Newspaper Page Text
J. W. ANDERSON, Editor and Proprietor
Tins OLD ATTICS BOOM.
IniembST the dear old attic room,
Jliera I slept when a little boy,
ili,-. farmhouse or«r beside the lull,
k [member lien life was a perfect joy,
the chair* so old and quaiiUj
[ml the bed whereon I slept,
1 the chest of drawers beside the door,
fhere the apples were always kept.
^member well how the early snn
Through the window small would stray,
[d iiuw the bird in the tree outside
JV, uld warble his morning lay.
|d how my mother’s “Time to get up !"
3n my heedless ear would fall,
|d the unpretentious print that hung
i crookedly on the wall.
|e member the oeiling, cracked and low,
Hu-re bunch** of peppers hung,
Id Lot the old green curtain that would’t roll up>
in every wild breeze swung,
jewember the other barrels things. with stovepipes filled,
ind various
Id the memory of this dear old room
Kemimbrance also brings
I the nights I had of innocent rest;
Jain Jyiiat wouldn’t I give to be
L in those rosy, boyhood dreams,
wanderer happy and free ?
p i on its earpetless floor to romp,
. merry and boisterous boy,
Id see my little sister play
ftt’ith her latest painted toy ?
be room was not fair to look upon,
pint to me ’twas a jolly nest.
*, fat now as then I could lay me down,
llti tired and willing guest;
Id dream tile dreams that then I dreamt
Jlu the nights S3 cool and still,
i tli.- Homely bed in that attie room
|ln tli.' farmhouse by the hill!
The Jewels.
“It’s so very, very lonesome here I”
phed Isabel Darling.
F And to one who had been brought up
n the very heart of busy, bustling New
’ork, it might well have seemed “lone
ime” in that solitary ravine of the hills,
iih only tiio sound of moaning pines
verhead and the rustle of a mountain
iream, as it fled foaming over rock and
owlder, to people the weird silence 1
Grandmother Kesley had lived there
111 her life To her there was compan
Bnshtp in every stately tree and sliud
| ting clump of bushes. The sound of
dud shrieking down the huge stone
himuey was sweeter, in her ears, than
"ilsson’s clearest notes—the creaking of
he shutters at night was the voice of
•ome gossiping oompanion ! How could
randmottier Kesley, at seventy, and
sabfll Darling, at seventeen, be expect,
jd to view life from the same platform?
“Lonesome 1” eohoed old Mrs. Kesley.
“Oh, fiddlestick I Get your knitting,
and then you won't be lonesome.”
Aud, reluctantly enough, Isabel
beyed.
Nightfall had long descended upon
the solitary homestead among the hills.
Hero aud there a star shone momenta¬
rily through the ragged rock of clouds
that were scudding from the northwest,
and the wind was holding high oarniva
among the tree-tops in the glen below.
Mrs. Kesley sat before the fire, with
such a generous heap of blazing logs as
that no auxiliary candles were needed,
and her queer, brown, wrinkled face
looked like that of a Fairy Godmother in
the ruddy shine. Isabel sat opposite!
her soft brown eyes mirroring the blaze
as t fl wired and flickered, her dark hair
shining like bands of satin.
Isabel Darling was very pretty—so
pretty, iu sooth, that her thrifty parents,
who had five other feminine “darlings’’
to dispose of, considered that her rose¬
bud face ought to buy her a fortune, and
indignantly bundled her off to Grand¬
mother Kesley’s, among the Adirondack
bills, when the first soupcon leaked out
of a lover who had no more money than
he himself could earn at his artist craft
of wood engraving.
“Our Isabel to throw herself away on
Fred Hensley!’’ cried Mr. Darling,
"And with her face and. the education
we’ve given her ! ’
“Of course, it’s quite out of the ques¬
tion ! said Mrs. Darling, who had just
su dr keen eyes aud wrinkled brows as
her mother might have had twenty-five
years before—a worthy descendant of
the liue of Kesleys. “We must send her
to Grandmother Kesley’s at once. ”
Grandmother Kesley had written back
a favorable response to the letter of in¬
quiry that was at once dispatched upon
the subject.
“Let her come,” said Graudmotliei
Kesley, with a very sputtering quill pen
on paper that was fashionable half a
century ago. ,r Tou needn’t worry your¬
selves about her lore* - Lover*
.
aren t in my line, aud this Hensley chap
may have her, if onee he finds his way
inside my doors, and welcome !”
And it was in answer to this trumpet
01 defiance that poor Isabel Darling was
now wearing her heart out, in the sol
tnde of these wild, northern hills 1
( ,r andmother Kesley kind-hearted,
( was
■Oo, in her way. She had done her best
f° en liven the pining prisoner—had
wougnt down a packet of musty old
novels, “Clarissa Harlow,” “Charlotte
ample,” “Alonzo and Melissa," and
the like— furnished Isabel with materials
t0 Wor k a sampler exactly like that
whicu hung framed above the “best
r “<im mantel, a memorial of her
school-days, own
and even undertaken to
show her how to spin I Could any mor
however unreasonable, ask more?
1 ’’ wlt h all this, Isabel Darling stiJ
'hooped I
lo-night Grandmother Kesley had a
new entertainment provided. She had
Cotrinat
s-?en Isabel covertly crying once or fcwiea
m the course of tne day, und her heart
grew soft within her.
Babel, said she, as they sat tete-a
tete in the twilight, “I never showed
you my box of jewels ?”
“No, grandmother,” said Isabel, list¬
lessly.
“Would you like to see ’em ?”
“Yes, grandmother,” still without
anything of interest in the tones.
Grandmother Kesley went to a curi¬
ously damped old hair trunk that always
flood under the head of her bed, hidden
by the voluminous fail of the patchwork
quilt and with a great rattling of rusty
keys, drew forth a small square box, of
some aromatic smelling wood.
Isabel’s eyes opened in spite of herself,
as the old lady held up a glittering string
of ancient gold beads.
“I bad them when I was a gal o’four
teen,” said she, nodding her be-capped
bead. “Father—that’s your great-grand
father Kesley, child—give ’em to me
when I finished my first set o’ shirts foj
him. And here is a lot o’ amethysts
my Uncle Poundridge brought from sea
—there was a Spanish ship wrecked on
the shores where he chanced to be ceast
in’ and them was among the things cast
up.”
The purple stones, set in a strange,old
/asliioned filagree of finely-wrought gold,
winked aud glimmered oddly iu the fire¬
light, as Grandmother Kelsey elevated
them in her skinny fingers.
“And this 'ere is a gold watch and
chain Squire Seth Duplex left your
Grandfather Kesley when he died. Youi
grandfather and he were great friends,
Isabel, and the squire was always a great
band to do things liberal. But John
Kesley never carried the watch—he al¬
ways said it was too fine for him and he
stuck to his old silver one. And here's
/our Uneie Lamech’s silver snuff-box—
and your Aunt Sylvv’s wedding ring
poor child, she died before she’d been
married a year, and the coral ear-drops
she used to Wear ! It’s a pretty good
box full of crinkum-crankums, ain’t it
oliild ?”
“Oh, they are beautiful!" assenteo
Isabel, roused to enthusiasm at last.
“And I don’t mind saying, Isabel,
they shall all be yours, one of these
days, if—mercy upon us—what’s the
matter with the child ?”
For Isabel bad sprung from her seal
like a frightened hare from its form.
“A- ififlA* g***”->—■ -«• -LkgiXl
face, looking in at the window through
the darkness without.”
“Oh, pshaw I” cried Mrs. Kesley,
“there ain’t a soul lives within two
miles of us. Who on earth should be
lookin’ in at my winder ?”
“I don’t know.” persisted Isabel,
“but I did see a face.”
Mrs. Kesley opened the door aud
looked up and down.
“I told you so 1” she nodded triumph¬
antly, closing and bolting the door.
“Not a creetur to be seen, not so much
as a stray dog. It’a your faucy,
Isabel I”
And not all her granddaughter’s pro¬
testations could convince the ancient
dame to the contrary.
But about half an hour afterward, just
as Mrs. Kesley was spreading the round
cherry table with a cloth of home-spun
damask, two-tlned forks and plates of
some foreign ware, curiously decorated
with unlikenesses of birds, bees and in¬
sects. a knock came to the door, and
Isabel started again, almost as nervous¬
ly as before.
It was beginning to snow softly, as
Mrs. Kesley opened the door, ami the
crooked little figure that stood there was
powdered over with the white drift—an
old woman wearing a crumpled black
bonnet, and an ancient brown cloak with
a double cape descending below her
elbows.
“Who be you?” curtly questioned
Grandmother Kesley, “and what do yon
want disturbing honest folks at this
time o’ night?”
“I’m Lonisy Ann Paddock,” was the
humble and conciliating reply, “and I
started to walk from Hollyford to stay
a spell with Mrs. Squire Johnson below
here—she and my mother was first
cousins, you know —and somehow I’ve
got belated, so I calculated you’d keep
keep me all night, on a pinch !”
“Humph 1” grunted Grandmother
Kesley, “I ain’t acquainted with Mrs.
Johnson, but I’ve heard she was a
dreadful likely woman ! Well, walk iu,
Mrs. Paddock—it’s an ugly night to be
out alone in, and although we ain’t no
great hands for company, I guess you
can put up with our ways ! Won't you
lay oft your things ?”
“Thankee 1" said the new comer, in a
regular New England twang. “I’ll
take off my cloak, but if it’s all the same
to you, I’ll rather set with my hoo 1 on
—I’m dreadful subject to neuralogy in
the faoe!”
And all they could see of Louisa Aun
Paddock’s face was the startling brigb
eyes that were veiled beneath the screen
of a pair of spectacles. creetur,
“She’s a queer-lookin’ old
ain’t she?” said Mrs. Kesley, iu a whis¬
per, as Label helped her ladle up a
dishful of delicious, limpid “apple
sauce” from a stone jar of the same,
that always ‘-•teod ou the second pantry
shelf. Bn Isa -d did not answer—she
was watch i- g tb 1 envious crouching fig¬
ure through ho half-open door.
“1 supp<> I am fanciful,” thought
she—“at least granimother always says
but I do t nk the face is just tha
so; - against the win
same that was 11 ttemd
COVINGTON, GEORGIA, MARCH 4, 1885.
dow when ehe was showing me the box
of old-fashioned jewelry. I wish we
hadn’t let her in. I wish there was a
man about the house. I wish —”
‘ Dear heart alive, Isabel, what on
ea th be you doin’ ?” scolded Grand¬
mother Kesley—“boldin’ the dish so
that all the oirup’s runnin’ out ?”
And Isabel, with a blush and start,
was forced to own her absent-minded
nesr
Their own utter helplessness, the*
own isolation and distance from aid_
the rich old jewels in the wooden casket,
and the pallid face at the window, van¬
ishing almost instantly as it appeared
h se, combined with one or two dis¬
crepancies in the conduct and appear¬
ance of their uninvited guest, filled
b abel Darling’s heart with vague alarm.
People had been ruthlessly murdered in
their beds before now, for treasures less
valuable than these, and, had an oppor¬
tunity presented itself she would fain
have taken council with her grand
mother upon the subject. But even a*
she pondered, the new-comer rose to get
a drink of water from the stone pitcher
on the table. One or two long, vig¬
orous strides, and then catching a
glimpse of Isabel’s startled face, the
soid-isant Louisa Ann subsided onee
more into tbe halting limp of old age.
But that one instance of forgetfulness
had been quite sufficient to confirm the
young girl’s already aroused suspicions.
“I was right,” thought Isabel, her
neart beating wildly. “I was right!
She is r.o woman, but a man in disguise.
And Grandmother Kesley never sus¬
pects ! Oh, what, what shall I do ?”
At that moment Mrs. Kesley rose,
aud, taking the shining brass candle
stick, began slowly to climb the steep
stairway that led to the attic of the one
story dwelling.
“For I s’pose,” she thought, “the
poor, tired creetur ’ll be glad to get tc
bed; and I may as well see if the little
cot in the north chamber is all right,
with blankets enough to keep off one’s
death of cold.”
Isabel had risen instantly to follow
r.er, when, with one forward stride,
“Louisa Ann Paddock” closed the door
at the foot of the stairs and drew the
bolt.
“Stay where you are !” uttered a low
voice in unmistakably masculine ae
Art.* '
Isabel uttered a wild scream.
“Help 1” she shrieked, involuntarily
uttering the watchword, although ah®
knew no human ear was nigh to respond,
“Help! For heaven’s sake do not
murder us, two helpless lonely women 1”
“Isabel!”
In an instant the brown cloak and
nood lay in a lump on the floor, and she
was clasped in a pair of arms that were
as strong as they were tender. And
through the cannonade of knocking and
rattling at the stairway door, kept up
by Grandmother Kesley, who had been
alarmed by her granddaughter’s scream,
Isabel could only gasp out the half
audible syllables:
“Oh, Fred ! Fred Hensley ! how could
you frighten me so?”
“Open the door, someone!” squeaked
Mrs. Kesley. “Murder 1 Thieves 1
Fire ! Robbery ! Let me in, I say !”
“Grandmother, don’t be frightened,”
cried Isabel, tremulously, “l’ts only
Fred 1”
“And,” added the str.mgor, blandly,
“Fred will be very happy to unbolt the
door any moment you are willing to sat¬
isfy your agreement I”
•‘What agreement?” demanded Mrs.
Kesley.
“That if once I found my way inside
your door I might have Isabel and wel¬
come!”
“I never said so !” cried the old lady.
“But you wrote so,” said Fred, calm¬
ly, “and I have it down in black and
white !”
Grandmother Kesley made no attempt
to deny her own “hand-of-write,” but
changed her tactics with laudable promp¬
titude.
“Isabel, are you going to keep me
here in the cold all night ? Why don’t
you open the door ?”
“I can’t, grandmother 1” faltered Isa¬
bel, her cheeks radiant with blushes,
“Fred won’t let me stir !”
(But then she didn’t try very hard !)
“I’ll tell you what, ma’am,” said Mr.
Hensley politely, “I shall be delighted
to release you at any moment you will
say ‘Yes’ to my suit for Isabel!”
There was a moment’s meditative
silence, aud then Grandmother Kesley
sensible to the last, uttered the fateful
monosyllable!
“Yes 1”
And when she emerged from her state
of siege on the stairway, the only ob¬
servation she hazarded was:
“Young folks will be young folks—
and there ain’t no use fightin’ against
Fate!”
“And I thought you were a robber F
laid Isabel, looking with timid happiness
into her lover’s eyes, “come to steal
Grandmother Kesley’s jewels 1”
“So I am !” said Fred, smiling. “And
I have stolen the very brightest of them
all 1"
When Frederic Hensley went away,
a fortnight afterward, he took Isabel
Darling with him as his bride, and
Grandmother KeBley’s wedding present
was the wooden box of antique treas
ures, gold beads, amethyst necklace and
*11.
LITTLE BABY' JIM
(AU*F« A CO0LKJ!gS mJ 8PJRIN .3
BETWEEN DAN AND WlFB.
Tli© Story if a. T.ktil© ETonml Close
I\o.u a 4«e»»cl Hviie.
Baby Jim, of the Foundlings’ Horn
had a very narrow ?MO«pe last week,
says the Chicago Inter-Ocean. He is
red headed and freckled, La he is lusty
enough for a farm hand. When he was
“•bout eight monthB old a lady who had
uo children took him to bring up. There
were prettier babies than J im, but some¬
how she took a fancy to him. In spite
of his fiery hair there was something in
his face that made him handsome. In¬
telligence was in his eyes and people
who looked at his head said he would be
heard from in the world. He was heard
from very frequently, and that is what
came very near changing the whole
course of his life.
The husband of the lady who took
Jim did not like him. Jim’s voice was
not musical and his red hair did not
match the furniture in the handsome
home to whbh-he had been taken. The
wife’s attentions to him may have made
the husband jealous, too. Something
was the matter with Jim ail the time,
aud the man of the house got tired of
him, though his wife enjoyed it all.
Whatever Jim did was fun to her. She
rigged him up in new clothes and fash¬
ioned many pretty garments for him
herself.
For a time the husband, who had sub¬
mitted at first in silence, said little, but
after a while it became evident that
trouble was brewing in the family. The
man was ill-natured, and baby Jim’s il¬
luminated countenance and uproarious
voice aggravated him. There were some
harsh words between husband and wife,
some tears and reproaches, followed by
a day of reflection on the part of the
wife. Toward evening she made np her
mind. Taking Jim in her arms she sum¬
moned her carriage and drove rapidly tc
the home, where, with many tears and
caresses, she left him, telling the reason
and saying that she would send his beau¬
tiful little wardrobe in the morning.
That night when she was picking up
the little garments and toys and packing
them carelessly in a small trunk which
she had labeled Jim, her husband, who
Lad inaiiuoL_
“He’s gone,” she said.
“Where?”
“I took him back to the Foundlings’
Home, aud I’m packing his things
now.”
She didn’t look up. In fact, her head
was bent lower than seemed necessary.
The husband looked thoughtful, turned
aroaud on his heel, whistled a little and
walked into the library. He began to
feel that he had won a great victory over
a baby and a woman, but he could not
extract any comfort from the reflection.
The house seemed quiet, and he half
wished he could hear Jim yell aud his
wife laugh. Jim was not so much a
nuisance after all. It might be bandy
to have him in the family.
The next morning at breakfast he told
his wife that he had no idea that she
would send Jim back to the home. He
may have expressed a wish that she
would, and even commanded it, but he
didn't always mean what he said when
he was annoyed by business cares. If
she set so much store by Jim, she had
better go and get him. He thought he
could stand it. It is very hard for a man
to own up.
That breakfast was never finished.
The horses were at the door as quick as
they could be harnessed, and as the
wife left the house she exclaimed :
“Oh, what if he should be gene 1
Drive fast you can, ”
as as
“No danger,” said the husband, listen¬
ing to the receeding wheels. “He’ll be
there.”
And so he was. He was in line with
the others, taking his gruel and yelling,
of course. The lady explained her
errand, seized him to her breast and
made him cry still louder. Then she
drove home with him, hugging him
close all the-way, aud that day when the
trunk was unpacked she sang so loud
that even Jim’s war-whoop, occasionally
raised in defiance, could not be heard.
It was a dose call for Baby Jim.
Mormons In the Land.
Some time ago a New York publish¬
ing house requested information from
the Interior Department touching the
increase of membership of the Mormon
Church from 1850 to 1880. In reply the
Census Bnreau states that the census of
1880 contained the oniy reliable record
of the number of Mormons in the United
States, the previous inquiries having
elicited information only in regard to
the number of chuich organizations and
number of sittings. From these in¬
quiries it appears that in 1850 there
were 16 church organizations and 10,880
sittings, iu 1860 24 organizations and
13,500 sittings, in 1870189 organization®
and 87,838 sittings, and in 1880 267 or
ganizitions and 65,262 sittings. Ihe
actual membership of the Mormon
Church, according to the census of 1880,
was 79.886.
A Surprise.— A New Orleans paper
makes tins surprising statement: Noth¬
ing surprises a man more than being
killed when he expects to kill sorne
bodv.
POVERTY STRICKEN.
On* of tlie Pathetic Sc««e* In the 1.1f<
Ora moot n, Sir a at Citv.
Joe Howard writes to the Philadel¬
phia Press; A friend of mine was smok¬
ing a cigar of breakfast solace, one
morning, looking through the pane ol
H'onder'upou the street, of unoocup'anoy,
•vhsn he saw a middle-aged mao, well
dressed, with no overcoat. The man
looked at him for a moment, touched
his hat, ascended the steps and rang
the bell. My friend went to the door
himself.
“What doyou want?”
“Work.”
“I have no work for yon.”
“Won’t you kindly allow me to clean
the snow from your door steps and
walk ?”
“What will you do it for?”
“For my breakfast.”
Now that tells the story. Here was
an intelligent man, well dressed,
though without an overooat, who
wanted work wherewith he might fill
his own stomach with satisfactory food.
He cleaned the steps with broom and
shovel borrowed from my friend. He
cleaned the sidewalk and gutter, and
then he came to the basement door for
his breakfast compensation. My friend
had the table put in the far corner of
the room and an appetizing and satisfy¬
ing breakfast spread, but the poor mau
was too chilled to enjoy it. After a
while he thawed out, and, two or
three cups of coffee bracing him he
tackled the liver and bacon, the baked
potatoes and biscuit before him. Mel¬
lowed somewhat, ha regarded my fri*nd,
who had smoked and fussed around the
apartment gently, with contemporaneous
human interest, whereupon my friend
who is a man aud a brother said:
“What is the meaning of this ? Why
are you seeking employment for this
kind of pay ?”
To which answered the stranger:
“I was a clerk in Blank & Co.’s,”
naming one of the greatest dry goods re¬
tail firms on Sixth avenue, “and have
been for four years past, on a salary of $25
* week. With thirty others I was dis¬
charged last week on forty-eight hours
notice. I had spent all my money, aud
for the sake of sending some to my
parents in Connecticut I had 'anticipated
so that when I was discharged I had
uothing coming to me.
“I pawned my overcoat, for it was
mild last week, pawned my watch, and
on Saturday night I found I had uoth¬
ing. I borrowed something of a chum
and started out to get work. I have
been to every dry goods store, and every
little shop where I had been previously
known, but in every place I was met by
the words: ‘We are discharging, not hir¬
ing men.’ Yon may not believe it, but
I haven’t eaten a morsel in forty-eight
hours, aud iu despair, seeing you at your
window, I ventured to make the request
that you would permit me for my break
fast to shovel off your snow.”
The Governor of Texas Indignant.
Governor Ireland, of Texas, in his in¬
augural address uses the following lan¬
guage: “Since my late message to the
two houses was penned, the knowledge
has reached me of the perpetration of a
series of horrible crimes, murders, and
thefts on Texas soil by incursions of pre¬
datory bands from Mexioo. Since it has
become known that neither Mexico nor
the United States will surrender one of
their own citizens to be taken to the
other Government to be tried for crime,
the people on the right bank of the Rio
Grande have become emboldened, and
they stand ou Mexican soil covered with
the blood of our women and children.
I have made repeated efforts through the
Secretary of State to induce discussion
of the propriety of so amending the
treaty of 1861 as to permit any one, no
matter where his allegiance may be, to
lie extradited but no results have fol¬
lowed. Commercial treaties aud money
affairs seem to be of more importance
than the blood of our people. In the
last few days I have written to the Presi¬
dent, giving him full accounts of the con¬
dition of affairs on tho Rio Grande, and
have also informed him that Texas can,
if need be, protect herself, and minute
companies and State troops on that bor¬
der have been directed to protect our
people without deference to nice points
of international law, If the Federal
troops, whose luty it is under the Con¬
stitution, are too tender to patrol tbe
border, or if the few companies in the
interior are only to make a show at dress
parades, it would seem that their pres
ence on our soil is of little practical use.”
The Old Horseshoe Story.
The Tribune the other day printed the
calculation of the London Echo in re¬
gard to the number of grains of corn that
would be ou a chess board if one grain
were placed on the first square, two
grains on the second, four on the third,
and so on. The Echo said that the corn
on the squares would fill 1,884,875 barns,
each holding 1,010,000 bushels, allow¬
ing 100,000 grains to each bushei. A
ciever Brooklyn correspondent who has
figured it out says that the English pa¬
per is away off and gives the following
ns the true figures: There would be 184,-
467,440,737,095 bushels of com on the
squares, which under tho conditions
named would fill 184,467,440 barns.
VOL. XI. NO 16.
HEATH-DEALING DISH-CLOTHS.
A Tidy Hoa*ehee*er l>ia*u*i*d at Whal
She Found tu the Kitchen.
A iidy housekeeper, writing in a
western magazine, expresses the follow¬
ing very plaiu views on a homely but
important subject, she says:
“I had some neighbors once, clever,
good sort of folks. One fall four of
them were sick at one time with typhoid
fever. The doctor ordered the vinegar
barrels whitewashed and threw about
forty cents’ worth of carbolic acid into
the swill-pail and departed. I went into
the kitchen to make gruel. I needed a
dish-cloth aud looked arouud and found
several, and such ‘rags !’ I burned them
all and called the daughter of the house
to get o me ___ a dish-olotb. ___ She looked
around on the tables,
“ ‘Why,’ she said, ‘there was about a
dozen Lor- this morning,’ and she
looked iu the wood-box and on the man
Ue-piece and felt in the dark corner of
the cupboard.
“ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I saw some old black
rotten rags lying around and I burned
them, for there is death in such dish
oloths as theqe, and you must never use
them again.’
“I ‘took turns’ at nursing that family
four weeks, and I believe those dirty
dishcloths were the cause of all that
hard work. Therefore, I say to every
housekeeper, Keep your dishcloths
clean. You may wear your dresses
without ironing, your sun-bonnets with¬
out elastics, but you must keep your
dishcloths clean. You may only comb
your hair on Suadays, yon may not
wear a oollar unless you go from home,
but you must wash yonr dishcloth. You
may only sweep the floor ‘when the sign
gets right;’ the windows don’t need
washing, you can look out at the door ;
that spider web on the front porch don’t
hurt anything; but, as you love your
lives, wash out your dishcloth. Let the
foxtail get ripe in the garden (the seed
is a foot deep, anyway); let the holes in
ihe heels of your husband’s footrags go
undarned ; let the sage go ungathered;
let the children’s shoes go two Sundays
without blacking ; let two hens sit four
weeks on one wooden egg; but do wash
your dishcloths. Eat without a table¬
cloth ; wash your fa*es and let them <lry ;
do.without a curtain for your windows
IIow Steel Pens are Made.
First the steel is rolled into big
sheets. This is oat into strips about
three inches wide. These strips are
annealed; that is, they are heated to a
reel hot heat and permitted to cool very
gradually, so that the brittleness is all
removed and the steel is soft enough to
be easily worked. Then the strips are
again rolled to the required thickness,
or, rather, thiimeas for the average
steel pen is not thicker then a sheet of
thiu letter paper. Next, the blank
pen is cut out of tbe flat strip. On
this the name of the maker or of the
brand is stamped. Next, the pen is
molded in a form which combines
gracefulness with strength. The round¬
ing enables tbe pen to hold the requisite
j ink and to distribute it more gradually blade',
tlum oo uld be done with a flat
The little hole whioh is cut at the end
of the slit serves to regulate the elas¬
ticity, and also facilitates the running
of the ink. Then comes the prooess of
hardeniug and tempering. The steel
is heated to a cherry-red and then
plunged suddenly into some cool sub¬
stance. This at once changes the qual¬
ity of the metal from that of a soft, lead¬
like substance to a brittle, spiugy one.
Then the temper of the steel must be
drawn, for without this process it would
be too brittle. The drawing oonsists
of heating the pen until it reaches a
j certain color. The first color that
appears is a straw color. This changes
rapidly to a blue. The elasticity of the
motal varies with the color, and is fast¬
ened at any point by instant plunging
into cold water. The processes of slit¬
ting, polishing, pointing and finishing
the pens are operations requiring dex¬
terity, but by long practice the work¬
men and workwomen beoome very ex¬
pert. There have been few changes of
late years, and the process of manu¬
facture is much the same that it was
twenty years ago, and the prices are
rather uniform ranging from seventy
five oents to $4 a gross, according to
the quality of the finish.
The Gorgeous Secretary.
In his Boston lecture, the other night,
G. A. Sala told of his experiences at the
coronation of Alexander III. It was
necessary to wear a uniform to gain ad¬
mission. He accordingly wore a plain i
one that did not gain him any particular
attention, but life secretarv held some ! !
civilian appointment nf at „ t Tampon Loudon, th, the
chief perquisite of which was the right
to wear a uniform, “in comparison with
which Solomon in ail his glory was the
smallest of potatoes.” To his paper he
sent a dispatch of seven and a half col¬
umns. flow to get it in ahead of other !
correspondents was a quandary. But, ;
intrusting it to his secretary, what was
the latter’s surprise, as he neared the i
door in fife flaming raiment, to see the i
entire guard present arms while he j
marched through. His dispatch was
sent two hours before any other corre- ;
spoudent got away from the ceremony j
SOME STRAY JOKES
FOUND IN TUB HUMOROUS COLUMNS
OF THE NEWSPAPERS.
He Succeeded too Well—A Brother’© Pride
-Meilcfia t’nstoma—A Panicky Doctor
Tlie Insurance Mao, Etc.® Etc.
SUCCEEDED TOO WE Mi.
“Now,” said the bride, “Henry, 1
want yon to understand distinctly that I
do not wish to be taken for a bride. I
am going to behave exactly as if I were
au old married woman. So, dearest, do
not think me cold and unloving if I
treat you very practically when there is
anybody by. I want you to behave like
an old married man.”
The first evening of their arrival the
bride retired to her chamber and the
groom fell in with a whist party, with
whom he Bat playing cards until 4 o’clock
in the morning. His wife spent the
weary hours weeping. At last he turned
up and met his.grief-stricken bride with
the hilarious question :
“Well, ain’t I doing the old married
man like a daisy ?•’
She never referral to the subject
again, and everybody knew after that
that they had just been married.— San
Francisco Chronicle.
THE PEACE TO SIT.
A countryman aud his bride applied
at the box office for tickets.
“Orchestra chairs, parquette or family
circle ?” asked the ticket seller.
“Which’ll it be, Mariar?” said the
groom.
“Well,” she replied, with a blush,
“bein’ as how we’re married now, p’rbaps
it wonld be properer to sit in the family
circle.”
A YOUNG BROTHEK’8 PRIDE,
Featherly was making an evening call
and had just complimented Miss Smith
upon the beauty oi her teeth.
“Yea,” interposed Bobby, “an’they’re
all natural teeth, too, an’ every one of
’em is sound.”
“There, there, Bobby,” said his sis¬
ter sternly, but her faoe flushed with
pleasure, “little hoys should be—”
“Yes, sir," repeated Bobby proudly,
“they’re all sound, an’ pa says that fora
woman of her age it’s quite remark¬
able.”
QUEER CUSTOMS IN MEXIOO.
Mrs, De Blank—“Of all tbe things.”
Mr. Do Blank—'~W*ul_ VI
see a curious item about a Mexican ser¬
vant who was paid $40, his three months’
wages, aud immediately spent $35 of it
for a hat, a sombrero, you know.”
“Yes, a Mexican is very proud of his
sombrero. Some of them cost $300.”
“But the idea of a man paying suoh a
price for a hat.”
“Oh ! the men in Mexioo can easily
afford to do that. The women don’t
wear any bonnets, you know.”— Phila.
Call.
IP LIVING.
In all policies of insurance these
among a host of other questions, occur:
“Age of your father, if living ?” “Age
of your mother, if living ?” A mau in
the country who filled up an application
made his father’s age, “if living,” 112
years, and his mother’s 102 The agent
was amazed at this, and fancied he had
secured an excellent customer; but, feel¬
ing somewhat dubious, he remarked that
the applicant came from a very long
lived family.
“Oh, you see, sir,” replied he, “my
parents died many years ago, but, ‘if
living,’ would be aged as there put
down.”
“Exactly—I understand,” said the
agent.— Boston Gazette.
THOUGHT IT WOULD IMPROVE HIM.
“Hubby, I’ve just been reading how
Daniel Webster improved his memory.’’
“How was it, my dear?”
“Well, you see, every night when he
came homo he told life wife everything
he had done during the day; whom he
had met, whst he had said, everything
he could think of. By and by he got so
he oould remember everything.”
“Well?”
“Nothing, hubby, only I thought
maybe yon would like to improve your
memory that way.”
“Darling, do you suspect nae?”—
Chicago JS’ews.
A PANICKY DOCTOR.
There is a story about a doctor who
was recently called to a fashionable lady
at two o’clock in the morning, and as¬
tonished life patient by asking her, after
a brief examination, whether she had
made her will. He then advised her to
send for her lawyer and perhaps also her
Pastor.
“Must I die?” asked the lady.
“I am afraid so,” was the reply.
“How much time do you give me ?”
asked the lady, in despair.
"Well,” said the doctor, ‘*if you treat
your family and yourself as you do now
there’s *«»»•“«' no telling what will happen. If “
Y ou dee P when you ought to and use
your judgment yon may be good for 30
years more .”—Boston Beacon.
HIS LOSS HER GAIN.
Two ladies were discussing their hus¬
bands, and one had just said that her
husband had become very cross of late.
“Ah,” said the other, with a sigh, “I
urn sorry to say that mine does not lose
his temper more than once a year.”
“And pray why do you say you are
sorry for that ?”
“Because he always makes me a
present of a handsome dress after a
quarrel.— Harper's Bazar.
