Newspaper Page Text
The Covington Star
J. W. ANDERSON. Editor and Proprietor.
The people of the United States,
comparing themselves with other na
lions, ought to feel well satisfied with
ilieir lot, says (he New York News.
While our national debt per capita is
only $14 63, or, including state and
Cl junty debts, $20.46, that of France
is SI 16.35 ; of the Netherlands, $955.6;
of (treat Britain, $87.79; and of Italy,
s?6.06. Another favorable feature of
our financial condition is that while
the aggregate public indebtedness of
foreign nations nearly doubled be
tween 1880 and 1890, that of the
United States was reduced nearly one
half. Taken altogether, the world is
about fifty thousand million dollars in
debt.
The Indians of the Iowa tribo are
all (old but 100 of them, about twenty
five families, between this and seed¬
ing time that they willreceive $25,000
worth of seeds, implements and $1000
worth of live stock to each family.
This alone seems pretty liberal, but
besides the stocking up of their farms,
continues the New Orleans Picayune,
they arc to be paid $100 per capita
annually for fifteen years, or ovav
$100 to each family. They have oach
a g r 1 farm, which by leasing, will
bring at least $500 apiece eacli year.
Then to make tuic timt no injustice is
done to the poor Indians, the Govern¬
ment pays for tho education of their
children and exempts them from taxa¬
tion. It is not bad to bo an Indian.
trr
Some of the Maine coast dwellers
fire no better off in respect to school
ami church privileges, states the Chi
engo Herald, that the people of tho re¬
mote Aroostook wilderness, who
never see anything much except trees
and bears. A man who lives on
Great Diamond Island, Portland lower
harbor, has throe children of school
age, but there is no school on Gerat
Diamond and therefore he appealed to
the mayor of Portland for assistance
in tho matter. It has been arranged
that the children shall be transported
daily, at the city’s expense to Peak’s
Island, where there is a school. It
isn’t every poor family who have a
private steamboat at their disposal
dailv. as in this case, and the children
Tnjoy mo UiSlincH UlJ MG* —
they do the trip.
A large percentage of accidents on
Btreet railways are duo to passengers
attempting to got on or off the moving
cars. Similar accidents are of frequent
occurrence on steam cars, and the
cause is in nearly every case the mis
sing of the step or losing thc hold on
the handles. A device has b cn de
signed for tho purposo of throwing
the person away from Hie car should
lie lose his hold and to push him to one
side out of tiie path of the following
car should lie miss Hie step ami fall.
The device consists of a plate or board
extending from the top part of tho
fender to a point near tho track rail.
This plato projects laterally from the
car fender, to which it is made ad
justabie by means of vertical slots,
corresponding slots being made in the
fender. Should a passenger miss his
grip of the handle of the car the guard
throws him clear of the step, and in
case he slipped or stumbled in leaving
the car the dependent part of the
guard would push him out of harm’s
wav.
The retirement of privates from,
the regular army is of the most in¬
frequent occurrence, says Hie Wash
ingion Post, from the simple fact it is
seldom they ever remain long enough
in the service to reach tho age of sixty
two years. Private Thomas Kelly ot
Battery K at the Washington barracks,
however, lias added another to the list
and well earned his retirement, which
has already been announced, He
landed at Boston harbor, and in 1862
enlisted in Company H of the Thirty
ninth Regiment of Massachusetts
Volunteers. His regiment was as¬
signed to the Fifth Corps, under Gen¬
eral Warren. The first baitlo that
Kelly was in was that at South Moun¬
tain and the second was at Laurel
Hill Yu., where he was severely
wounded. Having been left on the
field iie was taken prisoner, and that
ended his appearance on tho field so
far as open hospitalities were con
cerued. At tho close of the war he
received an honorable discharge and
returned to Boston; but he had grown
used to being a soldier, and iu less
than a year thereafter he enlisted in
tho regular army, and has served con¬
tinuously since.
Wonders iu Eyes and Muscles.
Tho microsope has revealed many
wonders, among others that the com
mon caterpiilar has 4000 muscles in
his body; that the drone bee’s eye*
each contains 1300 mirrors, and that
the large, prominent eyes of the bril
Want dragon flies are cacli furnished
with 28,000 polished lenses.—[St.
Louis Republic. _ „
Down the Stream.
Love! It began with a glance,
Grew with the growing of flowers,
Smiled in a dreamful trance,
Reckoned not the passage of hours;
Our passions’ flood rose ever,
Flowing for ber and me,
Till the brook became a river
And the river became a sea.
Grief! It began with a word,
Grew with the winds that raved;
A prayer for pardon unheard,
Pardon in turn uneraved;
The bridge so easy to sever,
The stream so swift to be free!
Till the brook became a river,
And the river became a sea.
Life! It began with a sigb,
Grew with leaves that are dead;
Its pleasures with wings to fly.
Its sorrows with limbs of lead;
Anil rest remaineth never
For the wearier hours to be,
Till the brook shall become a river,
And the river become a sea.
— [Lord Houghton.
BETSEY'S IDEA,
BY HEf.F.N KOUUEST GRAVES.
Mrs. lvybers’s drawing-room had
never looked lovelier than oil this raw
December afternoon. Long-stemmed
roses in Royal Worcester vases, threw
out flagrant hints of June; a cannel
coal fire blazed in a huge colonial fire
otul Liilian’a hale flaslifld l)ftck
its golden wires, half hidden by a fan
*astic Roman scarf.
Opposite ttie window, a strange
weird landscape in oils occupied the
place of honor. Mi ny an artist owed
his life’s success to entering the “Roy¬
al Road” through Mrs. Kyber’s after¬
noon receptions and the obscure des
ciples of art vied with each other for
ber favor.
The room was full of people, quiet
of voice, elegant of attire. Mrs. Ky¬
ber stood by the doorway, amiliug
and gracious.
Lilian, at the other end of tho
room, was dispensing bread and
butter, orange-pekoe tea and brown,
frothing chocolate, and as the guests
came and went, Mrs. Kyber was men¬
tally coming to the agreeable conclu¬
sion that her afternoon was a success,
When suddenly her “dearest foe, 77 one
Mrs. Magnus Martindale, fluttered up
to her.
“Good-by, dear!” she said, “so
glad your rooms are so fuE I But you
always did attract people. ’’
“Thank you!” said Mrs. Kyber,
serenely.
“And it’s so ridiculous, isn’t it, 71
added Mrs. Martindale, adjusting the
fifth button of her glove, “that you
and 1 should have chanced to fix upon
the same evening for our reception?”
“It’s rather a coincidence,” observed
Mrs. Kyber.
“But then, you see, Signora Sivardi
could only come to me on Tuesday.
And Signora Sivardi is such an at¬
traction! Good by 1 I really mustn’t
keep the horses waiting any longer. to
Mrs. Kyber’s color had risen, and
then piled. She looked at Lilian.
Lilian returned the glance with inter¬
est, even while she gave old Miss
I’ooley a cup of chocolate and listened
to D ctor Droweli’s tedious remin¬
iscences of his last trip to Egypt.
“Mother,” she whispered, as she
came past, carrying some spongecakes
to a lady iu the corner, who seemed
temporarily neglected, “as true as you
live that woman has olFored Sivardi
more than we did, and the singer lias
thrown ns over!
And Mrs. Kyber only responded by
a look of despair.
While the lady iu tho corner was
eating her sponge cakes and drink g
amber-clear tea, Lilian ran up stairs to
the big western bedroom.
“Betsey,” she cried, cheerfully,
“here is some chocolate and cake for
you, since you won’t come into tl e
drawingroom. 77
A round faced, dark eyed girl of
twenty sat curried up in the window
seat, staring out at the leaden sky.
It was Betsey Bloom, a second
cousin of Miss Kyber.
“Mel” echoed Betsey, with an im¬
patient movement of her shoulders.
“In tho drawingroom? I should look
pretty there, shouldn’t I? lint all the
same, Lilian, it’s real good of you to
ask me. Mother said you city folks
would be ashamed of me, but you are
not—not a bit!”
Lilian sat down beside her on the
window seat, and put her arm caress¬
ingly around the ill-gowned waist
< < Betsey,” said she, “you’ve been
crying.’
“No, I hain’t! It
“Yes, Betsey, you liuve. Tell me
what the matter is.”
“l'he matter is,’’cried Betsey, “that
I'm a failure! I’ve got to go back
Cockletown and own up that I'm beat,
I thought I was going to make
living in New York, and 1 hain’t
show at all. I thought, ’cause l could
sing in the clinic’i choir, that I
j give lessons and get
; here. But I can't!’
i
COVINGTON, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, APRIL 12, 1892.
“But you have a sweet voice, Bet¬
sey !”
“So have nine hundred and ninety
nine other people. And I’m only
Betsey Bloom of Cocklctown, and I
never shall be any one else if I livo to
be a hundred. So I’ve made up my
mind that I’ll go back, and go into
the mill, or get a place to teach the
district school. And there’s an end
of all my dreams about a c-c-career!”
And Betsey’s big round tears trickled
down her cheeks, and the end of her
nose grew purple, like an under-ripe
plum.
“You an’ your ma’ve been awful
good to ine, Lilian,” whispered she.
“I won’t never forget it. I know I’m
an awkward country girl, and I know
that my clothes ain’t up to the New
York mark, and I don’t even pro¬
nounce my words like you do; but—
blit you’ve treated me just as if I was
a queen I n
“Don’t cry, Betsey,” soothed Lil¬
ian. “Drink this hot. chocolate, and
then lie die on the sofa and rest.
You’re tired and nervous. I
“I don’t know about being nor
vous, snorted Betsey, “but I am
tired. I guess you’d be tired a-tramp
in’ up and down to educational bu¬
reaus, and intelligence offices, and
TV » «otv.ai ueadquariers and all that sort
o’ thing. I dunno why I can’t have
the luck o’ that Madam Sivardi that’ 9
to sing at your ma’s reception, and
gets fifty dollars a night. It’ll take
me long enough I know to earn fifty
dollars at the Cockletown silk mills,
or even teaching school at Cockletown
Centre.”
Lilian sighed.
“She isn’t going to sing at mamma’s
reception,” said she. U Mrs. Magnus
Martindale has been tampering with
her. She’s going to play us false. At
least that’s what mamma cud I think. 77
“Lilian!”
Betsey Bloom had suddenly straight¬
ened herself up and seized her cousin’s
arm.
“Yes?”
<( Why couldn’t I sing at your
mother’s evening?”
< t You, Betsey? 77
“Yes. I wouldn't charge a cent.
Pd only he too l glad of the .chance,, 1
don’t mean tha it I could sing Hunan
bravuras and that sort of thing; but
1 know all the good old-fashioned
songs; and why wouldn’t that please
people just for a change? I could
dress up old woman style, you know,
and it would be a little different from
the common. And I’d sing ‘While
Cockade,’ and ‘Banks of Allan Water,’
and ‘Bonnie Doon,’ and ‘Cruel Bar¬
bara Allen, II Grandmother Bloom
taught me lots o’ them old-fashioned
songs.
Lilian’s eyes sparkled. She sprang
to her feet.
i i Betsey,” said siie, “it’s a good
ideal IWll try it. I don’t believe
but that it would please mamma’s
friends more than Hie Sivardi herself.
But don’t tell mamma. You shall do
your practicing when she is out and
we’ll make it a genuine surprise.”
“I’d rutlier the artist-fellow
shouldn’t come M stipulated Betsey,
rather awkwardly. “lie
looks at me so sort o’ queer and
amused, as if I wasn’t more’n than
half civilized. *1
“Do mean you Mr. Lowrie? lie’s th
best natured man in the world. 71
“All the same he makes me as nerv
ous a a cat. 77
“Well, perhaps he won’t come. And
now, Betsey, I must hurry back to
mamma’s guests, But I really think
tiiat idea of yours is a capital ouo.
We’ll think it over, Betsey.
Mrs. Kyber was very low spirited
about her evening reception.
“It’s so difficult, said she, “to
make such an affair different from
everybody else’s. 1 do like my rccep
tions to be characteristic. And Sivardi
would have been such a card to play I
It was perfectly disgraceful of her to
throw me over at tho eleventh hour in
that sort of way; and especially after
the invitations had gone out with
‘Musical’ in the comers. »>
“Well, mamma, it shall be ‘mnsi
cal!’ reassured Lilian, “Mr. Lowrie
will give you au air on the violin, and
I’ll play some of my old harp solos. ft
“That’s ail nonsense! ”
“Mamma, do you mean to say that
we’re not musical?” laughed merry
Lilian.
But all her badinage failed to bring
a smile to Mrs. Kyber’s perturbed
countenance.
The evening came; the guests as¬
sembled.
Mrs. Martindale’* special friend was
there, dispatched by that lady herself,
to bring back a personal and authentic
account of Mrs. Kyber’s discomfiture
and defeat.
Jack Lowrie, the artist, was there
j with his violin.
j <>If the field daisy gets frightened
at the eleventh hour. ♦ I rema ked he,
a I’ll be ready to face the emergency.
But she won’t bo frightened. The
field daisy is too plucky tor that.’
“Jack,” cried Lilian, “why rfd you
call her the field daisy ?
it Because she’s so pretty.
“Betsey Bloom I Pretty?”
“Yes. Don’t you think so?”
“I—never did think so,” said Lil¬
ian, slowiy. “She lias a fresh com¬
plexion and bright, pleasant eyes.
Well, yes, perhaps she is pretty. But,
Jack, you mustn’t look at her
critically, or you will embarrass her.”
.. I! Critically I Why, Li 11, I look
at her because she is so like a wild,
woodland flower.
“Is that tbo reason,” said Lilh'an,
laughing.
“Why on earth have you got up the
little stage and the silk drop-curtain?”
asked Mrs. Kyber, with rather a be¬
wildered air.
“Jack thought 77
“Jack Lowrio is too fantastic for
anything,” said Mrs. Kyber, laughing.
“However, I suppose I must indulge
him, since his violin is to be our sole
refuge tonight. And there is such a
crowd I”
But when the silken curtain slid
noiselessly aside, showing an old
fashioned personage with a poke bon¬
net, a black visito and an immense
green-cotton umbrella bulging out on
every side, with a blackgronnd of tall
red hollyhocks and a farm-house door,
sketched by ’Jack Lowrie’s facile
hand, Mrs. Kvber was the most
amazed of any one iu tho room.
With the long, quivering thrills of
Jack’s violin, the poke-bonneted hero¬
ine burst out into the sweet, wild
accents of “Cruel Barbara Allen. 77
Next came “Old Rosin the Row,
“Banks and Braes of Bonnie Doon”
and Mary of Argvle,” and each in its
turn elicited more enthusiastic ap¬
plause.
Old people surreptitiously wiped
their eyes; young ones listened with
deep interest. Everybody whispered,
“Who is it? 77 And when at last Bet¬
sey Bloom couvtesicd low, and the
curtain concealed her poke bonnet
and green cotton umbrella, round
after rouud of applause filled the
i V»G»U»
“You have prepared a most ueng II t
ful surprise for us, Mrs. Kyber, said
old Judgo Jugleby, wiping his frost
while lashes. “I declare that ‘Roll
On, Silver Moon,’ has taken me back
to my childhood days again, Who’s
the artist? Pm sure she’s the very
one that my daughter would like to
sing at her Fridays in January.”
And Mrs. La Velle, the most exclu¬
sive and aristocratic great lady in
Fifth avenue, whispered au entreaty
for “that clever creature’s address” in
Mrs. Kyber’s ear.
it She’s got it in her to do wonders,”
said Mrs. La Velle. “Where did you
pick her up, Mrs. Kyber T77 I
“She is iny cousin 77 said M rs.
Kyber. “And I am as much sur
prised as any one. n
And when a casual caller, the next
day, told Lilian that the Sivardi [had
had a sore throat and sent a “regret
to Mrs. Magnus Martindale, Mrs.
Kyber felt herself avenged.
“Now, what do you think about
your ‘career,’ Betsey?” cried trium¬
phant Lilian. “Here you have four
engagements ahead, at twenty dollars
an evening, and you are rapidly be¬
coming the fashion. And Jack Lowtie
says you must certainly cultivate yonr
voice.”
“Did Mr. Lowrie say that?”
Betsey Bloom colored and dropped
her conscious eves.
You’re net so afraid of him as you
were, Betsey?”
“No!” whispered Betsey.
“That’s fortunate, said Lilian.
< i Because I shrewdly suspect, Betsey,
tiiat he’s in love with you. Yon Bee,
Betsey, there are more careers than
one. 77
“Nonsense!” said Betsey.
But her blush was brighter than
ever.—[Saturday Night.
The Value of Snow.
A good-sized snowstorm in any city
rneam many an additional pair of
shoes, a prescription for the sick child
or material addition to the frugal
meal, even when it does not represent
the difference between some sort of a
meal and none at ah. It follows,
therefore, that a failure of snow or a
delay in its coming has a direct effect
upon the volume of trade, for the poor
spend their money as soon as they get
it, of sheer necessity, and their small
sums, swelled into a large total, help
to keep the machinery of business in
motion. In warmer dimes, where
no snow falls, life demands fewer ne
cessities, aud neither rich nor poor
understand the economic value of the
snow shovel, but in the North, where
cold bite* and hunger pinches, a heavy
snowfall brings many blessings wiih
it—[Manchester (N.H ) Union.
j A PIONEER TYPE.
How the Lumbermen of the Alle¬
ghenies Spend Their Days.
A Quaint Relic of Humanity
That is Passing Away,
A type of pioneer still existing in
the Allegheny mountains, hut fast
passing away, is the old-time lumber¬
man and wood-chopper. At the pres¬
ent day the number of men engaged
in that healthy but arduous occupa¬
tion is but small compared with the
thousands that labored in the piue
forosts a few decades since. Still the
lumberman met with occasionally in
the interior of Pennsylvania faithfully
portrays the characteristics of the class
The genuine old-time woodsman
will bo seen in midwinter wearing a
fur cap, the material of which is pos¬
sibly a trophy of his rifle. A heavy
and exceeding y loud pattern flannel
shirt is his only chest covering, for he
scorns the coat and vest of the towns¬
people. A pair of commonplace
trousers tucked into long stockings
cover his extremities. And such
stockings! Kni; very closely and
heavily, they often partake of all the
colors of tho rainbow, although the
favorite combination is red and white
in alternate rings about au inch in
width. An ever popular yarn is that
peculiarly knotted kind which gives a
pepper-and-salt appearance when knit.
Through the upper part of these
stockings arc run gathering strides
ending in fancy tassels in lieu of
garters, and with this kind of foot
covering are usually worn rubber
overshoes, commonly known there¬
abouts as “gums. 77
It is asserted that a combination of
heavy stockings and rubbers is much
more eflicacious in keeping out the
cold than leather boots. Scorning sus¬
penders or “galluses,” tho woodsman
leaves his shoulders untrainmeled, and
supports his nether garments by a knit
belt, worn in the mountains during
the winter season years and years be¬
fore the modern dude and his scarf
were thought of. But the crowning
article Yf apparerttf 1 §(Hlhf l &!ilP r 'n jitfe
ent from a sweetheart, or lacking tiiat
delightful companionship, from a si -
ter, and varies in length from two to
four yards, being usually about eiglit
teeu inches iti width. Fancy runs riot in
the hues of these scarfs, and when a
mouutaineer is twice or tlirico en¬
wrapped iu the warm folds he can
laugh at the most piercing blasU of old
Boreas.
The amusements of tiiese sturdy
lumbermen are few. A shooting
match, a dog fight or tho perennial
game of cards constitute almost all
their recreations. Now and then a
spelling bee at the township school
may allure them to the spot, not as
participants but as spectators; or as a
last resort the general store, from
which they obtain their supplies,
where in the evening local events and
politics may be discussed, and timo
honored recounted to the edification
of all, even though the tales be as old
as the surrounding hills.
But the one thing they enjoy most
of all is to attend the revival meetugs.
These meetings, for want of a more
suitable place, are oftentimes held in
Bchoolhouses, and here congregate in
the twilight of the midwinter evenings
a motley collection of farmers and vil¬
lagers with their families, from big
strapping youths down to infants.
By tacit understanding tho back
seats are left for tho use of the lum¬
bermen who burst in boisterously,
stamping the snow ofT their feet and
pulling away at their heavy mittens.
The oouverted mountaineer is an
interesting character, Ile firmly be
lieves in the church militant, and is
at all times ready to defend ills doc¬
trine with his good right arm. A
mountain revival in full swing is a
curious spectacle. What with half a
dozen penitents kneeling upon the
bare, dusty floor before the mourner’s
bench, with some zealous but unedu¬
cated brother pouring forth an ardent
prayer at the top of his voice, empha¬
sized and seconded at every pause by
scores of fervent “aniens” in as many
different tones and cadences, the scene
is apt to leave a vivid impression upon
the mind of the visitor. — [DetroitFree
Press.
The Wonderful “Lone Star. ••
Dr. Barrows calls attention to the
fact that Texas is live times as large
as England, and thirty-four times the
size of the state of Massachusetts.
The entire living population of the
Globe, 1,400,000,000 people, divided
into families of five persons each,
could be located in Texas, each fam¬
ily with a lionse on a half acre lot,
and there would still remain 70,(100
vacant lots!—[St. Louis Republic.
VOL.XVIII. NO, 4.
A Watch Cat.
Watch dogs are numerous, but who
ever heard o£ a watch cat? An old
lady who lives alone in a suberb west
of Denver, however, wouldn’t trade
her pussy Dot for the biggest New¬
foundland in the land. The animal is
largo, weighing over sixteen pounds,
and on move than one occasion has
he proved his ability to protect his
mistress. The latest exploit of the
redoubtable Dot is thus told by his
admiring mistress:
“It was last Wednesday night,” she
says. “I was m>t feeling well and
went to bed as soon a* the servant
left. I sleep up stairs and fastened
every door and window, just as I
always do. Dot was sleeping on my
bed, just as he always has done all his
life.
.. Away iu the night I was awakened
by a sudden motion he made, and I
found whon I put my hand on him
that he had raised his head and was
listening, trembling all over, he was
so nervous. I thought he heard a rat
and was about to go to sleep again,
wheu he sprang to his feet and stood
beside me, growling once very low.
Then I listened, too, and I distinctly
heard stealthy footsteps coining up tho
stairs.
“I was so frightened that a emooth
ering sensation came over me and I
came near dying right there.
i < I knew well enough that I was go¬
ing to be killed, that I would be mur¬
dered in a few minutes, but I coaid
not move or even scream; I juet lay
there as though I wero dead. I beard
the feet begin to move slowly, slowly
across the floor toward my bed, and
soon lie was touching the bed, and I
closed my eyes, expecting the final
blow.
< i And just at that moment Dot made
au awful leap, and I am sure he must
have landed square on that man’s
head, for of all the wild yells that
ever came from a mortal throat that
was the worst.
U ‘Dick! Dick! Come an’ be!p.
The devil’s got me I ’ he screamed and
ran for the door. Dot jumped off, but
the man must have been blinded with
blood, for he missed his footing at the
top and fell down the whole flight,
him aga'tYr; statf'ftYtou PftU b&H/iuul .on
to his assistance Dot gave him a taste,
and 1 heard him swear that the whole
top of his head was torn off. The
first robber was carried out, groaning*
by way of the cellar window. I
didn’t notify Hie police, l didn’t
think it necessary. I don’t know how
they found out how everything in the
house was situated and I don’t care
They wou’t try it again,”—[Chicago
Post.
Seven Thousand Miles of Wheels.
If all the locomotives in the United
States were coupled to together they
would make a train of solid iron and
steel over 300 miles long. Add the
passenger cars and we would have 300
miles more of wood ami iron; this
would give us a gigantic passenger
train 600 miles in length, counting
both engines and cars. Should we
want a huge “mixed” train we might
add the “box, >» < ‘flat” and every other
kind of freight car, and our train
then would then have a total length of
over 7000 miles! The passenger cars
iu this gigantic train would be capable
of seating 1,500,000 people, and upon
the freight cars could be loaded the
weight of all the pyramids of Egypt,
and all the State capitoi buildings in
the United States besides. Verily,
great is the railroad system of Ameri¬
ca.— [St. Louis Republic.
The Chilean Soldier.
The Chilean soldier iB a peculiarly
organized fighting machine. He is
pre-eminently and literally blood¬
thirsty, and he loves to see blood flow
from wounds inflicted by his own
hand. He uses the rifle and even the
bayonet, as it were, under protest,
and can hardly be restrained, when
at dose quarters, from throwing down
his firearms and hurling himself upon
the foe knife in hand. An English
man attached to the ambulance told
me that after the battle at Pozo Al¬
monte scores of men lay locked iu the
death grip, their knives plunged into
one another’s bodies.—[Dark Days iu
Chile.
Four Orange Crops Growing on One
Tree.
C. Jones, Superintendent of the
Sanford Water Works, has a fine.
orange grove at Lougwood, in which
he takes great interest. He went
down to see it Wednesday and tells us
that he found six or seven trees on
which there were four crops of oranges
—tho regular crop, which is ripe; the
June crop, which is grown in size,
hut green in color; another size about
an inch in diameter and in addition to
ibis the trees are in full bloom.—
[Sanford (Fla.) Journal -
Uncle Dave’s Two Habits.
I know a trick more sure than guessia’,
As them who glory in possessing
Scarce fail to find a lastin’ blessin’
With which to win.
They don’t need genius’ subtle pickin’,
Nor fame and fortunes lofty kickin’,
To learn the art of stickin’
Through thick and thin.
Then there’s another plain creation
Adaptable to every station,
But especially the poor’s salvation
In the long run.
Surer than mad ambitious ravin’
Firmer than stock quotations waverfa’
We find the humble art of savin’
When all is done.
Now if you think that I’m a foolin’
Or just because I haln’t much schoolin’
You turn your nose up at such rulin’,
Why then, nuff said.
But sure as summer tollers winter,
No matter what work you pitch inter,
’Thout them two, yon ain’t goiu’ to gintef
Git much a head.
— [Browne Perriman, in Yankee Blade.
HUMOROUS.
The baker is busiest when ho in
loaf-ing.
The man who laughs in his sleeve is
not one who is out at elbows.
Always ready to take a hand in con¬
versation—deaf and dumb people.
It’s funny that education should lift
a man when it causes him to get lore.
“About the only time my tailoi
gives his customers regular fits,” said
Buttins, “is wheu they neglect to pay
their bills.”
An undertaker, with an eye to busi¬
ness, publishes the cheering news:
“Use our own embalming fluid if you
wish pleasant results. 77
The average man is satisfied with
keeping up with the procession. If it
is a funeral procession he does not
care to be at the head of it.
“I hold you in the highest respect,”
he said as he pressed her baud’, “I
know it,” she said, and then with a
blush she added, “It’s the only way in
which you do hold me. 77
“I had to be away from school yes¬
terday,” said Tommy, <<v„u must
bring an excuso, ' I «„;u the teacher.
“Who from?” “Your father, 77 “H«
ain’t no good at making excuses; ms
catches him every time.
V--
?.' ve «iuldn’t like me to leave you,
would vou? Papa (fondly) —Indeed,
I would not, my darling. 8weet
Girl—Well, then, I’ll marry Mr. Poor*
ehap. He’s willing to live here.
Wind-Shaped Snowballs.
A peculiar and extraordinary phe¬
nomenon was worked on the snow
covered campus of the Theological
Seminary. Passers-by were aston¬
ished to eeo the immaculate field of
over five acres covered with white
eruptions, varying in size from a mar¬
ble to a pumpkin. Investigation
showed that the snowballs had been
formed by the high wind of that
night The snow was of such con¬
sistency that tho wind would loosen a
few flakes, which would be rolled
along accumulating still more flakes,
until its size und weight was too much
for the strength of the breeze. The
track of the wind’s plaything could be
easily described by early risers. Iu
the northern field, where the wind had
free sweep, the trails were all in one
direction, but in the space between the
dormitory and the library, the eddy¬
ing breezes had sent the balls scurry¬
ing in all directions. The curious
sight was witnessed by a large num¬
ber of spectators until the noonday
sun dissipated the snowballs.
A number of farmers who came to
town reported that the large fields In
the country, where the wind had full
sweep, presented the sane novel ap¬
pearance.— [Auburn (N. Y.) Adver¬
tiser.
Chief of the Wyoming*.
Washakie, the famous chief of the
Wyoming tribe of aboriginals called
the Shoshones, is a venerable looking
old fellow, with long white hail
which reaches his shoulders, and i«
dubbed the “George Washington” of
the tribo. Wheu asked by one of tho
officers how old he was he answered,
“I am older than anything about hero
except these hills,” pointing to them.
He has a young Indian, dressed in
fantastic costume, aid-de-camp,
whose business it is to wait on the old
man, fill his pipe with tobacco, and
perform any other duties essential to
his comfort, Washakie is said to be
over one hundred years old, but is
still quite active, and is in the govern¬
ment employ as ciiief of scouts. He
is a terror ns a disciplinarian. Re¬
cently one of his tribe was convicted
of having whipped his wife. The
chief sent him word that if he did so
again he would be severely dealt
with. In a few days the offence was
repeated, and the chief, true to hi*
threat, had the offender shot—[Ulna
tinted American.