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to a, irt BEK.104ITO WINNSBORO,, S, C., AUGUST 21, 180iOLsE~N.11 On the old gray mill with its gambrel roof, And the mos on its rotting eaves. I hear the olatter that jare Its walls, . And the rush4ng"aterca.soundt" And I see the black floats rise and fall As the whool goes slowly round. I role there often when I was young, With my grist on the horse before. Ai dtalke wit Nel - th guitler's 8rl, jI w d U04 at Pdo k. Aal& whil 'she seohhor- lo brown,. And flirted and chatted ho free, The wheel might stop, or the wheel might go It was all the same to me. 'i. 6eiityl 6ark adoeo ast I st6od On the spot where I stasd tjq-day,, Ahd N'elly isswed,Andhi nmiif<r is de'ad, And the. mill and I are gray. But both, till we fall Into ruin and wreck, To our fortune of toil are bound ; And the men goe and the stream flows, And the wheel moves slowly round. Who Was to Blame. A hot September morning. All day thi earth had lain Danting under the' fierc rays of the Southern sun, and now tha evening had come she was eagerly drink ing up the heavily falling dew-dew evec moe4aUI. '$o ).g hg4~t. The d b 1 a d corcUed looking more desolate than when war wai devastating the land, for more cruel, mor relentless than the or sword, was the foe yellow-feverl, ''he doors Iand windows of tjie Hal weretopened wite to admittha' c6ol unight air. Florence Manse leaned her white, sa< face far out the open window; the heavy dew fell softly, coolingly, upon her hol brow. From... the, --negro -quarters .wer( borne on the still night air.cries and groan that told the old, dreary tale of death and desolation worse than death. Now ant thein she. heard. the roll, of cart - wheeli along the dusty road; they were only bear Ing away another yletin-of the (eyerl Mrs. Manse'gave a moan of pal:i. A roN of graves under the sycamores told th( story of her woe. , All the loved onei there-all that loved.her-save one. Wouh the cruel fever take her little Floy-tht only one on earth to love her. With a piercing cry Mrs. Manse sptan$ up and snatched.her child from: the sofa, where she lay sweetly sleeping, uncon scious of her mother's anguish. All night Floy was clasped to her mother's hearl: but at last, when day began to break, 'Mrs. Manse placed her sleeping child in her lit tle bed, and then sought her own couch t< take the much-needed repose. Poor Florencel a bittere' grief than sor. row for the dead filled her lonely, aphing heart. On,the plea of.s urgent business George Manse, a few weeks after the death of his little boy, had suddenly deoarted for New York, leaving his young wife, an< surviving child in Dr. Irving's care. Flor ence knew-Di. Irving knew-not busi ness, but his own cowardly fears, his uttei selfishness, drove qeorge from his home i that hour of danger and death. Young Dr. Irving was true to his charge. Ever) day the lonel,y 11klk,Nas mwdg. brighter fo a little timo by, :iis chcery. 'presence. an< the sad, neglected wife had come to watcl and long for these brief visits. "Do you exppct.. George. honto soon It was Dr. Irving!s oft as4ed -question watching her ekpres$ivb facethe while. Her reply was always the same, with a scornful light darting in the dark eyes. "He will be home when he can leave hi business.' - 'But one day she flashed out, passion ately: - "You kcn6w, and I knowv, Dr. If vinig that my husband 'will never return lf ther< remains the least personal danger. Georg< Manse Isa too- great a coward to fao death." After that, George Manse's. nam, seldom pased their -lips. Dr. Irving fell --though it would be the bitterest of losse to his pitying, loving heart-that it wortig be better, far better, if mother and chili could both be laid by the 81(de of the deat under the sycamnores. When Mrs. Manse awolfe, it 'was lonj past noon, little Ploy wvas patiently watch ing by the bedside. "Mamma, wake up now,'' lisped thi~ sweet voice; "late Foy; Foy's very tired,' and the curly head' lay* pillowed on th mother's arm. Aunt Cleo-the only house servant thi fever had passed-served thien a tempt ing little..dinner. "It am good as I kin cook, Miss Florle,' oneased. ier skill,nd, dfor he F os time in many weeks, ate heartily of th daintily prep~ared food; "Ie's mighty gla you kin eat like dat, honey. Der docto sez dar,is nutin', like eatin' to keep. th( fever away." But Floy would not eat, pushing awa the tempting food with "lo tan't eat mnamma." Later, when Dr. Irving caime to niak his usual call, Baby IFloy lay on hle and drooyIng.; "You should have come before," salt the mother's (lark, mournful eyes; but th - white lips remain tightly closed. His orders were.given in quick, sharp .itones. The words "You should have son ifor me immihately ' and the black vis ,he hold in hiq.hg~A ,' "ent like a'shieri ,knife's tlfiust to lierlieart, she, read in li *anxious'face only - too quickly' of a nos woo, sadly k,e6w that the balefp ~lm, r ~the dear'eyds and the red g&6 irounded1 cheek meant that Fio1 Itih en with the fever. Florence suffered thieim to take her chili Bud lay her in the little bed; then, molqpi loss and inute, 'ahe knelt by the bedside keopiag her ill during the long hourl while Dr. Irving and( Aunt Cleo ministere to little Floy. "Best to leave her alone; we canne help her," as Cleo motioned toward thi kneeling formi. "Mammal Mamma!" whispered tli faint, sweet voice, and ihe loving eye rested a moment on lie prostrate form "Foy deed; don't try;" then she relapse in to the tinconsciousness of fever. Florence lifted her anguished face, shud dering vioently. *-Save'my baby! Oh, save her, doctorl *lhe cried, int agony. 'am do all I can, Florenee, HEa we not better telegraph to George as soon as possible? Floy ls very ill." "l 11 :nothipg to-'im; do not trou 1'(1ithf ofs'i05fiW eoty proved how keenly she felt his cruel desertion,. how, surely alienated was her heart from hum, who by his selfishness had forfeited all right'to respect and love. "Very well. Perhaps it isbetter to wait for Floy to improve," kindly i4teepreting the reply in a gentler form. .Both knew full well what thr reply meant-George mut take his owl ( thue to roturn, un ,"Dr. tvn FInyust not die!" 'read. ibg in bi sorrowing eyes what his lips re frained froni speaking. le passed his hand lightly over her dark hair. "Oom, Forbice,'i raising ti slender form tenderly, "no sd rest awhile-for 10,s-'ake ah '6:fAbly rslsted. Aunt Cleo led her from the , ';e watching her pityingly, his greatj . - heart shining forth in his moisteied beb. When the door closed, he turned again to the fever-stricken child. Terrible indeed was the clutch of the fever's burning lingers, so strong the grasp on the baby life that the physician felt his skill was powerless to save her; death would soon free the little sufferer. Aunt 0leo stole quietly Into the room. "Is she any better?" she - whispered, leaning over the little one. She stroked the clustering curls caress Ingly, starting back with t cry of dismay and terror as el marked the fearful ravages of the tever. "I cannot save her, Cleo." And Dr. Irving's eyes grew dim. ".No, no; she can't be a4ved. I knowed it; but oli, my babyl My pdbr Mis 116fic,. You can't save her, for the Lord hab nared de b t and' loveliest in do land. Do fludders re wepmn' for dey chil'ren, but dey can't go nbhow; only dem we want ter stay. Oh, my poor Miss Floriel" The old woman swayed to .A9Ia .wrlngwg her hands in deep distress. They did not hear the door open, did not see the white face. Every word of Aunt Cleo's bitter cry Florence Manse had overhearl. "All alone, alone!" the vfiite lips whis pored, Tlhen, "all gone. The last oneiion earth wl.o loves met Oh, doctor, I shall be all alone!" flinging out her white hinds with a despairing gesture. He caught them to his breast with "No, poor dove, never alonel" Then lie drew back. She was George Manse's wifel Dr. Irving's face became strangely ,white and huggard. Florence was his friend's wifel In the clear, true eyes shone a look of entire renunciation. Gently lie released her hands, and with a briken ,"God help you, Florence," without one backward glance, he turned and left the room. That night Ploy died. Dr. Irving stood by Florence's side at the dying bed, sup po;ted the frail form as they knelt by the grave; then brought her back to the deso late Hall-ana, though the noble heart ached for its darling, he, knowing that it was best, said, calnly: "Good-bye, Florence. Egbert Irving never came to the Hall. Often, in the dreary days that followed, Florence met Dr. Irving in. fever stricken homes, at dying bedsides. Kind and grave had he ever been to her, kind and grave would he remain; only he and she would i ever know of his love and her sorrow. Late in the fall George came home. His heart smote him when lie saw the pale, thifface o.l4ii,wife, the lines of suffering lndbr the sad eyes. "We wilt go away, Floy. Indeed, you must have a change," said George, ,one day, watching the hands toying listlessly with a piece of fancy work. She smiled faintly. Itc seqmed strange Sthat of late ie shohud begin to manifest consideration for her whom he had' neg lected. The lever of a great sorrow or trouble is oft.en requisite to move such men from their lethargic selfishness. "Yes, we will go-a-some time-when I can be sp)ared." Thus it happened that Florence weit about making farewell visits. One bright iautumn day she mawla her last visit. Poor Floyl . The faint siles were chased from I the pale lIps forever, and that day the I bruised heart broke.., The cruel fever snatched one more vic tim, breathed on him with Its deadly b)reath, and then exultingly hurried on its desolating way. In that hour, when death called Dr. irving, lie asked for Florence, and she camne. SIt was better thus. Neither murmured; they rathier rejoiced that the end hadl come I so noon. "lBe brave and true, Florence; true t.o your husband," lie whIspered with (lying breath. - She kied14 a.lps, lisa brow, lisa hands; btbt' her' lef a*% too deep for words, too bitter for tears. }lutely, tearlessly she I fold'ed his hands; and withb a last lingering look on the dear face, went to kneel alQne and battle with her great sorrow. George found her kiieeling by the win dow. When It was all over, he led her ayway; even then she could riot weep,' did not look bick up.oh the face grown so strangely dark and disfigured. In her own ' oggthe dllalthy gave way. 1lam ready o6o away;' 2 Oh, George, take me away!" she bitterly cried. Then:~)there~ camie to George Manse the bitter knowledge that Florence had loved' the dead-ay, bettet, than she loved the living-her husb'and. But In lisa heart t,hJere was no anger towards the dlead,'and 1 with his krlowledge cam le an awakening love fo'r hib beaWbrolke' wife. m Trhe following day-a golden da34 ghep r earth and sky were brighit' with the grory that aiit unin brings they-l id Dr. Irving Si 1m hij gave. J~rhe. lb ed paler and - inore frgile thfiii tielles he 'carrIed to place upon the grave. George felt that I she was only lingering a little while, for -a te(shadow?ofd6li1has already In the dark dyes, on the white check. ,Thiat was the end. George wat.chedl the I white fpg~e nairrowly as they tdt 6d from the now made grave; the colorle,ss lips ut t. tered no cry, her eyes shone tearless and b.right; for the sake of theo noble dead she w~ould atti e (0.be bravo, and true to him who only should claim her life-hong allegi m ance. "Dr. Irvifug WAs noble man; ho has I been very kind to nme and mine, Florence," said George gravely, as they slowly walkced - up the shaded lawai. "It is better that lie could die before ho had known terrible suffering; yet lisa place will never be filled," 1 Trho dreary honnleannnan of he reja touched him. "Perhaps Florence, his place can b( ,flled," thinking, sadly enough now, of thc double mcauing In those words, she thought of the now-wade grave. 'George took his wife atway from the scene of her lbse; but only for a season. In the spring he returned-came to make another grave under tho sycamores-to dig a grave in his own heart. . The story of his wedded. life was read to him in simple language. There had been gl#ii into his care a tender flowor--a flower in the summer of its life; but love and care had he denied it. The sunshine of love nd& sihphthly 'was given by another, kin der than he, with tender hands lifting the drooping flower till the hand was chilled death-a cruel rost, chilling e. e$ at othe o hearti Then h< iy, toQ 1so;,care could not avail; sui love could not save. T}e sycanorca sighed on. A marbh siaft under their sade said that Florence enewas denti, Muie in the Backwoods. I had been sent to --, a Wisconsir settlement, on business, and my stay wai prolonged to such an extent that I foresaw that I should not be able to get away be foi Tianksgiving. Brown had bought a melodeon. It was the first one in the .ptce1 thQ fir4 one, in fact, thitt - many of the residents had ever seen, and it was the (ause of much neighborhood gossip. Som thought the Browns )vere iputting on quite .'too muchstyle.. .'Gettin',airy,' my land lady expressed It. "1 guess of he'd pay his honest debts he wouldn't have mucli money left to buy melodeons with." "His Sarah'll-iammer out music - rght and left, Wont'i she?" chickled Mrs. W- whc called In.to discuss the matter with Mrs. B-. 'She don't know one tune from another, I should jedge, from the way she sings in meetin'. But I s'pose they think a.girl vyith red hair an' freckles, to say U,othifi41frsqulhik" has got to hev some thin' to attrack the young men." "You see of they don't git up a party," sal Mre. B- , nodding ner head wisely at Mrs. WV-. "They alhis do, when they git something new. They did last year when they got their parlor cheers, an' the sofy you know. They will now, see of they don't!" A4-s. B---proved to be a wise prophet. Tw6,1 days before Thaiksgiving, Mr. Brown "drooped In," and before lie went away he informed us that the "old woman was goin' to have some doin's Thursday evenin', she wanted us to come 'round.' "I want you to come, too, young man." said Mr. Brown to me. "'The old woman and Sary's makin' great calellation on hay in' you there, 'cause they've heard say you could rattle some purty good music out o' sich a thing as that we've got up there, and they want you to show off, you see. We can't, you know, though Sary, she's picked out 'Come thou fovut,' an' otne or two other hynins, but they ain't very lively, an' wouldn't be anyways likely to enter tam cowp'uy a whole evenin'." And Mr. Brown chuckled, as lie lit his pipe, and took his departure. -"I knew 'twould be so," remarked Mrs. W-, when he wai gone. "That's alius their way o' showiu' off new things. I should know when they giv a party, that they'd got 'omethin' new, of I hadn't heerd o' their buyin' anything." Thihsday.evenug came, and we repair ed to Mr. Brown's. I heard the m6lodeon before we got to the door, and as -we passed a window, I looked in and saw DeaDl-, who led the singing at meetins'," seated before the instrument in a much-doubled up position, "picking out" a tune with the first fingor of his right hand, while the rest of his lingers were clenched.in his palm as if lie wanted to keep them entirely out of the way, One or two old ladies sat near, listening, and I heard one of them say, as we Wvent in, that she thought "Brother D--'d learn to play in iio time, of lie had an instrument." To wich Brother D responded, as he straightened tup, and re leased his cramped fin'gers, that "lie guess ed he cotild git the hang o' the thing,, but it was kinder hard work, lie jcdgcd, till a person got used to it," andi thereupon lie took a long breath and wiped his fatigued hand on the leg of his trousers. Mr. Brown, bluff and hearty, advanced to mecet and welconie us. He had his trousers tucked into his boots, and was in his shirt-sleeves, and wore his hat. Indeed, lie, with soveial others, wore their hats the entire evening, with the exception of the tine we were at supper. "Ilow'd ye (10, young man ?" ho said, slhaking hands with me. "Glad to see ye, Miss Brown, she was afeard you'd giv' us the slip. Take a dhicer." .took the "cheer." As nobody offered ttake my lint, Iatand held it. I was tenmpted to wear it, and be in fashion. Mr. Brown sat dlown and tilled his pipe, Jtist as be was proceeding to light it, a red hatired, freckled girl of about sixteen sudlet up to him and gave him a nudge in th< ribs. "WYall, what's wanted ?" lie demanded, "supper ready ?" Bary, for she it Was, I know at once, by3 the description I had been given of her, whispered something in an undertone. "Oh, you Want the young feller to play, do ye, an' don't dare to ask hhni ? Thait's it? is it ?" and-Mr. Brown winked at me, in a very jovial way. I wasn't at all suir prised that Sary hadn't asked me, as nc one had iintrodutced us. We were cot In. t:?odtced at, all, I may as .well say right h le,To tell the truth, giving mntreauotionm Waslooked upon as a -kind of weakness peculhiar to'"air-y" 'people, by the good people of B--. In a six weeks' stay flhere,I was a itroghtrel to any one. '$ird trf&dt lidolo not father's playful remark by looking unconscious of it. The .result was that she looked so comical that I had hard work to keep from laughing, for her eyes were so "crossed" that one seemed to be looking southeast, whIle the othier looked directly up, and I supp3se she was looking at mue all the while, for heoi fac.e got red, and she fidgeted abdut In e bash~ful manner, and made no answer tc li'r father'. "I say, s'posen you do play us some thin," said Mr. Brown. , "We'di like tc hear the thing squall right out." I went to thme melodeon. A "solems hush" fell upon the party.' The old ladie drew down their faces, and ceased knit. ting; the young folks suspended giggling; the only sound I could hear was the puff, puff, of the.smiokere, and there were sc many' of them that the room was blue with simoke. - 'I looked my audience over, and concluded that "something' with a tune to it" would 7"fill the bilm' ket 01 anything. My repertoire was exceedingly Iflnited, so I began with a march "exten porized" from the theme of "John Brown's Body," etc. Bofore I had played a dozen ineasures through, about every foot in the rooi was boating time. Befort I finished it, I was forcibly reminded of the gallery boys stamping out their impatience for a thta ro poiformance to begin. "Wall, I swau,"declared Brown, "but you can just make ite critter talk, now. low's that for music, Jones? 'Hey ?" Mr. Jones said that "was music, an' no mistake," and I was fairly overwhelmed with complhments from all sides. "Giv' us another," said, Mr. Brown. "An' Bary, you jest watch how he makes his han's go. Mobby 't'il -give you some idees." I played Yankee Doodle with variations. I carried the house by storm. I never ex pect to play to another audience as appre clative as that one was. I was encored on that piece. I played It again, and the en thusiasm Increased. "By the powers, but that just everlast n'ly beats all I over heerd," declared Mr. Brown. "1 say, young man, pla) it ag'm." And I played it again. I may au well say here that I was called on to "play it ag'in" three times during the evening. Then I played Fisher's Hlornpipe. goie of the young men wanted to dance; . but, as there wasn't room, they had to be con tented with a shuffling accompaniment, which they performed with their feet. I 'followed the hornpipe up with the Wrecker's Daughter Quickstep, and the Tempest. As D-happened to know an old song set to that tune, lie struck up and sung It. As I was playing it in pretty lively time, and his song was religious in sentinent, the effect can be imagined. I tried hard not to laugh, but I felt the tears start. is singing turned the music into a new channel. . "Le's have some singin'," proposed Brown. "Soiethin' we all know. Play us 'Lay up closter, brother, closter.' That's the song that takes me right in my weak spot ev'ry time. You start it, deacon." The song Mr. Brown meant, I inferred, was the "Dying Californian," as I heard it sang several times in 8-. L was right. Deacon A-cougned, cleared his throat, and began. Everybody joined in. Some of them couldn't sing a tune to save them, but they sang all the same. Several of the old ladles were affected to tears. "Jerk out the wobbler," whispered Brown to me, between the last verses. "'That'll make it solem'er." I didn't know what the "wobbler" meant, but lie helped me out of the dilemma by pulling out the tremolo stop. So the last verse was sung to a "wobbling" accompaniment, which, I suppose, satisled his longing or an addi tional solemnity to the plece that "allus took him in his weak spot." "Wa'n't that sweett" said Mrs. Brown to birs. N --. "I wish Sary could play that, her father likes it so. Myl but can't lie jest beat ev'rythiig? ~1 don't see how he knows where to put his fingers, but it seems real easy to him." "You sing Barb'ry Allen, Mis' Brown," suggested Mrs. W-. 1 allus liked that piece." So Mrs. Brown sung Barbara Allen, and the guests came In strong on the chorus. When that song was concluded, I was called on for Yankee Doodle again. After which, I was requested by Deacon D to play something of a religious character, and they sung "Am I a Soldier of the Cross," "There is a Fountain filled with Blood," and other old favorite hymns. After supper, I was immediately taken back to the melodeon, where I played, "by particular request," the Yankee Doo die variations. Greater enthusiasm, much applause, and much wishing on the part of Mr. and Mrs. Brown, that Bary could play like that. Then more singing. Sentimental and religions songs followed each other rap)idly, with a sprinkling of jigs aand other lively "morceaus." Of all musical evenings, that was the most sociable of any I have ever seeii. (One Hlorse Lawyers. A case of assault and battery, in which farmers' sons were plaintiff and defenidant respectively, was on trial in Justice Alley, Detroit, recently ana the plaintIffs lawyer was very anxious to make out that the de fendant's family must have seen the fight which took place just outside the kitchen door. The defendant's mother being on the stand the lawyer began : "Well, wvhere were you when the first, blow was struck ?" "Down celiar skimming milk and tying cloths over my preserve jars," she re "'Where was your husband?" "Hie was In the barn. mending the har ness and greasing the wvagon." , "Where was your daughter Sarah?'' "Sarah was in the north bedroom chang ing the pillow cases on the spare bed." "And where was Janet" "Jane? She had run over to a neigh bor's to borrow soine coffee and a nut meg." "Let's see I IHaven't you a sist.er living with you ?" "Yes, sir. She was sewing carpet rags up stairs." "Am! She was! You have a younger son named C~harles, haven't you?f" ."Yes, sir, and lie was salting the sheep across time road." "Just so, You are a very busy family, I see. I suppose even the dog was very busy just at this particular moment.'' "Yes, sir, lie was. Old Biose was down at tihe gate looking towardhs D)etrolt for one-horse lawyers!" Jj;anese Witer Sports. he most of our young readers think of Asiatlo countries as warm, because India, with whmich we are best acquainted, has n'o winter like ours. But Japan has a genuine winter, with snow and ice. And the Japanese children indulge In time same kimid of winter sports as are commion In this country. A recent yisitor from Eng hanad saw many a fine snow-image made by tihe boy, with pieces of charcoal for eyes, and a charcoal streak for the month, ie also looked on at many a boys' battle with snow-balls,' and concluded that they had better tempers than the boys in England and none of them seemed to get angry though hit often and hard. 'hcir shoes don't get wet like ours, as they are madle of wood, three inches high, but when the snow is deep their feet are wet and c)ld, as there is no upper covering. TIhe Eng lish vIsitor thought the Jap boys the happiest.and merriest obl!dren he hiall over Hunting Wolves In Texas. th shl One Bell, of Fort Griflin, is credited oil with killing more wolves than any other di one man on the plalussou-.h of the Arkansas: m, In one season lie poisened over 500. From an three to four good hunters used to club to- th, gethcr and hunt the season through. They he started out with a wagein well loaded with fu flour, bacon, sugar, salt, and coffee. An fr( extra pony or tw: camte handy to ride fol around, keep the balls In order, and bring thi in the hides. Tihe trappers corred plenty by of ammun ilon, andl when using breech-load- on ing rifles filled their own shells. As the lej Coianches were troublesome, the rifles tl were~kept loaded and the horses etrictly w< guarded. At night they were hobbled in goi the brush near tihe caip, so as they could he not go astr.)y. If the "sign" wits good, su camp was usually made in a sechided spot -1o near a running stream, tribntary to one of go; the large rivers. As the wolves followed po the buffalo, and the buffalo cropped the on juicy grass along the streams, the "sign" It l was always good in a wild and well- to watered section of the ccuntry. y the Bni "sign"- -the tjAcks and half-catt. dead an buffalo-the trTppers estimated the nuni- tl ber of wolves, and prepared their baits,. wi Buffalo, antelope, or deer were killed in an hai open place, and strychnine placed i those the portions of the carcasses first tern ty the exi wolves. But tile trappers as a rule, did in not plant the poison before sunset, for the the wolves of the air, the Inunmerable raven4 ab( that shadow the plains and feed upon dead an animals, displaced the baits if the traps the were set before they went to roost. The grc ground near the carcasses was sometines sprinkled with dead ravens. Small flocks hot staggered around the dead bulls under the ski influence of ti poison, and gyrated def through the air like tumbler pigeons. prc The colder the weather, the more wolves. his A niniping, frosty air seemed to sharpen of I their appetites, and give them a keen sceit. wih While Uraham was on the Brazos, five tic, winters ago, eight bison were killed on din the side of a hill. and their bodies skinned uni and poisoned, During.the night tile wind der veered to tile north, and the weather be- aml came intensely cold. A storii of sleet pot made the camp firu hiss, and the howls . of In1 the wolves rang above the ravine in which sur the hunters slept. With the first streak of Spi daylight they visited their baits, fearful wo that the ravens might tear the fur of the bru dead wolves and damage tie hides. With in three hours they found the bodies of fif ty-six large gray wolves frozen so hard tlaut they dragged them Into the ravine and I thawed them out. All agreed that if the dia night had been mild the animals would bor have kept under cover. 01H A wolf begins to feel the effect of the wi poison within ten minutes. lie stops tl eating. His ears and eyebrows twitch, cal: and his linbs are cramped. Frequently In lie whirls around like a dancing dervish, per sweeping the ground with his tail aid pil throwingipthe(lirtwithoneof hisforepaws. (at His comrades cock their heads to one side i"i and watch his spasns with curious eyes , Cd but resume their feast when the victim to stiffens or starts for the scrub. Few of to the poisoned aninals die at the side of the un, poisened buffalo. Old hunters assert that in tile strychnine produces a burning tidrst, to 1 ,md the wolf imakes for the nearest water., bla This keeps the band of trappers bisy nll an the morning. While two of them skins the of wolves nearest the baits, the other noutints alit a mustang and scours the ciapparel ami wit banks of the river in a further search for we bodies. The ravens assist himi, filling tile bill air with wild cries, and fluttering sayt over the gasping animals in the'brush. im1 Many of tie wolves arc not dead when dis. tir covered. They are scattered about in all tle stages of paralysis, and aro put out of their cry misery by tlie hunter. Occasionally a dy- 11 ing wolf is found stretched on the spnda of C01 the river lopping the water; but lie does ani not rush it.to the stream, and his body it Img never found floating upon its surface. me Even in (lentil he seems to have a horror of aile' Th'ie only adepts at skinning are the pro- (ds fessional hunters. Tlhe body is turned upi. wv oil its back, and work begins at thei fore- cie quarters. Tile trfipper grips a leg betwveen hig his knees, 01)ens up the hide to the brisket, wvi and rips diown to tile talil. The taillis the .pe0 most valuable part of tile wolf. If in jured, it 81)0i1s the beauty of the robe. It, is therefore taken oft withl the greatest care. ] The ,skinner then plants his foot firmly up- anc on his neck, and by main strength p)eeIs of thle hide up to the head. IIere miore care ma is required. The ears and nose are tern ilhe away, with tile skin, so that spread upon for tile prairie it, presentedl a perfect picture- pil The ide is then folded fleshl side in, giv thrnownl across tile back of a pony and in borne to camip. Thie fur is thleni turnedi to tie tile grass anld thle skins stretchedc b)y pegs prc driven into tile groundl. It dries according dy' to tihe weather. ~No salt is used, If th.e~ ly atmosphere is dIry it is taken up in three i days, and turned over and sunnedcc until iia' ready for market. g While the trappier is thus picking up eat the skins of the big gray wolf lie does nbot ity neglect tile coyote. This is much smaller wil than his gray brother. The latter is nlearly tie as large 1as a Newfoundland dog; the for- gre imer about twice the size of a cat. Tile est; coyote fancIes a camp fire, and sits on hiii- me locks witiiin sight of its blaze barking for anm hlours. .Tile gray wolf bays the moon lhke ham a dlog. Graham says lie has seen them sitting wit on the hlighlest rocks gazing at its b)righit wva orb with their heads thrnown back uttering pei uneartihly howls. Tbis Ivolf scorns the its coyoate. Whlen the large wolves drag down of an old buffalo bull the Coyotes huddle in ed the vicinity, licking tiheir chops and bark- biu lag, as though begging a share of the prey. hot Shioulid they venture too nealr the the big snm fellows utter oiminious growls and the co- am yotes slink away, tais between their legs bia and heads turned over their sholde(lrS. The anc coyote quickly determines the status of a ate: hunter. If lie fli<ls lhim killing wolves he 'cea keeps at a respectful distance; b)ut if lie is it, only hunting bear, antelope or buffalo, the ani little fellow becomes quite social, While a bear hunter was butchering game coyotes patiently watchled his operations, and a of gray wolf loped hungrily onl an outer cir- P cie. The trapper threw a piece of ineat to,s the small fellows, who ran off and were gra waylaid by the blig wolf, They dropped am the meat and returned, but seemed to learnu bil nothing by experience, for they 'fed tile oa robber as long as thle hunter chucked them for tho meat. thai Many coyotes pick up their supplies in in the prairie'dog-colonies. i one is Ilurking to in the stre9ts and sees a dog away from ho: hisa hole, lie steals upon him with the ut- poi most secrecy, striving to cut of his retreat. un AD old dog, however, is rarely caught me napping. Some of the fraternity are auro '5 to espy the wolf- and a warning bark sanda hh 3 dog into lis hole with a tantalizing ske of the tall. The coyotes despond tly peers into the hole, rakes away the t with a paw, and sniffs at the lost al. IIe gets his eye on another dog, dI crawls toward the hole like a cat upon mouse. The warning bark is again ard, and a second meal disappears. In riated by lisa disappointment, the wolf ,quently turns upon the little sentry, and a few seconds makes the qand fly from entrance of his residence. Worn out lils futile efforts, he flattens himself up the sand behInd the hole, and motion s as a statue, watches it for hours. if dog pops out his head lie Is gone. The If springs upon him, the jaws come to her like the snap. of a trap, and the pless canine Is turned Into a succulent )per. One Metley, a well-known buffa hunter, was riding across a dog town no years, ago when he saw what he sup. ied to be a dead coyote stretched out at 3 of the holes. le d1sinunted and lifted >y the tall, intending to take the body camp and skin it. The coyote made a 11i for his leg, wriggled from his grasp, I sped over the prairie more surprised .n the trapper. He was in a sound sleep en caught. But the coyotes' greatest vest is In the spring of the year, when y fatten themselves at the expense of in )erlenced young dogs caught wander from home. Whole families enjoying cool evening breeze on the mounds ive the burrows are taken unawares, I the tender young snapped up before Ir parents can force them under the und. he Indians say that the wolf has no ne. Ile follows the buffalo, and is ever rmishing onl the edge of the herd. In atigable in the chase, he pursues his y for days without sleep ie catches nap in the sunlight, and does the bulk its work at ilght. Like the Indian, om lid resembles in many characteris , lie never declines an invitation to tier. A great glutton lie stuffs himself 11 his paunch. I distended like a bind and In this cond ition iP often run down lassoed by the cow-boys on ordinary ies. Sone of the Southern tribes of ins never slay a wolf. They have a erstition that when they die their rita roam the prairies in the guise of Ives. "Who slays a wolf may slay his ther," Is an Indian proverb. Dianiko"d Making. L tube twenty iniches long by four inches meter, of coiled Lowinoor iron, was ed so as to have an internal diameter ot -half an inch. Thus the central bore surrounded by walls of Iron one and -e-quarter inches thick, and, of course, able of resisting an enormous pressure. the tubes was placed a mixture of ninety cent. of bone-oil and ten per cent. ot aflAi-spirit, together with four grammes out sixty-two grains) of the metal lith i. The open end of the tube was weld air-tigat and the whole was thQn heated redness for fourteen hours and allowed :ool slowly. On opening it a grcat vol e of gas rushed from the tube, and with xras found a hard, smoth mass adhering ,he sides of the tube. "it was quite ck, and was removed with a chisel, and t appeared to be coinposed principally iron and lithium it was laid aside for lysis. I was pulverizing It In a mortar, en I felt that some parts of the material re extremely hard--:not resisting a blow, hard otherwise. On looking closer I that these were most transparent pieces jedded in the hard matrix, and on tri sting them I obtained some free from black matter. They turned out to be stalline carbon, exactly like diamond." At is Air. l1annay's account of his (is 'cry. Subsequent chemical and optical lysis has proved that these hard, shin. crystals are in every respect true dia ads. The cost Is obviously great ; so, , is the danger to life and property ; and great difficulties to be overcome render ippomntments common. What we now ait Is to get vessels of a material sulli utly strong and non-porous to resist the h1 pressures and temperatures upon ich the success of the experIment de0 Indigo Factory. lave you ever thought what imdigo is, I where it comes from?i Near the city Allahiabad, In India, our missionarie's y see the little indigo plant growing, and lactory where our indigo is prepared use. The following account of the pro ation of the Indigo from the plant was en by the proprietor to one who traveled hthat country: It is the young shoots of humble plant you see before you wIch vide us9 with the precious materials for SIng, and not the flowers, as is common . mllpposed. TFhe gathei-ing of theseshoots Svery delicate operation. When they te arrivedl at a proper degree of matur they mtust be speedily removed, and h cutting must be executed with rapId and (luring the night, for the sun would her the branches, and deprive them of ir p)roperties. We therefore require a at many bands; all the villagers on my ute are places ha requisition. The work n are dispersed In the fields at midnight; I in the morning the produce of the 'Vest is deposited in these stone trough's, ich have been previously filled with her. Th'Ien is the time for the sun to form its part. Under the influence Qf rays the substances undergo a species Fermentation; the water becomes color with variegated tinges, and rapidly turns e. Af ter a space of about forty-eight ire, the liquid is dIrawn off from the illest troughs. 1t now emits a slightly nionlacal smOll, and the color is almost ik. it Is allowed to evaporate again, iis then placed In metal vats, heated by cm, In which, when the evaporation has sod, a deposit of pure indigo is formed. uty remains to dry this deposit, pack it, send it to the market at Calcuttd. n a recent lecture on the possibility foretellinug earthquakes, Professor tinier expressed lhe belef t/hat by ans of seismographic stations, teie phicaily connected, for registering I reporting prelimary earth trem ugs, it would be possible to foretell thquakes just as tempests are now etold, and to issue warnings to 'eatened districts about three days ad vance. iIe did not expect to live Bee such asystem in operstibbu, but, he ped and in a moasure expected .that iterity (would be benilited by its Iversal and permanent .ostabiah nt. ['zun wel-whipped bay suffers from The Modern Canoe. . "A canoe," according to a recent official and technical defluition, .Is a boat sharp at both ends, not more than 86 inches beam, and. which can be efrectively propelled by a double-bladed paddle; lit a canoe may be propelled either by a double or single bladed paddle, or by one or more sails. No other means of propulsion shall be used." This Is the single modern cruising canoe. She is a unique- craft, a boat unlike and yet having the distinctive qualties of all the others. The best of her qualities is that she Is manageable. In calms she is easily propelled by the single or double bladed paddle, and in a favoring breeze she ills away under one or more sails, and logs from three to eight miles an hour. Properly constructed, she weighs no more than 75 pounds, and may therefore be carried on the canoceist's head and shoulders from stream to stream, and around dams and rapids. The paddle, although it affords somewhat less speed for short distances, is much more serviceable than oars, as it admits of- quicker' action, enables the canoeist to face in the direction of his progress, and to keep an easy lookout for dangers. The canoe ia sufficiently capa cious to carry a month's supply of luggage and provisions without trespassing upon the space amidships, that may, if need be, be converted into sleeping quarters. She is a craft in which a man of nautical tastes may comfortably cruise In inland waters at a per diem expense of less than one dollar. This light, staunch and roomy little ci aft is as unlike the Indian birch-the typical canoe of the United States- as she can well be. Canoes are always cruising craft, although they may be built as ships are with reference to the work tiey are to per form. The canoe that Is to run down a river that is frequently broken by rapids and dams must be light, that she may be easily portaged. If the camping outfit is dispensed with, the beam may be greatly diminished, and greater speed attained. Technically there are but two classes of canoes, the sailing and the paddling, the former being the canoe for general cruising. Lightness in a canoe that Is always to cruise upon deep water may be sacrificed to sail ing qualities, but it is indispensable to the canoe that is to be used Ior general crule ing. Americans as well as English build ers. however, too often sacrifice lightness to strength-a grievous fault, the canoeist flds, after he has tugged the heavy craft over a few portages.' The canoes built by Rushton (Canton, N. Y.) are models in this respect, their average weight being about 55 pounds, and that without sacrifice of the esstntiat element-strength. The carvel-built or smooth-side canoe is lighter as well as speedier thlin the clinker-built, but both British and American builders, wihtlithe conservAtve pig-headedness of their craft, give preference to the latter. The Rice lake canoes built by Herald of Gore's Landing, Ont., and by English of Peter boro, Ont., are of the former class, and are not only light and immensely strong, but, under certain conditions, very speedy. The Racine boat company of Racine, Wis., has produced a canoe that is a revela tion in the art of boat-building. The sides are composed of three sheets of birch, cherry or cedar, cemented together, the grain of the inner sheet crossing the outer. This veneer, while the wood is green, Is pressed into the desired form. The sides are one-eighth of an inch thick, perfectly smooth, without a scam except at the ends, which are neatly sheathed with brass. There are no brad, screws, or rivet holes that are not covered by the keel or wale along the edge of the deck. This canoe with the paddle, apron ona rigging, weighs 85 pounds. The streaks of the clinker built canoe rarely check, the wood being generally well seasoned; but unless the ribs are very close to each other-not more than three inches apart-and snugly fitted, they will warp intomost tantalizing shapes. Canoeing embraces not eonly the hour's sailing and padlding after business, and the long and short cruises, but also amateur manchanmics. 'The canoeist, very early in his career, learns that lie must rely upon himself in everything relating to lis boat. iIe must be captain, rigger, carpenter, cook and cabin-boy. A rudder eye snaps off-as they will If lie Is verdant enough to allow lisa builder to use them--and he must drill out and put in another, or submit to a tedious delay. The canoe dashes against a snag or sunken rock in a rapid, and gets ashore, miles from any builder's shop, with an ugly hole at the bow. The conoelst mnust have the strip of cedar, the marine glue, and the nails at hand, and repair the danmage, or tow his water-logged craft to the builder. There are scores of odd jobs that he must attend to, to time pleasures of which the unhappy mortal iho navigates only a shell is a stranger. The canoeist begins with a jack-knife, and works up to Jack plane, square and com passes, and ultimately to the carpenter's whole kit. iIe drafts a model, and turns ouit, a fair canoe, to say nothing of supply ing from his own shop many of huis camp fittings. 'The speediest sailing canoe in Eingland, and paddling canoe in the United Stateg, is of amateur build. Amateur builders have constructed very creditable wooden canoes, but as yet few have attempted anything but the canvas craft a pretty and most serviceable boat, time frame of which consistsa of stein and stern posts, keel, keelson, lateral strips, ribs, bulk-heads nd deck timbers. The coracle, one of the earliest craft of Great Britain, the Esquimeau kayak, and the Indian birch embody the idea-a frame covered with a tough skin. A very ordinary degree of mechanical skill suffices for the produc tion of a fair canvas canoe. The practiced hand, however, may work out the subtle tics of the boat builder's art in canvas sad spruce strips as deftly as in white and Spanish cedar. F~or the Unmam ried Men. There can't too much guardin' against the wiles of the firt; she's a naughty-oul turist. The way for a desolate old -bachelor to secure better quarters Is to take a "bettor half." When the young man begins to be called a blade, there Is always mote or less steal about. him. Life is but a span; marriage is a double team; youth wedded to old age Is 'a tAn demi; an old bachelor is a sulky. - In some respecta the gentler sex fai' sur pass us. No man, for instance can deliver a lecture with a dozen pins in bus month. Olean your last yes 's atraw hat with~ a lemon, and yu zp esuo'o through summer wlt I Tk th hiu di leuvon-ald ~'u