Newspaper Page Text
THE SPIDER’S WEB;
Trapped on the Trail.
A Thrilling Romance of the
Silver Hills.
By MORRIS REDWING,
Author of “In the Shadow of the Bcaffold,'’
“Joella,” “Cripple of London,’’
Etc.. Etc.
From the Chicago Ledger.]
CHAPTER XIX.
CAPTURED.
An old man stood drinking at the Silvei
Mine bar. We have seen him before —in
Pickles’ Faradise a week earlier. During
the week, under various disguises, the out
law has been working the city.
“Your treat, eh? Wal, I don’t care ef I
do. ”
The sound of a voice at his elbow caused
Honlip to start and turn to look into a face
that was not new to him —it was the face
of Jerry Swayne!
“Yaas, it i my treat," uttered the seem
ing old man. At the same moment his
hand fell to a concealed weapon. No won
der the outlaw was perturbed, since he had
ehot and killed this man once, and now he
had risen to confront him like an avenging
Nemesis.
Burdon Brono believed that he had not
been recognized, and so his feelings be
came quickly calm. He ordered the liquor
on once more, and together the two drank.
“That ar s what 1 call tip-top blear-eyed
remorse, uttered Honlip, smacking his lips.
“It’s the wust liquor I ever tasted,” re
torted Jerry Sway no, who wore a bandage
about his temples under his hat, the edge
tinged with blood, just visible.
“Eh, you mean ”
But Honlip did not get the complete sen
tence before the gamblers and toughs of
that den.
A hand went up and fastened itself in
his beard. A quick, sharp jerk, and the
hirsute appendage was in the hand of Jerry
Swayne, revealing, in the place of an old
countenance, the smoothly shaved visage
of the outlaw. Burden Brono.
This by-play had been witnessed by
many, and some there were who recognized
the countenance of the now familiar out
law from the numerous descriptions that
had been circu’ated throughout Silversand.
One of those who happened to stand
nearest t > Burden Brono when he was un
masked was Bragg Clamper, the Sheri ff.
This individual had come in for a drink
and to cast his eagle eye over the faces ol
those assembled. He was anxious to win
the reward offered for the arrest of Burden
Brono, and had been looking most indus
triously for that individual during the past
week.
And now r the game had been thrust, as
it were, into his hand, through no effort of
his own.
"Burden Brono, the outlaw!” yelled Jer
ry Swayne, at the same time thrusting for
ward a cocked revolver.
But with all his cuteness Jerry Swayne
was not quick enough to avoid the bunch
of bones that Burden Brono hurled from
his shoulder, and with that outcry on his
lips the innkeeper's son went to the floor
like a log.
Y’ells and cries now filled the room.
As Brono turned to flee, the butt end of
a revolver came down upon his head, send
ing ten thousand stars to dance before his
eyes. It was Bragg Clamper who wielded
the weapon, and not only once but twice,
thrice did he strike Brono over the head
with all the strength that he could throw
into his good right arm. It had the effect
desired.
The outlaw sank senseless to the floor,
and bv the time Jerry Swayne regained his
feet the Sheriff had the shackles on the
limbs and wrists of Burden Brono.
“You've got the devil fast; I’m glad ol
it, for a more merciiess seoundrel doesn't
live,” breathed Jerry through his thick lips.
Scowling faces gathered about the pris
oner and his captor, and more than one bit
of steel gleamed in the light.
“Stand back and give the fellow air,”
commanded Bragg Clamper, as he rose to
his feet and waved the crowd back. “He
will come to in a minute.”
“You have killed him.”
“It’s murder.”
At this moment Eagle Gray and his
young friend Wager, alarmed by the noise,
appeared upon the scene and pushed to the
side of the fallen outlaw.
“Dead?”
“No, only stunned,” said the Sheriff.
“Lend a hand, Mr. Wager, and we’ll get
the fellow outside. Stand back; stand
back all of you,” the last words in a loud
vpice.
Like all crowds they hugged the closer
after that, but Eagle Gray soon cleared a
road by displaying a cocked revolver in
either hand, and W ager, with tha Sheriff,
lifted and bore the captured outlaw to the
walk without. Here a dray was summon:*d,
and the prisoner laid upon it.
“To the castle’ at once,” ordered Bragg
Clamper.
The dray rolled away, and with the Sheriff
went Wallis Wager and the detective.
During the ride they learned how the
capture had been made, Mr. Clamper tak
ing the princii al share of credit to himself,
"It required presence of mind and light
ning movement," continued Clamper, “and
I used both satisfactorily. ”
“It seems so.” admitted Wager.
Eagle Gray was silent during the journey
to the jail. He had seen the face of Jerry
Swayne with the crowd at the Silver Mine,
and he wondered what he could be doing
in Silversand, if Lis cousin had beeu found
and returned to her home. The detective
began to suspect that all was not as well as
he had surmised. Iva might be in a dan
gerous sUmtion: she might be dead. In
spite of himself Eagle Gray bad become
deeply interested in the young girl who had
saved his life when Burden Brono had so
cunningly planned his destruction.
Burden Brono had not fully recovered
when the jail, a substantial wood structure,
was reached, and so Wager and his detective
friend did not attempt to interview him at
that time. They saw him locked in an iron
cell, and with elated feelings returns ! to
the hotel.
As they entered, a pair of sullen red eyes
glared savaaelv at them from beneath the
rim of a s.ouehed hat—the eyes of Jerrv
Swayne. ”
“I'll get even with them chaps,” muttered
the evil young rascal. “I think that Brono
chap wi 1 soon be disposed of; but I must
see him, and see to it that he makes no
confession of the past to auy one but me.
Dad was alius mighty careful" not to tell me
the true story of Iva. which I think this
Brono knows something about. To-mor
row will be time enough to visit the jail.”
After that the young man made it a point
to watch and listen when he could to the
conversation of Eagle Gray and his com
panion.
It did not please Jerry to note that these
men were on such friendly terms. He had
in his heatt a plan, however, that would
poo Jr mder the two as widely apart as the
poles, he believed.
Oil the fo lowing day, through the influ
ence of Bragg C amper, who realized that
it was through Jerry'Swayne that he se
cured the outlaw, the young man t’rom Bog
Tavern was admitted to the celt of Burden
Brono.
As may be supposed, the outlaw was not
in a pleasant mood; with his head swelled
and sore from its reeeat beating. Jerry re
minded him of the fact that it was to the
tavern-Eeepcr's sou that he owed his cap
ture.
"How are you feeling this morning. Bur
den?” queried Jerry, as the cell-door
clanged to upon his stalwart person.
Lovely! ’ exclaimed the outlaw, rattling
THE MONROE ADVERTISER: FORSYTH. GA„ TUESDAY. APRIL 5. 1887. —EIGHT PAGES.
his chains, for he was secured to the floor,
and handouts manacled his wrists.
“I am glad to bear it. I was afraid you and
feel sore and ctoss over that little unp eas
antnes9 of last night. My head ain't got
over your tender taps. Burden. I hope it
won’t be long before we can cry qui s. ”
The outlaw was 6ilent
He chafed in bonds, and his defective
left eye showed its white with savage per
tinacity. This was a sign that Brono was
mad beneath the surface, no matter what
the outsid • might reveal.
“I've come for the purpose of asking you
a few questions, Biono.
“Have you? How kind to remember me
in misfortune!”
“Yes. Iveo.e of the tenderest hearts
in the world. Aren’t you ashamed of try
ing to kid me?”
“lam sorry I didn’t,” grated Burden.
“How in the deuce did you escape.”
“Played possum. Your bullet only
grazed my skull. I've had a big revenge
since you left the mountains. Would you
like to hear about it? I’ll tell you some
time, but not now. This morning I seek
information from you. I have been led to
believe, no matter from what source, that
you know something of the past in the
lives of dad and mother, something that
will throw a heap of light on the girl Iva.
Will you tell me about it, Burden Brono?”
“Not a word.”
“You won't? Then hear me, scoundrel!
I’ll set the mob on you before the sun sets,
and you will hang or be torn limb from
limb. I can and will do as I say!”
He then turned on his heel as if to de
part.
CHAPTER XX.
CONSULTING THE PRISONER.
Jerry Swayne did not depart, however,
and he had no thought of doing so. Turn
ing once around, he faced the prisoner
with:
“I want the truth from you, Burden
Brono, or I swear to you that I’ll send you
to death before noon—do you mind?”
“How can you do that?”
“Easy enough. There's a bad feeling
among the citizens of Silversand to’ards the
horse thieves and robbers, who've lately
made things hum on the trail between this
place and Denver City. It wouldn’t take a
heap of persuadin’ to set the whole town
agin ye—they’d hang you like a dog. The
murder of old Fredon’s still fresh ”
“I had no hand in that,” interrupted the
chained outlaw.
“No? Well, I'm not so sure of that,”
grunted Jerry, with a queer expression of
the eyes. “It lays betwixt you’n another
fel’er that I would like to see dance on
nothin', but let that drop. ’Twouldn’t take
much to make the crowd think you did
that murder, and ”
“And, so you would willingly lead them to
murder me when I am innocent? I must
say you are the lowest, most heartless
scoundrel I ever set eyes on,” uttered Bur
den Brono, in a voice evincing just a little
of the concentrated wrath that was boiling
within. ”
“Well, you didn’t hesitate to shoot me
like a dog when you imagined I stood in
your path, Burden Brono. It’s dog eat
dog, and this dog’s on top just at the pres
ent time,” sneered the innkeeper's son
surlily. “I’m perfectly willing to see you
hung to a lamp-post, or to the limb of a
tree; but if you serve me, as you easily can,
I will see that you are free before the dawn
of another day.”
“Big words from a weak stomach,” sneer
ed Burden Brono.
“As you please.”
There was an angry flame in the young
fellow’s eye when he turned to go out.
The outlaw refused to call him back, forks
held no love for the sou of Lucius Swayne,
and he did not credit him with the power
he professed to have.
“I wouldn’t give information free for auy
man’s benefit, ” muttered Burden Brono, as
the door clanged to after his visitor.
Some time later, the captive outlaw had
two other visitors, Eagle Gray and Wallace
Wager.
“Confound you,” ejaculated Burden
Brono, the moment his eyes rested on the
detective. “It seems my elegant trap did
not work after all. How in the name of
goodness did you escape, Eagle Gray?”
“Easy enough. I will explain ic to you
at another time.” returned the detective,
with a smile. “We’re here seeking infor
mation that you can give if you choose. ”
“Undoubtedly. When a man’s down,
the whole neighborhood is ready to give
him a kick. I suppose you want me to
confess that I am guilty of all the evil that
has been committed from New York to the
Rockies, since I was old enough to lift a
revolver or wield a knife. Heave ahead,
gentlemen; I will try and withstand the
tire. ”
“Your sarcasm is lost on me,” said Wal
lis Wager at this moment. “I have some
thing here and am exceedingly anxious to
find the mate. ”
The young man suddenly held a single
cuff-button before the eyes of the prisoner,
whose hands had been set free since we
saw him before, but who was chained to
the wall by one ankle.
“Let me look at it?”
Burden Brono held out his hand.
“It doesn’t matter,” and Wager drew it
away. “Toucan tell ms if you have the
mate to it?”
“Y’ou are afraid to trust me with a bit of
brass jewelry. I mistrust that you have
the stingy traits of your uncle, young man. ”
“Ha! then you ”
“Know you, Robert Ranger. Your face
would give you away, I reckon, anywhere.
You’ve got your uncle’s eyes and hair to
perfection. I’m not blind if I be a fool,”
retorted Burden Brono, grimly.
“I will not admit that you have guessed
the truth. But here, tike the button and
tell me where you lost it,” said the young
man.
Brono took the jewel and turned it over
carefully in his hand.
“I never did lose it.”
“Isn’t it yours?”
“No. I never saw it before to-day. ”
Instantly Eagle Gray stepped to the
front and said, in a stem vo ce;
“Y’ou utter a falsehood. Burden Brono.
Y'ou stole that cuff-button and its mate
from me in Y'onkers a year ago. "
The keen eyes of the detective pene
trated like steel darts. Burden Brono failed
to flinch, however.
“Go West, young man!” sneered the out-
JaV. “Now that lam safely chained you
can come here and insult me. As if I
would steal such a paltry gem as that. Bah!”
Then the prisoner flung the cuff-button
to the floor and ground it beneath his heel
before Wallis Wager could prevent the fell
work.
“Y’ou scoundrel!” ejaculated Wager, as
he bent and gathered the crushed object
from the floor. “You have ruined this,
jut it will stand as a witness against you
;(hen you least expect it. There will be no
reed to take him to New Y'ork, Eagle; we
will hing him here for the cruel murder of
Samuel Fredon. ”
The young man spoke with considerable
feeling
The cool demeanor of Barden Brono did
aot change.
“You will hang an innocent man if you
do that," he said, quickly.
“Dare you deny that you were at Bog
Tavern on the night of August 29th, and
there plunged a knife into the heart of my
old friend Fredon?” cried Wallis Wager,
regarding the prisoner menacingly.
“Don’t scowl at me, young man. I was
not wi.Lin a score of miles of Bog Tavern
cn the night in question. I shall be able
to prove that easily enough. I don't think,
however, that yon fellows will ever be
foo’ish enough to bring me to trial.”
“What do you mean by that?” demanded
Eagle Gray.
“I mean that I was not fool enough to
run my head into a trap when I came to
Silversand. You dare not bring me to
trial," asserted Burden Brono, with a cool
jonfidence that was surprising.
We will show you. ”
“If we cannot eonviot you of the crime
tt Bog Tavern, then I shall obtain a requi
sition on the Governor and take yon to New
York said the detective.
“Better go slow."
“Threats are idle at this time,” said Wal
lls Wager. “We understand our duty, and
mean to perform it."
“I am glad that you are so virtuous,”
sneered the outlaw. “I believe, however,
that yon will not endanger the success of
the mission that brings you to the silver
counirv-. even to punish me. ”
“What do yon mean?”
“I mean that you will not blast all hope
of finding the heiress to Grant Thornrift’s
millions simply to punish a good-looking
fellow like me,” said Brono, with a low,
meaning laugh.
Atallis Wager caught at the man’s words
wtn avidity.
“Do you know where she is, Brono? The
tavern girl and Thornrift’s lost heiress are
identical, but ”
‘ How do you know so much?” interjected
the outlaw, sharply.
“From Foster Wondel, who made the dis
covery on that fatal night, the 29th of
August, ar.d communicated hi 9 discovery
to me. He recognized Swayne and his
guilty wife, and but for the assassin's knife
the guilty twain would now be behind
prison bats.”
“Foster Wondel? Then the name of
Fredon was assumed for the occasion?”
“It was. ”
“Egad! I thought so.”
“But of this girl. Iva, or Edna, what do
you know of her?” questioned the eager
young man.
“I know where she is at the present mo
ment. ”
“Y’ou do?”
“I have said it.”
“At Bog Tavern, perhaps?”
“Not much. I ran across the girl in the
hills and made sure of her. YVith me it is
entirely a matter of money. I recognized
the girl- she is a perfect picture of her
mother—and so made sure of her by seizing
and taking her to a secret spot in the
mountains, where she is well guarded and
cannot escape.”
(to be continued. )
the family album.
A Little Ileal Life Picture Well Drawn
[From the San Francisco Chronicle.]
Do you ever open the old album and
look over the pictures ? YVell, the old
folks—your father and mother—always
look well, for, don t you know, parents
are always old-fashioned. But there’s
your aunt, with a coal scuttle bonnet
and hoops, and her hair pasted down
over her forehead and parted in the
middle; with a kind of jaundice com
plexion and bright eyes that show in
their pupils nothing but the excited,
intense interest of trying to look into
the camera for 50 seconds without wink
ing. And you thought she was so pretty
then, and you remember as a child when
you went and told your mother you saw
her being kissed by her beau at the gar
den gate Then there’s her beau, who
afterward married her. He was so
handsome, don’t you know. Look at
him He wears a long frock coat with
lapels that curl up under his arms; he
has a flaming necktie and a shirt front
showing down to where the coat looks
as if it was tied by a string tight around
his waist. His trousers don’t fit, and
his face is all covered with yellow
specks, and he looks as if he had swal
lowed a fly and he daren't cough for
fear of spoiling the picture. Then
there’s yourself. YVell that’s not so
bad. Y’ou know you were very pretty
as a child, and you remember the dress,
*,nd —well—you’re not quite so old-fash
ioned—to yourself -as the others. And
you turn the page. There's Fred, whom
you jilted. Y’ou look at him and your’e
glad you jilted him. He used to be so
beautifully pensive. Now he looks like
an idiot, and—well—you doubt if he
ever could have been so horrid, anyway.
Then your husband comes along and
turns the book over and says: “Do you re
member that?” Y’ou close it on his fin
gers; it’s fearful. Y’ou have an old
fashioned, shapeless black silk gown
that looks like gingham, or something
with wide sleeves and big rutiles, and
the skirt is gracefully bunched out like
a half-exhausted balloon. And you’ve
had the picture painted, and the beauti
ful red of your cheeks has become mot
lied, ad the neck is yellow, and the
hair is a dirty brown color, and you’ve
got hold most awkwardly of a green
chair. And your husband wonders
what he ever could see in you, until you
show him his own picture. Then he
shuts up suddenly, like a knife don’t you
know. Aud the old gray-headed man
comes and takes up the book. He has
lost the taste for fashions and styles, and
only the faces speak to him. He thinks,
as he looks at this faded and yellow por
trait—it is his wife when they were
both 30 years younger and photographs
were not so common—she is for a mo
ment young again, and he remembers
how he stood in the corner afraid to
breathe until the cap was put on, in
case some movement of his lips might
break the spell and fri hten away the
sunlight. But he has another picture,
older than the paper photograph. It is
a daguerreotype. He keeps it to him
self. It cost him dear. It is of a voting
girl in the first blush of womanhood,
and all the modern cameras in the world,
with all the most patent impiovements
and all the most embellishing effects,
can never make so beautiful a picture
for him..
How Dow Raisid tin Devi’.
Parson Lorenzo Dow once stopped at
a log cabin near Baltimore. His host
vas a man given to drink, aud all the
efforts of his wife to stop him were of
no avail. She the eccentric par
son if he could, in any way, help her
husband. The parson said he would re
sort to prayer after supper when her hus
band returned home. .Just before sup
per was announced, however, the hus
band came staggering in the cabin door.
He was jolly. He was drunk. The
good wife greets him > ith the informa
tion; ‘‘Parson Dow i upstairs in the
loft,’ which was the best accommoda
tion that could be given him.
“ Is-s-s he,” drawled the tipsy hus
band. “YVe-1-1-1, br-br-bring him
' d-d-down.
This order was obeyed, and presently
the parson came down.
0 can you r raise th th the d-devil,
Pr-pr-parson Dow? If y y-you can I’ll
b b-believe in you.
The parson had seen a barrel of cotton
is the loft. An idea struck him. He
steps outside, gets a little negro boy,
and puts him in the barrel of cotton,
'j he barrel and the boy were brought
down from the loft The tipsy landlord
asked:
‘ Pr-pr-parson, c-c can you r-r-raise
th-th -the devil <"
“Y’es. if you give me a light,” came
the answer. A light was brought.
The cotton was set on fire. Presently
out jumped the little black negro, and
the half-dazed husband, frightened, but
yet fully convinced of the parson’s su
pernatural powers, exclaimed amid ex
citement and confusion, in the vernacu
lar of the day;
“Pr-pr-parson, I-I-Itn yore nf-m
--meat: I-I—l’ll quit,” and, sure enough,
he never “smiled ’ again
With one exception, the American
Academy of Arts and Sciences. Boston,
is the oldest scientific society in America.
INDIAN WHEAT.
ITS COST TO RAISE AND TR ANS
PORT TO MARKET.
1 rimitive Methods of Planting and
Harvesting in the Punjab—
How Crops Are Moved
to the Seaboard.
British India or Hindustan i* one of the
most fertile and populous countries on the
face of the globe, being for thousands of
miles as level as any part of San Joaquin
> alley, having large cities like our own,
and interspersed through it -- area at dis
tances of fifty or eighty miles apart, while
its rural population is clustered in com
pact villages which stud the intervening
country at a general distance of from two
to four miles from each other. There are
no isolated farms uor farmhouses as with
us, neither stone wall nor fence to ob
struct the view or impede the horseman,
from Calcutta to Peshawuror from Luck
now to Madras, except the railway cattle
fences. Still each village has its boun
daries, which are marked by four or more
masonry bench marks, solidly embedded
in the ground at the angles and rising
some four feet above it.
In each village there are a few Zumeen
dars, or landholders—not landowners—
who either cultivate the land on their
own account or on shares, and are re
sponsible to the government for all reve
nue taxes and the general peace and good
order of their village. It will be well
to remark, also, that along the seacoast
and for a few hundred miles inland there
is little or no wheat grown, the soil, cli
mate and other circumstances being un
favorable; so it is principally from the
interior provinces that wheat is exported.
India is fertile—so much so that all
over the country there are two, and fre
quently three, crops a year produced on
the same land. During the “bursat,” or
rainy season, which occurs in June and
lasts to and through September, there are
grown rice, Indian corn, sago and other
pulses, after harvesting which the land is
again prepared for the irrigated crop,
consisting, in the upper country especially,
of wheat, cotton, sugarcane, peas, etc.,
for which in Lower Bengal is substituted
the poppyhead (opium), indigo and the
like.
First to be considered is the planting.
For this we will allow as follows:
c, , , Per acre.
oeed wheat, say 1 rupee or 16 an
nas, equals. 48 cents
Flowing, sowing and harrowing—
o yokes of oxen at 5 annas, 15 an
nas, equals ; 45 cents
4 coolies at 2 annas, 8 annas,equals 24 cents
Hoing into beds—
-2 coolies at 2 annas, 4 annas,equals 12 cents
Total cost i>er acre j;l 29
It may not be amiss to explain that the
seed is sown broadcast, the ground
ploughed with a wooden plow or crooked
piece ol acacia trunk, and is harrowed as
often by a thornbush as by anything else,
drawn by a pair of not over-fed bullocks
and guided by an almost naked coolie,
who iollows behind, defiantly crushing
the knobs with his bare feet, while his
clean-shaven cranium, turban less, is proof
against the scorching ravs of an Indian
sun.
For the purpose of irrigation, the land
is subdivided into patches of about forty
bhigahs or twenty-five acres, in the
midst ol which stands a well ten or
twelve feet in diameter, the water being
from forty to sixty feet below the surface.
Around this fnfore'fl spot are reared a few
huge banyans ai\d -other useful trees to
shelter the w orkmen from the heat of the
sun, lor this spot is their barnyard and
laboratory, where pumping, finishing and
all kinds of farm jobs are done. The
water is raised by a pair of bullocks
hitched to a beam working a horizontal
wheel of about ten feet in diameter, with
wooden cogs on its upper outer edge,
which are geared into similar cogs or
pegs on a vertical wheel on the outer
edge. On this vertical wheel swinging
loosely from the top and leading down to
a lew' leet under the water—the wheel
being directly over the well—is an end
less rope, or rather a rope ladder with
wooden rounds about fifteen inches apart.
Each round or rung carries an earthen
ware vessel holding about half a gallon
of water, which it tilts over into a trough
on top as each vessel is in turn raised to
the surface by the rotation of the wheel.
This, the “Persian wheel,” as it is called,
is the general and the only mode of irri
gation throughout the country, except
the canals constructed by the honorable
East India company, who conquered and
held India previous to 1859.
From all I could learn, the Zumeendars
in the Pun jab pay about one dollar per
acre for the use of water from the Gov
ernment canals—they having to contract
their own sub ditches from the distribu
ting canals.
To irrigate, then, twenty-rive acres by
the Persian wheel system, three yokes of
oxen and three coolies are employed with
out intermission for four months, day and
night.
3 yokes of oxen, working 8 hours
each, at 5 annas/15 annas, equals 45 cents
3 coolies at 2 annals each, 5 annas,
equals., 18 cents
Total 63 cents
There is 63 cents per day for 120 days
—s7s 60 for twenty-five acres: and divid
ing this sum by twenty-five we get $3 02
per acre.
Now, we come to harvesting. All
hands, both male and female, of ages
from nine to ninety, turn out to harvest,
and are to be seen with their curved reap
ing hooks of a very primitive style, half
squatting on their hunkers, in long lines
curling away at an apparently intermina
ble stretch of wheatticld, and frequently
the quantity cut during (he day is carted
to the well or farm-yard the next. Also
by an ol<l Sikh law—not an English one
—each hired coolie is entitled to all he
can pack tin his back of wheat sheaves as
his portion of a share in the spoil—no
matter who ow ns the crop, and avails
himself of the privilege at the end of
each day’s work. The w innow ing is done
in the open air by a sieve in the old style,
so we can get the approximate cost per
acre, as follow-;
2 hired coolies will cut 1 acre at 2
annas a day. 4 anna-, equals.... 12 cents
Carting to well. 3 annas. equals.. 9 cents
Thrashing. 12 bu; locks treading our
the grain, biblical style, round
a ring, at 1 1-2 annas, 1-s annas.
equals 54 cents
1 cooly to drive at 2 anna-;, equals 6 cents
Y\ innowing, ] man and 1 woman
at 2 annas. 4 mnns. equals 12 cents
15 wheat sacks at 1 anna. loannas,
equals 45 cents
Total per acre $1 38
Lastly, let transportation 1 e!considered.
For the purpose 1 v. ill take wheat from
the country la-tween Allahabad on the
Ganges, aud Loodiana on the Sutlej, 700
to 1,000 miles. The chief ports of ex
port are Calcutta. Bombay?- Madras and
Kumichee. all of which are termini of
great trunk lines of railroad, while to the
first. Calcutta, flout on the bosom of the
mighty Ganges immense piles of freight;
to the latter. Kurrachee, the river Indus,
flowing through an unsurpassed wheat
belt, conveys a fair proportion of the ex-
port wheat of India. But in competition
with this cheap and excellent means of
water transportation is the vast and effi
cient system of East India railways,
which. like the Canadian Pacific, being
built from the revenues of the State, be
longs to the people themselves, and is
operated under a schedule of fares and
freights just sufficient to keep the per
manent way in order, rolling stock in
trim, and defray the current working ex
penses. Thus the grain dealers of each
local market in the interior are enabled
to transmit to the seaboard their produce
far cheaper than could be expected in
countries where labor i* higher and where
the above-mentioned advantageous condi
tions do not exist. The classification of
freight is much the same as with us. but
the scale for distances, as for instance:
YY’hen wheat is carried a distance of 500
miles for one-ninth of a pie per mile per
maund, it would be carried a distance of
900 miles at one-twelfth of a pie per maund
per mile, and so on—i. e., for one pie,
one maund (eighty pounds) is carried
12 miles, or for one pie, 100 pounds, is
carried nine and three-fifth miles; and
for 100 pies, 100 pounds is carried 960
miles; that is, for 25 cents we get 100
pounds carried 960 miles, or $5 carries
one ton over 960 miles. But as our ob
ject is to find out the cost of one cental
laid down at port, we will have to take
this 960 miles as the average distance,
and also allow twenty-two bushels of
sixty pounds each to be an average yield
per acre—this being about the mark, as
far as my observation has enabled me tc
judge; then by adding these three fore
going items together, we have:
Planting (per acre) $1 29
Irrigating (per acre) 3 02
Harvesting (per acre) 1 3S
Total (per acre of 22 bush., or 1,3201b5.). $5.6S
And $5.69, multiplied by 100 and di
vided by 1,320, gives for planting, irri
gating and harvesting a cost of 43 cents
per 100 pounds; for transportation 980
miles, 25 cents per 100 pounds. Total
cost laid down at port. 68 cents per 100
pounds.
Again it may be urged that 960 miles
is too great an average distance; to this
I reply that wheat can be raised cheaper
in the Punjab than near the coast, and of
a far better quality. The ratio given and
wages quoted arc those in existence in
1860, and I have known the best of farm
hands employed'by the month for $1 and
board. But the general tendency of la
borers’ wages in that country is to rise,
so wheat can never be produced in British
India at a less figure than that above ar
rived at, namely 68 cents per cental. —
San Francisco Call.
FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS.
Japanese judges wear a black gowr
when proceeding in civil cases and a red
one in criminal cases.
In New Y'ork city there is an establish
ment which does u lively business in
selling and hiring ferrets for the destruc
tion of rats and mice.
The earliest bank established was that
established in Barcelona, which was
founded in 1401. The bank of Genoa
had its origin in 1407.
The word pamphlet is derived from
name of a Greek authoress, Ptmiphvlia,
who compiled a history of the world into
thirty-five little books.
The Chinese manufacture an anaesthetic
not unlike cocaine in its action. They
claim that the anaesthetic property is the
juice of the eye of the frog.
That gout may be produced by starva
tion has beeu proved by the case of Air.
Jacques, the English faster, who de
veloped gout 011 the eighteenth day of his
fast. •
A Glasgow yacht, destined for pearl
fishing in South Australian waters, lias
been fitted with electrical apparatus ex
pected to light up the water to the great
depth of seventeen fathoms.
“Risk” in the sense of chance, is rie
rived from the Arabic ri/.q, which means
“a portion,” also the soldier’s ration, and
finally the unearned increment or happy
chance. Valise is also of Oriental origin.
The addition of sugar to mortar greatly
increases its strength. It is supposed
that the wonderful Roman mortar, hard
after 2,000 years had passed, owed its
excellence to the addition of saccharine
matter.
Boston people will find it difficult to
believe that the following advertisement
appeared in the Evening Pont of Boston
in 1742: “To be sold by the Printer of
this Paper, the very best Negro Woman
in this Town, who had the Small-Pox
and the Measles; is as hearty as a Horse,
as brisk as a bird and will work like a
Beaver. August 23, 1742.”
A novel advertising scheme was recent
ly introduced by a merchant in Carthage,
111. A serious of prodigious boot tracks
were painted leading from each side of the
public square to Iris establishment. The
scheme, it is said, worked to perfection,
for everybody seemed curious enough to
follow the tracks to their destination.
Southern Food Crops.
The Department of Agriculture in a
recent report points out the extension in
the raising of food crops during late
years. The most prominent instance is
Indian corn, The following table of
yield shows the crop gathered in the
South in 1870, 1880 and 1886. with the
relative proportion the South produced of
the entire crop of the United States.
SOUTHERN CORN CROP.
Bv shell.
1870 237.295,000
1880 354,886.000
1886 466,871,(XX)
CORN CROP OF 1886.
Production , Per cent,
bushels, total crop.
South 466,871,000 28.3
North and West 1,198,570,000 71.7
Total 1,665,441,000 100.0
CROP of 1880.
South a54,886,000 20.2
North and West 1,399,705,000 70.8
Total 1,754.591,000 100.0
The rapid increase since 1880 shows
that the advice to plant more corn and
less cotton has had some effect, although
probably not as much as it would if the
great staple cotton were less of a money
crop than it always has been. The oat
crop of 1886 in the South was 69,550,000
bushels, against 40,573,000 bushels in
1880. and jb nly 28.685,000 bushels in
1870. The South in 1886 produced
eleven per cent, of the total oat crop of
the country, against nine per cent, in
1880. The increase in cotton culture in
the South in the period mentioned has
been great, but the increase in food crops
w ill compare very favorably with it. The
variable nature of the cotton plant is such
as to render food crop cultivation prefer
able if all other circumstances were equal.
—Bradst reels.
The Elko (Ne-v.) Independent facetious
ly remarks that any resident of Nevada
who is fortunate enough to be the owner
of three cows, two calves and a bob-tailed
bull is set down in the newspapers as a
“cattle king. ”
BUDGET OF FUN.
HUMOROUS SKETCHES FROM
VARIOUS SOURCES.
He is Loaded—Mistook the Town-
On Time—Rare Old Cheese
Story—The Haunted
Room.
husband is in the Legislature,
.su't he?” was asked of a Cleveland
plumber's wife.
‘‘Yes. sir.”
“He will probably introduce a bill or
two ?’’
“He probably will—that is. if any of
the water-pipes burst—and give him a
chance to make one.”— Walt Street Xe'trt*.
Mistook the Town.
A distinguished member of the profcs
iion tells the following story of a brother
tomedian, William J. Florence: Florence
,n his younger days, was a great speech
maker. On the least provocation he
would rush before the curtain and hurl
5.\ press ions of gratitude and promises of
i speedy return at the backs of the re
treating audience. One evening, when
he was doing one-night stands on the
New England circuit, a few injudicious
auditors were bold enough to applaud at
the fall of the curtain on the last act.
Florence darted from behind and bowed
to the audience.
‘‘Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “or
fellow r townsmen, as I may call you, I
thank you. Though you may not be ac
quainted with the fact, it was in this old
town of New Haven that I lived as a boy.
Under the shade of the college elms and
by the side of the old court house I spent
the happiest days of my life. 1 see many
familiar faces before me to-night who
were boys with ine then. 1 have met
with some approbation in my life, but
nowhere is it more sweet and more dear
than in this my native town. To-day as
I walked the streets ”
At this point a gentlemen in front
whispered in a very loud voice: Mr.
Florence, this isn’t New " it's
Hartford.”
On Time.
A clerk in an Austin store infomnM ms
employer that his sister was going to get
married, and he wanted a furlough of
forty-eight hours to attend the wedding,
which was to Pike place out in the coun
try somewdiere. The merchant could not
well spare the services of the young man
for that length of time, but he finally con
sented to let him go on condition that he
w’ould return promptly at the expiration
of the two days.
“As soon as my forty-eight hours are
up I’ll be back,” said the young man,
hurrying off to catch the train, and that
was the last his employer saw of him for
six solid days. Then he walked in, grip
sack in hand, and a beaming smile on his
face, remarking:
“Back on time.”
“Back on time!” roared the exasperated
employer. “Do you call six days forty
eight hours?”
“Of course I do. What else do vou
call it?”
“Have you lost the use of your mental
faculties, or are you trying, sir, to take
unwarranted liberties with me?”
“Why, lam surprised. I told you I
wanted forty-eight hours’ recreation,
didn’t I?”
“Certainly. And I gave it to you.”
“.Just so. And I work in the store
eight hours a day, don’t I?”
“Of course.”
“Well eight into forty-eight goes six
times, and I have been gone eight hours
a day for six days, so you see I'm on
time. If there is one thing I know bet
ter than another, it is how to be on hand
at the appointed hour.” —Texan Sifting.
A Rare Old Cheese Story.
Old Phineas Hayseed,we w ill call him,
had sauntered into the village store one
evening when the question was being
discussed as to how long a cheese would
keep and remain tit to eat. Phineas was
called upon for his opinion, when lie said:
“Wal, boys, I hail a cheese once thet
had been kept twelve years, to the best
o’ my reckonin’, and it got so allfire<\
tough that when I finally tried to cut it it
bruk’ the pint o’ the knife all t’ pieces.
Mebby you don’t b’lieve it! Wal, I was
bound to see th’ inside o' thet cheese, so
I took it t the woodshed and give it a
cut with the ax thet'd ’a split a hickory
log. Dura me if the ax didn’t glance,
and went Ilyin’ out o’ my hand thru the
winder, knockin’ out three lights o’
glass, and Sam found it in the hen-house
twenty feet away. I tell ye, boys, I
couldn’t afford to spile a good ax on a
blamed skim-milk cheese, so I hitched
up old Fanny and took the thing down
t’ Jake Snyder's saw-mill t’ other side o’
the village.”
“Did you get it open then?” a by
stander asked.
“Get it open! Jake had a ten-hoss
power ingen. and the saw was sixteen
inches in diameter. We started the
thing, and we hadn’t got into that cheese
more’n an inch when the saw stuck, and
it sot the ingen as dead as a smelt. Then
Jake got mad and begun to cuss about
bustin' his saw.”
The crowd now drew nearer.
“Boys, it's funny,” the old man con
tinued, “but Sam saved the sawdust and
made some glue out’n it that'd resist
water; he did, by George! I druv to
Boston the next day and took that cheese
along, first havin’ Sam fill up the sa’#
mark and butter the outside all over fov
appearances. I took it to one of them
swell restaurants, and sez I to a man
with a big ili'mon' in his shirt, sez I,
‘Mister, if you'll gimme a good substant l
dinner and two see-gars you may hev
that cheese in welcome, and it's twelve
year old.’ ”
“ ‘All light, old man,' sez he, and I
sot down and had the prettiest meal o’
wittles that I ever et.”
The old man discoursed so eloquently
upon the length, breadth, and thickness
of that particular dinner, that one of the
boys finally ventured to stop him:
“Hold on! Uncle Phineas. What
about the cheese?”
“Oh, yes. Wal, there ain't much more
to tell. They jes put it on the free
lnnch table at 11:30 the next day, and
by one o'clock there wasn’t nothin’ left
but hide, and, boys, it was mighty thin.
I tell ye them Bosting fellers ’v got grit.''
—Bouton Record.
The Haunted Room.
Once, in the dead heart of the pitiless
winter, I hail drawn my good two
handed Lecture with the Terrible Name,
and was smiting all the coasts of Penn
sylvania with it, sparing neither (pro
nounced nyther) young or old, and wear
ing at my belt the scalps of many a pale
face audience. One night I reached Erie
the Pleasant just as the clocks in the Lord
Mayor’s castle struck twenty-one. It was
bitter, biting, stinging cold, and there
was no ambulance at the station, while
there was a good hotel there. I went in
and registered, and a man of command
ing presence, tailor-built clothes and a
beard of most refined culture, fol-
lowed me, and under my plebeian scrawl,
made the register luminous w ith his pa
trician cognomen. I stood a little iuawe
of this majestic lnung. alftiut as little as l
usually stand in the presence of any ma
jestic creature, and w hen in a deep bass,
commanding voice he ordered a room 1
had a great mind—something that I al
ways carry with me when I travel —to g>
out and get him one. The gentlemanly
and urbane night clerk, w ho also seemed
to be deeply impressed—as is the habit of
the night cierk—with the gentleman'sre
sponsible-to-any amount toot on sawtn-
Ih 11, said he was sorry but he had but om
vacant room, and if contained but one
bed. “Still,” he said, as became a man
who was bound to stand for his house if
it hadn't a bed in it. “it was a very wide
bed, very wide and quite long. Two gen
tlemen could sleep in it very comfortably,
and if —" But the Commanding Being
at my side said that was quite altogethei
out of the question entirely, ijuitc. He
was sorry for the—here he looked at me,
hesitated, but finally said—gentleman,
but lie couldn’t share His room with him.
He was sorry for the—gentleman and
hoped he might find comfortable lodgings,
but He couldn't permit him to occupy
even a portion of His bed. Then the
clerk begged pardon, and was sorry, and
all that, but this other gentleman ha<
registered first, and it was for him to say
what disposition should be made of thi
lonely room ami solitary bed. 1 hastened
to assure the majestic being- that
it was all right: he was welcome
to two-thirds of the room, all the
looking-glass and one-half of the bed.
“No,” he said very abruptly, “1 will
sit here by the stove and sleep in a chair.
1 thank you sir. but 1 would not sleep
with my own brother. I prefer a room
to myself.” 1 meekly told him that 1
didn't know what kind of a man his
brother was, but no doubt he did, and
therefore 1 must conclude that he wasn't
a fit man to sleep with. But his brother
I was out if the question, and if he wanted
1 part of my coueli. he might have it and
welcome, and I would agree not to think
of his brother. “ No. sir," he said. “ I
will sleep in no man's bed." 1 said I
wouldn't either, if 1 wasn't sleepy, but
when I was sleepy. I didn't care; I'd
sleep with the King of England or the
; President, and wouldn't care a cent who
! knew it.
Well, I went to bed. I curled up un
der the warm, soft blankets, and heard
the wind shriek and w ail and w histle and
yell—how like all creation the wind can
blow in Erie—and as the night grew
colder and colder every minute. 1 fell
asleep and dreamed that heaven was just
forty-eight miles west of Dunkirk. About,
2:30 or 3 o'clock there came a thundering
rap at the door, and with a vague, half
waking impression in my dream that
somebody from the other place was try
ing to get in. I said:
“What is it?”
“It is I,” answered a splendid voice,
which I recognized at once. “I am tin
gentleman who came on the train with
you.”
“Yes,” 1 said, “and what is the mat
ter?”
The splendid voice was a trifle humble
as it replied:
“ I have changed my mind about sleep
ing with another man.”
“So have I!” I howled,so joyously that
the very winds laughed in merry echo;
“So have I! I wouldn't get out of this
warm bed to open that door for my own
brother! ”
I will close this story here. If I should
write the language that went down that
dim. cold hall outside mv door you
wouldn’t print it. And when next morn
ing 1 went skipping downstairs as fresh
as a rose, and saw that majestic being
knotted up in a hard arm chair, looking
a hundred years old. I said:
“ Better is a poor and wise child than
an old and foolish king, who knoweth
not how to be admonished. For out of
prison he cometh to reign: whereas, also
he that is born in his kingdom becometh
poor.” This also is vanity.
Kohkrt J. Bckijkttk.
Making Wooden Shoes.
In the town of Clymer, Chautauqua
County. N. Y., there is a large settlement
of Hollanders, the older members of
which brought from their fatherland the
simple manners and industrious habit
which have always been characteristic of
that race. Nearly without exception
they are engaged in general farming and
dairying and to supplement their farming
they have introduced an industry which
is carried on in no other place in the
Union. This is the making of wooden
shoes, or clogs, which are so common in
Holland and some other foreign countries.
During the coldest days and long winter
evenings these Hollanders ply their knivc
anil “shaves” almost without cessation.
The business is really a monopoly, and of
late it has proved very profitable, the de
mand for the clumsy shoes for decorative
purposes not only largely enhancing their
value, which the shrewd Dutchmen were
quick to see, but increasing the number
called for very materially. The wood
used are basswood and cucumber. Each
shoe is bored and cut from a single block.
They become so well seasoned that a pair
made in the best manner is almost in
destructible. The bulk of these shoes i
handled by a dealer in Corry, Penn., and
a large number are sent direct to the Phil
adelphia market. It also requires a great
many to supply the wants of the colonv
itself, as the shoes are generally worn by
both sexes. Oil City Blizzard.
Obtaining Mrs. Cleveland's Picture.
Dr. de Boutelliere, an artist connect ell
with a Cincinnati newspaper, is in the
city this week with an instantaneous pho
tographic camera, collecting material for
a series of illustrated articles for his
paper. He tried for several days, but
without success, to get a photograph of
Mrs. Cleveland on the street, and finally
he took up his station ,with his box-like
camera under his arm, just outside Dr.
Sunderland's church before morning ser
vice Sunday and waited for Mrs. Cleve
land to arrive. Her carriage finally drove
up and the doctor got his machine ready.
Just as she stepped to the ground he
touched a spring and the picture was
taken. It was a complete success and
shows Lieutenant Kelly holding open tin
carriage door. Albert Hawkins .sits on
the box like an ebony statue. Mrs. Cleve
land has just stepped to the ground, and
Mrs. Folsom is seen still in the carriage,
but leaning forward and just about V.
step out, while around the carriage stand 4 -
the usual crowd of sightseers. Mis.
Cleveland saw the doctor just as he
sprung his machine. took in the
situation at a glance, and an amused
smile passed over her face, giving it a
very pleasant expression in the picture. —
Washington Post.
The Battle-Scarred Hero.
He's fought in full many a battle.
Been covered with glory and gore;
He loved the artillery s rattle,
Won medals of gold by the score.
He’s been sung as a. battle scarred hero
Who rejoiced in the camion’s sound;
But his martial soul sinks to zero
When ever his wife's around.
—Pack