Newspaper Page Text
—WrTj. V
NOT YET.
die child who plays amid the nodding j
grass—
The wild-flower's home, the butterfly’s
dear haunt —
Hears in the softly-scented winds that pass
Echoes of voices far and sad which chant.
“Wut yet. 11
The youth who o’er n 11 ponderoms.
Till daylight tieKis&ijL *y,| I
Dreaming of 1 ime -.tfu. Si |i I ji> i> |
Hears in th ir foltstem A MeWyeirs I
pass by, * A A M m M
“Not yet.’’
The old man, whom kind death, with geul i"
hands.
Beckons to sleep, looks bqrfflfc aljatiiw
years, (~< \ '
Gathers their few' poor sheAvNw humbly
stands
For theportal waitinfJt.il Alu^jp?
-Not tin a\.
—Hnnjarct Thomaa,ru Youth'*Companion.
acrosHQ'hall.
It was a double house, with a hall and
stairway exactly in the centre, and rooms
upon either side. Mrs. Samson, when
she rented it, enthusiastically declared it
must have been built for a boarding
house, so admirably did it suit that
pttrdojcOalthough the millionaire who
did puipd it would have groaned in hor
ror ,wsuch a suggestion.
But a hoarding-house it was, and a
well-conducted, comfortable one, when
I, Harry Bell, engaged a room on the
third floor, and brought my belongings
there. Now I was fully aware that the
creme dc la creme of Mrs. (Samson’s
hoarders did not reside above the second
fleor, and only what she called “clerk*,
you know, and people who cannot pay a
large hoard,” dwelt upon the third and
fourth floors. So I let her think what,
she pleased about my income, acceded
to her demand for a “week always in ad
vance,- ’ and said 1 was a medical student,
although I had graduated three years be
fore.
“Did you get iu, old fellow?” Steve
Harlan asked me, the next time we met.
“I did.”
“Next room?”
“Engaged! Mine is across the hall.”
“•Well? Who is she?”
“Companion to an ancient jrarty on the
next floor below. Maid has a room next
.the mistress. Companion mounts another
flight of stairs. And we sit opposite each
other at the table. The ancient party
glares at me as if I owed her something.
Perhaps she thinks 1 want to feel her
pulse. She is a corpulent individual,red
in the face, and eats like a rhinoceros.
The companion looks prettier than ever
besHc her?”
“Got any names?”
“Yes. Ancient party is Mrs. Carter.
Companion is Elsie Lennox.”
Then St eve whistled withs much sig
uificauee that 1 cried, with conviction:
“You know her?”
“I should rather think I did! Her
father failed, for goodness knows how
much, two years ago, and like Lewis
Carrol’s baker, he ‘softly and suddenly
vanished away’ from his creditors, leaving
Elsie with her aunt. Mrs. Carter is a
distant relative—cousin, or something.
Why, three years ago Elsie Lennox was
the belle of the season.”
1 did not know w-hether I was glad or
sorry to hear all this. I had seen Elsie
fjcnnox in the street, had seen her enter
Mrs. Samson’s several times, and her ex
quisite face and graceful figure had won
so much warm admiration that I longed
to know her, to speak to her, hoping,
perhaps, to win from her some answer
ing interest and liking.
Aud so 1 applied for board at Mrs.
Samson’s; and having seen Elsie’s face
at a third story window, obtained pos
session of the corresponding window on
the other side of the hall.
It was not difficult to strike up m ac
quaintance, hut very difficult. 1 found it,
to gain more than a scant courtesy from
Miss Leuuox. The ancient party, Mrs.
Carter, evidently allowed no -‘followers,”
for she most decidedly snubbed me when
ever ] tried to make myself agreeable.
And how I did try! 1 offered her the
use of all my numerous magazines, only
to be informed that she subscribed her
*lf for everything worth reading. 1
brought flowers to her, and saw them
fade in the hall, because she thought the
scent, unhealthy in a room. 1 offered to
attend to any business she might have
Jfr'vn town, and was informed that her
agent and her maid attended to her af
fairs. And at about this stage of the
proceedings I became uncomfortably
aware that Miss Lennox was laughing at
me.
I dropped Mrs. Carter then, and di
rected iny attentions to Miss Lennox; but
it was certainly the most up-hill courting
ever attempted. Miss Lennox was cold
as ice, and Mrs. Carter gave her but lit
tie leisure time, so that meeting in the
public parlor was simply a vexatiou. 1
tried other tactics. 1 waited in my own
room until my neighbor across the hall
went down to dinner, and then stepping
over, left, just inside her door, such of
ferings as ffowers, fruits or books. r
wrote tender verses and slipped them
under her door; and once—only once—
I took my violin when she was singing
in her room to her own piano accom
paniment, and followed the air iu my
tenderest strains. The emphatic bang
with which the piano was closed effect
ually prevented any repetition of that
effort.
lhad begun to despair, wheu fortune
favored me. I had been reading until a
late hour, and had fallen asleep in a soft
ly-cushioned chair, when a quick rap on
my door awake*ted me, and Mrs. Sam
son's voice asked: "Are you awake?”
I opened the door at once.
•T saw your light was burning," Mrs.
Samson said. “You told me you were
studying medicine. Do come to Mrs.
Carter and see if you cau do anything for
her before her own physician conies. I
have sent for him, but it is a long dis
tance to go.”
Just one giance at the sufferer told me ,
she could not wait for aid from a “long
distance.” She lay in an apopletic lit
that threatened instant death, I went to
work at once, opened a vein in the
throat, applied the usual remedies, and
had the satisfaction of bringing her hark
of the grave, be
fore M*VV iwn doctor AH through
tli% -fcputk, aotivl .treatment, I had ae
-iLpjycl almost mechanically the help of
Elsie Lennox’s ready hands, giving my
-orders r;glier in the stress of dan-
Iger, aodlhiing nothing of the girl 1
Iliad leaimc/Sio love, until, the danger
lover, th* taken in hand by Mrs.
■ Carter’s Mtysieian, 1 became conscious of
in deadljfwhito face and shaking hands
Hiesidc me.
“Drink this!” I said, mixing a stimu
lant and putting it to her lips.
“I am not familiar with sickness,”
Elsie said, presently, in a tone of apol
ogy. “I thought she was dying.”
“She was dangerously near it,” Isaid,
“and you had the right to he alarmed,
even if you were familiar with sickness.
But. the danger is over now."
“It was well you were so near,” Dr.
Hall said, joining us. “Bless me, it is
Harry Beil!”
I had already recognized one of the
professors of the university where I had
taken my diploma, and we shook hands
cordially. A little professional chat fol
lowed, as I escorted him to the door,
and oil returning to Mrs. Carter’s room I
undertook to lie ready to respond to any
further call upon my services during the
night.
Dr. Hall must have spoken in my favor
to Mrs. Carter, for the barriers between
us were suddenly thrown down, and 1
found myself admitted to a friendship I
had quite dispaired of gaining. Every
thing fuvored me, and in the intimacy
that followed my whole heart passed into
Elsie's keeping. Hhc filled my ideal of
womanly sweetness, bearing the caprices
anil had temper of her cousin with a gen
tie patience that had not one atom of
servility in it; showing iu her quiet con
versation a cultivated, intellectual and
refined taste; using her accomplishments
to amuse Mrs. Carter, never for display
of her own power. Toward me she was
always courteous, pleasant, even friendly
—no more. Never seeing her alone, 1
could not plead my love, and I feared to
startle her by writing, having no thread
of encouragement to build a hope upon.
Three happy months, happy in spite
of my doubts and fears, passed away,
and then I was hastily summoned away
to the death bed of a near relative. After
a week's absence I returned to Mr. Ham
son’s to find Mrs. Carter alone and mys
teriously reticent about her cousin’s ab
sence.
It is not a pleasant recollection to me,
the months that followed. In answer to
a plain question, Mrs. Carter flatly re
fused to tell me where Elsie had gone,
and I fully, miserably realized that my
whole life's hnppiuoss had boon bound up
in the hope of winning her. I traveled
about, always returning to Mrs. Samson’s
iu the vain hope that Elsie might have
come there also. I was not fond of my
profession, which I had studied to please
my uncle. I had tried to like it while he
lived, but when he died, and there was
no one to'please, I found my disgust for
sores and sickness, my shrinking from
the sight of pain, were stronger than my
desire to heal or cure. I know this is a
humiliating confession, but it is true.
Ho T moped about, read a great deal,
hovered on the brink of many a pitfi.ll,
and drew lmck* and a year had passed,
when one morning Mrs. Carter sent for
me.
“Why did you deceive me?” she asked,
abruptly.
I stared at her in honest amazement.
“I thought you were a poor man,” she
said, “poking up in (hat little, miserable
I third story room. I had no idea that
you were Harvey Hell’s sou, and worth
hundreds of thousands. It was only
yesterday I heard who you are. lam a
worldly old woman, you will tell me.
Well, 1 am; and being worldly and igor
cenary, and all that, 1 sent Elsie Lennox
out of your way, when—was Ia blind
old idiot as well, or were you in love
with her /”
“I love her with all my heart!” I an
swered.
“Humph! why didn't you tell me you
had sufficient money to support a wife?
I scut her off to be governess in a friend’s
family. 1 low could I know her misera
ble scamp of a father would send for her?
Gracious me! There's a pretty mess
now! John -that is, Mr. Lennox.
Elsie’s father—is down in Texas, dying,
and writes to me for money. Whatever
he did with all he muddled away, he
didn’t take any with him; and there's
that child alone with him! I can't go.
You can see I’m not tit for such a journey
in midwinter. John may be dead now'.
Bless me! I’m half distracted. Do you
want to go to them? She is the child of
a bankrupt, who made a disgraceful fail
| ure. I don't choose to tell any lies about
them. She has not a ecut, and she will
not have my money, because it all goes
to my husband’s nephew, whether I will
it so or not. You sha’n't say 1 deceived
you about, her. 1 suppose site would
want to choke me if I tell yon she is fond
of you. I knew it, reserved as she was.
You need not imagine she put on love
sick airs about you, and gushed to me;
but eyes and cheeks are tell-tales some
times. W ell, are you going, or are you
disgusted with the whole business?”
“I am going as soon as you are kiud
enough to give me the address.”
“Here is John's letter. Likely enough
he is more seared than hurt, and not so
ill as he thinks. There! Good-bye. Give
my love to Elsie, and if I am mistaken,
and she doesn’t care for you, will you
bring her back to me?”
"I will. I'll start to-day.”
John Lennox was not mistaken. 1
found my darling iu a wretched hut near
Galveston, with a servant trying to con
sole her as she sobbed over her father's
corpse. I had stopped in St. Louts on
my journey, and persuaded a couisin of
my own—a gentle widow, past middle
age—to accompany me to Texas, and to
her tenderness and care I left the desolate
girl until after the funeral. It was then
decided she should accept my cousin's
hospitality, and we went to St. Louis, a
mourning party, but with one heart fuk
of eager hope.
I did not win my darling easy, for sir?
was crushed by th': knowledge that her
father’s failure was one of exposed fraud.
But she loved me, and to that lovi* I
trusted, and not in vain.
We came again to Mrs. Samson’s aftei
two years spent in Kuro|e, where my
wife left all her sorrows and troubles,
coming home a happy, loving wile, and
proud, fond mother.
Mm. Carter had engaged a suit of
rooms for us opposite to her own, aud
seems to have renewed her youth and
found anew stock of amiability. Jt is
difficult to believe the smiling, loving
woman who greets us now when we cross
the half, is the same fat old tyrant who
made Elsie's life miserable when she
lived in the third story, and I cast loving,
despairing looks upon her across the hall.
The Le>t</rr.
( arioils Literary Industries.
One, of the well-known hook experts ol
this country is E. T. BonavCuture, who
has just returned from Paris, say: the
New York Star. He devoted most of
his time while abroad to the literary
phases of the Exposition. Speaking ol
these he said;
“An interesting feature of the great
Exhibition was the, power and variety
displayed in the making, ornamentation
and bindings of books. Iu this field of
work the French genius has developed a
number of industries that are either
wholly or partially unknown iu this
country. One industry, which is really
a fine art, consists in the ‘inlaying’ ol
book*. The workman takes a iargi
sheet of heavy white paper aud with cut
ting instruments as keen and highly tem
pered as a razor removes a layer of paper
from the surface of exactly the same sizi
as the picture, article, page or clipping
which is lo be inlaid, and at the same
time scrapes off a layer front the back ol
the ‘inlay.’ The latter is gummed with
a fine adhesive substance, put carefully
into place and then the whole affair it
subjected to powerful a press. When it
comes out of the press it looks as if the
picture or article had been printed on the
paper originally. Some of these ‘inlay
ers’ work on both sides of the sheet, and
produce effects that would seem impossi
ble to those who have not seen them.
The work is not very expensive, costing
twenty cents a page with ordinary work
men, and forty for the acknowledged
; leaders of the new profession.
“Another industry,” he continued, “is
devoted to the renovation of old and
valuable books, and involves an endless
amount of labor. Gold tooling aud let
tering is retouched with that metal;
stains and discolorations are removed
with chemicals; faded pictures and letter
press arc brightened; torn leaves are re
paired and the breaks in the biuding are
restored until the repaired book looks as
good as new. The work is expensive
aud is only used, of course, when a vol
ume is exceedingly choice. There have
been great improvements made in the re
production of missals and other illumina
ted work. Some of these are so beauti
ful as to be almost equal to what the
originals were when new. There is,
however, a difference between them in
the softness and harmony of the colors
employed, the genuine being very per
ceptibly superior in these respects to the
imitations. In the keeping of valuable
books, the practice increases every day
among the French of incasing them in
boxes, which only allow the backs to be
seen. For a trifling cost a bibliophile
can have a box made to order to fit any
book and covered with a paper of the
same style aud color as the binding.
This keeps out all dust and prevents in
juries by (lies, spiders and moths.”
Life in Labrador.
The probabilities of Labrador's becom
mg a summer resort are not great,
though the few travel* rs who do reach
its inhospitable coasts report much of in
terest to be found. 1 met one of these,
•lolitt L. McNaughton, of Chicago, last
night. He is just returning from a three
months'trip through Labrador and the
island of Anticosti, which ho says is the
most Providence-forsaken place he ever
found.
“The island,” he said, “is constantly
enveloped by fogs, encircled by sunken
roe! " and furious currents, and swept by
high winds. 1 was told at Halifax, by
shipping men, that in the last ten years
upward of a hundred ships had gone down
off the treacherous shores of Anticosti,
and that fully three thousand lives had
been lost there in that time. The Cana
dians tried to setrle it once, but failed,
and now the island is 'practically unin
habited, save by a few hunters and travel
ers.
“But to my mind,” he roatinued, “it
is far better Ilian Labrador, where the na
tives are forced to hibernate for about
eight months each year. During that
time the Labradorian lives almost entirely
on the inside of his rough board hovel,
with the winds blowing a hurricane about
him, Their dogs, their principal prop
erty, Uve in an open cellar underneath
the family living rooms, and light and
howl and raise pandemonium generally.
Without their dogs the natives would be
in a bad way, for they have no roads in
Labrador. Not a mile of made road ex
ists in their whole 3000 miles of coast.
But they get along right well with their
deds and dogs. I have been told that
they cau make ninety to a hundred miles
a day with the dogs, but that is from ten
to twenty miles better than my experi
ence. The dogs are a quarrelsome, vicious
lot of animals when with each other, and
two packs meeting in harness is the sig
nal for a tight, in which the drivers
generally engage with whips and curses,
and if any women are along, their screams
add a picturesque variety to the scene, I
ran assure you. Hummer opens June I,
when the ice breaks up, and then the na
tives commence their harvest. Cod fish
ing and mackerel fishing are their indus
tries, and they waste no time for the next
three months until September, when the
freezeup comes again and drives them
back into their hovels. It is a dreary
life, but they know no other and I doubt
if they would be contented away from
their rocks and hurricanes and mackerel
aets. I found them a kindly, hospitable
people, as simple as children about th.
ways of the world.” —Nere York Stir.
FOOTBALL.
A GAME THAT IS SPREADING
RAPIDI/IT IN THIS COUNTRY.
It is Scientific, and Requires Coolness,
Strength and Conrajte—How It
Is Played—All the Points
Made Clear.
Football is not only the autumn game
of New England and the Middle Atlantic
States, but it is rapidly reaching out into
the South and West, many of the larger
cities of which have two or three foot
ball associations.
Let no one believe that football is an
unscientific contest, in which mere mus
cular force wins. What chess is to in
door games, football is to out-door con
tests, with the vital exception that it de
mands of a devotee a quick witted,
cool, well-balanced aud decisive mind,
which will enable him to prove superior
to an emergency. The knowledge of
strategy required to map out a victorious
campaign for a game, and the lightning
like rapidity of correct decision required
to conquer a crisis which could not he
foreseen, are factors which show that the
football game of the day is a brainy af
fair. They show wliut a spirited, stir
ring sight a great championship game
may be, aud explain why the crowd at
tending the games which have been
played at the Polo Grounds, New York
city, has often numbered 25,000 per
sons.
Let us imagine two footballs teams,
or “elevens,” ranged in position, and
about to begin a Rugby game. We see a
level expanse of turf, on which a paral
lelogram 330 feet long and 160 feet wide
has been prominently marked out with
white lines. Midway in each end is a
huge wooden contrivance, raised above
the ground, in the shape of a giant H,
eighteen aud a half feet wide, which is
called a “goal.” Crossing the field at
intervals of five yards, and parallel to the
goal lines, are white lines. In the centre
of the field is the football, an egg-shaped
affair, consisting of an inflated nluddcr in
a thick leathern covering.
The players of each “eleven” arc ar
ranged on the field as follows: In a
parallel line, ten yards distant from the
cross-line on which the hall lies, are seven
players facing their opponents’ goal line.
These seven players constitute what is
called the “rush line,” and they are stout,
heavy, muscular young fellows, of whom
the centre one is the centre rusher or
“snap back.” Some yards back of the
centre rusher is a player termed the quar
ter hack. Some fifteen or more yards
back of the quarter back ure two players
called half backs, who are separated from
each other by a space of ten to twenty
yards. Back of them, and not far from
the goal, is the “full back,” or goal
keeper.
From the subjoined diagram, and the
brief outline of the game given below, it
will he seen what numberless opportuni
ties are offered to the captain of an
“eleven” for massing, concentrating,
spreading, maneuvering and combining
his players in shifting formations.
DIAGRAM.
T / IT
1 In <foal 1
V | ......... I p
11
a t a
k k k
10
* 1 t
8
t
7 5 8 13 4 6
tttt t t t
§* c *
4i!i i * ii
oyst g s i
8
i ;
6 01
21 a
e® I Cf 4
U
- Id
l ui • I
j. ! ! j.
Explanations—b, side boundary lines, 830
feet long; 1, goal lines, 100 teet long; G, space
between goal posts, feet broad; p, goal
posts, 30 feet high; e, center of Held, the
point at which the ball is placed when the
game opens; k, 35-yard lines; TANARUS, touch in
goal; 1 to 11, the players.
. i Center rusher, or 7. Right end rusher.- j
' ( “snap bark.” 8. Quarter hack.
2. Left guard. 0. Left half back.
3. Right guard. 10. Right half back.
4. Left tackle. .. \ Full back, or ,
5. Right tackle. ‘ ( goal keeper.
6. Left end rusher.
The exclamation points represent the play
ers of one side, and the daggers the players
of the other.
When the game is about to begin, the
players have the positions indicated
above, players 1 to 7 being the “rush |
line.” The captains of the teams “toss
up” for choice of goals, and the wiuner
chooses the goal which the momentary i
conditions of wind and sun make the i
easier to be defended. The referee calls j
“play!” Then the rushers ou the team'
which lost the toss for choice of goals
run toward the ball, at c, and one of
them either kicks it toward the goal de- !
fended by the other side, or picks it up '
aud attempts to run with it toward that !
goal. In either case there generally fol
lows speedily a “down”—that is, the i
player who has possession of the ball
is “tackled” by one of the enemy and |
cries "down” in order to retain the ball j
for his own side. The two rush lines
range themselves opposite one another
and the center-rusher of the team which
has the ball passes the ball (using his
foot in a peculiar, prescribed manner) to
the quarter back, who commonly throws
it to one of his half backs, and this half
back either runs with it or kicks it for
ward. Then “tackles,” ‘-downs,”
“linings up,” runs and kicks follow in
blinding ar.d indescribable series until
one side scores a “touchdown,” or a
“goal from the field,” or forces its oppon
ents to make a “safety touchdown.”
t A touchdown is made jrhea the ball is
gotten behind the opponents' goal line
and touched to the ground. It entitles
the side making it to a “try-at-goal,“
which is commonly made as follows: A
player of that side makes a mark on the
goal line opposite the place where the
touchdown was made, brings it into the
field a certain distance at right angles to
the goal line, and then holds it while
one of his half backs kicks it at the
opponents’ goal.
A goal from the field is made when,
no touchdown having been made, a
player by a peculiar kick, termed a drop
kick, sends the ball over the cross-bar of
the opponents’ goal.
A safety touchdown is made when the
ball is sent or carried by a player across
his own goal line and then touched to
the ground by himself or one of his side.
A goal counts six points for the team
making it, and a goal from the field live
points. A touchdown from which the
try-at-goal fails gives four points to the
side making it. A safety touchdown
scores two points for the side which did
not make it. The team having the
larger score at the conclusion of the
match is, of course, the victor.
It should be understood that in the
Rugby game, as played on this side of the
Atlantic, running is far more important
than kicking. The truth is that running
with the football tucked under the arm is
far the favorite method of getting the
ball toward the opponents’ goal. On this
account the power to run fast is one of
the best recommendations a player can
have. In a “crack” team, five players—
the half backs, the quarter backs and the
end rushers—are, ordinarily, able to run
100 yards in eleven seconds, or better. .
To draw a military simile, the rush
lines are the infantry of the team, the
end rushers being the light infantry, and
the five others the grenadiers. “Grena
diers” is peculiarly appropriate, as in an
excellent team these five meu arc com
monly in the neighborhood of six feet,
as regards height, and generally average
170 to 180 pounds in weight. The quar
ter hack is the skirmishing force, as,
when the other side has possession of the
ball in a “line-up,” he whisks around the
rush lines, and in a detached way makes
as much trouble as possible. He is gen
erally small and often weighs only 140.
One of the most brilliant quarter backs
in the history of the American game
weighed only 128 pounds. The half
backs are the cavalry, combining the
lleetness and the dash of hussars, with
the weight and the tremendous momen
tum of cuirassiers. The full back is the
artillery and bombards the enemy’s posi
tion with long range kicks when the
fortune of battle brings the ball within
his reach. —New York Ledger.
Physicians in China.
For many years, says an English paper,
a young Chinamen has been in this coun
try working bard to acquire a perfect
knowledge of our language that he might
attend a medical college, and, after
graduating, return to his own country
and practice his profession according to
English methods. He will finish Ms
duties at the hospital next March, and as
soon as possible will sail for China, and
he will be the first mail to apply the sys
tem of medicine there as used in this
country, In a talk with him recently
he said that the treatment of patients in
China is in marly Cases very curious,
though in some instances their ways of
relieving suffering were simple and effect
ive. Any man can practice medicine
there, he says, as no special education is
necessary; and if a sign is hung out no
one thinks of inquiring whether the doc
tor knows anything or not. Should he
be successful aud cure diseases he will
soon be looked upon as a remarkable
person, but if his patients do not thrive
under liis treatment they simply discharge
him and try another man, and do not at
tach any blame to the first doctor.
Continued sickness iu a family is sup
posed to be due to evil influence, for
they are, as a race, firm believers in
supernatural influences. They' believe
that the heart, not the brain, is the organ
of intelligence, aud the seat of affection
is the liver.
Surge ry cau lmrdlv be said to exist in
China, and they have no surgical
instruments, but use the simple medicine
of herbs that have been handed down for
generations. Every little village has its
medicine store. They use every leaf,
flower, and tree that grows in the prep
aration of these drugs, and it seems to
be a part of their creed to take as much
as they possibly can on every oceassion.
Animals, too, arc used for healing pur
poses, and the hoofs, skins horns and
blood arc carefully preserved until they
can be mixed into compounds. A paste
which is said to cure the worst bruise or
cut. and which is a common remedy, is
made of flour and portions of frog.
The human body is held in great vener
ation by the Chinese, and on no account
will they allow any sort of an examina
tion after death, and for this reason many
wait until they are too ill to be cured be
fore going to any of our hospitals, as
many of them have a firm belief that
English doctors want their bodies to
make medicine of. It is a common
opinion of these people that the spirit
hovers around the body until it is buried,
and will bring vengeance upon those
who allow r it to be molested.
Take Care of the Eyes.
Many school children who ride to and
from school pore over their books in the
cars, and therefore often impair their
sight greatly. Parents, impress it upon
them that it is injurious to study while
riding. The motion cf the car, no
matter how smoothly it may run, has a
bad effect on the reader’s eyes. Reading
in bed is also hurtful; if you find it puts
you to sleep, remember it may be at the
cost of your good eyesight. Have your
bed so placed that the eyes shall be
turned away from the light. If any mem
ber of your flock has a chronic headache,
have his eyes looked after; they may be
the unsuspected cause of it. If studying
at night is necessary, have a shade before
the lamp or a shade over the eyes. It is
best, if it cau be so arranged, to have
the shade on the lamp, as the eye shades
are apt to make the forehead hot, and
may bring on a headache. —Philadelphia
Pica.
TURKEY TALK.
HOW THE CHOICEST BIRDS ARK
BRED AND MARKETED.
••’eecliug the Turkeys for Holiday
Consumption—Foxes ami Poach
ers—Preparing the Birds
for I he Market.
At this holiday season of the year the
turkey collectors, a score or more, come
from Boston, New York and Providence
to North Stonington. Conn., to buy tur
keys for the city markets. North Ston
ington is noted for delicate and tender
birds. Their fame extends throughout
the East, and a turkey a native of that
section always commands a high price.
This is partly due to the fact that the
birds arc directly descended from the
wild fowls and partly on account of the
superiority of the North Stonington
farmer in preparing the meat for market.
The birds are allowed to roam at their
own free will, to subsist on grasshoppers,
crickets, sDakes, etc., until a fortnight
before Thanksgiving. Then the farmers
begin to fatten the fowls artificially.
There are several different ways by which
great results are attained. One of fhe
popular forms is “nursing.” Each tur
key is taken been the farmer’s legs and
hot cormneal is stuffed down its throat
with a spoon. After the first dose the
turkeys take naturally to the means em
ployed to feed them, and they are al
ways ready at meal-times thereafter to
have the operation repeated. This is the
commonest method. Another popular one,
however, consists of feeding the turkeys
on walnuts for a week or two previous to
slaughtering day. A walnut, greased in
fat, is given the birds aud it slips down
their throats with case. Care, however
is exercised that the nuts are not cracked
or rough, as these would injure the tur
key’s throat. One nut is given each bird
the first day, two the second, three the
third, four the fourth, five the fifth and
so on, increasing one daily for a week.
If the bird does not pick up, the diet is
reversed. Seven are given the first day,
six the second and so on during the re
mainder of the week. By that time the
birds are plump and fat, the walnuts be
ing possessed of a certain nutriment which
is of rare worth to turkeys. Never was
thismethod known to fail.
These North Stouington birds for the
most of the year wander aimlessly about
during the entire day and at night roost
iu the swaying boughs of the trees. Each
tree is capable of furnishing lodgings for
100 or 150 turkeys, and every tree is full.
The branches grow low, aud those unso
phistical fowls which take lower berths
never live to tell the story or to eat a
morning meal. They are dined off by
the foxes instead. No other place iu the
State is so overrun with these sly animal?,
and their presence is directly traceable to
the cackling birds. But old turkeys are
almost as thoughtful as old foxes. Con
sequently they roost high.
Another danger which threatens them
is the nocturnal poacher. This class of
marauders is now out in force. Its mem
bers are versed in the science of de
capitation, and they can climb trees and
twist necks so dextcriously that not a
single sound is heard in the still night
air. There is a regularly formed com
pany of farmers and their sons who take
turns, during the last few weeks of the
season patroling the lonely country road
and protecting their flocks with old army
muskets loaded to kill.
The work of preparing the birds for
the market is an interesting part of the
business. The men rush into the midst of
the imprisoned victims, grab them and
carry them to the big kettle, hung over a
log fire in the back yard, immerse them
in the boiling water, string them up, and
then slip a knife through their throats
with the skill of a .Taek-the-Ripper.
Long lines of the birds dangle in the air,
and the pickers then fall to, and feath
ers fly about promiscuously, The birds
are allowed to remain hanging until
every particle of blood lias oozed out,
when they are hung up in the big, airy
kitchen pantry, through whose open
windows the cool November breezes
blow. But the turkeys are not all killed.
A large number of the most promising
ones are respited for breeding purposes.
One of the most interesting features of
the turkey business is the way the tur
keys are put on the market. The farmer
is blessed with one article which he does
not have to cart a dozen or more miles to
town and hawk around from door to
door. All that lie has to do is to stand
at his front gate and wait until a collect
or comes bustling along the highway in
a big wagon. These collectors are city
dealers’ brokers. They come to that
section year after year and buy thousands
of pounds of turkeys every season. The
farmers know the value and quality of
their turkeys: so do the collectors, and
they are willing to pay well for the birds.
The collectors canvass the town thor
oughly, mal ing their headquarters at
some central point, from which prompt
transportation to the New York, Provi
dence and Boston markets can be had.—
New York Tribune.
Window Cleaning as a Trade.
A novel enterprise in this city is an
establishment which makes a business of
cleaning windows. Although public
attention has only recently been attracted
to it, the company was organized last
February, and has already established a
fairly paying trade. The cleaners all
wear uniforms, which consist of a blue
suit, and a peak-cap with a shield, on
which is the company’s name. They all
carry ladders, which are painted red and
white. At the top. where the ladder
tapers to a point, there is a square block
of rubber, so that when the ladder is
placed against a window, on account of
the size of the block and the elasticitv of
the rubber, the pressure is not great
enough to break the glass, the rubber
also preventing the ladder from scratch
ing tae pane. The company charges
according to the size of the window; for
washing an ordinary-sized window it
charges $1 a month. Each employe
cleans Horn 100 to 150 windows a dav.l-
Ntw York Tribune.
AN ALIEN*ORXVE. j
He always hoped the native grass mighlj
blow
And field flowers blossom on his quiet
grave,
And ancient murmuring elms abov i him
wave,
And orchards drift his couch with summed
snow.
’Twas sweet to think that there his mort,i
frame
Should sleep with kith and kin, and mosses
gray
Blot out the record of his little day,
And hide the modest letters of his name.
He died a stranger in a distant land.
Unwept and unbefriended and alone;
And here, unmarked by sacred urn o<
stone,
His dust lies, mingling with an alien strand,
Sleep, friendless clay, thy final hope denied,
Nor let thy lonely couch disquiet thee;
For thou, who wast the man, art spirit,
free,
And where thou wilt thou mayest now
abide.
—James Bucham, in the Independent. j
PITH AND POINT, j
Has no redress—The man with but
one suit of clothes.
When a train is telescoped the passen
gers are apt to see stars.
The raining favorite—A good um
brella that belongs to another man.
A business engagement—Securing the
matrimonial promise of an heiress.
The consumer may consider himsell
lucky if begets milk ot the first water, j
One often hears of a skipping rope,
but nobody ever saw a rope that
A hen is conscientious —Her chief ob<
ject in life is to fill the bill.—Bingham
ton Ropniblican.
A woman may be too good for this
world, but she cannot be too pretty or
too amiable. — Boston Courier.
When a near-sighted man has a fit ol
abstraction does he pick a pocket or in
consistently take a faraway look?
Young Husband—“You look thought
ful, dear, is your subject a deep one?”
Young Wife—“Oh, no, indeed; I was
only thinking of you.”
“That’s a great mine. I tell you
there’s money in it.” “How do you
know there is?” “Well, I put fifty thou
sand in it myself.”— Bazar.
“So, you’re a burglar?” “Yes. your
Honor!” “You must be a man of iron
nerve?” “Ob, no, sir-—it's steal nerve
my business requires.”— Chicago ledger.
Young Lady (tailor made) —“Take my
seat, please.” Old Lady (near sighted,
but grateful)—“Thank you, sir. You
are the only gentleman iu the car.”—
Boston Budget.
She—“And just think, Arthur, the
Holwcils have got stained glass in their
dining room.” He (interested in Ilia
paper)—“Badly stained, my dear?”—
Rochester Post- Repress.
She—“l am feeling very bad. Some
thing is flickering before my eyes all the
time.” He—“ Great Christopher Co
lumbus ! she is hinting for another dia
mond ring.”— Texas Siftings.
Tom—“ Your employer has just called
you, Jack. He addressed you as ‘Mister.’
How polite he is to his clerks.” Jack
—“Polite? Ah, yes; he owes me three
weeks’ salary.”— Yankee Blade.
Philanthropist (to small boy)—“And
so you’ve got a little sister at home, have
you, sonny? What do you do when you
get together?” Small Bov (laconically)!
—‘‘Fight.”— Philadelphia Enquirer.
“Why do you wear that horrible
style of dress?” “Alas! I have to.”
“You have to?” “Yes, it is au impera
tive decree.” “A decree from w'hom?”
“From my dressmaker.”— Chicago Globes
When they told this good man that his time
was nigh,
They dreamed not what trouble hejd give:
He lived when the doctor was sure he would
die,
And died when he was sure he would livej
— Epoch. •
First Burglar—“Pard, the jig is up.
No breaking into that bank to-night.”
Second Burglar—“ What’s the matter?
Are the detectives onto us?” First
Burglar—“No; I saw the president and
cashier buying tickets for Montreal this
morning. ” — Time.
Urgent Business.—Laura— ‘ ‘Auntie,
would I be justified in writing to a young
man who has never written to me?” Auntie
—“Only on very important business,
my dear.” Laura—“ Well, this is im
portant business. I want to marry him.”
Terre Haute Express.
The young man who all summer long was
troubled in his dream
To hunt up surplus cash enough to buy hi*
Jove ice cream,
Still wears a look of we jfiness upon his palei
young brow;
He finds it costa him just as much to feed hey
oysters now.
—Chicago Herald, j
Customer—“ There’s one drawback to
business like yours.” Barber—“ What is
that?” Customer—“lt is impossible for
men of your calling to get rid of un
pleasant acquaintances.” Barber —-“1
would like to know why?” Customer—•
‘ 'You can’t afford to cut anybody.
Boston Courier.
A medical writer looked through a
microscope at a closely shaved face, and
he reports that the skin resembled a
piece of raw beef. That's the way the
skin of the face frequently appears, with
out the aid of a microscope, after a mans
has been shaved by a barber’s apprentice.!
—Norristown Herald.
The Richest American Gold Ore
A lot of about 200 pounds of quartz,
carrying gold at the rate of $50,000 a
ton, was recently taken from the main
shaft of the Michigan gold mine, near
Ishpeming, Mich. Assays of three
samples of quartz from the Michigan give
$21,620, $51,552 and $110,958 per ton.
The latter is the richest gold-bearing
rock ever taken from 3n American mine.
It is provided in the Idaho constitu
tion, which has just been adopted, that
two-thirds of a jury may convict or ac
quit, or render a verdict, the same as if
the twelve had agreed.