The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, July 31, 1878, Image 1
ABBEVILLE PRESS & BANNER;|j|
. " -'.; ? ^yr^1''-*.^. |n
BY HUGH WILSON AND W. C. BENET. ABBEVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, JULY 31, 1878, . * NO. 8. VOLUME
B * -^^Hi
f The Sehoolhonie.
Ycb, John, onr district well may brag 1
On this new schoolhonse. I brag too.
I'm for improvement. I don't lag
Behind when things want patting throngh. ^
But that old, battered, wooden shell
That stood on this spot fifty year,? ?
I'd learned to know its face eo well
That somehow John, it's mighty queer. *
j But when yon pulled tho old house down,?
The time tfys new one was begun,?
T tn rrrt frt lntror fntrrt f
IT couldn't stand to see it done.
For there I studied A, B, C, c
Got licked, and learned, by hook and crook,
To read about the apple-tree 1
In Webester's old blue spelling book. I
And, where that church stands, many a morn
("Twas a field then)?a love sick fool? r
II stood behind a shock of corn 2
To see the Bchoolma'am come to school. j
Her cheeks, as she the cornfield crost, J
Were redder than the scruboak leaves;
Her eyes were brighter than the frost ^
That sparkled on the tasselled sheaves.
And in among the noisy throng
Of barefoot youngsters she would go,? t
And, as I watched her, I allowed v
I It wasn't strange they loved her so.
s
But when, just at the schoolhouse door, t
Each urchin claimed his kiss, ah ! then fc
longed to go barefoot once more,
And read the spelling boon again. '
Sweet Lucy! How came it to pass
I can't explain,?but any way,
I might as well have joined a class,
For I hung round there half the day.
At noon I'd take her nuts, a pear,
Or apples,?my best grafted fruit,? f
To trade for smiles; she traded fair, ^
And gave me manv thanks to boot.
e
And sometimes, after study hours, o
When Lucy led her merry throng f<
Into the woods for late wildflowers J
I And autumn leaves, I'd go along. * J*
She had some dozen bovs, half grown, s
That loved her welL They shamed me
though, b
For I loved too, and I alone e
Had not the pluck to tell her so. \
9
"Yon happy boys!" I thought, "you swap _
Wildflowers for kisses from her lips;
Td harvest the whole flower crop c
To kiss her very finger-tips." b
But winter came, and when the ground
And the big hills with snow were white,
rd hitch my oolt up and go round
To take her home from school at night.
One froety evening, riding slow
Through Johnson'! woods, her rosy cheek a
Lay close to mine and thrilled me bo ?
That I determined I would speak.
"Lucy!" I said, "dear Lucy'."?Here f
TJA. AWAQ mof mine on/1 ma n
IJUOI OJOO UiOb IIUHO ttuu MuetVAVU ???v ^
As awkward as a yearling steer a
I backed and tried again. '-You see?
"I want to ask you"?a "big lump ^
Came in my throat?"Whoa, Bill, yon fool c
That's nothing bnt a hemlock stamp !
If?if you love?the boys in school."
i
TVant what I meant; but, any way, a
8he dropped her eyes, and I could see 8
Bhe guessed what I had tried to say.
| 8he said, "Of oourse. They all love me." ?
? ?
Boldened by this, her hand I prest, 1:
And cried, "Dear iucy, could'nt you 1
Love me a Utile with the rest? t
For I?I love the schoolma'am too." t
Boo, yonder comes my schoolma'am wife; 2]
I Her cheeks are freeh and rosy yet; 8
knd, for our happy married life,
I We bless this spot where we first met t
the Old Bridge of Diarmid. t
|w <
Diarmid is a narrow village walled in
y two lines of wooded bills. East s
treet and West street run for a mile parlleL
Between them is the river and j
le suspension bridge. There was an |
Id tumble-down wooden bridge there j
ace, which was held in high veneration
y the oldest inhabitant. He could just
jmember its dedication.
At the west end of the bridge, up
rerhead among the beams and rafters,
as ThofF Skelton's retreat; his den,
ie boys called it. Here he had laid
dwu a few boards, making a rough sort <]
f floor, tossed up a pile of straw for a
pd, and here he came when thingB were 8
I xl 1? .
I ore mail uuixiLUOiiijr uuwimuiwuic f
ime. l
Diarmid was a tidy village of white c
rases, and green blinds, and trim f
urds; but down at the foot of West
reet, under a sand-bank, there was a s
retched building going" to ruin in the v
idst of a litter of rubbish. It looked
| though all the dust of the clean street ?
id been swept out tht-re and left for r
p winds to blow away. But the winds
Id failed thuB far to do it, and so the 8
[eltons lived there. d
pirn Skelton, fathei of Thoflf, had a peQiarity
which interfered with his rela- t]
Ins as a parent; to wit, the habit of D
inking a great deal too much of every- i
Ing but cold water. The consequence
Is that ThofFs life had begun to be a p
pden to him as soon as he could re- t'
Imber, and, in fact, some time before. n
r There!" he said to himself one night, s
I was quite out or oreatn, lor ne nad
half a mile, clambered like a monkey <]
the beams, and was now safe on the fc
tw of his den in the bridge. "The ^
chap won't get hold of me in a hurry c
r, I gness." t
1 The old chap," I grieve to say, was i
rfTs father. It was a bad manner of ,
ignating him, bnt another result of f
peculiarity aforesaid. A boy who _
no offense whatever has been pur- \
d by his parent, armed with a pitoh?,
and who has just found his kitten's j
d two rods away from her other be- a
Rings, the kitten also having been t
[tleeBg such a boy will not mention t
[ other of his being as respectfully 1
[, wh4 tell this tale, could wish. ^
[Well, I say I think this is rather a
B lines on a feller," Thoff went on. c
[i kaixit had any supper, an' breakI
H !)? nowhere, an'?I wish I was s
10' this, I do. Oh, if I only had | c
! money!" r
had grown quite dark; an April r
I* the air mild, and a soft patter of a
on J the bridge-roof. ThofF sat t
Qg down at a lamp whiA'burned t
f just below him,?ar'depressed- a
jxg lamp, whioh sputtered crossly, t
ough saying, "I'm supported by
-Tn, and I know it." Thoff under- 1
it was to haw "sad from c
ning train from Boston came \
n the valley, passed the end
wdruabed on into the e
' iilojAV Thoff sat quiet t
'<* ites getting drowsy 1
Vifcatens annrno^Vn'rcr c
There was a quick
juat below him, 3
TOSs,- 1
'^aadxed ?
up II
Jib !
rillage he'd lost the wallet, and now he
wants you 'n' me to start off with him tonorrow
morning 'n' see if we can find it."
"Find it!" cried the man.
"kJn?h! not so loud," whispered the
irst speaker, looking cautiously round.
'Don't you see we've got to keep still
ibout it? If some folks should get hold
>f the story they m't come in ahead, find
;he wallet," and then it never'd be heard
)f again."
"What'll he pay for finding it?"
"Four dollars a day," was the slow
inswer.
"That aint enough. If he wants the
I'lectmen o' Diarmid, he's got to pay ac'
TMl crr% fnr git 11
"All right; he won't stand for twodolars,
I guess. Eight o'clock to-morrow
norning. I'll stop for you. Keep dark."
The men parted, and Thoff sat in the
limness of his den thinking. He was
lot sleepy now. Five hundred dollars
ost amoDg the rocks of Spruce Hill! He
;new every foot of giound up there. It
ras not in vain that he had lived away
rom home and eaten strawberries for a
reek at a time. If any person in Diaraid
could find the wallet, Thoff knew
limself to be that person.
The old town clock was striking five
he next morning as the boy climbed the
pall and started up Spruce Hill.
"Now I'm three hours ahead of the
quire 'n' his men," said Thoff. "But
hey'll know where to look, and I've got
o guess at it."
At eight o'clock two wagons went up
'the gulf-road," and a boy stole down
ver the hill to the school house.
" Better luck next time," said Thoff.
^One Hundred Dollars Reward !"
This was a week later, and a lad stood
eading an advertisement which was
>asted up at the entrance of the bridge.
?he above reward was offered for the
Lnding and return to its owner of apockt
book, lost on Spruce Hill the 30th
f April, by Luke Granger. Thoff stood
or some time staring at the large capials;
then he turned away, remarking to
limself:
" So they haint found that money, it
eems. Well, nor haint L"
Three days afterwards, when the
earch had been given up by everybody
lse, Thoff started out again. Arbutus
pas in bloom now, and wake robin, and
rood vinW.fi nnrl hnv trftmnled down
,xeat levels of them in his search.
His palm leaf hat, with a strip of blue
ambric tied around it for a band,
ecame a familiar sight to every squirel
on the hill tbat day, for he stayd
till sunset. Then, as it drew toward
lusk, and the valley below lay in shadow,
nd only the hilltops saw the sun, he
tarted for home.
It was quite dark in the thick woods
t the base of the mountain, and there,
mining along a narrow path, his foot
lit something which bounded off, and
?hich was not a stone. He stooped,
ambled with groping fingers in the
ground pine and last year's leaves, and
t length fonnd?the pocket bock.
Ten minutes more and Thoff Skelton
oighfc have been seen, had there been
aore light and any one to see him,
rouching in the darkness of his den,
?Mz?ing the wallet to his breast, and, to
Is "&>,n amazement and mortification,
ctually drying as he clutched his trea
are. - i
"Five hundred dollars!" he said,
oftly, to himself. It was all there. He j
lad counted the bills by the one bar of
amplight which struggled up from beow.
"Now then for 'life, liberty and
he pursuit of happiness,' as the reading
iook says."
Then* he proceeded to arrange with
timseli how " the pursuit of happiness "
hould begin.
"I'll 6tart off on the six o'clock train
o-morrow morning. I'll go to Boston,
a' I'll have a stunnin' dinner, 'n' I'll buy
ae some clothes. Hold on a minute,
hough." Caution put in a word here.
' How about baying a ticket and changog
a ten dollar bill and so on ?"
Thoff thought some time about this,
;nd at last decided it wouldn't do for
iim to be seen with money in DiarmiJ.
le might walk to Springfield and take
he cars, but Springfield was only ten
ailes away. The lost wallet had been
alked about there, and he might get
n'moolf infn trnnHlo Wpll fVlATI rcViaf
hould he do? "Wait a little," said
)aution; "you've got your money,
that's your hurry? Wait till people
orget about it."
"All right; I'll wait then," said
Dhoff.
The night was getting on. The clock
truck twelve. Up to this time he had
>een wildly happy. No more cold, nor
lunger, nor hard knocks. Plenty of
lothes, and food, "and kittens, and cornort.
This was what the money meant to
?hoff, you know. Presently he felt him
elf grow quiet. Then something waked
ip inside, and said,?
" Better take the pocket-book back to ]
he squire, and claim the hundred-dollar
eward."
" Hush up !" answered the boy. " I j
h'd be a jolly fool to take one hundred |
ollars when I've got five."
"1 know you've got it," the uome- j
bing?we will call it Conscience ? |
aore awake ; but is it your money ? j
sn't it the squire's money ?"
"No, 'tamt the squire's money," reilied
Thoff, stoutly. " He lost it, and
ben 'twasn't his'n. I've found it, 'n'
ow it's mine, 'n' I'm going to keep it.
lo that's the end of it."
It was'nt; it was the beginning of it.
?ho war had jnst broken out. The same
tattle between Thoff and Irs conscience
iad to be fought over again for every
ent of that five hundred dollars. The
?oy considered that he beat conscience
a every engagement, but somehow she
wouldn't stay beaten. She came up
resh and cheery every time, till finally
-but there are two or three things to 1
>e told first.
Thoff's great trouble was where to j
rat the wallet. He dared not to carry it
ibout with him. If he hid it up over
he bridge some one might fiDd it, for
he school-boys all knew the secret of
lis retreat. Finally he decided on
trapping it in a piece of brown paper,
nd sliding it under a stone at the base
J nnfl nf thfi riiprs of the bridce.
This be did, and then went off to
cliool and spent the time in an agony
>f fear lest something shonld happen to
ob him of his wealth. What if a sauirel
shonld happen to carry it oft, or
. musk-rat out of the river ? What if
he great dam at Millington shonld
>reak, and the flood come down and take
iway bridge, and piers, and hidden
reasure ?
Thoff thought of it until he was sure
le heard the roar of the water sweeping
lown. What he really heard was the
eacher's stern "Skelton, take your
)lace in the spelling-class !"
All throngh the spelling a voice intide
was saying, over and over: "You're
i thief I you're a thief!" "You hush up I
[ ain't a thief, I tell you," he said, in
tnswer.
You see a boy may have money and
ret be a miserable boy. Thoff found
his out that day, and he found out
mother thing.
He had lost his haf-band.
Now the loss of an old strip of blue
jambric is no great affair, especially to
i young man of means, but this set
rhoff to thinking. He wondered if he
aad lost it on Spruce Hill.
"Look here, you Tom?Ted?what's
rout name?Skelton ?"
The squire had driven up and stopped
bpane near Thoff on the bridge one
The boy glanoed up av.d met
a pair of keen gray eyes fixed on him,
glanced down and longed for a hole in
the bridge floor, that he might drop into
it. Hole there was none. The eyes
were still on him, and he stammered:
"My name is The?Theophilus."
"Well, Theophilns, then, I want you
to come along with me, up on Spruce
Hill." Day grew black for an instant to
Thoff. Then he heard: "I want a boy
to help me get up some sheep. Got to
have 'em down here for the noon freight
train. Pay you twenty-five cents. Up
with you !" And the boy took his seat
beside the man, though he would have
preferred to sit anywhere else.
??Pr>lrl 9" errntplpjl t.hft finilirft; for Thoff
was shaking all over.
" Yes, sir,?that is?not mucli." He
wasn't a coward naturally, but he was
more afraid of the squire that day than
he would have been of a band of Sioux
with all their war-paint on.
The squire was a silent man, some,
people said a surly man, so there was no
talking for a while. Up the hill they
[ drove, and out on a high level where
| the wind was blowing.
" There goes my hat 1" cried Thoff.
i He was out over the wheel and back into
the wagon again in a twinkling.
" Say for't you're not a bad jumper,"
the squire said. "Better have a band
to that hat,Jiadn't you ?"
"I did have one, sir, but I"?he
stopped, remembering.
" Lost it, most likely. Stop, I believe
I've got a hat-band some'ers."
The squire put his hand in his pocket,
n i 3 *
ana proauceu irom ii> u tsurip ui iuiucu
blue cambric.
"There, I found that up on Spruce
Hill." The gray eyes seamed to Thoff
to go through him and come out on the
other side. His fingers trembled as he
tied on his own hat-band. "Some fellow
lost it up there, I s'pose. Ever go
up on the hill much ?"
" Sometimes,?blackberries."
"Bad place to lose things up there.
Don't find 'em again so easy." And the
man added, "Somebody else does, maybe."
"He knows I've got that money,"
thought Thoff; " watched me or something."
"Tell him all about it," said Conscience.
"Dursn't; he'd kill me if I
should."
"No, he'd forgive you if you gave him
back the money. Come; now's your
fima ''
'' Good mind I will" And Thoff drew
a big breath to start with.
" Here we are !" cried the squire.
" Out with you, 'n' see how quick you'll
get those southdowns together. Lively,
now!"
No chance for confession then, but
with that drive went the last of Thoff's
peace of mind.
He knows something, I haint a doubt
of it," he said to himself, wretchedly.
"I dare say he does," answered Suspicion
; and Conscience chimed in,
' Perhaps you're right"
The boy did'nt dare now take the
purse and run away. The sheriff would
be on his track in twenty-four hours, he
thought. " I know the squire's just
holding off eo't he can catch me and
pounoe down on me. I'd carry't up to
his house 'n' fling it into his window
some night, only he know 'twas me't ;
did it, 'n' he'd have me took up all the
same. Mercy! who's that ?"
He had got back to the bridge, and
iust readv to climb up to his den, when
he hearda footstep on the looBe boards
above him. He raised his eyes, had a
glimpse of a policeman's blue coat and
yellow buttons, and then he ran,?ran
as he never ran before, nor stopped till
he reached the freight-depot and a platform
under which he could crawl. In
the policeman searching his retreat he
had recognized a Springfield detective.
The wallet was not ia the bridge, but
among the Btones of the pier.
Twenty-four hours later, Thoff crouching
and cramped under the platform
from which he had not dared to stir,
heard voices near him.
"Wonder if Pixley fonnd what he
was after yesterday ?"
"Pixley the squire's voice.
"Didn't know he'd been over."
"Yes. Stolen goods; surmised they'd
been smuggled over here't Diarmid.
Don't believe he found 'em;though."
A pause, a waft of tobacco-smoke, and
fh?r> fhA wnrds "T)n von know, snnire.
I believe your wallet's hid away round |
here somewhere."
"So do I," answered Squire Granger;
"but the thing is to lay hands onit.V
And then the voices passed beyond hearing,
and a ragged, faint, wretched boy
crawled out, and skulked off through
the soft dark of the summer night.
I hope no one of you will ever know
how miserable Thoff was dnring those
July days. He looked back on the time
when he had a quiet conscience, and
was only cold and starved, and abused
as a time of perfect bliss. Tbings got
worse and worse. He seemed to meet
Squire Granger on every corner, and
fancied a sheriff behind every tree. At
last there came this end:
Sunset of a very hot day, a thUnderBhower
fast coming on, mutterings in
the black clonds, and Tboff seated in
the bridge staring out through a crack
at the lightning. Suddenly ho saw up
the valley great branches of trees broken
off and flying through the air; then the
roof of a house close by was lifted, and
then, quicker than I can tell it, the
timbers began to rock and sink under
him, there was a great flash of light, he
saw a figure reel on the opposite end of
#ie bridge, and knew it was his drunken
father, and then?he knew no more.
The storm passed, the moon came
out, and a crowd of people stood on the
river bank.
" Well, the old bridge is gone," they
Baid. "Good there was no one on it.
What's that you say? Jim?Skelton?
seen going on the bridge as it went
down ?"
Yea Just as Thoff, who had been
stunned and afterwards had lain only
half-conscious for an hour, crept from
the ruin, he saw some men bringing a
body up the river in a boat. His
father was dead. The whirlwind had
carried the three eastward spans of the
bridge forty rods down the stream. The
span on which Thoff was had merely
sunk in its place.
Early next morning the boy climbed
over the bank, took something out from
among the stones and walked away. In
that one awful instant when death had
stared him in the face. Thoff had seen
what lie must do. Ho was now going to
do it.
" I want to speak with you a minute,
j sir."
" Speak on." The squire was at work
in this garden. " Oh, is it you, Thoff ?
Your father?yes, I'vo heard."
" No, sir; I?-wanted to toll you Bome|
thing. That money of yours "?Thoff
j choked a little. He had set his face to
j do it, but it was hard. He would be in
j jail by neon, probably, though perhaps
| the squire might let him off till after
: the funeral. " I found it. There it is."
The squire silently took the wallet and
opened it.
"I found it up on the hill, and I've
kept it Bix weeks, 'n' that's the truth if
I die for't,' blurted out Thoff. "'N'
now I've done it, 'n' father's dead, 'n'
our house is unroofed, 'n' the ole den's
blown down, 'n' I dunno's I care what
you do witn me.
The squire tamed and looked at the
little ragged figure before him, looked
for quite a minute, remembered; perhaps,
something that had happened to
ihiowe# once. At all events, a ( new
meaning came into the stern face, and
he asked:
" Had any breakfast ?"
"No, sir." j
Thoff -was taken into the kitchen, given (
a bowl of bread and milk, and then sent j
away. " Come back after the funeral," j
the squire said. After the funeral Thoff ,
went back, and was told: j
" Now, my boy, I'm going to give you j
a chance here on my farm. I expect (
you'll do your best, and if you do, you'll j
never be sorry you came." j
And Thoff never has been sorry. That ,
was twenty years ago, and he is manager \
of the squire'? place now. I heard some <
one remark the other day as he passed: f
"There goes a fellow with a good con- \
science." You and I know how the boy ]
"had it out" with his conscience once, j
and gave up beaten. 2
The squire has never mentioned the \
matter of the lost money.?From Youth's y
Companion. ]
Fashion Notes. j
Fans are larger this season than last. ]
Grenadines are variously united with ]
silk or satin. i
Russian lace is a favorite trimming for *
summer dresses. |
The profuse uee of gold and silver ?
braids is subsiding. .
New nmbrellas have a scent-bottle 1
hidden in the handle. '
Mastic gray?pretty color?with green (
is a favorite combination. 1
Hosiery of the color of the dress, with *
fine white stripes, is worn.
The long lace mitts in delioate shades
are worn for opera and theater.
The newest regular bonnets are very
small and distinguished looking.
Linen lawns with sipall, colored
figures are cheap and very pretty.
A new ornament for the English walking
hat is a whip of cut steel and gilt.
Lisle-thread gloves with colored monograms
on the baok are now fashionable.
Navy blue and white ginghams are
trimmed with Smyrna lace and embroid- ?
ery.
Lace jabots begin at the neck of the
dress and extend all the way down to
the bottom of the skirt. i
For the semi-negligence of a country j
toilet hats which are a cross between a j
round hat and a bonnet are worn. 1
Knife pleatingB are largely used on t
evening dresses; also plaitings which ex- .
tend from the waist downward. '
Long sleeves are made tighter than t
before, and without trimming, the wide i
lines and lace cuffs taking its place. t
A very pretty ornament is composed I
of pale pink and white daisies and a t
golden arrow fixed to a long hair-pin. 1
A novelty in satin-barred ribbou, 1
barred across with velvet of a contrast- ?
ing color; it is narrow and UBed for j
bows.
The news from the Parisian beau J
monde dwells "afc considerable length
upon the fashion of bonnets and hats *
designed for the summer season. For
example, we learn that the gray shade of
wax bead is .preferred. Gilt and silver
ornaments are marked by their superior
finish and showy effects. Entire monfcures
of half-blossomed flowers are ac- t
cepted as head ornaments for. young j
ladies. The refined ideas in millinery jare
observed in chapeaux presenting
only white effects. Beads of small,
medium, and large sizes are all placed
on one bonnet or hat. It appears that
wide brims are in vogue for jpral wear,
and hats are deemed apropos for carriage
wear. ,
A Boy in the Case,
Catharine Medici Oonvers lives next
honBeto Antony Ccesar Davball. She j
is a widow and he is a wiifcwer. She \
has a cat and he has a dog. Catharine,
Antony, dog and cat got along all right j
till one of the bad boys saw a chance to
make other hearts ache. He got the
animals to clawing each other, and in ^
a week Catharine Medici wanted to pull e
-11 A rimaQv'a ooo/l ^
Uii iuo unu xjlujlu auwuj vrooai o
head. Bad became worse, and the cli- c.
max came the other day when the boy ?
visited the old man and said: 1
' 'I don't want to widen this 'ere breach c
bnt that old woman Bays you are a mur- j
derer, hiding from justice." 1
Then he skulked into her house and 1
Baid: . c
"Seeing it's you, and seeing I shovel *
off your snow in winter, I'll just remark 3
that the old rascal over there says you I
killed your husband and buried him *
under the floor." :
They met on the walk?Catharine f
Medici and Antony C?sar. They 1
cliuched. They fought He pulled her J
nose, and she almost broke his leg with :
a kick. He got away, but she was ar- 1
rested*
"Oli! I wish I'd a killed him I" she
hissed, as she stood before the bar.
"Madam, be calm?be composed and
BereDe," remarked the court.
"Serene! Why, I'm dying to pull J
his hair I" she exclaimed.
"Madam, this excitement may result
in insanity. Please compose your mental
system."
"I'll compose nothing, sir! I'm a
lone woman,' and I've been slandered by
a man who can't even chop wood.
Heavens! but why didn't I kick him
with both feet at once !"
"Madam !""I
won't I"
"Mad "
"I won't, I tell you I"
He leaned back and contemplated a
bust of Andrew Jackson which Bijah
had made out ofj a banana and peach
stone, and when she had stopped to
catch her breath, he said:
"The fine is three dollars all the
same."
"I'll pay it, but Antony Osesar must
beware?beware 1"
She paid, and as she left the room
she added:
"When I find him?when I get my
clutches on him?when I make Bhingle
nails of his lathy frame ?oh-h-h-h !?
Detroit Free Press.
??Pm a Dance, Sir."
"What's your name?" a teacher out
in the country asked a new pupil.
" I'm a dunce, sir," replied the boy.
The teacher's eyes dilated a little, and
thinking he hadn't understood, said :
"What did you say ?"
" I'm a dunce, sir," repeated the boy,
who was rather a bright-looking lad.
" You're a dunce, are you ?" said the
teacher, smiling.
"No, sir," said the boy. <
" Why didn't you say so ?" i
"!Xo, sir." j
"Yesyou did." 1
"No, sir."
The teacher was about to appeal to 1
the school to sustain him when a 1
thought struck him, and turning to the 1
boy he asked: i
' 'What is your name ?" 1
"Isaac, sir." j
"And your next ?" j
"May, sir." <
The teacher was quivering with ex- 1
citement now, and he was fairly trem- i
bling with eagerness as he asked:
"And the last ?" i
"Dunn, sir."
"Now say it again, the whole of it," j
shouted the pedagogue."
"BoyB," yelled the tether, "a|way}^
Candle Omens and Superstitions.
The customs and superstitions con- ,
aected with candles are extremely numerous.
A letter in the London Times
3f 25th March, 1873, relates to sales "by
inch of candle"When the bidding
is opened, a small candle?similar to a
pesta?is lighted; at each bid a new one j
is lighted, and if no new bid is given be- i
[ore it goes out, a second, and on that
?oing out without a bid, a third candle
is lighted. The last bidder at the time |
the third candle goes out is deolared the 3
purchaser." In Pepys's Diary, under j
the date 6th November, 1660. we read : i
"To our office where we met all for the i
sale of two ships by an inch of candle? <
;he first time tnat I ever saw any of this 1
kind?where I observed how they do ]
Invite one another, and at least how they \
ill do cry, and we have much to do to '
bell who did cry last." The word "cry" \
ased here is evidently the same as our ]
modern word "bid." The custom, like <
? T .
mury auutuer, utba uui wuunjr uiuu vuu j
n England, as the following from a 1
Bristol paper of the 29th March, 1873, 1
proves : "The practice of letting by
nch of candle still prevails in the conn- <
;v of Dorset. At tne annual letting of I
;he parish meadow of Broadway, near |
Weymouth, which occurred a few weeks 3
igo, an inch of candle was placed on a j
jiece of wood nine inches square, and j
ighted by one of the parish officers, j
rhe biddings were taken down by one ]
)f the parish officers, and the chance of 1
aking the meadow was open to all while 1
;he candle was burning. The last bid- 1
ler before the candle went out was the *
ncoming tenant. This year the candl6 f
vas extinguished suddenly."
Candle omens are numerous and vari- i
>us. Some are almost too well known to 1
aeed mention, while a knowledge of .
)thers i& not bo general. "A collection
>f tallow," gays Grose, "rising np
igainst the wick of a candle, ia styled
he winding-sheet, and deemed an omen
>f death in the family." The same
writer tells ub that a Spark at the candle
lenotes that the person opposite to it
vill shortly receive a letter. To find to
vhom the letter is to come, according to
mother popular superstition, the candleitick
should be struck on the table, and
vhoever the spark fall opposite will
receive the letter. If it falls after one
snock, it comes the next day; after two,
he second day, and so on. A kind of
ungus in the candle predicts the visit
)i a stranger irom mat pan or me cuuu:ry
nearest the object. Upon this that
>edantio writer Sir Thomas Browne
)bserves: "The fnngons parcels about
;he wicks of candles only indicate a
noistand pluvious air, which hinders
he avolation of the light and favillous
^articles, whereupon they settle upon
he snast That candles and lights burn
)lue and dim at the apparition of spirits
nay be true, if the ambient air bfe full of
lulphureous spirits, aa it happens often
n mines." Candles when they bum
>lue are a sign of a spirit in the house
>r not far* from it, says Melton in his
'Astrologaster." And Hero says to
ler lover in "Ovid Travestie
"For last night late, to tell you true,
My candel as I sate burnt blew,
Which put poor me in horrid fright,
And expectation of black spright,
With sawcer eyes, and horns, and tail."
Aud the following beautiful lines,
romthe "Knight of the Burning Pes
it?) OJLIUW llUO Dl^UIUUOUUO VI UXUIOU
mrning candles :
"Como, yon whose'loves are dead,
And whiles I sing,
Weep and wring
Every hand, and ovory head
Bind with cypress and sad yew:
Ribands black and candles blue
For him that was of men most trne.'1
i candle burning blue seems, however,
0 be, besides, a sign of frost:
"Constable. My watch is set, charge given
and all in peace,
Jut by the burning of the candle blew,
7hich I by chance espied through the lanthorne,
ind by the dropping of the Beadle's nose,
smell a frost"
Candles are said to bo difficult to light
?hen there is an approach of wet weatliir,
and the same reason will oause their
picks to swell and emit small excreslences.
A person who burns three canlies
accidentally, and not by intention,
s supposed to secure for himself the
>ffice of sheriff before the expiration of
he year. The amiable Vicar of Wakeleld,
referring to hib daughters' wakng
dreams, says, "The girls have their
imens too; thoy saw rings in the candle."
1 writer in the Gentleman's Magazine,
.795, states that the Irish, when they a
int. nnt, ft winrila. hjiv. "Mav the Lord ^
enew or send us the light of heaven.". I
leorge Herbert also refers to the saying i
nhis "Country Parson." The Yenet- 1
ans have a bit of folk-lore, which t
eads : "On the wedding night leave i
he candle burning, as the one who puts 1
t out will die first." t
B
Hoyf to Manage a Watch. \
Always wind up a watch at the same 3
ime every day, and be very careful that "*
io dirt is contained in the barrel of the c
ley, and that it is in good order. A s
vatch should be continually in the same f
>osition, and when carried in the pocket c
>y day should always be hung up at
light. When you regulate a watch, as t
rou move the regulator towards the r
jarts marked "fast" or "slow," take care c
hat you do not move it too much at a c
ime; it is better to move it a little every t
lay, until the watch does right, than to t
nove it too much at once. Also be
sareful that no dirt is contained in yonr J
vatch-pocket, otherwise it may gain ad- I
nission into the inside of the watoh and
mpair its action. It is advisable, when
rearing a watch, to keep it in a soft
vash-leather bag, made for that pnrpose, t
jy which means the watch is prevented f
rom being scratched or injured by 1
riotion against the rongh lining of the I
Docket. When the key-holes for wind- a
ng and setting a watch are situated at 6
;he back of case, never open the front, 3
lince by so doing you may not only ad- ?
nit dirt and moisture, but also may <
lislodge the glass, and perhaps break it (
[f your watch is a chronometer, or has a t
luplex movement, when setting it to the i
;orrect time, always remember to move 1
;he hands forwards, and never back- 1
vards. Although this is not of so much *
mDortance in watches of other construc- <
;ion, yet it is advisable to do it in all
jases. Lastly, care should be taken to
leep a watch as nearly as possible at the
same temperature, otherwise it will
lever keep correct time.
Dangerous Paper Hangings.
The Boston Traveler says: Poisonjus
wall paper is becoming so common,
ind it is eo difficult to distinguish it
from the harmless article, that it seems
to be the part of prudence not to paper
walls. Dealers are not to blame for
this state of things, but the manufacturers
are, and they have .no more right
bo spread arsenic or, the walls of dwellings
thau - mrtlmwn have to place it in
the milk they sell-^the milkmen would
never think of doing anything of the
kind. Arsenic well known to be a
stimulative poison, and men can no more
krnolka 4t untVi Rftffit.v than thflv can
swallow with safety, and it is inhaled i
by evoyxme who makes use of roomB <
papered with arsenio-laden paper. (
Health is first destroyed, and then life <
is lost, by inhaling the air of rooms <
that poisoned in the papering. <
Women'and children, as being the more j
domestic, are the greater sufferers,nurs- i
i" i I1M??a?n nA/ml.
"is "rr"'"
^^ fapen to th# wostkinga of the reeking
beautiful walls, i
JUGGLERY EXTRAORDINARY.
What a White-Robed Hindoo Conjurer
Did In Broad Daylight?A Mango Tree,
Five Feet High, Growing from the Nnt
In a (Single Hour.
I was smoking my chibouk on the wide
veranda of a bungalow, or government
inn, one day in Northern India, writes
i correspondent of the Cleveland (Ohio)
Herald. It was in January, but the
weather was intensely hot, and my Dakgahrra,
with its rough, untrained horses,
bad stopped here for a midday rest. My
Hindostanee servant, with an unpronounceable
name, whom I had nicknamed
"Handy Andy" on account of
certain unhandy ways, and a merry
twinkle of the eye that indicated no
lack of Hibernian humor, came up to
the porch and, with a salaam, said:
" Would sahib like to see conjurer make
tricks?" "Yes, bring him on." I suspected
the fellow was consulting his
Dwn fondness for amusement more than
mine, but it was too hot to sleep, and I
was ready for anything that would kill
time.
A tall, fine-looking Hindoo, with a
jlear-cut, intelligent face, and eyes
tfiat looked straight at you, next appeared
on the scene. He was dressed
ji the ordinaiy long white robe of his
race, with a rich cashmere shawl wound
round his waist, and his salutation and
manners were respectful, without the
[east shade of servility. He was fol-owed
by two attendants, carrying the
various implements of his profession,
ffhich they spread out before him, and
i dozen or twoVhangers-on of all ages
grouped themselves at a respectful dis;ance
to enjoy the free show. The ground
n front of the bungalow was paved with
arge, flat Btones, and upon one of these
;he conjurer seated himself, curiing his
egs under him in Oriental fashion, and
tsked in Hindostanee, "What special
irick would the Sahil like to see ?" At
;he same time he bared his arms, long,
yell formed, but not muscular, and un;ied
his shawl to open his robe and
ihow me that there was no concealed
nechanism about his person. I told
11m through Handy Andy that I would
ike him to perform the mango trick?
ffhich I had seen once before at Delhi
without being able to penetrate its mysieries.
He nodded assent, and, taking
t box about ten inches square, filled it
vith earth, and in it planted a mango
mt about the size of an English walmt,
having first handed it to me for elimination.
He then made a framework,
rt# afinlra oir a>? oinrlit
'J. UJLl?/VSUf V* umbo UViVUU| UM v*
eet long and tied together at the top,
jlaced it ocer the box, and covered the
vhole with a piece of white muslin.
Che only thing thus far that looked like
sharlatanism was a muttered incantaion,
rolling up his eyes, with outitretched
palms, as if appealing for aid
o some higher power.
Again seating himself not more than
-en feet in front of the veranda, he went
hrough the most astonishing performances
of sleight-of-hand tricks, such as
twallowing swords, tossing balls in the
tir, drawing from his mouth colored
ibbons of interminable length, &c.,
tome of which I had seen before, but
lever in broad daylight. He borrowed
ny watch, and after smashing it to
linders it was mysteriously returned
inharmed to my pocket. He burned
ny handkerchief, then poured from a
rial some elixir upon the ashes, and the
inen was restored to me without any
imell of fire upon it. These and many
Annnllft rtn ft V* A
ci|uauj isiUAi/uo vuiugo uu urn *va
iearly an hour, with the most intense
gravity of manner, and an air of candor
hat wonld disarm suspicion. My eyes
vere wide open, and I watched him so
ntently as scarcely to wink, and yet I
vas nnable to detect a single flaw or
icconnt for one of those transformations.
Some of the tricks he repeated at my
equest, but the result was the same.
It the critical moment his motions were
juick as lightning. In all cases where
Ire was used I noticed that he either
>oured some liquid or threw a whitish
)owder upon the flames, which proluced
for an instant a dense Bmoke, and
eft a pungent aromatic odftr in the air.
In tne meantime the mango tree was
growing. Four times, at intervals of
en or fifteen minutes, he raised the
nuslin cover to report progress. The
irst time a sprout, three or four inches
ong, appeared, at which he expressed
atisfaction. and carefully watered it
rom a small sprinkling pot. The next
ime it was ? foot high, and the leaves
leemecl just forming. The third time it
ras fully two feet in height, and ap>eared
to be growing most vigorously.
Lt the close of his other performances
te tossed aside the enveloping oloth and
ripod of sticks, and lo ! there was a
nango tree, or bush, about five feet
ligh, with perfeotly-formed leaves and
ranches. He brought it to me, and I
atisfied myself beyond question that it
eas a real, live tree by breaking off a
jranch, which I kept for a souvenir.
3e then pulled it up by the roots, to
ehich was attached the nut, partially delayed
and covered with fine fibrous
prouts. He then emptied the earth
rom the box to show that nothing was
loncealed within it.
Through Handy Andy I offered him
nranfv rnnflpn if Via wrvnlrl dinnlnflA fcn
ne the secret of the mango tree. 1 then
[onbled and trebled the offer, but he
inly shook his head, and I presume a
housand rupees would have been no
emptation. I rewarded him with a genirous
"tip," and lor the moment regretted
that I was not a showman by
jrofession.
Lost Her Head.
A Boston ietter says: Everyone knows
hat among all "the rest of our schools
or women, there ar-e ample means
iow for a woman who seeks to become a
jhysioian to make herself familiar with
ill the principles of practice and all the
lecrets of medioine and surgery. A
roung student who has pursued her
itudies up to a certain point in another
sity came to Boston last winter and proseeded
to visit a certain dissecting room
o which she had been invited. Mountng
the stairs, she at last comes to the
t 1.1. ~ i.
auumg, lrum wuwu opoutj mo upuiinent
where the wonders of the human
rame are, materially at least, all foand
rat. Waiting to catch her breath, periaps
to catch her courage, she overlears
the following from the physician
n attendance upon the class: "There
ire not enough heads to go round.
Some of you must choose something
jlse." The listener turned pale and
eaned against the wall. She thought
ihe wouldn't pay her visit that day.
3he thought she would go home and
perhaps study a little further and approach
the dissecting room a little more
gradually. As she turned to carry tbis
resolution into effect, she met the jn.nl?r
of the building, who was evidently,
'amiliar with visitors and students in
;his stage and state of mind, for he Baid,
jncouragingly, "If you'll wait a minute,
niss, you'll be all right. They all of
em feels this way at the first start."
But " miss " didn't wait that day.
An old bachelor was rather taken a-back
i day or two ago, as follows: Picking up
i book, he exclaimed, upon eeeing a
tvood-cut representing a man kneeling at
ihe feet of a woman. " Before I would
iver kneel to the feet of a woman I
" -1 1 if. J
Touia encircie my necK. witn a rope unu
itretoh it." And then tnrning to a
foung womap he inquired: " Do yon
iot think it tronld be the beet tiling I
wold do?" 1"It would, undoubtedly,
ae the best Okingfar the wcm?c,!' \na
History of the Plow.
The history of the plow is remarkable;
the most ancient and simple of machines,
yet it has been almost the last
to undergo improvement. The first
plow is supposed to have been the rude
branch of a tree, cut so as to have a
cleft end, the point of whioh, dragged
along the surface of the ground, scraped
a furrow into which seed were thrown.
It soon occurred to the husbandman
that he might relieve his own labor by
yoking an animal to the long arm oi
this primitive instrument; then arose the
necessity for a handle, affixed to the
baok, so that the plow might be guided.
The strength of the animal eoon wore
away or broke the cleft of the branch,
and this necessity gave rise to the invention
of means for attaching movable
shares, first of wood, and next of stone,
r,fir or iron wnrlrpd a otimn
"rr? ? j "w M?rw
adapted to the cutting of fnrrows, so as
to avoid the excessive labor arising
from the plowman's having to lean upon
the plow with all his weight to press it
into the earth. Just such an implement
as these, conjectures indicate, was by
the Saxons. Some of the facts connected
with the history of the plow are
almost incredible. In Ireland there
once prevailed a custom of " plowing by
horse's tail." The draught-pole was
lashed to the tail of the horse, and, as
no harness was employed, two men were
necessary, one to guide and press upon
fVio nlntp t.lm n flier In rlirank fViA nnroA
which he did by walking backwards before
the miserable animal, and beating
it on the head on either side, according
to the direction reqnired. This custom
prevailed for a considerable time, in
spite of a law which was passed in the
early part of the seventeenth century
imposing severe penalties npon persons
found guilty of " plowing by the horse's
tail." A paper in the " Transactions of
the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland "
speaks of "the awkward custom of yoking
horses by the tail, and the driver
of harrowjL walking backward, with his
face directly turned to the horse which
he led." The Rev. 0. Otway, says: "In
ancient times, all through the West of
Ireland, it was the practice to work both
the plow and the harrow with horses
drawing from their tails. I am assured
that ifc is still (1840) a part of the Erris
husbandry." In 1634, during the reign
of Charles L, the Irish Parliament
passed the following: "Act against
Ploughing by the Tayle, and Polling
the Wool of Living Sheep;" "No person
or persons whatsoever shall, after
one yeare next ensuing the end of the
present Parliament, plongh, harrow,
draw, or worke with any horse, gelding,
mare, garren, or colt, by the taile, or
shall cause, procure, or suffer any other
carriages with his horses, mares, geldings,
garrans, or colts, or any of them
by the tail; and that no person or persons
whatsoever shall, after the end of
this present Parliament, pnll the wool
off any living sheep, or cause or procure
to be pulled instead of shearing or
clipping of them; and if any shall do
contrarie to this act and Ihe intention
thereof, that the justices of assize at the
general assizes to be bolden before
them, and the justices of peace at .xieir
quarter-sessions, shall have power by
this act to enquire of, heare and determine
all and every offence and 'offences
done contrary to the present act, and to
punish the offenders which shall do contrary
to the same, by fine and imprisonment,
as they in their discretion shall
think fit."
How Not to Bore.
None of the books of etiquette that
we have yet read give prescriptions
whioh will cure the tendency wliioh
most of us have to bore other people.
The reason is that none of us suspects
he ia or can be a bore under any possible
combination of circumstances. The
supposition is so wild and absurd as to
be discountenanced at once. And yet
so often are we bored by other people
that it would only be reasonable for us
to conclude that we too might sometimes
fjlace ourselves in the same unenviable
icrVit Ta lrnnw rohfln tn <v>mfl and when
to go, -when to be silent and -when to
speak, what to say and how to say it, to
be properly aware how to express those
thousand little tones and acts which endear
one, it is diffioult to explain precisely
how, is either a natural gift or an
art obtainable after long years of training.
Yet he who is not master of these
things will ran the risk some time or
other of being considered a nuisance.
We all ought to learn how not to bore.
We owe it to our neighbors as well as
to ourselves. It is a knowledge we
exaot from them. If they do not betray
it we feel personally aggrieved and are
apt to consider them, for a time, our
enemies.
One certain way of not boring is never
to give people too muoh of our company.
This is a rule difficult to observe.
There are times when we are too ready
to believe that our friends want us more
AT AI >?ii~ An \\fa fototliAir nm
M1UU LUOjr ICUlijr uu, It u f
testations literally, and when they say
they could live with ns forever and a
day, we positively give them tho day.
This is a great mistaKe. Probably
six hours of the day would have been
quite sufficient. But we are unwilling
to believe that our fascinations are so
weak as not to stand a longer trial, and
yielding to that weak prejudice in our
own favor we become unmitigable bores.
It would be well if we could hold the
hand-glass up to our failings in this respect
and see ourselves as we really are.
Bain.
The first water?how much it means!
Seven-tenths of man himself is water.
I Seven-tenths of the human race rained
' 1 1?1 -?ntn?floTT I Tf in mnrVh mnrfl
UUWIi UUl JCOTOIUWJ t ??w
probable that Caesar will flow oat of a
bung hole than that any part of his remains
will ever stop one. Oar life is
indeed a vapor, a breath, a little moisture
condensed upon the pane. We
carry ourselves as in a phial. Cleave
the flesh, and how quickly we spill out!
Man begins as a fish, and he swims in a
sea of vital fluids as long as his life lasts.
His first food is milk; and so his last and
all between. He can taste and assimilate
and absorb nothing but liquids.
The same is trut, throughout all organic
natnre. 'Tis water power that
makes every wheel move. Without this
great solvent, there is no life. I admire
immensely this line of Walt Whitman:
"The Slumbering and liquid trees."
The tree and its fruit are like a sponge
which the rains have filled. Through
them and through all living bodies there
goes on the commerce of vital growth,
tiuy vessels, fleets and succession of
fleets, laden with material bound for distant
shores, to build up, a?d repair, and
restore the waste of the physical frame.
Then the rain means relaxation; the
tension in Nature and in all her creatures
are lessened. The trees drop their
leaves, or let go their ripened fruit. The
tree itself will fall in a still, damp, day
when but yesterday it withstood a gale
of wind. A moist south wind penetrates
i even tne nana ana mtines imj graop ieoa
tenacious. It ought to take leBB to kill
a man on a rainy day than on a clear.
The direct support of. the sun is withdraw;
life is under a cloud; a masculine
mood gives place to something a
feminine. In this sense, raia j# the
grief, the weeping of Nature, tlker "relief
o a burdened or agonized heart. Bftt
tears from Nature's eyeCclfl <0waya
remedial and prepare thoii&y far brighter,
purer side*?John Mirrwifffi*, in
(Swwwr* ^ ^
FARM, GARDEN AND HOUSEHOLD.
Man nee mat of Chickens. ]
> Many compla?n of breakage in eggs by foi
? hens white under the process of incuba?
tion. This is owing partly to the thin- gt
ness of the shells ana partly to the carelessness
of the hen. Of all sitters, the :
Brahmas aro the most tractable. They m
are persistent, and when once their in '
clination is directed toward this point, lac
they are easily removed to some more
convenient place. A nest for a sitter stc
1 should be constructed for that purpose,
and be on a different plan from that for 0f
the layers. Generally, when a layer is
seeking a nest, she manifests a desire to ^
lookup. Her ideas are high. She looks ,
at the wood pile, and views well all the
localities about the buildings. Many BP1
of the smaller breeds, especially the i
sitting varieties, have this mania for nest mt
hunting, particularly when running at ]
large. Nests intended for sitters alone nai
sbould be made on the ground, that the i
hen may walk off and on. A small
dry goods box placed on the side is good "
for this purpose. The hen should be '
fastened thereon until she is entirely 081
accustomed to the change. When allow- *
ed to come off for the first time or two, 1
she should be watched, that she may
return after a reasonable length of time. ^
Frequently she will go back to the old Ja.
nest where first commencing to sit. In dn
that case she must be removed. With ]
a little patience, after a time or two. she sib
will become entirely reconciled, and in dui
tbia manner, taking the precaution of *
breaking her on eggs that are of small me
value, there will be found less breakage em
of good eggs. She should be protected j
from the annoyance of layers.
The nest for a sitter should not be so tw(
deep or dishing that the eggs all roll in r
the middle and crowd one another. Give _
thf hen as many eggs as she can cover a
comfortably and no more. A good sized **
Brahma will manage fifteen small eggs ^
very well, and it is better to rive her leg
that number; in each sitting there will by
always be one or two that will prove ]
bad. The hen should be aooostomed to hat
handling, that her eggs may be seen to ohi
and counted each day or two, to be oer- sev
tain that they are all right Eggs set j
on the ground in warm weather hatch _j0
better and produce stronger chioks, but qq
they are more subject to the attaoks of ^
night-prowling vermin. In order that _
everything should work together for the 1
good being of the coming chickens, the seT
mother should be thoroughly cleaned ? .
of vermin. The hen will ait "better, be
less uneasy, and the young chicks when wa
they come from the shell will be free 1
from this formidable pest, and be ready he
to go straight forward and make rapid snz
growths. Bat the mother and the dot
young brood will be&riore quiet, and a oor
larger percentage wfflbe*taisecL Where 3
a regular business is carried on it is got
well to have all the sitters down at one dm
time, that the chicks may be of an age. OOQ
They are lees trouble, particularly when hea
early (and to be profitable they should <
be early), and if we devote our time to ?m
the business, it is better to tend a large ^
flock.
I believe that one great cause of diseases
among .young chicks arises from tthe
want of a proper mother. They re?uire
an amount of animal heat more ^
rnn a small hen can impart It of
is not the amount of feathers, but the pic
large, capacious, roomy body and breast hui
that gives warmth and strength, and the wit
weak little things require it on the back, ad^
In this respect, the moderately-sized j
light Brahmas excel; not only for their ^
own chicks, but for those less in size ^
and more slender in nature when just ^
hatched. Newly-hatched chicks should
remain on the "nest at least thirty-six ~n~
hours, and better forty-eight, and be fed
thereon, allowing the nen to go off for a rlittle
exercise and the relief of nature. It to;
is"an error in early spring weather to
remove chickB from the nest too soon, tai
The old nest is warm, and-new quarters an'
are apt to give them a chill. Exercise &&<
is not the first thing they require, al- eso
though the o^d hen often looks at it in the
this light. j
With due care chicks may be raised a (
without so much as a touch of the gapes; ^
but, as has been stated before, it requires
vigilance. Roup is perhaps one roa
of the worst diseases that poultry breeders
have to contend with, and one for ^
which there is no immediate cure for the
afflicted birds. It is a disorder that has .
originated among fanoy poultry breed- ,,?
ers, and will ever hang to them so long r*18
as they are heedless of the welfare of
their birds. There are several different J101
I phases of it; some of them can be reme- ? 1
; died and others cannot. Some birds are ~*n
afflicted from the shell up with soreness "*}
about the head, eyes and throat. The pi
comb and wattles turn a dark purple, twc
and any sudden start or severe exercise i
often causes instant death. It is idle to spe
admit the idea that it is contagious, al- twi
though birds subject to the same treat- 'ga
ment and exposure will be affected alike mu
' - - ? 1 J J-'
to A greater or less degree, auuuiuui^ uu wi
the constitution of the bird.?Country the
Gentleman. wai
Household Hints. Ber
Make a paste of soft soap and em^ry ma
for polishing steel. w
Flour and meal of all kinds should be pot
kept in a cool, dry place. Soi
A small quantity of turpentine added in t
to stove blacking will make the stove in 1
easier to polish. wai
Soft-soap should be kept in a dry *rei
place in the cellar and not be used until # ^
three months old. ing
The best rice is large and has a clear, m 1
fresh look. Old rice sometimes has
.little black insects inside the kernels. , "1
? - . - . ?^mo
Kettles arecieansea01 oaiuumiuuuioi (
odors by dissolving a teaspoonful of ^ y
pearlash or saleratus in water and wash- ^
ing them. ^
Wash yonr shelves down clean, and, f
while damp, rnb fine salt on them qnite
thick and let it remain on them for a waj
time and red ants will disappear. wa'
Alabaster is best cleaned by putting
it in a pan of water and letting it soak
some hours until quite clean. Another /
mode is to cover it with a strong so}u- ma
tion of soda. ,
Rich cheese feels softer under the
pressure of the finger. That which is
very strong is neither very good nor
healthy. To keep one that is cut, tie it
up in a bag that will not admit flies and
hang it in a dry, cool place. If mould
appears on it, wipe it off with a dry
cloth.
A good cement for broken china consists
of gum acacia dissolved in boiling
water, as much plaster of Paris being
added as will form a thick paste. The ,
proportions of the gum and water are C01
half an ounce of the former to a wine- ^
glass of the latter. Apply the paste 0j
with a brush to the fractured parts. ja (
rtffl
syi
The United States consumes annually th<
between six and seven hundred thou- to
sand tons of cane sugar, less than thir- nef
teen per cent, of which is of home pro- de]
duction. Tiie leading sonrcesoMoreign
iipplys are: Cuba 450,000 tons; Spanish
possessions, 50,000; Porto Rico, 30,000;
Frenoh Islands, 22,000; Brazil, 18,000;
Dntch East Indies^ 11,^000; British West
tba*[ as'
*||| Uffl. Tiie orop
. Items of Interest.
Headquarters?The hatter's store. EH
Every carpenter has a plane duty be; ..
Carvers of their own fortunes ? """ JH
itchers. MM
A. case of suspended animation?A man flfl
th braces on.
The most beooming tie for young H
lies?Modesty.*
" Printer's ink keeps' the hinges of HBj
>re doors loose."
Leipsio is one of the leading oenters |j|
the doll making trade. .
fhere are two thousand characters in
a elawea aI OVio*?loa "Hirtlrorja Hfli
9 QWAJIWO V* V4MUAV0 vui>? _
To the average Athenian the deans fl9
at on earth is the Greece spot.
GHass grindstones are being ezperi- H
mted with in mills in Germany. B
Bracelets have been in ruse in every 'H
don from its very earliest period. B
Pearls differ from other gems in re* H
iring no art to bring ont their beauty. B
I have a bone to pick with yon" B
ne from Sicilian marriage obsarvaaoea. B
Irrors, like gtrewa upon the surface flow.
[e that would seek the pearl most never B
Primitive bread was grain soaked In BH
fcer, subjected to a pressure and then B
Dumps, an Egyptian king, is espon- * fl
le for "Oh, she is down in the H
mpa." H
Che only medical oollege for colored H
n is in Nashville. It has an ample B
lowment B
L Russian lady is not oonsidered well M
sesed unless she wears from twelve to
snty bracelets. 9
rhe beer gardens outside the Pari* 9
position grounds oover as much space . r
the Exposition buildings. B
SVhat is it that has neither wings nor w H
rooks, drivers or trolls ? The voiced ' B
Ifrs. D. A. Dodd, of Humboldt, Iowa. 0
i just given birth to her twenty-seocnd
Id, a son. Among the number are I
en seta of twins. I
Jpwards of 491391 persons were em- I
yed in English coal minee in 1877,
111 less than in 1876, and 1,208 or one
100, died by an accident.
Picture frames and glasses are proved
from flies by painting them with ^ -~
rush dipped in a mixture made by ,
ling three or four onions in a pint of *
feer. J
t is easy to find a friend in Paris; if
isn't in any of 74,999 houses, he'll be
e in the other one, unless he is out of
>rs or has left the city or has not yet :^pj|sB?
foe Landgrave of Hesse made fcpretty &>
>d thing by letting his troops Onliire ^ ^
ring our Revolutionary war; $2?865,- ?fy ^ t
l was paid, being at the rate of 9160 a .
id for each in an lolled.
L correspondent writes from Parma
here's always something to charm jaa 1
i eye, delight the ear
il in Italy. The introduction of the
abbing Brash would make it a paraLn
TllinoiB wonua has written to one
the assistant postmaster-generals to
k her out a good young man for a
sband. She-thought his experience
h the Tnftfiw wouW-^giye him an .
rantage in the selection. ^ ^
L farm sixty miles long and ten widensone
tract, mostly 4^eed> is that of ^*X?
11 er & Lux, cattle monopolists of
lifornia. The; have 80,000 head of
ok, own 700,000 aoree of choioe land,'
1 are rated as rvorth $15,000,000. .
Che capers of- a team of mules hitcheda
harvesting machine, near St. Louis,
'ed the lives of five men who had
:en shelter from a thunder storm
der a tree. The moles began to kick, '
1 the men, going to quiet them.
aped a' thunderbolt that shivered
i tree.
i French woman was lately watching
jow feeding by the roadside. She
1 round her body the rope attached to
i beast. A horse coming along the .
d at a sharp trot terrified the oow,
ioh started at a gallop, dragging the
>r woman over fields and ditches, and
illy killing her.
l French scientific authority states
t the ordinary rate of a man's walkM
aA/^n/1 /># a <y/w? ?'
is iuur icci ocwuuj V4 ? Qwi.
86 in harness, twelve; of a reindeer ?
i sledge on the ice, twenty-six; of an
glish race-horse, forty-three, of a
e, eighty-eight; of a good sailing
p, fourteen, and of the wind eighty).
L Florida rattlesnake six feet long
nt half an hour oharming an aligator
oe his length, and then struck the
tor with all the strength he could
ster. The stroke had no effect, but,
jling backward, the aligator struck
i snake a fatal blow with his tail, and*
3 then himself despatched by an obver.
i single dealer in butter in Norndy,
North France, sells $1,000,000
rth a year. It nets him sixty cents a
ind, and is nearly all sold ih Brazil,
ith America. This butter is packed
jtone jars, whioh in turn are placed
light barrels filled with brine. It is
.-ranted to keep perfectly sweet and
ih for three years.
Ln extremely simple method of test-, "i?-J~
the genuineness of diamonds is given'
i letter to the London Times t If the
cimen is immersed in water, should
)e a diamond it will sparkle with alst
undiminished light and brilliancy
?lor; but if it be spurious, whether
?e paste or rock crystal, the " fire "
ioTiroi urill hfl comDletely quenched.
Lt Rateltontein, Fraserberg, South
ica, where water is precious, a wool
shing mill is bo arranged that the
ier, after passing through a fine wire
ize screen and falling over the water
eel of a corn mill, goes to the lands
ig in the valley, and thus is used
wool washing, corn grinding,
nuring by carrying down the grease
m the work, and irrigation.
How doth the busy fly
Improve each day that passes ;
Without, however, bettering . ..
The butter and molasses!
How clinging are his feet
At moru when we're reposing;
How well his mission he fulfills
By keeping us from dozing!
Satan's emissary he,
And zealous past comparing ;
While others merely tempt us, he
Insists upon our swearing.
?Breakfast Table.
1 moderate amount of fat is generally
isidered evidence of good health,
out one-twentieth part of the weight
a man and the sixteenth of a woman
lonsidered a normal proportion. Its
ice, aside from its value in giving
nmetir to the figure, is to prevent
? ranid escaue of animal heat and also
JC - * #
supply the of tissue from sictjs,
unusna; rtion and temporary
privation of lood,
uses op adversity
If none were sick and none were sad,
What service conld we render ?
I think if we were always glad
We scarcely could be tender.
Did onr beloved never need
Oar patient ministration,
"Earth would grow cold, and miss, indeed,
Its sweetest consolation.
If sorrow never claimed our heart,
And ev?ry wish were granted,
Patience would die and hops depart?