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Running a Lecomotiv#. “Lots of chaps think it would be fuv to run an engine,” said the driver, as ha stuck his head, a flaming torch and i long-necked oil-can in under his ma chine, “but if the most of ’em would try it, they wouldn’t like it quite so well. ’Taint everybody can run a locomotive, either, though I suppose it’s like run. ning a daily newspaper, which I’ve heard tell everybody thinks he can do. . Now a nervous man has no business in a cab; no more has a careless one, or a stupid cuss. To run an engine a man must feel his responsibility and keep his head level. I don’t believe half the people know what it is to run an engine. Now there’s the machine; that’s the first thing and it has to be in good order and stay so. A locomotive has to stand wear and tear and weather that would knock a stationery engine into smithereens. And no matter what emergency arises—freez ing of pipes or starting of flues,a loosen ing of packing or beating of journals— we’ve got to know just what to do, and doit right quick, too; then, when we’re running there’s the time cards and pret ty often a new one; and the train or ders—they are life and death and repu tation to us, an' to read ’em correct and live up to this gives us no end of anx iety. Bet I’ve read a train order over a dozen times in an hour—l am always so afraid of making a mistake or forget ting. You know the consequences of even a little mistake, sometimes. Then there’s the signals to watch, the conduc tor’s gong overhead, steam to keep up, time to make, whistle-posts and cross, ing to look out for, bad spots in the road to be careful on, and along with all this there’s the track ahead of yc which your eyes musn’t leave formore’n five seconds. There’s the brakes, too—one is always worrying about them. I don’t s’pose everybody knows, either, that we have to be mighty careful when we come to the top of a grade. You see in going up she labors hard, and so soon as she begins to descend she makes a rush, and there’s the danger of breaking your train when the rear cars are still drag ging on the up grade. This danger ii especially great on freights, but no good engineer fails to shut off some of his steam when his engine reaches a summit It isn't every fool can run a locomotive. I tell you.’’ General Grant's Reticence, He was never a secretive man until the positions of responsibility in which he was placed compelled him to be chary of giving expression to his opinions. II? then learned the force of the. philoso pher’s maxim that the unspoken word in a sword in the scabbard, while the spoken word is a sword in the hands o’ one’s enemy. In the field there were constant vis itors in camp ready to circulate any in timations of the commander's move ments, at the risk of having such val uable information reach the enemy; in the White House, every encouraging ex pression to an applicant for favors was apt to be tortured into a promise, and the President naturally became guarded in his intercourse with general visitors. When questioned beyond the bounds of propriety, his lips closed like a vice, and the obtruding party was left to supply all the subsequent conversation. Thesi circumstances proclaimed him a man who studied to be uncommunicative, and gave him a reputation for reserve which could not fairly be attributed U him. He was called the “American Sphynx" and “Ulysses the Silent,” ano he was popularly supposed to movt about with sealed lips. When accompanying him through New England the summer after the close ol the war, it was soon seen that the stor ies of his reticence had preceded him. The trip was the first of those grand ova tions with which he was always greeted by the people through whose communi ties he traveled. The train stopped for a few minutes at a small town in Maine, and the people, as usual, took the op portunity of extending a greeting and delivering their words of welcome. As the general stood in the doorway of the rear car, a tall, gaunt looking woman elbowed her way through the crowd till she got near the platform. Here she stopped, and put on a pair of spectacles with glasses in them that looked about as big as the lenses in large telescopes, and taking a good look at the general, said, gasping for breath as she spoke, “Web, I’ve come down hyere a-runnin’ right on the clean jump, nigh on to tew mile, just to git a look at the man that lets the women do all the talkin’.”— General Horace Porter, in Harper'). Shetland Pony and Percheron. It is a difficult matter to believe that those magnifleient specimens of equine power, the Percheron and Clydesdaii draught horses, should be derived frorr the same original stock as the Shet land pony. These little, hardy, obsti nate, good-natured pets have been un dergoing, during a number of years, a proves- of physical degeneration, which has reduced them to an average statuit ■ f forty to forty e’ght inches, and often much less. They, like the oaks and firs of the island upon which they have been reared, have become stunted it their growth by the peculiar condition! of their environment; while the othu branches of the family have been inter bred, and selected and improved, witn a view of producing the magnificent thoroughbreds which we now so often see in the business parts of our cities, and which are so often the pride of our | State and county fairs. and horse i shows. In point of strength the pony ] rob,ably stands ahead of the Percheron i in proportion to its size, and won- ' de fnl stories are told in their nativ« Isle of their wonderful endurance and power. There are 12,000 stamn collectors among children of the New Yoik public •chools, and many dealers in stamps. (Bajette. VOL. XII. SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY EVENING, OCTOBER 14, 1885. NO. 39. EMMONS McKEE & CO., 87 BROAD STREET, ROME. Are Acknowledged Headquarters in North Georgia For CLOTHING, FURNISHING GOODS, HATS AND MEN S FINE SHOES. i E have made extensive preparations for a rousing business during the coming season, and wo have taken every precaution to fortify ourselves against disap- I v V poinlment. Our new stock is all thatcould be desired in style, quality and price, and, if extra inducements are a consideration, our store will be the most > j attractive place in this country for those who want the best for the least money. . J FALL TRADE IS XVII A.T WE WANT! And no stone has been left Unturned, no opportunity has been Neglected, no pains and expense has been Spared to Secure Tl|e SttActive stodk of REMEMBER: Wo sell only goods worn by the MALE SEX-Clothing, Furnishing Goods, Hats, and Men’s Fine Shoes—we can fit you out from head to feet, and hope every reader of this paper will give us a call. We are always glad to show goods, and think our attractive display cannot fail to please you. EMMONS McKEE St CO., Men’s and Boys’ Outfitters, 87 BROAD STREET, HOME, GA. THE SCARECROW. In yonder Held he stands erect, No matter what the weather, And keeps a watch so circumspect On foes of every feather, So faithful is he to the trust Committed to his keeping That all t ho birds suspect he must Dispense with any sleeping. Sometimes his hat tips down so low It seems a cause for censure, For then some old, courageous crow Believe s it safe to venture; But catching sight of either arm Outstretched in solemn warning, The crow decides to leave this farm Until another morning. Although his dress is incomplete, It really does not matter; Perchance the truest heart may beat Beneath a patch or tatter. And it is wrong to base our love On wealth and name and station, For he who may will rise above 11 i- daily occupation. We should not look with eyes of scorn, And find in him no beauty AV ho stands and guardsour field* of corn, And doe.7 the whole world duty. But honor him for native worth, For rustic independence, And send a hearty greeting forth For him and his descendants. —Marthu C. Cook, in Young People. A QUAINT PROPOSAL. The lilac bush beneath the south win i low of Willow Brook Farm’s wainscot- ; , led parlor nodded gracefully as a tiny l zephyr swept gayly by, wafting far and I near its Incense of new mown hay. In i its wake fluttered a purple and golden : butterfly, to poise a moment upon the ; window’s ledge, then to soar boldly for ward until it lit upon a curious old vase i beside an organ, whose yellowed keys l g.earned softly in the half darkened i room. The butterfly and the vase mir rored themselves in the poli hed oak j floor, and if the range had been right i thi v could have repeatci the picture in | the shining surface of each article of , j furniture. A young girl was the sole occupant of I the loom, with the exception, of couise, ' : of the butterfly, who had winged his way to a small oval mirror and was busily making his toilet, as his companion, I humming a merry tune, dusted carefully : a squatty teapot, whose fat little spout I and comic tout ensemble at once inspired I a longing for tea brewed in such novel : quarters. At that moment a voice, call- | ing “Marth ' ’■! i Ly I" echoed through I (the hr.u-e, followed by. “Run—quick 1 old Thu’s in the corn field, and my hands are all over dough Hastily replacing the ancient heirloom on a spindle-legged tale. the young ; girl darted from the room, while the j butterfly, start ed at its toilet, spread its i brilliant wings and i. - ited sv. iftly out • into the sunshine again. Snatching a snowy sun bonnet from its peg in the hall. Martha flew do i> the garden pal h across to an adjacent meadow. In her hurry she failed to notice a gentleman I slowly advancing n her direction, until two masculine hands stayed her progress. ; Withan exclamation of surprise, .Mar tha raised-her pretty blue eyes and met a ■ pair of decidedly good-looking brown I ones, gazing with evident appreciation at the dimpled, blushing face, from off which the sun-bonnet had slipped, dis posing a crop of reddish golden rings lying close to the finely shaped little head. “i beg your pardon,” murmured Mar tha he blushes and dimples waxing deeper, “but I didn’t see you, I was in i such a hnrry.” •'Don't mention it. Wouldn’t have missed the —the pleasure for anything. I—l like to be run into,” averred the gentleman with considerable emphasis. t-uch a rippling laugh as bubbled over the lii.s of Mariha at this speech, which she hastiiy apologized for with: “I didn’t mean to, leally; but what you said sounded so odd.” “You couldn’t do it again, could you? I assure you I never appreciated being a 1 —odd until to-day. I— ” “Oh. the cow!” exclaimed Martha, suddenly recollecting her errand. “I i forgot all about him.’’and away she sped, the gentleman hurrying after, repeating: I “Cow! Him! Let me help you. I—l > really am very clever with cows. In fact 1 I would like to make them a study.” 1 However, when the field was reached > no cow was to be seen, and remarking t that doubtless some of the hands had 1 ousted old Tim, Martha turned her steps < toward the house, thinking the gentle man would proceed on his way. To her | astonishment, however, he kept along by ; her side, observing: i • Are you acquainted at Willow Brook > farm ?” i "Why, yes: it’s my home. I was , oom there,’’ answered Martha, sur . prised ly. “Happy farm! I mean—a —itmustbe ] a iovely place. You see, the fact is-®- ] that is, I have a note for Mrs. Duncan, of < Willow Brook Farm.” 1 “My mother!” ejaculated Martha I opening wide her blue eyes. Whereupon the gentleman scanned with newly awakened interest a square envelope he had extracted from bis breast pocket, as he added: “I am an old—l should say my mother is an old friend of Mrs. Duncan’s,” mak ing a rough calculation of the length of time it might take, all things favorable, to place him on equally as good a footing with the [daughter, while Martha’s thoughts ran very much in this wise. “Would be nice looking if he wasn’t so sallow. Wonder if mother will ask him to make us a visit. I never heard her speak of an old friend that had a son.” By this time they were proceeding up the path that led to the farm’s pretty rose garlanded porch, and having ushered the gentleman into the parlor we have already been introduced to, with a de mure little courtesy and the words “I will send mother,” Martha left him. In a few moments a comely, rosy cheeked woman came hurrying into the parlor with: “Good afternoon, sir, Martha tells me you have a letter for me from an old friend.” “Yes, from my mother,” and the gentleman held toward her the letter. Having read it through, interrupted with exclamations such as “Bless me! Who’d have thought it 1” Mrs. Dun can. her pleasant face deepening into a smile ejaculated: “So you arc little Paul Dorsey. My! how time flies. When I. last saw you, you were only a little shaver. It must be nigh onto fifteen years ago. And to r think of Lucindy's remembering me all : these years and sending her son to see ■ me. Not that I have forgotten her—not i a bit- Only with cne thing and another one hasn’t time to think much of old days. You sec your ma and I went to the same academy, and we thought a sight of each other; only somehow after both of us married we sort of drifted apart. Your ma she married a wealthy city man, while I got wedded to a well to do farmer, and to gradually we each | went our own way. Not to forget each i other though, as you see, and now, my 1 dear, excuse the liberty, but it comes • natural like, being your Lucindy's son, ; I’ll send one of the men down to the vil j lage after your trunk, and you’ll just 1 stop along with us and be as Welcome as my own son, if 1 had one, and Marthy and I will do our best to make you com : sortable,” and motherly Mrs. Duncan i laid her hand with an approving pat upon | Paul Dor-ey - slightly stooping should ers, while he, coloring somewhat, en | deavored to thank her for her warm hos l pitality, but was ent short with: “Bless you, it's no put out. we have lots of room, and it wil be a real iileasurc to me to see Lucindy’s son making him self to home in my house." And thus it was that Paul Dorsey be ' came a guest at Willow Brook Farm. That evening after her visitor had re ' tired Mrs. Duncan observing to her ■ daugther: “Poor young man, he hasn't a bit of appetite. 1 don t wonder Lucirdy is fretted about him She writes that he is always that taken up with books, that she can hardly ever coax h m to go about a bit with young folks and enjoy himself. I’ve been thinking Marthy, if you was just to kind of make believe you need his help now and again about the garden and such, it would do him a sight of good, and he’d never suspect it was for the sake of his health,” mid Mrs. Duncan laughed, a low, pleasel laugh, at the thought of the deception, while Martha exclaimed: “Why, mother! you are getting to be a regular conspirator. But lam afraid it won’t work, he’s so—so odd.” Paul Dorsey had been told to make himself perfectly at home; so the morn ing after his arrival he withdrew from the breakfast table to his own room, and forthwith commenced to unpack his books preparatory to a good day’s study. Everything was at last arranged to his satisfaction, but somehow his thoughts were strangely wandering this day, al though not a sound disturbed the cool quietness of bis surroundings. A pair i of blue eyes seemed to glance mockingly I from the musty page he fain would mas- I ter, and be caught himself repeating I aloud the old-fashioned name of: “Marthy,” which took unto itself the ■ sweetest of sounds by reason of its con- I nection with so pretty an owner. Sud • denly, with a thud, the book fell from I his hand, as, exclaiming: “By Jove!;, that’s her voice,” Paul Dorsey, with one I stride, was at the window making sad havoc of the dainty dimity curtains with , clumsy hands. , Martha, accompanied by a tall stalwart i fellow, was passing down the garden path, her infectious laughter floating merrily upon the balmy air as she chatted away to the young man at her side, who appeared to be enjoying the subject under discussion as much as her self. As they disappeared from view Paul, with rather a blank look, resumed his seat and sought to apply himself to : his interrupted task, but not with the old ardor did he work, and for the first time that he could remember, he lis-1 tened anxiously for the bell to summon him to luncheon. The days slipped into weeks, and still Paul Dorsey remained a guest at Willow Brook Farm, and it became no unusual sight to see him obediently following Martha's directions concerning the up j rooting of certain weeds, or the fasten j ing of some vine more securely about its support. An honest, bronze tinge had replaced Paul's once sallow complexion, and the books—well, they had become secondary, a more potent charm having outrivaled them. Mrs. Duncan con gratulates herself upon her happy fore | thought that was working such a change in her friend’s son, and Martha admitted with a slight blush, that Mr. Dorsey was getting to be almost as handsome as her cousin Joe- her beau ideal of manly beauty heretofore. The sun burned scorching hot upon the broad gravel path just outside of the farm’s pretty parlor, but within that quaint room a restful coolness held sway. Lounging idly in the depths of a willow chair, was Paul, while Martha, seated al the old organ, drew from its aged keys a low, plaintive melody. As the last note died softly away, whirling round upon her seat, Martha exclaimed: “Do you know, Mr. Dorsey, von have been wasting the whole morning? I don’t believe you have looked at a book for two days”—this last, it must bo owned, with a slight air of triumph as she continued, penitently: “1 am afraid 1 have been to blame, but to morrow 1 will leave you free to spend the whole day with your books, for Cousin Joe has promised to drive tn< over to Dapleston to do some shopping.” “Hang cousin Joe’’ “Mr. Dorsey!” from Martha’s aston ished lips. “I beg pardon, I really—l hope you will have a delightful time, Mis: Dun can. I assure you 1 shall a enjoy it im mensely being left to my books and confound it! Excuse me I—” And before Martha could reply, Paul i Dorsey had left the room. “llow queer it is,” soliloquized Mar i tha, as Paul’s departing footsteps echoed : through the hall. “I don’t see why he should dislike Joe so; Joe isalwayssuch I a favorite with every one. 1 hope I haven’t offended him. lam sure 1 didn’t mean 1 to.” And with rather a puzzled look • upon the fair young face, Martha closed ; the organ. That evening as Martha stood down by the meadow gate caressing oil Doxey, the mare, her quick ears caught the sound of a familiar trend advancing to ri aid her. ami a moment after a voice exclaimed; “1 am an idiot, Miss Martha, but I -1 hope you will forgive me. I couldn't bear the idea of his monopolizing you; all day. I know you could never think ' of an old bookworm like myself—still I —1 have been very happy, and 1 forget sometimes that—that there is such adif- i ference between us." Martha’s had been growing rosier and rosier, while a strange, wild joy surged through her veins, as she an swered, her tones trembling slightly. | “Since lean remember (bnsin Joe and | I have been playmates, and since father ; died he has been so good and kind to mother, helping her about the farm and in every way, that he has become like a I son to her, and as dear as a brother to ; me. Pear Joe! I don’t know what we j should have don ■ without, him.” She paused, the tears gathering in her pretty eyes. Paul drew nearer, then hesitated, I as Martha continued: “Joe is engaged to my dearest friend, ! and they are to be married in just six weeks.” “1 am awfullv glad—l mean I wish I them joy, and all that sort of thing,” and Paul Dorsey advanced still nearer the little figure into wh >se eyes a sweet shyness had stolen. “Martha, do you think there is a ghost of a chance for me? As it’s my - first attempt at anything of the kind, | perhaps you will sum it up leniently, and I make my sentence as easy as you can,” I then gathering courage from .Martha's half averted face, and the extreme pink ness of the one visible car, he laid bis hand care-singiy upon hers, adding: “Martha, do you think you can forgive me fur—for loving you?” “Why should I forgive you for what I . have done myself?" came the low answer, followed naively by, “But I did not know it until to-day, when I thought I i had offended you.” “And and you don’t mind my being i odd—or anything?” stammered Paul, in his excessive joy. “You are not a bit odd,” was the in- 1 diguant reply; “I wouldn’t have you any different,” and Martha touched shyly the ! coat-sleeve in close proximity to her ; waist, whereupon she immediately dis- j appeared from view, and from some- : where in the region of Paul’s waistcoat I pocket a muffled little voice might have j been heard ejaculating: “Oh, Paul! suppose somebody is look ing?” “J hope they are,” was the audacious reply, succeeded by a second disappw. ante on Murtha’s part. A week or so later a stylishly-dressed, ; middle aged Indy was sitting teto-a tote with Mrs. Duncan, who was observing: “Dear me, l.ttcindy. you’ve no call to thank me. I had nothing to do with it. Not. but what I am real pleased that your son and my daughter should come to gether ; but I had no more thought of it than yourself.” A slight smile stirred the lips of Mrs. Dorsey as she remarked: “You are just the same as ever, Mary. Well, if Martha only turns out half as good a woman as yourself, I am satisfied that Paul has won a treasure.” “And he’ll never forget, mother, that he owes that treasure to yon, for if you hud not sent him to seek out your old friend he’d have remained a bachelor to the end of his days,” interrupted a mas culine voice, while a girlish treble ex claimed, “(th, Paul!” the rest ot the sen tence being forever lost by Paul daringly sealing his betrothed’s lips with his own. A Story About Ferdinand Ward. George P. Lathrop tells in the St. Louis Poet- lUxiniteh the following story about Ward, the notorious New York financier, now an inmate of Ludlow street jail in that city: A wealthy resident of some prosperous New England city culled on Ward one day with a note of introduction from a mutual friend. In the course of conver sation he remarked that he had some money to invest, and asked Ward if he couldn’t tell him of some chance to put it. where it would bring a good margin of profit. Ward said that he didn’t know of any thing just then. He himself had more money than he knew what to do with, and beside, he was too busy with some big scheme of his own to co into any outside speculation. Os course, this only whetted the New England man’s appe tite for investment, and in the course of half an hour he induced the famous fiiian- I eier to accept h s check for s.’>B,ooo, to : be used in one of the “blind pools” of > which Grant & Ward made a specialty. , Three or four months later the New England man appeared again. By that time Ward had entirely for gotten him and his cheek and it was with great difficulty that ho could recall his i name and the amount of his investment. ; “1 believe there's something due you?” he said, after a brief converation. Tak i ing down a large ledger he made some brief calculations, and then observed with a pleasant smile: “The amount credited to you on our books is $102,- 704.” Then to the bookkeeper: “Mr. Jones, will you kindly draw a check to Mr. Perkins’ order for $102,754?” W rd calmly turned to his work again, while bis visitor sat gasping for breath. In the anguage of the day the visitor I was “paralyzed.” It was some time be fore he could control himself sufficiently to ask if there wasn’t any chance tor him to reinvest his money and double it again; but Ward didn’t seem anxious, ! and nt last the stranger took his depar ture,got his check certified at the Marine bank, and returned to his native town. , Three days after he walked into Ward’s office in company with four of the ! wealthiest of his townsmen. He had his ccrtilied check—the same one Ward had given him in his pocket, and his friends j were .supplied w ith checks of their own. ■ They succeeded in inducing the finan cier to accept about $350,000 for in ( vestment in another “blind pool.” That ' was exactly one week before the failure > of <lrant <fc Waid. A Man Drawn About by Two Sheep. Almost every one who has ridden out towaid the Bois, saysa Paris le tertothe New Orleans Picayune, has seen the old man in the lit tle carriage drawn by sheep pattering along in the Avenue de Bois de Boulogne. These sheep are two as fine fat bouthdowns as you ever saw, but i the occupant is a cripple by the name of De Keroy. He has been in turn a soldier, ! a traveler, a politician, a journalist, and a man of letters. A nephew of the Abbe i Lammenais, he was for a while private secretary to Lamartine, also an intimate friend of the marquis of Hereford, at whose place in the Bois he frequently met Louis Napoleon. During the war he volunteered to carry important dis patches out of Paris for the government of the Deferne Nationale. He started alone in a balloon, which was caught in a hurucane, carried into Switzerland, and came down in the midst of the Mer de Glace ■■lacier, where his legs were so badly frost bit ten that they both had to be amputated. Beside his legs he lost his fortune by the war, and it is his pov erty that compels him to make use of a sheep instead of a pony cart. Before the sheep were presented to him by a friend he used to go about in a little wagon propelled b ■ a machine worked by hand. Bauylas and Babette, as they are called, now draw their master as swiftly as a pony could. The “Solitaire de Parly,” as M de Keroy calls himself, and Victor Hugo were fast friends: the j latter often waßiu : alongside the “mutton coach.” t..’. i.g v. iia its occu- I pant and caressing the sheep. A kind word miv often outweigh in real woith th; >e.dtn •.( the universe. A POOR YOUNG MAN TO HIS GIRL. A jewel rare are you, dear Anne, But can you use a frying pan? Or get a meal for a hungry man ? Oh, I will wed you if you can, Sweet Anne! Your dainty fingers wield a fan, , But can they wash a pot or pan? Sweep, bake and brew? Oh, if they can, I am, in truth, the very man, Sweet Anne? You work in Kensington, fair Anne, Play, sing and dance, but it you can Well mend my socks, none other than Myself can worship like this man, Sweet Anne! —Life. HUMOR OF THE DAY. A big diamond—The baseball field.— Life. “Stick to it,” as the fly-paper observed to the fly. Graphic. Lit tle Bess to gentleman caller: “You ain’t black, are you, Mr. M—?” “Black, child?—wdiy no, I should hope not. What made you think I was?” “Oh, nothin’,’cent pa said you was awful nig gardly.”- - Liurlington Free Press. Some one says “only one woman in a thousand can whistle." Every once in a while during the heated term, and when the whole world looks dismal and dreary,some bright ray of hope descends to cheer the hearts of men. General Washington went fishing a. least once. And on that occasion he caught a trout at least four inches long. While down at the corner grocery in the evening, after returning from his angling tour, he was asked how much the trout weighed, when he uttered those memor able words, viz.: “I cannot tell a lie. It weighed seventeen and a half pounds." —Norristown Herald. She’d a lovely little pug With a very ugly mug; And she nursed it, and she coddled it, and kissed it; She said it was so sweet It was good enough to eat; But, alas! one day it happened that she missed it. She hunted everywhere, And she advertised, but ne’er Did she more set eyes upon that canine whiner; But at lust she trae.'d its fate, And found, cruel to relate, He’d been eaten by a laundryman ot China. Huston Gazette. It is said of the Boston girl who got lost up in the Catskills the other day that she shouted in an intellectual lone of voice: “I require assistance from some honorable man of culture and refine ment.” When the farmer who found her was leading her back to the hotel she asked him if h(; was a regular sub scriber to the Atlantic Montk'y, and if he had read “Natural Laws of the Spiri tual world.” And win he said “No," she forgot to thank him for his assist ance.—New Yarh Mail. THE LOCUST'S FATE. A low locust sat in a 11 gh locust, tree, And he sang to his mat-. ‘ Zeez.ee, zeezee: It's many a year since I’ve seen the bright sun; It’s many a year since I’ve had any fun; And, my dear, It I don’t paint everything red, It will be zee zee— Now you see, zee zee, Because every green leaf in the country is dead” But a sparrow sat up in the same locust tree, And much oftener cussed than the locust was he. And he said to his mate, ‘Tnere’s a bug over there— Buch a nice little n.orwC for a fond loving pair; Just wait here a minute, and I’ll take the boy in. Now don’t slip- hip chip— Ain’t he flip—chip- -hip—?” And when they were through there was left but a skin. Washington Star. Greenbacks. “Old Greenbacks,” was the soubriquet given to Secretary Chase in the army, from the green ink with which the backs of the United States paper money was printed. This ink was invented by Stacy J. Edson, and patented in 1857, as anti photographic. It could not be photo graphed on account of its color, and could not be dislodged by alkalies by the counterfeiters to get a complete fac simile of the bills, and as it was a secret known only by the Ametican Bank Note company and the inventor, it was im possible to counterfeit the greenback money. It was used by many banks be fore the war, but was never a leading feature in the bill; but even if the com position of the ink had been known, it would have been of no use, as the work could not be copied from the genuine bills with any kind of ink. The date of the patent could be seen on all the bills, in small print. Old Genera! Spinner wanted to have Congress enact a law making the counterfeiting of national notes a capital offence, as ‘.as once the casein Great Britain ami to have them bear the legend which had been on the bills then issued by the Bank of Eng land: “To Counterfeit is Death.”— Ben: Perley Poore. FUN. Misery—a girl with a new dress on arra no place to go.— Marathon Independent. The Finnish language ought to be taught at all boarding-schools. — Pica yune. “Women dentists are gaining ground in German," saysa Boston paper. Achers of it, no doubt.— Lowell Courier. More than $30,000,000 is invested in. telephones in the United States, and yet some people say talk is cheap. — Derrick. A dentist in a Western city is named Leggo. As a usual thing, however, he will not do so until it is out. — Boston Post. Perhaps nothing has more of a ten dency to sour the milk of human kind ness than a snoring man in a sleeping car.— Chicago Ledger. ■ A felon is a bad thing to have, but there is one good point about it. It is ’ always on hand when vou want it—and ! when you don't.— Teras Siftings. There is a Chinese laundryman in Cali fornia who has no chin, which leads us to remark that we wish our washerwoman were afflicted in a similar way. She has too much chin altogether.— Lowell Citi i zen. There are times in a man’s life whet the whole sky seems rose colored, and this old, dull world a paradise. One of these is when he has discovered a quar ter in the lining of his old vest.— Boston Post. “I rather marry a yaller dog than you,” wrote a California girl to a suitor. She afterward reconsidered her determi nation and married him. He now wishes he had taken her at her word.— New York Graphic. Boots are seldom worn in the evening and undressed kid is the favorite ma terial for slippers, says a fashion jour nal. It may be added that slippers are not a favorite material with the un dressed kid.— The Hatchet. .■ How to Keep Cool. Don’t work as hard as usual during the middle of the day if it can be es caped. Don’t eat as much as usual. It is not necessary, and a little fasting in hot weather always pays. Don’t drink extremely cold ice water. It is always better to eat the ice or let it melt in the mouth. Don’t have any fires going in the house unless absolutely necessary. Use cold foods and do without hot drinks. Don’t wear your clothes tight. It im pedes the already depressed circulation and is a great source of discomfort. Don't eat any meat or butter if you can do without them. They are heat ing, and any one is better without them this weather. Don’t fail at meals to give preference to fruits and acids, which are more agreeable now to the stomach than any thing else that can be offered. Don’t neglect any chance to get out of the city to the country or seaside even for half a day. Such an excursion will often bridge a person over an entire heated term. Don’t walk any faster than is neces sary. Strain a point and ride as much as possible, as every street car fare such weather as this is a great saving of phy sical wear and tear. Don’t drink any strong stimulants, as simplest and plainest beverages, such as lemonade, milk or iced coffee, do more for the tired eneigies at such a time than the best brandy. Don’t worry and fret. Try and put off the unpleasant thing with which you have to deal until cooler weather, and make up your mind not to get mad at anything. Don’t neglect your feet. Bathe them night and morning, pay more attention than usual to corns, and wear the oldest and roomiest shoes you have. No one can keep cool with tight shoes on their feet. Don’t miss any oportunity that is of fered to bathe or go into the water. If nothing else can be done dip the hands in a basin of water and rub them all over the person on arising and before retir ing. Don’t wear a stiff hat. Compromise on something light and soft—straw if possible—and ventilated above to let out the hot air. Frequent shampooning and wetting the top of the head is one effec tive means of keeping co®l. — Philadel phia Times. Fishing by a Hen. Joseph T. Favinger, of Lawrenceville, East Coventry township, is the owner of a Plymouth Rock hen which is possessed of th : peculiar trait of necking in the water for a portion of its livelihood. Pigeon creek empties into the Schuylkill river at Mr. Favinger’s machine shops, just after furnishing the power for that industry, and before doing so flows over a shallow, pebbly bottomed bed in which numerous minnows are at all times to be seen. Lately the hen referred to, which probably (list discovered the spot in seeking a place for water, has gotten in the habit of visiting this place daily and spending some time in wading about the shallow water and catching live minnows, which, as it catches them in its bill, carries them to shore and after pecking them until they make no more movements swallow them whole. The hen's method of catching the fish is to go in among a school of small fish and drive them toward a spot where the water is so shallow that they are scarcely able to swim, when it will plunge in among them and is almost certain of c qituring one at each effort. West chester (Penn.) Village Record. A mountain explorer, just returned from Asia, states that during a four month's residence at a height of 15,000 feet above the sea. his pulse, nominally only sixty-three beats pet minute, sel dom fell below 100 beats per minute, and bis respirations wero often twiee as numerous as at ordinary levels,