Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

BLOOD POISON ! 100 Bottlas of Another Blood Medi cine Used—No Relief Until B. B. B Was Used Hampton, Ga.. June 12th, 1888. Blow Balm Qq \. mr &/> i> has work* <1 on mo like a charm. Tlir<* bottle* have lone me wore rikm! than all doctor* and ItW ottlosof the nioMt tinted remedy. I am fsei iuk well rapidly. AH ulcer* limit'd, no aching f nurboncH, no pain* lu my hack, and my kin in Incoming clear. The effect of ft ft. it* mmy kidney* i* something wonderful. My friends are iMrtoniNlied. My family physician \vh it is the only medicine I ever used suited ° nty case. 1 would take pleasure In colfcH *>onaing with any one interested, ns 1 can’t nelp praising It. Ji. Ji. Indeed it is a great )ih>od l’nrifier. Give uuyoiie my addrea* who may eali for it. A. V. W. Address, lILOOD ILYLM CO.. Atlanta, Ga.. or Summerville, Ga. IS THAT SO? Yes, it’s a fact, that ono large bottle of It. B. ft. costing only $1 i* warranted to produce a? much remedial effect in the cure of all Blood i*owon us three bottle* of the most famous blood medicines of tlie day. Yea, three tc one ; that’s the way we put it, and we are able to back our word with strong evidence, ft. ft. B. is the quick blood remedy, and there is in: mistake al*out it. The proof is printed -the flat has gone forth—the toosin has been sound ed, and‘lie that hath ears to hear, let him hear.” Srorfulu Cured After Several Plusieian FAII.KI. On the 28th day of April, 18811. William Hea lock, 12 years of age. presented himself to Dr, GiUam, di siring to knowif /l, It. ft. would cure him. He lives on Hr. t.. A. Guild’* place, near the cemetery, aud the case is well known by Dr, Guild, who lias particularly noticed it. The boy had a foul scrofulous ulcer involv ing the entire elbow joint, with which be had been afflicted over twelve months. It had de stroys! the superficial structure, and was fust approaching the deeper tissues. He could not bend the arm, and had strong indications of the same nlceroua condition of the shoulder. Two other physicians of the city bad treated the case, hut without any perceptible change in his condition. He was placed upon the treatment of It. It. Ji , and one single I ottle cured the foul ulcer and restored the fast de generating condition of the child, and lie is now enjoying the finest of health. This is a plain and unmistakable case of we\l defined scrofula, aud recognised as such, • ured with one single I ottle of It. It. ft., and Ve take**, asun- in asking airy interested party to address Dr. 1,. A. Guild, Atlanta, (la., on the subject relative 'uhle of the medicine in this case. If one well df fined cane of scrofula can be cured, others can be cured also. BLOOD BALM CO., Atlanta, Georgia. Boldin Summerville, by I- ( LK IK>KV & 00. newHome n-^ingV]^, (*%EVEtf/LT £ L\„. NO EQtJAk NEWHOHE^niKfto f 30 UNION SQUARE NEWYORK. CAe O oY-ANff- kO-AiV* ill. v MASS. GA. FOR SALE BY PH A I M ! CA I X, Nerve-Life and Vigor - RESTORED.- fc— This cut Bhow< * the Howard Electric t wjlHajPj Magnetic Shield A- I h h applied over the KI.I , i I VWV neysand Nervo-vital Jf centers. Tne only aj> pllaoce made that fits every part of m the body, end the t a ■ only one needed t. | W w . 1 lx i positively criti ff 1 I KldneyDlseaiir B __ - U p J It he lima Hr* m, 1 OF In* 1 Hyhpe ps Ia Ti^ w _ the worst cases o! fiU Hf’ 1 WHI Seminal Weith JrIH WL#llJ* nen, Kihaim Moil, lllllKltl’ll If(l O. *o WAe D „ ;/3? I f )i and all ll " e*%*syt t;iri f ease* and Weak nenaof the I’rino V I \ <; el| || H | Or^UH* [Patented Feb. 25, 187W.] ——■ —n^ YOUNG MEN, from early indiscretion, lock nerve force and fall to attain strength. MIDDLE-AGED MEN often lack vigor, attribut ing It to the progress of years. The MOTHER, WIFE and MAID, suffering from Female Weakness, Nervous Debility and other ail merits, will find it the only cure. To one and all we say that the Shield gives a nat nral aid in a natural wav WITHOUT DRUGGING THE STOMACH. Warranhd One Year, ami the ber appliance made. Illustrated Pamphlet. THREE TYPES OF MEN, also Pamphlet for Ladle* only, sent on receipt oi 6c, sealed; unsealed, FREE. American Galvanic Cos., nrnnrc, 134 nadiwn St., Chicago, Ur rluto! 1103 < hestmit St., FliUu. The only occasion upon which rait- Afiy trams in the United States are f known to attain a speed of eighty-five miles an hour is when yon sweep in sight of a station with your overcoat only half on, and see the train you want just start ing out. Before you can reach the plat form, a shot from a Parrot gnu couldn't catch that train. She may jolt along at twelve miles all the rest of the day, bnt for about one minute, as yon go charging down the platform, she makes an easy hundred, Bciu/Elie. £l)c snininmullc (Drycttc. VOL XL CHRISTMAS EVE. God bless the little stockings All over the land to night. Hung in the choicest corners, Iti a glow of crimson light* The tiny scarlet stocking, With a hole in the heel and toe, Worn by wonderful journeys The darlings have had to gO\ And benVeh pity the children, Wherever their home may be, Who w ake at the first gray dawning, An empty sto king to see ! Left in the faith of childhood Hanging against the W all. Just where the dazzling glory Of Santa’s light will fail! Alas, for the lonely mother Whose bomb i* empty ami still, Who hub no scarlet stockings VN ith childish toys to fill! Who sits in the swarthy twilight, With her face against the pane, Ami grieves for the little baby Whoee grave is out in the rain l Oh, the empty shoes aud stockings, Forever laid aside, Oil, the tangled, broken shoe-string That will nevermore be tied ! Oh, the little graves at the mercy Of the cold December rain * Oh, the feet in their snow-white saudili That can never trip again ! But happier they who alumbei, With marble at foot and head, Than the child who has no shelter, No raiment, nor food, nor lied. Yes l heaven help the living 1 Children of Waht and pain, Knowing no fold nor pasture— Out to-night in the rain ! A CENTURY AGO. An old brown leather-covered booh, the leaves yellow, the writing scarcely legible, from time and decay—evidently an old, neglected MS. To the fire or to my private shelf ? Which ? These were my reflections as I looked over the papers of my late uncle, the rector of a Somersetshire village. I liked the look of tho book and do cided for the shelf; and 1 had my re ward, for I found in the crabbed char acters a simple story, evidently written toward the close of the writer's life. This story I now transcribe into a muro modern style. "He’ll be fit for nothing,” said my father; “an awkward booby who holds his awl and cuts his food with his left hand. ” So said my father, and so, alas! I felt. I was awkward. I Was fifteen; thick-set, strong, but terribly clumsy. I could not make a collar, nor bow a pair of blinkers, nor stuff - a saddle, nor do anything that I ought to bo able to do. My fingers seemed to have no me chanical feeling hi them. I was awk ward, and I knew it, and all knew it. “I don't know what he’s fit for,” said my father to the rector of the parish. "I've Bet him to carpentering, and lie's cut his finger nearly off with an ax; then he went to the smith, and burnt his hands till be was laid up for a month. It's all of no use; he spoils me more good leather in a week than his earnings pay for in a month. Why cannot he, like other Christians, use his hands ns the good God meant him to ? There, look at him now, cutting that back strap for tbe squire with his left hand.” I heard him; the knife slipped, and the long strip of leather was divided in a moment and utterly spoiled. "There now! look at that! A piece ( lit of the very middle of the skin and his finger gashed into the bargain.” The rector endeavored to soothe mj father’s anger, while I bandaged my j linger. “You’d better let him come up for that vase, Mr. Walters; I should like a | ease to fit it, for it is very fragile, as all [ tlint old Italian glass is; and line it with | the softest lcafher, please.” Arid so I went with the rector to bring | back the vase, taking two chamois leathers to bring it in. We reached the house, and I waited in the passage while he went to fetch it. ' lie came hack with a large vase, tenderly wrapped in the leathers. Alas ! At that ! moment there came from the room, j against the door of which I was stand i ing, the sound of a voice singing. A I voice that thrilled me through—a voice j I hear now as I write these lines—so ! clear, so sweet, so pure, as if an angel | had revealed itself to mo. I trembled, and forgot the precious | burden in my hands; it dropped to the ground and was shattered to pieces, j How shall I describe tho rector’s | rape ? She who had the ai gel-voice—his niece—came out and I saw her. I for got the disaster, and stood speechlessly gazing at her face. "Yon awkward scoundrel ! look at your work. Thirty pounds! Fifty pounds ! An invaluable treasure gone irreparably in n moment. Why don’t you speak ? Why did you drop it ?” "Drop it,” I said, waking up. "Drop what?” And then it flashed upon me again, and I stammered out, “She sang 1” ‘ And if she did sing, was there aDy occasion to drop my beautiful vase, you doubly stupid blockhead? There, go out of the house, do, lefore you do any further mischief, and toll your father to horsewhip you for a stupid dolt.” My father heard of my misfortnne, and laid the strap across my shoulders with out hesitation, for in my young days boys were boys till eighteen or nineteen years old. I bore it patiently, uncom plainingly. "What is he fit for ?” everyone would SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY EVENING, JANUARY 30. 1884, ask, and no one oould answer, not even myself. 1 wandered about the rectory lu tho summer evenings and heard her sing; I tried hard to gel the old gardener to let me help him carry the Watering-pots, and when I succeeded, fell, as 1 entered the hector's garden, that I was entering a paradise. Alas ! alas ! my awkwardness again banished me. She met mo one evening in the garden, os I was coming along the path, with my cans full of water, and spoke to me, and said t "You're the boy that broke the Vitso, aren't you ?’’ I did hot, could not, reply; my strength forsook me. I dropped my cans on the ground, where they upset and flooded away in a moment some seeds on which the rector set most especial store. "How awkward, to he sure 1” she ex claimed. "And how angry Uncle will be." I turned and fled, and from that time the rectory gate Whs closed against me. Ono Sunday she snug as I had never yet heard her, not loudly, but so ten derly, so lovingly; I know the change had come—she loved; it thrilled in her voice; and at the evening service he was there. I saw him. A aoldiet, 1 knew by Ills hearing, with cruel, hard, gray eyes; and she sang, I knew it. I de tected a tremble ami gratitude in tbe notes. I felt she was to sutler, as I bad suffered; uot that I sang. I had no voice. A harsh, guttural sound was all I could give utterance to. I could whistle like a bird, and often and often have 1 lain for honks in the shade of a tree and joined tho concerts in the woods. One day T was whistling, when I was tapped on the shoulder by an old man, the cobbler of the next parish. "Mam, where did you learn that?” "Learn what?” "That tune.” "At church.” "You’ve a good ear, Sim “I’ve nothing elso good, but I can vhistle anything,” "Can you whistle mo the Morning Hymn ?’* I did so •'Good; very good. Know anything of music, Ham ?” “Nothing.'’ "Like to?” "I’d give ali I have in tlia world to able to play anything. M.y soul’s ‘ull of music. I can’t sing a note, lmt I could play anything if I was taught.” "So you shall, Sam, my boy. Come home with me. Carry these skins, and you shall begin at once.” I went home with him, and found that he was one of the players in the choir of his parish, his instrument being tho violoncello. 1 took my first lesson, and from that time commenced anew life. Evening after evening, and some times during the day, I wandered over to his little shop, and while he sat, stitch, stitch at. the boots and shoes, I played over and over again all the music I could get from the church. “You’ve a beautiful fingering, Ham, my boy, beautiful; and though it does look a little awkward to see yon bowing away with your left, it makes no differ ence to you. You ought to he a fine player, Sam.” I was enthusiastic, but I was poor. 1 wanted au instrument of my own, but had no money and I earned none—l could earn none. “Sam, my boy,” said the cobbler, one day, “you shall have an instrument, and your father shall buy it for you, or the whole parish shall cry shame upon him.” “Hut he don’t know a word of this,” I said. “Never mind, Sam, my boy, he shall bo glad to know of it;” aud he told me his plans. On Christmas Day it was customary for the choirs of neighboring churches to help each other, and it was arranged that the choir of onr parish should play and sing on the next Christmas morn ing at his parish church, and that he and his choir should come over to our parish for the evening Hervice. "And you, Sam,” said he, “shall take my place in your own church; and, please God, you do as well there as you’ve done here, it will bo the proud est day I shall know, Sam, my boy, and your mother and father will say so, too.” The evening came; and there, in the dimly-lit gallery, I sat waiting, with my master beside me. “Sam, m.v boy,” said my master, "it’s a great risk; it’s getting very full. There’s the squire and my lady just come in. Keep your eyes on your book and feel what you’re playing, and think you’re in the little shop; I’ve brought a bit of leather to help you,” arid he put a piece of that black leather that has a peculiar acid scent in front of me. The scent of it revived me; the memory of the many hours I had spent there came back to me at once, and I felt as calm as if I were indeed there. „ She came at last, and service began. Oh, that night! Shall I ever forget its pleasures ? —the wondering looks of the friends and neighbors who came and ound in me, the despised, awkward, left-handed saddler’s apprentice, the prodigy of which they hadreard rumors. Oh, it was glorious? The first few strokes of my bow gave me confidence, ?nd I did well, and knew it, through the hymn, through the oliauts and on to the anthem before the sermon. This was to bo tho gem of the evening; it was Handel's tiiOh uetv antlietn, "I know that my Redeemer iiveth." It began—liat'sh, inharmonious, out of tune—l know not Why or how; hut its it progressed a spell seemed upon all but her and myself; one by one the instru ments ceased and were silent; one by one the voices died away and were lost, nml she and I alone, bound together and driven on by an irresistible impulse, went through the anthem; one soul, ono spirit, seethed to animate troth. Tho whole Congregation listened breathless as to au angel; aud she; self-absorbed and like ono in a trance, sang, filling me with a delicious sense of peace and exultation, the like of which I have icver known since. It came to au end at last, and with the last triumphant note I fell forward on the desk in a swoon. When I recovered, 1 found tuyself at home in In)' own room, with the rector, the doctor and my parents there, and heard the doctor say: “I told you he would, dear madam; I knew ho would." *- “Thank God I" murmured my mother. ‘My dear hoy, low wo have feared for you 1” XVhat a difference ! I was courted and made much of. “Genius 1" and “Very clever I” and "Delightful talent!” suoh woro tho expressions 1 now hoard, in stead of "stupid I” “awkward I" and “un fit tot anything I" My' ..tlier bought a fine instrument, and t Was the hero of the village for months. It was some days after that Christmas that I ventured to ask about tho reotor’s niece. "M.y dear boy,” said my mother; “the like was never heard. We saw you there and wondered wlint you were do ing; hut as soon as we saw you with the Low, we knew yim must lie the person there’d boon so much talk about; and then, when the anthem came, and wo all left off singing and they nil left off playing, and only you and Miss Cecilia kept on, wo Were, all in tears. I saw even tllo rector Cryiiig; and, poor girl, she seemed as if in a dream, and so did you; it was dreadful for me to see yoll with your eyes fixed on her, watching her so eagerly. Anil then to look at her, staring up at the stained-glass win dow us if she could sec through it, miles and miles aivay into tho sky. O, I’m sure the like never was; and then, when you fell down, I screamed, and your father ran up and carried you down and In ought you home in Farmer Slade’s four-wheeler.” After this I had an invitation to go up to the rectory, and there in the long winter evenings we used to sit; anil while I played, she sang. Oh, those happy times I when she loved me, but only as a dear friend; and I loved her as I never loved before or could lovo again. Ido not know the kind of love 1 had for her. I was but a little older than she was, but I felt as a father might feel to his daughter—a sweet ton ilerness and lovo that made me pitiful toward her. I knew she loved a man unworthy of her, and I think, at times, she felt this herself, mid knew I felt it. I was perfectly free of t he rector's house at last, and wo used to find in onr music a means of converse that our tongues could never have known. Ah me—those days I Gone I Alas I they ore gone. She left ns at last, and in a few years her motherless child came back in her place, and as again I sit in the old rec tory parlor, years and years after my first visit, with her daughter beside mo, singing—but, alas ! not with her mother’s voice—all the old memories flood Lack on me, and I feel a grateful, calm joy in tho openly-shown respect and affection of tho daughter of her whom J loved so silently, so tender! y -and so long. I sit in the old seat in the church now and play, and, once in the year, the old anthem; but the voice is gone that tilled the old church with a glory that lay. I feel, as the sounds swell out and the strings vibrate under my withered fingers, I am but waiting to bo near her under the old yew-tree outside, and, it may he, nearer to her still in the longed for future. Overheard In Paris. Bartholdi; I particularly desire, M ile Lesseps, that you visit America with me and he present at the dedication of my Statue of Liberty. De Lesseps : Certainly, my dear sir, certainly. You had one hand of it, I remember, at the Philadelphia Centen nial Exhibition. You intend to place the statue in Fairmount I’ark, I presume? Bartholdi: No. It will be on Bedloe’s Island, New York. De Lesseps : Have you sent tho pedes, tal ? Bartholdi : No; the New Yorkers are to furnish that. ” De Lesseps : Do you mean to say that the, erection of the pedestal depends upon the liberality and public spirit of New Yorkers? Bartholdi : Yes, sir. De Lesseps : I fully appreciate your kindness, my dear sir, but you forget that T am an old man and have not more than twenty yeais to live. But, take heart. My grandchildren who survive me will attend. — Philadelphia Call, AN OLD FEUD RECALLED. rilK ASTOIt l*l.\(K It IOT IN NEW X Olt li < ITY. i'll© OHt(*r to on tlie .Moll rttnl lion- It ttai t.ltcii to tHo SolitU'M* It has often been claimed, says a Sun day Mercury correspondent, that the military authorities were somewhat to blame in precipitatin’ bloodshed at tho Astor Place riot, but- the truth is that they not only woro not to blame at all, but deserved commendation for their self control. Fluffin' matters gettin Worse instead of better hy the cornin’ Of tho soldiers. Recorder Talmadge showed that he had tirst-class nerve by cornin’ boldly forward, facin’ the howl in’, cursin’ mob, and makin’ n speech in favor of law and order, saying to the mob: "Depart—return to your homes; delay not ; lot this street be cleared at or.cn, or the soldiers here —your own brothers—the armed citizens of New York will (Ire Upon you, ns sure as thero is a God ntiote ns." But the mot) only Went on Worso than before. They set up an awfttl yell; then they groaned at Talmadge, and fired stones at him, one of which hit him on the breast, though not woundin’ him seriously. Then Talmadge turned to General Hall, who was In cltargc of a battalion, aud said : "General, you will have to fire on ’em after all." “Where is tho Mayor?” asked Gen. Hall. “He alone should give the order to fire.” But the Mayor, Woodhull, was in the Now York Hotel, Then Hall asked for tho Sheriff, WesterVclt, Westervelt stepped up, but was non committal, and wanted the general to take the responsibility, Which was natural enough. But Hall didn’t see it yet. Thou Gonefttl Sanford and Colonel Duryoa came up to Hall and I'aliitadge ami said that this sort of thing wouldn’t ha endured by the National Guard any longer. They were bein’ Bhot at and stoned and wounded hy tho mob, ami were not allowed even to protect ’em selves in return. "What do you say now, Mr. Sheriff?” asked General Hall, who was deter mined, if he could, to get his orders be fore ho gavo 'em, "Your duty is only too plain, Mr. Sheriff,” remarked Recorder Talmadge. ‘ You cannot do otherwise than give the order and fire.” Tho sheriff said nothin’ for a moment, turned on his lice] as if to go, then sud denly turnin' back, he Wont Up to Gen eral Sanford and said: "Do as you think right, General.” This might have seemed enough to the sheriff, but it wasn’t enough to Han ford. He, like Hall, wanted to get a definite order from somebody. Ho San ford looked the sheriff full in the face and asked him plump and plain: "Do you give mo the order to fire?” And then Sheriff Westervelt said those de cisive words which settled the life and death of a large number of people : “I do, sir. ’ Then Sanford turned to Matsoll, who was standin’ near him, headin’ the police, as fat aud round as a watermelon, but as cool as a encumber. “Matsell,” said Sanford, “call in your policemen. We shall have to employ bullets in half a minute.” Hayin’ this, while Matsell called in his police, Sanford and Duryea went round once more and for the last time tryin’ to pacify the mob and disperse ’em. But the mob didn’t care a continental. "Fire and bo hanged,” “Fire if you dare,” "To with your guns,” “You talk, but yon dare not shoot,” were some of the exclamations heard on all sides. One fellow in the crowd took up a big stone and held it in front of him. “Fire into this,” he cried, and then he hurled the stone right against the soldiers, woundin’ one of ’em severely, at which the mob set up a laugh. Another chap tore open the bosom ot his shirt lid struck his hare breast vio !i idly with his clenched hands. “Fire udo this,” he cried, liittiu’ his lire I once more. “Shoot me here and take the life out of a freeborn American citi zen for a British actor, if you dare.” The crowd around went madder than ever at this speech, and a olmp hard by, a regular rough, took up a pavin’ stone, and with a yell hurled tho stone full against tin; ..word arm of General Han ford, disablin’ it for the time. This seemed to act on the mob like the first taste of blood on the tiger, and others began firin’ missiles at Sanford, but missin' him in their haste. It was again doubted whether the military and the police together eoul?! quell the mol). Ono man prophesied a general uprisin’ throughout the entire city of New York. It was really, as Col. Duryea after ward remarked, speakin’of it, "an awful moment.” But it was only a moment. The first order to the soldiers to fire on the mob was given by General Hall. Clearly anil distinctly ho spoke the ter rible word, “fire!” It was heard plainly along tho whole line of soldiery, amid all the cussin’ and clamorin’ of the mob. But only one musket responded to the order, and some of the mob laughed in mockery. Then General Hanford took up tlie word. “Fire! Fire I” he called out twice, at the top of his lungs. NO. 2. A number of muskets this timoobeyed the command; but the firin’ did not be some general. Then Colonel Duryea took up the word. "Fire, Guards I Fire 1” he called out. And the Guards fired, in earnest. Snell is the history of the memorable firin’ on tho mot) t Astor Place by an eye witness; and from his account it. is evident that tho military endured till they could endure no more, mid showed patience as well aS obedience. A Veteran. During the recent cold days, says tho Boston Journal, the boys, in accord ance with old-time and honored habit have gathered together on tho parade, ground of the Common aud indulged in lively games at foot-ball. Tho other day, while a company of them was thus engaged, and they wero howling and yelling in such manner that if there had been any welkin round there it would have been made to ring to some pnrpose, an elderly citizen, who displayed a greater circumference of his equator than ho did when he was a hoy, came liy with a younger friend and stopped to look at the fun. "That looks like a good, warm game,” said the elderly citizen an he looked upon the fray. “How well I remember playing foot-hall when I was of their ago. I believe lam good for a kick now, although it is fifty years since I tried it. If the ball comes this way, I’ll give it a rise." Presently the rub ber sphoro came llying toward him, and he caught it. deftly mid claimed the right to a kick, which the hoys allowed. The elderly citizen then placed the hall on the ground, stepped back about ten feet and prepared for a violent effort. The hoys, seeing the determination of his look, retired k) a safe distance. The elderly citizen then laid aside his hat and overcoat, hopped up and down thrice cti his left foot while all the boys looked anxious for fear he would send the ball out ol sight, and having got tho rango, rushed down upon the inert sphere and delivered a kick that was in tended to make all previous efforts in that lino seem feeble. Unfortunately, however, the kick was given a moment too soon, the heavy boot of the elderly citizen went about six inches over the ball, and the leg attached thereto, not, meeting the expected resistance, shot as far heavenward os its attachments to Us owner’s body would allow. The elderly citizen was thus thrown off his balance; he sat down directly upon the ball with a force of about five thousand foot pounds ! "there came a hurst of thunder sound” as the globe was rent in twain by tho shock, and as the observer of the scene departed he left the elderly citi zen rubbing his person with one hand, while with the other he was fishing coin out of his pocket for the hoys to buy a new ball A Steamer Imported In Sections. The Athahaska, one of the Clyde-built steamships for the Canadian Pacific Rail way, has arrived at Buffalo, She came in two sections, which wiU be joined into a complete hull at the lower dry-dock of the Union Ship-yard. The arrival of a Clyde-built 1 at has naturally occasioned considerable interest in marine circles. The Athahaska is one of five steamships that will form a line from Algoma Mills, Georgian Bay, to Port Arthur, Lake Su perior, a distance of 350 miles. The line will be owned ond run in connection with the Canadian Pacific Railway. The Athahaska is of steel throughout. Bhe is 270 feet over all, thirty-eight feet beam, draws sixteen feet two inches, and measures eight feet between decks. Hhc is quite sharp forward, and has a clean cut stem, though having barely half the overhang of tho average lake steamer. Tho hull is divided into seven com partments. Her carrying capacity is about two thousand tons. Thfe steamer is provided with no less than twelve en gines, including two for working the rudder. Ono of the most remarkable of her appliances is what is called a repeat ing telegraph. By means of this the pilot gives tho signals to the engineer, who receives them on a dial in the engino room, and sends them back to tlie pilot on tho bridge. The latter can thus tell whether his orders have been understood. Another indicator on the bridge shows the direction of tho rudder at all times. The Athahaska left Glasgow about September 1 for Montreal, with a cargo of soft coal and pig iron, under command of Captain Davidson. She arrived at that port after a tedious trip of twenty one days, her air pumps giving out fully eight times on the trip. It was neces sary to out tho hull in two in order to take it through the Blnillow canals of tho lower St. Lawrence. As she was built with this object in view, the work was readily accomplished. The sections were placed on pontoons to go through the canals. Arriving at the foot of Lake Ontario, the pontoons wore removed, and tho parts rested on their own bot toms. Two more ships arc now in llio Welland Canal, and are expected daily. “Yks,” said the farmer, “that cow is badly hurt and wouldn’t bring *5. But I shall got rnoro for her. A party of swell city follows are coming down here to hunt, and I shall put her up in the scrub pine lot and tell them deer abound up there. Oh, she’s as good as sold for dOft.” THE HUMOROUS PAPERS WIIAT WE FIND IN THEM TO MIILB OVEK. A TjITTI.H mistake. She felt kcM claim her an his own, For woman's wit is quick to seo Tho growth of needs by Cupid sown Just after tea. Hho blushes red when slow who hoars Tho low-toned words ho Just has said, And trembling on the verge of tears. ttiie blushes red. And startled at tho look she bears. For, ere lio finished, her soft h< ad Droops and to his shoulder nears. Ho hastoH to say ’midst hosts of fearfy “1 love I love that gingerbread Your dainty little hand prepares !” Blie llu- lies red. — J'UiUidelphia (Jail. A BIG M INTAKE. ••Ah! how do do?” exclaimed tho hotel clel'k delightedly, grasping the hand of a stranger and giving it a vigor ous shake, "I suppose you will prefer the second floor front suite ; magnificent apartments, aud cheap, too, only SBO a day.” "SBO a what?” gasped the stranger. "A day. Will you go up now?" “Not so fast, not so fast, young man,” said the stranger. "Don’t you tliiuk your terms are just a little high? lam a banker, but my income is only 830,000 a year.” "Oh I I see, I see,” said the clerk; "then a fifth floor $4 room will suit you. I mistook you for an editor.” — livening Call. oave rr up. Homo weeks since the Committee ot_ the Science of Political Economy of the Lime-Kiln Club were instructed to care fully investigate tho query ; “Why will a man pay out $4,000 to Lo elected to a $3,000 office?” The matter was taken in hand and every effort made to arrive at a satisfactory solution, but tlie com mittee now came forward with tho acknowledgment that it was too much for them, and they asked to bo dis charged from tho further consideration of the subject. "Dar’ am sortin’ things which kin nehbor ho found out, an’ dis am ono of ’em,” said tlie President. "Do com mittee am discharged, an’ do meeting will now close in due form. Remember as you go out dot I am de only pusson who lining his umbreller along to keep off do wet.” TITESE QUESTIONS. Tlie editor of a paper has more ques tions asked him, mid gives more answers, than any man living, though some of tho answers may not be right. For instance, a correspondent of an Eastern paper says : "I have a horse that has lately suffered from periodical dizziness. Please answer through your valuable paper and let me know what I should do with him. I’m afraid he will get worse if something G not done so-m.” Tho editor puts o,i ms glasses, c > alts the authorities on blind staggers in orses, and answers as follows: “Our . ice, based on a perusal of the valuable i k, ‘Every man his own horse doctor. ’ would bo to take him homo and sell him to a stranger.” The average horse owner would not need the advice, as he would sell the horse too quick, and warrant him perfectly sound. FIVE T.ITTT.E BTOTUES. “Why did you buy anew liat?” asked a husband of his wife. "Because I hat to, that’s why.” “Will you attend both banquets this evening?” said the cashier to tho paying teller. "Yes, if tho bank quits in time.” "How many boys in your family?” “Six, aud a boisterous time we have of it, too. “Well, we’ve only got one, and it’s boy stir us enough without multiplying by halt a dozen.” “Pa, I want an overcoat.” "How much ?” "Twelvo dollars." “That’s low enough; don’t overgoit.” “What a small man Moiljeska’s hus oand is,” remarked a lady at the dinner table. “Oh, yes; slie looks quite Modjestio by tho side of him,” was tho reply. “Aw,” put in an old bachelor “we don’t want any Modjesting on such a su hject. "—Merchant Traveler. IN TSOI! HUE. The proprietor of a museum at Cleve land skipped out, and the curiosities gathered at the box office anil mode a fuss about their pay. The bearded lady, who looked so much like a man, cried like a baby, tho giant stopped on the corns of tlie dwarf and when tho dwarf began to peel off his coat to fight the giant, the big man turned pale and said he didn’t want any fuss, as he had promised his parents not to fight. Tho living skeleton took up more room than anybody, and offered to whip the manager, while tho fat woman fainted at a white mouse carried by tlie Circas sian girl. Finally tho dwarf and tho living skeleton, being the curiosities with the most pluck, wero appointed a committee to hunt up the missing manager anil maul him. Verily, people are not what they seem. Often tho giant is a pigmy in plnck, while the dwarf is a thumper with sand to back him.—Pec*’* Sun. Their Health. Alphonse Karr was lately a guest at a dinner of some homoeopathic physi cians at Paris, when, after toasts had been honored to Hahnemann and to the eeat lights of the science now living, lie was asked to propose a toast. “Gen tlemen,” said he, “you have drunk the health of many physicians, but there is one toast you have forgotten. Permit me to repair the omission. I drink to he lioaltli of your pationts.” Duihno the year 18S3 more than 2,800 Mormon proselytes at Ban Francisco.