ostriches are transferred to a sand box in
the sun, where they must have close at
tention all day long to keep them from
mishaps which their utter lack of discre
tion and extreme awkwardness would
certainly bring upon them.
At night they are placed in an incuba
tor. Until they arc several months old
the absurdly heedless and tender things
require very great care. After they pass
from infancy, however, they generally
thrive. The losses usually occur within
the first month.
When the birds are seven months old
the first plucking occurs, anil from that
time forward they give up their feathers
twice a year. The females begin laying
eggs at three years of age, and produce
from thirty to ninety eggs each annually.
In South Africa until about thirty years
ago the natives killed the ostrich for his
plumes. Since that date the domesti
cated birds have furnished most of the
feathers of commerce.
Each bird when fully grown lias twen
ty-five plumes on each wing, with two
rows of floss feathers underneath. With
tho white plumes are a row of long
feathers, and under them are a smaller
size. In the male these arc black aud
in the female drab. The toil has also a
tuft of feathers similarly arranged. The
first feathers are not usually as line in
quality, as large in size or as great in
quantity as those of subsequent pluck
ing*.
Through the year constant care is
tnkeu to gather up any feathers that mav
be shed naturally. The feathers are
carefully cured and pressed before they
are ready for the market.
An ostrich plucking is somewhat ex
citing. The timid bipeds are driven or
coaxed, one at a time, into small in
closurcs, and two or three men take hold
of the frightened bird. The head is
covered with a ''stocking," which ren
ders the fiercest old ostrich comparative
ly tractable.
The lurger feathers arc then clipped
off and placed in a basket. Thus far
the bird has offered little resistance, but
after the plumes are secured the quills
must be removed. This gives the poor
ostrich pain, which he rcseQts by a trau
tie effort to kick his tormentors*. Being
blindfolded, however, and able only to
kick forward, the skillful pluckers gen
erally succeed in avoiding danger.
The operation is probably no more
painful to these birds than plucking is
to geese, ducks and swans. The growers
insist that it is not painful after the first
experience, but from the resistance
j offered one cannot but wish the plumes
might be procured without inflicting the
| apparent mental suffering upon the
! birds, even if there be no physical tor
i ture. A month after the plumes are
taken the floss and other small feathers
j arc plucked.—[Now York Star.
BABY INCUBATORS.
A Contrivance for Preserving the
Lives of Weak Infants.
j The "couveusc" in the Women's
Medical College is an institution much
in demand. It is occupied constantly
.by some tiny tenant that is not strong
, enough to live in the open air, and it
i was not long ago that a duplicate "cou
l vcuse" had to be importer! from Paris.
The two arc now in full operation, turn
ing out wholesome babies.
| The French word "couveusc" means
"a brooder," which is applied to the
I little incubator in which weak infants
j are put until they grow strong enough to
i live like common babies and breathe the
, air of the rest of mankind. It is a very
i simple apparatus, easily made, easily
! manipulated, and serves an excellent pur
• pose. It is a plain hard-wood box, 28x
i 20x15 inches in dimensions. Six inches
from the bottom there is a floor through
which there is an opening made, about
three inches wide, across the foot end.
On this floor the nest for the little tenant
is made of a thick bat of cotton, covered
with the softest flannel. The top of the
i box fits tightly, and is made of glass.
| At the head end of the box there is an
! open register, three inches in diameter,
, which admits the air into the lower
chamber of the " couveuse."
This air passes over five bottles of hot
water placed in the basement apartment,
and goes up through the opening in the
floor at the foot. At this opening three
good-sized sponges are suspended on a
wire. The sponges are kept damp, and
moisten the air which come 9 up from off
the hot bottles. Over the head of the
baby is a little chimney in the top of the
lid, through which this air passes out.
In this chimney is a little tin indicator,
which is moved constantly by the cur
rent of air. When it stops, the attend
ing nurse knows that the circulation of
the air ha 9 been shut off.
There was a baby in the "couvcusc"
last night, and it looked as happy on its
bat of cotton as a bird would in its
nest. The temperature Ls kept any
where-from 80° to 00 w , according to the
strength of the infant, the weaker ones
having the hotter surroundings. When
the head nurse lifted the little fellow out
of its warm moist bed, it kicked about
in a very lively fashion.
This pioneer baby incubator was
brought from Paris over a year ago, and
l it has never been without an occupant.
The new one is also in constant use.
Not a single infant that has been brought
up in either of them has died and there
, have been a great many housed there,
i The treatment must be very wholesome,
for the head nurse said that the averago
increase in the weight of the infants is
about thirty grains daily.—[Philadelphia
Record
A Curioua Violin.
The Paris Figaro announces the sale of
one of the most curious violins knowu to
j the music fanciers of the world. It for
| merly belonged to Paganini, the great
| violinist and at first sight merely pre
| sents the appearance of a misshapen
wooden shoe. Its history is curious and
j well worthy of a plane in this repository
!of the wonderful. During the winter of
1838 Paganini was living in Hue de la
Victoria, 48. One day a large box was
brought here by the Normandy diligence,
on opening which he found enclosed two
inner boxes, and wrapped carefully in
several folds of tissue paper, a wooden
shoe and a letter, stating that the writer,
having heard much of tho wonderful
genius of the violinist, begged, as a
proof of his devotion to music, that
Paganini would play in public on the
oddly constructed instrument inclosed.
At first Paganini felt this to bo an im
pertinent satire, and mentioned the facts,
with some show of temper, to his friend,
the Chevalier de 11aride. The latter took
the shoe to a violin maker, who convert
ed it into a remarkably sweot-toned in
strument. Paganini was pressed to try
the shoe violin in public, lie not only
did so, but performed upon it some of
his most difficult fantasias, which facts,
in the handwriting of the violinist, are
now inscribed on the violin.
The Cologne Cathedral.
The Cologne Cathedral holds the first
rank among German Cathedrals, and is
one of the most magnificent buildings in
tue world. It was, according to common
belief, begun in 1348, and progressed
slowly till the sixteenth century, when
work upon it was for a time abandoned.
It fell more and more into decay until
Frederick William IV. began its restora
tion. It was cjnsocrated 000 years after
its foundation. Work upon this edifice
has been vigorously prosecuted within
the last few years, and it is now com
pleted. Externally, its double range of
stupendous Hying buttresses, and inter
vening piers bristling with u forest of
pinnacles, strike the beholder with awe
and astonishment.
An Unfortunate Invocation.
A partisan inevitably weakens his
position when he gives the other side a
chauce to retort. Such an opportu
nity was unwittingly afforded by an
English clergyman, who hoped that three
noted statesmen in whom he believed,
might "all hang together." "Ainen!"
fervently responded a member of tho
opposite party. "I mean," snid the min
ister, in haste, "that they may hang to
gether in accord and concord." 4 'lt
doesn't matter what sort of a cord it is,
so long as they hung," was the reply.—
[Argonaut.