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PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY BKLLTON, GA. by JOHN BL ATS. P er an: ’>™ >SO cents for six months; 2o cents for three month". Psrties away from Beilton are requested to send their names, with such amounts of money as they can spare, from 2cc. to sl. AN INCIDENT. BY AGNES MACDONELL. Unarmed and unattended w ilks the Czar, Moscow’s busy street one winter’s day, rhe erbwd uncover as his face they see— ** God greet the Czar!” they say. Along his path there moved a funeral, Gray spectacle of poverty and woe. A wretched sledge, dragged by one weary man, blowly across the snow. And on the sledge, blown by the winter wind, Lay a poor coffin, very rude and hare. And he who drew it bent before his load, With dull and sullen air. The .Emperor stopped and beckoned to the man; Who is’t thou bcarest to the grave?” he said. “ Only a soldier, Sire!” the short reply, “ Only a soldier dead.” “ Only a soldier!” musing, said the Czar; “ Only a Russian, who was poor and brave Moye on. I follow. Such a one goes not Uuhouored to his grave.” He bent his head, and silent raised his cap, The Czar of all the Russians, pacing slow, Following the coffin, as again it went, Slowly across the sn rw. The passers of the street, all wondering, Looked on that sight, then followed silently; Peasant and prince, and artizau and clerk, > All in one company. Still, as they went, :ne crowd grew ever more, Till thousands stood around the friendless grave, Led by that princely heart, who, royal, true, ’ Honored the poor and brave. Note.—This incident is narrated by a lady who as living in Mumtow when it look place. Spectator. FIRST AND LAST DIGGINGS. “ What is this dilapidated old book? An heirloom?” asked my friend, who for the last half-hour had been looking over my library. “Oh, no,” I replied, “ that is no heir loom. but something which I prize as highly as if I could prove that it came over in the Mayflower, if you would like, I will explain it to you." Draw up your chair,” I said, taking the boos, “and if, in my own interest. I get tire some, stop me, I beg of you.” “1 have always called this my‘Col lege Register.’ In my sophomore year I conceived the idea of keeping in my room this book, in which I asked every body coming to see me for the first time to write their name, with the date. My friends were not bored but once, and, if the writing of their names caused them a little annoyance at the time, I r.in sure that if they knew the amount of pleas ure the possession of their autographs has given me since, they would feel amply repaid. A good deal of fun was made of me at the time, but that has all passed, and the book remains the most powerful reminder of my college days When I look at the names of the good fellows written here it sometimes seems as if I was again a student, with no care but that of preparing my reci tati ns for the next day. But enough of that; let us get to the inside. Open it anywhere—familiar names are on every page. “ 'George H. Adams, January 15, 1846. He was a fine fellow, son of a widow, living in town. He worked his way through college, and had a hard time of it, but he succeeded, and is now a successful business man in the south ern part of the State. “ ‘ Louis M. Huntington, March 3, 1847. f never knew him very well, for he never came to my room but once. He was a handsome, fascinating fellow, always a favorite in society because ot his easy, graceful manners and his fine voice. I have often wondered what has become of him, but I have never been able to find him out, as I lost sight of him very soon after we graduated. “ ‘ Leonard Meredith, February 26, 1846.’ That name deserves more than a passing notice; his life and mine have been most strongly linked together. “ In the same building with myself, in fact directly over my head, there roomed a young man whom I had seen in the recitations and in the halls of our building. He was called Meredith by the instructors, and that was al! I knew of him. However, I liked his looks, and determined to know more of him. So, one evening I went to ms room, un der the pretext of borrowing something; he received me in a most cordial man ner, and readily loaned me what I a-ked. We easily dropped into conversation, and be was so entertaining that I re mained an hour or more. Whenever I spoke, 1 noticed that he kept his eyes fixed upon my sac deep brown eyes, with an earnest eager look in them. Indeed, his whole face expressed an earnestness and determination which won me completely. I told him that I roomed right under him, and asked him to stop in any time when he was going by. “After waiting for him a month, I determined to try again. I was received in the same cordial manner as before, and when I asked him why he had not been to see me, he frankly confessed that he was afraid of meeting a crowd of fel lows there, which he'always avoided, if possible. I talked with my other class mates about him, and they all said that they had had an experience very simi lar to mine. “ I had also noticed that Meredith, although quite talkative when I was with him alone, became suddenly very quiet if anotier person joined us. I attributed this peculiarity to diffidence, but I soon found that I was most com pletely mistaken, for Leonard was al ways at his ease, and although by no means forward, be could not be called diffident. “The more I knew and saw of Leon ard Meredith the more I liked him, and finally on February 26, 1846, he came to my room and wrote his name there in my ‘register.’ From that time we be came better acquainted, and lie used to come to my room often when he knew that I was alone. On one of the even ings when he was with me he told me The North Georgian. yoL. in. the reason why he shunned general so ciety. 1 had never suspected it, nor would you, ha‘d you known him. He told me that he was almost totally deaf. I could hardly believe him. His voice was as perfectly modulated as yours or mine, and then I had been talking with him more or less for a whole year, and had never once suspected his infirmity. Lip-reading was not so common then as it is now, and so I was the more com pletely astonished when he told me that he could understand what a person said by watching the movements of their lips. If there were two or three in the company, he was unable to look quickly enough from one person to another in order to see what he said. This ex plained his rather peculiar conduct. “After Leonard had told me of,his infirmity our friendship grew stronger, and we gradually became almost insep erable. Our walks were always taken together, and during ore of them, on a beautiful spring afternoon, he entrusted to me another secret. “ I knew that he was in the habit of visiting one family in the town, and it was the only place outside of college where I hadever heard of his going, but 1 had never guessed the attraction which drew him there. “ In one part of the house, he told me, there lived a brother and sister, who were orphans, and the-e were the per sons whom he visited. The brother was an invalid, and it was probable that he would never recover. The sister, Mar garet Wadsworth, was most devoted to him, taking entire charge of him. She was accustomed to read to her brother a great deal, and it was in this way that Leonard had been able to assist her. All this was mere preface to Leonard’s seciet, and by this time I had guessed that he was in love with Miss Wads worth. It was so, indeed, and they were engaged, but with no immediate pros pect of being married, although Leonard wished it as soon as he graduated: but Margaret was not willing that he should encumber himself at the beginning of his career with the care «f her invalid brother, who demanded all her time and attention. I saw that Leonard was I in great earnest, and, although he longed | to claim Margaret as his wife, his love for her would not allow him to urge anything against her wishes. “ In a few days after our confidential talk, Ijeonard asked me if I would call with him upon Miss Wadsworth and her brother. I was very much pleased that he should show me that attention, and I eagerly accepted. “ Leonard led the way to a little cot tage in a retired part of the village, where the brother and sister lived. They occupied only a part of the house, as their means would notallow them to do more, and Margaret wished to have somebody else in the house, in case she had need to call any one. Leonard gave a couple of little raps on the door, and soon we heard some one running lightly down stairs to let us in. Margaret Wadsworth opened the doorherself, and Leonard introduced me as ‘ My friend, Will Dennet, of whom you have heard me speak so often.’ By the manner in which Miss Wadsworth gave me her hand I knew I was welcome, and her eyes told me that anyafriend of Leon ard’s had a claim upoir her friendship also. “She led the way upstairs to their little sitting-room. We paused a mo ment in the doorway, and I recall ex actly how the room looked to me then, with the marks of Margaret’s graceful and artistic nature, displayed every where. A dark, modest carpet covered the floor, a wood fire burned on the hearth, and on a low, broad couch, by a curtained window, lay the invalid. By i his side was a small table with an open book, face downward, as if some one had just ceased reading, and a lamp, with a crims >n shade, which shed a soft, subdued light through the room. Between two of the windows stood a low bookcase, and among the knick-nacks upon the top was a vase of flowers, which I immediately knew must have come from Leonard. “As we entered the room, Margaret went to the lounge to arrange her brother’s pillow an<f to tell "him that we had come. As she walked across the room, I had an opportunity to look at her more minutely. The way she had of arranging her brother’s pillow and of speaking to him showed at once what a gentle, beautiful disposition she had. Her large gray eyes were full of affec tion, as she said in a low, sweet voice, ‘Albert, Leonard has come and has brought his friend, Mr. Bennett. Would you not like to have the lounge moved a little, so you can see them?’ Albert did not speak, but smiled consent; a sweet, patient smile, and so much like his sister’s. “As we weae saying good-night I asked Albert if I might come and read to him when Leonard could not. His face lighted up with the same smile, as he said he never got tired listening to his favorite authors. I used to go fre quently after that, when Leonard was busy, to read to the invalid. It became one of my greatest pleasures, and 1 thought it was entirely my desire to do good, but I now know that a more selfish motive influenced me somewhat. “ Leonard’s Jove for Margaret was as sincere and pure as her’s was for him. They were most devoted to each other, but with none of that s’ckly sentiment ality which you so often see nowadays. “Time went on, and with it our friendship increased. We formed a very happy quartette in the little sit ting-room at Miss Wadsworth’s. I generally left Leonard and Margaret to gether, while I devoted myself to Al bert. He was no better, but bore up under his affliction with great fortitude and set an example of self-control to BELLTON, BANKS COUNTY, GA.. MAY 6, 1880. me particularly, who was to need it so sorely. “At last the spring of ’49 came, and we were making preparations to grad uate. Immediately after, Ixionard was to leave for California. For the last few months his health had been failing, and the physicians told him that an en tire change of climate with some active out-door work was necessary for his complete recovery. He was unwilling to leave Margaret, but she urged it so strongly, and I also advised it, that he finally consented. California seemed the place for him; the gold excitement was at its height, and he hoped that while seeking for his health he might also find bis fortune. “ I went to the nearest city to read law, but alway managed to see Margaret once or twice a week, for Leonard’s sake, I said to myself, “ We received one letter from Leon ard, mailed at the Isthmus. He said that the sea voyage had done him much good, and he felt almost inclined to re ctum. What a difference it would have made in my life if he had! “The damp chilly days of October had come. We had not yet heard o Leonard’s arrival, and we naturally felt a little anxious, but the uncertainty of the mails at that time woufd account for the delay. The change in the weather began to tell upon Albert; he grew weaker, and no longer took the same interest in the books which we read to him. I told Margaret, one day, that I feared her brother’s end was near. I found her prepared forft: indeed, she had realized it, but had not the courage to speak of it. Poor girl, he had been a care to her all her life, yet, when she was called to part with him, it seemed almost impossible to give him up. “ By the first of November Albert left us. After the last duties of love were performed, I took Margaret back to her little home. Inas gentle a manner as I could, I asked her what her wishes were and how I could aid her. She said that she would wait for a letter from Leon ard, to see what were his prospects. If she could go to him she wdVd, but if that was impossible she would look for some work to do until his return. Her little fortune bad been almost exhausted by her brother’s long illness, and by the necessarily heavy expenses at the last. On that account she felt obliged to do something for her own support, but she had enough money left to take her to California if that seemed the best course. “ I admired her courage, brave girl. There she was, all alone in the world, with no one but her betrothed, who was three thousand miles away. 1 admired her courage, but J loved herself. It was the first time I had admitted it to my self, although I had recognized its in fluence. “ I felt it necessary that one of us should go away, because I was doing Leonard an injustice, since I could not longer treat Margaret as a friend. I thought this all over on my way back to the city, and resolved to go abroad and study, if Margaret did not go tc Cali fornia. “ Little did I know that my course was all marked out for me, as soon as I should get. to my rooms. There I found on my table a small package, and an I envelope directed to me in a strange i hand-writing. Inside were two letters, j one from Leonard, and the other in the same hand-writing in which the en velope was directed. There was but a word from Leonard, and as I read it, j my heart stood still. ‘ I entrust Mar garet to your care.’ The writing was j Leonard’s, but so changed ; it looked as | if it had been written with the greatest I effort. I was so overcome by reading j these few words that I forgot all about j the other letter. Why should Leonard entrust Margaret to me? Was he dead, i and she free? The thought flashed j through my mind like lightning. I 1 eagerly seized the other letter, and read I it at a glance. Leonard was dead, and I his death caused by his infirmity, with- i out doubt. It was as I feared. Feared, when Margaret was free, and I could rightly sue for her hand? 1 was com pletely overwhelmed by the contradic tion of feelings in my breast. My grief for my dearest friend’s death was in strong conflict with my mine—mine j if I could win her. “ I took up the letter again and read it carefully. It was written by a friend ly miner who had been with Leonard at the time of his death. He had gone to the hydraulic mines to try his fortune there. A morning or two after he ar rived he was working under a projecting mass of earth and rock which had been loosened by the water. The other miners saw the mass tremble and called to Leonard to run from under it; but, alas, he could not hear them—he was deaf. The earth and rock came down with a crash, and partially buried him; but he was rescued while life still re mained, and taken to a neighboring house, where everything was done for him that was possible. But all in vain, for he died within the next twelve hours of some internal injury. How ever, he was conscious to the last, and wrote these few words, entrusting to me what was dearest to him on earth ; he also requested that the little gold dust which he had found should be sent to me, the result of his first and last dig gings- • . , ‘ 1 learned ail this from the miner s letter. It was written in strange lan guage, and still stranger spelling, but under the rough exterior you could see that there was one of the kindest of hearts, always ready to aid a feliow being in distress. “ Leonard’s friends in the little min ing town sent the gold with the letters to San Francesco, where they were given in charge of a merchant on his way East, who brought them to me. “ After reading the letters, I sat in thought for a long time. At the end of that time, let me say it to my credit, I thought only of Margaret’s deep sorrow and my great loss in the death of Leon ard Meredith. “ The' , next day I went to her. How was I to break the news without break ing her heart? She had just lost her brother, and now to lose her lover was indeed very hard. " This was the severest trial I had ■vßr been through, and when I told Margaret the burden seemed more than she could bear. The hope of seeing Leonard had carried her through her brother’s death, but now no hope was left, and she was alone. “I was resolved that she should no longer remain in the little college town where everything reminded her of her brother and Leonard. I urged her to move into the city, and she consented, because she thought she would be in a better position to get work. “How I longed to tell herthat there was no need of her working! “Through the influence of friends, Margaret was soon offered the position of governess in a family going abroad for three years. She consulted me about accepting the place, and I ad vised her to, by all means. I was loath to have her go away, but what better thing was there for her than a change of scene ? “ I continued in my law studies, was admitted to the bar and practicing for myself when the three years appointed for Margaret’s absence had passed. “In the meantime I heard from her often. She wrote in a bright, chatty way which showed that she was improving both in health and spirits. In my let ters to her, I tried to write as a friends, but I know that my love showed itself in spite of me. By-and-by I fancied there was a change in her letters. I was unable to tell whether this change meant that she was offended at the love which I could not conceal, or, what I scarcely dared hope, that she was learn ing to love me. “I’met her at thedock as she landed and hardly knew the Margaret Wads worth of old. The lines of care had gone from her face, and, although she was three years older than when I saw her last, she looked as much younger, “ I will not burden you further with V>w I wooed and won her, but if you wih notice the wedding-ring on my wife’s hand, the only jewelry she wears, you will see that it has a richer, deeper color than ordinary rings, because it was made out of his first and last dig gii’gs- The Economies of Society. The London correspondent of the Philadelphia North American, writing under the above heading, says: Two of the chief instances of this have been so often pointed out that I need only mention them to say that signs of the talked of reaction are small indeed. These instances are the great fall in the price of pictures, and the “ putting down ” of an immense propor tion of the carriages kept by the smaller fry of London society. A sign of com parative poverty, less immediately ob vious than these, is the enormous growth of “afternoons.” One does not know a lady who has not now her Tues day “ teas,” her Saturdays “ at home,” or—if her set be in the least Bohemian —her Sundays. But—and here is the point —it is such a cheap civility. Tea is only half a crown a pound; biscuits and butter cost little, and are worth much. And this rage—for fashion would be too mild a term —is in the main, we may be certain a matter of economy. It has been growing for years, in various forms, and it has now reached a pitch which an artist would call in every sense of the word frightful. I was at a “tea” the other day, and looked round me in dismay at the dreary alternation of black coats and black gowns. There were eighteen ladies in the roo?n in which I was, and of these all but one were dressed in black —and she only wore a gray jacket, and was very likely black underneath. Os course, there were a few colored ribbons and trim mings to show that every one present was not mourning a deceased next of kin; but the material of every dress was black, and the effect against a dull green “aesthetic” wall lively. And men are studying minor economy also; dark, if not black, trowsers are worn more than ever, and black gloves and neckties for evening dress have now been “in” some time. The saving in these two little items will be appreciated by any one who goes out much; but the desire to save in dress is certainly a new feature in the jeuneue doree, who, I pre ume, sets the fashion in such matters. At a recent meeting of the Southern Historical Society, in Louisiana, an apron made in the semblance of a Con federate flag was shown, and its history told. In the spring of 1863 the 11th Virginia Cavalry passed Hagerstown, wearied, discouraged, and pursued by Federal troops. A young girl stood in the doorway, wearing this apron. The soldiers cheered enthusiastically, and the Colonel asked her to give him a piece of it for a memento. “ You may have it all,” she said, and it was carried with the regimental colors into a battle the following day. The youthful sol dier who wore it was mortally wounded, but he saved the apron from>apture by biding it in his bosom. Central Texas has been suffering from drougth for nearly a year. NO. 18. How a Married Woman Goes to Sleep. There is an article going the rounds entitled, “How Girls Go to Sleep.” The manner in which they go to sleep, according to the article, can’t hold a candle to the way a married woman goes to sleep. Instead of thinking of what she should have attended to before going to bed, she thinks of it afterward. While she is revolving these matters in her mind, and while snugly tucked in bed, the old man is scratching his legs in front of the fire, and wondering how he will pay the next month’s rent. Sud denly she says: “James, did you lock the door?” “ Which door?” “The cellar door,” says she. “ No,” says James. “ Well, you’d bettergo down and lock it, for I heard some one in the back yard last night.” Accordingly, James paddles down stairs and locks *the door. About the time James returns and is going to get into bed she remarks: “ Did you shut the stair door?” “ No, says James. “ Well, if it is not shut the cat will get up into the bed room.” “Let her come up. then,” says James, ill-naturedly. “ My goodness, no!” returns the wife, “ she’d suck the baby’s breath 1” Then James paddles down stairs again, and steps on a tack, and closes the stair door, and curses the cat, and returns to the bed-room. Just as he begins to climb into his couch his wife observes: “ I forgot to bring up some water. .Suppose you bring some in the big tin.” And so James, with a muttered curse, goes down into the dark kitchen, and falls over a chair, and rasps all the tin ware off the wall, in search of the “ big ” tin, and then he jerks the stair door open and howls: “ Where the deuce are the matches?” She giveshim minute directions where to find the matches, and adds that she would rather go and get the water her self than have the neighborhood raised about it. After which James finds the matches, procures the water, comes up stairs, and plunges into bed. Presently his wife says: “James, let’s have an understanding about money matters. Now, next week I’Ve got to nay”— “1 don’t know what you’ve got to pay, snd I don’t care,” shouts James, as he lurches around and jams bis face against the wall; “all I want is to go to sleep.” “ That’s all very well for you,” snaps his wife, as she pulls the covers vicious ly, “ you never think of the worry and trouble I have. And there’s Aramenta, who I believe is taking the measles.” “ Let her take’em,” says James, stick ing his legs out as straight as two ram rods. “ It seems to me vou have no sense or feeling,” whines his wife, “and if you nad any respect for me you wouldn’t eat onions before you come to bed. The atmosphere of the room from the smell of onions is horrid.” “ Well, go down and sleep in the kitchen, then, and let me alone,” says James. Hereupon she begins to cry softly, but about the time James is falling into a gentle doze she punches him in the ribs with her elbow, and says: “ Did you hear that scandal about Mrs. Jones?” “ What Jones?” says James, sleepily. “ Why, Mrs. Jones.” “Where?” inquires James. “ I declare,” says his wife, “ you are setting more stupid every day. You now Mrs. Jones that lives at No. 21. Well, day before yesterday, Susan Smith told Mrs. Thompson that Sam Baker had “aid that Mrs. Jones had”— Here she pauses and listens. James is snoring in profound slumber. With a sort of rage she pulls all the covers off him, wraps herself up in them and lays awake until 2 a. m., thinking how bad ly abused she is. And that is the way a married woman goes to sleep. The New Home es Adolph Sutro* Adolph Sutro, who, since its iacep tion, has been the life of the Sutro Tun nel, is at present living with his family in elegant style at his new home on the northwest corner of Hayes and Fillmore streets, San Francisco. The residence is described by a writer in the Sutro In dependent as being one of the most gor geous in ban Francisco, and is furnished without consideration of expense. Mr. Sutro is a great lover of the beautiful in art, and while his heme is supplied with an immense library purchased re cently in New York, and with other of the stabler commodities, it is, in the way of its art contents, a perfect won der. Among his collections are paint ings, large and small, by old masters; paintings by artists who have but one particular style, and that to perfection; beautiful landscapes, among all of which can be seen now and then a pro duction of his daughter, Miss Katie, who has become an adept in the accom plishment. Among his articles of stat uary is one of “The Amazon,” purchased recently by him in Europe and valued at $5,000. In last week’s Independent a denial of Mr. Sutro’s having purchased a place on the Hudson River, New York, was made. The informant was mistaken. Mr. Sutro has purchased one of the finest places on that romantic stream, the same to be the home of his aged mother for the remain der of her days. It is opposite the Pali sades, and is said to present a charm ingly beautiful view. “Ah,” he groaned, “ never tell me again about the ‘widow’s smite’ being a small affair. I’d rather be kicked by a hippopotamus!”— Deadwood Pioneer. Gteorgiar;, Published Every Thubspat at BELLTON, GEORGIA: RATHS OF SUBSCRIPTION. One year (52 numbers), $1.00; six months (26 numbers) 50 cents; three months (It numbers), 25 cents. Office in the Smith building, east ot the depot. PASSING SMILES. • High pitch—that on the California pine trees. A woman sfung is the nearest ap proach to perpetual motion. You can always tell a clerk in a dry goods store from the millionaire pro prietor by the good clothes the clerk wears. M.Meibsonier, the great French artist, “ paints very slowly.” The same may be said of a house painter working by the day, but this doesn’t make him o great artist. The ice and peach crops arc ruined yearly, along with the champagne crop, and it seems to be really doubtful whether we ever see genuine-, ice and {teaches in this country. The following appears in the Alla habad Pioneer: “Wanted, a situation as a snake charmer in a serious" family. N. B.—No objection to look after a camel.” As you travel around the country you are more and more impressed with the conviction that the chief end of man is to paint patent medicine signs on the fences.— Burlington Hawkeye. Wealthy cad—“ Look here—bring me some dinner, oil man. The best you’ve got.” Restaurateur —“ Dinner a a carte, M’sieu?” Cad—“ Cart be hanged I Dinner a ler carriage 1” A YOUNG man in Maryland started out with horse and lance and battle-ax to champion damsels in distress. He had not gone five miles when a red headed school ma’am pulled him off his steed and rolled him in the mud. Professor—“ Which is the more del icate of the sense?” Sophomore—“ The touch.” Professor—“Proveit.” Sopho more—“ When you sit on a tack. You can’t hear it; you can’t see it; you can’t taste it; you can’t smell it; but it’s there.” On the planet Jupiter one year is nearly as long as twelve of our years. By the amount of time some people in this world take on their promissory notes, it is evident that they labor under the delusion that they are inhabitants of Jupiter. Certain of our exchanges advocate the leaving off what they call super fluous titles, as “Mr.” and “ Esq.” Why, brethren, this will work great in jury—to a certain class. Take away what is superfluous and there will be nothing left. “JThxt are like a tree?” he The maiden yawned and could not tell; Because you’re woo’d ” and blushing red, The young man thought he did it well. “ How smart! and why are you a tree That’s dead—’tis easy you perceive;” He gave it up; then answered she “ Because, young man, you never leave.” After the jury had been out all day, the judge very properly sent them word, saying, “ Mr. Foreman, it is true I gave you the case, but I didn’t intend you to keep it forever. If it is all the same to you, you will return it when you get through with it.” “The smooth places made rough,” said .Mr. Simkins, as he sat down sud denly at the suggestion of a slidding place on Main street. “And the rough places made smooth,” continued the sage, as he considered the journey of life. Then he smiled and was glad he fell down. Mrs. Sacket, of Downsville, Delaware County, slammed her door to and a gun standing behind it fell to the floor, dis charging its contents into her leg, and making a wound which necessitated amputation. Moral: Always shut a door softly, as though there was sickness in the family. “My friends,” said the political speaker, with the burst of ingenuous eloquence, “ I will be honest—” There were a large number of neighbors pres ent, and the terrific outburst of applause which followed this remark entirely up set the point which the orator was about to introduce. A countryman, afler intently watch ing a sign in a boot and shoe store in this city the other day, which read “ Find ings,” stepped in and told the proprie tor he had lost a brindle heifer last week, and he would like to know what they would, charge to hunt her up? An article upon the human figure says that “tl.e proport : ons of the figure are six times the length of the feet. Com ing generations, when they shall exca vate a Chicago young lady’s shoe, will remark incontinently, “There were giants in those days,” and mentally re construct a race of women ten feet tall. Hearing that hoops are coming in style again a Steubenville girl visited Wellsburg the other day to have a pair built around the half-mile race track on the fair grounds. She wanted to get a set that would hide a portion of her feet. If it wasn’t for Steubenville girls half the tanneries this side of civilization would have to hang up their shutters.— Wheeling Leader. A Water-Resisting Cement. A water-resisting cement, which looks as though it might prove serviceable, has been proposed by a German chemist. He dissolves from five to ten parts of water, and then adds ten per cent, of concentrated solution of birenromate of potash. The articles united with this glue are exposed to the light of the sun, when the birchromate becoming re duced, the gelatine film attains great strength and flexibility. Glass orna ments and utensils when broken are said to be neatly and efficiently repaired with this mixture. Os course, the very principal upon which the utility of the cement depends, requiies that it be kept in the dark, in order that it may act as desired when used.