Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

those good old-fashioned FOLKS. Somehovr the people of to-day ain’t as they used to bo, At any rate, I’m pretty sure they're not the same to me. And while they're many just as good as those I used to know, , Tbere’re scores and scores among them that are oniy so and so. VTe used to always take a man exactly as he said, But now it’s safe to take him just the other way instead. It does my heart just lots of good to meet once in a while Some of those good old-fashioned folks so nearly out of style. I wouldn’t say the world in honesty is slipping back, I wouldn’t say that Christians hunting grace have lost the track, I wouldn't say that men to-day are less the friends of truth, Because they seem to differ from the ones I knew in youth. Those statements I refuse to make, but this I freely say, Those people please me quite as well as those I meet to-day. Their hearts and hands were honest and their • lives held little guile, Did those old-fashioned people now so nearly out of style. We’re wiser than they used to be, we m y be weaker, too, And good old homespun honesty may less our hearts imbue. These later days we all are bent on getting rich so fast, We haven’t time to think of things they thought of in the past. We're wildly striving after gold, we rush and push and crowd, And after while we’ll each be wanting pock ets in his shroud. But none of us can e'er outrank within the afterwhile Those good old-fashioned people now so nearly out of style. —Chicago Herald. UP THE ‘‘DRAW.” liY THOMAS p. MORGAN. The gang at old man Sigsby s com bined saloon, postoffice and general store had waited for the coming of the mail carrier ever since the saw mill shut down at sunset. The time was passed in curs ing the tardy Government official, imbib ing Sigsby’s villainous whisky and dis cussing the occupant of the little log and slab shanty, half a mile up the heavily timbered “draw.” They looked a “hard crowd,” and their characters did not in the least belie their personal appearances. The scum and offscourings of many communities they were, held together by their cause against the common enemy, the United States Government. The sawmill, deep iii the wilderness, turned out great quan tities of lumber from trees cut from Gqv eriinent land, and its owners, in their Ea stern homes, knew little and cared less oi the rough men whose toil increased their employers’ ill-gotten gains. Old man Sigsby was the worst man in the whole gang, that seemed composed of the champion profane, shock-headed, tangle-bearded and desperate men to be found in seven States. They growled at the generalities of life, cursed each other and drank great potations of fiery whis ky, and Sigsby growled the loudest, cursed them all individually and collec tively and drank oftener than any other of his customers. The matter had been canvassed thor oughly, and the opinion was general that the occupant of the shanty up the “draw” was none other than a Govern ment detective. “Wal,” growled big Jim Perdue, “I'm yere to say that his "story's purty tkin! If he’s takin’ up a claim as he says he is, w’yn’t he go out on the prair’ like vrite man stead o’ cornin’ up yere whur squatters haint wanted now, say?” The question was addressed to no one in particular, but Sigsby took it upon himself to reply that he “didn't know an’ didn’t keer a cuss!” “Wal, you needn’t be so brash!” re torted Big Jim, with an oath. “I ” A clatter of hoofs interrupted him. The door was flung open and the tardy mail carrier threw the wrinkled pouch into the room. Then Sigsby distributed the mail. This was done by opening the pouch, pouring its contents in a heap on the floor and, with several forcible epithets, telling the company to “drive in.” There were few letters, but a bundle of news l>apers provided nearly every one with something to read. When each had got his own and the wrangling had ceased, one letter re mained. It was addressed to the occu pant of the cabin up the “draw.” “Wal,” remarked Sigsby, “that cuss gits entirely too many letters fora squat ter, One every week or oftener. An’ uv all dad-blamed directin’ this beats any I "ever seed!” The address was printed in straggling, irregular characters and with shocking disregard for capitalisation. Several examined the rude characters and all were of the opinion that they were traced in that manner to disguise the writer's chirography. “Le’s (.peu it!” cried Perdue. “Not much!” objected old man Sigs by. “Nobody opens any letters in this yere postottice but me! Understand?” The postmaster mentally resolved that while the gang might do a9 they liked outside of the office, he was not going to allow them to commit any act within the office that would iucur the wrath of the Government. Perdue rose, cleared his throat and be gan: “We all know that this cuss is •" “You bet!” interrupted several voices. “Yes, wal, we know what happened to the last feller that come a spyin' round whur he had no cell to be.” “We have a idee!” said a voics. “Wal, shall he have the =ame?" was Big Jim’s pertinent question. Without a nioineut's hesitation came the almost unanimous verdict that he should have fire “same.” There was a prolonged wrangle as to ways and means, much drinking at old man Sigsby’s bar, and then the gang departed for the great boarding shanty, to prepare for the night’s work, up the “draw.” “After they had gone Sigsby tight ened his revolver belt. Then he looked at the quecrly addressed letter and mut tered : “Wonder wliy the cuss don’t come to git his letter. Never missed bein’ on time before. B'lieve I’ll jest sorter take it up to him. Might be handy forme to git the lay uv things in the shanty. Git the edge on the boys by kno win’ whar the valuables is.” He extinguished the light and locked the door with the utmost caution. “Jest as well fer me, I reckon,” he muttered, “if these boys think I’m sick and gone to bed or sumpin’. If any thing was to happen—cuss was to plug one or two uv 'em, they mought ’low I’d sorter warned him if they knowed I’d be'n thar.” He reflected grimly that in such an event he was very liable to receive the same sort of treatment that was meted out to the last man suspected of spying. Loud words, plentifully interlarded with oaths, reached his ears as he passed the big boarding shanty, keeping well iu the shadow of the trees. His progress over the “rise” and up the “draw”’ was almost noiseless, and rapid in spite of the dense darkness beneath the great trees. Presently Sigsby knocked at the door of the log and slab shanty. As there came no reply, he knocked again and fancied he heard a faint response. “Some trap to ketch me, like as not,” he muttered, suspiciously, “but I’ll risk it.” His revolver was ready for instant action as he raised the latch and entered the room which was wrapped in dark ness. “Hello, thar!” Sigsby saluted cau tiously. “Don't be quick with no guns. Letter for you.” A faint moan replied from somewhere in the darkness. Sigsby’s suspicion of a trap was strengthened, and he meditated whether it was better to tire his revolver in the direction of the sound or to run the risk of having the trap sprung on him. The moan was repeated. “What’s the matter, pardner?” he asked, moving silently to one side as he did so. “Wall, I’ll resk it!” he muttered, as another moan answered him. He scratched a match and hold his half closed hand in such a way that a single ray of light was flashed in the direction from which the moan had sounded. The moment's light revealed a face aglow with fever, lit with eyes bright with delirium!s glare. There was no need for caution now, an/I fttnrcthxr crtoorlilxr Viarl n lirrltf hupninrr . — ; j ~ ~ He examined the sick man more closely. “Part’ bad off,” he muttered. “Hain’t eaten fer days, like as not. It’s tough, shore!” “Wall,” lie added, presently, “one is ’bout as shore as the other. If the boys don’t down him, the fever will. Mount ain fever’s first cousin to the grave yard.” The sufferer moaned and tossed feebly in his delirium, and, when Sigsby held a tin of water to his lips, he drank with almost frenzied eagerness. “Dryer’n a bone!” remarked Sigsby. “Wal, the boys ’ll soon ease his misery, I reckon. Pore cuss! He’s in a hard row o’ stumps, but now he’s come out here to hunt the boys; he ortn't to kick if they hunt him.” The sufferer rolled his head slowly from side to side and moaned. “Do your groanin’ now.” remarked the visitor grimly, “fer the boys’ll deprive you uv that privilege soon. Thar’ll be detective on tree for breakfast, I reckon. Wal, I must be a-gettin’. Don’t seem to he nuth’n’ worth packin’ off. By George! I mighty nigh fergot his letter! I’ll jest see what orders his bosses has sent him. Mought do me some good and they never will him.” He opened the oddly addressed en velope, and slowly spelled out the epistle it contained. When it was done, he spelled it clear through a second time “ Wall, I’m blabbergasted!” he ejacu lated, as he laid the letter face upward on the table. It was a short message and was printed in the same eccentric fashion as the address. “Wal, I’m blabbergasted!” old man Sigsby repeated. 1 ’Plumb blabbergasted! Some how, that ’minds me uv ” He paused. Presently, he said, slowly: “Prays fer him every night an’ mornin’. Name's Bessie. Minds me uv —never mindl” He shook himself fiercely. “Deserves all he gits,” he said, hoarsely. “Didn’t he come yere to hunt the boys? Yer bet yer life he did!” He answered himself with fierce energy, shaking his fist at the moaning figure on the bed. Then he turned to lea”e the s'nanty, but paused, with his hand on the rude latch. “Prays fer him every night an’ morn in’,” he muttered. “Somebody ort to write an’ tell her when he’s downed. I ” He took a step toward the letter that lay face upward on the tible. The quaint characters seemed staring him in the face. “Prays fer him,” he muttered slowly. “Name's Bessie! ’Minds me, no—l’ll— I’ll do it! Doit er drop a-trying!” he cried with fierce energy. The sick man moaned again. ‘■Her dad—Bessie's dad!” old man Sigsby muttered, aud laid his cocked revolver on the table bevide the letter. Then he took down the sick man’s repeating rifle from the well and placed it near the other weapon. “Like’s not I’ll groan like him purt’ soon,” he said, with a nod toward the bed. “The boys mean business!” “They mean business!” he repeated presently. “So do I! “There was a noise outside and a knock at the door. “Come!” cried Sigsby. Tiie repeating riflo in his hands aud the revolver beside the letter were both cocked and ready for instant use. As they threw open the door and ushered In, Big Jim Perdue and the rest of the “boys” found themselves looking into the muzzle of a repeating rifle held by a stern-faced man who stood behind the table. “Up with yer hands!” cried Big J’ira sternly, as he burst across the threshold. There were exclamations of surprise as the gang recognized the holder of the rifle. “What d'ye mean, Sigsby? What art you doin’ yere?” demanded Big Jim. “Nothin’,” returned old man Sigsby, doggedly. “Whur’s the cuss?” “Thar!” answered Sigsby, movingtc one side that the light might fall on the sick man. “Thar, an’ thar he’s goin’ tc stay!” “Mountain fever!” some one said, at sight of the delirium-flushed face. Big Jim and the gang glared at old man Sigsby and the rifle muzzle thal stared them in the face. “What does all this mean?” Big Jim demanded with an oath. “NuthinM” the old man replied. “Yere's his orders from headquarters, an I'm a-carryin’ them out!” He flipped the letter toward the group and Big Jim picked it up. When the big man had silently spelled out its con tents, he handed it to the next man. From one to another it passed till ail had read Bessie’s letter. No one made any remark, but there was a dimness before the eyes of severs' that made the muzzle of old man Sigs by’s repeating rifle looking less formida ble. “Wal?” questioned Sigsby. “Wal,” Big Jim returned iu an accent less voice. “Prays fer him every day,” the old man said, ns if addressing himself. “An’ ’taint no good prayin’ fer dead men,” Jim returned, in the same accent less voice. “Hunting us! Wall,mount ain fever’ll do the work if ” “Bill,” he said, suddenly, interrupting himself, “didn’t you ’low you seed a fel ler sneakin’ round the storehouse as we come by?” 4 -Bill” replied promptly that he had “’lowed” so, and several eager voices chimed in with the information that it was dangerous to allow the “feller” in question to continue to “sneak.” “I reckon that thar’s the detective,” Big Jim hazarded. There was a unanimous expression of belief that such was the case. Then, led by Big Jim, the gang filed out into the darkness. “Ole man,” said Big Jim, slowly, as he turned to go, “if you need any help ’tendin’ to any sick men anywhere around yere, send fer me.” “An’ me!” cried several voices. “An’ if he gits well, tell him a story ’bout a little gal's letter that saved a feller's life. If you do, mebby his sick ness’ll sorto make him fergit all about what’s happened in this section an’ that anybody on Gov’ment land ” “I’ve heerd uv seeh cases,” answered old man Sigsby. When they had gone, Sigsby stood for many minutes staring at the letter before him. “Der papa,” it read, “mama and me has been looking for a letter from you for awful many days.. We are fraid your sick an we want to see you awful much. Ole Bose is dead. I pray for you night an mornin. A hundred kisses from “Bessie.” “Name’s Bessie,” old man Sigsby mut tered. ’Minds me uv—” His voice died away, and, for a long time, he seemed wrapped in thought. Only the faint moan of the sick man broke the silence at the shanty up the “draw.” A month later little Bessie's heart was gladdened by the coming of the papa for whom she had prayed night and morning. No report of illegal timber cutting in the region round about the cabin up the “draw” reached headquarters. Perhaps his severe illness had impaired the de tective’s memory.— New Fork Mercury. Goose Grease for Membranous Croup. Old-fashioned remedies are still the hobby with many Connecticut people, and they often cure where modern therapeutics fail. Last week, in Bridge port, a two-year old child was stricken with membranous croup. A physician was hastily summoned, and he prescribed. The child grew rapidly worse, and the attending physician called in two of his brethren to consult with him. The three decided that death would soon result unless the operation of tracheotomy was resorted to. This the parents positively refused to allow, and the physicians de parted, saying the child would die before morning. After they had retired several women called, and, with the usual feminine desire to do all they could to help the afflicted parents, asked permis sion to try their remedies. It was granted, as the parents thought it would do no harm, as the child would die in a few hours anyway. The patient was thoroughly wrapped up iu flannels, and his head and throat were rubbed with goose grease. A dose of the stuff, mixed with vinegar, was with difficulty forced down the child’s throat. In a short time he vomited up a large portion of mucus and broke up the clogging matter iu the throat. Being placed in bed he soon went to sleep, and the next day he was playing about the house, and appeared to be far from dying.— New York Sun. The Lads of Lisbon. The lads of Lisbon, the Portuguese capital,are a curious feature of her motley population. They seem to have conse crated the bloom of their youth to the sale of lottery tickets for the benefit of the church, and may be seen everywhere hawking halves and quarters of tickets, shouting,“To-day the wheel goes round.” When not engaged iu this pursuit these young hopefuls take to selling crickets, which are confined in small wicker cage3 three inches square. The crickets are caught apd sold for sporting purposes. Cricket lights are as popular and arouse, as keen passions as cock fights t‘X Spain. Mail ami Express, WOMAN'S WORLD. PLEASANT LITERATURE FOR FEMININE READERS. A NEW QUALITY OF BENGAI.INE. The Dry Goods Chronicle says that a Dew and very heavy quality of beugaiino has made its appearance, but its thick cord, while rendering the fabric remark ably handsome, prevents its draping as gracefully as some of the lighter varie ties. It will, however, be much admired, for in plain, undraped arrangements its effect is very rich. The principal shades in which it is offered is old-rose, serpent, very dark blue, emerald, golden-brown, seal, dove and putty. The dark-blue, browns, gray and putty are used for long wraps, upon which are placed baud some decorations of fur and passemen terie. Court or full, long trains on even ing gowns are elegantly made of this heavy silk. THE TAILOR-MADE DRESS. There seems to be a concerted attack all over the country on the tailor-made dress. The obiter dictum of the fashion editor and editress is that the tailor-made dress must go. It is held to be too stiff now, though it is not so long since they couldn’t be stiff enough. Well, the tailor-made dress on a handsome form will be none the less stylish and pretty, notwithstanding the crusade against it. But what men would like to know is why women cannot make tailor-made dresses. It is claimed by all women that the art is confined solely to the male sex, and that lady modistes have made such a botch of their attempts that they frankly admit their inability to compete with the men. In the tailor-made dress the goods of which it is composed are fitted to the wearer, while in the other styles of dress the lining is fitted independently of the goods. In the tailor-made dress the lin ing is put in loose. This, at least, is the way a man understands it, but the query is still: Why can’t lady dressmakers do what men dressmakers do in this line? There is a mystery about this matter somewhere.— St. Louis Star-Sayings. A YOUNG SOCIETY GIRLR “DEN.” The modern girl, when she retires from the madding crowd to commune with her own ideas, is apt to retreat to a den that has been arranged according to her special tastes and in whose furnish ing oftentimes she displays a signal abil ity in disposing of sight drafts on the Government, says the Philadelphia Times. The special feature of a well-fitted den this winter is quite apt to be a toilet set of three pieces in fanciful rococo curves. A yellow haired young woman whose name there is no need of giving, but who belongs to that much envied clan, American girls of the leisure class, has a beautiful little boudoir fitted in blue and gold. The Avails are hung in pale Blue silks sprinkled with rose petals, and there are special pieces of furniture in ormolu inlaid with Sevres plaques, a mantel with a pair of Dresden china candlesticks, a little clock in ormolu and dainty accompaniments too many to de scribe. Adjoining this room is a dress ing room, and here sho tilts her blonde head aud pensively droops her snowy lids before a dressing table, the wood of which is entirely covered with blue and white satin, with jewels of crystal glass set into the frame at intervals. On the table stands a large plate glass mirror and the brushes and combs in re pousse silver, the perfumed waters and delicate lotions that go to make up a fashionable girl’s paraphernalia stand be neath a, fantastically shaped blue satin canopy. A chair and a second and a smaller side table corresponding make up the complete service of this shrine to the graces and vanities. I.ABOR COST VS. MATERIAL. It is an English woman who remai'Es that “from the lady’s point of view the materials of her dress may be as costly as possible, but the labor of making it is scarcely taken into account. Because she has given a few shilling for a dress at a sale, she imagines it can only cost half that amount to make it. ‘What do you charge for making a simple cotton gown?’ is a frequent question; and on hearing the answer: ‘Why, that is twice as much as it cost—ridiculous!’ just as if the workwomen were paid in proportion to the value of the material they worked on; as if the rent, and the firing and light, and all the other expenses oblig ing came down to zero while the ‘simple cotton gown’ was in hand. Asa matter of fact, cotton fabrics take long to make, and spoil the machine into the bargain; so that dressmakers would much prefer their being made at home. The difficulty of making women undestand that the labor cost of a dress is the large item leads to all kinds of suber fuge on the part of the dressmaker, who is obliged to recoup herself on the ma terials for the loss on the making, and practically to cook her account to humor the fancies of her customers; hence those expressly sharp women, who pride them selves on measuring their costumes to ascertain if they have not been charged for more than was used, often find that the unfortunate woman whom they are trying to grind down to what they con sider a fair price, has, in fact, shifted the cost from labor to material, and she is instantly condemned as dishonest; whereas, if she had frankly said what the dress had cost her to make, her customer would probably have considered her much too expensive to be returned to.” —New York Telegram. A MAGNIFICENT COSTUME. The Empress of Russia has just been presented with a Circassian national cos tume by the wealthy Princess Gussatowa. This magnificent dress consists of a pointed cap of black velvet, shot with >old aud edged with a broad border of diver embroidery. Over this is spread a white gauze veil speckled with gold stars. The- robe is of garnet-colored velvet, with short sleeves, and lined with lilac silk. It is heavily embroidered with gold, and both side* of the bodice,edged •with gold borders, are ornamented with a row of star-shaped silver buttons, from which hang gold tassels. To the dross also belongs a short jacket of sky-blut Atlask with gold embroidery, which is fastened down tho front by twenty-three pairs of golden clasps, over one inch wide and heavily studded with turquoises. There further belongs to this magniiiccut costume a rose-colored chemisette of At lask, embroidered with silver. The gir dle is of garnet-colored velvet, with gold embroidery, and is fastened by a broad silver clasp of exquisite workmanship and studded with turquoises. The loose wide Circassian nether garments are made of cream-colored striped Atlask and em broidered with silver. Finally, the shoes of ponceau-colored Morocco, with silver laces, have high heels made from rare wood, and the latter are covered with purple velvet, ornamented with gold. The whole costume, needless to say, is exceedingly gorgeous and costly, and it is au exact copy of an ancient Circassian regal dress. It is said to be the work ol the Princess Gussarowa, who herself pre sented it to the Empress enclosed in a satchel of heliotrope with her Majesty’s initials and the imperial crown in gold. —London Life. t LIFE IN THE WHITE HOUSE. If the numerous women of America who crave a change of place with the first lady of the land could for a few hours be ladened with her weight of responsibility and experience, the utter lack of privacy or home comforts in which she lives, the wish would soon have a monument. Life in the White House is like a resi dence in a public hotel parlor; for, even in the boudoir of the Mrs. President there is no relief from the too frequent doorkeepers, stewards, liouse-mnids, house-men, reporters and the erstwhile rat. Mr3. Harrison’s capacity for mar shaling forces and keeping her temper is greatly to be admired, for her life is equal to more than one herculean task. I find that many people labor under the delusion that existence in the White House is a fairy ball on rose leaves. Why, good people, you could not guess wider of the mark. In the first place there is no gayety. Mr. and Mrs. President never accept in vitations, and their own entertaining is limited to formal receptions and dinners. The only real enjoyment to be gleaned is from the impromptu dinners to visiting friends, their box at the theatre and the beautiful conservatory. Every night at dinner a mass of flowers adorn the dining table, and are sent later on to one of the many friends who are grateful indeed foi this sweet-scented remembrance. This privilege of giving pleasure at least once in every twenty-four hours is one com pensation for the sacrifice of one’s home I ...1/1 4 ...1.., <1 t. ti.lt.nl. annntn a.M—n U.UVC niv.UM!j nmuu ouuius up'iu an occupant of the exalted position. Tc avoid becoming lacrymose over the mosl envied statioii in our United States, I shall return to the prospects for a gay season. One thing in certain—that the gala time is to bo short; therefore, much will he crowded into little. —Boston Transcript f - NOTES. . White cloths are effectively trimmed with black braid and edged with dark furs. A Swiss bodice of the same color as the skirt is much seen in ball room cos tumes. Au unusual number of crepe de chine dresses have made their appearanee this season. Silk muslin is decidedly a fashionable fabric of the season, and those fond ol net will still adhere to it. Handkerchiefs follow the lead of dresses and mantles and have long and sharply intended trimming. Some of the brocades worn are very beautiful, especially in combination with tulle and other filmy materials. A late novelty consists of having s long ostrich feather curled around the arm at the edge of the short sleeves. Those who can afford them favor cos tumes of velvet, simply made, and edged with Russian sable and other rich furs. Lilac and pale mauve are favorite col ors for evening gowns. The favored materials are velvets and satin brocades. Heavy beaver cloths in diagonal de signs are made up into long wraps and make very handsome and serviceable wraps. Light colored velvets, with linings of white Thibet goatskin, are more than ever used for elegant mantles the present season. There is a decided reaction in low cut gowns. A revival and also a pretty innovation is the use of the lace bib in low cut bodices. Novelties in black crepe de chine show tufts and rings of black velvet; also embroidered floral designs in effec tive arrangements. Black lace gowns arc mounted on black areophane, with a petticoat of black satin. Sometimes the entire underdress is of pure white velvet. Handsome costumes of dark velvet have round skirts edged with blue fox, and left open at two seams to show un derskirts of light brocaded satin. It is predieted that long gloves in black Suede will be the prevailing fashion in the spring, and the demand is said to be so sudden that it is not yet possible to fill advance orders. The Empire still dominates in evening dress and short waists and plain skirts will continue to be the rage. A sash or girdle about the waist is pretty much the only relief from this severity. Rather anew effect in ball dresses consists in having the bottom of the skirt and the corsage sometimes outlined with pinked-out ruching. A pretty fancy is to have the ruche composed of artificial rose petals. Crapo de dune is used for evening gowns for young ladies, and a leading trade journal predicts that this elegant fabric will find increased consumption next summer, both for entire costume# and in combination with other stuffs. 'AN OCEAN HARVEST. GATHERING SEA-WEED ON THE BRITISH COAST. An Occupation in Which Thousands of People Are Engaged—Burn ing the Weed Into Kelp lts Commercial Uses. By far the larger portion of the sea-weed harvest along the coasts of Scotland, Ire land and adjoining islands comes ashore in the early spring and in the late fall. The fall harvest, together with that which winter adds, is suffered in most localities to lie untouched on the beach until it has been carried out to sea again and lost forever. It is only the spring crop which receives special care. Thousands ot women and children, and a small sprin kling of men, may be seen flocking to the beach during the month of May, armed with rakes and wheelbarrows, or driving low carts, whose wheels are made broad enough to prevent their sinking in the sand. The wot weeds are raked into piles, and carried either by barrow or cart to a conveniently safe distance from the water’s edge. Usually a sheltered nook is chosen, if near at hand, and in it is stored a great mass of tho weed. Here it is left to dry under the summer’s hot suu, meanwhile exhaling odors of no dainty description. There are well-re cognized liberties and restrictions in re gard to sea-weed accorded to landlords uud peasantry who dwell along the shore. The landlords have most of the liberties, while the peasants enjoy tho restrictions. Conflicts of sea-weed rights have been known to occur, in which cases the slul lalah has had an important share in t‘ie gathering of the crop. When the weed is dry—that is, in tha latter part of July and the first of August —the owners of the sea-weed heaps un dertake to burn them into kelp. This burning is done in the crudest and most wasteful manner. (Shallow pits, often dug right iu the sand, are filled with weed and the mass ignited. Upon the first charge fresh quantities of weed are thrown from time to time, the whole mass burning more or less rapidly in pro portion to the dryness of the weed. Ther; results, in the bottoms of these pits, a black mass resembling iron-slag in ap pearance, though not in hardness, whio'j, being sprinkled with water while hot, breaks up into large lumps suitable fer transportation. Owing to the carelessness with which the weeds arc raked up, this crude kelp-slag always contains a large percentage of sand and other impurities, sometimes amounting to one half the total weight of tho product. The im providence, of this is the more marked iu view of the small amount of valuable salts which even at best can be found in the kelp, and the rapid ratio in which the cost of transportation diminishes the profits when half of the slag is dead weight. The improvidence extends equally to the burning itself. Till* takes place in full access of air, unci at a temperature so high as to volatilize much of the iodiue. Besides, all the gaseous products of the combustion are lost and the escaped gases overcloud whole town ships, and impart to miles of sea-shore the peculiar odor characteristic of burn ing kelp. To save these gaseous pro ducts by distilling the weeds in closed retorts, at low temperatures, would mean the production, at little extra cost, of valuable amounts of ammonia, parafia, acetic acid, naphtha, etc. Iu addition, the charcoal left would be much richer in iodine than the ordinary kelp, and its mechanical form much easier of sub sequent extraction. Attention has been called time and again to the enormous waste of material and the easy means of improvement iu kelp making, but thus far little inroad has been made into this European species of ancestor worship. The crofters cling to traditional methods and primitive tools. When kelp, such as lias been described, is brought into market, it is purchased by those directly engaged in making the salts of iodine and the alkalies. In their hands it becomes the subject of careful treatment to separate the valuable ingre dients from tho gross impurities with which they arc associated. This is com monly done by breaking the kelp into small lumps and lixiviating in suitable vats filled with hot water or supplied with steam vapor. —Popular Science Monthly. Palm Oil. Palm oil is the product of the fruit of the oil palm tree of Guinea. The fruit grows in clusters on top of the tree, which is about thirty feet high, and resembles a chesnut. The oil is extracted by boiling the pulpy and fibrous mass around the central nut, and is used in making soap and candles. The fruits are harvested in April. The oil of Arachis, which is equally important in commerce, is from the nut of the Arachis (peanut), thou sands of tons of which are sent to Eu rope every year to be made up into “olive oil.” It is the fruit of annual creeping plant, and ripens in July and August. Oils of inferior quality are made into soap. Another undergroupd nut affords a white, hard butter, richer than butter from the cow, which has the further advantage of remaining fresh for a whole year without being salted. Only limited quantities of this product have as yet come into the market. The native Africans use all these fruits, under one form or another, For their own alimenta tion.—Popular Science Monthly. • The Ivory Production. There are annually killed in Africa s minimum of 65,000 elephants, yielding a production of a quantity of raw ivory, the selling price of which is some $4,- 250,000. This quantity is shipped to various parts of the world—to the Amer ican, the European and the Asian kets. A large quantity is, liowev-,’ by the native Princes of AJLriP - -oo are Africa is o. ivory, and China is I largest j also a,*- - I growing old. I’m growing old, they tell me;, They say I'm getting gray, And that my face has not the grace It had once on a day. And in tny gait I show it > That I am growing old— i Hurrah! I wouldn't know ft If I wa never told. I’m growing old, they’ra saying— Hurrah! They do not know A cheerful mind is not the kind To any older grow. The world’s as bright as ever, I'm happier each day, And I’ll feel young forever, ( No matter what they say. ’ 'Hurrah, for growing older, | And better all the while, ' }No look ahead to when I’m dead f Will take away my smile, ” That bravely will be showing ' And lighting up my face— They think I’m older growing, Hurrah! It’s not the case. * —B. C. Dodge , in Detroit Free Presti 'PITH AND POINT. The sailor’s accounts are cast up by the Sea. Rights and lefts—The “ins” and the ‘‘outs.” Spoiled children make bad men and women. A martial strain is that which is put on the drum-major’s spine. The best site for the World’s Fair is undoubtedly the mirror. Some women like a whispered tale of love, but a belle prefers a declaration made in ringing tones.—Baltimore Ameri can. The old railroad contractor should be in a good physical condition, for he is training ail his life.— Kearney Enter prise. The Indians are the largest land owner* in the country, but they have raised mors hair than potatoes, thus far.— Minneapolis Journal. A Morsel for the Bog.—Tramp—“l’m nothin’ but a bundle o’ bones.” Hired Girl—“ Here, Tige, go bury him.”-Mm sey's Weekly. “I think your wife wants change." “Change? Doctor, you don’t know that woman. Change will never do for her. She needs a fortune.” “Ma, tho minister is coming.” “What makes you think so? Did you see him?” ‘ ‘No, but I saw pa take the parrot and lock it up in the stable.” Nations are like individuals, says an orator. Not much. You never hear an individual complaining about the size of his surplus.— Bouton Courier. Lawyer—“ Your opponent will have to pay the amount, but you will have to stand the costs.” Client—“ Will you please tell me, have I won or lost.” Lancaster—“l hear that you have been burning the midnight oil. What study interests you so much?” Forrester— “ How to get the baby to sleep.”— Time. Although they went to school together, And grew up children side by side. He never dreamed how much ho loved her Until her wealthy uncle died. —Harped* Bazar. How bard some men will struggle to build a little reputation, and will at once give up the the ghost when it comes te building a kitchen fir e.—Kearney Enter prise. Lioness—“l've been chasing a mis sionary for about s’teen miles! Did you see where he went, me lord?” Leo— “ Yes, my dear; he just stepped inside." ruck. “What does a man know about a woman’s dress, anyway?” scornfully asked Mrs. B. “He knows where the pocket isn’t,” was Mr. B.’s reply.— Louisville Journal. Stern Parent—“ Look here, I have just been told that you received a thrashing in school last week. I didn’t know it at the time.” Jimmy—“l did, pa.”— Lawrence American. She—“ Sir, what do you mean by put ting your arm around my waist?” He— “Do you object?” She—“Mr. Arthur Gordon, I’ll give you just five hours to remove your arm.”— Boston Beacon. Some one was saying before Jones that the best method of restoring those who had been frozen was to roll them in the snow. * ‘That may do well enough in winter time, but what yer goin’ to do in sum mer, when there ain’t no snow?” com mented that cheerful idiot.— Judge. Don’t waste the gas, the high-priced gas, Now nights grow long and drear: When comes to pass, each precious lass Expects her sweetheart dear. ’Tivould be quite right to quench the light When dude3. as green as grass, Make their tongues run on what the’ve done, They’ll furnish all the gas. —Judge. A number of children were making a good deal of noise, and their mother, after rebuking them several times, at last said: “If I have to speak again, I shall punish some of you.” At this the youngest child rolled off the sofa, and, after gravely reflecting awhile, said: “Then mamma. I’d advise you not to speak.” She didn’t. How Curiosity is Gratified in Russia. The ex-editor of the Chicago News, who has just returned from Europe, re lates this incident, which he witnessed in St. Petersburg: “One day I saw a car riage containing a gendarme and another person. I asked our guide who it was, and he said it was a political prisoner. I asked him whatwould become of him. •Oh. he'll heard of again. We don’t hav*my bother about juries and trial* The papers won't take up the 20/teir and his friends won’t attempt to <*fo anything for him.’; ‘But if he were your brother wouldn / you try to do something for him?’ I tasked. ‘No, sir. If I went to the officerAaud said I wanted to know what they wete going to do with him, they would say\ ‘Come right in. You can have the celßgiext to hi* and go with him to Siberia to ’'nee what becomes of him.’” \