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GRIEFS. The rains of winter scourged the weald, For days they darkened on the field; Now, where the wings of winter beat, The popples ripple in the wheat. And pifcilesagriefs came thick and fast? Life's bongh ytos naked in the blast? Till silently amid the gloom They blew the wintry heart to bloom. ?Charles E. Markham, in Scribner. JOHN. "Do you need a man to work about your place, sir?" Judge Parker looked up from his law books and papers to the questioner, a stalwart man, about thirty years of age, poor, but genteel, in appearance, and respectful in manner and speech. "Take a chair," said the Judge, politely, motioning to one near him. "No, thank you, sir; I prefer to stand, if you please. The door was open and I made bold to walk in. I knocked several times on the door frame, but you didn't hear me. I came just to ask if you need a man to do any sort of work about your place? If you do not, I'll not take up any more of your time, as I see you're busy. But I hope you do, sir; I need work, badly." "You are a stranger in Jr'ixley, are you not?'' asked the Judge, leaning back in his chair. "Partly so. I lived here years ago." ""Sour name?" "John." "Your surname?" "I would like you to call me just John, sir, if you please?" "Don't you know, my man, that withhold^ your name is not a good recommendation, and very likely to make an unfavorable impression?" "I know it, sir, but if you'll only try me, I think you'll find that my faithful jiess and desire to do everything right will make up for the rest of my name." Something about the man's bearing and appearance strongly impressed Judge Parker, inspiring a desire to know more of him, and he said: "Well, I'll tell you candidly that I like' your appearancc and manner, but when a man refuses to give his name, there's always something wrong." "There is something wrong, sir?I'll be honest with you?there is something wrong with the name, but not with me? not now. I could easily give you a false name. Ain't the fact that I don't give one some sign of honesty, and won't you please look at that as a recommendation, sir?" "It IS an indication, ceruumj, responcfed the Judge. "Now it just happens that I do need a mnn about my country place here: need one badly. Summer is upon us, bringing a great deal of work to be done about the grouuds. I have a man for the stable and horses, so the new hand would have to do the xougp work, mowing the lawn, raking, weeding, sawing wood, keeping the grounds in good order, running errands, and so on. Would vou be willing to do that?" "Certainly, sir," John hopefully responded. "I'll be only too glad if you'll try me." "But you are an able bodied young fellow who could make at some trade much more than I could give you for the work mentioned, and if I mistake not your appearance, you have had higher aims than this sort of work." "That is a!l true, sir; I could make more at other work, and I have had higher aims, but you've seen how misfortune steps in sometimes on our aims. But I'd be glad to do such work as you said for the summer, if you'll only give me a trial." "What are your terms?" "That is not important, sir " "jNOC important! wiiy, my man, int. becoming plain to mc that you have some object otber than this work; some plan which such a position is to subserve. Haven't you?" "Not exactly plan, but I liavo a reason for coming to you that I'd rather not tell, if you please. It's not a wrung purpose, and I hope you won't refuse mc the work on its account." "It gives rise to unfavorable suspicions, though. An unusual number of things are against you. You refuse to give your name, you seek work plainly beneath your abilities, wages arc unimportant, and lastly, the work is not your chief objcct. You must certainly be aware that these would be good grounds for turning you away." "I am aware of that, sir, and was afraid that when I came to you that I would appear in a bad light, but I coneluded to be honest about it anyhow. Try me, though, sir; you'll not regret it. I want the place sorely; more than I dare tell. I'm in distress. I have nothing else to say. My appearance is my only recommendation. If that won't do, I must go." He looked pleadingly at the Judge, who, rising, came from behind the desk, and standing close to the applicant, said: "Well, John, let mc tell you that your candor and evident truthfulness have impressed me very strongly in your favor, despite the appearance against you. I'll try you for a month, but you must not complain if you arc denied certain freedom arid privileges that would be accorded to a man who has proven himself trustworthy, or if your actions are more closely watched." "I've seen those consequences, sir, and it's all right. They are to be expected * under the circumstances, and I won't complain. Do as you please with me till you feel I can be trusted. Show me the work at once, sir, if you can. I couldn't find word to thank you, sir, even if you had time to hear them. My work must show you how grateful I am." Donning a broad-brimmed straw hat, Judge Parker conducted the new man out over his spacious estate, indicating what work would be expected of him, and set him to do some weeding at a spot in sight of his study windows. He then returned to his papers and books, but as the afternoon wore on, he cast frequent glances through the window at John. It was plain that he had become deeply interested in the man whose history had been so candidly and honestly withheld. He could not fathom the mystery with which the applicant chose to envelop himself, but he trusted that his purposes were honorable, though he was somewhat suspicious. Judge Parker was a large-hearted man, widely known and beloved for his geniality, benevolence and uniform justice. The humblest citizen, if worthy, might apply to him for help, certain of a patient and responsive hearing. Knowing that his liberality had drawn to him many unworthy suppliants, he now suspected that John had some design upon his philan thropy, and accordingly believed he needed watching. But each glance through the window showed John working industriously, with an earnest rigor and care that cut the sharp edges from this suspicion. And so he worked throughout the trial month. Faithfulness and a pains-taking interest were stamped upon each detail of his work, and many persons commented to the Judge upon the improved appearance of the place. John was an unusually quiet and unobtrusive man. He seldom volunteered remarks save to ask instructions concerning his work; he never presented himself unbidden. Judge Parker's several efforts to elicit some account of his life failed; he was respectfully candid in answering that he did not wish to tell anything about himself, saying that he entirely rested his hope of continued employment upon his work. When the month ended he was re-engaged, and still he mantained the same scrupulous care in every piece of work, however trivial. He was not a "new broom." He never left the place, unless sent upon errands, and, retiring early to his room, spent his evenings in quiet pursuits. The Judge's interest in him grew into genuine fondness. He liked to talk to him, and found him well posted and ? 1 At J snrewa in me ways 01 me nunu, auu ever ready to converse on all subjects except his past life?that was a sealed book. The summer wore uneventfully away until one morning, late in August, a visitor entered the Judge's study. It was Joshua Skiles, a member of one of the bars in the judicial district over which Judge Parker presided. His face indicated an important mission. "Judge," he said, after a few remarks on general subjects: "you have a new man at work on your place." "Yes, indeed I have. I don't wonder you've noticed it. Many others have spoken to me of the improvement. But he's no eye-server; he's thorough-going to the smallest detail." Skiles grinned expectantly at this enthusiasm, as he asked: "Y^hat is his name?" "He calls himself John." "No surname, eh!" "No?well, the truth is, he declined to give it, and he's been so faithful that I have respected his reasons for concealing it, whatever they are." "Is it possible you don't remember him. Judge?" "No, I don't; yet several times I've thought there wjis something familiar about him, either in motions or looks, I can't tell which." "Well, I've just got back from a trip to Europe, been most all over the old country, and the moment I set eyes on vour new man I knew the fellow, if he has disguised himself with whiskers. I'm not often deceived in people, I tell you." "I dare say not, but I am if I've ever seen him before." "Well, then, Judge," said Skiles, with manifest pleasure, "you sentenced him ten years ago to the penitentiary." Judge Parker looked closely at Skiles before replying or showing any feeling of the statement. The man was not a favorite at the bar. He bore a reputation for pettiness, his cases usually being trivial, most of them plainly trumped up himself upon trilling disputes between parties, and he was given to volunteering services as bids for favor. So the Judge looked at him, secretly displeased at the disclosure. He didn't want to hear evil of John; he liked him, and was disposed to believe this one of Skiles's designs upon his favor. "His name, Mr. Skiles?" "Jchn Dorker," replied Skiles, efEusively. "You sentenced him ten years ago last March for burglary, which was proved beyond the slightest shadow of doubt. There wasn't a scintilla of evidence in his favor. Why the jury were out only about ten minutes. I was present during the trial, and I can truthfully say it was the plainest case of guilt in my legal experience. You sent him up frw fitrn vt?nrc " iV/i J "Arc you certain of this, Mr. Skiles?" the Judge asked, coldly. "It's a very serious matter to brand a man as a convict. He is doing well here. May you not be mistaken?" "No, indeed, I never forget a face." 1 'It seems that I do, then. What is your purpose?" "Simply to warn you, sir." "What good will it do you if I discharge him?" These questions cut close, and Skiles winced a little as he replied: "None at all, sir. I didn't expect it to ?except that inward consciousness of doing a service. I thought j'ou would certaiuly not wish to have a man sleeping in your house whom you sentenced yourself, and who served his term in prison." "Well, now, Mr. Skiles, to be frank with you, I don't believe in always putting the foot of virtuous scorn on a man's neck because he was once a criminal. There's no reason why such a man shouldn't or couldn't reform, and lead an honest life. I've sentenced many men to prison, but have never had a good chance to do one a kindness. I honestly believe that many a criminal would rise to rectitude if helped, and John is one of them." "We generally try to get rid of a stumbling horse,Judge," said Skiles,with a weak laugh. "If jt>u doubt my story rail the man in and face him with it." This was exactly what Judge Parker did not wish to do. He believed the story, but did not want to give Skiles the expected satisfaction of seeing John's disgrace laid bare. A sincere sorrow for hiin arose, and he said: "No, Mr. Skiles, I'll not confront him with it now." The pettifogger thereupon bowed himself out, somewhat crestfallen, as he had confidently expected to win the Judge's influence in an appointment he aspired to, and to have seen the criminal ignominiously dismissed. Looking after him Judge Parker mused ?"I do wonder why some people love so much more to iind evil than good in a person. A noble character is to them as a whitewashed fence against which they delight to throw mud. I hate to tell John of this, but I suppose it must be done." John promptly obeyed the summons, entering respectfully and inquiringly. A shade of distrust upon the Judge's face made him uneasy, but he calmly and with manly dignity awaited the communication. "Sit down, John," the Judge began kindly; "it may be a long interview." He complied, and began nervously revolving his straw hat by shifting his fin; gers along the edge of the brim, but he looked firmly at his employer. J "John?your surname, is it Dorkerf" A slight pallor swept over the honest face, as he replied: "It is, sir. You have remembered me at last." "You expected me to?" "I did, yes, sir." "No, I didn't recognize you, John," said the Judge, with a note of disappointment in his voice, "but a lawyer at the bar told me who you were." "Always some one to give a fellow a kick, no matter how hard he's trying to get up." "Yes, it seems so. Now, John, he says I sentenced you ten years ago to the penitentiary. Is it true?" "It is, sir," was the humble reply. "And you served your full term of five years?" "Lacking the time of commutation I did." "What have you done since your release?" "Nothing but try, sir; shifting about from place to place. I've tried hard, desperate hard to lead a true, honest life, but it's up-hill work. There's a weight on a man like me, sir. The opening penitentiary door is at the very foot of a hill, and when a poor fellow comes out and tries to walk up, there's always some one glad to push him back again." "Were you guilty of the burglary?" "I was, sir. It was my first crime. The easy gain looking tempting, and I fell. I needed money; but there is no excuse, I deserved the punishment. Those awful years, sir, gave me time to reflection, and I determined that when I got out, with God's help to pick myself up. It's been hard; cruelly, fearfully hard,but I haven't fallen again. I'm an honest man in my heart, sir, if the world won't acknowledge it." "But why didn't you tell me this when you came? It would have been better." "I suppose it would, sir. But I was too weak. I needed work so badly, and if you had turned me away then, why 11 "What, John?" "Never mind, if you .please, sir; you didn't turn me off." "Very well, John, I'll not ask you. But you said you had a special purpose in coming to me. Can you tell me that?" John Dorker arose, laid his hat upon the chair, and facing the Judge said impressively : "Do you remember, sir, what you said when you sentenced me?" "No, I do not." "Well, sir, your words burnt themselves into my heart as if they'd been sparks. I used to fancy I saw them written in fiery letters at night upon the black wall of my cell. You spoke feelingly, sir, like you pitied me, and that's what made them take such a hold on me. They were: 'Young man, you have set your foot on a dangerous path. The way of crime never leads upward, always down, down to the unknown depths. The pure sunlight of heaven never smile3 upon it. It is crowded with wrecks of noble lives. When you tread it, you leave mother, true friends, light, peace, heaven and God behind you. You are going to prison. In the quiet years you shall spend there, look over this life of yours, and think if you can afford to spend the smallest possible portion of it on this path. Come out a pure man. You will still be young, with much of your life before you; many years to bo useful and good in, and to retrieve this false step. Let me say from my heart, young man, don't blight your life.'" He dashed the tears from his eyes, and proceeded: "My mother sat weeping behind me, sir, as I stood at the rail. I was her only support. God alone knew how she was to live during those years. Your words were knife-thrusts, sir. I did have to leave her, friends, peace, heaven and the God she had so earnestly taught me to pray to. And I did reflect, sir, in those quiet years, and I came out a pure man. God knows, how I've tried not to let that false step blight my life. But wherever I went, some one spread the truth: 'Employing that man, that John Dorker; why, he's a convict.' "I became desperate; a temptation stared me in the face. I felt myself weakening. Starvation, gloom, despair, a broken-hearted mother were about me, and I wavered, sir, when a thought came: 'Surely, surely, the Judge who spoke those words would help me; ho wouldn't turn me away.' And I came. It was my last chance. Too much depended upon my getting work, sir, to risk telling you my story. But now I'm found out, and I'm ready for your decision. Can you trust a convicted burglar in your house? "Will you give me a trial? If not, I'll go away and try it again, sir, but I don't know?" Judge Parker sprang up and warmly grasped the trembling hand. "Trust you, John? Give you a trial? You have been tried, and I again sentence you, John Dorker. to five years in my service, in my most earnest help, in my best effort to place you on the road to prosperity. G od bless you!" And when the sentence was served, John Dorker was an honest and useful citizen.?Yankee Blade. A Millionaire's House-Boat. Alexander Graham Bell, the millionaire inventor of the telephone, is going to enjoy his summer in a novel fashion. A Baltimore boat-builder has built for him the most singular looking craft that has ever been put afloat, patterned somewhat -?r -vt - _ i_ v _*.?: _ ~??t. alter iur. rtoaua msturiu uiuiu jjju . Bell calls it a house-boat. I am told it is an immense catamaran, housed over with a charming cottage that contains double parlors, dining room, billiard room and spacious sleeping apartments, besides kitcken, bath rooms and servants' quarters. The house is elaborately furnished and fitted up with every comfort and convenience that can be found in a modern residence. It is propelled by two powerful screws, and in smooth water it is estimated that the boat will attain a speed of fifteen miles an- hour. It was put together in Nova Scotia.?JSTew York Graphic. A- Oncer Relic. Once upon a time a car containing gold and silver coin was burned on its way from the mint to Washington, and in the ruins the searchers found two silver dollars held firmly together by a ten-cent piece. The coins were badly discolored and twisted, but nearly in the centre of one of the silver dollars was imbedded a shining $5 gold piece as bright and perfect as when it came from the mint. The explanation given by the Norwalk, (Conn.) Hour is, that just at the right time the gold coin dropped upon the silver, the latter still in a half melted state. The queer relic is the property of ex-United States Treasurer James W. Hyatt.?Boston Herald. A NOVEL INDUSTRY. ?RED CLARK'S SKUNK FARM IN WESTERN NEW YORK fie Raises the Animals for Their Skins, Which He Sells at a * Good. Profit?His Mysterious Power Over the Skunks. The skunk farm of Fred Clark is about lour miles from here on the other side of he Genesee River, says the Mt. Morris [N". Y.) correspondent of the New York Sun. It is stocked with 150 skunks, tfext month, the breeding month of tkunks, Mr. Clark expects that this number will be increased to 1000 or more. Mr. Clark began raising skunks for the burpose of selling their skins one year igo last fall. He selected a barren acre >f land on a steep hillside as a sit3 for iis farm. He surrounded this plot with i close board fence three feet high and <et deep in a stone foundation, which kunks can neither undermine nor dig through. He dug long, narrow holes Into the side hill, hollowed out a pit ibout as big as a half-bushel basket at the ind of each hole, laid boards over the pits and approaches, and then threw on earth enough to prevent the penetration t>f the cold in winter. I Thfin Mr. Clark caught his skunks. His neighbors had laughed at him a good 3eal when he first told them of his plan to raise skunks and sell their skins. When he built his board fence and honeycombed his father's side hill with skunk nests they laughed harder, and told all the people at the old Pine Tavern cross roads and at the Moscow corncr grocery about foolish ;young Clark, who had spent so much money laying out a Skunk farm before he got his skunks. They didn't know that Mr. Clark was a skunk tamer, and they thought he couldn't catch his stock without an experience with skunk high jinks which would sicken him of the whole enterprise. Mr. Clark went skunk hunting, nevertheless, with a spade and two market baskets. Whenever he found a woodchuck's hole which gave indications that it contained skunks, he dug into it. He found eighteen skunks on the first day of his hunt. He picked them out of their holes by the back, neck or tail, just as they happened to come, and they never objected. They were as docile as kittens in his hands. After he had filled both baskets with skunks, Mr. Clark came upon two big black fellows, especially valuable for breeding purposes. He caught them, removed his coat and tied a knot in the end of each sleeve, and tucked a skunk in through each armholc. When the neighbors saw him come home at the end of his first hunt with a basket ful of skunks on each arm, a coatful of skunks thrown over his shoulder, and smelling only of the pines and hemlocks, they stopped laughing at him and his stock farm. Mr. Clark's novel business has prospered. Last May twenty black she skunks on his farm bore and reared 140 little skunks. Mr. Clark then killed off about thirty head of his old stock and sold the skins to buyers for New York fur dealers for $50. For the coal-black skins the buyers pay $1.50 each; for a half-striped skin, $1; for a full-striped 75 cents; for a white skunk skin only 25 or 30 cents. Since la6t May Mr. Clark has been killing off his striped and white skunks. He has scoured the woods along the Genesee River for the finest black he skunks and has caught some twenty or more oi them, coal black and as large as torn cats. He thinks he has in them a guarantee of the blackncs3 of the SOO oi more little skunks which he expects next month. The cost of raising skunks, according to Mr. Clark's experience, is almost nothing. Young ones he feeds on skimmed or sour milk, blighted sweetcorn, small pumpkins and frost-bitten melons. The -old ones get a diet less rhnir.e. Whenever a horse, cow, sheec or hog in the neighborhood, dies of disease, the carcass is carted to Mr. Clark's skunk farm. The skunks make short work o? the meat. In a day or twc they strip off the hide, tear the flesh from the ribs and begin gorging themselves with the entrails. They stufl themselves day and night until they can hardly crawl back to their holes. They then roll themselves together, often fifteen 01 sixteen of them in one of the nests hardly eighteen inches in diameter, and sleep for weeks. This last winter Mr. Clark's 150 skunks have eaten only a horse, a calf and a sheep. All told, Sir. Clark has not spent $10 in feeding his skunks since he stocked his farm, almost two years ago. A Sun correspondent found Mr. Clark sitting on the fence which encloses his farm. Mr. Clark iS a well-knit, intelligent looking young man of some thirty years. He lias soft, sleepy eyes, and moves his hands in lazy, easy fashion, when handling skunks. He couldn't tell why skunks treated him more considerately than they treated other people, but was ready to prove they did. He took the correspondent down the hillside to the skeleton of a horse at which thirty skunks were tugging for dear life. They paid little attention to his approach, save that they chattered a little louder. M*\ Clark grabbed a half striped skunk by the nape of the ncck, lifted him up, patted him, and poked him in the ribs. The skunk curled up his back feet, wagged his tail harmlessly, and looked happy. Then Mr. plnrk drnnnsd him to nick ud a bis rr __ x ^ black skunk. He treated the black skunk just'as he had treated the half striped one, and the black skunk took to it as kindly as if had been a pet cat. Thee Mt. Clark fondled, teased, and pushed about a dozen or more other skunks. All of them seemed to think it all great fun, and capered about like a lot of kittens. 4 'It's a knack. I suppose I got it bj practice," explained Mr. Clark, as he kicked away a skunk which was trying tc chew the top of his boot. "When 1 began catching skunks years ago I goi Bcented every time. Sometimes I'd gel such a dose that I would be stone blind for three or four days. But I didn't mind that much, as I could always get tb< money I wanted for parties and 4th ol July celebrations quickest by selling skunk skins." Mr. Clark is altogether quite proud oi his local reputation as a skunk tamer, He has had a photographer take a big picture of him surrounded by sixty oi more of his finest skunks. Copies of this picture, exhibited in several towns oi Mr, Clark's county, have given him con siderable notoriety as the pioneer skunl tamer and skunk farmer of western New York. Mr. Clark has the right certainly U consider himself the founder of a ne? / j tm\ ^ industry in this part of the State. The novelty of his enterprise, its financial success so far, and its promise of great future profits, have induced many farmers in this region to think seriously of raising skunks. Almost every day Mr. Clark gets letters from men who wish to know the details of the business and the price of his best skunks for breeding purposes. Mr. Clark expects that in a few years western New York will have twenty skunk farms where it now has one. As soon as farmers realize the tremendous profits of skunk culture, he thinks, they will tumble over each other in their eagerness to add skunk annexea to their stock farms. Mr. Clark does not l'ear, however, this prospective multiplication of rivals will diminish his local prestige. Though skunk farmers may increase in numbers every day in the year, Mr. Clark is inclined to think that he will remain the original and only skunk tamer in western New York. The First American Flag. The New York Tribune says: The Rome Sentinel, meaning Rome-in-thc-Mohawk Valley, and not Rome-on-the-Tiber, while in a patriotic mood, the other day observed: "It may not be generally known, but it is a fact, that the American flag, the Stars and Stripes, were first flnng to the breeze and first saw actual service at Fort S tan wis, located in what is now the city of Rome, and on a site within a stone's throw of the Sentinel office. Prompted by this interesting reminiscence?which proves that the Sentinel, although a secular newspaper, came near being published on holy ground ?the Albany Times proceeds to state what has become of the first Fort Stanwix flag. That treasure beyond price is now in possession of ah Albany lady, Mrs. Abraham Lansing. It was bequeathed to her by her grandfather, the gallant Colonel Peter Gansevoort, who commanded Fort Stanwix when the flag was first hoisted. The Times recalls the fact that Horatio Seymour at the centennial celebration of Oriskany, in 1877, displayed the flag in the presence of the vast concourse of people assembled on that occasion; and that having done so he gave this account of it: "It is the flag of our State which was borne by the regiment commanded by Colonel Gansevoort, not only here at the beginning of the Revolutionary war, but also when it was ended by the surrender of the British army at Yorktown. The brave soldier who carried it through so many contests valued it beyond all earthly nnssRssirms. He left it as a orecious r~ 7 J. heirloom to his family. They have kept it with such faithful care that again, after a century has rolled away, its folds can be displayed in this valley to another generation, who will look upon it with a devotion equal to that felt by those who followed it on the battle-fields of the Revolution." Flies as Detcctivcs. Sometimes even a very slight knowledge of natural history is of great practical use. As an illustration we give the following, related by a naturalist: A gentleman, making a call at the house of a friend, was astonished to find the rooms and passages in confusion, and on inquiring the cause was answered: uOh, we are very much annoyed here; a rat has come to finish his existence under the floor of our large drawingroom. "We do not know the exact place, but we cannot endure the stench any ' longer, so we have removed the. furniture, rolled up the carpets and called in ; the carpenters, who are just beginning to take up the floor." "Now don't be too hasty," said the visitor. "You need not pull up more than one board. I will show you what I 1 mean presently, and meanwhile shut down the drawing-room windows and close the ' door." 1 He then stepped down into the garden, walked around to the horse-stables, and ' .after a few minutes' absence came back to ^ - - ? : ?:?"U 1*^4.1* Von/la til c arawmg-ruum witu uuou uauug 1 tightly clasped. Placing himself in the 1 center of the drawing-room, he opened his hands and out flew two large blue1 bottle flies and buzzed around the room ' for a second or tfro. But presently one ' of them alighted on a certain plank of the 1 floor, and was almost immediately fol' lowed by the other. "Now, then," said the visitor, "take up that board, and I'll ' engage that the dead rat will be found 1 beneath it." The carpenters applied their tools, raised .the board, and at once found the cause of the unpleasant smell. 1 ?Sanitarian. I ?MM? The Persian Gentleman. , In Persia boys and girls never play together. Even at home the inferiority of the girls is insisted on, just as much by the mother as by the father. The little girls have to invite playmates of their own, but their games arc never lively ones. They generally prefer to sit by themselves under the shade of mulberry or pomegranate trees ia the garden (which usually is laid out in the courtyard surrounded on all sides by houses or high walls) and listen to fairy tales which their mothers and nurses can tell very in| terestinglv, indeed. While there is very ! little companionship or. love between brothers and'sistcrs, there is no quarreling . and no fighting, cither, between them; ! and the boys, while thinking themselves , above the girls, show them many little kindnesses.?Neio Yorlc Mail and Express. National Floral Emblems. Apropos of the discussion of a national . emblem, the following table will be of J interest: States. Emblems. Athens Violet 1 Canaua Sugar maple ^ _ Lotus [ England Roses I France Fleur do Lis Germany Cornflower Ireland Shamrock Italy Lilies r Prussia Linden Saxony Mignonette ! Scotland Thistle i Spain Pomegranate Wales Leek Parties. Emblems. ' Boaconsflcld's followers Primrose ' Bonapartists Violets I Gbibcllines White lily i (rnelphs Red lily Princo of Orange Orange c South Africa may yet rival our own > great West in its gold product. In 1885 its export of gold was valued at $347,500; ^ two years later the value had risen to $1,180,000. Last year it was nearly four > times as large, amounting to $4,531,000. r During the first four months of the present 5 year, according to a South African paper, ^ the value cf the gold exported was $2,140,000. r St. Louis proposes to celebrate April SO, 1903, the 100th anniversary of the ) purchase of Louisiana, which was acf complished by Thomas Jefieraon. -v - i ARLINGTON. . A PEACEFUL SPOT WHERE REPOSE OVER 16,000 SOLDIERS. The Place Consecrated to the Past? The Mansion of Robert E. Lee? An Estate Beloved, of Nature ? Faithful Old Slaves. mm A delightful ride of three miles, through historic Georgetown, past old buildings in which George Washington dined, under the shadow of the famous college, over Aqueduct Bridge and the beautiful Potomac, past Fort Meyer, where the signal service prognosticators are trained with military precision and discipline, and we are at the gates of Arlington, says a corresDondeut. It is like entering a new world. Behind lie commerce, wealth, ambition, politics, the present, the future. Once in Arlington you live in the past, and the past alone. The road winds amc ng the oaks, elms, maples, magnolias, many kinds of evergreens, arbor vitte and thousands of flowering shrubs. The air is laden with the perfume of flowers, the sward is green and restful, the shade cooling. But the marvelous beauties of nature, here spread with lavish hand, are as nothing compared to the real Arlington. These natural attractions are but the fair and graceful body. Arlington possesses a soul. Under the sward repose the remains of 16,288 soldiers. Four thousand four hundred and forty-nine of these are unknown. Vast as are these figures, one can easily believe them true, for on either side the long, regularly formed rows of small, white headstones extend, perspectives of green between lines of white as far as vision can reach. The grounds are perfectly kept. There is no grave that has become sunken, and none is marked by an elevation of the ground. Smooth and even is the surface everywhere. "Walk among these stones and in ten minutes one may see such typical American names as Sherman, Whittier, Spaulding, Jackson, Lee, Buchanan, Lawrence, Sheridan, Grant, Randolph, Allen. One of the Jacksons bears the initials "U. S. G." and nearby, oddly enough, is an "Andrew Grant." Not far away is "George Washington," and within a stone's throw two other Washingtons? "A." and "J." Plenty of good Irish names may be seen, too, and German as well, significant of the valiant part borne in the struggle by the sons of these /innnfrioa Silpnt. XOlt.nPSSfta of War's havoc are all these stones, but more especially the ones occasionally come upon marked "a leg," or "an arm." A few of these unidentified members were honored with separate burial, but in one great pit were "thrown the bones of 2111 unknown soldiers, gathered after war from the fields of Bull Run and the route to the Rappahannock. Over them is a cannon surmounted monument bearing the inscription: "Their remains could not be identified, but their names and deaths are recorded in the archives of their country, and its grateful citizens honor them as of their noble army of martyrs. May they rest in peace." Frequently one notes the name of a woman, and on inquiry is surprised to learn that the remains of several hundred women repose here in honor. But in this there is nothing inappropriate, and j on the records all go down as "soldiers," j for they were the wives of oflicers who j fell in battle, or nurses in the field hospitals. Surely these women who kept the homes and comforted the wounded and dying may fittingly be included with those of whom the roadside tablet sings On fame's eternal camping ground Tlielr silent tonts are* spread, And Glory guards with solemn round The bivouac of the dead. Driving through the cemetery these iron tablets with raised letters of white are seen by the way. Hundreds of thousands of visitors have seen and admired j them?never did poet have a better set ting for his verses?but few know the origin of the lines. They were written by Theodore 'O'Hara, a gifted IrishKentuckian soldier and scholar, and read by him on the occasion of the unveiling of a monument to the dead of the Mexican war at Frankfort, Ky., many years ago. As one enters Arlington by the west gate nearly the whole of this beautiful poem is shown him, verse by verse, as he drives along. By the roadside stand many pretty monuments of officers and heroes. But f greater interests than any other object within the tract of 1130 acres is Arlington House, a massive structure with a great portico of doric columns. Here Robert E. Lee was wed in 1S31 to Mrs. Curtis, granddaughter of George Washington, and here he lived, when not away i in his country's service, for thirty years. The old house stands just as it stood seventy-five years ago. Though stripped of its antique furniture and invaluable relics of Washington its precious memories still cling to it?memories wliioh all the fortunes of war and tragedies of fate cannot take away from it. A year or two ago its outer walls had bccome much faded, but have recently been paintea their old yellow color. The servants' quarters, the detaohed kitchen and other outbuildings are preserved intact. In a part of the h?ees now lives the family of the officer in I charge of the cemetery, and the hall and southern parlors are given up to the use of the public. A register is kept, in which 40,000 visitors record their names each year, and on the walls hang maps of the cemetery, the diagram showing every grave and the names of all the known dead. A magnificent estate was this of General Lee. Step out on the portico and behold the panorama. In the foreground a sharp declivity; at its brow,but - ~-lo frn-rr, +Vio VinilSIV t.lie OTilVC a 15)1 JiUUg "Urn v^v. ? , 0 and new monument of Sheridan. Then a fast sloping lawn, next a forest of magnolias, oaks, maples, all vino clad or surrounded by flowering shrubs; a winding driveway; the stono wall with its beautiful gates made of columns from the old War Oflice and the old Patent Oiiicc; just outside the Alexandria Georgetown turnpike on which Washington rode many and many a time en route to or from Mt. Vernon, and beyond this the Potomac with its moving ships and boats. Across the Potomac?all Washington, the distant hills green in the background; the great Capitol, overshadowing everything; the monument, nearer by, rising whiter and grander than from any other view; the redbrick Pension Office, the Treasury, the White House barely discernible, the War, State and Navy building. Spanning the Potomac is Long Bridge, over which the armies passed, thousands of them, to return to this eternal camping ground. j Near the mansion is a pavilion mod m -jannrtiid .1 ' ' ' ?- I elcd after the temple of Fame, and bear-f ing on its frieze the names of Washing-) ton, Grant, Farragut and Lincoln, andj on its columns Garfield, Thomas, Meade,) McPherson, Sedgwick, Reynolds, Hum-; phreys and Mansfield. Near by is thei Monument to the Unknown, and just be-: Hi yond it the beautiful amptiitheatre, 160j 1 feet in diameter, with chaste Corinthian! j rostrum and colonnade, wherein many. I thousands sat ujfcra the green sward! Decoration Day and joined the anniversary} exercises. The greenhouses are fairly bursting with flowers to be used in the! decoration of the graves, and the colored! man, bent and old, whom we see amblingj along, watering pot in hand, i^Wesley. Syfax, who once was Robert E. Lee's slave. Thirty years ago there were 200j slaves on the estate, and five of them still remain, so much attached to the placei that they could not be driven away.: M They live in little cabins nearby, andHB work, when they can, for the Govefnj ment. A little way from the house to the soutn are the graves of tteorge was rungton Curtis and his wife. In a gloomy spot under the hill is the resting place of Mrs. Mary Randolph. It is the faithful old slave, Wesley Syfax, who early each Decoration Day morning strews these graves with sweet jessamines and forgetme-nots. Fierce Tonaregs of the Desert The Tonaregs of Algeria are a peculiaj race of people. They live principally by brigandage and laying tribute on caravana that cross the desert. They are sup- \ posed to be descendants of a people thai in prehistoric times emigrated from Asia or from Europe to the southern shores of the Mediterranian and were gradually crowded southward into the desert. : i They are of swarthy aspect, tall, vigorous, supple and quick and energetic in movement. Their only clothing is 8 blouse and pantaloons of red or blue ; cotton and fitted close to the figure. j j On their breast is a sort of white scarf,! over which is a belt of red leather supporting the cartouch box, which is of the same material. The head is covered; with a turban fastened about the forehead with a band of black; stuff, while* blade vest conceals the lower part of the face,; leaving little but a prominent nose and % pair of unamiable black eyes. r All are arxued with a long barbed lance,: which never leaves their hands, a two-i handed sabre and a poinard. At theirj saddle hangs a double-barreled < gun and a shield of antelope hide. Thus equipped and mounted on their camels of the species known as mehari,. which they guide with great dexterity^ they present an imposing appearance and! recall the knight errant of the Middle;} Ages. Their appearance is threatening, and it is not surprising that their less warlike! neighbors regard them with appre-i hension. The Tonareg mounted on his meharij leans against the high back of his saddle,; .. and pulling his legs about the cross that! that forms its front, places his feet on the! animal's neck, and guides it by a gentiei pressure of the toes on one side or thej ] other. Trained from its earliest youtbj to this manner, it responds promptly and: I turns in the direction desired, leaving its I rider the free use ol his hands to meld] his weapons. } The female Tocai'eg guides her camel in the same manner, and some among them a re so expert that they can play ? lively air on the mandolin and compel the animal to follow it in a dance movement like a well-trained circus horse. ! , Owing to the scarcity of water, the Tonaregs never wash themselves. Their . filth becomes hereditary, even exceeding that of the most squalid tribes of American Indians.?New York Journal. ? up Raising Horses Pays. "Raising trotting and running horses is not a very unprofitable-business," said Senator Stockbridge, a few days ago, 6a he leaned back in an easy chair in the room of the Senate Committee on Fisheries, of which he is Chairman. Tho Senator had just returned from Michigan, where he had'spent a delightful day on his stock farm, situated a few miles from Kalamazoo. '-'4 ' ?I had not been out to the farm foil some time," said the Senator. "So one fine dav I arranged with my partner, Itr.' Brown, who is manager of the place, to I go out and look over the stock and take aT I sort of inventory of it. We started about I nine in the morning, and when we ar- I rived at the farm the horses had all been' I fed and groomed, and were feeling and I looking in first-class condition. We got I out the pedigree book, and then care-' I fully examined every young animal on the! I place. Well, after I had entered all the' I horses and set a verv moderate value; I upon them, in no cases exceeding the< I price which they would bring in any open) I market, I found that we had just $103,000 I worth of horseflesh. j I "We bought the farm three years ago,? I and organized a stock company with aj I capital of $75,000. We owe a few thou-' I sand dollars for running expenses and! I things of that kind, but all this is more? I than offset by the value of the farm. So] I that, deducting the amount of capital wei I put in, the profits in three years, without I any particular effort to run the farm as w I money-making concern, were more thanj I $100,000, which, you see, is more thanaj I Senator's salary. Some horses raised onj I this Kalamazoo stock farm have turned; I out to be very valuable and very fajst."?j I Chicago Herald. , I Oriental Railway Employes. ' I Speaking of railroad wages in India, I I find that section men work here for fromj I three to five cents a day, and that the I roads can get all the men they want at I these prices. Engineers work on time* I and distance, and they earn about the! I highest pay of the railroad employes.} I They get about seventy dollars a month' I while running regularly, but they can in- I crease this by extra running to eighty-five; I and one hundred dollars a month., I The Indian railways have no conductors I in our sense of the word. The tickets are I collectcd and examined by men at the I various stations, and the guard who man- I ages the train in other respects has noth- I ing to uo wiiu u-ic tn.ii.tto. utjv.? ? get about twenty-five dollars a month, and on the smaller railroads they receive; from seven to twenty dollars a month.; The most of the guards are natives or half-breeds, while a majority of the en-: gineera are English. I don't think the English engineers are as well posted as our American ones. I asked one of them the weight of his engine. He stammered and replied that he did not know. The American engineer can tell you just what his engine weighs, how much steam she ; carries and all about her.?Frank Q, 1 Carpenter. Between 15,000 and 16,000 children; are now lost in Lpndon every year. JL