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•T a. >wk>i mvnmtm. Whtnmt iH ,„w W 4, ,h hfnk, Whrn tk* na w fa*. *'<! lb top *r* Srr, A4 IW nectar hdglii, :* v# utM U drink - Wlmw the atom grrw an ib* M ifriac nrlr. •** “ P*“* ?-iU>iok Of Uft UA nf UKKBnu Iberr— Tto at*W • M(M vtocn * ■■< to Ma k. An 4b 0 the Until tor of bojr >n4 *irl I wAfrr rivf!u were borM alone W ilk ttointT dlmm-T of rannr earT * jiUo anil mellow atiac. 1 , '^ nk “V> ir iJ'‘lbat Ihe tu miner lljht f'how. AMflorm thrmi,h an open eilek bd in*el milt'd at the iuioui aiaht * BMe the tprint when we a-ed to drlak. *®ne wMeh were Jorona thaw, and theiiok is dry; 1 he KlfU and Ihe boyt are men The >piln* a till inurmura lta lullaby • ,T*5 th meadowa ili^. But t"fS^L h h U ? ll)e “* bnnl ‘: AtoMih£l£" • a * ,b ” ed >'P°n ‘he lr, ‘ ® where we used to drink. T UM BOST9X QlBLw y Dinn *. rosm. 1 told her of maid whore mind "ft* filled with tetklsr thoughts and fiLciea, A lovely being of the kind 1 bey write about in old romances. '* Knowest thou,” s: id I t “this inalden fair, "■boee beauty doth my thought* bftguilo?” lßhe answered with a dreamy air, “ Well, I should amile I” u Her chocks poesesa the rose’s hue, Ko form is daintier or completer, Ho hair so brown, no eye* so blue. No month is tenderer or sweeten The favored youth who gains the hand Of this fair girl will ne’er regret it” With modest grace *he added: “ And Don'tforget it.” 0lL * th'jn dear mistress of my heart I angel I let me kneel before thee And say how heavenly sweet thou art, And how devoutly I adore thee.” 6he turned away her lovely head, And, with a languid look that fired ATy soul, in murmured accents said, 44 You make me tired.” ibnerg ilaaazing. AJ.T TTTVOUGn A POCKJRT nooii. Tom and Joe lie stretched, boy-fash ion, upon tlio rug before the fire, with a very disconsolate look upon the young faces &o dancing flames lit up. It is a stormy night, and they are, therefore, disappointed of a promised treat to which for a week hack they have been looking forward. Suddenly the door opens and gives entrance to a tall, brisk figure. “ Boys, are yqu here ? Poor fellows! it’s too bad yon ore doomed to disap pointment; but what say you to a story ? Would it compensate in the least degree for the great animal show?” Yes, they think it will; and, with a slight but decided change in both posi tion and expression, they wait expect antly, confident of being interested, for they are no strangers to their brother itt-law’s graphic stories, Ar.d he begins: “It was a very cold day, and, as little Dick stood on tlio corner shivering in the keen blast which pierced relentlessly through his thin, ragged garments, ho said, iialf aloud: ‘ Oh, dear 1 this world isn’t much of a place. I wonder if it’s warmer where mother is 1 I wish I was there! ’ “Poor boy ! A month ago death bad robbed lii'm of his only friend by taking away his mother, and since then he had lived as thousands do— ‘ everywhere ’ — picking up what odd jobs he could in the daytime, and sleeping at night in any nook that offered him shelter. "But work was not always to be found, and for tlio past two days his pockets had not held even a penny with which to buy bread, and the boy was almost fam ished. Ho walked on slowly, the tears running down his pinched faoe, when suddenly a great thrill ran all through his frame; for the moment bringing a warmth it had but rarely known. Could it bo, or did his eyes deceive him? There, right before him on the pave ment. was a pocket-book! “With a hasty glance backward the lad, with trembling fingers, lifted and opened his prize, and saw what seemed like incalculable to his unaccus tomed eyes—a roll of crisp bank-notes. “ ‘ Now I can get something to eat 1 ’ “ But something white attracted his notice; a card, and penciled upon it a name and address. “Dick could read a little, and he easily picked out the written characters which proclaimed to whom the lost pocketbook belonged. “ For a moment the boy hesitated. It was his. He had found it. Had he not a right to it ? “ But even as he thought conscience rose, and with a loud voice cried: “ ‘ Nol As long as you know the own er’s name it is not yours.’ “Just before she died his mother had said to him: “ ‘ Dick, my poor boy, I doubt not but that you may come to wear a tom, Rolled coat, but there is no need that it should cover a soiled soul. Be true and honest, no matter what happens, and God will care for you.’ “A choking sob rose in the boy’s thrc |t os he slowly turned. “‘ I will take it to the house that is on the card,’ he said softly; ‘but, oh, how hungry I am I ’’ “He thrust the pocket-book into the breast of his jacket, but not before it had been seen. “ ‘See here, Dickey, old fellow, shell out I You’ve got a find, and you must go shares. Here, hand over that pock et-book.’ “ Dick looked up resolutely into the boyish faces of his accosters. They were bigger boys than he, but he was no coward. “ ‘ You can’t have it,' he said, * for it isn’t mine; and I’m taking it where it belongs.’ “ ‘ You can’t come that dodge over me. Here, hand it over, or you’ll wish you had,’ and the taller of the two boys raised one hand to strike, while he made a snatch at Dick’s jacket with the other. “The thin cloth parted, and the ob ject of dispute rolled upon the pave ment. " ‘ You young rowdy, what are you striking that little boy t v ?' ** ’The new-comer wes a middle-aged, benevolent-faoed man, and, as he spoke, ELLIJAY IB| COURIER. W. V. COMHSI Editar and Bnbluhtr ) lie emphasized his words by grasping the rough boy’s shoulder with no gentle hand. " ‘ He’* Brief ; he’s got my pocket book,’ was the sullen reply, withs vain glance around for the companion, who had lest no time in putting a good dist ance between himself and the aeene of action, “ * That he hasn’t. I have been watching the whole occurrence from the stoop just over the way. 1 saw this lit tle lad find the pocket-book, read the card, and heard what passed between him and you. It is yon who are tne thief—in intention, if not in actual deod; and now you had better go away quickly, and be thankful you are let off so easily.’ “ Then, taking Dick’s hand, he looked pityingly into the pale face, all disfig ured by his assailant’s rude fist. “‘Como with me, my little lad,’ he said. ‘lt was my pocket-book which you found, and I am going to show you now that, no matter what comes, “ hon esty is the best policy” to follow-.’ “And Dick, going willingly, was led to a cozy home, where a sweet-faced woman with a babe in her arms came to the door to greet her husband with the same smile she might have worn when he was her lover. And there, in that home-nest, blessed by mutual respect and love, the poor orphan boy found a shelter. His benefactor was a physi cian, and there was many a way in which Dick’s active hands and limbs could make themselves useful; and there he lived until the on-coming years brought witli them a restless, ambitious longing for independence. Then, with tears in his eyes, he pressed the kind hands of his friends, and started out in tlio world to carve his own fortune. "He went West, to that land where stout hands and hearts are so much needed and prized. Success does not como without labor, and Diok worked hard, and his exertions were rewarded. So ho felt when, ten years later, he was able to invest in a safe business quite a little sum—the result of his own indus try. Then, yielding to an irresistible impulse to return and look once more upon the faces of his benefactors, he turned his steps eastward. “Tt v|aa late in the evening when ho alighted at the station and walked up 1 the familiar street which led to his old home. But ho found a disappointment awaiting him; the house was vacant, and a sign ‘To let’was upon the door. He turned away, intending to inquire in the adjacent house, when a sudden alarm rang out upon the night air— ‘ Fire 1 fire ! ’ At once the bells clanged, and with the usual huo and cry men and boys trooped out to the rescue, and among them, catching their excitement, went the traveler. The fire was only some five blocks away, in a large lniud somo house, and it must have gained groat headway before being discovered, for already the flames were licking the windows of the third story. “ ‘lt is Dr. L who lives here,’ Borne one says. ‘ Yes,’ another answers; ‘ but he’s away. He’s my doctor, and he told me the other day that he was going into the country for a while with his family.’ “ The name acted like a shoek of elec tricity upon one hearer in the crowd. Throwing off his coat, disregarding the cries that called him back, Dick rushed straight into the mass of smoke and flame which enveloped the office-door. With superhuman strength he forced it open. All was dark inside, but with the lurid light which glared into the win dows Dick saw a motionless form in the chair before the desk, with his head snnk upon his breast, and his eyes closed. Seizing the inert figure in his strong arms, he dragged rather than carried it from the room into the hall, and from thence out into the open air. “ A shout of horror greeted him. “ ‘We rapped and called and no one answered, and so we thought it was true that he was away. He must have been suffocated before he could call for help. Poor man I ’ “ ‘ Leave me alone and attend to your duty,’ Dick said, briefly. ‘He isn’t dead—his heart still beats. But make sure there is no other inmate in the house.’ “ ‘ There can’t be. Don’t you see the windows are all shut and barred ? ’ “ The house was burned to ashes be fore Dick’s efforts, seconded by the sym pathetic efforts of the crowd of friends, who had by that time gathered at the spot, proved effectual to restore his ben efactor’s consciousness. Then, alive and breathing, though faintly like an in fant, they bore him to a friend’s home, where Dick, as soon as he had sent a telegram to the absent wife, telling of her husband’s peril and safety, fol lowed. “* So you have saved my life, Dick, the doctor said, a day later. ‘ That was a lucky day for me when I lost my pock et,-hook. ’ “ Dick's eyes filled—man though he was. “‘ It was a more than lucky day for me,’he answered,‘and lam only glad that I have lieen enabled to repay in some measure the great debt that I owe to you.’ ELLIJAY, GA„ THURSDAY, JULY 21, fttf “ And the wife aad daughter came, and Diok waa overwhelmed by their gratitude, but what touched him most was when the daughter, whom ho re membered a little 10-year-old girl, now a graceful young woman with all her mother’s beauty and her father's good ness combined in her lovely face, took his hand in her two fair ones, and, press ing it to her soft, red lips, said: * How can I ever repay you ? But for you I would now be fatherless, and my mother a widow.”’ “ And he married the daughter, I suppose,” Tom says, breaking in. “Yes, you are right -She found a way to repay him ; and that ends"’^/^ story.” pooqirem oj tmorX ‘jpiCf £oq ejqq rood ‘utnn Ofpq Xm ‘joj— eros en.q o b,}i eras tqmb noiC ew,, ‘dn flapjooi ‘oof sXus ~‘preqoqi rmpoig-,, now, tells you this story, and his bene factor, the good doctor, is no other than your own noble father, of whom you are so justly proud ; while the danghter is your sister Fan, who, twelve years ago— just one year before you were bom— made me one of the happiest of men. ” “ Wasn’t if. a jolly story, Joe ?" said Tom, when they wore snugly ensoonced under the sheets for the night 11 Do you know, it proves one thing. X’ve al ways thought from what I’ve heard and read—and you know I’ve read a heap of books—that the fellows who begin way down always seem to get up the highest >n the end/] now WEBSTER TOOK A OB INK. The route between Boston and New York by the way of New Haven had just been opened, and I was occupying a seat with Mr. Webster when the cars stopped at the latter city. Mr. Webster was not quite well, and, saying that he thonglit it would be prudent to take some brandy, asked me to accompany him in search of it. . We accordingly entered a bar-room near the station, when the order was givon. The attendant, without looking at his customer, mechanically took a de canter from a shelf behind him and placed it near some glasses on the coun ter. Just as Webster was about to help himself, the bartender, happening to look up, started as if he had seen a spirit, and cried “Stop I” with great veliiimence. Hp thou took the decanter from Webster’s band, replaced ifon The alielf from whenco it came, and disap peared beneath the counter. Rising from these depths, he bore to the sur face an old-fashioned black bottle, which he substituted for the decanter. Webster poured a small quantity into a glass, drank it off with great relish, and threw down 60 cents in payment. The barkeeper began to fumble in a drawer of silver, as if selecting some smaller pieces for ••'.hange, whereupon Webster waved his hand with dignity, and with rich and authoritative tones pronounced these words: “My good friend, let me offer a piece of advioe. Whenever you give that good brandy from under the counter, never take the trouble to moke change.” As we turned to go out, the dealer in liquors placed one hand upon the bar, threw himself over it, and caught me by the arm. “Tell me who that man is 1” he cried, with genuine emotion. “Ho is Daniel Webster,” I answered. The man paused, as if to find words adequate to convey the impression made upon him, and then exclaimed, in a fervent half whisper : “By heaven, sir, that man should be President of the United States 1 " The adjuration waa stronger than I have written it; but it was not uttered pro fanely—it was simply the emphasis of an overpowering conviotion. — Quincy's Anecdote*. BLEEP. During every moment of conscious ness the brain is in activity. The pe culiar process of cerebration, whatever that may consist of, is taking place; thought after thought comes forth, nor can we help it. It is only when the pe culiar connection or chain ofreosnddtidir of the Brain cell with another is broken and consciousness fades away in the dreamless land of perfect sleep that the brain is at rest. In this state it recuper ates its exhausted energy and power, and stores them up for future need. The period of wakefulness is one of con stant wear. Every thought is generated at the expense of brain cells which can be fully replaced only by periods of per fectly regulated repose. If, therefor** these are not secured by sleep—if the brain, through over stimulation, is not left to recuperate, its energy becomes exhausted; debility, disease, and finally disintegration supervene. Hence, the story is almost always the same. For weeks and months before the signs of insanity appear, the patient has been anxious, wakeful, worried, not sleeping more than four or five hours out of the twenty-four. The poor brain, unable to do its constant work, begins to waver, to show signs of weakness or aberration . hallucinations or delusions hover around like floating shadows in the air, until finally disease comes, and the structure of the body totters to its fall.' English printers are required by law to keep a copy of every job printed, though the demand is quits generally ignored. AB BOTTOM'S DEBT- In the years agoue, when-Do Witt Clinton county, was the county seat and a right smart village in the woods, or on the way to be, the editor of its week> ly paper had some subscribers who paid in wood, others in produce, others in fur, and others yet who didn’t pay at all. One of these latter class fvas named Lemon, but to squeeze anything out of him was next to impossible. ;He had excuses at his tongue’s end for not pay ing, and the longer the debt stood the more reasonable his excuses' seemed to his creditors. One day the ) -Ster met him on the street, and, afbg-sooner al “Mr. Lemon, yof ! Wsu i me for two years." “Yeq, but I had bad luok is'mysugar bush." “But you might have brought wood.” “So I should, but I broke iwo new axes and couldn’t buy onothlY.” “I offered to take it ont in turnips and com.” “ I know, but the crows ate my corn up and tho Injuns stole all my turnips.” “ Well, how are yon get ting along now ? ” asked tho editor. “ First-rate.” “ Have you a good run ol'Migar ? ” “ Yes.” “ Com doing well ?” “Splendid.” “Wheat all right?” “ Yob, all right.” “Well, if corn, wheat, potatoes and turnips turn out good, andyou keep well and you have no losses, will you pay me in the fall?” The farmer scratched his head and took a full minuto to think-over it before he replied: “ That’s an honest debt*’and orter be paid, but I won’t posiUjely agreo to square up this fall untill know what sort of a com season we are to have ! ” It is needless to say that ho never Bauored.— Detroit Free Prpss. A DEAD lIOKSE. In France, when a horse baa reached the ago of 20 or 30, it is Assigned for a chemical faotory; it is first relieved of its hair, which serves to. stuff cushions and saddles; then it is skinned; the hoofs serve to make ooinbs. Next the i arenas is placed in > cylinder and ' Cookoff by -Steam, Mra'iwslw ot three atmospheres; a cook is opened, which allows the grease to run off; then the re mains are ent up, the leg bones ore sold to make knife handles, etc., and the coarser of the ribs, the head, oto., are converted into animal black and glue, Tho first are caloined in cylinders, and the vapors when condensed form the chief source of carbonate of ammonia, which constitutes the base of nearly all ammonicol salts. There is an animal oil yielded which makes a capital inseot icido and a vermifuge. To make glue, the bones are dissolved in muriatic acid, which takes away the phosphate of lime, the soft residue, retaining the shape of the bone, dissolved in boiling water, cast into squares and. ed on nets. The phosphate of lime, act. . npon by sulph uric acid and calcined . ith carbon, pro duces phosphorus for lucifer matches. The flesh is distilled to obtain the car bonate of ammonia; the resulting mass is pounded up with potash, then mixed with old nailß and old iron of every de scription; the whole is calcined and yieldi magnificent yellow crystals, pras siate of potash, with which tissues are dyed a Prussian blue, and iron trans ferred into steel; it also forms the basis of cyanide of potassium and prussic aoid, the two most terrific poisons known in chemistry. MEOWING EES TEE DOOR. Thomas was a carpenter; but, owing to dullness in trade, he engaged as foot man at the “ big hoose” in the village. On the day of his engagement hia mis tress, having a lady visitor in the draw ing-r<x>m^ran|^tb3^fo^jp^UmJootman. door, Thomas,” she said. “Yes, mem,” replied Thomas, and, bowing to the lady, he requested her to follow him. On coming to the door he opened it, and the lady was about to pass out, when Thomas, tapping hqr on the shoulder, remarked, “This is the door, mem; good pitch-pine in it; framed twa an’ a half inches fhdok, with raised moldings; wad cost about twa poond ten. mem.” INMATES OF ALMSHOUSES. There is a prevalent idea that the almshouses, for the most part, dieltei the unhappy and guiltless poorHjhom unmerciful disaster has followed followed faster until it has chased them to this last refuge—people who have come from vine-covered cottages, or tidy rooms up one flight of stairs in ten ement houses, with a big Bible on a ta ble and a pot of flowers in the window, or even from luxurious homes desolated by commercial panics. Asa matter of fact, the great majority of American in door paupers belong to what are called the lowest classes, and seek the alms house not because of unmerciful disaster, but because of very common vices.— A tlanltc Monthly. Good breeding is a letter of credit all pver the world. AETMB THE TtCTOBY. Don. Badeau, in his “Life of lien. Grant,” speaking of the interview lie- I (ween Lee and Grant, the day after the surrender, says: “The conversation was protracted, and the restless Sheridan, not used to waiting, at last rode up and asked per mission to arose the lines and visit somo of his old comrades in the rebel army. Leave, of contse, was given, and with him went Gens. Ingalls and Seth Will iams, both men of the old army, with as many personal friends among the rebel officers as under the national flag. They. bouii found acquaintances, and, when the interview- .between Mirant and Lqe was over, the three returned, bringing with them nearly every officer of high rank in the rebel army to pay their respects to Grant and to thank him for the terms he had accorded them the day before. Lee now bade good morning and re turned to his own headquarters, while the national chief and those with him repaired to a farm house hard by, where the capitulation had been signed. Hithc-', also, camo Longstreet, Gordon, Hath, Wilcox, Pickett and other rebel officers of fame, splendid soldiers, who had given their enemies much trouble; and Sheridan, Urd, Griffin and the men on Grant’s staff mot them cordially. First, of course, the rebels were pre sented to Grant, who greeted them with kindness. Most of them he knew per sonally. Longstreet had been at his wedding;Oodmos Wilcoxwashisgrooms man; Heth was a subaltern with him in the Mexican war. Others he had perved with in garrison or on the Paciflo coast. They all expressed their appreciation of his magnanimity. To be allowed not only their lives and liberty, but their swords, had touched them deeply. One said to him in my hearing, ‘ General, we have como to congratulate you on having wound us up.’ ‘I hope, replied Grant, ‘it will be for the good of us all.’ Then the other national offioers took their turn, shaking hands cordially with men whom they hod in many a bat tle or with whom they had earlier shared tent or blanket on the Indian trail or Mexican frontier; w ; th classmates of West Point and sworn friends of boy hood. Some shed tears as they hugged each other after years of separation and strife. Countrymen all they felt them selvcs'uow, and not a few of the rebels declared that they were glad the war ended in the triumph of the nation." PROFESSIONAL LETTER - WRITING. A reporter of a journal in a Western city interviewed a lady who earns a comfortable living by the novel occupa tion of writing letters for other people. “ What is the character of patrons?” asked the reporter. “Thoyaroof all stations of life, but really can bo divided into two classes— those who cannot write and those who arc educated, but desire to frame their thoughts in language with which they aro not capable of clothing it, or else are particularly anxious to be absolutely correct both grammatically and rhetori cally. Of course, one of the first requi sites is to write an elegant and a very varied style of hand. The first is abso lutely necessary, while the great need of the second quality will soon suggest itself to any one adopting this queer mode of making a living. ” “ Do you devote your time exclusively to letter-writing ?” “ Yes. When I first began this work, about five years ago, I also did inscrip tion work, writing cards, formal invita tions, family records in Bibles and in scriptions in books, albums and similar presents. Since then I have found am ple remuneration in letter-writing.” “ What do you charge for writing an ordinary letter ?” . “ Well, there is no market price regu lating the sale, and I might say that I charge from nothing at all for some work, and up to what you would consid er a fabulous price for more. The class of work you speak of is always done at bed-rock gricp, of course, for the usual customers for this are poor and unedu cated persons. For these no great care is required, and I will give them a letter for nothing ; or, if they are anxious to pay and are capable of doing so, I charge them 25 cents, or some nominal amount. Yon will readily conceive that this class of customers are not greatly solicited, though X must say that I have worked hours in this way with the utmost pleas ure. Much of the work I do is for young men and shop-girls, and it is needless to say that the correspondence in these cases is all of the lovely stamp. I soon comprehended the necessity of writing a bold male hand when I em barked in this caUing, and can dash off an accnratehbnSrded epistle or write a neat, sweet lovSletter in a hand that no expert in the worfcl would pronounce a woman’s. These letters are paid for in accordance with the ability of the cus tomer. I have received as much as $25 for a letter of this description, and usually charge $2 when of any length. Between "5 cents and $2 the prices range, though, as I said, I frequently receive much greater sums for work.” Some of yon may think it very funny that there is not a barber in all the Bar bary States. KIIBSCRJP J ion yni VI ..MM or 51.r.0 pr Annum \ V/l/, Vl, nU, VI, AT, WMMOTMM AND TAT LOB, The last time Henry Clay n> the candidate of the old Whig party for President, Daniel Webster was strongly averse to the nomination, and in differ ent ways made his aversion felt. When invited to address the Young Men's Clay Clnb in Boston he sneered at the nnmeaningness and absurdity of its name. The committee appointed to tender him the invitation reported the fact to the elub, and the indignation of the Whigs toward Mr. Webster soon be came so intense that he thought it expe dient to revise his opinion of the name of the club, which he ultimately, with great good nature, pronounced not only appropriate, but the most appropriate that oould have been selected 1 At a subsequent election Gen. Taylor became the Whig candidate, and Mr. Webster's opposition was still mors oat spoken. In a public speech he pro nounced it a nomination “ not tit to be made.” Still he gave it his adhesion, and zealously supported the ticket. There was a good story at the time, to tho effect that Mr. Webster sent Gen- Taylor a copy of 'his first speech, to which no answer was received during the campaign. After the election Gen. Taylor wrote him an extremely cordial and complimentary letter, beginning something like this: “My Deab Sib : I received, some time ago, from your hand, a copy of a speech you had just delivered, in which yon pronounced the opinion that my nomination was a nomination not fit to be made. I fully concurred in that opinion. You only gave expression to tho sentiment which I myself enter tained. But, by the result of the elec tion, it appears that a majority of the people differ with us both on that sub ject, and, as their choice has imposed upon me the duty of selecting a Cabinet, I cordially invite you to accept the De partment of State.” A JAPANESE BRONZE WORKER. Tho most skillful living bronze worker in Japan, and one of the most skillful of workers in metal that Japan has ever possessed, is said by the Japan Mail to be a Kiyoto artisan named Zoroku. His specialty is inlaying with silver and gold, an art which he carries to such perfection that his pieces are scarcely distinguisha ble from tho chefs-d'oeuvre of the Min period. What one sees on going into his atelier is a very old man—some 65 or 70—peering through a pair of huge horn spectacles at a tiny incense-burner or still tinier flower vase, from whose frets and diapers he is paring away, with marvelous patience, an almost imper ceptible roughness or excrescence. Be side him, winter and summer alike, stands a brazier with a slow charcoal fire, over which an iron netting supports ono or two bronze vessels similar to that ho holds in his hand. Plainly these bronzes are being subjected to a slow process of baking, and if you watch for a moment, marveling at the purpose of a proceeding which seems only calculated to mar the fair surface of the metal, seems you shall presently see the old man dip a feather into a vessel filled with greenish liquor, and touch the heated bronze here and there with the most delicate and dexterous care. This liquid is acetate of copper, and this patient process, which you see repeated perhaps twenty or thirty times during a visit of twice as many minutes, will be continued in the untiring fashion for half a year to come, after which a month’s rubbing and polishing will turn out a bronze rich in green and russet tints that might, and indeed must, you would fancy, have been produced by centuries of slowly toiling time. AMERICAN GEOGRAPHY IN EN GLAND. This is a digression, and we return to our anecdotes. Here aro two—both were told to the writer by the son of an American statesman of the highest rank : A score of years ago in England they dined with a lady of very high birth, wearing nobly a very high title, and, in the course of conversation, the English woman asked the wife of the American statesman if she had traveled much in the United State, following this up with the further question : “ Then I suppose you have seen, haven’t you, the famous waterfall of Nicaragua?” On another occasion, an English lady of almost equal rank said to her Ameri can sister : “I do wish you would tel] what are the great lakes of America. Of course,” she added, after a pause, “of course I know Wenham lake; but what are the others ?” How many persons in America know Wenham lake—a little pond in Massa chusetts, which owed its English fame to the fact that a certain “Wenham Lake Ice Company” was engaged in j>eddling comfort to the thiraty Britons. —Philadelphia American. A btobt is told of a doctor in Spring field who assured a woman that he had driven her disease into one of her great toes, which therefore ought to be ampu tated. She submitted to the operation. After thirty years’ absence, Robert Thornton, of Haverhill, Muss., came home and the first thing he did was to kick over a tombstone erected to his memory several years ago. FAMM AMD mOMM. Ciiuxd Goa*:—Charred am. lad in limited quantities, ie excellent for laying lama Boom Potatoes. —Boiled potatoes are aaid to be a core for diarrhea in cat tle. Feed warn and give aa much as the cattle will eat Currant Works.—Break off tbs young sprouts or suckers that start from 'te roots of currant boahea and there will seldom be any trouble from the cur rant worm. LmasKD Ms ax, ron Pigs.— Suffolk and Berkshire pigs maybe profitably fed, to be sold at nine or ten months, upon clover, corn meal, linseed meal, or com and oat meal. Half a pound of linseed meal per day on the average, to 6-months-old pigs, would be sufficient. Bowing Wheat. —Recent experiment-- in England show that thin sowing o wheat in drills is more productive than thick sowing. By special culture on small plots, a single grain to the hill has given a yield of 100 to 162 bushels to the acre, according to the Experiment Record. Tomatoes.—lf you would have a full crop of good tomatoes, water the young plants twice each week with rich liquid manure. Nip off many of the new shoots and tie the heavy etems up so as to ex pose the fruit to the sun. Mulch thick ly around the main stem and thin out where the fruit grows too closely. To Tell the Age of a Horse.— I The following is the method of an Alabama gentleman : “After the horse is 6 years old a wrinkle comes in the eyelid at the npper corner of the lower lid, and every year thereafter he has one well-de fined wrinkle for each year of his age over 9. If, for instance, a horse has three wrinkles, he is 12; if four, 18. Add the number of wrinkles to nine and yon will always get at the age.” Brittle Hoofs. —Among the causes which produce brittle hoofs in horses and cattle the Motional Live Stock Journal mentions the frequent standing in rotting dung heaps or in pools of de composing liquid manure. In the dung heap there is not only the moisture and ■team soaking and softening the hoof, but there is abundance of ammonia gas, which is especially calculated to soften, dissolve and destroy the horn. Stand ing in such decomposing organic matter is still more injurious when the animal is confined to a box or stall, for here the injurious effect of inactivity is added to the other conditions. The Cdbrant Caterpillar. The gooseberry and currant caterpillars are great pests to American frnit growers. The following recipe for dealing with these pests is given by a County Down subscriber to the Garden, and which he states he had used there thirty years and never failed with it until 1879, when the daily rani washed the salt off the leaves before it had time to dry or act on the young caterpillars: Mix one pound of common salt with eight gallons of cold water; but be careful not to ex ceed that quantity. About the second week in May or as soon as perforated leaves are observed choose a dry day and syringe the bashes with this mixture. Repeat the syringing in a week or ten days should more perforated leaves ap pear. This mixture, though destructive to young caterpillars, will not kill old ones; these must be hand picked. — 1 Farmer's Advocate, Melon Culture.— An Ohio farmer says : “ During the winter and spring I gather together all the fine manure I can, such as hog manure with the oobs raked out, hen manure, barnyard scrap ings, eta After the melons are planted 1 load this mixture on the wagon, and if not wet enough I throw a lew pails of water on it, drive into the field and straddle one row, and with another hand take two rows, one on one side of the wagon, and put a small shovelful ef this mixture on eaoh hill. By soaking the seed before planting over night it will be necessary then to examine a few hills in course of five days, to see if they are making their way through the inch of dirt that was first covered on seed ; if sr>, then the manure should be shoved to one side with the back of a rake. After the melons are beginning to get the third leaf I take a mixture of two-thirds of slacked lime, one-third plaster, and dose each hill with about a half a spoon ful, getting the greater part on the dirt around the plants. With this method Z get 1,000 good salable melons per acre, and always get a premium at our county fairs.” „ TOUGH TEAR ON WORMS. Old Uncle Mose went into Levi Schaumburg’s store, on Austin avenue, to buy a silk handkerchief, but was al most paralyzed on learning the price. Levi explained that the high price of silk goods was caused by some disease among the silk worms. “How much does yer ask for dis heah piece ob tape?” asked the old man. “Ten cents,” was the reply. “Ten cents! JewhQikins! so de tape hasriz too—l spose de cause ob datam, becase dar’s sumfin de matta wid de tape wnms. Dis seems to be gwine ter be a mighty tough yeah on wums, anyhow.” —Texas Siftings. Tragedy and Comedy. The distinction is very simple. In a tragedy the plot turns on a murder; in a comedy it turns on a marriage. The question in a comedy is whether the marriage will take place or not, and in a tragedy whether the murder will be ac complished or not. There.will be a mar riage, there will be a murder; this is the first act There will be no marriage at murder; this is the second sot A new incident happens, a new manner of kill ing or marrying; that is the third act. An obstacle arises which prevents the killing or marrying; this is the fourth act. This must finish, and so in the fifth act rite marriage or murder, is arranged or accomplished, because everything must have an end.