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BHK THE M HI MB TOM'S GOUGE. BT RAYMOND S. SPEARS. The spring drive of logs down the West Canada creek, an Adirondack stream, five years ago, was remarkable for a number of unusual events. To begin with, it was larger by millions of feet than any ever before floated down this stream. It was floated in record time, too, for the snow went off with a rush after the ice had gone out. Con sequently the creek was brimming, and on this flood tide came the logs by the tens of thousands. To roll stranded logs from the banks and to break the jams, there was a gang of more than 60 strong, daring men. They rode the torrent and fell in a dozen times a week, but at last they learned caution. Bill Kennedy rode a log into Has kell's rifts before he knew it one day. A mile of white w T ater full of rocks was before him. Kennedy lost his courage, the more completely because his courage had never before failed him. He uttered a wild cry. Dan Cunningham saw his peril, and jumping to a passing log, pushed out to the rescue. It was a wild race, but the approacn of help steadied Kennedy and enabled him to keep his balance. Cunningham, guiding his log into the swiftest current, overtook the helpless raftsman, and with his pike pole steered both logs for shore. There was an eddy just a little way J>elow, and Cunningham, with all his might, shoved Kennedy into it. But that thrust pushed his own. far out, rolling and rocking. Kennedy was ashore in a moment, but before Cun ningham could recover his balance the log he rode hit a rock; one end flew up, and the rescuer was thrown 20 feet into the air. He came down head first on a froth covered rock and disappeared. It was dark before the body was recovered. After that the men took the long way round, even at dinner time. No man is a raftsman unless he can ride a log. So In a lumbering country every riverside boy of ambition learns the knack on creek still waters. It is a good thing to know how to do. It means a good job when one grows up, and may be the saving of a life be sides. Among the rest of the boys at Wil murt, Will Conway, 16 years old that spring, was renowned. He knew the creek, the places where the deer .rossed it, the brooks that the mink followed and the pools the trout lurked in. But he wasn’t satisfied with the money he earned selling trout and trapping mink. He wanted to make daily wages like a man. So he went ■ o George Koch, the boss driver, and ' ked to go with his gang; but Koch old the lad he wasn’t .big enough yet to handle a cant-hook. It was a heavy disappointment to Will. It hurt his pride; besides, the family needed the money. But as ar gument was of no avail, Will was a mere spectator on the bank just above Mad Tom’s gorge when the driving crew arrived there on a Saturday morning. That was the best place on the creek to see the drive. A big boulder had vome out of the deep water above the gorge and lodged there in midstream at the' brink of the tumult, its broad, ugly head two feet above the surface level. Against it logs were hanging -very minute, making the worst jam of the season. It was already 200 yards long. The mere fact that it was a big jam waa something, but that was not all. Whoever broke this jam must surely go through the gorge—a third of a mile >f the wildest plunging water, where the flood piles up first against one rock ledge, then against the other, and dnally glides into the foaming tumble the l\ead of Mad Tom’s pool, in which men have disappeared. Haskell’s rift, broad, open and com paratively shallow, had cost Cunning ham his life. Here was water tenfold worse. At sight of the jam above it 'he men hesitated and shook their heads. They ate their lunch of cheese, uread, canned beef and coffee. Some hoped the water would rise and lift the jam over the boulder; they pointed out that the stream was just then rising 14 bit. for it was higher in the centre 'ban at the sides. At any rate, a little ‘lelay would do no harm. At the head of the jam the water sucked and boiled, with little whirl pools diving into one another. On both "'des it raced, wide, black and smooth, burgling along the edges as it drew hits of ice and sticks under the ends i>f logs. Where the water was divid and its bed narrowed, the current can swifter and swifter till, at the en lace of the gorge, the water was *ined and the foam stretched out, and **en the bubbles were oblong, slanted *>ack by the wind, or whisked off the surface into shining, evanescent •breads. Under such conditions —with the water sucking and boiling—no man in the crew volunteered to go to the Jam. Asa matter of business, the boss offered $25 to the one who would try. There never was a log jam that river drivers wouldn’t break sooner or later, no matter how high or rough the wa ter, but in this case the men wanted time to think. An that was a boy's opportunity. Will Conway’s father had been a "oted jam breaker, and men of the who knew the boy relieved their "neasy feelings by joking with him a it "Why, Billy," they said, “your dad have been out there hours ago “ he were here. He wa’n't afraid of ’lie gorge. Huh, I should say not! 1 seen him the time he went through the only one as ever did it alive, I i eckon, though some say they have. Them days they used to break jams with a cant-hook and ax, 'stead of dynamite. There was a jam just like this one. \ou’d ought to have seen it, the way he rode the first log, stiusiy as a wagon, and he saved his ax, too. Pity ther ain t no such men alive now adays." To this bantering narrative Will lis tened without undue gravity, but after a while, unobserved by any one, he opened the cheese box in which were the dynamite and fuse used by the floaters to blast jams and dangerous rocks. He put four sticks of the stuff into his hip pockets, and a length of fuse into his blouse. Then he went up the creek round the bend to his house and took a small corked bottle full of dry matches. The old pike-pole his father had used was under the eaves of the woodshed. He threw it over his shoulder and started for the creek. He was soon afloat on a little log that was easy to guide, and he worked his way to the middle of the stream, dodging or fending off other logs. He watched the current ahead to see that an unexpected drift did not carry him out of his course; he stood with his knees slightly bent and his head for ward, and the quarter-inch spikes in the sole of his shoes gripped the log till it splintered. Ahead of him was the jam with logs hitting it every minute. Some of them dived out of sight instantly. Others slued round sidewise and climbed the back of the jam. The whole head of the jam was rolling, twisting and heav ing; there could hardly be a more dan gerous place for a man’s legs. To miss these rolling logs and yet find a landing was Will's hope. To go too far down would be to risk the pitch into the gorge and the probability of being carried past the jam. But as he plunged into a drift of logs and was unable to steer out of it in time, he had to take his chances as they came. There wasn’t really any great choice in the matter. It would be a leap for life, anyhow, wherever the log struck, and it might as well be a big leap as a little one. Will was within 100 feet of the jam before any one saw him. Then a small boy shouted, “There’s Will Conway on a log!" A hundred men, and as many women and children, looked in time to see Will poise himself for the leap as his log approached the jam. Instead of hold ing the pole for a mere balance as he had been doing, he turned it parallel to his log and stooped for a vaulting jump. Log after log struck, each with a heavy, musical thump—a half dozen of them. Suddenly Will crouched, dropped his left shoulder, struck the iron pole point home in a log, and then sprang for ward and up—up, while the log he had just left plunged down into the vortex. He struck fairly on his feet and ran lightly over the uneasy logs to the motionless ones. Then the crowd on shore tossed its arms and cheered. The first and least of the dangers was over come. Will walked down the jam, stepping from log to log, taking his time all the way. The crush at the boulder was very great. He looked the tangle over; some of the logs fairly stood ou end, others were piled crosswise and length wise. A big one, its back splintered— almost broken —was evidently the key. As it lay broadside to the current, the water poured over it six inches deep at one end. The other logs were thrust over and under it, and were lodged against the boulder. Just below the key log, in the water beside tne boulder, was the place for the dynamite, so Will decid ed after the examination. Then he went to work. While the crowd on shore looked on, wondering what he would do next, not knowing that he had dynamite, Will moved his pike along the jam, and found a straight spruce sapling, eight feet long and bare of bark, which some lumberman up at the log dump had used as a handspike. He carried this to the key log, and kneeling down, tied the dynamite sticks, one by one to his sapling, lash ing them fast with a stout string, as he had seen the men do. Then he fastened the fuse and ran it along the stick steadying it by twine. This took only a few minutes —breathless ones to the onlookers. Then Will examined the logs again, to be sure that he would put the charge in the right place. When Boss Koch saw him doing that, he said, “The coolest chicaen I ever see!” At last the sapling was shoved home, the dynamite was three feet under wa ter and the end of the fuse was nearly a foot above the surface. Then Will stood up and looked into the gorge be low. He knew how the water ran there, for he had lived within a mile of it all his life. The story of his father s ride was not anew one; indeed, his father had pointed out to him the black streak of navigable water he had fol lowed on that memorable drive of years ago. Will could see the streak for a short distance along the right bank of the gorge. To the left the logs that missed the jam were lifting their noses against the ledge and tumbling over backward. Will pulled his belt a hole tighter, and drew his trouser legs out of his stocking tops; if he had to swim there wouldn’t be bags of water on each leg drawing him under. He glanced back and saw where the pike pole was. Then THE WEEKLY NEWS, CARTERSVILLE. GA. he took a match from the bottle and struck it on a bit of dry log. The flame sputtered into the fuse, and Will, grasping his pike, ran for the head of the. jam, where the logs were thump ing and rolling. In the days when jams were broken with cant-hooka and axes, the floaters always tried to keep ahead of the rush of logs lest they be crushed among them; but in these days of high ex plosives one must take one's chances at the other end; and this is not the safest place, when all the logs are moving and grinding together. The fuse was long and burned slow ly. Will was at the head of the jam long before the explosion came. He waited with the pike-pole balancing. The onlookers stood on tiptoe. The roar in the gorge was not quieting to any one’s nerves, but at last a dozen logs were lifted into the air, splin tered and broken, and the boulder dis appeared in smoke and spray. There was not so much noise as one might think; just a sound that trav eled low down, but a long distance. A 50-foot dome of gray spray, speck led with large black sticks and yellow splinters 10 feet long, flashed up, and then Will Conway poised for a life and death struggle. The jam quivered from end to end. It broke to pieces in great masses. Some logs came jutting up out of the black water; hundreds plunged in with mighty splashing. All were tossed and pitched. In a moment Will was stepping and jumping from log to log, running to ward the gorge. Once he fell, and the crowd gasped; but agile of body and cool of mind, he sprang to his feet feet again with only a shoe wet. As he whisked into the gorge, one voice alone was raised. Boss Koch shouted, “Good hoy! Keep your nerve!” Will lifted a hand in reply, and was then whirled out of sight. Till this time hardly any one had stirred, but now everybody turned and ran for the road. Koch and his driv ers leading. They raced over little patches of snow, through a brook waist deep with black water and broke down a dozen lengths of fence getting over it into the highway. The river men were dressed in flannels of bright col ors, blue, red, checkered and plaid blouse waists, and mackinaw trousers of all shade and hues. On them the sun shone with extraordinary effect a3 they strung out along the road, the best runners leading and the women bringing up the rear, all headed for Mad Tom’s pool, where the gorge ended. Down the gorge, below the first turn, the right bank is worn out and hangs far over the Quick water. The turn is a gradual one, and the logs, once clear of the lifting wave above, swing round to the left again, end on, and along the side of a huge molasses like roll. On the opposite side is a fierce eddy, in which logs dance on end and are split in two by the crush. The rocks on either side are hung with moss wet by a cold, thick spray, dashed up by the wind. Here Will found himself drawing toward the grinding mass in the eddy. He was too far to the left. Quick as thought he jumped to a swifter log higher up the roll, then to .one beyond, and on to a third, clear of the eddy by a yard. No time to think of it, though, for ahead was business quite as dangeroue —perhaps the worst of all. The gorge narrows below the second turn, and the water, crowded into it, foams so high on both sides as almost to curl over. Down the centre runs the blacU streak. W’ill got into that, and the white water was higher than his head on each side. He shot forward with increasing speed. He saw one lo* threa feet in diameter strike a ledge, to bo. hurled end over end through the air. As the spray lifted, he saw ahead the black level of Mad Tom’s pool, where there was safety. But before that the water gushed out suddenly fan-like, until rollers 10 feet high took up the speed, and only a greasy little trough lay down the cen tre. One# more Will saw that he was off his course, headed too much for the waves Among them he could do noth ing; h> would be tossed as from a cat apult. He jumped again. The log dived, and h< had to go to one beyond. For a moment he hung, almost toppling, but he goi his balance again, none too soma. Ten seconds of awful roar followed. His pike-pole, which he held as a rope walker holds his balancing pole, was in the foam at both ends. Up and down on short, solid three-foot waves went Us log, and through some soft, foamy ones. A water-soaked log came lurching at him, hat fell short. Another plunged across, just ahead of him. It seemed as if tLe whole jam was there, waiting for him The ext instant the tumble of wa ter was left behind. The current be came beoad and level; Its dancing was over for a while. The logs, after a hit of teetering, ceased their plunging, and floated on with rigid dignity. Will quickly pushed himself to shore and started *jp the road with his pike over his shoulder, beating the spray drops off his voolen cap. He was met by a whooping crowd of raftsmen, crying women and screaming boys, who all talked at once. A few minutes later the drivers hur ried away down stream, and Will ac comp.amed them. He was to have a man’s wages for handling the dyna mite at jams too big for cant-hook work. Of course, somebody went back to tell Will’s mother what had become of him; in fact, they’ve been telling her ever since, greatly to her satisfaction. —Youth’s Companion. DUXES OF EVERY KIND. NINETY SIZES REQJHED BY ONE INDUSTRY ALONE. Millions 1 limed Our Weekly by Amrrl- H" 1 MCtorm*—| to Wliii-li They Are I lit— V HtcriHl. 1.0,l in '1 heir Munilluc tore—All >ort. r I liu- About I hem. Millions of paper boxes are turned out every week in New Haven from the common cigarette holder to the one that holds a S2O creation of a mil one: y shop. There are half a dozen box shops in town, and the greater number of operatives are women. Until me paper box syndicate got control of the New Haven box factories the con cerns were run by different people, but the largest here are now owned by the National Folding Box and Pa per company. If you buy a hat it is sent to your home in a paper box; if you order a dress suit it comes to your home in a paper box; you get your cuffs, your collars, your shirts and ties In paper boxes; your shoes, your cuff buttons, your jewelry in paper boxes; dresses, shirtwaists, bonnets, hose, underwear, luncheons, cereals, oysters, milk, cod fish, fruit, candies, perfumeries, soaps and sausage; almost everything but boilers and engines are packed in pa per boxes nowadays. The variety and size of paper boxes is almost without limit, and modern machinery to make them is capable of anything in that way that it may be called on to do. About the only hand work now in making paper boxes is putting on the labels, and this could, if necessary, be done by machinery in the factories. An ordinary well equipped factory makes hundreds of sizes and shapes and usually carries about 200 samples in stock. The foun dation and body of a paper box is strawboard. Strawboard is a hard, thick, yellow ish-brown paper, commonly called cardboard by the consumer. It is made of straw —usually wheat straw. The straw used in this state, which has some of the largest and best known factories in the country, is usually hauled to the factories by nearby farm-' ers, or the factories buy the straw on the farms and do their own hauling. If at too great a hauling distance the straw is shipped in by bales. It is tumbled into huge pots of lime water and boiled to a pulpy mass, drained, fed between web cloths which flatten it and carry it to machines with many hot rollers, which gradually compress and make It smooth, until, when it emerges at the other side, it is straw board in a continuous sheet of a cer tain width. It passes through a cut ter, which makes it into sheets 26x38 inches. This is the regulation size agreed upon by the strawboard manu facturer of the. United States, appar ently because it is the most handy size and the one that can be made into most of the other sizes ordinarily used. Unless otherwise specified, it is always shipped in this size to paper box mak ers and other people who use straw board. It cuts to great advantage for many sizes of boxes and with the least waste. If lined strawboard is wanted, that is, board with, say, white paper cover on one side of it, the paper from a large roll is made to meet the straw hoard as it passes through the rollers, and is pressed on the board before the latter is completely dried by the last rollers. Strawboard comes altogether in 50-pound bundles, no matter what the size of the sheets. Some of it is so thick that there are only eight sheets of the regulation size in a 50- pound bundle; others thin enough to give 130 sheets to the bundle of that weight. The boxmaker first, cuts the larger sheets into the sizes he needs to make the kind of boxes wanted. Then these sheets of proper size are fed into a machine that scores them, that is, cuts half way through them in the right places so that the sheet mav be folded and be in shape of a box with bottom, two sides and two ends. Before be ing folded, however, they are slipped into a machine which nips the cor ners off. The stay machine next gets the folded shape and puts gummed pa per over the corners to hold together the sides and ends. The next machine lines and covers the boxes with paper in whatever color is wanted. The pa per has blue on one side, like postage stamps, and is in rolls on an axle. The naked strawboard box is hung on an other machine which turns the box up and down and over while the operator guides the paper over the box, outside and in. The lid is lined and complet ed in the same manner, being, of course, slightly larger than the box, so as to fit over it. There is a little ma chine to make the thumb hole, the lit tle semi-circular opening at the middle of the bottom of each side of the lid, which makes a place to get hold of the box while the lid is being pulled off. Then girls, by hand, deftly and quick ly put on the labels. The box has made the round of the factory, going from the receiving room, where the strawboard is stored, to the shipping room, awaiting the wagons which take them to merchant or railroad. The largest boxes made in Indianap olis factories are those for shirtwaists, 2Gxl6xlO inches; the smallest. lxlx3-8 inches. The latter are used by dental supply companies to send samples of false teeth to their dentist customers. The little round pill boxes aro not made in this city, and aro said to be the product of only two factories in this country. The Indianapolis facto ries make pill boxes, but they are square. The small boxes in which qui nine capsules and seidlitz powders are delivered to suffering humanity are a large product of nearly all factories of this kind. As an example of the extensive use of paper boxes, a saw manufacturer of this city gets thousands of them every month, in 90 sizes, from one of the lo cal paper box factories. A wedding box is another product. It contains presents for the ushers —usually a col lar, tie and a pair of gloves. The box is 14 Inches long, 2 inches wide and 1 inch deep. It is lined and covered with fine glazed paper. Little dainty boxes for wedding cake are In different shapes. heart-shaped, triangular, square and oblong. Boxes are also made for funeral shrouds. The glazed paper for covering the boxes comes in every color, shade and quality. Some of it costs nearly $1 a *hcet. The expensive kinds of boxes have pretty and delicate designs in sev eral colors. Jewelry boxes are lined with velvet and satin. Leatherette is an expensive covering for paper boxes. Book cloth is used for sample cases, telescopes and desk files. Silver and gold paper is used for borders and trimmings, and candy. The prices of paper boxes vary from 50 cents a hun dred to SIOO a hundred. The old-fashioned bandboxee, the standby of our forefathers, with their black and sometimes white paper cov erings, are seldom seen now, and are not made in any of the local factories. Hat boxes that are made here are square, following the modern fashion. Boxes are not all made of straw board. Woodboard is also used —a strong paper that is made of wood pulp. This hoard is white in colo;. — New Haven Register. QUAINT AND CURIOUS. Vegetables are usually sold in piles in Buenos Ayres so that you have to measure quantity as well as quality by the eye, and butchers sell their meat by the chunk rather than by weight. A wire fence weaving machine has been devised which enables a strong, serviceable fence to be constructed in position, with rapidity and economy. The machine carries a number of spools of wire and the weaving of the fence progresses rapidly. One indivdual, who narrowly es caped prosecution for counterfeiting rare eggs and selling the bogus speci mens to museums has recently turned up with exquisitely lifelike photo graphs of birds, which, in reality, are produced by the help of stuffed speci mens, artistically attitudinized. While Mrs. P. T. Bulger of Portland, Or., was traveling on a train toward Spokane, Wash, the other day, she gave birth to twins. The elder, a boy, was born in Oregon, and the other a girl, in the state of Washington, an hour later. This s the first case on record where twins were born in different states. The Gaekwar of Baroda has a bat tery of artillery consisting of gold and silver guns. There are four guns, two of gold and two of silver. The gold guns were made in 1874 by an artisan of Lakha, who worked on them for five years. They weigh 400 pounds each, and, except for the steel lining, are of solid gold. There yet remain in London of the old taverns seven Adam and Eves, five Noah’s Arks and naturally connected with that, as many Olive Branches. There are two Jacob’s Well's, one Job’s Castle and one Samson’s Castle. Oldest ot all, but not the least appropriate, is a Simon the Tanner, in Long lane, Ber mondsey, the seat of tne tanning in dustry in South London. Among those marked for destruction, too, one notes the sign of the Two Spies, a reference, of course, to those advance Israelites who returned from the Promised Land with their burden of grapes. Shave Their Heads. One part of Egypt shows where the outward and visible evidences of the aboriginal have been softened down with a veneer which the softeners fondly imagine is indicative of inward and spiritual grace. This is along a 350-mile stretch of the White Nile, where the Shilluks live and move and have their being. Now, the Shilluks are a picturesque and a promising peo ple. They have their Fashoda for a capital and their memories of lord Kitchener of Khartoum, which no man may take from them. Wherefore, what matters it that they have lost their original lawlessness, their former tur bulence and their cheerful specialty of roasting the enemy on the point of the spit? Now the Shilluka are so civilized they carry short wooden clubs, after the fashion of the Broadway policeman and occasionally brandish a long spear in true light opera style. They lead an enviable life, these Shilluks; noth ing to do all the livelong day but lie on the mossy bank and spear the hor ny-hided hippopotamus as he glides within range, or make a dead crocodile of a live one by the simple expedient of harpooning him through his vitals. As for work, that is for woman, and my lord of the Shilluks never puts his hand to it. Agriculture is yet an undeveloped in dustry, and what little developing has already taken place has been at the Instance and hands of the wives. The Shilluk country is not the birthplace of the seven Sutherland sisters of glori ous hirsute memory. All the women of the tribe shave their heads. t anna for War. A citizen walking past a butcher shop in a Kansas town saw the butcher and a customer rolling over the saw dust floor in a lively rough and tumble fashion. He pried them apart and then learned that the customer had come to buy some dog meat. The butcher non chalantly asked: “Do you wish to eat it here or shall I wrap it up?” A WOMAN TO A MAN. When you grieve, and let it show. And may tell me nothing more, You have told me, o’er and o’er, All a woman needs to know. When I show you thut I care (Meet your eyes and touch your hand)* I have made you understand All a woman may, or dare. So, the ears of Friendship heard! So, ’twas seen of Friendship's eyes! You are sad, I sympathize. All without a single word. —The Westminster Gazette. HUMOROUS. Hoax—She has beautiful hair, hasn’t she? Joax —Bang up. Muggins—He married his cook, I be lieve. Buggins—Yes; you see, she wanted to leave. “He said my voice had the flexibility of a harp” remarked the self-satisfied girl. “He wanted to string you,” said the slangy girl. Tommy—Pop, do kings still have court jesters? Tommy’sPop—No; they no longer feel the necessity of keeping their wits about them. She—He's quite a rising young au thor. He goes in for realism you know. He—Yes; but he hasn’t real ized on his writings to any extent. “Clarence unintentionally offended the aspiring young poetess” “In what way?” “He sent her a gayly decorated waste basket as a birthday present.” “He was a man of strong will,” re marked one friend of the deceased. “Yes,” agreed the other; “I hear that even the heirs despair of breaking it.” Father —I am afraid you will never make your living with yo(ir pen. Son— Then, father, don’t you think you could —er —advance me the price of a type writer? “ ‘Trans’ means across,” said the teacher; “can any boy give me an il lustration of its use?” “Yes, ma’am,” spoke up little Willie; “ ‘transparent,’ a cross parent.” Overheard in the florists —“How much are your hyacinths?” Fifty cents apiece.” “Why, I bought them for a quarter last month.” “Yes; but they are higher since.” Irate Tenant —You told me therewere no piano players in this house. Just listen to that girl on the next floor. Flat Landlord —She is no player; merely a practicer. Nell—l never knew a girl so sus ceptible to flattery as Maude. Belle — That’s right. Jack told her she was an angel, and she went right off and be gan taking lessons on the harp. The two housebreakers had nearly come to blows. “You promised to di vide with me, and you're keeping ev erything,” complained one. “No, I’m not keeping everything,” replied the other. “I’m not keeping my promise.” Tea and I’ropoanl. She was pouring at a tea that af ternoon ana she looked unusually be witching. He was sitting at her left in a bower of palms that almost con cealed him. He was holding one of her hands under cover of the table cloth while she tried to pour with the other. She did not look at him as she talked, but he knew by her color and the little quiver of the hand he was holding that she heard everything he said. “Dearest,” he id Ud as she sent one cup off without a spoon and an other filled only with whipped cream, “dearest. If you don’t mind my saying all this to you, just drop a spoon. Couldn’t you manage it?” A clatter of silver and more color in the girl’s face as, in stooping to pick up the spoon he kissed her hand. Spurred by this success, he went on: “Dearest, if —if you return it —that is, if you love me, just put three lumps of sugar into the next cup you pour—‘y-e-s.’ Or if you don’t, two, to spell ‘no.’ One, two, three. The tiny cup was almost full, but in her haste to hide her confes sion she covered the three lumps has tily with chocolate and cream and sent them off. He asked his mother as they drove home that night if she had enjoyed herself. “Ugh! No!” was her disgusted reply. “Such horrible stuff to drink as they gave one! Why, my cup was half full of sugar.”—The Smart Set. New Zealand Now Copies California. Very remunerative is ostrich farm ing, which for a considerable time fol lowed in California, has now been in troduced into New Zealand. Five hun dred of the birds are now on the farm of the Messrs. Nathan at Whitford Park, a short distance from Auckland. All the steps in the industry, from the nesting of the birds to the dressing, dyeing and mounting of the plumes, are carried on at this establishment. The manager states that an adult bird requires about the same amount of attention as a sheep, and that the ostrich consumes about twice the quan tity of grass needed by a sheep. The birds become dividend paying invest ments when about 10 months old, after which they are clipped every eight months. The feathers clipped are worth from $3.75 to $6.20 per pound, the after dressing increasing the value enormously. The male and female birds manage the incubation of the eggs between them, taking four hour watches each. To his share of this duty the male os trich adds the labor of turning the eggs. The chicks are hand fed, as with those of the ordinary farm yard fowl, and are reared without serious loss. Wantrd the Murr.rfna Code. Writing from Catcher, Ark., to the secretary of state, a man says: “Will you please send me the Kansas code on marryinc?” The Kansas code on marrying is fully expressed in the name of the town from which this mail writes. —Kansas City Journal.