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—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.