Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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i 1 4w TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO. S. C,.. NOVEMBER 3. 1883. ESTABLISHED 1848. THB FARMER. A farmer furrowed his swarded field, And faltered not for the day; He felt from the north a frost-wind blow, And the path of the sun was gray, And the wheat-bird’s whistle he heard from the bough, And he knew that the weevil oft followed the plough. He bent his lowly form to the task, Believing his labor a prayer; 8o he plodded the pace of a cheerful man, Preparing his ground with care; Whistled and plodded, then cast amain For the harvest hour the seeding grain. A farmer sat in his cottage door, Nodding a noon-tide nap, And the whitened wheat across the way, Waved on the meadow’s lap; With heavy heads, in a Slumbering haze, The stalks bent down in the August days. As the farmer dozed, he dreamed and smiled, For his acres waved on his eye; And then the clink of the reapers he heard. And his stacks and his mows swelled high; And over his cheek, a soft tear crept, For the joy he tbit as he nodded and slept. He woke; In the haze of the hot afternoon, In health was he bent to the snath, And over the field the gavels stretched, In many a winding path; The vision he saw had lightened his task, And he learned that to pray we iu labor should ask. ACROSS THE RIVER. She was buying lilies when Ralph Alverton first saw her in Italy. It was under a dust begrimed old palace wall, at the corner of one of the streets in Florence. Ralph Alverton was out early in search of a breath of fresh morning air, before the glare of the June day began. A few Florentine women in lace veils, holding fans be tween their laces and the sun’s rays, had passed and repassed him on their way to church or market; but it was an English face which arrested his at tention. ‘•Fuole, Signorina, vuole?" clamored all the flower venders together, while each thrust handfuls of dewy roses or ’Virgin lilies’ toward the face of a girl with hair of the same golden color as Carlo Dolce painted for his ’Angel of the Annunciation.’ Ralph Alverton, the artist could not help thinking of the picture as he watched her, lilies in hand, turn away from the long stone ledge of the Palazzo Strozz, which serves as a ttow'er stall in the Via Tornabuoni. The tall, slight figure, in her quaint costume of sage green, went over one of the bridges tq the other side of the Arno. And Ralph went home to his studio on Ups side of the river. He had' taken a fancy to the angel painted by Carle Dolce, and a few days later found him seated with canvas and easel before it in the gallery of the Pitti. Some copyist had already l>een at W'ork there; another easel, with a half-finished sketch stood by the pic ture, and there was a high stool left vacant. It was not long before it was taken possession of by its owner—the girl with the hair and face like the an gel of the picture, resemblance showing stronger with the removal of her hat. Side by side worked the two English artists all the morning with no exchange of words. The next day he came with the fixed purpose of winning a word from her grave lips. An opportunity was easily lound in some appeal about their com mon work; it was followed by a mutual contemplation of each other’s painting. Ralph considered bis own immeasura bly the superior yf the two, but he did not so, and talked because he liked his listener. But the conversation was brief; the artists were discreet, and si lence resulted. “Ah, Lilias, so we have found you at last 1” cried a grand looking matronly lady, who, with double eye glasses and Baedeker’s guide book, entered the Salle shortly beiore ihe hour for closing. She was followed by a party of her own people, who came up and shook hands with the girl artist. “Why, Mr. Alverton, ate you here?” exclaimed a chorus of surprised voices, and then there was a repetition of greetings. “Really, in traveling, one comes across friends in the most surprising wayl” said the leader of the party, whom they called “Mrs. Calvon.” “I thought you were still living In London. Do you know my friend, Miss Vane? No 1 Lilias, may I introduce Mr. Alverton to you? What a strange coincident, that I should find my two friends at work on the same picture, yet unknown to one another!” Then the whole group of English vis itors suddenly grew interested in the “Angel of the Annunciation,” and in another. Mrs. Calvon put up her glasses and gave her criticisms with all the freedom of an amateur who knows noth ing about art. “Will you come and see us this evening at the Hotel de 1’Eu rope, Mr. Alverton?” she asked, as they left the gallery. Ralph accepted and came. In Mrs. Calvon’s saloon he learned a little about Lilias Vane. Her fami y, who were very poor, had consented to her wish to come to Florence to paint. She lived at the pension—the Casa Cbiara- which happend exactly. to face the studio occupied by Ralph on the oppo site of the Arno. While they were talk ing of her Lilias herself arrived with some other people, who had been invit- ed. Ralph Alverton made up his mind that evening that he liked her very much. Lilias did not make up her mind so quickly. She was quiet and silent, with a grave, sweet look which somehow connected itself w ith the An gel and the Lily. But when it was thee to go home Ralph offered to es cort the ladies back to the Caso Chiara. This was the first but by no means the last, ’ ..ne that he walked with Lilias along the river side where the lights shone, and across the bridge of the Car- raja to her home on the other side. They often met in the rooms of mu tual friends, where the evening would be spent, and when, whatever else hap pened, or did not happen, the end was the same always; Ralph Alverton took care of Lilias across the river, and left her safely at the Casa Chiara. One day, by special arrangement the Calvons and Lilias paid a visit to Ralph’s studio on the Lung’ Arno. Some of the party lavished a good deal of ecstatic admiration on his paintings, which he received for what they were worth; but the few .words uttered in Lilias’ low', steady tone, and the flush of animation on her otherwise calm face, were things he treasured. His studio was filled with original designs. As a rule he looked down on copyists, but he had continued the copy of the “Angel of the Annunciation,” making his work last just so long as the time Lilias took to finish hers. “Meet us at the Certosa to-morrow,” said Mr. Calvon to Ralph; “Lilias has promised to accompany us on a round of farewell visits we wish to make to all the principal sights before leaving Florence. For leave we must this week if Eustace does not appear. We have waited long enough for him, the heat is becoming really insupportable.” “Eustace” was a son of Mrs. Calvon and bad been expected to join them, but whose business appointments iu London had hitherto delayed him. Ralph Alverton felt sorry that the Calvons were leaving, partly for their own sake —they were pleasant friends— but still more because it would mean a cessation of those constant meetings with Lilias. In the middle of the cloister garden of the convent of the Certosa there stands an old well. “At what are you looking?” asked Ralph, leaving the rest to follow the monk who acted as show man, and coming across to where Lilias, stooping over the well’s side, was gaz ing down earnestly into its dark depths. “1 was trying to think of a wish,” she said, looking up with q smile. “These old wells always give me a childish fancy to wish; they make one think of the wishiug-w'ells in which one used, as a child, to believe.” “1 know what l wish,” said Ralph, with a fervor which was quite earnest. There was nothing in the words; wheth er it was the tone, whether it was something she read in his eyes as they stayed fixed on hers, or whether it was some electric message in the air, Lilias could not have told; but there, by the convent wall, she guessed for the first time that Ralph loved her. Together they leaned over the old stone sides, and looked down into the deep, round abyss to where far-, far be low, the water reflected their faces against a background of blue sky, across which at that moment a fieecy cloud was sailing. Ralph’s wish was that the day might come when Florence’s river sF rid divide them no longer. Lilias wisned that the morrow bright might bring Eustace Calvon to Florence. So, silently, the two contrary wishes were ‘sent down theold well—Ralph guessing nothing of how the other wish clashed with his own, Lilias just conscious that it was possible both should not agree. Then they recrossed the sunny garden to join the carriages waiting in the shade at the entrance gates, and they all drove back to Florence. And the solemn, silence-bound monks, unmind ful of the world’s love stories, came out at sunset to draw water at the old well, wnich to them was nothing but a source of common usefulness. A few days afterwards, in the early morning, the artists were left standing on the station platform, from whence a pile of luggage from the hotel de 1’ Eu rope had just cleared, waving adieux to the express train going north. Both were sorry for the departure of their mutual friends; both also had special cause in their regret. Lilias would have liked to liave met Eustace Calvon again; she would have described him as “an old friend—nothing more;” and so when he did not come she was not broken-hearted, but bore the disappoint ment very philosophically. Had they met that summer the old friendship might liave ripened into something stronger, but business claims detained young Calvon in England for three days longer than the patience of his relations could endure, and when he was free it was in Engardine—not iu Florence— that he joined them. Mr. Alverton soon made the discovery that the old ladies—the chief occupants of the pension where Lilias was living —were most charming and delightful people. And so it happend that at last his evening visits bee. me a scarcely less regular custom than the appearance of the 8 o’clock tea tray with its two large teapots of watery tea. It was never a dingy, never a smoky place, that saloon,to Ralph,for the girl with the golden glory hair of the angel was there and her presence made it seem to him an earthly paradise. And somehow, even though the surroundings were a crowd of old maids in smart evening caps, bad tea, and a cracked old piano. Lilias learned better every evening what the wish was that Raiplr had at heart; and her own wish faded out of memory. Eustace was far away, and had never been more than “an old friend;” Ralph Alverton was close, and made her understand that he would not be content until he reached a high er standing than mere friendship. Lilias surreudered. They settled it iu so many words one day at the far end of the Caseins where LiLas had been left to wait for a friend. The friend was late iu keeping her appoint ment, and Mr. Alverton happened to arrive instead. There on a stone seat, just beyond the monument of the India prince, Lilias promised everything re quired of her, while some light fluffy seeds from a tree overhead fell, scatter ing at their feet, and eddied lightly around—north, south, east, west, like emblems of uncertainty; but words were said which sealed two fates, and close beside them flowed the yellow Arno, which soon should separate them no longer. Happy days were those which follow ed; happier day wars that to which they looked forward in June. But before that day which was to give them to one another, came Eustace Calvon to Flor ence. And with him came discord be tween the lovers. Haw it began, bow it continued, who was most to be blam ed, none but themselves could ever guess; but Eustace Calvon was sorne- uow (unintentionally) the center-chord which caused the jar. Ralph grew jealous, suspicious; allowed heat ahd hastiness. Lilias was proud, resentful and turned cold as ice. The whole Cal von party had returned to Florence, and Ralph chose to disapprove of them all. He complained that Lilias let her self be monopolised by them; that Eus tace talked too much to her; that he would not endure it; he would not stand it. Lilias, conscious that no cause for wrath existed, and findiug Eustace simply friendly and civil, re sented such injustice, and altirmedi im patiently that “no one should make her cast off old friends.” Circumstances and misunderstandings helped to widen the breach, until the climax was reach ed one day in high words on the Ponte di Carrajo, where, without farewell, they parted—she across the bridge to one side, he across the bridge to the other side. Divided! yes, they' had chosen division. A great crowd blocks the bridge way and lines on either side the river’s em bankments—a black, silent crowd, which all the day long hangs over the parapets, watching the water below. “A boat upset—two men drowned-*- the bodies are being searched for.” So passes the news through Florence. Lilias learns it on her way homeward at midday. There—passing aloug the Lung’ Arno—she learns, too, the added rumor, “One is an English artist.” “Let me take you home,” says Eus tace Calvon, finding her with blanched lips adrift in the crowd. He leads her further up the river side, and guides her faltering steps across one of the higher bridges, which is deserted Neither speak their- fears iu words, but before many hours have passed all Florence proclaims it for them: “Mr. Ralph Alverton is the name of, the mis sing Englishman.” Eustace hastens to his room only to find the report confirm ed: “Mr. Alverton w-ent out with a friend in an open boat; it was thought they intended to sketch on the country banks.” All day the search is made; all the day, from early morning to late night, the blackness of on-lookers is there. Night comes, and still they hangover the bridge’s parapet—a motionless, sad dened mass, i pell-bound to the spot. But the pleasure and the business continue; strangers come and go from palace to church to see the sights; car riages drive out to the Casino to listen to the band; pleasant impromptu parties make the evening round of the cafes, and afterward walk back to their hotels or apartments by the side of the river, beneath whose moonlit waters the dead lie. Lilias stands on her balcony alone in the moonlight. Two days have passed: the second day’s search has been as fruitless as the first; the crowds liave dispersed—the people have gone away soberly to their homes. She looks out upon the cold, silver-radiauced water flowing ever onward; the line of bright lights flings their reflection across the river as on other nights,butone wiudow on the other side is darkened—there shines no good-night signal there. Across the bridge came hurrying with swift noiseless steps, a wierd procession of those whose office it is to carry the dead—the secret confraternity of the Miserkordia—disguised figures, robed in black from head to loot, only the eyes visible. Two and two they go, carrying lighted torches before and af ter the corpse. Some among them, it may be—noble or citizen—have just been called from the dance or the feast to serve as they liave bound themselves to serve, at all times of necessity. An other minute they liave hastened away on their midnight mission; the flare of their torches is seen no more. Lilias, sbuiding mute, unmovable in the moonlight, remembers how- on that bridge two days before she Mad parted with him she loves; recalls the proud hard words which have been their last, and tries—very hard she tries—to rea lize that between them now runs the River of Death, and that before she can whisper the word “Forgive!” she must wait until she, too, shall reach “the oth er side.” “O Ralph, if you were here but for one short moment, l think 1 could make you understand!” Then, as if in answer to her half-uttered cry, some one who, unnoticed, has with rapid, un certain steps passed twice or thrice be low the balcony, pauses and looks up and calls her by her name. Down in the front vestibule, still left open to the street, with none near but the old half-sleeping concierge, she learns the glad news that all Florence has been under a mistake, that Ralph has come home from his prolonged stay in thecampagua; that the river of death has been but the dream of two sad days; and that Ralph “understands” alre idy, and has come to make her un derstand. No river need longer divide them. “Will you come to me there on the other side!” Ralph asks once more. Aud Lilias answers, “I will come.” 1 lt*by Cried and Jack Cried.’ Jamestown. Changes in the James river have made an island of Jamestown, completely separating it from the main land, and about all that remains of the first English settlemeht of Virginia is the dismantled tower of the old church. It was here that Focahontas embraced the Christian faith and was baptised by the name of R ibeooa. The front used on that occasion now stands in the ohanoel of Christ church, Williamsburg, Here also Pocahontas was married in 1613 to John Roiph. A low brick wa 1 incloses the ground occupiei by the rained tower and foundation of the church; aud tomb-stones, some broken and scattered, some leaning against the wall, and all with inscriptions nearly if not quite illegible, having long since ceased to indicate where lies the dust of those whose names they bor -. Two hundred yards below the nuns and 100 from the river bank is the sta’ely old mansion bunt by John Ambler over 100 years ago. It is tne only resideaoe on the island, is in fine preservation, aid occupied by Colonel H. D. B. Clay, formerly of New York, who owns James town, which consists of 1,700 sores, and is between two and three miles in length aud three quarters of a mile m width. Sorrow is the noblest of discipline. K has been going on for a year past, Jack is a carrier for one of the dailies, and his circuit takes iu a house ou Scott street. One day last spring a baby crowed at him from an open door on that street, and Jack tossed an apple into the hall. The next day the baby was watching for him, and after three or four days the boy made bold to slip up the steps aud pat the little chap ou the head aud leave the stick of candy he had purchased two miles away. As time went on Jack came to know that the baby was fatbe'less, aud that his mother was pale-faced, agid hardly able, to drag about. It w'-H weeks before she sjioke to him, but the baby took to Jack right away and d as always ready for his coming. After the first week it was always clean-faced, but it was a good while before Jack roused up the courage to give him a kiss and to a. u k for one iu return. After that it was plain sailing, and tiie neighbors became interested. It was queer enough that a boy like Jack, having his own way to make and roughing it until he had be come suspicious and hard-hearted, should catch ou to a little whitehead, aud be more than a big brother to him, but that was what happened. And something more. One day he brought up a quarter of a pouud of tea aud left it where the mother would find it, and this w r as followed by other par cels and articles. One day lie missed the baby and crept into the hall to llud that he had cried himself to sleep aud that the mother was ill and helpless. Jack roused up the neighbors, and whatever was eaten in that house for the next two weeks was purchased with Jack’s mouey. A fortnight ago Jack missed baby again, and again he found the mother ill. Friends were with her this time and she did not suffer for care. A week ago there w as crape ou the door as the carrier went his round, aud baby had been curried off by a neighbor. When Jack came arouud next day, the moth er had been buried and people were watching to tell him that the house was to be vacated aud baby was to go to a distant city. He had been brought back to bid the carrier good-bye, and the poor and the lowly people drew off with tears in their eyes, and Jack sat on the door-steps and took baby in his lap and smoothed bis white head aud kissed bis red cheeks. Baby clung around his neck and seemed t > realize that he was to lose a friend, aud, as one who stood by expressed it: “Then baby cried and Jack cried,and the w'omen put theft aprons up and sob bed like children. Wneu they finally took the child away- jack's heart was big enough to break, and throwing his arms around the little chap for the last time he turned aud ran away and never looked back!” A Mexican Keittauraiit. A Great Ranch In Cailfornln. ‘^e Varloua Thing*. e South California statistics of The coldest thing in the world—The fruits, grain, wool, honey, etc., read kitchen oil-cloth to your bare feet on a more like fancy than like fact, aud are cold winter’s night, not readily believed by one acquainted I The hottest thing—A raisin lying in with the country. The only way to ambush iu a mouthful of hot plum pud- get a real comprehension and intelli- ding. The Mexican uliuuerzo, or breakfast, is served at noon, aud corresponds to the French dejeuner. It is very hearty, and does not differ from our regular dinner As an example of the best class of restaurants, I will cite the Cafe Anglais, which is kept by a most amia ble Frenchman, who, after making a fortune in the same business in Peru, went back to Fiance to enjoy it, but lost it through his sou; returning to Peru, he made another fortune, but was ruined by the Chilian war at the time of the taking of Lima; he has been two years iu Mexiea and is iu a way to make a third fortuue. The restaurant occupies what was the patio, or court, of a hotel, aud has been roof ed over with glass. The place is orna mented with a profusion of blooming plants, for which Mexicans have hail a passion from the days of tne Aztecs. Each side of the long entrance is lined with rows of plants, forming » pleasant approach, and in the centei of the room is a large group, while the air-plants hang in baskets all arouud the sides. With our soup we takeagueeate, a kind of fruit with a black skin aud about the shape of a large tig. It contains a large, nutmeg-shaped seed, and is of a soft and somewhat pasty greenish sub stance. It is called a natural butter, and the poor people spread it ou their bread, but it has no resemblance to butter in flavor aud is not in the least greasy; to me it seems more egg-like and creamy iu taste. It is cut up aud put into soup, forming a very pleasant addition, or is eaten as a vegetable with salt and pepper. Next to soup comes eggs, served as one may prefer. A favorite way is a la plate, or shirred, as Americans would call them, being broken into a heated little dish of silver and brought to the (lish cooking. A Spauish omelette, or tortilla, is also very nice, being served in large, round shape, like a German pancake, and flavored with leeks cut up in it. The meats aud vegtables are mostly common to the French cuisine, and need no description, except to say the salads are excellent, with the best of lettuce, fresh tomatoes, aud other coucomitauts. it is not uncommon for the guests to make their own salad, calling for the separate materials, including cold chicken, and mixing ^ip their own mayonuaise from boiled eggs, oil, aud vinegar iu due proportions. There are three regular meaf courses, and a large number of dishes to select from. The dessert or postres consists of fruit and dulces, the latter consisting either of puddings or custard or of preserved fruits. This meal costs 62 cents of Mexican mouey, which is equiualeut to about 55 cents in American money. It includes also either tea, coffee, or chocolate. The latter is usually lukeu the last thing at the evening meal, or comida, the dinner, which is precisely the same as the bieakfast in geueral character, the menu, however, being changed. The Mexicau chocolote has a peculiar flavor, and seems a quite different beverage from what A mencans are accustomed to. it is flavored with both vanilla aud cinuamou,aud is very rich. It is served in small cups, aud each cup is prepared separately, the contents being beaten to a froth with a little woodeta chocolate beater of pecu liar construction, and twirled around between the two hands. The cost to the regular boarder is f 1 a day for these two meals, and one gets a good deal of excellent fare for the mouey. a real gent acceptance of them is to study them on the graund. By a single visit to a great ranch, one is more enlighten ed than he would be be committing to memory scores of Equalization Board Reports. One ftf the very best, if not the best, for this purpose is Baldwin’s ranch, iu the San Gabriel valley. It in cludes a large part of the old lands of the San Gabriel Mission, and is a prin cipality in itself. “There are over a hundred men on its pay-roll, which averages $4000 a mouth. Another $4000 does not more than meet its running expenses. It has $0,- 000 worth of machinery for its grain harvests alone. It has a dairy of forty cows, Jersey and Durham; one hund red and twenty work-horses aud mules, and fifty thoroughbreds. “It is divided into four distiuct es tates: the Santo Anita, of 16.000 acres; Puente. 18,000; Merced, 20,000; and the Potrero, 25,000. The Puente aud Merced are sheep ranches, aud have 20 000 sheep on them. The Potrero is rented out to small farmers. The Santo Anita is the home estate. Ou it are the homes of the family aud of the laborers. It has fifteen hundred acres of oak grove, four thousaud acres in grain, five hundred iu grass for hay, one hundred and fifty in orange or chards, fifty of almond trees, sixty of walnuts, twenty-five of pears, fifty of peaches, twenty of lemons, and five hundred iu vines; also small orchards of chestnuts, hazel-nuts, and apricots; and thousands of acres of good pastur- age. “From whatever side one approaches Santa Anita iu May, he will drive through a wild garden—astern, yellow and white; searlet peiitstemons, blue larkspur, monk’s-hood, lupines, white and blue; gorgeous golden eschscholtzia, alder, wild lilac, white sage—all in rio tous flowering. “Entering the ranch by one of the north gates, he will look southward dowu geutle slopes of orchards and vineyards far across the valley, the tints growing softer and softer, and blending more aud more with each mile, till all melt into a blue or purple haze. Driv ing from orchard to orchard, down half- mile aveuues through orchards skirting .seemingly endless stretches of vineyard, he begins to realize wliat comes of planting trees and vines by hundreds and tens of hundreds of acres, aud the Equalization Board Statistics no longer appear to him eveu large. It does not seem wonderful that Los Angeles County should be reported as having sixty-two hundred acres in vines, when here on one man’s ranch are five hun dred acres. The last Equalization Board Report said the county had 256,- 135 orange arffl 41,250 lemon trees. It would hardly have surprised him to lie told that there were as many as that iu the Santa Anita groves alone. The effect ou the eye of such huge tracts, planted with a single sort of tree, is to increase enormously the appareut size of the tract; the mind stumbles on the very threshold of the attempt to reckon its distances and numbers, and they be come vaster aud vaster as they grow vague.” A Mlalaadlng S/iuptoiu A notorious quack found his business increasing to such an extent that ho was obliged to take an assistant. He did not, however, attempt to impose upon his junior as he did upon the pub lic, very candidly admitting that his reputation rested on a series of fortu nate guesses aud lucky accidents: “You come with me and pay a few visits. You will very soon get the liaug of the thing.” The first house they called at they found the master in bed. Quack Senior, the moment he set eyes on the plaintiff, said: “There, now; bowmen of your time of life can be imprudent enough to indulge in a surfeit of water melon, I can’t see. How mauy melons did you eat this morniug? The best part of three, I’ll be bound ” The old man, wondering at the acuteness of his medical adviser, admitted that he was right iu every particular. The doctor prescribed some simple remedy, and took his fee and his leave. No soouer were they outside than the embryo quack, burning to acquire such an important professional socret, commenced: “How did you know that the mau had been eating watermelon? You never looked at his tongue, or—” “Tongue be hanged,” said the elder; “I looked in the woodshed as I cams in and saw the rinds of three water melons. You must use your eyes, my boy.” The lesson sank deep into the young man's mind, and lie eudeavored to profit by it on the very first occasion that be made an mdepeudent visit. “No wonder j ou are feeling badly,” said he to bis patient, “when you have been eating borse—tliat’s enough to sickeu a Jerseyman.” “HorseI” said the sufferer faintly, yet wonderingly. ‘ Yes, horse,” said JEsculapius Junior. “Now tell me how much you have eaten.” “Horse,” repeated the |>atieut indig* nautly. “I never did such a thing. I wouldn’t—’’Here he got madder as the idea was more fully borue iu upon him. “Get out of here, you infernal quack,” aud with the assistance of a couple of the patient’s stalwart sons, the pretender to medical science was bounced. “And yet,” wheu he explained his adventure to his mentor,” who had lost a patient by his assistant's injudi cious diagnosis; “aud yet I saw a saddle iu the woodshed as plainly as you saw the watermelon rinds.” Quack Senior is now advertising for another assistant, and Quack Junior is driving an ice wagon. —Texas has 6,139 miles of railroad. —Salt Lake City, Utah, is overrun with vagrants and tramps. The dullest thing—A funny news paper. The longest thing—Your friends funny story. The shortest thing—The memory of the professional borrower. The biggest thing—The fortune you expect to make by speculation. The smallest thiug—The fortune which you do make. The toughest thing—The young wife’s pie crust. • The softest thing—The conversatiou which passes between a duck and a dearie. The highest thing—The mercury in the thermometer about this time. The hardest thing—The bit of bone that you “come right dowu ou” wheu eating chops. The Easiest thing—Lying. The tighest thiug—The marriage tie; that is to say, it used to be, but now it is the loosest. The prettiest thing—Look in the mirror aud you will see it. The brightest tiling -The sun’s light shot into your eyes as it comes reflected from the piece of looking-glass iu the bauds of the mischievous small boy. The silliest thiug—Tuiukiug that wealth produces happiness. (Wouldn’t you like to be knocked silly provided the mouey came?) The freshest thing-You know him; he is everywhere. However, he will get salted in time. The stalest thing—Common sense. The quickest tiling—The flea. The slowest thing—Au amateur drams by amateur performers. The heaviest thieg—A long sermon on a hot Sunday afternoon. The lightest thing—A lover’s vow. The thickest thing—Your tongue wheu coming home from “lodge.” The thiuuest thing—The story you tell your wife next morning. The wettest thing—The foot of the small boy with a new pair of ruUber boots. The dryest thing—You have just been reading it. A BlackluK Mine. It will be strange if Nevada does not yet turn out to be the boss producer. She has already show that her mines are numerous and rich, aud almost every kind of metal has been discovered with in her boundaries. Sulphur mines, mica deposits, salt and borax marshes have also been discovered, but the latest discovery, and the one which will throw all others in the shade, is a black ing mine. In the lower part of Mason valley there is a small lake, known as Mud lake. The reason the lake was given this name is because there is hardly ever auy water iu it, and the bottom is soft aud muddy. When there is any water in the poud, which is in the early spring of the year, it has been noticed that it was very black—about the color of black ink—aud the people have often wondered what was the rea son of this. Last week Albert Thomp son, who has been a resident of the val ley for some years, was passing the pond, and noticed that it was dry, the warm weather having evaporated all the water. He noticed that the ground tlurt had been covered by water was very black, and thought it a good time to examine into the matter and see what colored the water. Taking his shovel he broke the crust that had formed on top, aud found beneath a soft, jet black, doughy substance. He dug a hole a few feet deep, aud was convinced the stuff weut down. Upon leaving he took with him a chunk of the clay to exjieriment with aud mold ing it into small cakes set it in the sun to dry, thinking it would make a sort of black chalk. Wheu dry the cakes very much resemble those small cakes of stove blacking that are sold In the stores. In fact they resembled the blacking so strongly tliat the man wet one of the little bricks, and rubbing it on the stove, applied the brush. The effect was marvelous; and with a slight amount of labor the old stove was made to look like a new piece of furniture. Mr. Thompson lias made a location of the lake, and is making preparations to put up a small dry kiln. The manner of preparing this blacking will be simi lar to that of brick-inakiug. Ferry’s Sinning Bird*. Perry was a rich planter iu the Patuxent valley, with a broad vein of humor. The broad, deep Patuxent af forded excellent cruising ground to the British fleet after it had landed the British troops. One day while the British ships were lying in the river Perry got a well filled hornets’ nest plugged up its openings, put ou his old clothes aud rowed up to the flag-ship. In the uncouth local dialect he offered the gray ball to the youutr officers as a nest full of rare singmg birds of remarkable voice, of unusual intelligence and warm attachments. The officers clubbed to gether and offered him a guinea for his birds. This he gratefully accepted and then handed the nest to the unsuspect ing young men. He suggested to them that it would be well not to open the the nest till he got to shore, inasmuch as the affectionate little things might follow their old friend. This was an excellent suggestion. To make sure the officers took the nest into the cabiu and shut the doors, leaving a marine on deck to catch Perry’s signal. As soon as Perry felt sure of his retreat on the shore he gave the marine the signal. At the word the officers opened ibe nest, and, without any unnecessary delay, the cabin door also. With somewhat undignified haste officers, marines and seamen swarmed to the bulwarks, and then over the side, in comical confusion, closely followed by Perry's affectionate little singing birds. Perry laughed till he cried, as one by one the Britishers sought the cool shelter of the placid Patuxent, *‘Kralllng Elephant,. “Kr&aJing'’ elephants in India, says hunter, is done for the purpose of oh. taining recruits for the public work's department, temple elephants for service in the temples, and now and then for circuses, elephants to be trlned to stand on tbeir heads and take coppers in (not policemen) with tbeir trunks. The way they are caught is in this wise: The head man of the village receives a notice from the government that they require so many elephants. Then the temple pneau and the circus people, If any, want so mady more, and they come in second-hand. The position of the “kraal ” is determined on. and then the whole village, man, woman and child, turn out as bearers. A radius of say ten miles is taken in, and they “spot” the herd and then begin to drive them towards tne “kraal.’’ By day it is all done by shoot ing, but at night large fires are lighted in a circle, and, as a rule, the herd nevi r attempt to break through, but now arid then they do, and then the whole perforn - ance has to start again. It takes ver / little to frighten a “herd” of elepnaoH into going the way you want them—quite different from the solitary rogue. Half a dozen men with white wands will keep a whole herd together like a flock of sheep. Thu “kraal” is about 200 yards in dlam - eter, ami is formed by making a stroug stock alley, with a narrow entranc-, in:o wtnuh the elephants are driven. Ouce there, tame elephants, generally females, are introduced with mahouts, who make friends with the wild ones, and two tame ones will slide up to a wild oae, one on each side, gradually closing up on him until he is j unmed so tight that he cannot move. Then natives creep in underneath and make ropes fast all round his legs, tying the end of one to a strong tree. This is gradually shorten'd until, from sheer fatigue, he hen down, and tlfen good-bye to freedom. He ^ starved there until he either rises “elephant No. 99 of the public wo department,” or as “the great and a Jumbo,” of the “greatest show on ean When a herd is driven in there is gen ally a big bull elephant aloug with it, w * has to be shot before anything can done in capturing the females. He is true gentleman, aud goes rampaging a.i over the “kraai,” trumpeting and trying to protect his “lady friends” from the ani mal man. When the Duke ot Edinburgh visited Ceylon a groat “krall’’ was gotten up for his benefit, which I attended. He was due at a certain date, but be was ,two days bebimj* and wheu he did arrive he entered the temporary village of bu s under as unique a triumphal arch as I expect he had ever gone under. It was composed of all the empty be.r, cham pagne, soda-water, whisky and brandy bottles that had been drank while aw nil tng bis overdue arrival, and, I tell you, the arch wai a prety big one, as th.- climate is very “thrst provocative.* At the stine “kraal” be hail a very narrow squeak for his life. Two good shots, Messrs. Fisher and Variau, were put alongside of him, and a big bull elephant was to be the subject of slaughter. When the bull charged the duke fired and missed, and, strange to say, both Fisher and V a- rian did the same. -The elephant was al most on the duke when the sound ot a rifle shot rung out, and the great beast dropped almost at his feet. No one knew where the shot had come from until atten tion was directed to a small cloud of blue smoke floating from a tree-top, and it was discovered that a “Cingalee” shikaree had shot the elephant when the others hr.d missed with an old flint lock musket, bo the mourning warehouses in England lost a big trade. When the elephant is caught and tame l there is no animal under the sun that er ceeds him in sagacity, and, in many res pects, he is far superior to main Th>: touch of his trunk is as gentle as the toucu of a woman’s hand, and the stamp of h m foot, or a blow from that same gent <> trunk, is as powetful as mat from a steam hammer. The government uses the chiefly in the public works dep&rtmei wnere they are employed in moving lar, blocks of stone, where it would be expsi live, and, in fact, impossible to use stea engines. They have been known to tin up nuge blocks of stone, shove them in position and then sway slowly backwar and if the stone was not perfectly right placed, give It s push either to the rig or to the left, until it was. A public works department mau on told me that he was superintending t: unloading of a lot of steel tubing, at whk elephants were engaged. Tne tubing b been oiled-to prevent rust, and when t! elephant took ihe first piece up in L trunk it slipped, on account of the co He took it up again with the same resu and finally he seemed to understand i and, pushing it with his fool to wher there was some sand, h) rolled It ovei and over until the sand stuck to it and prevented it from slipping, when he toe it up and triumphantly carried it. Buperiluuus Hair. The strongest and most reliable prep ration of this kind is, perhaps, the n> dotted calcium sulphide obtained b supersaturating a thin paste of treahh slaked lime and water with sulpburete hydrogen gas. For this purpose, apnnk over 100 parts of goxl q acklime abou 60 parts of hot water, aud when a'.ak-- triturate with 200 parts of culd wale Now place into a suitable flask and pa into it the hydrogen sulphide genertti from 800 parts ot sulphide of iron an 200 parts of dilute sulphuric acid grade ally introcuced into the generator. Tui preparation must be immediately place In small vials and securely sealed; bn even men it will lose its virtues in few weeks. This preparation was orig ually recommended by B® tger, but i sometimes known as Marliu a depilatory The paste is to be spread over tbe hair akin to the thickness of a sixteenth of a< inch and allowed to remain for ten min utea, when it is removed with, a wi sponge. If allowed to remain too lorn ugly sossr are apt to follow. Anotln depilatory, knovu by the Turkish nan. Rhusma (being employed by the beautt* in the harems, where etiquette demand complete nude ness of tbe body with itn exception of the heail, from which ttu- hair is not removed), is composed of: Quicklime, i 60 part- starch 30 part?. Orpiment 6 parts. Tois is convermd into a paste wlm water, and employed like the former preparation.