Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

lewis m. grist, proprietor. %\\ Jmlcpcmicnt Jamilg $ftuispi)cr: Jijr the |romotioit of the fotitiral, Social, ^jritutiurat and (Commercial Jnierrafs of the Jtoutlt. | TERMS?$2.00 A TEAR IN ADVANCE. VOL. 36. YOEKVILLE, S. C.3 WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 1890. 1STO. 40. l.-FOUND AT LAST. By W. E BALLOU, Illustrated by FEBNAKDO MIBAKDA. (Copyright All rights reserved. 1 "Happy I may not call thee until I learn that thy life has been happily ended." Thn* soliloauized vouncr Mr. Henrv Henshall as he reclined, day dreaming, against the cushions of his seat In the for wud section of a Wagner car. The New York Central train was speeding him on and on, to which fact he was utterly oblivions. Be had secured the forward section to escape observation. He sat with his hack to the passengers. Himself was companionship enough. He desired only to think and to dream. He had but a few days since put Columbia college, so to speak, among his stock of reminiscences, with her highest honors in his trunk. He had mentally given over his father's great manufacturing interests, which invited him to take immediate possession and give the aged sire his desired retirement, to the devil and the deep blue sea. Ha loved his ideal best, his art next, the devil take what was hindmost. The ideal was now his quest; art he could achieve between times. It was of her he dreamed ?his ideal. As he sat there gazing at the end of the car, deep in the contemplation of this yet unseen but ever clearly outlined celestial ideal girl, with all the glamour of youth, the words of the great Solon to envious Croesus would thrust themselves between his thoughts &Dd seize him like some grim specter, "Happy 1 may not call thee until I learn that thy life has been happily ended.'' "Why need what old Solon or any one else ever said concern me?" he mused. "What difference does it make what people say or who says it? A fact is a fact, and a theory a theory. One man's theory is as good for his own purposes as another's , theory. The fact in my case is that I am satisfied to paint, notwithstanding dad's wrath and the business he would thrust on me. Let dad earn the money, or who will ?I desire only to spend it "So much for the fact My theory is, * and I prefer it to Solon's, that to marry my ideal will be the acme of happiness and | will insure a happy ending to my life. If ] I never find her more or less of my life will be miserable and will end unhappily." t The young man failed to see that he had \ exactly conformed his theory to Solon's, that he had expressed the same theory pre- < ciaely witn variations in iorm oniy. xoatn is deluded and ignores resemblances, those trifles which made Darwin immortal. He continued to muse: "As an artist my preferences run to ( browns. They are my favorite colors, because to me they are most beautiful, most quiet, most sincere and the least suggestive of either guudiness or gloom. My ideal, unseen, unknown love is a symphony in browns?brown hair, brown eyes and a" complexion tinted brown rather than white or red. "She is very small in stature, hence sure to be superbly perfect in form. Her little head is beautifully rounded and symmetrical, likewise her dimpled arm and her sweet little hands. Her little feet are incased In child's boots, not larger than a child's No. 12. She is"? He paused abruptly, startled, for he saw her. His eye had been wandering among the gorgeous tapestries of the car, the beautifully wrought woodwork, the superb French plate glass panes in the windows, the oil painted oeilings and the blue and gold woven velvets of the cushions. At last it rested on a mirror in front and ; above his head that slightly inclined from the top toward him sufficiently to expose s the entire car and all its occupants in dim t image, dim because his curtain was drawn, . darkening the light from the window at t his side. He thought several times to change his j position to obviate the annoyance, but he l unconsciously seemed deterred from so do- , ing. He was being slowly fascinated by a r shadow as yet undefined, but momentarily 4 growing more startling. He stared through the dim light at the mirror until his eyes ? became accustomed to the shadows above, j and the picture among the other images ] gradually defined itself. c 'Be stared through ^the dim tthe l mirror. What he saw, that which wound round and round him silken threads of fascination, might have been reflected through a dozen mirrors from side to side and from end to end of the car. Suddenly he turned and attempted to discover the original among the passengers. Failing in this he again sought tho mirror, giving himself entirely to the study of one dim outline. What he saw was the head und bust of a young girl. It so exactly conformed to the Ideal of which he had dreamed so long that he concluded the image must be a conception merely?a psychological ghost, as it were. Thpre was his dream face surely?tho symphony in browns?the brown ha}r, every thread as delicate as the dew catching gauze of a spider; the large brown eyes, in which was the very soul of the loftiest conceivable intellect, the highest genius of music, perhaps; the complexion slightly tinted brown, but cut by the sweetest red lips; the evidently small stature and perfect form, the beautifully rounded and symmetrical head and dimpled arm. He only lacked a glimpse of the feet to complete the spell of fascination, except of courae the realization of his absorbing desire?possession. He closed his eyes an instant to more completely imugine it all a dream. Again he looked to revel in tho 1 picture, but madness?it was gone. Startled, the young man turned in dls- 1 may, when, to his almost uncontrollable jpy, the girl in all her ideal beauty slowly s pppypached hinp |n the ajsle. {lis qujck, i artistic eye encompassed her form in a ' glance, completing the picture. She had 1 exquisite feet incased in little boots not < larger than a child's No. 12. t The girl hesitated, looking at him shyly, j I as if in doubt whether to proceed. Why, j he could not for an instant imagine, but he ' afterward attribute4 it tQ the fact that he < actually devoured her, so far as one can 1 devour a girl with the eyes. Her hesitation was but momentary, then she approached 1 a small silver water tank in the corner of the lobby near him. ' He was on his feet in an instant. He < sprang to the tank, his tall form bending < until his eyes were on a level with her, and ] he gassed at her with that eagerness and intensity with which a starved nomad might 1 look through a window on an epicure's dinner at Delmonico's. ] "Permit me to assist you," he said gen- | t tly. with difficulty controlling a desire to 1 grasp her hand. I i "Thanks, you are very kind," ventured j < the maiden, wondering at his eagerness j and intensity of gaze. j < He placed the silver goblet under the i < faucet, letting the liquid ooze out as slowly ' f JeeIinc |deaL (Jreat <?omposi^ Jlouel. THE JOINT WORK OF 1. Baliou, Ella Wheeler Wilcox, MaJ. Alfred C. Calhoun, i Dale, Howe & Hummel, line Hall, Inspector Byrnes, John L. Sullivan, Nelson. Mary Eastlake. 1 P. T. Barnum, Bill Nye. as possible while he continued bis gaze like one in a dream of delight. "The water is overflowing the goblet," suggested the girl with an amused smile. The man awoke confusedly, turned the water off nnd handed to her the cup. "Couldn't you let it run over a little while?" he asked half impatiently. "The carpet will absorb it. I have been looking T>? iur J uu au xuu^. a "Oh, certainly, if you wish," she Interrupted. "But then I am so thirsty, you know." "And so am I," the man said wearily. "I was never so thirsty in my life." "Then I advise you to take a drink," retorted the girl with a laugh, and she abruptly turned and left him. "It Is not for water I am craving," murmured the wretched man, but if she heard him she gave no sign of it. He watched her move down the aisle and enter the drawing room at the other end of the car. The reason of his inability to see her uinong the passengers was now evident. But how could her image be reflected in the mirror in front of him? His eye caught a quick solution. The transom over the door of the drawing room was open. Some mirror on the inside reflected the images of the people to some mirror on the outside and thence into the one over his head. Hungry and dissatisfied he seated himself again to contemplate the picture and scheme to get acquainted. Now he recognized other people in the drawing room also reflected in the mirror. There was au old man with a sober, dissatisfied face who looked as if ' 9 might be a disciple of Henry George deep in contemplation of land theories; a woman with a Just then unreadable countenance, who might be the ideal's instructress in music or other studies, or her governess, perhaps; lastly, the face of a younger man, say of 35 years, that bore in it cunning, malice, suavity and other characteristics which denoted a shrewd schemer and perhaps a villainous nature. Was she truveling in security with an aged, absorbed parent and trusted friends, or was her father, if such he be, oblivious to the muchinations of a villain, who hod an accomplice in the supposed governess? He resolved to probe this mystery to the bottom, if he had to travel around the earth to do it?if he had to employ detectives, hod to squander his whole fortune. Poor man I He little knew how much of bis contemplation was to be realized in his future existence. Alarmed by the workings of his brain he suddenly resolved to paint the group as ihey appeared in the mirror. He raised the curtain near him to in;rease the effect of the scene in the mirror, Dut it only dulled out the picture and he Irevv it down. From his valise he took a palette, his >aints and brushes and a small square of anvas with a heavy pasteboard back designed for use in the absence of an easel. He began sketching on his ideal. It was l joyous task, so much so that his whole iouI became concentrated in the work, an d ;he lines in which he drew the lovely face rapidly grew into a fac-simile of life. Of course the best he could do during she remainder of the day was to prepare itudies for more finished paintings later. Still he lingered long and lovingly on she face of his ideal until the study, under she intensity of his love and longing, beame not a bad picture. The day gradually lengthened until he ecognized that he must turn his attention o the others of the group or miss them by lightfall. They might get off at some destination lorth of New York. He must hasten. With feverish anxiety, intensified by the hought of her possible escape from him. le put away the paints and took to his ttacil. By nightfall he had sketched the group, o that all its characters might be recoglizedbythe detectives whom he already mrposed putting on the case if he should niss them. Mr. Henshali concluded that in the din ng car at dinner he should have the pleasire of sitting at the table next to the jroup. To his utter disappointment dinler was served to the party in the seclu tion of the drawing room. He entered the dining car on the last all and resorted to stimulants to urge his jrain into some suggestion for his relief. 3e returned to his section and called the sonductor, having evolved no other icheme. "Can you tell me the names of the purty n the drawing room and their destinaion?" he queried anxiously. "1 do not know their names," replied the ifficial, "as the room was merely marked iff to a party of four. However, I know hat their destination is New York, and ;hat they have transfer tickets either for tome steamer or railroad. In case of the atter they should be bound southward; if ibroad, their course is but a wild conecture." "Find out for me where they are going md I will pay you $10." "Very well, sir." But that was the last le saw of the conductor. When darkness set in the brilliant elec;ric lights of the Wagner palace increased * ;he intensity of the picture in the mirror. At last Henshall observed some movement in the drawing room. The girl took a violin, and tuned it to suit her practised little ear. Soon there Degan to float through the car the ravishng arias of Chopin, Schumann and other masters. If she was exquisitely beautiful to him tefore, what could describe her when xmring her very soul into music? It was ;hen that the beautiful brown eyes vindi?ted his sense of the artistic and his love )f their color. In the mystic spell of that entrancing music he could see clearly through the perfection of her fingering, bowing, technique, finish and grace into her very soul, which kvas mirrored in her eyes. He had listened to Ole Bull in times past, to Sembrich and even to Christine Mlsson wnen sne naa cnosen to seize a violin and charm her friends; but in love is he was the music of the maiden for ivhom he was hungering seemed to pale the efforts of those great artists. The very motion of the car was in harmony with her time. Passengers threw iway their novels and listened. The old man in the drawing room closed his eyes is if in rapturous sleep. The villainous looking man, as if fascinated, thrust his face as near to hers as he could without, disturbing the player, and his looks showed passion, longing, and a malicious intent which maddened Henshall. As suddenly as the music commenced it leased. The girl arose and put away her violin softly and with a caress. Evidently she was tired and wished to seek her :ouch. Had the youug man heard what was said' within, his auxiety would have been Increased to a fever heat, but he had not that privilege, much to his later disadvantage. Soon the lights within the drawing room ivent out; the group had retired. Long in contemplation the young man wit. At last, merely to relievo the porter, ill the remaining passengers being in bed, lie betook himself to his couch. It was liours before his tired brain would rest, uid it was broad daylight before he awoke to violently spring to the floor and dress iiimself. The car was standing in the yards of the Grand Central depot. The jerths wore all made up, and the open doors )f the drawing room showed that his bird :iad flown. He sought the porter in a rage. "Where have they gone?the people in ;lie drawing room?" he almost shouted. "Don't know, sah. Don't know nothin' tall about it. Train got heah at 4 o'clock lis mawnin*. De passenges get up when la pleases. 'Spec de folks got up when da pleased." Mr. Henshall sat down a moment to clear tiis brain. He was stunned. Most of the night he had tossed in bed, aoping for an accident, a crash, a flre, anything, that he might spring to her rescue. Nothing of the kind had happened. Instead he had gone to sleep like a stone ind let her escape. It was now 10 o'clock. Six hours had jlapsed, sufficient for the party to have escaped by European steamer or to the louth, or worse. Tier haps to their home in the vast city of New York, where one Individual is a mere drop in the ocean, a grain of sand in the Sahara, a moth on a great sequeia of California. The man arose and sought the quarters of the cabmen. They could tell him nothing. No one had taken a party of four. They might have taken a street car or carriage of their owu or walked to some near hotel, or worse, taken the elevated railway direct to thedock of some morning sailing steamer. Th6re was absolutely no hope. In despair the man wandered away, violently clutching his painted portraits, the only possible clew in the case. II.?THE CUP THAT SLIPPKD. By ELLA WHEELER WlLOOX. Illustrated by PHILIP G. OUSAOHS. [Copyright. All rights reserved.] "1 tell you, papa, I cannot eudure his presence in this house. It was offensive enough to me at home, when he came but once or twice a day. It was still more so during our journey here, when I was forced to be in the same car with him; but now that you tell me he is to live under the same rooi, sic at tne same tuoie ana nue m the same carriage with us it becomes unbearable. My hatred of the man increases hourly. Why need you compel me to associate with him so closely, papa?" The voice of the speaker was of that peculiar contralto quality which in a refined woman denotes passion and force of character, and in an ordinary one a coarse order of strength. It is a voice which always makes men turn to listen, and which echoes longer adown the strings of memory than the most bird-like notes of more musical and higher keyed voices. The face of the speaker betokened refinement, and this, together with her extreme youth and pronounced beauty, rendered the voice more remarkable. The elderly man to whom the words were addressed breathed a deep sigh. "My dear child, I beg you to be reasonable," he said gently. "You know how ill I have been?you know how alarming my condition seemed ever after" "Don't, papa," cried the young girl sharply. "Do you not suppose I remember as well as you the events which killed mamma, shatterod your health and ruined my young life? Why recall them now? "Have we not come away to forget them, if possible, or at least to live down the effects? But I do not see how it will help us to have that odious man under the same roof with us day and night Let Dr. Ren" "Watson," interrupted the old gentleman quickly. "I tell you, child, we must not forget the new names we have resolved to use. Remember always that I am Mr. Crawford, you are Miss Crawford, your governess is Miss Brown and my physician is Dr. Watson. It is imperative that we use these nurnes among ourselves as well as in the presence of strangers." The young girl threw out her arms with an expression at once impatient and despairing. "I hate subterfuge and deception in every form," she cried, "and I have never seen why this change of names?which wus a suggestion of Dr. Watson, as you call him ?is necessary. In a city like New York or London or Paris, where we are to pass our time of exile, we could easily sink our identity without living under false names." "The greatest city in the world is not large enough to hide the identity of a dis graced name,'' respomieu uie oiu inan nmterly. "Disgraced? Papa!" exclaimed the young girl in a tone of expostulation, but the old man waved his hand wearily. "Enough," he said. "Enough of this, my dear. The past is past. Why discuss it? The present and the future remain. "I desire to regain my health and brain power, that I may set nl>out clearing our name from the dark stain which has fallen upon it. I do It more for your sake than my own, as at longest my stay on earth will be brief; but before I go I would lift this shadow from your young heart. "Dr. Watson, as you well know, is the first of many physicians who gave me any relief from my suffering. He was the hist one to be called by me, because, like yourself, I had conceived a most unreasonable prejudice against the man. Some foolish and idle gossip concerning his private life, which arose from pure envy, I am now convinced, had warped my judgment. But from the hour he first took hold of my case I have been a new man. I have been like one risen from the grave. "It was he who discovered that old associations were affecting my mind dangerously. It was he who suggested a journey abroad, and, as you say, under assumed names. A disgraced name is like a deceased member of the body. If you bave a wounded finger you are in constant fear of hurting it, awake or asleep. If you bear a stained name you dread the effect of it on every stranger you meet. I)r. Watson realized what this strain would be upon me during our journey, and I must confess the relief I find under my alias is marvelous. You know how I have improved. The chill with which I was attacked the morning ol our arrival, and which decided us to remain here a few months before proceeding farther, is only a step down on the ladder oi health since I began to clamber up out ol the vnUpv of death. Dr. Watson is mv savior. "I beg you to overcome your unreasonable prejudice against him, my dear child. Whatever the errors of his youth I am convinced he was more sinned against than sinning. He is your poor father's best friend now, and as such you must consider him." "But why need he live here with us! Why can he not take a room a few blocks distant, within easy call!1" persisted the young girl. "It destroys the privacy of our home life?and it destroys my peace ol soul," she added wildly, "to have him here." "That is the extravagant language of youth," rejoined the old man. "Your prejudice is unreasonable, but I will strive to keep Dr. Watson from annoying you with attentions which he intends only as courtesies to the daughter of his patient. "He must remain under this roof. His presence is as agreeable and beneficial to me as it seems to be unpleasant to you. In this matter selfishness is the greatest unselfishness on my part, for the restoration of my health is the first consideration for your future happiness." The sound of a key rattling in the lock, like a rat gnawing in the wainscot, put an end to further conversation, and the door swung open to admit a medium sized man in his middle thirties, whose glittering, sloe black eyes rested upon the face of the young lady while his words were addressed to her father. The lips expressed kind consideration for the invalid, while the eyes expressed insolent and assured triumph in a fixed purpose. While he talked-with his patient he kept his gaze upon the girl's face. She sought to avoid those glittering eyes, but they seemed to fill the room with strange light. She took a bit of sewing in her hand and turned her back upon him, ostensibly tc catch the receding rays of the afternoon sun from the northern window; but he spoke her name, and for some reason unaccountable to hersc'f she turned toward him, drawn like the needle to the magnet. "Papa, I feel the need of the air. I am going out with Miss?Miss Brown for a Hft.lp wnllc." she said, rising abruDtlv. / ^ ! ^ j ^ "Papa, I feel the need of the air." "I have ordered the carriage to be here in Iflfteen minutes. Wait and ride," said Dr. Watson. "I prefer to walk," she answered coldly. "And I wish you to ride," he said quietly. Again her eyes were drawn to his and she sat down obediently. As they took their places in the carriage Dr. Watson seated himself opposite Miss Crawford and by the side of her father. The drive lasted two hours. It was dark when they returned, and Miss Brown was startled to hear her young mistress cry out wildly as the door of their room closed upon them, "I shall certainly, cortalnly go mad!" and then to see her fall In a dead swoon upon the floor. After she was restored to consciousness and tucked into bed, with Mi^s Brown to watch beside her, the old gentleman spoke confidentially to Dr. Watson. "I think you will have to avoid showing any attention to my daughter for a time," he said, "as she has conceived some foolish prejudice against you. It is the whim of a mere child, and I trust you will regard it lightly, but I am convinced by her manner during the drive this afternoon and by her swoon that she is consideraMy excited over this matter. "You have been very courteous and kindly attentive to her, as it is your nature to be, I am sure, toward all her sex. But I think it would be wise to take no further uotice of her for some time to come?until she outgrows this whim of hers." Dr. Watson leaned near the old gentleman and laid one hand on his shoulder, i and spoke in a low, grave voice: "My dear friend, I do not wish to alarm you," he said. "Yes, I have been studying vmir ilnnirhter's mental condition ever since I first entered your service. She has a most remarkably sensitive nervous organization, and it has been greatly shocked by events to which I need not refer. Unless she receives medical attention I fear for her. "I beg you to leave her care entirely to me. Miss Brown understands her condition, and we have both wished to conceal the danger from you, but since you have spoken it is better that you know the facts. Ignore any whim the child may have; pacify her as best you may for the time being, and leave the result with me. You shall not regret it." The old man pressed the doctor's hand and tears came to his eyes. "Nor shall you ever regret your interest in me and mine," he said. "Thank God, I have money enough to pay you for this sacrifice of your whole time and skill in my service while I live, and you shall not be forgotten when I die." The eyes of the doctor glowed like coals of fire as he bade his patient good night and stepped out into the hall. At the door of her mistress's room Miss Brown stood waiting for him, fear in her eyes. He put his finger to his lip. "Do not be alarmed," he whispered. "The swoon was nothing. It may occur again. Keep cool always, and remember our compact in the Wagner car, when you promised to aid me. You shall be well paid for it." And he slipped a crisp bank note into her willing hand. She bowed her head. "To-night, at 1 o'clock," he continued, "if your young mistress takes her violin and plays an air from 'Faust,' do not speak to her or disturb her. Let her follow her own will. It may not happen, and yet such an event is liable to occur." He passed on to his room, and Miss Brown entered the apartment which she occupied with her young mistress, who was now sunk in a profound slumber. An hour and a half after midnight the sweet strains of a violin breathing an air from "Faust" floated through the apartment house. A woman who lived across the hall heard it, and remarked to her husband that if ever a set of cranks lived on earth it was the people opposite. Dr. Watson heard the music and laughed softly in his room, while his eyes glowed like coals of fire. Miss Brown both saw the player and heard her music and muttered with pale lips, "Is he man or devil}1" Just a month later a man who had been sitting in Chickering hall watching the exhibition of Professor Oscar Feldman, the hypnotist and miud reader,rose and walked out before the close of the entertainment. A young man sitting near the aisle glunced up at him, slightly annoyed at the disturbance caused by his exit. "I have seen thattace before," he thought as the man passed on. The exhibition grew in interest and the young man turned his attention to the stage; but the face of the person who had just gone out danced before him in irritating suggestivcness, just eluding the grasp of his tantalized memory. "Where did I see him before?" he thought, and then, like a mirage, the scene reflected in the mirror of the Wagner drawing room car two months previous flashed before the mind's eye of Harry Henshall. He arose and dashed out of the hall. In the crowds of people hurrying to and fro in every direction it was impossible to tell whither the man had gone. lie hailed a cab, hurried to his studio, made a careful sketch of the face he had just seen, and carried it to the private detective who was renowned for his skill. "This man 1 saw go out of Chickering hall half an hour ago," he said. "Find his address for me and I will pay your price." It was a few days over a month later when he received a telegram in Boston, whither he had gone the day previous, which said: "Have found name and number. Come home." "I now t.hn nrifriniLl nf this skpf.r\h rlnv . -V... -O J before yesterday, driving in a carriage," expluined the detective on Ilenshall's arrival. "I followed and saw him enter No. 3? West Thirty-eighth street. I then followed the driver to the stables, and learned that the carriage had been rented some three months before by a family named Crawford, of the number and street I mentioned." When Mr. Henry Henshall presented himself before the janitor of No. 3? West Thirty-eighth street to make inquiries concerning a family named Crawford, he was informed that they took their departure early that morning and left no address. "They leased these furnished apartments for three months," the janitor explained, "and the time would not expire until next week some time, but they left today." "Perhaps they gave their address to some of the other occupants of the building," suggested Mr. Henshall. "May I inquire!1" But the inquiries elicited nothing from the other people in the house. No one had ever exchanged a word with the family. The woman opposite volunteered the opiuion that they were a set of cranks, and 110 better than they ought to be, in her opinion. "A rich old man, a queer woman, a fellow with an evil eye and a crazy girl who played the fiddle at 2 o'clock at night were not pleasant sort of folks to live opposite," she said, and she was glad enough they had gone, and she had no desire to know where they were. With these words she slammed the door in Mr. Henshall's eager face. That evening a woman whose garments bore the same relation to past elegance that her face bore to past beauty called on the janitor of No. 3? West Thirty-eighth street to make inquiries concerning a man by the name of Dr. Henshaw. "No such man llvin' here, miss," replied the janitor, with that air of importance peculiar to the freedom of one who feels the newness and greatness of responsible duties. "The only doctor ever bin roun' yeah in my day is Dr. Watson, and he's dun gone today." "Did he go alone?" asked the lady quickly. "No, the whole family dun gone, too? Mister Crawford, Miss Crawford and Miss Brown." A steel blue light flashed from the once beautiful eyes of the faded blonde. "And he left no address?" she asked quietly. "Not any, miss. Geu'm here today lookin' for the same parties, but nobody ?.TJOW3 uouiiu uuoub mem. The liwly turned und walked away. "Very well, Dr. Watson," she muttered under her breath, "I shall know who to search fur now, and if you are on this earth my vengeance will yet find you." [TO BE CONTINUED.] Chicago LcaiU in Glafl* Making. Tlio purchase of 150,000 acres of Indiana's best natural gas land by Ohio capitalists and manufacturers lias resulted in making Chicago the distributing point for the largest daily output of plate glass in the world. Several Chicago capitalists have taken a charter under the laws of Illinois, the amount represented being $2,000,000. The output will amount to 20,000 square feet of plate glass per clay, the headquarters of whose distribution will be Chicago.?Chicago Times. Ornamental Tree Planting. For street planting, A. Dunning, of the Illinois Horticultural society, says there is nothing better than elm, ash, linden and catalpa. Where soil is dry, hard maple is among the best, but on wet bluck soil is the poorest. For lawn or grounds, increase the list in proportion to the size of tho grounds; if there is room plant some which are not generally classed as hardy, protecting them for a few years in winter. Jfelerted ?0ctnn DOES ANY ONE OAEE FOE PATHEE 7 Does any one care aught for father ? Docs any one think of the one Upon whose tired, bent shoulders The cares of the family conic ? The father who strives for your comfort, And toils on from day to day, Although his steps ever grow slower, And his dark locks are turning gray. Docs any one think of the due-bills He's called ujion daily to payMilliner bills, college bills, Isiok hills? There are some kinds of bills every day. Like n patient horse In a treadmill, He works on from morning till night, Does any one think he is tired ? Does any one make his home bright? Is it right, just liccause he looks troubled To say he's cross na a lieur ? Kind wortls, little actions and kindness Might banish his burden of care. 'Tis for you he is ever so anxious; lie will toil for you while he may live; In return he only asks kindness^ And such pay is easy to give. pisKtUaitflms pading. WITH SILVER SPOONS SOME CALIFORNIA BEAUTIES LUCKY ENOUGH TO BE RICH ALSO. Many'Heiresses to Many 'Millions?Pretty Grace McDonough?Miss Carrolan?Ella Good?Accomplished Jennie Dumphy, Emily Hagar and Miss Bissell. [Copyright by Amorican Tress Association.] MISS GIIACE M'DONOUOH. "What is *the reason," exclaimed a despondent young man, "that the more money a girl has the uglier she is?" This seems to be a common impression, but in San Francisco the facts do not bear it out. Even the rich girls are pretty there, and as for the penniless lovers they are simply distracting, but that is a wny the penniless lovers have the world over, much to the disgust of mercenary and match making mammas. Hero is a group of beauties, however, of which each and every one was born with a solid silver spoon in her rosy mouth. This stately girl with the willowy figure and haughty carriage is Miss Grace McDonough, und is the heiress to a cool three millions. She is the daughter of Mrs. Kate McDonough, who built the California the MISS CARROLAS. atre, and a cousin of Mrs. Fred May and Mrs. Henry Moss, who arc so well known in New York. She has an exceptionally sweet face, and is attractive enough to play the role of Cophetua with signal success if she needed. This dainty little creature, a regular Queen Mab of girls, is Miss Carrolan. She is round and dimpled and sunny haired, and has a complexion like a Dresden shepherdess. She is its good as she is pretty, and spends no end of money in charity. She is immensely rich, and life is full of zest and enjoyment for her. She is the very life of charades, and no now "fad" is started without her approval. , Miss Ella Good is ten times prettier than a picture. She is one of a trio of lovely girls, daughters of W. F. Good, the rich banker. She and her sisters are extremely beautiful and impassably exclusive. Miss Good's style is very classic. MISS ELLA GOOD. She hits waving masses of bronze hair, which falls away from her low forehead in crinkling strands; a complexion like alabaster or rather like the pure dead white of a magnolia. Her eyes are of that peculiar clear steel gray, with dilating pupils j which give a brilliancy neverto be acquired by belladonna, or even by that modern necromancer, the beauty doctor, charm she never so wisely. j The Good residence at Washington and Gough streets is a magnificent structure. It took about 200,000 of Papa Good's dollars ( to build it. He expended many thousands more in the purchase of furniture, pictures, ' statuary, etc., and has mado his house a palace. Miss Good inherits her father's 1 amiability. They are southerners. Miss Jennie Dumphy is brown haired and soft eyed. Her elder sister married an actor, much to the amazement and horror of her family. It was a genuine love match, ; and there is a touch of romance about it that appeals to every imagination. She was deeply attached to her handsome bohemian husband and was very happy j with him, but she only lived a short time j after her marriage. Her husband was completely prostrated by her sudden death, and ' in two weeks he followed her to the grave. Ho was strong aud in the very prime of j life, and the doctors could find no name for tho muludy which killed him. Old fashioned people say it was a broken heart that killed him. Iler sister's death left Miss Dumphy the sole heiress to over $2,000,000. She is a charming brunette, with sparkling eyes and perfectly molded throat and bust. ] Miss Dumphy's father is among the most extensive land owners in California. In ] Nevada he has 100,000 acres which are de- , voted to cattle raising, jus is another enor- , mous tract in Texas. Near Soledad, Cal., i he owns a farm of 15,000 acres, a magnlflcent property and one of tho iinest in the state. At the top of the Washington street hill, the highest point in San Francisco, is 1 the home of the Dumpliys. It commands a view of the whole city and the bay, and is surrounded by a splendid deer park. Mr. DlUUPhy was born in Irelund, while his wife Is a native of sunny Spain. This perhaps accounts in a measure for Miss Dumphy's dark rich beauty and for her wonderful musical taste. She has a splendid soprano voice, and is an expert performer on the piano, guitar and mandolin. Among her many other accomplishments may be noted a thorough knowledge of German, Spanish and French, perfect freedom in the water and a firm seat on horseback. It is even said in the latter connection that she went with her father to one of the cattle round ups at Soledad, and that she distinguished herself there both as a horsewoman and a thrower of the lariat. Miss Emily Hagar is the daughter of the late Senator Hagar, of California. Her mother was a famous St. Louis l^olle in ante-bellum days, and Miss Hagar inherite her glorious beauty and exquisite grace of manner. Her eyes are dark and melting, and her luxuriant hair is of a rich brown. one is inn ui I'.spuL mm ii uiii 111^, wiii. MISS JESSIE DUMPHY. "Emily Hugnr can say the most audacious things in the most guileless way I ever saw," said a gilded youth, who was bewildered by a sharp retort, delivered in the soft voice and sweet manner peculiar to Miss Hagar. Miss Hagar is also a highly accomplished young woman. She is a thorough musi Liau, au u uu niuai^ui artist of ability and speaks several languages. She is said to be the best dancer in San Francisco. Miss Bissell is a vivacious, light hearted, merry eyed girl, with red gold hair, a rose MISS EMILY HACAIl. leaf skin, a pair of magnificent shoulders and a glance that works untold havoc in the hearts of susceptible youths. She is young and graceful and gracious. She is a Midas in petticoats as far as money goes, and she enjoys life immensely. She says she has such a good time that she cannot make up her mind to give up single blessedness, aud she horrifies her friends by insisting that it is her fixed determination to die an old maid. The melancholy swains who are nlways in her train look desperate at this announcement, but she only smiles at their discomfiture and goes on laughing nor way tnrougn tne worm, iui inese miss j. bissei.i.. girls nre native born Californians and devotedly attached to the land of sunshine which gave them birth. Annie Laurie. ? HUNTING AN ALLIGATOR. "To hunt a 'gator or bo hunted by one," is quite a difference, writes a correspondent of the St. Louis Globe-Democrat, as John Highland and Will Jones say. They were out fishing with a cast-net 111 a hoat one day week before last at the mouth of Fish Creek, which flows into Tampa Bay just below ltocky Point. Noting a big hole near the bank they cast the net in, thinking to capture a school of mullet, but to their surprise a big 'gator came in, thrashing around in the liveliest manner possible. Then followed a fight that was a circus except to the interested parties in their small boat. The 'gator soon had the net in tatters, and the men getting mad at this, procured a rope, cast a bight around his head, and had him secure. This rendered the saurian furious, and be began to battle right well. ITe plunged at the boat, and tried every way to get over the gunwale. The men had only small paddles and a pole to tight him with, but these they plied lively, beating him about the eyes and mouth whenever ho triod tn orsiu'l into the boat. The 'gator would jump half his length out of the water, and then rush at the boat with wide-open mouth, showing a long row of serrated teeth that were ominous of his intentions if he onee gained a foothold in the skiff. The men would push a pole into his gaping mouth and beat him with the paddles, and then the brute would back off with a loud bellow of rage and anger. Finally, by a tremendous sweep of his tail, the 'gator tore off half the end of the boat, and it began to sink. Jones jumped for land, and, catching a big cypress knee, managed to crawl out safely. Highland was not so fortunate, i folding one end of the rope in his hand, he sprang overboard and tried to gain the land, but the 'gator pulled away abruptly, and Highland was Hung back in the water right in front of the enraged and hungry monster. Seeing him thus, the 'gator, with a loud roar, plunged toward him with open jaws. Jones saw his friend's peril, and jumped to his rescue, seizing a big light wood stick (which are as hard as iron and sharp-pointed) in his hand as he did so. Highland got entangled in the rope, and it looked as if the 'gator had a meal in readiness. Jones's leap carried him near the 'gator's head, and he brought down the keen points of the weapon on the brute's nose, one point going into its eye. The big 'gator turned on him and thrashed madly. Highland got clear of the rope finally, and scrambled to land, where Jones hastily followed as soon as he could dodge the wounded 'gator. The latter followed his foes out on the shore, and rushed at them. The men ran around a tree to get a purchase on their rope, and the 'gator ran on the opposite side. There they were; the rope was so held that the 'gator couldn't quite get to them, while 011 the other hand, they didn't dare to let go in the face 'of the infuriated monster, that they could see was so highly and thoroughly mad that they stood no chance with him, especially without firearms. The 'gator plunged at his would-be victims, so near and yet so far, and roared in impotent rage and anger. The men strained every nerve to hold him when he raged in this manner, and could only do so by the exercise of their utmost strength. The rope creaked and twisted under the strain, but fortunately held. For half an hour this contest continued, and 'gator and men were pretty well tired out. The men kept shouting for help, and after a long interval Jones's boy came along from his home half a mile off. The lad was sent off on the double quick for a rifle, and the time he was absent seemed hours to the tired men. When he returned his father took the weapon, and aiming carefully at the 'gator, fired; the saurian plunged furiously forward as he felt t.ne bullet., finrl the rrme nnrt ed with a snap. As the saurian started toward them, the rifle spoke again, and the big brute turned over twice, and then lay quiet. The alligator measured 11 feet and 1 inch in length, and weighed over 500 pounds. It was a bull 'gator, and very fierce. The men declared that one such squabble of this kind was sufficient to last a lifetime. TOO SHY. Henry Cavendish, a distinguished philosopher of the eighteenth century, was so shy that even his female domestics were compelled to keep out of his sight, and his housekeeper received her orders by notes placed on the hall table. So controlling was his constitutional infirmity that the only way of conversing with him was not to look at him, but to talk, as it were, into vacancy. Only thus could he be drawn into conversation. Once at a company of men of science, an Austrian savant complimented Cavendish by declaring that his chief motive in visiting London had been to converse with the illustrious philosopher to whom he had just been introduced. Cavendish stood with eyes cast down, and uttered not a word. At length, seeing an opening in the circle, he darted through it, dashed down stairs to his carriage and drove home. The duke of Portland used to shelter himself from observation, while walking in his park, by hiding un.1 1 fTUrt knsil.. uci a nugc uiuuiciiu. xiic uatn. ui his London residence was guarded by a wall so high that the neighbors could not see the duke's house, much less its inmates, when he was walkin the yard. Both of these gentlemen were victims of an excessive self-conciousness. They thought too much about themselves, and were deluded by the notion that every one was looking at them. Sydney Smith, in his youth, was very shy. He cured himself of the disease by making two discoveries: first, that people were not employed in observing; and next, that the world estimated a man at his true value. Abernethy, an eminent London surgeon of the last century, was noted for his independence and for his indifference to people of rank and wealth. A certain nobleman once presented himself at the surgeon's office, and without waiting for his turn, demanded to see Abernethy. He was refused, and when it came his turn he entered the consulting room in great anger. "Do you know who I am?" he asked. "No, sir !" was the cool reply, "but I am John Abernethy, surgeon, and if you wish to consult me I am now ready to hear what you have to say in your turn." Yet this man, so indifferent to lords and ladies, when he had to lecture hpfnrp ypvprnl hnndrpd mpdipnl stu dents, was often painfully embarrassed. As he was about to begin he would be obliged to retire in order to collect his thoughts. The consciousness of his great reputation and the anxiety to stand well with the students made him shy. ROTHSCHILD AND THE COMMUNISTS. During the revolutionary period in Paris in 1848 a committee of seven communists called at the Rothschild establishment and demanded to see the famous banker. Rothschild appeared as suave as you please. "Pray be seated gentlemen," said he; "and now what can I do for you ?" "Rothschild," said the chairman of the committee, "our time has come at last. The people are triumphant? the commune is on top." "Good for the people?vive la commune!" cried Rothschild, gleefully. "Tlio fiitio Jmu <>nmo " rnnt.iniiprl the chairman of the committee, "when each must share equally with his fellow citizens. We have been delegated to call upon you and inform you that you must share your enormous wealth with your countrymen." "If it is so decreed," said Rothschild, "I shall cheerfully comply. At how much is my fortune estimated?" "At 200,000,000 francs," replied the leader, boldly. "And at what is the population of France estimated ?" asked Rothschild. "We figure it at 50,000,000," was the answer. "Well, then," said Itothschild. "It would appear that I owe each of my countrymen about four francs. Now, here, gentlemen," he continued, putting his hand in his pocket and producing a lot of silver, "here are twenty-eight francs for you. I have paid eacn of you, have I not? Please give me your receipt therefor; and so, good day to you." The committee retired and the communists never pestered the wary financier again.?[Chicago News. IIow to Escape a Mad I)og.? "If people were only taught half so much about the way to avoid mad dogs as they are about sunstroke," said Ofticer Mulverhill, the other day, to a Pittsburg Dispatch reporter, "we would not often hear of a case of hydrophobia. A good thing to know is that a mad dog never turns aside from the course he is running to bite anybody. So if one is right in the path of a rabid animal he can get out of all danger by jumping to one side and out of the path of the dog. But if it is absolutely impossible to get out of the way, the man or woman should stand perfectly still and face the dog. He will turn aside then himself, and run in a different direction ; while if the person in front of him screams and runs away, as nine out of ten will do, the dog will overtake and bite the victim. Of course it requires courage to stand still and face a rabid dog, terrible as this animal always looks, but the result shows that the real danger lies in taking flight." Protection Against Tornadoes. When trying to escape from a tornado, says a writer in The Forum, nevr run to the northeast, east or southeast. Never take refuge in a forest or grove of trees, or near any object that may be overturned by the wind. A frame building is safer than one built of brick or stone. The former is more elastic and holds together longer; the latter goes down in the first crash, and the debris is whirled into a heap in the centre of the foundation. In a frame structure the cellar is the safest place, but in a brick or stone building it is the most perilous. In the former case the debris is carried away from the foundation, while in the latter instance the cellar is filled with it. The tornado : cave offers absolute security to life and limb, and no means of protec- i tioii can replace it for that purpose. As regards protection to property, no building can be made sufficiently large, strong, high or low, to resist the force of the tornado's vortex. There is no changing the path of the tornado by the employment of explosives, or by any artificial barrier. To complete the dispersion of the cloud by the use of any electrical contrivance is also idle. All buildings should be constructed as would be done without the knowledge of thp tnrnndn and then nroteoted bv legitimate insurance. Protection must be accomplished by organized capital, the safety of one being assured by the legitimate and successful co-operation of many. The writer strongly advocated this method of protection during his tornado investigations in the West in 1879, and now several million dollars' worth of property is thus insured every year. A RICH MAN'S ADVICE. Russell Sage, who is supposed to be worth fifty million dollars, and who is one of the most notable examples in America, of a self-made man, is believed to have more ready cash than any other individual in the world. There are, of course, larger fortunes than Mr. Sage's, but they are invested in securities, in property, or in business. Mr. Sage keeps 'so much money on hand that he may profitably accommodate men and corporations that require loans from time to time. When asked by The New York Herald, Mr. Sage said that any man of good intelligence can accumulate a fortune by adopting three principles?industry, economy, and patience. He places no reliance on luck. A man must so conduct himself as to command the respect and confidence of all with whom he comes in contact. To disregard the opinion of others is simply to invite failure. Then he says that without economy no man can succeed in even circumstances where there are large gains. It is the careful, prudent way that makes a man master of the business situation. This is true not onlv in business, but also in politics, in religion and in every interest of life. What a man saves is of far more importance than what he makes. What a man should save must be governed by circumstances. There can be no fast and bound rule in this case. Men's surroundings so vary that the rule which would fit one case would not suit another. Still it is safe to advise a young man to save all he can, and to assure him that the saving of his first hundred dollars will teach him to save the second, and to proceed on that course until he has laid the foundation for a large fortune. Very properly in this connection great stress is laid on the fact that a man's health has much to do with his success in life, and that therefore it is his duty to look well after his bodily condition. Ill health will deprive him of energy, and therefore of success. But economy and good health are not the only requisites. A man must also be intelligent. He must read books and newspapers and keep generally posted on tne topics of the day and the course of human events. The learning which a young man acquires in his own room is far more lasting and robust than that which is obtatned by a hot-bed action in an institution of culture. One ol the wealthiest men in America recently said that he considered intemperance the greatest cause of poverty. Mr. Sage regards the lack of intelligence, coupled with a lack of industry and economy, as a much greater cause. Close application is necessary in every business, and with this, if the ordinary personal business qualities can be found, there is no reason why success should not be obtained.?[Washington Critic. IN A MILLIONAIRE'S FAMILY. It was Mrs. Ware's first visit to New York. She was the wife of a country clergyman, and last summer had shown some kindness to the family of the great millionaire, Van Pelt; now she was spending a day or two with Mrs. Van Pelt in answer to Kr*intiTT iici juanj in viiaiiuiio* The little visitor examined with delight the sketches in oil and water colors by the Van Pelt girls, and listened to their brilliant music and recitations. "They were taught music in Berlin, and elocution by a member of the Comedie Francaise," said their mother. "I wish them to be perfectly equipped for society and life." "I suppose you did not include a training in house-keeping in their education ?" said Mrs. Ware. "No. Why should I ? I was myself the daughter of a poor farmer. I know how to cook, to bake, to sweep and to dust. There is no part of the work in a house which I do not understand, but my daughters need do nothing of that sort. Their position 1 is assured. They can employ cooks ( and caterers and housekeepers to < look after the menial part of their < establishments." < Mrs. Van Pelt presently drove ] with her visitor to one of tne great i shops. She spoke kindly to a gray- j haired woman behind the counter. ( "This is the wife of a man who was i once Mr. Van Pelt's partner," she whispered, as they passed on. "An j unlucky speculation in stocks, and } he lost every dollar! He is paral- ] yzed. His wife and daughter sup- ; port him and two younger children. \ They live in two rooms away up in < Harlem." 1 When they returned home for lun- < cheon, they met a young girl leaving ] the house with a roll in her hand, j Mrs. Van Pelt shook hands with he?, ] and when she had gone said, "Five ( years ago that was one of the most j admired girls in New York. She < was the daughter of Blank, who failed < for such an enormous sum. She i InonBrw- mv 1 iff In nnoc imiaip flflH JbQ r iilj 11 WAV/ V/11VW M..V. %W J soon as she has saved a hundred or two will marry a young fellow without a dollar, and begin life on a ranch j in the West." i "That is not an easy life for a wo- c man," ventured Mrs. Ware. r "My dear, it is terrible ! Mr. Van r Pelt has a nephew who owns an im- t mense tract in Montana?silver i mines and so on. He must be on ^ the ground himself, and his wife a will not leave him. He has built her s a big house, but no money will bring j servants into it. If she brings worn- l en from the East they marry at once, c and if they are men, they leave her a service and go to mining. She has k been forced to cook, sweep, and even li wash and scrub until her health has li given away." j Mrs. Ware made no reply, but she p secretly questioned if the position t of any woman is so secure as to relieve her from the necessity of understanding the great science of house- i: wifery. She went home determined s to train her daughters more zealous- e ly than before as cooks, nurses, C housewives. c "?ucn Knowledge," sue wouiu say, c "may be a staiT to help you through o each day's toil, or a baton to com- a mand others; but it will always be a t magic wand whether you are poor or 1 rich, to bring order and comfort e and beauty into your homes." s< Cause of Wakefulness.?Con- d tinued wakefulness is a crying call to review one's habit and see what is wrong. Be sure the shoe pinches n somewhere, and soon its eifects will r< be felt in the liie-centres of the body. S There is perhaps mental unrest, irri- a tation, or overwork, in which Iazi- 11 ness is to be assiduously cultivated. e< "We may depend upon it there is oj some want of balance. One cord is r< played upon too much, others are w silent, and so the mental mechanism II is alfc out of tune. Wisdom, then, ai dictates a reconstruction of habits, ir At all events the wise person win not resort to opium, chloral, or any other sedative that steals away life while soothing it, and fixes habits which cannot be overcome. Much depends upon the power of dissmissing thought and becoming almost a blank. Napoleon had this faculty, and many another noted persons. ' The late Lord Napier was believed by the British officers to owe his immense strength and power of endurance to going to sleep at any moment when not particularly engaged. One of the famous politicians of Massachusetts, now an old man, yet with the vigor of a boy, has the same gift. In all these, and in similar cases, there is both consecration and determination. By an effort of the will, thought is withdrawn from its accustomed channels and allowed to trifle with fancies, that come and go like soft clouds in a summer sky, like the lapse of an indolent tide upon the J. 1. ? iu? i .it: uracil, ui tuc uiraining ui ?. siuuiuciing infant. In fact to let thought drift upon any one of them has a somnific influence. There must be passive determination to follow these gentle undulations out into space and lose one's self there. It is a cultivatable tendency and becomes a habit.? [Good Housekeeping. DOLLARS TWO MILES HIGH. "American people are so used to talking of large sums of money," said a bank director yesterday, that they really have no adequate conception of the large values that fall glibly from their tongues. "We speak of a half or a quarter million dollars as a trifling circumstance, while to say that so and so was worth a million conveys to our mind' little or nothing. Now, take $1,000,000, for illustration. What is your notion of the height thereof, supposing the money all to be in silver dollars, piled one upon another ?" The friend addressed closed his eyes meditatively, and said slowly: "A million silver dollars, one piled on another, would make a column about 1,000 feet high. "That's just what I thought," said the spokesman smiling. "Now, then, if I should tell you that a million dollars, piled one upon the other would make a glittering silver column nearly two miles high, you would probably be inclined for the instant to tell me I was imposing on you. But figure it out for yourself. Ten silver dollars make an inch; $120 make a foot; 1,000 feet means $120,000; 5,280 feet, or a mile, means, approximately $500,000; hence $1,000,000 would represent a column two miles high. Of course, this overruns somewhat, but the general result is near enough for all practical purposes. So you see, my boy, when you hear that so and so was worth only one poor little million dollars, do not be ready to underestimate the value thereof. I tell you, when you think candidly on the subject, you cannot but be impressed at this gigantic sum; and the wonder is, to my mind, that so many of us are lucky enough to accumulate it." Secrets Read in the Face.? A man's occupation or condition has _ .1 "1 _ _ i X * j . ...!XL 1-5 1.1^ a goou aeai 10 ao wnn iuiuuug ins facial expression, says the Herald of Health. Intellectual pursuits, like the studies of the scholarly professions, when coupled with temperate and moral habits of life, brighten the face and give a person a superior look. Magnanimity of nature, or love of studies and art, will make a bright, glad face; but, contrary to this, a man may have a face that does not please anybody, because of . a love of self, to the exclusion of all others, notwithstanding his learning and worldly shrewdness. Soldiers get a hard, severe look; overworked laborers constantly look tired; reporters look inquisitive; mathematicians look studious; judges become grave, even when off the oench; the man who has had domestic troubles looks all broken up. An example of the ludicrous side of this subject is to see a third-class lawyer stalking around a police court looking as wise as an owl. The business makes the face, we say. There's the butcher's face, the ministerial face, the lawyer's face, the doctor's face, the hoodlum's face, all so distinct, each from the other and singly, that one seldom fails to recognize those callings showing through the faces. And what city boy cannot recognize a genuine farmer on the street as a farmer, the moment he sees him ? * * ' * To be Popular in Society.? To converse well it is necessary that you should have the art of discovering what will interest the person with whom you are talking, and that you will know how to drop the subiect when it becomes tiresome, and never to let a special fad of your own be the one subject that you bring up. Learn to be all things to all people. To avoid personalities or very decided opinions on any subject. You don't want to give a tirade against dishonesty to a man whose father died in the State's prison for forging notes. You don't want to object to the divorce laws when the man you ire talking to may have married a divorced woman. You don't want to talk of bleached hair to a woman whose hair is pronouncedly yellow, nor to discuss now injurious is rouge ind powder to the woman who is made up in a most decided manner. In your heart you may object to all these things, but you are not giving expression just now to what you think ; you are simply making yourself pleasant to some one whom you lavemet to-day and may never meet igain. Talk about Egyptian mummies or French politics; how orchards grow, the last new plav or the ast new song; but use good English, meak as if you were interested, ana :*en you will gain what you want?a eputation of being a charming woman socially.?[Home Journal. The Advantage of the Public School.?We have no place in Vm erica for dainty people?often ailed gilt-edged?who think the arny would be a good place if it were lot for the rank and file. So it is beter for a boy of ours to be pitched nto a public school, to take pot-luck vith all sorts and conditions of boys, ind to learn in the earliest of life, that ome of the best fellows in the world, lot to say the brightest, never had a >ench nurse, and always black their wn shoes, when they are blacked at 11. In all such schools that I have mown, the tone of honor is very ligh. And in such society one early earns the great lesson that all the >eople are wiser than any one of the teople.?[Edward Everett Hale in he September Forum. 56T It is not in size alone that Texas i a great State, as witness certain tatistics (for the twelvemonth that nded on August 31) published by the ioK'nfcfrm VThf* Tox'JlS eotton rop was 1,743,320 bales?the biggest rop ever yet known. But that is nly a part of the story. Over and bove its cotton, Texas sold during he year 24,873,662 pounds of wool, 5,691,476 pounds of hides, and nough lumber, grain, hay, cotton eed, cattle, horses, mules, etc., to well the total value of Texas proucts marketed to $129,324,528. An authenticated case of a hulan nose that had been cut off being ^stored is told of in The Medical ana urgical Reporter. The patient was young man employed in a cotton lill, and the operation was performX by Dr. Kelly, of Griffin, Ga. The rgan was cleanly cut off by a rapidly jvolving belt, and had remained rhere it nad fallen for about an hour, t was washed carefully, and every i itiseptic precaution used, and healed A i the course of a week. Jm