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PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY
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in the Court Ho<im.^|
3EHERAL DIRECTORY,
Superior Omirt meet* 3rd Monday
iu May and t>nd Monday in November
Hon. James li. Brown, Jud;e.
George T. Gober, -olicitor-Ueneral.
COUSTY COURT.
"Hon. Thomas F. Greer, Judge.
Moultrie M. Sessions,County Solicitor.
Meet* 3rd Monday in each mon h.
Court of Ordinary meets lat Monday
in each month.
TOWN COUNCIL.
M. J. Mears, Intendent,
M. McKinney, T. H. labor, > 0
J H unnicutt, J. R. Johnson, J “ om -
W. If. Foster, Town Marshal
COUNTY OFFICERS.
J. G. Allen, Ordinary.
TT. W. Craigo, Clerk Superior Court.
'H. M. Bran.lett, H-eriff.
J. H. Sharp. Tax Receiver.
G. W. Gates, Tax Collector.
Jrs. M. West, Surveyor.
G. W. Rice, Coroner.
W. F. Hill, School Commissioner.
Tiie cuuty Board of Education meet*
at Ellijny the Ist Tuesday in January
April, July and October.
JUSTICES' COURTS.
850th Diat. G. M., Ellijay, Ist Thurs
day, A. J. Dooley, J. P., G. H. Randell,
N. P.
Sf.4th Dist. G. M., Tickaneteby, lit
Saurday, J. C. Anderson J. P. J. W
Parker, N. P.
9u7th Dist. G. M., Boardtown, 4th
Saturday, J. S. Smith, J. P. f W. E
Chancer. N. P.
932nd Diat. Q. M.. Cartecav. 4th St
3*’urday, S. D. Allen, L. M. Simmons, N
P.
958th G. M.. Mountaintown, 4th Sat
wrday, J. M. Painter, J. P., J. W. With-
Trow, N. P.
1009th Diat. G. M., Tails Creek. 3rd
Saturday, Cicero M. Tatum, J. P., Thos.
Ratcliff, AT P.
1035th Dist. G. M. Teacher, Ist Satur
day, Jos. Watkins, J. P., .Tos. P. Ellis,
N.
k>9lst Dist G M., Ball Ground, 2nd
-Baw Jajw A. M. Johnson, J. P., Jno. P.
Evans, N. P.
113&th Dist. G. M., Town Creek, 2nd
Saturday, E. Russell, J. P., Jno. T.
Reuter, N. P.
1136th D.si. G. M, Cim v Tog, Ist
Saturday, Jno. H. Whitnar, J. P., J M
Ward N.P,
1274th Dist. G. M., Ridgeaway; 2nd
Saturday, Jno. M. Quarles, J. P., W. E.
O. Moore, N. P.
1302nd Dist G. M.. Coosawattee. 3rd
aturday, M. C. Blankenship, J P., A.
A Hensley, N. P.
13415 t Dist. G. M., Diamon 1, 2nd Sat
urday, W. D. Sparks. J. P., Jesse Hold
en. N. P,
1355th Di*t. G. M., Alto, 2nd Satur
day, Maxwell Chastain, J. P., B. H. An*
derson, N. P.
RELIGIOUS SDRVICEB.
Methsdist Epie opal Church South.—
Every 4th Sunday and Saturday before,by
Rev. C. A. Jamison.
Baptist Church.—Every 2nd Saturday
and Sunday, by Rev. N. T. Osborn.
Methodist Episcopal Church.—Every
Ist Saturday and Sunday, by Rev. T. D.
Ellington. Every 3rd or stn Sunday, bj
Rev. R. H. Robb.
FRATERNAL RECORD
Oak Bowery Ledge, No. 81, F. A. M.,
eets ftt Friday in each month.
P. H. Milton. W. M.
L. B Greer, 8. W.
W.'A. Cox, J. W,
R. Z. Roberts. Treasurer.
S. P. Garren, Tyler.
T. W. Craigo, Secretary.
J. W. HENLEY, .
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
JAEJPXR, GEORGIA.
Will prrctics in the Superior Court of the Bine
Ridge Circuit. Prompt attention to all bui
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ELLUAY, OA
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TMO3. F. QUEER, Attorney
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SESSIONS A COLEMAN,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
ELLUAV. OA.
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THE ELLIJAY COURIER.
A VALANCHIIS.
Loosed by the lightning on the peak,
Amid the eternal mow*,
The little handful roll* and runs,
Increasing *s it goes.
It leap* and bound* o’er beetling crag*
That bar it* path in vain,
And thunders down the mountain side.
And dares It to restrain—
An avalanche! An avalanche!
And overwhelms tbe plain!
So from the chambers of the mind
Of poet or of sags,
A little snow-ball thought is thrown
Upon the printed page.
Few see or hear or feel or know
The strength that in them lies,
Serene upon the mountain top,
The nearest to the skies,
But when it moves the natives heed,
And gaze with wondering eyea
Like tbe impetuous avalanche
In its majestic course,
It sweeps away impediments,
Resistless in its force!
The palaces of Error fall,
With crash of sullen sound.
While the proud battlements of wrong,
That fill the lower ground,
Shake at its coming and collapse,
And are in ruins found.
—Charles Mackay, in Youth's Companion.
“AN ODD MAN.”
jj’ ——*“•
V k
A BOARDING- OUSE ROMANCE.
There were two other ladies at the ta
ble with me—a mother and daughter—
wealthy people, b I supposed; and the
girl was the most exquisitely pretty crea
ture I had ever seen. She was so tall,
so slim, so round, with such a fair, frank
brow, such shining brown eyes, almost
startlingly dark,, with her bright hair
and her fair complexion; such a sweet
mouth, such dimples, my heart seemed
to go out to her at once. And she was
so charmed with everything, and so full
of bright chatter.
Her mother was a great contrast; she
was a little, p aimive, aggrieved- ooking
person—one of those people who, 1 think,
take a kind of pleasure iu being unhappy.
And there was an odd-looking man—
a very odd-looking man somehow—tall,
and largely made, with a rugged, fair
face, very wide open blue eyes, and a
fine head, held very high. Somehow he
was not like the usual run of our visitors
and, strangest of .all, he brought in a
dog with hjrn—a handsome pug, if auy
pug can b called handsome -who pre
ceded bis master up the rooJn, bis
wrinkled nose sniffing the air and his
crooked eyes looking in every corner.
I looked at my pretty girl. Her face
was all dimpled and flushed.
“The dear old doggie. Do let me
hold him for a little while; I am so fond
of dogs.”
Her mother moved uneasily and pro
tested feebly:
“Alice, dear.”
The stranger turned and looked at her.
“Thank you so much,” he said. “Do
you ready like dogs? Most ladies are
afraid of Jack.”
* * * * * *
“ Some day, some day, some day we
shall meet,” Miss Verinder sang. Ire
member just how she iooked; I could
not wonder at the passionate admiration
in the young men’s eyes. Old woman
as I was, 1 found her a p;easant sight.
I, A. sweet voice and a sweet face,”
said someone beside me. It was our
neighbor at dinner. He had come softly
across the room, holding his dog’s leash.
He stood a moment by me, and “then he
sat down behind the piano, took his dog
ou his lap, and threw back his great
head, listening with evident enjoyment
to the music. I thought again what a
strange-looking man he was. Miss Ver
inder finished her song and turned round
with all the pretty light on her face. He
crossed over ihen and thanked her, while
the young men looked rather supercil
iously at him.
“ 1 felt sure you had a singing face.”
he said. “Are you well oil for music
here?”
“Not very,” she told him, and then
she asked if he played.
“Yes,” he said. “ It is almost the
only solace I have.” He paused a mo
ment, and then went on in such a low,
hopeless kind of voice. “I am almost
blind.”
“Oh! I am so sorry.”
Poor man! I thought it ought to be
a kind of compensation to see the sweet
tenderness of the bright voung face, to
hear the soft pity of her voice. He said
something—l did not catch what it was
—and then he sat down to the piano.
Play, I should think he did play.
Never had there been such music brought
out of our piano. A great hush fell upon
the room. Eveu those who did not care
for music for its own sake were silent
from astonishment.
As for Mr. Gorst himself, the music
seemed to transform him. He shook
back his hair, and his grave, plain face
brightened up.
“Jack,” sitting at his feet kept his
eyes steadily fixed upon him, as if be un
derstood it all; and Yor Miss Verinder,
the pretty color grew brighter in her
cheeks, and her eyes shone. She was
passionately lond of music
‘‘Odd man! Don’t you think so? very,”
whispered Mrs. Coiquhoun—the greatest
gossip in the house—to me. "Not a gen
tleman, decidedly; actor, I should think,
professional, certainly. Dreadful flirt
that girl is to be sure. Do you admire
her? No, surely not.”
I held up my hand to silence her. J
did not like Mrs. Coiquhoun.. I knew
her mischief making tongue of old, and
1 had caught a Hash from Alice Veriu
der’s soft eves.
Mr. Gorst wss going to slug for us. As
he played the lint bars of the meMsage.
Jack gav a kind ol at range howl.
“ A Map of Busy Life—lts Fluctuations and its Vaat Oonoerns.”
ELLIJAY, GA.. THURSDAY, DECEMBER 31, 1885.
“Ha is wonderfully fond of tinging,”
his master explained with pride.
Clearly, I thought, be wee a thorough
old bachelor, ana this dog wme wife end
child tc him.
“Well I have heard many fine voices,
but never one, I think, like Mr. Gorat’a.
As the passionate beautiful words of the
message rang out, I felt my very heart
stirred within me.
A great hush fell upon the room as he
finished. One could well believe such
a voice would “pass through the goldeh
gate.” I saw a strange, moved expres
sion on Mr. Hardyge’s face, tbe quiet
old bachelor I have mentioned before;
and as for Miss Verinder, I did not like
to look at her; I knew there were tears
in the bright young eyea.
And after The Message, he gave us
For Ever and Forever, and The Distant
Shore. He v ould have sung all night, I
think, if the loud clang of the tea-bell
had not sounded out, bringing us all
back to the world around us.
He dropped hia hands from the keya
quite startled.
“Oh! it’s only the tea-bell. Are we
expected to eat again? But I have in
flicted myself upon you.”
“I could listeu forever," said the girl,
with that soft, lovely light still on her
face.
I am a foolish old woman, I know,
but I caught myself hoping he was not
too blind to sec it.
“Mias Verinder, will you not let me
get you some tea?” broke in the Cam
bridge man, Mr. Hoare, as I found out
his name was. He had been watching
the changes in the girl’s face all through
the singing.
Well, he was old enough to be her
father, and he was grave and odd-look
ing beside, while she was the sweetest,
freshed bit of maidenhood. Young
even for her twenty years. And yet
somehow these two, Mr. Gorst and Alice
Verinder, were drawn to each other that
very first night, I think. Perhaps
it was Jack, perhaps it was the music,
or that the child’s sweet womanly heart
was moved to p.ty the lonely a Tiicted
man. She was so watchful of him at
meal times, would try in her pretty way
to interest him, to drive the shadows
from his face; would pay him such
sweet deference. He was always quiet,
always silent and reserved. It did not
j seem to rue he took much notice of what
would have raised a young man to the
seventh heaven of happiness. I came
I on them oDe morning out amongst the
flowers—he walking up and down slowly
, and carefully, as an almost blind man
does, she springing out in her joyous
way, fresh as the morning itself, in a
; dark blue gown all rutiled with embroid
•erv. * shjdiag her *we*t face,
the suntigiwrth% mass of orisp hair
beneath. They said “good morning” to
each other, and then she spoke to the
dog.
Between her two admirers, Miss Ver
inder ought to have acquired much use
ful Information during that sweet sum
mer holiday. Young Hoare took pos
session of her at once. I heard her
blithe laugh as 9he answered some re
mark of his. They made a handsome
couple, I thought; she so fair and slim,
he so tall and dark and broad shouldered,
and both with that wonderful light of
youth on their faces.
“He is a handsome fellow,” Mr. Gorst
said, and I knew he had divined my
thought; he was wonderfully sharp, for
all his blindness.
I scarcely knew how long I had been
writing. It was a letter to a dear oid
friend of mine, and I had for a little
while forgotten my surrouudings, when
Mrs Colquhoun’s wearisome voice fored
itself on my attention.
She had exhausted her newspaper,and
Mrs. Verinder having just come in, she
had a thrilling piece of gossip to unfold
to her.
“Quite shocking, Mrs. Verinder! I
was so frightened I could not sleep
again. Mr. Gorst, you know, he came
down the corridor last nighc perfectly
drunk, stumbling over everything. He
tried to burst into my room, but fortu
nately I always keep the door locked;
and he felt about his room and talked to
himself half tbe night. Quite shocking,
is it not? These professional sort of
people are always unsteady, and being
blind seems to make it so much worse.
Really, Mrs. Verinder, don’t you think
we ladies ought to take some steps to
show what we think of such conduct?”
Mrs. Verinder made some feeble sound
of horror. I was too petrified to say
anything.
It this was a story, it was rather a
worse one than usual; if it was true—
But what was this indignant young
figure that started up from my side?
“It is not true, mother—l ana sure it
is not true. Oh, it is a shame to tell
such stories of any one! Mr. Gorst is a
gentleman; he would scorn to do such
things. Oh, it is cruel! People ought
to spare him at least.”
The child looked transformed, her
cheeks blazing, her brown eyes spark
ling.
“Alice, Alice!” said her mother.
“It is the injustice of it, mother—
that is what I mind.”
Mrs. Coiquhoun was straightening her
spectacles and looking up at the indig
nant girl with a malicious smile.
I knew what a story she would make
of this, and, though I could not but ad
mire Alice’s generous championship, I
felt sorry she should have drawn this
woman’s unscrupulous tongue upon her.
She was still standing there, with her
tall young figure drawn up, and her
-cornful face, and Mrs. Coiquhoun had
just opened her lips for a crushing re
tort, when behold standing among us
Mr. Gorst himself, perfectly calm acd
unmoved to all outward appearance
Had a thunderbolt fallen among us we
could not have looked more astonished.
Mrs. Coiquhoun’* face flushed crimson,
as well it might. Poor, pretty Alice grew
snow white and all tbe Are went out of
he i eyes.
5 "I cannot thank you sufficiently. Mis*
Verinder,’’ he said, “for taking the
trouble to defend me. Pray let mo apolo
gise,” he went on then to Mr*. Colqu
ajrait, “for having unintentionally heard
so much about royaelf. I was writing
letter* in the other bty, and had no in
tontion of listening, when my own name
cgught my ear. It is a fulfilment of the
ojd proverb; but 1 have no doubt you
unit be greatly pleased to hear
y4u have made a most unfortu
nate mistake. My room was changed
lait night; the gas was not lit; my lug
gage was all about the middle of the
floor. In my half or three-quarters blind
condition, I certainly did stumble a good
dtel about, and had also to speak a good
dqal to my dog through the night; he
is 1 always restless in strange quarters.
Af for being drunk, I have been a water
drinker all my life. I must express my
great regret for having so disturbed your
lit, but I am sure your distress of mind
night must be more than compen
sated this morning by your relief at find
ing out I am not such a depraved char
accer as you had feared.”
\ * * m * * *
It was a very narrow path, just room
for two people to walk *ery closo to
gether, consequently, I suppose, it was
called the “Lover’s Walk.” There were
seats at intervals, and it had many un
expected turns and twists, as it wound
round the hill.
Coming suddenly round one of these
sharp corners, what or rather who did I
see just in front of me only a few yards
away! Alice Verinder and Mr. Gorst:
and he was holding both ter hands in
his, and bending over her, the inevitable
“Jack” sitting beside them, his foolish
tongue hanging out, his leash lying un
regarded on the.damp ground, an expres
sion on his face as if he would say “this
is a nice piece of business.” Well, I
take great credit to myself, I neither
started nor screamed; luckily neither of
them had seen me, and I turned swiftly
round the way I had come, hurried round
the corner, almost ran the whole way
home, never stopping for breath until 1
found myself safe in my own room,
wjjere I sat down to think over what I
had seen.
It was an hour or two later, and I was
still sitting in my room, but ready
dressed for dinner, waiting for the bell
to ring, when there was a little tap nt
my door and Alice entered radiant,
blushing, happy. I remember just how
she looked, in a pretty dress of some
pale shining green stuff, she always
dteswid so prettily, with a square cut
bodice and elbow sleeves showing her
fair round arms, a bunch of white roses
in t’le lace at her bosom. She stood
aa nitwjai-a miuncnt. and then
she qpised The door and crossed the room
swiftly, and came and knelt beside me.
“I saw you to-day,” she said softly,
“and you turned back because you saw
—us.”
How can I describe the sweet radiant
light in her face ? I bent down and
kissed her.
“My dear,” I said to her, “are you
sure of yourself ? Do you really love
him? But there was no need for an an
swer. f could read it in her eyes.
“Oh! Miss Brown, I am so happy, so
happy. Do you think,” she said then
with a little wistful trouble in her sweet
face, “that I will be able to make him
happy, that I can help to make up to
him for all his troubles?”
“My dear,” I told her, stroking her
bright hair, and feeling tears not far
from my foolish old eyes, “you will
make him the happiest man in the
world.”
“And only think he was going away,.
and would never, never have told me, if
it was not for to-dav, and that horrid
woman. Oh! Miss Brown, lam a hap
py, happy girl.” —Home Chime.
Street Bathing in Venice.
Venice seems to have been created just
for sea bathing. Everything bathes
here—bouses, palaces, churches; and the
whole population, eager for coolness, lias
its feet in the water. Here people bathe
just to keep cool. In France, in Eng
lnd, one only takes a dip, or just mois
tens one’s self in cold water, in order to
get warm by the reaction upon ihe skin.
The poorer Venetians—the pretty bour
geoisie—young girls, young boys, even
little children—all pass their time bath
ing in the little canals. It is impossible
to imagine anything more picturesque
than all those doors opening upon the
water to let a whole family to pass out
to throw themselves in. The mother
lets her bambina into the canal, with a
rope attached to each child’s waist; the
young boys leap like frogs; the old
giandmothers, who do not swim any
more, take care of the children’s cloth
ing, and the father swims after the little
ones to see that nothing happens to
them. And what shouting and laughing
when a gondola happens to pass near the
young folks! They rush after it and
catch on behind as our naughty boys at
home catch on to the public convey
ances.
One cannot but help asking how it is
that our painters neglect these beautiful
pictures of domestic life—that seem to
have been expressly designed and com
posed for them. Nothing is lacking: the.
scenery is admirable with its background
of antiquated marble palaces, with
church cupolas reflected in the azure
water, for this canal water is always
pure after the great sweeping given to
the city by each high tine. And the
color is unique, while the foreground is
infinitely varied. But while fashion is
fashion, and while expositions of paint
ings succeed each other, tue artist* will
doubtless persist in sending us view*—
in oil, in water colors, on porcelain, etc.
—of the inevitable interior of St. Murk,
and the eternal Piazzetta. and the Grand
Canal with the Rialto in the background,
etc. —Ntv Orleans Time*-Democrat.
The cultivation of the bamboo but
proved quite successful in California.
FUK FEMININE READERS.
A Singular W oman.
She does not boast, mneino display.
But modestly sh<* All* lu-r station.
Though she’* an object, people say,
Of wonder and of admiration:
As schoouniss, maiden (air. or wife—
Wo every one declare* that's met her—
She never added in her life
A postscript when she wrote a letter.
—Boston Courier.
A Dromedary Buttle*
Fashion seekers lately returned front
Paris declare that the coming woman is
to resemble the sacred dromedary of the
xoo, with a bustle the like of which has
never been seen, at least in staid Ameri
ca, even among the bustle fanatics. All
that humaD skill can effect to make this
new crinoline keep its place has been
done, and whatever shape it may be
born with, that it retains to the last.
This feature will awake loud and uni
versal rejoicing, as nothing has so af
flicted society as the ill-bred, easily
downcast, lop-sided. wire-machiDe on
which dresses are often ineffectually
draped. Horse hair aud whalebone does
it, with sheet-iron to clinch matters.—
Chicago Tribune.
Women’s Hobbies,
Women sometimes. have very queer
hobbies. One of the most influential
members of an up town church is a lady
distinguished for her piety and good
works, who cannot for the life of her
keep from patting her hands together
every time she hears music. She occa
sionally scandalizes the religious folk
who occupy pews near her own by start
ing up this patting when the church or
gan rolls out the voluntary. Often she
pats so loud that the noise can be heard
all up and down the aisU. and the usher
gets wild with anxiety lest someone will
come to him and complain about it. The
husband of the lady has remonstrated
with her about the habit, and she has
promised time after time never to do it
again. She lias tried wearing thick,
soft gloves and keeping her han is in her
muff, but it is of no avail, for when s ! he
ean't pat her hands she makes twice as
much racket with her feet, and her hus
band has concluded that he prefers the
lesser evil of the two. No one has yet
beeti able to cure her of her hubby.
While patting her hands she sits with a
smile on her face, as one rapt. 1 can re
member, now, six other women afflicted
With hobbies. One of them is baking
finger cakes. The remarkable woman
is positively unhappy unless she is in the
kitchen. Bhe bakes, on an average, a
thousand ginger cakes a week during the
winter months, and gives them away tor
all of her friends. She regularly pre
sents a large panful of them to the mite
society of the church, to be distributed
around among the needy of the parish.
They are good cakes, too, I can assure
you. She has been known to cook all
night, and there hasn’t been a festival
during the last ten years at which her
ginger cakes have not been on the bill of
fare. When she goes to visit her friends,
her first question is, “Are those ginger
cakes all gone?” If are, and they
usually are, she takes off her shawl and
walks down into the kitchen in a busi
ness-like manner and proceeds to cook a
panful of cakes, just as unconcernedly
as though she was in her own house.
Once in a while—pretty often I should
say- her husband goes home for his din
ner as hungry as a lord, and finds his
better-half up in the next square baking
cakes for Mrs. K. or Mrs. 0., with no
meal cooked, nor any table set. The
husband has no resort but to go down
town and buy his meal at a restaurant.
Bhe goes out for amorning call and stays
all day, having cooked cakes at three
residences while 'away —Baltimore Her
ald.
Fashion Notes.
Draperies, as well as bodices, show
revers.
Many homespun costumes have large
pearl buttons.
Collars, cuffs and belts are made of
beaded galloon.
High collars with stiff lining are seen
on all woolen costumes. Linen collars
or folds are worn with them.
Sashes are in great demand and come
in evefv variety of material; there are
sashes of satin, of nilk, of velvet and of
silk and wool.
With the many varieties of material
offered for waistcoats a few bronze kid
have been seen, worked over in a design
of shaded chenille.
The basque is still the. bodice most
favored by dressmakers, but it must be
made very abort and simple, with or
without a waistcoat, at pleasure.
Bilk sashes eleven inches wide and
three and q quarter yards long have sil
ver and gold bars with velvet brocade
figures, and are edged with changeable
plush.
Even the Mexican agave orixtili cactus
is taxed for modern women’s garments,
the flexible fibres of the leaves being
used in place of whalebone for stiffening
corsets.
Red pelisses of astrakhan plush for
little girls and very small boys are jauntily
trimmed with collars, capes, cuffs,
pocket straps, and bands of black
astrakhan.
Very rough textures are popular, and
some stylish costumes have been com
posed of coarse-looking serge, Called by
some of the leading dressmakers “scour
ing flannel.”
Felt hats with rounded crowns and
rather broad brims have a twisted scarf
of gauze or fancy canvas round them,
drawn up in front and mixed with
cock’s plumes.
The hair now must be worn in two
soils. String* of pearl, gold thread,
fanev-beaded pins, jewels and jewel
headed snake* ere used much. Feathers
VOL X. NO. 42.
are allowable; wings being wore on
the side of the head.
Steel jewelry is again in favor, and the
finish is such that tne cut steel retains its
brightness in all weathers. The new
scurubcc jewelry is quite popular. It
cornea in all sorts of quaint designs, such
as winged lions, sphinx heads and the
like. It is for morning wear, with tailor
made suits.
Capotes are now higher than ever in
the border, but there is a change in tha
style of trimming. This now frequently
consists in tips of ostrich feathers put on
the back of the crown and drooping over
the top. The feathers are frequently
of various shades of color, and the ca
pote is lined with velvet to match.
Queen Victoria's Coronation.
Greville writes in his memories of
Queen Victoria's coronation: “The dif
ferent actors in the ceremonial were very
imperfect in their parts, and had
neglected to rehearse them. Lord John
Thynne, who officiated for the Dean of
Westminster, told me that nobody knew
what was to be done except the arch
bishop and himself (who had rehearsed).
Lord Willoughby (who is experienced
in these matters) and the Duke of Wel
lington, and consequently there was a
continual difficulty and embarrassment,
and the queen never knew what she was
to do next. They made her leave her
chair and enter into St. Edward’s chapei
before the prayers were concluded, much
to the discomfiture of the archbishop.
She said to John Thynne; ‘Pray tell me
what I am to do, for they don’t know;’
and at the end, when the orb was put
into her hand, she said to him: ‘What
am Ito do with it?’ ‘Your majesty is to
carry it,if you please,in your hand.’ ’Am
I?’ she said; ‘it is very heavy.’
The ruby ring was made for her
little finger instend of the fourth, on
which the rubric prescribes that it should
be put. When the archbishop was to
nut it on, she extended the former, but
he said it must be ou the latter. Sho
said it was toosmad, and she could not
get it on. He said it was right to put
it there, and, as he in-fisted, she yielded,
but had first to take off her other rings,
and then this was forced on, but it hurt
her very much, and as soon as the cere
mony was over she was obliged to bathe
h er finger in iced water iu order to get it
off. Tne noise and confusion were very
great when the medals were thrown
about by Lord Surrey, everybody scramb
ling with all their might and main to get
them, and none more vigorously than the
Maids of Honor. There was a gre.it
demonstration of- applause when the
Duke of Wellington did homage. Lord
whp is betwcqn eighty and niqetv,
awn as he was getting up cue step*
of the throne. His first impulse was to
rise, and when afterward he came again
to do homage she said, “Mav I not get
up and meet him?” and then rose from
the throno and advanced down one or
two of the steps to prevent his coming
up, an act of graciousness and kindness
which made a great sensation.
Catting Ostrich Feathers.
The ostrich is not an easy bird to han
die under the operation of feather cut
ting. You can well imagine that there
is some difficulty and al-o danger in
handling huge birds weighing some 350
pounds apiece. Feathers are cut once
every seven months, making it, as you
see, nearly twice a year. When we in
tend to cut a bird we approach it with a
plate of green corn, to which they eager
ly rush. They arc then caught by the
neck with the left hand, while with the
right hand you draw over the head a
stocking, thus blindfolding them. At
the bottom of the stocking is left a hole
through which their beak passes, giving
them an opportunity to breathe. As
soon as the bird is blindfolded he is
held still by four men, and in about half
an hour be is plucked. The white feath
ers arc all cut, while the body and tail
feathers are plucked. I tell you there is
an immense future to this enterprise, as
the demand for ostrich feathers is ever
on the increase. Ostrich feathers are al
ways fashionable. If you watch this as
closely as I have done, you will discover
that there is a rage for ostrich tips at
different times all over the world,
whether it be in the colonies, in the
United States or in Europe. In five
years from now ostrich farming will be
a leading industry, and in ten years from
now it will be a staple industry of the
United States. —San Franeisco Call.
Vinegar Made of Sawdust.
A sign in a Third avenue grocery win
dow reads: “Pure Russet Cider, 4c. a
Quart."
“That cider was never moved by a
breath of country air,” said a man in a
blue check jacket, who was passing the
window, “and it was never any nearer
an apple than it is now as it stands in
the barrel, at the rear of the grocery.”
“Made of sulphuric acid and glucose,
then,” suggested a companion.
“No, that's too expensive.”
“What is it made of?”
“Sawdust. I work in the shop where
it’s made. Pure apple cider is worth
thirty cents a gallon. Sawdust cidei
costs about one-fourth of that. We tak*.
the sawdust from a couple of wood yards
—hemlock, hickory, maple—every kind,
just as it comes. We dump it into a big
retort and heat it with a coal fire. Just
forty-seven per cent, of what boils over
is crude vinegar. It has to be purified a
bit and boiled down a little, but it is
pretty good vinegar. When the wood
reaches a certain point in the heating
process it becomes charcoal, and is cooled
off and sold to filter makers. We can
heat the grangers on the vinegar busi
ness and not half try."— Nt* York Sun.
There are three distinct classes of pro
pie in Japaa—the Kuzazoky, or nobility,
the Bbizoku. or soldier class, and the
Ifaimiu, 9i Mumu.fi people.