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WEALTH, FAME, LIFE, DEATH.
What m fame*
Ti* the sun-gleam on the mountain,
Spreading brightly ere it flies,
Tis the bubble ou the fountain.
Rising lightly ere it dies;
Or, if here and there a hero
Be remembered through the years,
It et to him the gain is zero—
Death has stilled his hopes and fears.
Yet what dangers men will dare
If but only in the air
May be heard some eager mention of their
name;
Though they hear it not themselves, tis
much the same
What is wealth*
’Tis a rainbow still receding
As the panting fool pursues,
Or a toy that yonth, unheeding,
Seeks the readiest way to lose;
But the wise man keeps due measure,
Neither out of breath nor base;
But he holds in trust his treasure
For the welfare of the race
Yet what crimes some men will dare
But to gain their slender share
In some profit, though with loss of name or
health;
In aome plunder, spent ou vices or by stealth
What is life*
'Tis the earthly hour of trial
For a life that’s just begun!
Whan the prize of self-denial
May be quickly lost or won;
Tis the hour when love may bourgeon
Toaii everlasting flower;
Or when lust* their victims urge ou
To defy immortal power.
et how lightly men ignore
All the future holds in store.
Bpending brief but golden moments all in
strife;
Or in suicidal madness grasp the knife.
What is death?
Bast its dark, mysterious jKirte 1
Human eyes may never roam;
A et the hope still springs immortal
That it leads the wanderer home.
Oh, the bliss that lies before ns
Whon the secret shall lie known,
And the vast angelic chorus
Sounds the hymn before the throne!
What is fame, or wealth, or life?
Bast are praises, fortune, strife;
All but love, that lives forever, east beneath,
'Then the good and faithful servant takes
the wreath.
—Loiulon Academy.
A LION AT LARGE.
BY S. A. WEISS.
The stage-coach which twice n week
passed through Five-Forks was later than
bsual this morning. The few people of
both sexes who had come in from the
surrounding farms for letters and parcels
were gathered about the postoffie* ami
blacksmith's shop discussing somewhat
excitededly the latest locui topic of in
terest.
“I know it fora fuct,” said a burly
farmer in mud-bespattered leggings,
“seeing I was over at lloaver Junction
when it happened. Two of the freight
cars jumped the track and smashed a
couple o’ circus cages. There warn’t
rnuoh trouble with the b’ar and hayena,
but the lion tuck to the woods, and the
lastlheern o’ him he was mukin’ tracks
down this way.”
“Then you ain’t heerd that he was
caught last night?” said another. “I
know it for sartin, for a lot o’ the circus
folks passed by my brother Sam's farm
with tho critter in a wagon just ez the
moon riz.”
* ‘Arfter he’d killed Widder Giles’s cow I
and a lot o’ hogs in the scrub,” added a I
third. “Likely as not he’s got loose ag’iu,
for old Mrs. Carper heerd a terrublc i
roarin’ in the woods jest before daylight \
this morninV
“Maybe she never heerd Jones’s black i
bull before, bellering down iu the uied
der,” remarked some one, drily.”
“But Jones found a couple o’ his sheep
killed last night. It mought ’a been dorgs;
but Jones says it looks mighty like lion's
work.”
“Shucks! What does he know about
lion’s work? Couldn’t tell a lion from a
sea serpent if he was to see ’em.”
Just here the stage-coach appeared in
sight, and presently deposited a solitary
passenger in front of the poatortice.
He was a tall, slim aud rather super
cilious-lookiug young mun, aftired iu gar
ments of the latest cut aud wearing a
gorgeous necktie, on which wa couspiru
ously perched an opal spider with golden
legs and diamond eyes.
Glancing haughtily around, he inquired
of the postmaster whether Doctor Dodd
was there to meet him, and appeared
much annoyed when answered iu the
negative, and further informed that no
conveyance could l>e had to the doctor's
—some six miles distant.
“Will!” whispered a rosy-cheeked girl,
(tending from the tall sorrel on which
she was mounted, ‘‘that’s Mr. Perkins—
Kitty Parsons's beau—and he's come up
to be married. I know he was expected
at the Dodds’s to-day. Sally Dodd told
Nelly so for a secret at nieetiu’ last Sun
day. You know Sally’s his cousin, and
twas there he first met Kitty.”
“He looks like a stuck-up prig,” said
Will, surveying Mr. Perkins contempt- |
uously. “Anybody can see that the
hardest work he’s ever done was measur
in’ ribbons and caliker. And the idea
of Kitty Parsons throwing over Dave
Cooper for a feller like that!”
“But it wasn’t her fault, you know,”
said the girl, deprecatingly. “Iler
father would have it so on account of his
money. When the old man told Dave
that ’twasn't any use for him to come any
more a-courtin’Kitty, Dave just answered
that he never meant to give her up. And
now they're havin' the marriage in this
mean, sneakin’ fashion, for fear that
Dave ’ll hear of it and interfere somehow.
Kitty’s Auut Sabina says Dave hasn't
writ to Kitty since he went away in the
spring, and Kitty thinks he's forgotten
her, and says sfie don’t care what becomes
of her now.”
“That's some of old Squire Parsons's
work, I'ii bet,” said a young man. who
was standing close to Mattie, “for Dave
told me that he never got an answer to
his letters. No doubt her father and aunt
kept ’em back from her. But never
mind, I guess he’ll have something to do
with this weddin’ before it comes off.”
“But that'll be to-night,” said the
girl.
“To-night! You don’t mean it, Mat
tie? Why, I thought ’twas fixed for to
morrow !"
“Bo ’twas; but for some reason they've
changed it for to-day. Bally says so.”
“Je ru sa lem! And f wrote Dave that
'twas fixed for Thursday night, and he
won’t be on hand till to-morrow moru
-1 ing, when it'll be too late. By Jingo!
I'd give a hundred dollars down to pre
vent this marriage till Dave comes!”
The three looked at each other in sym
pathetic dismay, and the girls said, with
energy.
“Oh, if that lion would just come
along and eat him up!”
Her brother Will’s face suddenly
brightened. He was a Btalwart young
fellow, with a broad chest, a good
natured freckled face, and eyes full of
fun.
‘•By Jinks, Mattie, you’ve hit it pretty
close! I guess wc can manage it with
Mungo to help, and ha’ll do anything for
pay in watermelons.”
The two young men walked toward a
huge colored giant who was lolling in a
fence-corner, and as they talked to him
his immense ruouth opened in a laugh
which could have been heard half a mile
distant.
In a few moments he trotted off briskly
up the road, and Will and Mattie, having
received their parcels, soon followed;
while Hiram approached the forlorn stage
passenger.
“I see you're in a fix,” he said; “and
as I’ve got a vacant seat in my buggy,
maybe I can help you a bit. I’m going
right past the Dodds’s place, and can set
you down at the gate as easy as not. ”
Perkins glanced disparagingly at the
plain, little, mud-bespattered vehicle
dignified with tho name buggy, but con
descended to accept the offer.
And presently, after some intentional
delay on Hiram’s part, they were leisurely
jogging along the rough country road.
“I suppose you ain’t afraid of the
lion?” Hiram remarked, as, after a mile
or two, they approached a thick '.vocal
through which the road lay.
“Lion I What lion?” inquired Per
kins, with a look of sudden interest.
And then came out tho story of the
wild beast which was supposed by some
to be roamiug about the Five-Eorks
neighborhood, seeking whom or what he
might devour.
Perkins looked very much startled,
and glanced cautiously on each side the
road and toward the dusky wood.
“I should think,” he faltered, “that
—aw I—it would not be safe; that—
ahem!—perhaps we’d better turn back,
as I have no pistols; and, in fact, I—l
ain’t used to lions 1”
“Weil, we’ve come about hail way
without seeing anything of the critter,
and maybe we might as well go on. If
we once get past that holler down there,
which is the very place where a lion or
a painter would choose to hide, 1 shall
feel tol’rable safe. I have a pistol, and—
Jerusalem! what’s that?"
From the rocky hollow in .front of
them, overshadowed by dense trees, came
at. this moment a hoarse,muttered sound,
like tho growl of a wild beast.
Perkins turned very pale, and even the
spider on his scarf seemed to change to
a livid hue and to tremble ou its golden
logs.
Before he could say a word the growl
had increased to a tremendous roar, anil
Hiram, as if terror-stricken, wheeled his
horse and drove back at a pace which
threatened to jolt to pieces lus light
vehicle.
The terrified horse needed no urging,
and Perkins, pale as death aud trembling
all over, could barely manage to hold on
to the vehicle with both hands, as it
bumped and bounced over the rough
road.
Hiram's face was very red, and he
seemed struggling to suppress certain
odd gurgling and gasping sounds which
threatened to choke him.
After awhile they turned off from the
uiaiu road and dashed into the yard of a
small farmhouse ou the edge of tile
wood.
It was Will Owens's home, aud he and
one of his brothers rushed to the door,
while Mattie, with an apron hull hiding
her head aud face looked timidly from
the window.
“What’s the matter, Hi, for goodness’
sake? Seen the lion?”
“Just missed him! May be on our
track now. Quick, Will! help Mr. Per
kins into the house, atui help me to put
away the horse in the woodslied. We’d
better make everything straight, for I
tell you there's something down yonder
1 iu the bottom,”
“But, oh, Hiram! if that dreadful
creature comes to-night he can jump in
at the windows 1 There are no shut
ters!” cried Mattie, wringing her bauds.
“Did you hear he had killed Mungo,
who lives in the log cabin near the bot
tom?” said Will. “And if he’s once
fixed himself m that place, he’ll stay
there till he's hunted out.
Of course there was no question of
Hiram or Mr. Perkins leaving the house
[ that night. About dark, and twice dur
ing the night, the same awful roar was
heard, once so near the house that Per
kins's blood curt! let! with horror and he
nearly fainted.
Others heard it also, and by mprning
the neighborhood was in a state of wild
l excitement.
No one would venture off their own
places save a few young men, who, on
swift horses, sped to their nearest neigh
bors, to consult about what was best to
be done in order to rid themselves of the
■ terrible beast.
Fearful stories were circulated. One
' woman, while milking on the previous
1 evening, had seen a lion’s head looking
over a hedge; and a man, coming through
: the woods last night, had beheld the
dusky form of the creature, crouched iu
the fork of a tree, ready for a spring.
The only person who manifested an
i utter disbelief in these stories, and in
the presence of the lion, was Squire Par
sons, Kitty's father.
j The old man lmd been greatlv exer
cised by the non appearance of his ex
pecterhson-in-law, when everything was
arranged for the marriage, and the pastor
waiting to perform the ceremony.
Neither had the Dodds rffade their ap
pearance—for, in fact, the report of the
“lion at large” had frightened even the
old doctor from meeting his kinsman at
Five Forks.
The squire had heard of the latter’*
arrival in the stage coach, but the first
information as to his present whereabouts
was from Hiram himself, who, fearing
lest he might proceed to make inquiries
| at Five-Forks, slipped over early in the
> morning.
The squire listened with supreme con
| tempt to the account of Perkins’s fright
at the Bottom, anil their turning hack to
| seek refuge at Will Owens’s.
“Look-u-here, Hiram,” he said dog
gedly, “I don't purfess to be a fool, an’
I don’t believe in that ther’ lion! I
heard the roarin’, but it sounded to me
mighty like that ther’ Mungo and his
big brother, with a tetch of old Owens’s
brass militia horn throwed in. As to
Jeems Perkins, go and tell him for me
that I’ll give him to twelve o’clock noon
to put in appearance; and if he ain't
here by that time I'll go over to Owens's
and fetch him in my wagin, lion or no
lion!”
Hiram approved of this plan, though
Kitty tearfully opposed it, until he man
aged to whisper a few words, unheard
by the rest.
Then it was wonderful how her pretty
face brightened up, aud how she sud
denly changed from tears to smiles.
Hiram, having witnessed this transfor
mation, rode away, and was at Five-
Forks by eleven o’clock, in time to wel
come a fine, manly-looking young fel
low, whom he cheerily addressed as
“Dave.”
Bquire Parsons kept his word, and by
noon the expected bridegroom had not
appeared. The old mau harnessed his
wagon and started off in search of him.
But scarcely had he departed when an
other wagon drove up to the gate, and
Kitty, rushing out of the house, was re
ceived into Davo Cooper’s eager arms,
lifted into the vehicle, and driven off be
fore the astonished eyes of Aunt Babina,
who stood helplessly wringing her hands
on the front steps.
“Well,” said the squire, when on his
return he took in the whole situation,
“it mayn’t be so bad to let Kitty have
her own way, after all. Money don’t
pay a woman for having a chicken-hearted
fool for a husband, that can’t tell big
throated Mungo and a brass horn from a
lion. Let’s have some supper, Sabiny,
and to-morrer you may as well send that
weddin’ cake to Kitty and Dave, by the
way of helping ’em to begin housekeep.
in’.”— Saturday Night.
Too Much Food.
A physician says: “Most persons eat
four times as much as they should.” The
proportion seemed pretty large, but an
eminent British physician of a former
generation said almost the same thing—
that one-fourth of \\hat wo eat goes to
sustain life, while three-fourths go to
imperil it. Another physician wittily
remarked that most people dig their
own graves with their teeth. The foun
dation of the habit of over-eating is apt
to be laid in childhood and youth, since
the stomach then seems able to bear
almost anything. There would be little
danger of eating too much, if the food
were always plain and simple; in that
case, the natural appetite would be a safe
and sufficient guide. The trouble is
that the natural appetite is too often
spoiled by cakes, pies, condiments and
highly seasoned food. Another source
of dyspepsia is emotional waste of nerv
ous force. In the normal condition of
things, it is renewed as fast as it is used.
But nature makes no provision for the
immense amount expended by excessive
care, by fuss aud worry, by hurry and
drive, by explosions of passion, aud by
the undue excitements of pleasure. All
these are like a great linkage of steam.
The stomach is the first and largest
sharer in the loss. Another source is
overwork of the brain. Brain-work is
specially exhaustive of nerve-force, aud
the exhaustion is greatly increased by
the fact that high intellectual activity
I gathers to itself a most delightful mo
j mentum, making a few hours of high
: pressure work more productive than days
lof plodding. Moreover, a brain-worker
! generally neglects physical exercise aud
curtails sleeps. He is like the careless
engineer who, while driving at the high
est speed, fails to supply tho needed
wood and water. He can not help being
a dyspeptic. Another cause, which
generally acts with all the others, is a
lack of active exhilarating out-door
exercise aud recreation. Such exercise
and recreation are absolutely essential.
It is vastly easier to prevent dyspepsia
than to cure it.
A Rotating Jail.
The Dover (N. H.) jail is the only one
of the kind in New England. It is con
structed under a patent, and is believed
to be absolutely unbreakable; that is, it
is practically an impossibility for prison
ers to escape. No one confined in cells
like these has ever yet succeeded in get
ting away. The cells, of which there are
fifty, are built on a circular piece which
revolves withiu a circle. There is onty
one exit from each tier of cells, and these
are above each ether, opening to the
guard-room. Between the cells and
liberty arc two massive doors, both of
heavy iron. When a prisoner is to enter
or leave one of the iron-grated apart
ments the turnkey puts the whole place
of confinement in motion, stopping it
when the door of the cell he desires to
reach is in front of the guard-room door.
The cells can also be reached, without
moving the tiers, by way of stationary
corridors built close to the walls. If a
prisoner desires to escape, he can only
do so by sawing through these heavy
doors, and the space in which the mov
able apartments are built is so con
structed that almost any sound can l>
heard with ease in the guard-room.
sOn£G J ’’/.
Tbtja nd of Central Park. New York,
which originally cost the city $6,000,.
000, is now valued at $100,000,000. It
costs to keep it up $400,000 a year.
AGRICULTURAL
TOPICS OF INTEREST RELATIVE
TO FARM AND GARDEN.
APPLE WOOD FOB FUEL.
In most old orchards there are some
trees that have become stunted, and ex
cept with extraordinary attention will
never pay their way. The better plan is
to dig them out root and branch and use
them for fuel. The extra care concen
trated on the remaining trees will bring
far larger returns. Most orchards are
planted much too closely for the best re
sults. Where the tree was dug out fill in
with rich dirt from the roadside, and the
trees on all corners from the old one will
show in their increased products how
much they appreciate the wider range
given their roots. Apple tree wood
makes excellent summer fuel, and is es
pecially rich in potash.
FLOWER POTS.
It may be well to remember that there
are other uses for old fruit-cans than
feeding them to goats or filling gutters;
they are just the things for homo plants
of many sorts. They will retain moisture
much longer than an earthen pot of the
same diameter on top; they hold more
soil, consequently a larger plant can be
grown in the same sized pot. We have
Been all manner of house plants, including
hyacinths, in the windows of ordinary
farm-houses, growing in tomato cans,
that would put to shame many of our
florists’ productions, and mainly because
the plants were in better quarters than in
porous earthen pots. Try tin cans, after
pounding holes in the bottom for drain
age, painting them nicely, not reel—but
some neutral tint that will not detract
from foliage or flower—and mark the re
sult.—New York Observer.
ONION CULTURE.
Twelve years’ experience in raising
onions, and no trouble from maggots and
worms. I have sown and raised on the
same piece for six years, and the crop
grew better every year. When the
time comes to sow onioii seed in the
spring, generally about the last of April,
sb early as the ground will work, I spread
on thickly rotten manure, plow it under,
and then rako the ground off and mark
it out in drills fifteen inches apart. I
next sow unleached wood ashes in the
drills at tho rate of forty bushels per
acre. I then sow the black seed on the
ashes and cover with earth. They will
come up black and keep so. I have no
trouble from worms and maggots. Un
leached wood ashes and onions are great
friends. “Use them freely” is my mot
to, and I have never failed of raising a
good crop of onions.— American, Culti
vator.
THE USE OF FERTILIZERS.
A farmer a few days ago made a good
(suggestion about the proper use of fer
tilizers, and as he is a successful planter
it is worth giving for the benefit of
others. “I find,” said the farmer, “that
a great deal of money is wasted by a too
lavish use of fertilizers when the crop is
planted. If you want to fatten a pig you
do not give him all the food at once,
simply because it will be wasted and de
stroyed before it can be eaten up by the
pig. Bo it is with food for the plant.
Put on part of your fertilizer when you
plant your crop, then every time yon
work it add a little more. If a drouth
comes, and you find it will not be needed,
you save that much. It frequently hap
pens that a crop is injured more than it
is benefited by the improper use of fer
tilizers. Then again by putting the fer
tilizer on later in the season you get more
benefits when the crop is maturing and
fruiting.” Apparently there is good
sense in the suggestion. —Atlanta Consti
tution.
DISEASE IX F0W1.9.
When fowls become stupid and sleepy
with the feathers bunched up and the
exorement is yellow and green in color,
the disease is anthrax, or, as it is com
monly called, cholera. It is a disorder
of the liver and contagious. It usually
happens when fowls are kept in damp
and filthy houses and are overfed, as
these faults quickly produce such an un
healthy condition as to make the birds
susceptible to the contagion. It is
scarcely worth whilo to attempt a cure.
The sick fowls should be killed without
bleeding and buried away from the house
and the house thoroughly disinfected by
burning sulphur on hot coals in it with
the doors closed. It shquld be well
cleaned and kept cleaned. Feed the re
maining fowls with scalded meal, dis
solving for each twelve foS’ls one dram
of hyposulphite of soda in the water
used. Continue this for a week and
feed no more than one ounce of meal tor
each fowl daily. After th week feed
wheat and buckwheat, chopyed cabbage
and some broken bones, k little salt
and pepper should always be given in
the feed of hens two or tlreo times a
week, and some vegetable food should be
supplied. Chopped cabbage is the best j
food of this kind. —New Font World.
I
TO SAVE GRAIN IN IIXS.
Every year a good deal of grain is j
spoiled by molding or becoming musty i
after being threshed. This year, unless j
threshing is delayed until wry late, the j
losses from this cause are likely to be i
unusually heavy, owing to the wet.
weather of harvest time and the bad con- j
dition in which much grain vas got under :
cover. We heard a few days ago a prac
tical farmer describe a methpd by which
he put up grain, however wt and in any
amount, without injury. He kept a lot
of common brick under covq - , so as to be
always dry, and when the grain was put
into the bin he interspersed buck through
the heap enough to absorb the super- |
duous dampness. Almost every one
knows that kiln dried bricks will absorb
a great amount of water in proportion of
their size. The brick in a hlap of damp t
ar even wet grain will, ii numerous j
enough, dry it out, saving al! danger of
heating. After serviug theirpurpose the
brick should be carefully put one aide for i
nse Another year. Our informant's father
had used the same pile of brick many
years, and however dry the grain, he
usually threw a few brick in the bin to
insure greater safety. It is possible that
this would prove a good method in dry
ing out corn or to keep hay or grain in
stacks from being spoiled by beating
through.
KEEP VO UNO STOCK GROWING.
If properly fed and kept warm in win
ter, young animals gain more from the
same feed than they will at any later
period of their existence. The necessity
for good feeding must therefore be appar
ent. For the young stock, if not fed or
cared for as it should be, becomes
stunted, and under this condition there is
j scarcely anything more vexatious and dis
heartening. The cause of stunted growth
is usually impaired digestion, though this
is followed by, and often confonnded
with, attacks of scurvy in pigs, lice in
calves or colts or ticks on lambs, all of
which are serious evils. They generally
proceed from the one source of insuffi
cient nutrition. We use this Word nu
trition rather than feeding advisedly.
There may be enough or too much fed,
and there may even be enough eaten, but
it does not digest. It is only the food that
digests which does an animal any good.
Where digestion is ruined easily the ani
mal never recovers to what it might
have been. Starving and surfeiting are
equally injurious. It is just these ex
tremes that the careful farmer avoids as
belonging to the wild state. No wild
animal produces as much gain in flesh as
one under intelligent and painstaking
human care. The wild animal gets its
food as best it may, and in latitudes
where cold winters prevail it is reason
ably sure to become pinched and stunted
the first winter. It is quite likely that
if the buffalo is domesticated and given
food and shelter winters, it will attain
larger size than the buffalo that formerly
ran wild over our western plains.—Ameri
can Cultivator.
GRAFTING THE CHESTNUT.
In some old works on horticultural
operations the grafting of the chestnut
i3 referred to as a rather difficult and un
certain operation, and this may have de
terred many otherwise good propagators
of trees from attempting it. But any
ono who can successfully graft the apple
and pear need not hesitate to graft the
chestnut, thereby saving several years in
procuring a crop of these excellent nuts.
The cions should, of course, be taken
from bearing trees if possible, and only
the young healthy shoots used, and these
taken from the terminal points of large,
vigorous branches. After the cion is set,
cover every part of the exposed wood on
both stock and cion with wax, using
plenty of it, inclosing all with waxed
paper or thin cloth, to prevent admission
of air or water when the
stock begins to swell with growth
in spring. I much prefer splice
grafting upon small stocks on branches
of larger trees, to the ordinary cleft-grat
ing, but have good results from both. It
is not at all rare to see the cion set in
spring blooming at the usual time the
first season, and bearing a few nuts the
second, and more the third. By having
a few seedling chestnut trees growing in
the orchard and garden we can always
avail ourselves of the opportunity for ob
taining cions of choice varieties found in
the forest, or in the grounds of friends
and neighbors. The same is true in re
gard to fruit and ornamental trees, and a
man handy with the budding-knife can
always obtain of his friends choice and
rare varieties without cost, if he is known
as a liberal man ever ready to return
such favors. —New York Tribune.
CARE OP HOtr-F, PLANTS.
At this season of the year window
plants require considerable attention tc
maintain a healthy condition. Care has
to be taken in watering so that too much
be not given and a saturated condition
of the soil result. Do not allow water to
■ remain in the saucers in which the flower
! pots are standing, as it causes the soil to
| get too wet, and no plant will remain
| long healthy in such a, condition. Stir
j the surface of the soil in the pots, and
j occasionally wash the leaves by spraying
I when they are smooth and large, and by
! syringing when they are small and
covered with hair. A Iso keep the pots
clean. It is just as necessary to keep the
breathing pores of the leaves in good
working condition as it is to keep the
skin of the human body free from dirt,
i Pick off all decayed leaves and keep the
| plants free from insects. Green fly, that
| inveterate enemy of all window plants,
; should have at all time close attention.
Syringing will keep them off when they
first make their appearances if
regularly attended to; but should
they get on in large numbers the
only method of destruction is tobacco
smoke, which can be applied by placing
the plants under a barrel or box and fill
ing with smoke; or, if the barrel or box
j is perfectly tight, fill with smoke first,
then place the plants under by quickly
turning the plants on one side, as enough
! smoke will remain to destroy the insects.
! Bulbs of hyacinths, tulips, etc., which
j have tilled their pots well with roots can
{ be brought into light and heat, when
j they will soon expand their flowers.
When watering newly expanded flowers
1 of any kind, do not allow any moisture
| to remain long on the blooms, as it causes
premature decay. Those who were for
tunate enough to secure a few bulbs of
fuschias, and have them nowcominginto
bloom, will at once be convinced that
this is one of the sweetest of recently in
troduced bulbs. They are so easily man-’
aged and bloom so finely that they hsve
already become general favorites among
all lovers of flowers wherever introduced.'
During their flowering period give plenty
of water, but as soon as the foliage be
gius to ripen gradually withhold water,
and finally allow them to dry off alto
gether until next August, when they can
again be started into growth.— Ohio
Farmer.
The Rev. Dr. Grattan Guinness says
the great pioneers of African civilization
ere Livingstone, Stanley, said King Leo
pold of Belgium,
SIOUX SUIT-DANCE.
PECULIAR AND DANGEROUS CUS
TOM OF AN INDIAN TRIBE.
It is Dedicated to the Sun—A Bar
baric Scene—Charging at a
Pole—Accidents Which
Resulted.
Lieutenant Schwatka contributes to
the Century a curious custom of the
Sioux. From the article we quote the
following: “When all had assembled
and the medicine men had set the date
for the beginning of the great dance
dedicated to the sun, the ‘sun-pole’ was
selected. A handsome young pine or
fir, forty or fifty feet high, with the
straightest and most uniformly tapering
trunk that could be found within a
reasonable distance, was chosen. The
selection is always made by some old
woman, generally the oldest one in the
camp, if there is any way of determining,
who leads a number of maidens gaily
dressed in the beautiful beaded buckskin
gowns they wear on state occasions; the
part of the maidens is to strip the tree of
its limbs as high as possible without
felling it.
“The selection of the tree is the only
(pedalfeature of thefirst day's celebration.
After it has been stripped of its branches
nearly to the top, the brushwood and
trees for a considerable distance about it
are removed, and it is left standing for
the ceremony of the second day.
“Long before sunrise the eager partici
pants in the next great step were prepar
ing themselves for the ordeal; and a quar
ter of an hour before tbe sun rose above
the broken hills of white clay a long line
of young warriors, in grogeous war paint
and feathers, with rifle*, bows and ar
rows, and war lances in hand, faced the
east and the sun-pole, which was from
five to six hundred yards away. Ordi
narily this group of warriors numbers
from fifty to possibly two hundred men.
An interpreter near me estimated the line
I beheld as from a thousand to twelve
hundred strong. Not far away, on a high
hill overlooking the barbaric scene, was
an old warrior, a medicine man of
the tribe, I think, whose solemn duty it
was to announce by a shout that could be
heard by every one of the expectant throng
the exact moment when the tip of the
morning sun appeared above the eastern
hills. Perfect quiet rested upon the line
of young warriors, and upon the great
throng of savage spectators that blacked
the green hills overlooking the arena.
Suddenly the old warrior, who had been
kneeling on one knee, with his extended
palm shading his shaggy eyebrows, arose
to his full height, and in a slow, dignified
manner waved his blanketed arm above
his head. The few warriors who were
still unmounted now jumped hurriedly
upon their ponies; the broken, wavering
line rapidly took on a more regular ap
pearance; and then the old man, who
had gathered himself for the great effort,
hurled forth a yell that could be heard to
the uttermost limits of the great throng.
The morning sun had sent its commands
to its warriors on earth to charge.
“The shout from the hill was re
echoed by the thousand men ia the val
ley ; it was caught up by the spectators on
the bills as the long line of warriors
hurled themselves forward toward the
sun-pole, the objective point of every
savage in the yelling line. As they con
verged toward it the slower ponies
dropped out, and the weaker ones were
crushed to the rear. Nearer and nearer
they came, the long line becoming
massed until it was but a surging crowd
of plunging horses and yelling, gesticulat
ing riders. When the leading warriors
had reached a point within a hundred
yards of the sun-pole, a sharp report of
rifles sounded along the line, and a mo
ment later the rushing mass was a sheet
of flame, and the rattle of rifle shots was
like the rapid beat of a drum resounding
among the hills. Every shot, every ar
row, and every lance was directed at the
pole, and bark and chips were flying
from its sides like shavings from to
rotary bit of a planer. When every bul
let had been discharged, and every arrow
and lance had been hurled the riders
crowded around the pole and shouted as
only excited savages can shout.
“Had it fallen in this onslaught, an
other pole would have been chosen and
another morning devoted to this per
formance. Though this seldom happens,
it was thought that the numerous assail
ants of this pole might bring it to the
ground. They did not, however, al
though it looked like a ragged scare
crow, with chips and bark hanging from
its mutilated side3.
“That such a vast, tumultuous throng
could escape accident in all that wild
charging, tiring of shots, hurling of
lances and arrows, and great excitement
would be bordering on a miracle, and no
miracle happened. One of the great
warriors was trampled upon in the charge
and died late that evening, and another
Indian was shot. The bruises, sprains
and cuts that might have been spoken of
in lesser affairs were here unnoticed, and
nothing was heard of them.”
Taken at Her Word.
“I was settling down to work,” said s
book agent pestered man, “when a pretty
woman entered my office. ‘ ‘No one would
suspect that she was a book agent. She
placed a volume in front of me and be
gan to talk. I told her I would not buy
the book if I really wanted it. ‘Never
mind,’ said she, gayly. ‘lt won’t cost you
anythiug to look at it.’
“As she desired, I looked at it. I read
the introduction and then Chaper I. It
was 10 o’clock when I opened the book.
At 11 o’clock the pretty book agent had
become uneasy. I never raised my eyes.
Another hour, and she was pacing up and
down the floor. At 1 o’clock, when she
had nearly worn herself out, I laid the
book down, and, puttiug on my hat and
coat, said to the exasperated woman •
“ ‘That s a clever book. I regret that
I cannot read more of it, but I must away
to dinner.’
“She was mad, but she didn’t say a
word. Grabbing the book, she shoved
it into her satched and made for the
itreet,” —Benton Bide.
JHE RAIN-BEAT ON THE WINPQNfI
.The rain beats on the window,
And the gust against the pane,
And the night it sobbeth bitter
Like a heart that knoweth pain.,
Oh, the rain-beat on the window!
And the night against the pane!
Tbe rain beats on the window,
And the gust against the pane,
And my heart drives in the darkness’
Lake a ship out on the main,
When the storm beats on the window
And the night against the pane. -
For the rain-beat on tbe window
And the gust against the pane
Bring the ghosts of dead years vanished!
That will never come again.
Oh, the rain-beat on the window
And the gust against the pane!
William IF. Campbell, in Independents]
PITH APPOINT. •
Many a youngster keeps shady to preJ
vent getting tinned.
The coat does not always make the
man but it frequently breaks him.
People speak of young corn, but there
is no young corn. It is always found
full of y-ears.— New York News.
Lady of the House —“Can you saw
wood!’’ Tramp—“No ma’am; but I caD
see it.” (Exit tramp).— Time. •
Nature has wisely arranged matters sc
that a man can neither pat his own back
nor kick himself.— Lawrence American .'
When a humorist takes off a shiny coal
wc suppose it would be proper to say thai
he just got off a bright thing.—States
man . ■
The plumber and the coal dealer be<
lieve that this has been the coldest win*
ter they ever experienced.— New York
News.
A young man, whose wife’s father was
very kind to him, said that he was Pa
excellence as a father-in-law. — Merchant
Traveler.
In a meeting of vegetables, no matte!
what sort of a proposition is made tin
onion can always give a scent.— Norrisi
town Herald. ' I
Gentleman in Museum (looking al
talking machine) —“Quite an invetil
tion!” Keeper—“ Yes, it speaks for it
self.”—Munsey's Weekly.
Because a thing is small of size thinl
not that you may scorn it. Some insect!
have a larger waist but lift less than thi
hornet.— Chicago Journal. j
In five minutes a woman cun clean uj
a man’s room in such a way that it will
take him five weeks to find out where shl
put things. —Atchison Globe.
“I cannot sin" the old songs,”
Brtwled forth the tuneless youth;
And every word he uttered showed
He spoke the awful truth.
—Washington Post.
With a woman it is a struggle to pro!
vide something for the inner man, and
with a man it is an effort to provide
something for the outer woman. —Atchii
son Globe. '1
“M-ra-y d-d-dear, I 1-1-love you!
W-w-will you be—” began Mr. M. Pedil
ment. “That will do,” replied the proud
beauty. “I do not care to be wooed on
the installment plan.”— Baiar.
Servant—“Yis, sorr, Mrs. Jones is ini
What’s yer name, sorr?” Visitor—“Prol
fessor Vandersplinkenheimer.” Servant
—“Och! Sure ye’d better go right inj
and take it wid ye.”— Munsey's Weekly',
A young woman began a song, “Ten
Thousand Leaves Are Falling.” She
pitched it too high, screeched and
stopped. “Start her at five thousand,’!
cried an auctioneer.— British American l
Oh, for the good old pie of yore,
Oh, for the old-time dumpling stow, • j
Oh, for the Indian pudding baked,
Ob, for the steak that’s tender and true,
—Kearney Enterprise. .
Mamma (looking up from her novel)—
“Jane, what ails Freddy now?” Jane—<
“He’s crying for the moon, mamma.”
Mamma (absorbed in her reading)—“(),’
well, let the dear have it."— Munsey's
Weekly.
“Now, Susan, haven’t I told you time
and time again to eat your bread with
your meat?” “True, mamma; but haven’t
you also told me over and over again
that I must never try to do two things at
once?”— Judge.
Manager of Band (to applicant for po
sition) —“ Well, what instrument do you
play? What do you know about music?"
Applicant—“l don’t know anything
about music. Its the position of drum
major that I want.”— Ycnowine's News.
The Little Dog Told the Big One:
My two boys had each a dog. One of
them was a bright, affectionate, long
haired and long-eared retriever, named
Hector. The other was a big mastiff
named Tecumseli. One day a carriage
with a dog under it passing the house
when the strange dog—a large one—see
ing little Hector in the street, pitched
into him in the most savage manner. Iu
vain poor Hector cried and begged for
mercy; his assailant had no compassion.
As soon as Hector could escape he ran at
the top of his speed into the back yard
of the house, where Tecumseh happened
to be, and rushing up to him put his
nose to that of his big friend. Instantly
the two were off after the carriage with
the dog under it. They both attacked
him in the most ferocious manner, not
leaving him until the punishment was
thought to be sufficient, when, side by
side, they trotted home.— Portland Are
gus.
A Gas Organ.
The pyrophone, of English origin, i!
a musical apparatus depending on gas jets
burned in a corresponding number of
glass tubes. Each jet has its finger-kev
pressure, ou which causes the flame to
contract, when a musical sound is given
out. The tone varies with the arrange
ment of burners and size of tubes, mak
ing it possible to give all the notes of
the musical scale in several octaves.*
Some of the glass tubes are nearly eleven
feet long. ’’ >
■ r{ J
The number of native Christian belief
ers in Japan at the end of 1689 WgSjTArt
070. -