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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.