•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.
