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The Covington Star. J. W. ANDERSON. Editor and The Last Year. Tender lights on sky and sea; Milk white blossoms on the tree; Lull of storms and tempest bleak; Faint bloom on a wan young cheek. “Spring, the blessed Spring is nigh I" Said my darling, hopefully. Violets’ breath and primrose rays; Sunshine treading leafy ways; Gentle steps, that, weak and slow, Through the woodland pathway's go “It were sad in Spring to die!" Said my darling, wistfully. Glorious Summer, crowned with flower# Dreamy days of golden hours; Sunset-crimsoned hills afarj Dewy eve, and silver star. “Strength may coma witn by and byel 1) Said my darling, patiently. Growing fruits and ripening grain; Languid days and nights of pain; Fields so golden, earth so glad, And ft young life doomed! “’Tissad Through the bright days here to lie," Said my darling, wearily. Sighing winds and falling leaves; Yearning love, that vainly grieves? Patient eyes, with farewell gaze, Greeting the wan Autumn days. “Happy world, fair world good by*," Said my darling, tenderly. Wailing storms and weeping skies; Soft wings spread for Paradise; Solemn whispering accents thrilled With the awe of hope fulfilled. “Life! O blissful life on hight”| Breathed my darling, rapturously. Wreathing snowdrifts, far and wide, Mantling o’er the lone hillside, Purer than that stainless veil— Like a folded lily pale, While the moaning blast goes by, Sleeps my darling, peacefully. — Chambers's Journal. LOVE AND SCIENCE i The last day at school! Examination was over; exhibition was at an end, and Effie Parker knew that she was about to enter on the threshold of a new life. Most girls rejoice when this last day of school dawns upon them; but Effie was unlike other girls in more respects than one. Effie Parker was an orphan, under the rather reluctant guardianship of a bach¬ elor uncle, and his house was all the home 6lie looked forward to. Other young graduates were talking of their parents and brothers and sisters; even of their pet birds and plants; but Effie was all aline. “I wouldn’t cry, said LUcy Brown, 1-------„ -JTOll tier suticuue. ana throw ing both plump arms about her neck. i i Tell me, Effie, what makes you cry?” “Because I am so—so lone—somel” sobbed poor Effie. 4 4 O, nonsense?” cried Lucy Brown. “Why should you cry? You might, in¬ deed, with some show of reason, if you were like me, booked to go out as a gov¬ erness, and cam your bread by the sweat of your brow! For I haven’t even an uucle to go to 1” Lucy was a short, plump, dumpling of a girl, with brown hair, big blue eyes and just enough of an upward curve to her nose to give her an indescribable air of 8aucines8. And she wore gingham dresses because they were cheap, and washed her ribbons in gum-arabic water and darned her gloves until they were more “mend” than material. And withal, she was the most piquant and stylish looking little girl in all Madame Metour’s establishment. if But I’m afraid of Uncle Gerald,” fal¬ tered Effle— ‘ ‘to be there all alone with him.” “Does he scold?” asked Lucy sympa¬ thetically. “N—no, but-” “I’ll go home with you,” said Lucy. • i Cornel My engagement to teach the nine little boys of Mrs. McManahan does not begin until next month, and I’d as soon go home with you as to stay here among the lexicons and French gram¬ mars. “Darling Lucy, if you only would!” exclaimed Effie, giving her schoolmate such a hug as nearly choked her. <4 Two of ’em!” ejaculated Mr. Gerald Vane, dropping his niece’s letter in des¬ pair. “Mrs. Caldwell. u Sir?” said the trim housekeeper. “There’s two of ’em coming.” “Dearme, sir! is there, indeed?” said Mrs. Caldwell. “All the better, I should say. The old house needs brightening up a little; it’s as dull as a convent.” 4 4 And what is to become of my scien¬ tific experiments and natural history in¬ vestigations, I should like to know?’ demanded Mr. Vane, indignantly. “Well, sir,” coughed Mrs. Caldwell, “if it ain’t making too bold, I think you’re too much wrapped up in them heathenish doings. And two nice little girls to educate and “Two nice little girls? Are you mad, Mrs. Caldwell? Why, my niece is 18 at least, and the other one—Lucy Brown she calls her—must be as old, if not older.” (4 Dear heart, sir, you’re forty-six, and I’m ten good years more," said Mrs. Caldwell, “and if these ain’t little girls compared to us, I should respectfully like to know what you would call them.” 44 Humpl” said Mr. Vane. “Dinner at six, Mrs. Caldwell.” Mrs. Caldwell courtesied and retired, -•ogit.tmg within hem.ll wh.l.h. should ZL'1 :ZX “Oh, isn’t this nice,” said Lucy Brown, dancing about the broad mosaic paved hall in a sort of impromptu, valse step. “Oh, I should like to live here always, I—dear me, what have I.done?" For her flying skirts had caught in the top of a large glass jar, and crash, it came down on the marble floor. “Dear me, said Mrs. Caldwell, “it’s one of the master’s chemicals, as he fusses over, like they was liquid gold.” “Will he be very angry?” whispered Lucy, with her eyes like blu* marbles— while Effie began to cry. (i Let’s run to our room as fast as we can, ” she faltered, “before Undo Gerald finds it out.” “No,” said Lucy, valiantly. “Where is Mr, Vane? I’ll go and tell him at once. Mr. Vane, as a tall figure was seen entering through a side door, “I broke the jar!” “Did you, indeed? Miss Brown, I presume,” with a formal bow, as Eflie came timidly forward to kiss him. “Isn’t he handsome,” Lucy whispered to her schoolmate, as they went up stairs together. 4 I But he’s so stern-looking,” sighed Effie. “Never mind; let’s get dressed lor dinner as quick as we can, for uncle can’t beaT to be kept waiting.” Lucy Brown, whose one-dyed silk dress required no long and painful adjustment, was soon attired and down in the gar den. “Dear me!” said Lucy. “Here’s a whole box of frogs. Some cruel boy has shut them up. I’ll just run down to the brook and give them their liberty. She was proceeding, when Mrs. Cald¬ well called to her from the window. “Miss Lucyl Miss Lucy!” “Off you go, froggies 1 Don’t they jump charmingly 1” Lucy cried, clapping her hands as one by one the reptiles plashed into their native element. li What did you say, Mrs. Caldwell?” The housekeeper uttered a groan of despair. “Mr. Gerald’s frogs that he’s been try¬ ing some scientific experiment with,these three days!” she uttered. “Oh, dear,” said Lucy, witha comical gesture of terror, “I’ve been and gone and done it again. I really do think I was born under an unlucky star!’“ . Three weeks Lucy Brown remained a guest at Vane Hall—three weeks of un¬ mitigated disaster, tribulation and devas ♦ niinn i.—i— **- V—v-u camellia-house; she lost his pet Italian greyhound. She tipped a bottle of ink over an essay he had just completed for the “Savant’s Monthly,” and ruined his collection of dried butterflies by accidentally sitting down on them when they were airing in the window seat. Literally, she “did what she ought not to have done, and left undone those things which she ought to have done.” “How is-it,” said Lucy, dubiously, 44 that I am always getting into scrapes and Effle here isn’t? What is it, Mrs. Caldwell? Mr. Vane wishes to speak to me? There! I knew it was coming.” 4i Knew that what was coming?” asked Effie, blankly. “He’s going to turn me out of doors 1 He can’t endure me any longer, and Fm sure I can’t blame him much. Well, I shall have to go back to Madame Me tour’s, I suppose.” “Miss Lucy, do go to your room first,” pleaded Mrs.Caldwell. “Yourcurls are all in a tangle,and your mouth is red¬ dened with raspberry juice, and there’s a rent in your gown a quarter of a yard long, where you’ve caught it on the sweetbriar bush, and “Fiddlesticks! said the irreverent Lucy. “I’m as bad as I can be already in Mr. Vane’s eyes, so there’s no use in prinking. And I’m sorry, too, *> with a little quiver of the lip, “for I wanted him to like me just a little.” She went boldly into the study to face her doom, while Effie Parker sat down on the doorstep and began to cry. “If Lucy goes off to leave me, I shall die of homesickness and loneliness 1” she sobbed. It was fully three-quarters of an hour before Lucy Brown came out of the au¬ dience chamber. It must have been an awful long lec tore. thought Effie with a shudder. 4 . How flushed she looks! I wonder if she has been crying, Come here, Lucy, darling, and tell me all about it.” Lucy nestled down beside her friend without a word. 4 4 Was he very cross?” asked sympa¬ thetic Effie. “No—no, not so very.” “Did he scold you?” “No," Lucy made answer, in a voice so low as to be scarely audible. 44 Did he tell you you couldn’t stay?” “No. ” “No, no, no?” mimicked Effie, begin ning to be little nettled. “Then do tell | me "what he did say!” “He asked me to marry him,” said Lucy, with a hysterical mingling of laugh i and sob. | Effie started to her feet. j “Asked you to marry him! And what did you say; !» “I said yes. “I never was so glad of anything in a my life!” cried Effie, exulting y; or you can live here a way8 ’ “ y °“ now , f Mriu’t *huol many ««•" COVINGTON, GEO RGIA. W EDN ESDAY. OCTOBER 6. 1886. So Lucy Brown was “settled in life," much to the satisfaction of everybody, Mrs. Caldwell included. "To be sure, she ain’t the style I ever ! should ha’ supposed master would have taken a fancy to,” 6<aid the housekeeper; “but there’s no accounting for the whims a scientific man picks upt” Coral. The value of coral depends on its color and its size. The white or rose-tinted variety stands highest in popular esteem, perhaps, chiefly, because it is the rarc est. It is mostly found in the Straits of Messina and on some parts of the Afri¬ can and Sardinian coasts. The bright red coral, in which the polyps are still living when it is fished up, stands next in value. Dead coral has a duller tint, and is consequently sold at a lower price. Two entirely different substances bear the name of black coral, One of them is not, properly speaking, coral at all, and it is commercially worthless, as it breaks into flakes instead of yielding to the knife, though it is often sold as a costly curiosity to foreigners. The other is the common red coral which has un¬ dergone a sea change, probably through the decomposition of the living beings that once built and inhabited it. It is not much admired in Europe, but in In¬ dia it commands high prices, so that large quantities of it are exported every year. These are the four important dis¬ tinctions of color, though they, of course, include immediate tints which rank ac¬ cording to their clearness and brilliancy. The size is a still more important matter; the thickness of the stem of the coral plant—wo use the commercial and en tirely unscientific expression—determines its price, and many a branch of red coral is valued more highly on account of its thickness than a smaller piece of the choicer rose color; the reason of this is clear; a large, straight piece of material affords an opportunity to the artificer; a crooked one, if it is only bulky enough, can, at least, be turned into large beads; mere points and fragments can only be used for smaller ones, or made into those horns which are said to be invaluable against the evil eye, but which do not command a high price in the market, perhaps, because it is overstocked. A Pine Wood. A pine wood is one of the loneliest scenes in nature, not merely as regards 1*11 J utlltil llMUg UHI1|^| Nothing breaks up its uniformity and mo¬ notony. It has none of the rich variety of life that characterizes other woods. The seasons themselves make no impres¬ sion upon it, for it is dressed in peren¬ nial green, and it retains its shade alike in summer’s heat and winter’s desolation. It prevents all undergrowth; no brambles dare to stretch ther long, trailing, thorny arms—like the feelers of some creature of prey—within its guarded inclosure. No wild roses can open their trembling pet¬ als, white with fear or crimson with blushes, in its solemn sanctuary. No hazel bush will drop there its ringlets of smoking catkins in spring or its ruddy clusters of nuts in autumn. No mimic sunshine of primrose tufts, no pale star beams of anemone or sorrel will light up its gloom. No glimpse of blue sky are let into it by hyacinths, or bluebells, or violets. To all the lowly plants that find refuge in other woods, and in turn adorn and beautify their hosts, the pine trees in their dignified independence re¬ fuse admission. No song of bird or hum of insect is heard beneath their boughs. And on the ground below, strewn deep with a carpet of brown needles and emp¬ tied cones that have silently dropped in course of long years from overhead, and are slow to decay, only a few yellow toadstools and one or two splendid scar¬ let mushrooms make up for the painful dearth of vegetation. It seems as if the balsamic breath of the pines which is so wholesome to human life—preventing all fevers and infectious diseases—were as deadly as the upas shade to other forms of life. — Dr. Hugh Macmillan. An “Epicure. Speaking about New York restaurants, a correspondent tells the following stOTy: Pedro’s best customers are politi¬ cians, who are trying to perfect them¬ selves in the art of epicurean apprecia tion. The average New York politician is always attracted to a restaurant pat ronized by brokers, and he will never knock under to any man in praise of any¬ thing that can be eaten. The Hon. James Oliver, better known as Paradise Park Oliver, once told Jerry Hartigan that none bat epicures ate at Pedro’s, and invited Mr. Hartigan there to din¬ ner. Two hours afterward Jerry met the Hon. Fattie Walsh. “What’s an epicure, Tom?” asked Hartigan. “An epicure is one of these duffer* that eat anything,” Mr. Walsh replied. “I thought so,” Jerry remarked. “Fve just ate a meal at Pedro’s, and it makes me sick to pick my teeth.” Beyond the Reach of Drugs. “Are you feeling better, Mr. Feather ly?” asked Bobby at the dinner table. 4 I Feeling better? I haven’t been sick, Bobby.” indiffer “I didn’t know,” said Bobby “Ma an’ pa were talking aboul gen ealoev last night and ma said il couldn’t bo m'ncb wo,*, ‘topped yo, “ dl '■~ v “ ™ THE CATERER. How Some Entertainments Are Supplied with Food. Uaterers _ of £vei 0 7 who Carry Eat ables to Oi'.y Households, The caterer, says a correspondent of the Troy Timei , is now a power in New York. A few years ago a well-stocked household wa.s considered sufficient unto itself, but nf iw the caterer and his assist ants are called in for anything out of the regular ord er of things, from a luncheon of six peo’ple to supper for five hundred guests. There are caterers of every grade, from good-natured and hard¬ working negroes who serve meals to bachctlo rs living in cheap rooms, at prices ranging from thirty to seventy cents a meal, up to the Finards, who pretend to be a peg higher even than Delmonico. The humbler caterers may be seen trudging along in the morn¬ ing from their homes in the poorer quar¬ ters of the city, lugging oblong tin boxes that have been ja panned a seal-brown at a date more or less remote, and wending their way toward sleeping bachelors all over town. The tin boxes are about a foot square and two feet and a half high, with a big handle on the top. Within are tin shelves. Under the bottom shelf are alcoholic lamps. On the shelf is a platter wit "a chops, steak or ham. The space between that shelf and the next is only three inches, but the shelves above it are about five inches apart to give room for the cups, saucers, coffee and milk pots and sugar bowl. All of these things have their slots, into which they fit closely. The top shelf is used for the table cloth and napkins. The front of the box is a door. It swings open and exhibits the breakfast to the hungry lodger when the caterer bustles into his Toom. More pretentious kits than this are sent out by the hotels and restau¬ rants. A breakfast may be carried miles through the snowy streets and laid on the table hot and inviting. The cater ing department of the big restaurant is a very important one. There is a preju dice against boarding houses in New York. At all events, it is exceedingly unfashionable to live in one, and the people who are not supplied by caterers from nh/vi'vo 0 -•#/%*m rvf fashion. Contracts to serve meals may be made with the big restaurants at rates far below the regular fig ures on the bill of fare. But perhaps the caterer is most highly appreciated by people who entertain. Instead of bulldozing the regulation cook into preparing a dinner for a num¬ ber of guests, a note to the caterer set¬ tles it all. There is then no hurry, no delay, no wrangles with servants, and the surety of a good dinner well and promptly served. Half an hour before it is time for the guests to arrive a wagon of the hearse pattern with a chimney through the roof drives up. Nimble as¬ sistants carry in the wine from the re¬ frigerator in one end of the wagon and the edibles from the hot compartment in the other end. Everything is there, from the flowers to the salt. The regu¬ lar servants retire and the caterer takes possession of the kitchen, pantry and dining room until the guests have gone. Then the wagon drives up again, and in twenty minutes all traces of the dinuer party, whether to six or a hundred guests, have disappeared. This plan of giving dinners grows more and more popular every year. The extent to which the fashionable New York house wife depends on the caterer, not only for food but for nearly everything else in the way of entertaining, is growing more and more noticeable. These useful servants take all the details of the work of party giving off the hands of the hostess. They lay the dancing cloth, provide musicians, have the dancing orders composed and printed, decorate the rooms, put up the storm awnings, number the carriages, provide extra chairs, coat checks, sup per and help, and virtually give the enter¬ tainment. All the lady of the house has to do is to walk down to hsr parlors and receive her guests when they begin to arrive. The cost of all tais is very much less than one would imagine, and the re¬ lief from the din, hubbub and annoy¬ ances that prevail when the house servants undertake the wwk is decided. Speech Photography. Descriptions of the new apparatus of Professor A. G. and Dr. C. Bell make it appear quite as won¬ derful as the telephone, It is based on the remarkable discovery that a jet of falling water or a flame of,gas reproduces every word or soued withfn a given dis¬ tance, and it seems to accomplish, by more sensitive means, wlut was attempt¬ ed by the speaking phonograph. By ar ranging a descending lim of colored water bet ween the sunliglt and a mov ing sensitive tablet, the ribrations pro¬ duced in the film by spcelh are instanta¬ neously and continuously ohotographed. Other arrangements came the photo¬ graphed irregularities coresponding to Mr pulsations to be retralslated into air waves, making the voice heard again. H the anticipated success is achieved with such speech records, the aid of the photographer’s art will bdof more value to the future reporter that a knowledge of short hand An Arab Danoe at Port Said. The following extract is from Edwin Arnold’s “India Revisited The Arab quarter consists at present of booths and wooden huts, and the bazaars possess for experienced travellers little interest or picturesqueness. In one of them, how ever, we found a native cafe where two Ghawazi girls were languidly dancing before the usual audience of low-class Arabs and negro connoisseurs. Q ne clad in scarlet, was a novice of no skill; the other—graceful and clever, with a handsome face of the old Egyptian type, worn hard and marked deep by a life oi vice—was prettily dressed in a wide trousers of purple and gold, a spangled jacket and head-dress of coins and beads, with a jingling girdle of silver amulets. Asked if she could perform for us the “balance dance,” she consented to exhib it • that well-known Egyptian for the pas modest consideration of two francs and a bottle of English beer. The cork of this contribution being drawn, a lighted can¬ dle was then fixed in the neck of the bottle, which was then placed upon the crown of her black and glossy little head. A carpet was next spread upon the sand, and extending her hands, armed with castanets, and singing a high but not unpleasing voice, to the accom¬ paniment of a darabouka and rabab, she swayed her lithe body in slow rhythmical motions to the words of her song and the measured beat of the musicians. “I am black, but it is the sun of thy love which has scorched me 1 Send me some rain of help from thy pity. I am thirsting for thee.” The Ghawazi began with Arabic words of this tenor, keeping exact time to her strain with foot and hand and the tremors of her thrilling slender frame; now slowly turning round, now softly advancing and receding, now clasping her hands across her bosom or pressing them to her forehead —but perpetually keeping the bottle and lighted candle in perfect equilibrum upon the top of her head. Suddenly she sank, with a change of musical accompaniment, to the ground, and—while not only maintaining the completest harmony of her movement, but even making this strange posture one of grace and charm—she contrived in some dexterous manner without touching it, to shift the bottle from the top of her her head to her forehead, and thus re¬ clinad on the mat, her extended fingers girlish qianniner frame palpitating the castanets, from her lierht. crown to feet, always in the dreamy passionate measure of the ancient love-song. This was really an artistic piece of dancin rr r>? though the performer was only a common “almeh” trom the Delta, but the dance is, no donbt, as old as the Pharoahs, and every step and gesture traditionally handed down. Handy Things to Know. Here are some figures and rules very handy to know and have at hand, in the mind or on paper; A rod is 16 1-2 feet, or 5 1-2 yards. A mile is 820 rods. A mile is 1760 yards. A mile is 5280 feet. A square foot is 144 square inches. A square yard contains 9 square feet. A square rod is 272 1-4 square feet. An acre contains 43,560 square feet. An acre contains 4,840 square yards. An acre contains 160 square rods. A section, or square mile, contains 640 acres. A quarter-section contains 160 acres. An acre is 8 rods wide by 20 rods long. An acre is 10 rods wide by 16 rods long. An acre is about 208 3-4 feet square. A solid foot contains 1728 solid inches. A pint (of water) weighs one pound. A solid foot of water weighs 62 1-2 pounds. A gallon (of water) holds 231 solid inches. A gallon of milk weighs 8 pounds and 10 ounces. A pint (of water) holds 28 7-8 solid inches (28.875). A barrel (31 1-2 gallons) holds 4 1-8 solid feet (4.211). A solid foot contaius nearly 7 1-2 solid pints (7.48). A bushel (struck) contains 2150 solid inches. A bushel (heaping) contains 1 1-4 struck bushels. Where Is He. ! “And you say you would die for me, George? 4 » Die for you I Yes, a thousand deaths. “You are a noble man, George.” “My darling, you do not know me yet. 4 4 Well, dearest, I do not wish you to die ........ for but I will tell what me, you J vou • can o for me to s ow your affec ** on ^ ' “What is it my darling? Shall I pluck the stars from the cerulean dome? Shall I say to the sea, ha! ha! cease to flow, for my love wills it! Shall I tell yon bright and inconstant moon that is glinting the hill tops with her light, that she must not shine on thy face too roughly— ha!” 44 No, George, no,” she smiling said, <4 I do not wish you to attempt such im possibilities, All I ask of you is j this-” ! . . Yes, my darling.” ! 4. All I ask of you is this—don’t call | again. VOL. XII. NO. 46. SCIENTIFIC SCRAPS. The eyes of poisonous snakes have been found by Dr. Benjamin Sharp to have elliptical pupils, while in the harm¬ less species they are circular. London engineers say that, as a mat ter of theor y’ * is P ossible to make * teamers t0 ran 40 knots Bn hour “ d cross the Atlantic m three da y 8 - But the vessel could only carry passengers. The thickness of the earth’s crust is believed by M. Faye, the French geolo gist, to be greater under oceans than beneath continents, because the earth’s heat has always radiated more freely there. The earthquakes recorded in 1885, ac¬ cording to Mons. C. Detaille, numbered 246, of which only six were felt in North America. January, with 49 earthquakes, 1 had the greatest number for any month; and October, with 11, the smallest. The French Academy of Sciences has been told by Mons. Treve of the curious phenomenon of a beautiful green ray which flashes into sight for a quarter of a second on the disappearance of the upper edge of the solar disc at sunset. The appearance can be seen only when the sky is exceptionally clear, and is probably an illusive effect on the eyes of the sudden extinction of the sun’s glare. Of the group of glaciers at Glacier Bay, Alaska, each one is about 900 feet high, and is supposed to be submerged the same number of feec. They are about three miles wide and extended along the shore seventy-five miles. These glaciers are the sight of the world. The pale blue tinge of ice has a fascination for the eye. The continual falling of tons of the breaking and creaking masses causes a roar of deafening sound that no artil¬ lery could equal. Under the slow but continuous action of the sulphurous acid thrown in the air of cities by the combustion of coal and the influence of the frequent changes in the degree of atmospheric humidity, it is found that the peroxide of red lead, used hi coloring certain placards, is destroyed and sulphated. At the same time the protoxide of lead thus liberated is trans¬ formed into an insoluble sulphite, and this salt, being easily analyzed, it is be¬ lieved that a certain means is thus ob¬ tained for determining the condition of the atmosphere in large cities and its re — Sensations of vision require a definite time of exposure of the retina, which time Mr. J. M. Cattell, of the University of Leipsic, finds to be considerably de¬ pendent on the nature of the object and the intensity of the light. It varies with the several colors. Orange gives the quickest impression of the eye, and yel¬ low closely follows it ; then come blue, red and green ; while the retina is least sensitive to violet light-time, which is from two to three times as long as for orange. By lamplight the eye works more slowly than by daylight, and the order of perceiving colors is changed to orange, red, yellow, violet and blue. A Bribe or $20,000,000, The second attempt to bribe a mem¬ ber of Congress was made more than thirty years after that in which Col. John Anderson figured so disastrously. This time the intended victim was Stephen A. Douglass, the little giant of the West, and at that time a member from the State of Illinois. The attempt was made by a well known speculator, D. V. Holbrooke, in connection with the pas¬ sage of the bill granting the Illinois Cen¬ tral Railroad Company an immense tract of public land lying on both sides of the projected road. At a certain stage of the proceedings Holbrooke offered Senator Douglass one-half the land granted on condition that he should so arrange mat ters that Holbrooke should secure con trol of the whole grant, The tempta tion was a great one—in fact the heaviest bribe ever offered to a legislator in mod ern times. It was two and a half mil lions of acres, worth even then $20,000, 000, but valued to-day at very many times that amount. When this offer was made, Senator Douglass was confined to his room at the hotel and unable to move about without the aid of crutches. Holbrooke stood near the sofa on which the senator was reclining. Douglass waited until the tempter had baited the hook and thrown out the line. “Then,” said the senator afterward in relating the incident, “our former reci¬ procity of feeling was, so to speak, all on one side. I jumped for my crutches, and as he ran from the room I gave him a blow on the side of his head that he didn’t forget for many a day. Fancy a boodle alderman of 1884 , bringing • . bribe-offerer - to , punishment . , a or p Umme Hj n g him with a crutch for tempt ing him with $20,000,000.— N. Y. Mail and Express. __ Freaks of Nature. Old Mr. Bently (who is very much in¬ terested in anything of a curious nature) —Here’s a curious thing, wife. A far mer in Iowa cut down a maple tree one hundred years old, an’ found imbedded in the centre a live toad. Old Mrs. B -ntly (who is more inteT ested in darning socks)—Well, well, is that so? A maple tree a hundred years old imbedded in the centre of a live toad. That is curious, Joshua, Read suthin' more. Life's Bitterness. This is the bitterness of life, to knov That love lies not in front, bat far behind; That not for violent searching shall we find A sweet-faced rose of hope beneath tune’s snow, Nor any flower of new Joy below The furrows swept by the autumnal wind, Nor any corn-stalk where the maidens bind The golden ears in a long, laughing row. This is the bitterness of life, to feel The slow-limbed noisome minutes crawl away, But not to mark by any happy peal Of silver be Is the passing of a day, Tarrying till our now consciousness doth steal Into death’s pine wood, damp, obscure and rey. —George Barlow, HUMOKOUS. A genuine hum-bug—the locust. No man would hang » |icmre frame beeause of its gilt. A friend in need is a friend—who gen¬ erally strikes you for a quarter. An over-due steamer— the tea-kettle that failed to boil with its usual rapidity. Why are good resolutions like fainting ladies? Because they want ‘ ‘carrying out.” Speaking of wages, it is when the har¬ vest comes that the farmers go for a general cut down. “Pa,” said a 5-year o!d son, “can a rope walk?” “I think not my son," answered the father, “but it might if it were taut.” “Man," said Adam Smith, “Is an ani¬ mal that makes bargains. No other ani¬ mal does this—no dog exchanges bones with another.” “I aim to tell the truth,” said a New York Fisherman. “Yes,’’interrupted an acquaintance, “and you are probably the worst shot in America." “Ah,” said Jebokus, taking his friend's baby, “ho has got his mother’s eyes— and my hair,” he added, as the youthful prodigy grabbed him by the foretop. Fond mother (to bachelor uncle)— “Why, John, don’t let the baby play with that gold toothpick. He’ll swallow it.” Bachelor uncle—“Oh, that won’t de’Cny harm. I have a string tied to it, so I can’t lose it Policeman—Have you a permit to play here ? Organ-grinder—No, but it amuses the little ones so much. Policeman— company Then you will have vignu-j^ttuuvt the goodness to ac tut?* —— » »• j well, sir; what do you wish to sing ? Bather an Odd Game for Fast Rider* “We don’t have much time for play out on the road,” said a railway mail clerk, “but we are a little stuck on base ball, and we manage to carry a whole nine with us. There’s the catcher there —the iron thing that catches the bags from the crane as we go by at the rate of fifty miles an hour—and it has to stop some hot ones, too. The man that throws the bags off we call the pitcher, and he is up on all of the curves, drops and twists. The mail carriers who pick Up the bags on the fly and hustle them to the postofflee are our fielders. The man who takes care of the bags and gets them ready for the local station is called the short stop in every railway mail car in this country. Oar letter case clerks are called the basemen, because they are continually passing letters from one to the other. Whenever one helps another decipher a bad address he is given credit for an ‘assist,’ and if a man fails to handle one of the tough ones and some¬ body else can do it for him we give the second man credit for a ‘put out.’ Our basemen are deadly throwers, let me tell you. On our line are nine important postoffices, and we call each one an in¬ ning. We are always in dread of our ‘error’ column, for all of our ‘errors’ are carefully scored against us in the super intendent’s office. If we make too many errors we go into the captain’s office some flu® d®y and find that our names have j been ‘struck out’ from the pay roU. That’s a part of the game that isn’t fun ny.” — Chicago Herald. Beautiful Australian Cares. A number of large and beautiful sta¬ lactite caverns have b en discovered near Queensland, Australia, In one, the walls, according to an exploring party, were beautifully white while the stalae tites and stalagmites joined in exquisite tracery, reminding them of Chinese carved ivory. Another, fifty feet by thirty feet, with plain walls broken only by niches, and meeting in a vaulted roof of immense height, they called the ca¬ thedral. In some of the dark passages their candles were extinguished by the host of bats. From others they de scended sixty feet into lower caverns, but everywere the ground sounded hollow beneath their feet, so that the whole mountain appears to be travered by sub¬ terranean passages and caves in every di¬ rection excavated in the limestone rook by the action of hot springs. A Touching Tale, Said Fogg, “I just met a poor fellow who told an awful tale of distress, and woundup by asking me for a quarter." Brown—“And of course you gave it to him?” Fogg—“No; I wanted to; bat his tale was so pitiful that I burst into tears, and in my emotion I quite forgot the poor fellow and hastened away to hid* my grief ."—Boston Transcript.