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AN IDLE FANCY.
f sat with my uool, idly weaving a rhyme
A* the fancy came to me;
And I said: Sad sonl, there cometh a time
When ttu*star.< drop into the ;
When they lie like gems
’ From diadems
In the blue of the midnight sea. i
Ihe daisy is just as it was of old.
And the sunflower turns to the sea;
And there lies in the west a land of gold
When the summer's day is done;
But the bud that blew
In the morning dew
At night is withered and gone.
And what is life but a leaf that grows
On the tip of an idle spray?
And beauty—what tmt a red, red ros*
That blossoms for only a day?
And the red that tips
The sweetest lips
Soonest turns to leaden gray.
Ah, soul so sad. the riddle caust guess,
Why the rainbow after the rain
Our human eyes doth a moment bles^
Then waneth and fadeth again?
Why life doth seem
But an idle dream
That ends in a cry of pain?
Of the things that are, my soul replied,
God knoweth the how and when;
And the rose* of Juno have only died
That roses may come again;
And the day t hat dies
i/eaves golden skies
Asa promise of morrow to men.
— Harped* Weekly.
UNCLE JOB’S GUEST.
Aunt Huhlah and Uncle Job were
writing the invitations to their own
golden wedding. It was an unusual
and arduous undertaking. They had
selected an elegant formula from a
Complete Letter Writer, which repre
sented to Aunt lluldah’s mind the acme
of all social etiquette, and she now sat
dictating to Uncle Job, who was a fair
acribe but a poor speller.
Thus far all had gone well. Auul
lluldah derived great satisfaction from
this close contact with “dictionary
words.” The two old heads bobbed
eagerly over the long list of guests to be
invited, including almost the entire coun
tryside, until Uncle Job’s pen traced the
name of Mias Abigail Appleby.
“You ain’t goin’ to ask her!" cried
Aunt lluldu, aghast. “Why, Job, man,
they do tell the (juecrcst. things of her!
I believe the woman is plumb crazy!
Livin’ all alone as she does in that little
house of Dickinson’s, cornin’ from no one
knows where, and fillin’ it from garret, to
cellar with cotton flannel animiles the
like of which was never seen in the ark
or out of it since! Au’ doin’ her house
work in gloves, an’ tyiu’ rihlmns to hoi
cow’s hosns last Fourth of July! | won
der she wasn’t, hooked sky-high for it.
Ef you ask her to our weddiu’, who
knows but what she’ll come a-fctchiu up
with an elephant under one arm and a
camel under t’other?”
“I think she's u poor, lonesome old
critter,” said Uncle Job, in a mild, de
termined voice. “She may be a leetle
teched, Huldy; I don’t deny it, but she
lives withiu sight of our house, and I'm
not goin’ to have every one of our neigh
bors here, an’ slight her .’
“Well, but she ain’t fit to come to any
scch getherin’. She don’t seem p’inted
at mukin’ friends, either.”
“Mebbe folks don’t go the right way
to work,” said the old man, dryly. “I
mean to take this invite over myself, and
urge her to come. ”
Aunt Huldah set her spectacles firmly
on her nose, and surveyed her obstinate
husband.
“Jest as you say then. But if she
does bring us a heathen beast to set up
in our parlor, you’ll do the thankin’,
Job, for I won’t!”
“I will, I will,” promised Farmer Hat
terlec, sealing the note and his triumph
together with a twinkling little smile.
The wedding day was a crisp and gol
den one, such a day as October alone
knows how to fashion. Aunt Iluldah
had been up since dawn. The old house,
full of quaint furniture, lmd needed an
immense amount of scrubbing and pol
ishing to bring it up to its mistress’s
ideal.
At last Aunt Iluldah surveyed her
house interior with a sigh of satisfaction.
She was giving some asparagus broom a
little “tasty twist,” as she called it, when
a scramble on the front porch announced
the first visitors. Milliccnt and Hetty,
her two grand daughters, released from
boarding school to celebrate) this anni
versary, rushed into the room.
“We walked up from the station, you
know, grandma. Such a charming day!
I/eaves perfectly beautiful! Well, how
are you? Hetty, isn’t she as handsome a
grandmother as two harum-scarum girls
were ever blessed with?”
They both hugged her in rapturous
school-girl fashion.
“By the way, grandma, can’t we have
the best bedroom, with the big mirror?
Hetty and I want to come out in butter
fly style.”
“I s’poscso,” said Aunt Huldah, leni
ently, looking with a suspicion of tears
at the tall, handsome girls. She was
wishing their father, her only son, had
lived to see this day. A few minutes la
ter she followed them up to the best
chamber.
“Laws a massy me! What upon airth
ain’t you got crammed into tnat bag?
You call that packin’, do you! Is that
all you’re learnin’ of ladylike ways?”
Hetty looked up with flushing checks
at this condemnation railed down on
Millie, who only laughed. “Pshaw,
grandma! You have to squeeze things
into a cabas. Look at this dress,’’ aud
she pulled out a flimsy garment of shim
mering satin covered with lace, and gay
with scarlet bows.
“Goin’ to wear that?” cried Auut Hul
dah, in dismay.
Hetty smiled quietly, and brushed her
awn pretty blue cloth. Milliccnt bit her
Up in mortification, but she arrayed her
self in the condemned garment and ran
down into the sitting-room, where Uncle
Job sat in all the dignity of his old
broadcloth wedding coat, nibbling flag
root and looking contented. The sight
of Millicrnt brought a deep frown to hi*
brows.
“Now, Millie, I ain’t a-goin' to have
the plain, old-fashioned folks a-comin’
her® to-night put out with the sight of
seoh airs in my gran’darter! Take that
fiummididdle rig straight off. an’ come
down here in a dress like your sister's, or
not a step into my parlors do you go!”
Millie rushed back up stairs, fluug the
despised dress on a heap on a chair, and
cried heartily. She upset Hetty’s violet
water trying to efface the tear stains, and
finally, arrayed in her travelling-dress,
tripped demurely into the parlor to join
her sister in conversation with the minis
ter, a young man, with the stamp of col
lege fresh upon him. He was the earliest
guest.
Most of the guests arrived at the same
time, so that within half an hour the
parlors were filled. A stiffness hung
over this assemblage of old neighbors and
acquaintances, whieh turned into astonish
ment when Miss Appleby bobbed into
the room.
She was an odd figure, clad in a rusty
black dress, with a scarlet silk handker
chief across her shoulders and a large
bunch of salvia, very much askev;, over
one ear. To complete this strange holi
day gear she had two enormous Iwttles
dangling clumsily from each side, and
bore under one arm, trueto Aunt lluldah ’a
prophecy, a large cotton-flannel giraffe
decked out, in ink-spots us large ns ten
cent pieces, while a chicken-bone artfully
fastened on, graced its nondescript head.
Bowing to the company, she placed
her gift on the table, where it careened
backward on abnormally thick legs in a
tragic attidude, und then she looked
around the silent room for her hostess.
Aunt Huldah was absent. Hearing no
welcoming word or invitation. the old
lady shrank hack timidly, end her hands
fluttered up und down her dress. Millie
had been hiding her smiles hehiud a fan,
hut at the sight of the nervous, disturbed
glance sin- went impulsively to the
rescue.
“Dear Miss Appleby, grandma will be
so glad you came! Take this chair, I
suppose you know Miss Appleby, ladies
and gentlemen.”
There wore friendly nods and mur
murs now in response to Miss Appleby’*
queer eurtsys, us pretty Milliccnt plaeed
her gently in a chair and chatted kindly
with her.
Aunt, Huldah and Uncle Job were to
be addressed after tlie fashion of the old
service by the minister. “I want to stand
as we did long ago," said Aunt. Huldah,
“when we had no idea of life; and I
want to realize the solemuess of it.”
Ho now they came into the room hand
in hand, both heads silver gray and both
hearts quietly happy. The second ser
vice had all the solemnity of a first cere
mony about it, and the minister's re
marks were very felicitous. As his voice
ceased aud a rustling silence succeeded
it, suddenly Miss Appleby lifted her
head, sniffed audibly and dashed from
the room, pausing at the foot of the
staircase and then darting up it like a
squirrel.
Every eye in the room followel her in
amazement, and Aunt lluldah looked
shocked and vexed. Instantly, upstairs,
there was the noise of a downfall and
then a terrific crash. Millie and her
grandfather ran upstairs, and the entire
company streamed after them.
In .the middle of the best bedroom
stood Miss Appleby, calmly untying the
necks of the two great bottles from the
string that fastened them to her waist.
The main part of them lay on the floor,
shivered into fragments on the smoking
ruins of Millicent's lace dress and one
bed-curtain, hastily wrenched down.
“It takes me to smell smoke,” she said,
nodding sagely at the horrified people
crowding into the door. “I mortally
fear fire an’ always go to big assemblages
with ray two haml-grenadps somewhere
about me; that is, ever since I was burnt
out o’ house and home three year ago.
It must V been a candle left burnin’, an’
it toppled over somehow. La, it’s out
now! Don’t look so white, Mis’ Hatter
lee. Half a bed-curtain an’ a grimcrack
dress ain’t much to lose! an’ that’s really
all that happened.”
Millicent’s sorrow over her dress, half
nonsense, half-earnest, made every one
laugh, and under cover of this laughter
Aunt Huldah thauked Miss Appleby with
heartfelt earnestness.
It now was easy for the sly, queer old
lady to get acquainted with the company.
As Uncle Job took her to supper on his
arm, she was iiappicr than she had been
for many a long day. Hearty invitations
to two quilting parties and a husking
frolic were accepted with a pleasure
which admitted no remembrance of for
mer ueglect. Hhe danced in the Virginia
reel, and finally went homo serenely
happy on Uncle Job’s arm, with the mem
ory of kind words and the girls’ warm
kisses to cheer her solitary hours.
When the last guest had departed Mil
licent and Hetty slipped into the parlor.
Their grandmother was surveying the
giraffe with dubious admiration on lier
face.
“What do you think of it, grandma?”
asked Hetty.
“I think,” said grandma, seriously,
“that it’s a tumble-lookin' beast an’ uo
mistake; but it’s goin’ to stay right hare
in this parlor for a reminder—you girls
needn’t ask jest what—of your grand
father’s wisdom. My Job has a head aa’
an’ a heart to match each other, an’ that’s
an uncommon thing nowadays.”
The giraffe was induced to stand up
right on a little table in a corner,and now
when Miss Appleby, who is a welcome
visitor, runs over to Aunt Iluldah’s to
spend the afternoon, she always takes a
sly peep into the parlor to gaze reverently
at that artistic creation of her fertile brain
which has come to such high honor. Hhe
secretly thinks that it is the most beauti
ful ornament in the house.— Youth't Cow,
panion.
The newspapers of Italy are raising
subscriptions to raise a mouument to Co
lumbus on American soil.
Many of the new apartment house-s
iliat have been built in London are fif
teen stories high.
BUDGET OF FUN.
HUMOROUS SKETCHES FROM
VARIOUS SOURCES.
Our Little Babe— its: bee Absent-
Minded—Handy to Have in the
Family—The Maiden's Wish—
Ocular Demonstration,Etc.
O baby, baby, where among the flowers,
That brighten up this grey old world of ours,
Is one with fragrance, sweet and tender hue.
That in our thoughts we’d liken unto you?
The Imdding rose, the pink, the violet shy.
No, none of these, I think I hear you cry,
I'm sure i ilo! and the flower must be, if right,
A yeller flower which ne’er shuts up at night.
—Morris Waite. ,
RATHER ABSENT-MINDED.
Professor (returning home at night,
hears noise) —“Is some one there?”
Thief (nnder the bed) —“No!"
Professor—“ That’s strange. I was
positive some one was under my bed.”
HE WAS NO VAGRANT.
Police Justice—“Wliat is the charge
against the prisoner?”
Policeman —“Vagrancy. He has no
visible means of support.”
Prisoner—“ The dickens, I ain’t! I’ve
got, one suspender fastened with two
shingle nails! What more support could
you want.” —Areola lieeord.
HANDY TO HAVE IN THE FAMILY.
Breushaw, Jr.—“l think I’d prefer
law to either the church or the army,
Governor.”
Breushaw, Hr.—“ That’ll suit me ex
actly, Cedric. You’ll be able to help me
out a great deal. All your tradesmen
down at Cambridge are suing me for
your last season’s bills.”— Jud j e.
MIJHE THAN HE BARGAINED FOR.
Mr. Spooney—“What soft eyes your
charming sister has, Johnny! Does she
ever make any remarks about me?”
Her Brother—“O, yes; she made a re
mark about you very much like the one
you just made abouther.”
“Indeed, and what was it?”
“She said you were soft.”— Lawrence
American.
OCULAR DEMONSTRATION.
Cyril (in the garden)—“Father! father!
look out of the window!”
Paterfamilias (putting out his head) —
“What a nuisance you children are.
What do you want now?”
(With a triumphant glance at his play
fellow) —“Johnny Gray wouldn’t believe
you’d got no hair on the top of your
head.”— Pick Me-Up.
THE MAIDEN'S WISH.
Young Miss Wilgus—“Where arc you
going, papa?"
Rev. Mr. Wilgus—“To the temperauce
meeting. We intend to inaugurate a
movement to save the young men of the
country.”
Young Miss Wilgus—“Try and save a
real nice one for me, will you, papa,
dear?”— lie/wboth Herald.
MAKING LIGHT OF IT.
“I am afraid,” said Algernon, in a de
spairing tone, “that you are disposed to
make light of my declaration of affec
tion.”
“Why, Mr. De Jones, how could
you have guessed it!”
“Guessed what?”
“That I gave your last letter to brother
Harry to light his cigar with.”— Merchant
Traveler.
TOO HASTY.
Police Judge (to Park Policeman) —
“Why did you arrest this young couple?”
Policeman—“ They came into the park
late in the evening, sat down on a bench
in the shadow of a tree, aud then the two
caressed.”
Judge—“ They took a rest, did they?
Well, what is a park bench for except to
take a rest on? Never take arrest on
such grounds as that. Discharge the
prisoners.”— Terns Aifttngs.
TIIE LOVE OF MONEY.
Ilarry—“l’m fairly infatuated with
Lucy. I actually worship her shadow.”
George—“You ought to be in better
business than worshiping young ladies'
shadows. I’m in love, too; but it is not
Clara’s shadow, but her substance, that I
worship.”
Ilarry—“Her substance?”
George—“ Yes; Clara has twenty
thousand in her own right, not to speak
of her expectations when her father dies.”
—Boston Transcript.
NOT MUCH OP A SHOW.
Book Agent (to Old Simmcrdown) —
“I’ve got something here I would like to
show you.”
Old Simmerdown—“And I've got
something 1 would like to show you.”
Book Agent (astonished) —“What is
that, may I ask, sir?”
Old Sinnuerdown—“lt is the door,
sir.”
Book Agent (sadly retiring)—“Well,
you don’t give a fellow much of a show.”
—Detroit Journal.
THE BOY HAD HIM.
An elderly mau was walking 6lowly
down Second avenue the other day when
a boy turned a corner and yelled “Hello!”
loud enough to be heard two blocks.
“Want to scare him to death?” queried
a man who was passing.
“No, sir."
“Then why do you yell so loud?”
“Goiter. I know him.”
“What difference does that make?”
“A heap. He’s my father and deaf as
a stone.”
“Ah! excuse me.”
“Yes, sir, but next time don't go'n
jump ou a boy till you investigate.”
•—Detroit Free Press.
THE OLn MAN S LITTLE MISSION.
“What is your mission here, sir?”
asked the old man, with a frown.
“I am on three missions, sir,” replied
the poor young man, who was also a
humorist.
“Well, what are they?” inquired th
) old man, impatiently.
“Per-mission to marry your daughter,
ad-musion to your family circle, and
sub-mission to the regulations or youi
household.’’
“Ugh!” grunted the old man, who
was somewhat of a joker himself. “I
have one little mission to offer before I
conclude any arrangements with you.”
“Name it!” cried the poor young man,
eagerly. “I will be only too glad tc
perform it.”
“Dis-rnission!” shrieked the old man,
with a loud, discordant laugh, and the
poor young man fell fainting at his feet.
Washington Critic.
15UMBLETHOK1-E AND THE BULL.
General Bumbletborpe is certainly a
very big man—big in stature and bigger
still in his own conceit, brimming ever,
as he constantly is, with his own im
portance. General Buinblethor|>e was
never in the army; he never was even in
the militia. But he was Surveyor-Gen
eral once, a good while ago, and has of
course worn the title of General ever
since, and has always insisted upon it.
He has been a shade more overbearing
since he became a General in this way,
though he was sufficiently overbearing
before that.
One fine afternoon last summer Gen.
eral Bumbletborpe was taking a walk
through the outskirts of the country
town which he had honored by choosing
it as his place of summer sojourn. In the
course of his wanderings he came upon a
pair of bars leading into a grassy and in
viting meadow. The liars he let down
and walked into the meadow. lie had
but half crossed the meadow when he saw,
to his horror, a great black-and-whita
Holstein bull emerge from the dark
shade of an apple tree aud advance to
ward him. General Bumblcthorpe is not
an active man, but the steady advance of
this enormous animal stimulated him for
the moment to great activity. And his
own rapid flight also served to stimulate
the bull, who lowered his head and
charged ferociously, bellowing the while.
It was a mad chase, but Geueral Bum
blethorpe had some good rods of advan
tage in the start, anil the opposite fence
of the field was not far away. The
General ran wildly and succeeded
in time to escape the infuriated animal.
Aud then it was General Bumblethorpe
who was infuriated. From the safe side
of the fence he stormed and raged at the
hull, and, seeing a farm house not far
away, he stalked over to it. The farmer
was choring around the barn when the
General rushed up to him.
“Is that your bull over there, sir?”
exclaimed General Bumblethorpe.
“Wal, I guess ’tis,” said the farmer.
“Well, sir, do you know what it’s
been doing?”
“Chasin’ yc, mebbe.”
“Yes, sir, chasing me; and it is an
outrage I will not tolerate—an outrage, 1
tell you, that I should be pursued and
humiliated in this way!”
“Wal,” says the farmer, “it’s a thing
that bulls will do) he can’t help it, yt
know.”
“Help it!” said the General, black
with indignation; “do you know who 1
am?’’
“No, I don't.”
“Well, sir, I am General Bumble
thorpe !”
“Is—that—so?" said the farmer, with
great deliberation. “Is-that-so? AVhy
the deuce didn't ye tell the bull, Gener
al?”—Boston Transcript.
Wholesome Vegetables and Fruit.
People need to be frequently reminded
of the fact that if they make a practice
of using a variety of vegetables aud fruit
as a part of their ordinary diet, the
doctor will not be needed to prescribe
for them so frequently. Asparagus is a
strong diuratic, and forms part of the
cure for rheumatic patients at such
health resorts as Aixles-Bains. Parsle)
is also useful as a diuretic, and those re
quiring such aid should make free use of
it. Carrots are understood by the
peasants of Savoy to be a specific foi
jaundice, and, although they are thought
to be hard of digestion, it is only the
yellow core that is so. Ouions are ad
mitted to be rich in those alkaline ele
ments which counteract the poison ol
rheumatic gout, and people who are ol
studious or sedentary habits should make
a free use of them, gently stewed and
served with other vegetables. The
stalks of the cauliflower, if properly
cooked, also serve a like purpose. Cel
ery has acquired a great reputation as a
remedy for rheumatism, and in many
cases has proved beneficial. Watercress
is prescribed by mauy medical men as
helpful to the liver and lungs. Many
other vegetables are useful, not only for
their special medicinal properties, but as
general regulators of the bowels and as
correctives, aral withal they contain
valuable elements of nutrition, which
should commend them apart from every
other consideration.
A Powerful Lighthouse.
The new lighthouse at Houstholm is
the most powerful in the world. The
beam is of 2,000,000 candle power aud
shows clearly at Blokhus, a distance of
thirty-five miles. It is produced by arc
lamps fed by Do Meriten’s dynamos,
driven by steam engines. To prevent
the extinction of the light through ail
accident to the machinery the latter is
duplicated, one set coming into play
should the other fail. The light is fur
ther supplemented in thick weather by
two powerful sirens, or fog truuijiets,
working with compressed air. The fas
cination which a powerful light exercised
on wild birds is curiously illustrated by
this lighthouse. It is said that basket
fuls of dead snips, larks, starlings, ami
so forth, are picked up in the morniuga
outside the tower. They kill themselves
in dashing against the windows of the
lantern.
By depositing their penuies for the la t.
three years the scholars in the public
schools in Long Island City have at prev
eut to their credit the sum of fib,403.6#,
FIG CULTURE.
RAISING THIS POPULAR FRUIT
IN THE FAR EAST.
Smyrna the World's Great Fijj Mar
ket—A California Experiment—
A Singular Property
of Wild Figs.
Smyrna is the approach and the key to
the small district that supplies all Europe,.
indeed the whole world, with the most
popular of dried fruits. From the heart
of the town a railway starts, running
south to Ephesus and eastward to
Sarakeui, and the traffic of the line de
pends largely on the fruit harvest. In
Smyrna itself is the great market for the
distribution of the figs to all parts of the
world, and in harbor here may be seen
a large fleet of steamers lying moored
stern on to the quays, and porters, car
riers, and humel busy loading them in
great wooden cases. It is by this rail
way that you make your way into the fig
district. The tract is comparatively
small, when it is remembered that its
produce may be found all over the world.
It is, in fact, actually small—a valley of
some fifty miles skirting the northern
bank of the Meander, and with a width
at its widest of scarcely more than five
miles. Twenty years ago not half this
area was under cultivation.
The soil of this tract is very deep, and
has the property of retaining moisture, so
necessary for the crop. The peculiarity
is o', special importance, as in cases of
drought the fig-tree does not generally
show at the time signs of drooping. The
leaves retain their strength and color. It
is only afterward, when the fruit should
have reached maturity, that its stunted
size and dimished yield show the effects
of the check. Indeed, it is this quality
of the soil that makes the valley of the
Meander the great centre of the fig-crop.
Experiments have been tried by trans
planting the trees to raise a crop in the
neighboring valleys, but they never have
been successful. Some years ago Mr.
West discovered in California a tract of
soil which he believed to be almost iden
tical. The climate also was similar. Mr.
West took back with him some 300 roots.
These fig-trees have done well. They
have made good growth and yielded fair
crops, but a sufficient time has
not yet elapsed for the tree to
reach such maturity as should test
the value of its fruit for preserv
ing. It is only when the trees are from
five to seven years old that they begin to
bear fruit useful for commercial purposes;
but once that age is attained, the tree
will yield its annual crop for sixty or
seventy, or, with careful pruning, for
eighty years. The fruit does not all re
semble the ordinary black eating fig. If
is a short, pulpy fruit. A large one
would weigh quite four ounces. The color
is a bright yellow-green, but when you
cut into it the flesh is white, with a cen
tre of dark red. The taste of these figs
is poor and rather faint, but the pulp
exudes an abundance of amber-colored
juice; so that they seem with the slight
est pressure almost to crip with honey.
Their promise to the taste is more than
their performance. We know how beauti
ful a cherry orchard, or a garden wall
covered with peach-trees, can look in the
early weeks of a mild spring. The fig
tree differs from almost all fruit
trees in this respect, that it
seems to bear no flowers. Of
course it does flower—if it did not it
could bear no fruit—but it flowers invis
ibly. In fact tae flower is concealed in
what ultimately becomes the fruit. If you
cut open a tig when it has attained little
more than a third of its full size the flow
ers will be seen in full development, and
it is at this stage that, if the stamens are
perfect, fertilization takes place, and the
fruit swells and ripens.
Walking through a fig garden in the
Aidin district in the month of June, you
will see a strauge and almost incompre
hensible operation being carried on. The
trees are by this time covered with fruit,
though the figs are less than half the size
to which thev subsequently attain. The
boughs which bear them are often not
more than a few feet from the ground.
One of the peasants m the garden takes
a basket filled with small green figs
s.rang loosely on pieces of cord. Some
of these cords will have only a couple of
figs, and some as maryas six. The work
man flings the cords up into the branches,
on the twigs of which they are caught,
so that every tree shall be adorned with
one of these singular necklaces. It is
hard to guess their purpose. These
strung figs are wild fruit, bitter in taste,
and quite useless as food, but they have
this singular property, that they arrest
the tendency of the other figs to drop to
the ground before they attain maturity.
Sometimes the crop of these Capri figs,
as they are called, fails, but so useful is
the purpose they serve that growers will
give as much as a piastre, or four cents,
for each tig. This price is so high that,
as a rule, it will swallow up all the prof
its expected from the crop. From the
end of June and through July the fig
swells and ripens. In its earlier stag*
the fruit is not very palatable, but on at
taining maturity it is sweet and agreea
ble, juicy and much relished, though
somewhat laxative. This is the season
far the pilferers. The crop is so valua
ble that watchers are stationed in the
garden, who keep guard day and night.
These watchers, called beckji, witn
their shelters and surroundings, might be
designed for art rather than occupation,
so picturesque is their appearance. Their
accoutrement reminds one that Asia Minor
is still a great hunting-ground for bri
gands. Quite a museum of knives and
pistols is displayed in the belt,and a heavy
iron-bound cudgel is probably rather
a symbol of office than actually needed
for protection. The guardian's arbor is
generally located near the drying-ground
of the plucked figs. It is there that the
greatest value is concentrated.— Harper's
Magazine.
Somebody has taken the trouble tc
compute that the average consumption of
salt by each grown person in this country
is pearly fifty poijn Is a year.
His Forty-Third.
My father was Sheriff of a certair
county in Kansas about twenty years ago.
and during a certain summer we received
on a sentence for six months a very
tough fellow named Joe Williams. He
had been sentenced for attempted horse
stealing, and my father knew that a
sharp watch must be kept over him or he
would take French leave.
Joe had put in about two weeks on bis
term when my mother started off on a
visit, was hurt cn route, and father had
to go to her. His first deputy and
assistant jailer was a man of fifty, named
Btebbins, who was his cousin. “Steb”
was a peppery old chap and a great
brag and liar. According to his state
ments ho had licked more men, killed
more Indians, run down more horse
thieves and helped lynch more desper
adoes than any other man living.
Father cautioned him over and over
about watching Williams, who was the
only prisoner we had, and “Steb”
sturdily replied;
“You go right along and rest easy,
Henry. If I was fool 'null to let him
git away I’d expect to be shot and
throwed to the gophers.”
Father had scarcely gone when Will
iams began calling, and I went into the
corridor with the old man to see what was
wanted. I was only ten years old, but I
can vividly recall everything. The jail
was made of rough stone and onc-half
of it was the Sheriff's residence. The
jail part was only one big room, with a
plain but stout iron-grated door leading
into the corridor. As the weather was
warm, both corridor doors were open.
When wc looked in on Joe he said:
“See, here, Steb, I hear you are brag
ging a good deal about how many men
you have put on their backs.”
“There’s no brag about it,’’replied the
old man. “I never found a human I
couldn’t lay down in five minutes.”
“That’s all wind, and you know it,”
retorted Joe. “You ought to be ashamed
of your jaw.”
“Who you talking to?”
“To you, you old wind bag! You
talk of wrestling! AVby, I kin grease
the floor with your carcass!”
“Don’t git my dander up!” warned
Steb in a tremu'ous voice, “or I'll troun.v
you!”
“Trounce me! Say, old blowhard, 1
kin lather you with one hand tied behind
me! If I could only git at you I’d make
you holler in one round!”
“Shet up!”
“I won’t, and you ain’t big null to
make me!”
“Yes, I am!”
“You’re a liar!”
“Take that back!”
“Never!”
“Take that back or I’ll come in and
make pulp of you!”
“Youdasn’t! I’ll dare ye to come in
and pint a finger at me!”
Some more of the sort followed, and
Steb got the idea that he must enforce
his authority or suffer a loss of prestige.
He was the older but also the bigger
man, and he kept getting mad until he
finally peeled off his coat, unlocked
the door and dodged in. lie made foi
Williams, but the lattci ducked undei
his arm, upset me at the door, and was
off like a shot, and before pursuit could
be organized he w r as beyond reach. Old
Steb stood in the back door and watched
him for fully five minutes before saying a
word. Then I heard him growl:
I “Consarn him for skipping out, bul
I’ve got the consolntion of knowing that
I lie’s the forty-third man I’ve licked outei
j his boots in the last five years !”—Neu
York Sun.
A Senator’s Hat.
Hon. J. S. Blackburn is wearing this
winter a broad brim light sombrero, very
nearly akin to the cowboy style, which
makes him a more noticeable figure than
ever. The other day he received a draft
for his salary, and proceeded to Rigg’s
Bank to get it cashed and send off some
small drafts. The clerk took his orders
in relation to the small drafts, and the
Senator endorsed his. The clerk asked
him if he was a depositor, whereupon the
Senator frankly confessed that he was
not, aud had not of late been in the habit
of encumbering the vaults of banks with
large amounts of surplus, “Do you know
anyone connected with the bank?” asked
the clerk. At this point of conversation
one of the officers of the solid financial
institution looked from his door and
politely requested the Senator to give him
a cad in his private room before leaving.
At this the clerk remarked that it was all
right. Mr. Blackburn, supposing that
every person connected with the bank
knew him, asked the clerk if he had been
there long, and was informed that his
term of service had not extended over
about two months.
“Well,” said the Senator, “I would
like for you to tell me what made you
doubt or question my ownership of this
draft?”
“Well,” said the clerk, “I will tell
you frankly that I did not think a Senator
wore that kind of a hat.” —Washington
Post.
The Alligator’s Chief Weapon.
The chief weapon of offence and de
fence with an alligator is the caudal ap
pendage, and as it has to bend itself into
almost a half circle to deliver an effective
blow, the peison who keeps his wits
about him may readily avoid it, unless he
is taken by surprise. A fair blow from
the tail of an adult will easily break a
man's leg or arm, aud I have known it
to knock a large hog a distance of several
feet, says a writer in Outing. An alli
gator will alwajs first try to strike its
prey with the tail, on land, but in water
it will seize it round the body and sink
immediately to the bottom.
Ingenious Reasoning,
A cook, who had burned up a piece of
veal weighing four pounds, threw ii away,
aud afterward explained to her mistress
that, the cat had eaten the meat. “Very
well,” said the lady, “we will see that
directly.” So saying she took the cat,
put it on the scales, and found that it
weighed exactly four pounds. “There,
Fredericke,” she said, “are the four
pounds of meat—but where is the cat.”'
HORSE ABATTOIRS.
THE USE OF HORSEFLESH FOR
FOOD IN PARIS.
Only Aged and Worn-out Animals are
Slaughtered—How the Horses are
Killed—The Flesh Rather
Tough and Repulsive.
Frenchmen are too economic to throw
away anything, and when horses become
. sed up with work what remains of them
s killed and eaten. There were 15,000
aorses and 300 asses eaten in Paris last
vear. There are four special abattoirs
or slaughtering them, and horseflesh is
eaten in all forms. Strangers, however,
ft ill have some difficulty in obtaining a
horse steak for the asking, although it is
•ften palmed off on them under anothet
as me. It is deftly concealed in beef ala
•unde, or is used in making soups and
stews. A visit to one of the horse abattoirs
in Paris is not calculated to make one
a confirmed hippophagist, or horseflesh
eater. The writer visited one of the largest
of these slaughter house early one morn
ing. and saw the sort of animals that are
thought fit for human food in Paris. This
abattoir is in the south of Paris in the
Boulevard de l’Hospital, not many yards
from the famous Manufacture des Gobelin.
There were forty horses waiting to be
slaughtered. They were decrepit old in
valids, lame, spavined, diseased and flesh
less old hacks, suffering all the infirmities
which afflict the equine race. When a
horse becomes useless for everything else
he is taken to these abattoirs and killed,
unless he dies on the way. Some of those
in the stables were so rickety that they
could not stand up. There were several
asses among the stock. When alive the
ass is characterized by great endurance
and phenomenal toughness, and it pre
serves those qualities when dead.
The butchers did not spare the horses
feelings, and that they still had
was evident from the way the poor brutes
trembled when brought forth to await
their fate. Before a horse was killed his
shoes were knocked off, his mane and
tail clipped, and while these preliminaries
were being performed he was allowed tc
>tand and see others being knocked down.
He appeared to understand what was
'oing on and what was awaiting him.
A blind was placed over the animal’s
eyes, and a sharp pointed hammer driven
into its skull a little above the eyes. A
horse is easier killed than an ox. After
the skin was removed what remained was
to all appearance a mass of bones. But
they were carted away all the same by
the butchers and sold to the poor people
and the cheap restaurants. It was dur
ing the siege of Paris that the French
[leople became habituated to the use of
horseflesh. Before the imprisoned Par
isians were reduced to eating dogs, cats
and rats, horseflesh was the staple article
of food for many weeks. The consump
tion of horseflesh, however, had been
authorized several years before_the war.
The first horse abattoir was opened in
I Paris in 1865, and a restaurant, where
nothing but dishes made from horse flesh
was served, was established in the Latin
Quarter in 1866. The siege popularized
the food, and ever since then the quanti
ty consumed has increased every year.
French soldiers kill and eat their
wounded horses. When Napoleon’s army
was retreating from Moscow amid the
snows of Russia the only food of the sol
diers was horseflesh. During the Cri
mean war, when the commissariat of the
French and English troops was in a bad
way, the French soldiers lived sumptu
ously on horseflesh while the English
were almost dying of starvation. The
French also fed on horseflesh in the
Franco-German war.
From a scientific point of view there
is no reason why horseflesh shtuld not be
eaten by man. Its wholesomeness de
pends on the condition of the horse, and
horses are not usually raised for tne
jhambles. Before the consumption of
horseflesh was authorized in Frauce, a
lumber of scientific men held a series of
conferences and banquets to demonstrate
that the horse was good for food.
Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire declared that it
was absurd for the French people to lose
millions of pounds of good meat every
year, when thousands of poor people
were in want of food. M. de Quatre
fages tried to prove that horseflesh was
superior to beef. The fibre was much
finer he said-. These scientific gentle
men, in order to show that they were
not afraid <f a piece of horse themselves,
held a hippophagist banquet, at whiefl
the menu consisted ot horse soup, horse
sausage, boiled horse meat, roast and
ragout, and salad dresstd with horse fat.
A young horse which has not been
worn out with work may be good to eat,
but, except one new and then that is ac
cidentally wounded and rendered unfit
for work all the horses slaughtered in
Paris are old hacks. Unless the smell ot
the flesh is deftly concealed or changed
by the ccok, horseflesh is somewhat re
pulsive, and soup made of it has an oily
appearance. But the natural repugnance
which people have for horseflesh arises
more from inherited ideas than anything
else. In Pagan times the horse was
sacred animal, just as the cow is among
Hindoos to-day. Hares used to be con
sidered unfit for human food, aud are so
still in some parts of Russia. Religion
prevents the Jews, Turks, and Arabs
from eating pork.
Horseflesh is eaten openly in Berlin
and Vienna, but not to the same extent
as in Paris. A Frenchman opened a
store for the sale of horse meat in Loudon
a few years ago, but it wasn’t a success-
Many thousand horses are killed for
eats’ meat in London every yeftr, aud in
poor districts it is sold in place of bee..
There is no law against the consumption
of horseflesh, if sold as such, but every
uow and then some butcher is prosecute
for selling horseflesh as beef. —-V<f 1 "
Sun.
Taverns may be traced to the thirteenth
century. According to SpeLman. in toe
reign of King Edward. 111.. odR t !p e
taverns were allowed in London.
Vaseline is used in Japan to soothe the
stints of tattooing.