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v ABBEVILLE PRESS AND BANNERl BY HUGH WILSON. ABBEVILLE, S. C.. WEDNESDAY, MAECH 28, 1883. NO. 41. VOLUME XXW?|JB i A WELCOME. B Far in the sunny South she lingers, B Yet slowly eor*es alonj, "With fairy girlands in her fingers, B With snatches of sweet song. Her eyes with promise are beaming, J Her smiles will rapture bring, H The sunlight from her hair is streaming? E Thrice welcome, lovely Spring. I She brings us gifts, the royal maiden, I Fair flowers to deck the hills; B With primroses her arms are laden, Bluebells and daffodils. I Pale crocuses have come bofore her, M Wild birds her welcome sing; Ten thousand longing hearts adore her? u.The gray world's darling. Spring. I ?J. If. Elton* AFTER MANY YEA 11$. " Thin, you see. my own Ilortense, that I mu3t leave you. I shall proride an inc >me of a hundrei louis for your expenses. Look forward constantly to my return; and when fortune again smiles upon me I shall come back, n nx?r again to be separj ated until death." The weeping wife could not be comforted. It was hard that, so soon after V her marriage, when the world seemed _ ^ so bright and gay, and when wealth \ and fortune smiljd so serenely upon her, all should be swept away, and she left, like a lone widow, to protect herself. The husband was almost distracted with th? thought of leaving her. His heart had been bound up in hi* beautiful Ilortense. She had been his Idol from boyhood, the bright dream of his existence; and when he had attained the distinction of one of the merchant princes of Montreal he mar- 1 ried her and placed her in the very J heart of luxury. Misfortunes came on swift wings to ' the happy pair. One by one his pos- 1 sessions li ft him, and worse than that, ; others were involved in his affairs who were less able to lose than himself. lie could not look upon the ruin of those around him; for he had a kind heart anil would not wrong any one for the world. They that lo3t by his ill fortune admitted that M. Valentin w;is a strictly lioneet m;in; and that is great praise from those who are injured by a man's ill luck. People are but too apt to call it dishonesty. There was but a single bright spot before M. Valentin. Australia gleamed up warm and golden, and with a desperation bom of love to his wife and justice to his creditors, he secretly embarked for the land of promise. There was a nine days' wonder as to where he was gone and to what purpose; and then he died out of the thoughts of the community as thoroughly as if he had been deal and buried. The weeping Hortense removed to another locality; the fashionables who had strained "every nerve to get invited to the house of the rich merchant, never pause I to ask after his wife; and lonely and miserable, without friends or relative?, Hortense drooped and pined, until the bjauty which her husband so praised was changed into dimness. She never heard from M. Valentin. No single word had ever che3red her solitude since he left her. As month after month dragged its slow weight along and no tidings reached her, her heart nttpplv sunk within her. and sho hp- I lieved him dead. "What indeed could * she think? It was better to think so 1 than to believe him unmindful of her, 1 and day after day she watered his j1 memory with tears of genuine sorrow, J, as one sorrows for the beloved dead. ' She put on the deepest mourning, r - kept her room for months, and when T. she finally went out again, and that J only to church, her sorrow was written * plainly in the face, which if it had lost J some of its beauty, was yet most * deeply interesting. So at least thought e the young Eugene Stanbury, an * B Englishman of unblemished character c and prosperous business. He saw her . B at church, devised some ingenious ex- 11 I pedient to be introduced, and begged the privilege of waiting upon her. ' B The lady pleaded her inability to enter- ^ B tain company, the impropriety of her * I receiving gentlemen, and a thousand ^ fl reasons why he should not visit her. * k He overruled them all, besought her Hto waive all ceremony with him, to i c W consider him as a deeply-attached! c B friend, a brother, anything in short, if J B he might be permitted to see her someB times; and Hortense, weary of her 8 B monotonous and dreary life, at last 11 B consented. 13 vnce naving renewed me aeiicious ~ consciousness of a protecting presence, ^ she found it hard to give it up for the * mere punctilious fair of what the n world would say of Iter. Indeed she had long since shaken hands with the world, and parted from it. She owed it no favor. It had no right to criticise her conduct. Thus she reasoned while ^ listening to Eugene's impassioned entreaties that she would lay aside her J1 sorrow for the dead and become his ^ wife. ( Still she hesitated. She truly be- * iieved in her husband's death; for would he not have written had he been living? Of the many letters she had written him, the many inquiries ^ she had instituted, no answer could be j ^ obtained. Xo one knew anything of j M. Valentin. ^ \ In an hour of more than usual lone liness and trouble she whispered to | " 1 herself that should JSugene press his suit anew she would consent to marry g him. She liked him. She was weary of her own life, caged and cribbed as i s she was; she longed for freedom from t the restraint that poverty and widow- C hood were constantly imposing upon v her; and all these combined operated wonderfully in Eugene's favor. The marriage was strictly private; and S half Mr. Stanbury's friends had no y gr suspicion that she had ever married at r all until she became his wife. n He took her to a pleasant home, as comfortable if not quite as luxurious g as the one she had shared with M. i: Valentin ; and all that she could ask for was showered upon her with gen- v erous profusion. Their dwelling, two 1 or three miles from the heart of Mon- i \ treai, was surrounded with trees and j r flowering shrubs of every description. 11 Inside there was every comfort that a s * loving heart could suggest. The heart | of Hortense awoke to life, to love, to ] 1 happiness; and to see her thus, rejoiced 11 that of her husband. ' i Two years of almost unmingled | c bliss went by, but the third year com- j * menced with some alarm for the health J f of Eugene. Twice had Hortense seen | < him draw a handkerchief from his j 1 lips, which was steeped in blood; and j 1 often his nights were passed in cough- j t . ing until nature was exhausted, and j < fij me morning sieep louna nun urencneu i 0 in the terrible sweats which so surely portend consumption. Ilortense strug- i B gled against this new and terrible sor-' f E row. It was the first time that she 1 B had watched over one dear to her. It 1 was the first time that she had seen I Wt~ the effects of this insidious disease, < m and hope and fear alternated in her i breast, until at length she hoped : H against all hope, and the blow came i H down upon her all the harder that she i H/. It was hard to see him parting with f 1 the mute evidences of his brief happi-! < ness. Every window where he sat with her, every arbor where they had : rested, every tree under whose shades HB. t.hey had walked, or whose trunk he i MR had" carved with her name, all received < a farewell look. B est r" he asked, after his painful jour"Eagene! do not name it," she said; 1 Bft - you will break my heart." heaven that I leave you above want. Promise me, dear, that you will never leave this home. Trust me; I will be with you in spirit when the form is laid in the earth; watching, guarding, i if possible, speaking to you." It was his last night on earth. "When the morn broke his eyes were closed in the slumber of death. Hortense wandered for months about j 1 1 lil.rv ,,nrf?rKn,l I hcr ucituvnui numc jmc n jicnuiui/u , spirit. There was nothing that had ; been touches by Eugene that had nut a solemn and a sacred value in her eyes. The trees he had planted, the ' bowers he had formed, all had a meaning to her that no one else could understand; and yet upon each one of : these and upon her whole heart and i life seemed written, "the glory has departed." : It is time to go back to the days of 1 M. Valentin, and see what became of ' the fond husband, the courageous ad- ' venturer. At first he w;n almost dis- 1 tracted at the thought of parting with 1 Ilortense; but once the ltubicon,5 passed, he became more calm. A few * years he thought would find them together, never to part; and perhaps '' they would be all the happier for the 1 separation. 1 Full of hope he went to the mines s of Australia. Day by day he wrought ? there, enduring hardships unheard of 1 before, but bearing them with the r courage and fortitude of a hero. Ever ? before him was the word Ilortense. It * nerved his arm in the Touch mines, . when he struck his iron into the gold- " giving soil; it soothed him when he lay burning with fever in a rude shanty in 11 the mountains; his thought by day and ? his dream by night was still his own Ilortense Not a word, however, ever ? reached him from her; and often he shuddered at the fearful probabilities ? that arose to his mind. Ilortense might 1:1 be sick, suffering; might deem him lead or unfaithful; no, that could never be?she would have faith in him as in the sun. Come what would she ^ would not be shaken in her trust. Hut f1. *s he lay in the miserable shed which ^ lield his sick bed he would have given !' worlds for one glance from her eye, one ; pressure of her hand to show that he was not forgotten, and as he watched P the stars overhead; shining throughthe crevices of the I jw roof, he thought ., .hat if Ilortense were dead she would ' ippear to him then in his need. The rude miners were too intent on J1 jain to watch beside his bed, and ^ many were the long days and nights in :'.r which he lay untended. Aid came at J1' last in the shape of a child?a young ? aoy whose father was at work in the nines and whose mother supported P" lerself and child by washing. Hours 1I/-1 1 In T^on f'nln oif houirln liim I ivatching every movement and trying ;o give him ease; or, bringing water :rom the spring, he would' batlie his , 'evered forehead with his little hands, i tender nurse indeed was little Ben, P1 md on his recovery 31. Valentin made ;he laundress happy by providing for he boy. M. Valentin had been richly re- 1S varded for his enterprise. Gold had ;howered in upon him in idmost fabu- 9 ous profusion, and now he seriously p bought of returning home. Somevhat enfeebled by his late illness, he vas struck with dismay at again being ei uostrated, and to find that his disirder was the dreaded smallpox. That v( le lived through this was only because a* lis constitution was so excellent that P1 iven this enemy could not vanquish it. Ie did live, but his own mother could ?* lot have known him, so deeply scarred ind disfigured had he become. With lis first returning strength he set out n( or home. Ilortense! Montreal! were ^ iow the beginning and end of his aspiations. One only thing marred his c0 oy on the homeward route. "Would *? Iortense love the scarred and disfig- is1 ired face that looked at him from the iffio ioc.o ??> Vn'c } w..ni.i te iVUC ?1 two tu Uia UIU1U M VU1VI OllV sndure the long, shaggy beard by al vhich he was enabled to cover a part ?f the deep scars? cc He had taken passage in an Amer- Jn can vessel bound for New York. He c( arrived safely, and the next hour saw lim on his way to Montreal. He bent n' lis course to the neighborhood where di Iortense had proposed going after his leparture. He inquired everywhere ^ or Madame Valentin. No one knew UI ler. He himself was not recognized, w ven when he haunted the old places if business. Another name, of course, ar r&s upon the familiar door; and hither re ie turned his steps, to see if haply ome old friend of former days might Sfc tot have heard of her. Even the lame was unremembered, or pretend- ?I d to be; and yet the person he asked ^ vas one whom he remembered as plot- ^ ing zealously to be invited to his din- ^ ler parties. ni Thftff will ppmnmhpr mo whan thru* mil I ;un rich again," said Valentin to *3 limself, bitterly. lie turned into a by-street and saw a ? ieggar sitting in the sunshine. It was ^ he most cordial and happy face that lad met his gaze since he came back. ls] Che man did not ask for anything ither, nor show him the withered arm ln hat hung loosely under his coat; and lopeless ;is the question seemed, he w liought he would ask it. As he dropped money into the ragged 01 iat that lay on the ground beside the ^ ieggar, he said, carelessly: " Can you tell me where Madame }? /alentin lives now, my man?" ^ "I used to know her when she lived st a Queen street. Was that the one?" Yf It was the street where M. Valentin's ^ ;rand house stood. ct ' She is gone from that house, but a( he did not forget old Jack, and many's he penny she has given me since. ^ Had enough was I when I heard she k-as married again." ^ " Married!" exclaimed M. Valentin.! "Bless you, sir, yes; married to Mr. tanbury; but, poor man, he died a ear ago." a Do you know where she lives h< tow ?" * h( "Somewhere out of town. I don't a( ;o so far now I am so old. I think it hi s in lilooinsbury Place, West Terrace." tli To paint M. Valentin's feelings b] vould be a hopeless task. I lor tense Sc narried, but still free! A painful re- bj idsion took place in his mind, and he g( esolved, as all seemed to forget him, al hat he would not yet discover him- re elf. n< That night he visited the neighbor- pi loodof liortense, read " Stanbury" on 01 he door, and managed to secure the ti lext house, which happened to be II piite empty, and having its garden hi uljoining hers. The next day he 'urnished it richly, brought a number b< )f servants, bought a fine carriage and 01 lorses, and under the name of Richie ai le settle ! down to watch at his leisure he movements of hi3 neighbor. lie tc :hose all his private rooms on that side tn )f the house that overlooked hers. j st Tiie first time that lie saw her was j si v? n.ir/lim lnr.l* >/l ctill hrlTlfl- I lis ?ome, but very sad and pensive. lie y< wondered if it was for his loss or her pi ate husband's. He soon became satis- ll< ied that she lived a very retired and di juiet life; that she had little company w md kept early hours. It was early ! a: spring, but he had plenty of flowers j ind l'ruit in tlte greenhouse, and he i n: sent some for her acceptance with Mr. is Richie's compliments. Again and again he repeated the gifts, and each I] time with a s?lection that marked a u ielicate taste. t< Hortense was charmed with her new s< neighbor whom she had not seen. v The flowers had been sent several times when he added to them a re- v quest that he might call on the lady. She returned a favorable answer, and p under the cover of the twilight hour he found himself in the room with Hortense. The sound of his voice g filled her with indescribable emotion, because it resembled that of her first husband; but she persuaded herself t] that it must be fancy. She found her U neighbor agreeable and attentive. He did not neglect any opportunity of being with her. They rode together, sung together, and often his voice would thrill through the soul of Hortense like a remembered lay from some far-off land. Insensibly she was becoming interested in him. He had told her much that was true of his past life, and openly mourned some being whom he said was lost to him?he did not say by death?but Ilortense saw it in that light. More and more tender grew their intercourse, for the lady seemed utterly to disregard his scars, until she was scarcely surprised, and certainly not ofTendcd, at receiving an offer of liis hand. She was alone in the world; she had no one to consull, no one who had any riirlit to blame her for trusting to one :>f whom she knew so little. It was ler own risk, and she accepted him, 'rankly tolling him how well she had loved him who had gone from her sight, and promising that she would ry to love him as well. M. Valentin exulted greatly in this mswer, and came near discovering limself; but he had desired to delay it o a certain date, and he checked him calf in time. The wedding day was ippointed, and everything was in read ness for the occasion. In exchanging ings llortense looked fixedly at the >ne which the bridegroom gave her. t was the very ring which M. Valenin had given her at their first weding! She fainted on the spot, and he egan to think that he had carried matters too far. He hung over her rith an anxiety such as ho never new before. If she died now by his wn folly, what would become of him? [e execrated his scheme, and repented ven with tears that he had been led o pursue it. But llortense awoke to life, awoka d the new joy of his presence, to ask is forgiveness for the past, and inpire new hope for the future. Thero ad ever been an inexplicable attrac on toward him on her part, from their rst interview, and, as she confessed lis, her husband was quite inclined ) be satisfied, and to forgive the aparcnt disrespect which he fancied she ad paid his memory. As M. Valentin predicted, the inliabants of Montreal, as soon as they >und out his wealth, were happy to take his acquaintance, and reinem?red him as an old friend. "With the ue spirit of an honest man, he has ! ^uidated his debts to the last farling; and now, with his still beautiil wife, he is traveling through Eu>pe, happy as any couple can possibly j on their bridal tour. Leading Isms Concisely Defined. The following aro a few isms which ie Baltimore Episcopal Methodist lblishes for the benefit of readers not ; jrsed in the conflicting beliefs of the ly: Atheism?A disbeliever in the ex- , tence of God. : Deism?A belief in the existence of od, but a denial of revealed re- ] sjlon. Deism and rationalism are vins. Polytheism?A. belief in the existlce of many gods. ( Pantheism?A belief that the uni;rse is God. Spinoza was a pantheist , id so was Hegel, a recent German J lilosopher. , ZJnitarianism?A belief in the unity 1 God, as opposed to the orthodox her if of a trinity in unity. Materiilism?A belief that there is >thing but matter in the universe. \ 'hat we call mind and soul are to ma rialists only properties of matter. Of . urse, materialists deny immortality man. Death is annihilation of ex- ; tence. , Snirltuaiisni?The opposite of ma- ' rialism; originally was a belief that ' 1 matter is really spirit, and that terefore the universe is only God's j >ncentrated thought. Latterly it j eans those who believe in tho inter- ( lurse with the spirit world. Fatalism?A belief that all events ! ecessarily happen?that is, are or- j lined and cannot be altered. Mohammedanism?The doctrine of le Mussulmans, who believe in the j lity of God, aud that Mohammed ( as his prophet. They are fatalists. , Calcinism?The leading doctrines , e original sin, particular election and , probation, particular redemption, ef- j ctual grace in regeneration and per- < verance of the saints. ] Arminianism?Is very nearly the j >posite of Calvinism. Its beliefs are: . irst?Conditional election and repro- ] ition. Second?Universal redemp- ( jti, limited in its benefits only by , ? ~ - a. i.:? M 4.^ ?U1 3 ill U JU IW?J liiUUJg tU UL- j jve and obey. Third?Regeneration c absolutely essential and instantly t allows justifying faith. It is the j ord of the Iloly Spirit given of God. here is no irresistible grace, and ^ jostatisin is possible. Both Oalvinm an-l Arininianism believe in total jpravity and future eternal punishent. UniversaUim?A belief that all men * ill be finally saved. Buddhism?Nominally believed by ? le-third of the human race?teaches lat there have been so far four sucissive incarnations of the Deity, folwed by stages of unconsciousness, he highest god is Nirvana, or the ( ate of repose. The last incarnation ? as called Guadma, 500 years before ' hrist, and in after ages another will * >me to lift man up. Meanwhile its ] Iherents are practically idolaters. Minor isms are almost as plentiful 1 i the leaves of the forest. Most of lem, UKe lulling leaves, nave naa < leir day. ( Fire Years a Sentinel. : One of Napoleon's sentinels met with remarkable adventure, and though j ; did not exactly " stand and wait," } secured through his quick wit the I vantage due to such a service. lie : id been posted in a retired spot on ie Isle of Rugen, which was occupied 1 r a detachment from Davoust's corps. >me alarm caused the troops to emirk with precipitiition and they forjt this sentinel, who himself was so >sorbed in a newspaper containing a port of Napoleon's recent victory ;is A to observe their departure. After icing his post for several hours, withit being relieved, he became itnpaent and returned to the guard-room, e found it empty, an I learned that s comrades had left the island. " Alas!" he cried, in despair,441 shall ? looked upon as a deserter?dishon ed, lost?unhappy wretch that I n." A baker, pitying the poor fellow, iok him to his house, consoled him, < night him to make bread and after * iveral months had shown that he was riart and industrious, cave him his lughter, Justine, in marriage. Five ( ars after a strange sail was seen aproaching the island. The inhabitants, ackinff to the beach, discovered on the eck of the ship ;i number of soldiers oaring the uniform of tho French rmy. " I'm done for now," cried the dislayed husband of Justine. " My bread ; baked." An original idea revived his courage, [e ran to the house, slipped into his niform, seized his firelock, returned ) the beach and posted himself as a jntinel at the moment the French rere landing. " Who gK'S there?" he shouted in a oice like thunder. "Who goes there? yourself," relied one in the boat. " Who are you?" " A sentinel." ** How long have you been on uard V" " Five years." Davoust. for he it was, laughed at tie quaint reply, and gave a discharge i due form to his involuntary deserte* THE FARM AND HOUSEHOLD. Ringworm. This disease of the skin, known as " ringworm," is describrd in our standard works as a fungus parasitic disease. These fungi are capable of being imparted from one animal to another, from man to animals and from animals to man, and is, therefore, contagious. Many different preparations are recommended for the cure, which consists in the destruction of tho parasitic growth, but perhaps an ointment made of one dram of iodine and simple cerate will answer every purpose. Any scruff on the skin should be removed with soft soap and warm water previous to the application of the ointment.?Chicago Intcr-Occaiu Watering Plants. No one having a knowledge of plants will direct that they should be watered so many times a day or so many times a week. Such instructions are not only worthless, but absolutely harmful as far as followed, and can only result in spoiled plants, and consequent disappointment. It is like following the medical advice of an ignoramus; there is as much quackery offered to the public on horticultural as on medical subjects. When a plant should have water depends upon the dryness of the soil, and this is contingent upon other conditions, such as the moisture, the heat and the movement of the atmosphere. Judgment must determine when a soil lacks water and by practice one can determine t11/3 puiut with great accuracy. Breeds of Sheen. The Southdown is too little. The merino is ugly. The Cots wood is generally deficient in constitution or wool too coarse. I think a very good way for a plain farmer to do is like Robert "\V. Scott did a few years since. Ha bred in one direction awhile and then in another, hoping to build up a breed with a fixed type with some good qualities of all the breeds within his reach. But I have no idea that he succeeded, for I think that it would take more than one lifetime to do this. I think it would do very well for a man to continue this mode of breeding all his life if his object is merely to sell wool and mutton. But I would leave the merino out of the programme, for he is located so far at one end of the species that he hardly divides his qualities with any of the breeds. All efforts at establishing a fixed type between the merino and any of the English sheep have failed. The crosses bred together have generally run in the direction of the little unsightly body without the valuable fleece of pure bred merino. I think it will do Very well for such farmers as you and I to guerilla around among the Southdowns, or rather the Walsingham (which is an improved Southdown, being more woolly), Oxforddown, Hampshiredown, Leicester, Cotswold, otc. The finest sheep I ever saw was an Oxforddown. He combined more size with a model form and more wool with reasonable fineness of fiber.?Farming World. How to Kill Cabbage Worms. The ravages of the caterpillars of the cabbage butterfly caused a good ieal of trouble last summer at the State agricultural experiment station, Geneva, N. Y., particularly those of the second of August brood. In order to test the efficacy of various reputed remedies for the cabbage worm, the iirector applied them to special collections of worms and noted the effects. One specimen confined for three hours in a bottle partly filled with black pepper crawled away, discolored by the powder, but apparently unharmed. ine secouu, repeaieuiy luiiiiursrii m <i solution of saltpeter, and a third in ane of boracic acid, exhibited little indications of inconvenience. Bisulphide of caibm produced instant leath when applied to the worm,though its fumes were not effectual. Tnefumes :>f benzine as well as the liquid caused ilmost instant death, but when applied to the cabbages small whitish excrescences appeared on the leaves. Hot water applied to the cabbage destroyed \ portion of tho worms, causing also ihe leaves to turn yellow. One ounce 3f saltpeter and two pounds of common salt dissolved in three gallons of water formed an application which was partly efficient. The most satisfactory remedy tested, however, consisted of a mixture of one-half a pound iach of hard soap and kercasne oil in j ;hree gallons of water. This was ap- , died August 2ti; an examination the i ,'ollowing day showed many, if not all, i he worms destroyed. The growing < :abbage presents such a mass of leaves n which the caterpillars may be con- 1 sealed that it is haruiy possible to i each all the worms at one application, < ;t is important, therefore, to repeat < he uso of the remedy at frequent inervals. I'nrm and Garden Nolo*. The success of an orchard depends jreatly on its early treatment. Cul,ure, pruning and manuring are most mportant during the first few years; 1 i lack of them at which time can lever be atoned for by subsequent , :are. The answer to the question of deep >r shallow plowing depends upon the ; soil. Deep clay loams and alluvial ; soils, with subsoil and surface alike, :an hardly be plowed too deeply. Wet ; and should not be plowed deep. On ; ;hin soils do not stir below the avail- \ ible plant food. Abutilons that have blossomed in i :he garden in summer can be kept jver by letting them stand until the weather becomes pretty cool in autumn, i md the wood is ripe, and then remov- i ng the plants with a ball of earth to the cellar, and placing them in sand, [n spring plant again in the garden. Loss of cud or suspension of rumination in cows is due to indigestion, from inaction of the muscular coats of the stomach. The remedy is to clear the bowels and stomach of the gathered indigested matter by a brisk purgative; for instance, a quart of linseed oil or twenty ounces of Epsom salts, and then to give some easily digested and laxative food, as bran mashes or linseed meal steeped in water twelve hours. A veterinary professor says that " the great majority of ringbones in young houses come from the failure to shorten the toes." To this may be : added that ringbone is apt to be formed if colts are allowed to stand on a plank ' lloor, or anywhere else where the footing is hard, during the first eighteen months of their age. Whether in stable or yard during this period let 1 them have earth for standing or walking, free from stone or gravel. A correspondent writes to an ex-1 change asking whether phosphates are | fjood for potatoes. We have manured ! potato ground with barnyard manure, j well rotted and mixed, and have had ! as beautiful potatoes us ever were seen. We have used phosphates with the same results. We have used a mixture of the two with the same results. But we fancied that the potatoes from : the phosphated soil were a little the j firmer and more solid.?New York j Herald. There are many farmers who have extra good butter cow3 and do not know it. They have poor pastures in summer,and no shelter and indifferent feed in winter. In the house they ' have no convenience for making but- j ter; the milk is set where there are no i arrangements for keeping it co;)l in ' summer, and in the livinf room, exposed to the odors of the kitchen, in winter, and neither the quantity nor the quality or any index of what a cow can do is Kept. , The tuberose Is not dlffloult to I manage when you know how. First procure sound bulbs and then plant them in good rich soil as soon in the spring as there is no danger of frost. While the bulbs are dormant they should be kept dry and warm. Do not place them in a cellar, but in a warm room where the temperature will range at sixty degrees or over; a living room is none too warm for them. To hasten the blooming season the bulbs can be potted early and started in the hot-house or hot-bed, and afterward transplanted outside. Ilonsrhold Hints. Hard Soap.?Four gallons of water, six pounds of washing soda, six pounds of clean fat, three and one-half pounds of stone lime. Put the lime and soda in the water and boil until the soda is dissolved; then pour it into a tub and let it settle; then pour off the water gently, with as little lime as 4.1 ..J J 4-U? Kai'1 if I jiussiuie; uiieii ?uiu mo ntu ouu uuu n until done. Take a little out in a saucer, and if no water remains under when cold it is done. Pour it in deep pans or a tub, and when cold cut in bars. Cleaning Bedsteads.?The Rural New Yorker says: Cut a pound of bar soap into thin slices, and add to it an ounce of pearlash and a quarter of an ounce of sal soda. Pour a pailful of boiling water upon it and stir it up until well dissolved. Put some warm water into a tub, and add a quart of ( tha soap solution. Put in the heavy bedspread, beat it well, turn it over often, and squeeze out the dirt until ( the water is quite soiled. Then change it, putting in another quarter of the solution, and proceed as before. Rinse in two waters, barely warm to the hand. If possible, pass it through a ; wringer; then dry it on the clothes line. ' To Clean a Silk Dress.?Take six tablespoonfuls of the best soft soap, or four tablespoonfuls of yellow bar soap scraped into thin shavings with a sharp knife, and dissolve in it just enough boiling water to melt it, four tablespoonfuls of honey, half a pint of ! alcohol and half a pint of hot water. 1 Beat all to a froth and spread the i breadths of the dress, one at a time, 1 upon a sheet, and with a sponge dipped 1 into the mixture rub it over the silk, ; talrinor rare t.n mark thfl noilpri nlar.es < before it is all wetted, so they can have 1 extra rubbing. Dip each breadth into 1 cold water as soon as it is cleansed, i sousing it up and down in the water, 1 so as to take out all the soapsuds, but 1 do not wring it out or crease it in the f hands. Shake and snap the silk to 1 clear it from the water, and hang it 1 out of doors till it is partly dry, then ] roll it into a towel or sheet. Proceed in 1 this way till all the parts of the dress 1 are cleansed and partly dried, and iron < them on the wrong side of the silk, or 1 over a newspaper, till perfectly dry. ] Rvclpes. Orange Ice.?Squeeze the juice from six large oranges and two lemons; pour about five gills of boiling i water over the broken peel and pulp and let it stand until cool; then strain and add the water to the orange and < lemon juice. Sweeten to taste with loaf sugar and freeze. Fried Tomatoes.?Cut the tomatoes in slices without skinning, pepper and ; salt them; then sprinkle a little flour over them and fry in butter until i brown. Put them on a hot platter and : pour a little cream into the butter and juice. "When boiling hot pour oyer i the tomatoes. This dish is very nice 1 served with bird3. 1 Kice Fritters.?If you have plain 1 boiled rice for dinner, and have a little left, it is by no means necessary ; that this should be thrown away; it will help to make delicious fritters; < add milk and (lour and one egg for the 1 batter; if you h:ivc fruit to put in, so * much the better; drop by spoonfuls in ' hot lard and fry till a delicate brown; j a little sugar in the batter helps to 1 give it a brown tinge. 1 Lemon Puddino.?The juice and j grated rind of one lemon, a cup of , sugar, the yolks of two egjs, three , well-rounded tablespoonfuls of Hour, a j pinch of salt, one pint of rich milk; < mix the flour and part of the miik to a ' smooth paste, add the juice and rind of J lemon, the cup of sugiir, yolks -wellbeaten, the rest of the milk (after having rineed out the egg with i1;), line a plate with puff paste one-fourth of an inch thick, bake in a quick oven until done, lieat whites to a stiff froth, add twotablespoonfuls of sugar, spread over the top, return to oven and brown. Serve with very cold cream, or for a very nice dish add whipped cream. Ihis is a rich but not expensive pudiing. The recipe makes sufficient for 3ix. The pudding should be eaten :old. How England's Rulers Died. The following is an account of the [leaths of the kings and queens of England : William the Conqueror died from enormous fat, from drink, and from the violence of his passions. "William Rufus died the death of the poor stag that he hunted. TT? 4 U* "17;-of f IlttUJJr L11C I'USl U1UU Ui. glUULUlljr. Henry the Second died of a broken heart, occasioned by the character of his children. Richard Coeur de Lion died like the animal from which his heart was named?by an arrow from the bow of an archer. Ilenry the Third is said to have died a natural death. Edward the First is likewise said to have died of a "natural sickness," a sickness which would puzzle all the college of physicans to denominate. Edward the Second was most barbarously murdered by ruffians employed by his own mother. Edward the Third died of dotage and Richard the Second of starvation. Henry the Fifth is said to have died of " fits caused by uneasiness," and uneasiness in palaces in those times was a very common complaint. Henry the Sixth died in prison by means known then only to his jailer, and known now only to heaven. Edward the Fifth was strangled in the Tower by his uncle, Richard the Third. Richard the Third was killed in battle. Henry the Seventh wasted away as a miser ought to do. Henry the Eighth died of carbuncles, fat and fury. Edward the Sixth died of decline. Queen Mary is said to have died of a " broken heart," whereas she died of a surfeit from eating too much black puddings. Old Queen Bess is said to have died of melancholy from having sacrificed Essex to his enemies. James the First died of drinking and of the effects of other vice3. Charles the First died on *Ji? scru;fold. Charles the Second died suddenly, it Is said, of apoplexy. William the Third died from con- i sumptive habits of the body and from ) the stumbling of his horse. t Queen Anne died from her attach- i ment to "strong water," or, in other i words, from drunkenness, which the { physicians politely called dropsy. j George the First died of drunken- j ness, which physicians politely called ? an apoplectic fit. t George the Second died of rupture c of the heart, which the periodicals of that day called a visitation of God. George the Third died as he had lived c ?a madman. $ George the Fourth died of gluttony l and drunkenness. ] WiJliam the Fourth died amid the ( sympathies of his friends. c A NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL THE CAEEER OP "DAff" tfOBLB, A WEW YOSTC TH1BP. A 8*75,OOO Robbery?Cheating Bli Pali and Livid* In Luxurious Eoae?Endl^j Ills Days in a London 1'rlson. A New York paper gives interesting details of the life of " Dan " Noble, once a noted criminal of that city, who has ended his days in a London prison. We quote: A man whose miserable life was recently ended in one of the prisons of the city of London held so prominent a place at one time in the eyes of the public and was the object of such solicitous interest on the part of the police authorities that his death deserves, perhaps, a few lines beyond the mere announcement of it. Mr. Dan Noble was certainly eminent in the walk of life which he chose for himself. He was a thief, and, like all habitual thieves, in spite of a trite and obnoxious maxim, defrauded his "pals" oo nifnl 1 o oaf nf flio tt tu UJ UiiU I1UUWU VWU Vfc wi??j community. The origin of Mr. Noble is involved in obscurity, and it is not likely that his British jailers were overparticular in marking the spot where they buried his body. Mr. Noble had learned his profession in all its branches before he achieved notoriety by his first great deed, which caused his name to become, for a time, familiar as a household word. On the morning of December 10, 1866, two decent-looking men entered the office of the Royal Insurance company in this city and engaged one of the officers in conversation. Another man stood at the door, By the use of skill which had been laboriously acquired, the two men, who were both thieve?, gained possession of a tin box full of securities for invested moneyand passed it to the third man, their confederate, at the door. The man with the box left the neighborhood as quickly as possible. His associates, bidding the gentleman whose attention they had field a respectful "good-morning," leisurely left the office. The box contained United States bonis worth 1275,000, and the man who carried the box to the thieves' rendezvous was Mr. Dan Noble. His companions did not ?? 1" ft /vfl 4-V? ? ? MMAMAtlftt f U A*T tVULUVV tilC VOIUO KJL H1C pi wjcy lad stolen, so their magnanimous issociate decidedly had the advantage >f them. Moreover, the gentleman with whom they had talked retained a tolerably accurate impression of their appearance, while Noble had scarcely aeen noticed at all. It will be seen, ;herefore, that Mr. Noble received more mbstantial benefit from the "haul" than the others. The three thieves went to Kingston, Canada. Mr. Noble produced $75,000 in bonds, which, he told his friends, was the extent of the booty, and this sum was divided svenly between the three. It is said that one of Noble's associates is now keeping a hotel in Toronto ; the other, at that time, established a gambling house at Dansville, in this State. As for Mr. Noble, he took things leisurely. Nearly five months elapsed before he returned to the United States, and then, Instead of making his aboda in this city, he established himself in the pretty town of Elmira, situated in Chemung county. Here he could m:ike his monev aro further and create a stronger impression with his wealth than in the busy metropolis. He purchased a fine house and bought fast horses; he gave dinner parties to the gilded youth, and his table became famous for its fine wines. He clad his erect and shapely form in broadcloth and wore diamonds that flashed in the eyes of the common herd as he walked or rode through the streets. He delighted to exhibit his proficiency in what is called the manly art, and, in short, he became known as a thoroughly " good fellow," not " cultured," of course, but manly, independent and? rich. But the villainous police were on his track. A clew led them toward jriffin, that thief who had put his ihare of the money in a gamblinglouse at Dansville. Griffin was warned md fled to Canada, but most of his noney was jjpne, and tidings reached lim of the prodigality of Mr. Noble in Elmira. Then his suspicions became iroused, and when he learned, finally, ;hat Daniel had obtained a trifle of ^200,000 more than he had of the pro;eeds of the robbery, he promptly went ;o New York and made a clean breast >f the matter to the officers of the in;uranco company. So Mr. Noble's jlorious career was ingloriously :he?ked. Both of his accomplices ,urned State's evidence, and after four ? * -? 1- ? -i-f ? i. _ .1 1.1 <n;us, justice uemg ueieau;u turee iimes by the powerful friends the icoundrel had made during his career 13 a " capitalist," Noblo was convicted ind sent to Auburn. After a year's mprisonment he escaped and went to England, but the London police were ;oo much for him. The Elmira Gazette, which recalls the events of this man's ife, records the fact that he i3 rememjered in Eluiira as having been " a levoted husband and a kind father." [lis death resulted, to use a familiar 'orm of speech, from natural causes; in >ther words, the tastes which he inlulged when he had money were such hat his powerful constitution was unlermined, and he breathed his last wreath on a convict's pallet. Brea<l. Bread, properly so called, was transnitted by the Greeks to the Romans; ind either the latter or the Phoenicians nay have introduced the cultivation >f corn into Gaul. \V bile, however, he land was covered by immense 'orests, a long time must have elapsed jefore the practice of eating acorns, ihestnuts and beech m;ist was aband)ned, and even when corn was reguarly grown, ripened and harvested, ;he grains were merely plucked from ;he ear and eaten raw or slightly jarched. The next step was to infuse ;he grain in hot water for the making >f a species of gruel or porridge, and l long time afterward it may have oc;urred to some bright genius to pound ;he corn in a mortar or rub it to a lowder between two stones. Subsequently came the hand-mill; but it was lot until after the first crusade that ;he windmill was introduced from the East, whither it had probably found ts way from China. The first bread nras evidently baked on the ashes and mleavened, and the intolerable pangs )f indigestion brought on by a coniinual course of "galette" or "damper" nay have suggested the use of a fernenting ageDt, which, in the first instance, was, probably, stale bread urned sour. Pliny has distinctly told as, in his "Natural History," that the villus leaveneu tneir urunu \wui yean, nade from lye of hear, yet, strangely ;nough, they abandoned the use of beer cast, and did not resume it until the niddle of the seventeenth century. Its evival in France made the fortune of nany bakers; then the medical faculty iounded an alarm, declaring the yeast nade from beer was poisonous. Its employment was prohibited by law in .G8G, but the outcry raised by the bakers ind the public was so vehement that n the following year the decree of prolibition wan canceled with the proviso hat the yeast was to be procured only roin beer freshly brewed in Paris or ts immediate neighborhood. Some orm of fermented bread, however, the French had been eating for 1,600 'ears, in contradistinction to the gruel ind pulse-eating Italians and Levaninesand the purely vegetarian Hinloos.?New York Hour. The cost of American railroads, ac:ording to the census report, is over >4,000,000,000, or an average of $47,)00 a mile. Their gross earning in .880 were $580,450,594, and the net 5119,844,597, or less than three pe? :ent? on their coat. SCIENTIFIC AND INDUSTRIAL. On August 1 an international electric exhibition will be opened at Vienna, and a fine display |is anticipated. The coal deposits of Colorado are practically inexhaustible, and they are to be found in almost every portion of the State. Two millions of tons were mined last year. A German firm has put upon the market some transparent paints to use on coarse-lined cloth. The effect is said to be a perfect imitation of Gobelin tapestry work for wall display. Tn fJ-rptit-. "Rrifaln t.hn laxrrA sum nf $40,000,000,000 is invested in railways. Some of the engines weigh forty-five tons and take a load of ninety tons at a speed of from forty to fifty miles an hour. English silk merchants are thinking about acclimatizing a species of spider which has been discovered on the African coast. This spider makes a thread very like yellow silk and almost as strong. It has been proved by numerous experiments that flour cannot bear the action of the sun, even when not exposed directly to its rays. When flour is exposed to the heat of the sun an alteration takes* place In the gluten similar to that produced by the heating of the stones. For this reason it is advisable that the transportation of flour should take place, if possible, on cool days or by night, as well as that flour should be stored in a cool place. The ancients knew a great deal for which they get very little credit. A short time ago a collection of surgical instruments was dug up at Pompeii. It was evidently the property of some single establishment, and was quite elaborate. Of course, the " find " was removed to the Naples museum. One nf flia annlinnr.ps at.t.rant.wl crrpat at tention. It was a long rod with a metallic plate fixed at one end at an angle of 135 degrees. At first it was thought to be a cautery for internal operations, but its resemblance to the modern laryngeal mirror suggests the probability that it was so used. The increasing cost of wood in America has led to a great number of experiments in preserving from decay all kinds of wooden structures exposed to the weather. Among the more recent plans suggested is one for impregnating wood with asphalt, combined with some kind of antiseptic material. The finished wood, ready to be put together, is first submitted to heat to drive out the moisture, and is then placed in a hot tath composed chiefly of asphalt and carbolic acid. On cooling, the solvent of the asphalt evaporates, leaving a skin or coating of the asphalt on the surface of the wood that resists water and keeps the antiseptic material securely locked within the pores of the wood. The exterior of the wood presants a smooth, black surface that does not need to be painted. WISE WORDS. Study to be what you wish to seem. Woman is most perfect when most womanly. The man has not lived in vain who plants a good tree in the right place. Hard workers are usually honest; industry lifts them above temptation lie is happiest, be he king or peas ant, who finds peace in his own home. Men usually follow their wishes till suffering compels them to follow their judgment. The sleep of memory is not death; forgotten studies are certain aptitudes gone to sleep. We never know the true value of friends. While they live we are too sensitive to their faults; when we have lost them we only see their virtues. The best rules to form a man's character are to talk little and hear much, to reflect alone on what has pUSSCU ILL UULUJJttUjr, IiKJ UiOLi uou uut- o own opinion, ancl value others that deserve it. It is easy to live in this world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after your own ; but the great man is he who, in the midst of the crowd, keeps with perfect sweetness the ipdependence of solitude. If there is anything which even a very clever young man ought to congratulate himself on, it is the knowledge, early acquired, that he is not a genius. For if he thinks otherwise, the chances are that the mistake may spoil him ; while if he proves to be a genius, the world will find it out before he does. A Farmer's TYife Kills a "Wildcat. F. L. Beacham is a farmer living two miles from Midland, Mich., and he has good reason to be just a little bit prouder of his wife than most other uen. One forenoon recently Mrs. 3eacham heard a commotion in the hen-house, and, in the absence of her husband, seized a muzzle-loading shotgun and proceeded to investigate. On reaching the spot an enormous wildcat emerged from the fowls' abode, and a big turkey gobbler appeared at the same time?with the assistance of Mr. "Wildcat. This was a " fowl proceed' ing " which Mrs. ISeacham did not ap1 prove of, and she snapped her gun at j the intruder, but the thing missed fire. She then seized a sharp ax and endeavored to do some fancy carving, ' whereupon his felineship showed tight and drove the gallant woman backward to the house, she constantly striking at him with the ax and the animal as adroitly dodging every blow. Her screams, however, frightened the intruder off, and he disappeared, unharmed. When Mr. Beacham returned at dinner-time and learned of the occurrence, he reloaded the gun with a charge of buckshot that would go oif upon easy provocation, and asked his wife to call him if the fowlhunter again appeared. Mr. Beacham was scarcely out of sight when the wildcat was seen uy 1113 wuc iu cut? the hen-house. Taking the gun, the lady started to pass around the henhouse to give it to her husband, who was near by, when the wildcat came out of the door and, with mouth wide open, made straight for the lady, clearing at one great bound a high wagonbox which lay in his way. When in mid-air the crack of the woman's gun was heard, and the savage animal fell at her feet dead, shot through the head, a genuine "out on a fly." Curious Indian Belief. Lately Robert S. Gardner, a special agent of the interior department, has been inspecting and investigating the tribes of "noble red men" who cumber the eartli in various parts of Washington Territory. In an interview, Mr. Gardner made some interesting statements about two tribes in Eastern Washington. We extract what follows: The Sanpoel tribe numbers about 400 Indians, and they all belong to a sect known as the dreamers. They are looking for another Hood, which they expect soon to come upon the earth. In order to bo prepared, they have secured all the necessary material for the building of an ark, in which to sail off, as Noah did, when the flood comes. Among the material is 50,000 feet of lumber. The ark is to be fifty feet long and about fifty or sixty feet wide. The dreamers have a small following among the Indians of the Palouse, Snake liiver, "Warm Springs, Umatillas and other tribes. They believe that the whites will all be drowned when the flood comes, and that they only will be able to live oil the fat of the land without having to work at *11 ! THE TRICKS OF SHARPERS. BTJJTCO PESTS WHO UUPEBT THE ITBZETSOr nWTOBZ. Dtricea by Which Unwary Strangers Are TrdpDedw-Farorlt# Hannu and IMeth di of Metropolitan SirludlenAn observing downtown New York merchant said to a Herald reporter : There is a corner over there at Chambers and Chatham street, where Duane street makes a sharp cut, and leaves one street visible from another through the windows of a saloon. I have seen a pair of these fellows take some poor, inoffensive booby in tow on one side, while their pals, as sleek and innocent-looking a3 you please, chatted tncrptlipr annn.rpnt-.lv ahmit. lmsinesa on ?o rr j ? the other, and all the time watched what was going on and signaled what to do. It is nothing new for strangers to be captured by bunco steerers all the way up from Cortland street ferry to Chatham street, but the case I referred to happened in the latter. An Irishman came from Pennsylvania to the hotel I stop at. He was a man advanced in years, good-natured, openhearted and a person of some importance in his own town. He went out of doors and was at once pounced upon. The fellows have agents of some kind who slip into the hotels, study the register and glean information about the guests. They had his name pat, and knew a lot about his part of the country and the people in it. One of them hailed him, piofessed the greatest surpiise and delight at meeting him, and, after a walk, asked him in to have a drink. The old man was abstemious and only took cider. What was bothersome, he showed himself to be a hard-headed old fellow, who couldn't easily be led into staking his money in any game of chance. But it wouldn't do to spend their tima without getting something out of it. The "steerer" told the man he was about to go down his way on business, and asked him if he wouldn't bring some of his cards along to dispose of there. The other agreed to it. Friendly relations were established, and they rose to depart, when a stranger entered the barroom. " The old dodge of putting down two five-dollar bills for which the bartender had no change was resorted to. The old gentleman good-naturedly produced the pocketbook to supply the change. One of the sharks snatched it; there was a scramble; a third appeared, of course, as an impediment to pursuit, and the rascal got off. The stranger lost his money, but he was so exercised lest news of it would get in the papers that he made no complaint, but slipped away as soon as he could. He was so flustered by the affair he was never able to tell where the barroom was. "Just after that another strangerhe was a keen fellow, too?got into the clutches of the bunco men. He was *- - 1_! .1 -i> J _1 J ^ up 10 me incus ox uaru piayuig ituu tue dice. They found that out and played the other game on him. They led him to show up his money on some pretext, and they got off with $100 of it. These are everyday occurrences. Any one living in a downtown hotel will hear of them day after day. The reason they do not reach publicity in every instance is on account of the shame of the victims. Most of them are respectable business men, many of them church members, and they keenly feel the disgrace of being mixed up with any of these swindlers. What is due such visitors to the city and the public at large is that thoroughfares be altogether rid of these sharpers. They are well known to the police. When they appear on the street they are always bent on mischief. A bunco man lay ing tor a guy/ as tney cau n, 13 every bit as suspicious a person as a burglar with a jimmy in his fist. They ought to be dealt with the same way, and arrested every time they show their faces. That is the only way to deal with such rascals." The lower end of the city is the favorite haunt of a class of bunco men. The ferry, railroad and steamboat lines which empty so many strangers into the city daily converge within a narrow radius of the postoflice, and thereabouts the "handshaker" finds it of great avail to do his " prospecting." Business men coming into town frequently are aware of this, and are accordingly canny about accepting greetings. An amusing instance of it occurred on Broadway the other day, when a gentleman from Pike county, Pennsylvania, was accosted by an oldtime friend, who had pursued him from his establishment, which the Pehnsylvanian had just passed. Hailing, greeting, remonstrance were all thrown away upon the visitor. He stalked on as though he never heard them. At length his pursuer, panting, out of breath, and the cynosure of a score of wondering eyes, overtook him, and cried: " For God's sake stop. Don't you know me?" But the Pennsylvanian, without ever turning his head, flung out the slang defiance: "Xixie veeden, cully, I'm an old circus man myself," and left the amazed storekeeper hopelessly staring after him. He only recovered his equanimity when a policeman, who had witnessed the scene and was evidently learned in such matters, exclaimed: " He's been touched by some bunco men and thinks you're on the same j lay." One difficulty about getting rid of these sharpers is the tolerance ' accorded them. The knowing person who is accosted by one of them, glory| ing in his own shrewdness, laughingly turns away with a jest, and leaves him to ply his arts at the expense of somebody less experienced. The person who attempts to pick a pocket is given into custody. But the bunco man, when he fails to victimize, is dismissed with a laugh. There was a sort of poetical justice in the case of a man who told a " handshaker" he knew his game, and suggested his trying his cunning on a loutish-looking fellow who was passing. The sharper went off, and the simple-minded person he went after soon reappeared in a disconsolate condition. His wife was dying, he said, and he had lost the week's wages he was bringing home. The knowing gentleman who made the suggestion to the trickster was moved. He felt guilty and he gave the victim |5 of his own money, to find later on that the fellow was himself one of the gang, and the sharpest of the lot. Motions or Ships In a Calm. A correspondent of Knowledge offers a plausible theory to explain the onward motion of a ship in a calm. If a wooden sphere or hemisphere, he says, be dropped from any height intc the water, it will sink and rise alternately until it comes to rest on the surface at the exact spot at which it first struck the water. This is because the resistance its surface offers to the water is equal In all directions. If. I however, the form be altered to that of a ship, it will not be found to remain in the same spot after repeated oscillations, because the bottom offers more resistance at one end than the other; and, of course, the ship moves in +he direction of the less resistance. Now a ship is constantly being raised and allowed to fall again into the sea from a "swell" which exists even in calm seas. Thus it is always oscillating up and down, at one time a little more out of water than it would if the mass of water was perfectly still, and at another time a little deeper in than it would be under the above-mentioned circumstances. This up and down motion of the sea is always acting; but when the surface is rough, this action on the motion of the ship is infinitesimal, compared with that due to the action of the wind, and so is not noticed; but when there is a calm, there is no other force at work, and, therefore, that in the only one noticed. THE HAPPY TBT.ATOa ^9 Ho roams about the town from 4m tUf fll dark, An old mam with beet form and hair, Who dreams the earth he treads on Is a That sails to find a shore forever fair, 9 The shore so many seek and do not findB Among the busy crowd, he heeds It nojfic j&yW I But goes and comes to all our pleain^Hsl blind; The world he lives in seems by him fotflp^D Sometimes he stops one in the cro-aJBfrflffl throng n And questions thos: "Why do we saifl^jSJ far? I know fall well the vessel's cours^gMffiBH wrong, uJUnl For farther sonth the Happy Islands afl I And we are near them, for last night I hejEj M The sound of mosio coming from tSofifl shores, And caught the scent of flowers, and vj-J SShbU vuguu l/UU Flew homeward, over us, to roam no I almost thought I saw them in the dftf^KSQMB Fair as the rosy peaks of Paradise; am B Bat when the day broke folly they weregHg|M| Far, farther f.onth the shore we se?rcl|Hp&B51 Fray God they turn the vessel ere too lafl|gSB Must we sail by, as many times befot^KjiSH They make mistakes and lay it all to Eb^H^NH That we have never reached the longeflNnHgl shore." And as he talks the old man's eager Are looking southward, where he hopJH^Kg see ipHBE The purple peaks, crowned with gtraMgBBa glory, rise *Keath fairer skies than those of ItaiyHnBgl No sight of land breakB on his hopeMe^BraEfi "Ah, we have missed them, as so oft JN H fore! And we were near, so near to them/'MK^W cries. "Must we sail on and on forevermoiW'V'-isfiM Where are our Happy Islands? Must w??^t?2 jt Forever past tiiem when so near tfjjStaM Blow from the shores we left, Oh favodHw;-:! And waft ns to the shores that haunt Oh, fellow voyagers, pray God we find The land we seek and do not pass it by! Oh, blow us to the south, inoonstant windt -^f For there, we think, the Happy Islands ?Eben E. RexforO, in Tht Continent, ==?= = - ;S18 HUHOB OF THE DAT* yitfjUm A fat office?Th8 soap-boiler's.' Headquarters?The hatter's stor^Rj^H Carvers of their own fortunJfflH Butchers. The early angler catches the ifiHSH and a cold. Every carpenter has a plane before him. To the average Athenian the dfirafl est spot on earth is the Greece spotJK]9E A sermon always seems short toBSgH woman who wears her new bonneHgflH church for the first time.?New rHBH Commercial. "There is a coolness Between MEBgn good-bye," said the fish under theMnM to the fisherman on top, who was SbhH ing to break through and catch hlnMflfl The Drummer. gyfflBHB If the report that General SheraflBSfl kisses every girl to whom he is inS^H duced has any truth in it, we d<fle@9 wonder that so many of our you^^H men have military ambition.?Oil Oliver Wendell Holmes says tha&fw<i bad air, bad whisky and irregularhab*>|9H its keep the doctors alive. He musrejBs be mistaken. Those very things hawlBs killed several doctors in this city.? /Jl A man at a New York hotel iajwjgaj -t the other day, had some Limbuxgef^: 4 cheese sent to him. A little boy j sat beside him turned to his motjj^M^te and exclaimed: "Mamma, how I wmH I was deaf and dumb in my nose." H|gflKB Mme. Scalchi, of the Patti troujBfej?a| -- *'??? tim/w o nraolr flnrl aMHSsfSMK billga tilico WiiU^g a vivua Trm-i QnmCBHH $2,500 per month. She began life scrubber in theCovent Garden theaME^Sa Her voice, therefore, should MEyjMB soap ran o, but it isn't?Pittsburg TSm 9 graph. This is the way that a GalvesM^pM (Texas) paper "drops intopoetr^E^fl " Early to bed and early to rise maW^H a man healthy, wealthy and wise; hKsIm still it won't work, however hard tries, in bringing him wealth unljBpfflfll he advertise." What can a man say to this excBp&M mation from the Woman SuffratfES^SB^ "Women are called the 'weakersBj|?i|| and yet, up to the hour of going ftd&H press, not one of her sex in this co^^^H try has shown enough inteUectfl|g|jfl weakness to embark in the weatB^&M prophet business, or attempt to K^|H sixty quail in thirty days.' M H Ti V? xiook ViaoTl aCMffilinoH It 1103 UCYOl VliUt Muvv.n^.^ cisely what the scorpion lives on. haps he is sustained by the consdoBMjlfl ness of knowing that he is a pedipME&aia pous pulmonary arachnidan. WeZu^E^^e '{nown some people with high-soa^K^9 ing titles whose mode of making bJp^jgjM ends meet was a profound mystery the general public. Nobody ever been known to die from the rebuke a scorpion, but that they cause a sj'-^l cies of madness will not be denied anybody who has been stung. If sufferer is not mad for the time^ talks as if he was.?Siftings. IBS ELOPEMZNT.?A TALE. ? Their pa- From winRents said Dow ope They must There hong ^ Not wed. A rope, By which " - 3 Quoth he, To slope. " flu ^ To par- Without - mjSH Son nigh." A sound Quoth she, She reached "Ay! Ay!" The ground, Her lor- '??: One night Er found. J ' 3 I She rose, Took her They fled, Best clothes, Were wed. While Pop Enough e&id. . 3S1 Did doze. ?Arthur Lot, in Puck, \ ^ Traiued Nurses. As employment for women is a trfr quent topic, says a New York corre* spondent, I am led to remark that -V* tiiere is at present a great demand for '! trained nurses at a very handsome rate j of pay. A physician said to me re* cently: " 1 am treating the case of aa ^ old lady who was injured by a fall, and J we have the b2nefit of a trained nurse. This is of great importance, as such a | nurse can be fully depended on." He then pdded that the pay was $20 per -a ?-i- ??,i hnai.,i iviiif'h fa rfirtalnlv - >YCCIV OiiU uwatu, n??v.. ? - 'W?t* doing better than many other kinds of woman's work. These nurses are educated here for this purpose, and about thirty are graluated every year; but this is far short of the demand. *j In a great city accidents which, in other places would be mere trifles, often lead to extonsive need of medi?al aid. A rainy spell brings an increase 1 in colds, and also leads to pneumonia, ? which is one of the most fatal of all Hispasfis. Slinoerv sidewalks will bring broken limbs to the hospital from all $ parts of the city, anil in this manner there is a constant demand for nurses. The terms at the Presbyterian hospital for pay patients is $7 per week in the Ljj wards?that is where a large number of beds occupy a spacious hall?but for ~J-: a private room with a special nurse $30 is added. The "free beds" are supported by endowments for the ben- ^ efit of the poor, but there is always a number of patients of the most expen- - ^ sive character, and hence good nurses are well paid. A California paper acknowledges the - "^jj receipt of a hen's ?gg which measured | six and one-half inches in circumfo 1 snce at the middle and seven and on* 1 lalf inches around its length, 9 jjU - 'mit'