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W. F. SMITH, Publisher. VOLUME Yin. THE TTTRKSfIER*. This is tfce wheat— The wheat well grown, man’s lawful spoil, The new-plucked fruit of patient toil; Pledge me the farmers’ slnewv hand— liisgoodlv acres waiting stand; Pledge me the hands his force can wield 1 o plow, to sow, to reap the field ! Bruise the bright heads and break them sore, Scatter the ctiaft'from door to door, Show me the kernel sound and sweet— I he nation’s bread, the winnowed wheat! This is the flail— The noisy flail, whose loud uproar Wears the oaken threshing-floor; A measured beat, a ringing round, A hardened resonance of sound! The long, low scaffolds wax and wane, I>rop (lawn the sheaves of jyirnered grain, Ami empty, careless, laughter-wild, 'J he yellow straw is loosely piled. Those level trashing* tell the tale— Swing round the flail, the mighty flail I These are the men— The men who cleave, with sturdy stroka, The fallen giant’s heart of oak, Now build for life and life’s demands, And fill with bread the waiting lands. Clash rhyme with rhyme, the threshers’ song— Ileal blows on blows, strike loud and long; The wrench of hunger drives at length The iron of unyielding strength; Wield the bent blade—ag tin, again, And serve the puny race of men! Elaine Coodale in Ike Critic. TIIE PAINTED FAN. “You won’t forget me, little one?” Raid Earl Lysle, in his softest accents, looking down with earnest eyes into the Rweet flower- face, so trustfully uplifted to his own. “No, I will never forget you,” answered the girl. And the blue eyes grew moist, and the red lips trembled. The promise broke down*the last remnant of her strength; the next moment she had burst into passionate, bitter weeping. It seemed as though the branches in the tree above them bent pityingly down upon them; as though the sun lingered a moment in its tenderest sympathy, ere breathing his good night to the world; though the robin checked his notes to listen to the sobs which echoed through the silence of the wood, and stirred Earl Lyslo’s heart as it had not been stirred before for many a long year. He had won the love’of many women —won it often for the mere pleasure of winning; sometimes ho had won and worn it until it wearied him, but always believing that had the condition been re versed, the woman would have done even as he did. In this case he knew differ ently. When ho lirst met Lena Man ning she had been a child. It had been his hand which had guided her wavering steps across the boundary line from childhood to womanhood; lie who had wakened her child-heart from its slum ber. For what ? For this! It had been in his life a summer-idyl, a passing folly; in hers, the one spot from which all things henceforth must date. He was a man of the world; she a child of nature, whoso world henceforth was bounded by the horizon of his presence. “Hush, Lena—hush!” he entreated, passing his arm about her waist. “Do you really care for me like this ?” A passing pride stirred at his ques tion. “I)o you care for me so little that you can not understand it ?” she answered. “Nay! I love you very dearly—so dearly, Lena, that, might 1 carve out my own desires, and forget my duties, I would never go back to the great city, and the life which has grown wearisome. As it is, I must go; but, Lena, if I may, dear—if I cau so shape my destiny— some day I will leave it all ‘behind me, anfl come again, this time to pluck and wear my sweet woodland rose next to my heart, forever. ” Pretty words were very natural to Earl Lysle; yet even as he spoke these words, he knew that ire another year had run its course, he was destined to lead to the altar his heiress-cousin—a tall, haughty brunette—whose letter of recall now lay in the breast-pocket of his coat. “But—but if things should go amiss —not as you fancy ?” There was absolute terror in the girl’s tones—terror so great that, to the man, it seemed cruelty not to quiet it; and, besides, his heart was stirring within him to nobler, better purposes. Perchance lie might avow to his be trothed the truth, that, instead of a mar riage of convenience, he sought a mar riage of love, and ask her to free him from chains which already began to gall ere they were fully forgedT. So ho only drew closer to him the girl s slender figure, until the blonde head lay on his shoulder, as he stooped and pressed his lips to its golden crown. “Have no fear, my little one. I will come back with the first snow,” “You promise, Earl?” “I promise!” ******* Lena had always loved the summer rather than winter. The leafy trees, the birds, the flowers, the blue sky—all had been to her as welcome friends, to be greeted rapturously, to be parted with almost tearfully; but this year she could scarcely wait for the turning of the foliage, or the southern flight of the birds. She smiled from her window, as she looked out one bright morning upon the first frost. She laughed when people said that it would be an early winter. All h' painting—for she possessed great t Jx with her brush—depicted winter scenes—snow and ice. But just at the Thanksgiving season her father, a sturdy farmer, was borne senseless, one day, to his home, and died before he recovered consciousness. It was her first real grief. She had lost her mother when an infaut It seemed to her that she could not have had strength to live through it. but that, as they lowered the coffin into the grave, a few flakes of snow came whirling dowu rom the gray sky, and she welcomed * Tin,* 8 heaven-sent messengers of hope. When she came back to the quiet jWie Ifeflfip gtrps. house, through whose rooms the dear, cheery voice would never more echo, she almost expected to find someone waiting for her; but all was still and desolate. They were dreary weeks that followed —the more dreary that she found a heavy mortgage lay on the farm, and that when all things were cleared up, there would be left to her but a few hun dred dollars. “//e will not care,” she murmured. “It will prove his love for me the more.” The week after the funeral, set in the first heavy snow-storm, and the papers told how it had spread from one end of the country to the other. Lena was almost barricaded in her lonely home, but she sat all day, with folded hands, looking upon the soft, feathery flakes watching the drifts grow higher and higher—and knew that it was all bringing summer to her heart. The neighbors came to take her in their sleighs, when the sun peeped out again and all the earth was wrapped in its white mantle. They said that her cheeks were pale and her hands fever ish, and that she must have more of this clear, bracing air. But she shook her head and refused to go. Could she leave the house, when at any moment he might come? Besides, she had sent to him a paper with the announcement of her father’s death, and this must surely hasten him. But day succeeded day, until week followed week, and still he neither came nor sent her word. The snow-clouds had formed and fallen many times, and each time her heart grew sick with long* ing. She loved him so wholly, she trusted him so completely that she thought only sickness or death could have kept him from her. The hours dragged very slowly. Her little studio was neglected. She sat all day, and every day, beside the window, until one morning she wakened to know that the first robin had returned, and the first breath of spring was in the air. He had failed to keep his promise to her. That same day they told her that the farm be sold. Many neighbors offered her a home, but she declined them all. A sudden resolution came to her. She would go to the city where he lived. Her pride forbade her seeking him, but maybe, if he were not dead, as she often feared, she might one day meet him in the street, or at least hear some news of him. \ The* hope of meeting him—of hearing him—vanished, when she found herself in the great metropolis, and realized its size and immensity. She had secured a comfortable home w ith a good, motherly woman, but her purse was growing scanty, and she could not tell how long it might hold out, un less she could find some means of sup port, when one day, sauntering idly on the street, glancing into a shop-window, she saw some fancy articles, painted by hand. Gathering up her courage, she went in and asked if there was sale for that sort of work, and if she might be allowed to test her skill. From that hour all dread of want van ished, and, now that hands were busy, she found less time to brood and think. “I want a fan painted,” the man said to her, one day. “You may make an original design, but it must be very beautiful.” Lena’s heart had been very sad all day, as, at evening, she unfolded the satin, and sat down, brush in hand, to fulfill this latest order. “It is a gift to an expectant bride,” the shopkeeper had said; and the words had recalled all the long waiting, the weary disappointment, those words might bring. And, as she thought, she sketched, and the hours crept on and the evening grew into night, and the night into morning, and still she bent over her work, silent, engrossed. The next day, the gentleman who harl given the order foi*the fan sauntered into the store. With an air of pardonable satisfaction, the man drew it from the box. “The young artist has outdone herself, sir,” he" said. “I never saw a more beautiful piece of work, and tho design is entirely her own. I—” But he checked his sentence. The gentleman had taken the fan in his hands, and was examining it with startled eyes, and face from which every* trace of color had fled. Could it be that the word Nemesis was painted upon the satin? No, this was all he saw. On one side was a woodland scene, while, seated on a log beneath the leafy branches of an old oak, were two figures, one a man, and one a woman. His arm was about her waist. Her lips seemed to move, her whole expression was full of love and trust, and his of promise. A little laugh ing stream ripppled at their feet. A bird sang overhead. Where had he seen just such a scene before? He turned the fan on the other side. Summer had vanished. It was winter here. Naught but the fast-falling snow drifting in white heaps upon the earth. “Who painted this?” he asked, in hoarse, changed tones. The man gave the name and address. How well he had known it! but how came Lena here? And what was this which stirred through every fibre of his being? Could it be that his manhood might yet redeem him? With swift steps he walked to the house of his betrothed. Stately and beautiful, she came into the drawing room to greet him, and bent her head that he might touch her forehead with his, lips. Devoted to Industrial Intertsi the Diffu>ioi of Truth, the Establishment of Justice, and the Preservation of a People’s Government, INDIAN SPRINGS, GEORGIA. “Helen, do yon love me?" She had known him for long years, but never Had she heard such earnestness, such real passion, in his tones. It was as though his very soul hung on her answer. Strange, she had never dreampt his love for her was more than friendship, such as she had felt for him. A tinge of color crept into her cheek. “I have promised to marry you, Earl. You know that I am fond of you, and I highly respect you* Will not this sat isfy you?” “Mo. I want all the truth. Is your heart mine—all mine, so that, to tear me from it, would be to tear it asunder?” “No, Earl. If it were for your happi ness or mine, I could give up my lover and still hold my friend and cousin.” He seized her hand and carried it to his lips more fervently than he had done even in the moment of his courtship. Then, taking the fan from his pocket, he unfolded it, and told her all the tale of his summer romance. “I thought I could forget her,” he said, in ending, “and that when the snow fell and I did not return to her, she would cease to remember me; but see, Helen! She still remembers, and I still love. Ido not know what brings her here. I have heard nothing from her since last summer. But. tell me, cousin mine, what must I do? I leave it all to you. ” “I said that I would be your friend. Now, I will be hers as well. Go to her, Earl. Tell her all the truth. Then, if she forgives you, make her your wife. If she is alone in the world, as perhaps she may be, bring her to me. She shall be married from my house, as my sister. I accept this fan, not as a lover’s gift, but a pledge to the truer, more honest bond which henceforth binds ns.” Lena was exhausted after her sleep less night, and, throwing herself on the lounge in the sitting-room of her kind hostess, she had fallen into a dreamless slumber. Long Earl Lysle stood and watched her, until the magnetism of his glance aroused her. She thought that she was dreaming of the fan; but as he stooped and took her in his arms, she knew that it was reality. She listened silently while he told her all—even his struggle for forgetfulness and his ignorance of his ow'n heart and its demands. She heard that she had sent the paper with the news of lie-, father’s death to the wrong address, thai he had known nothing of the long lonely winter to which had succeeded this wonderful, glorious summer-tim i of hope. Poor child! She had no room fo? pride in the heart so filled by his image. She forgot that there was sore need for forgiveness. Ho loved her now! Of that she was assured; and after all, the snow had only lain upon the ground to warm the earth, and foster the rich, sweet violets, which now bloomed and clustered at her feet, ready for her to stoop and pluck them. Perhaps some women, in their pride, would have rejected them. She could not; but, stooping, kissed them, then transplanted them to her heart, there to shed sweet fragrance forevermore. A Leadville Minister. The following remarkable report of Protestant Episcopal life in Leadville was made by the Rev. T. J. Mackay, a mis sionary in charge of that church, on a recent Sabbath in one of the large churches of that denomination (Dr. New tons), in Philadelphia. After stating that when he went to Leadville, he found, instead of a hamlet, a thriving town, with churches of every denomination, five banks, five daily newspapers, etc., he said: “My first vestryman could drink more whisky than any man in the town. Shortly after I made my appearance in the town my parishioners invited me to a church sociable, and upon going I was astonished to see the worthy people waltzing and dancing in the most scandalous manner. To add to this there are two streets whose entire length were made up of low dance houses. How was Ito overcome such a gigantic evil? I secured a hall, had the floor waxed, and after engaging a band of music, I sent out invitations to all the yoxmg men of the place to come down and have a dance. I instructed my floor manager—who, by the way, made lots of money and skipped—not to allow any waltzing. The result was, after en joying square dances until 11 o’clock, the participants quietly dispersed. Some few- said: “Wait until the preacher goes, then we’ll have a waltz, ” but I was fix) smart for them—l carried the key of the hall in my pocket, and did not leave until all had departed. Every other w eek l gave such a sociable, and the results are remarkably good. This char acter of mission would not do in Phila delphia or Boston, but it will do in Lead ville. It may seem ungodly to practice such a course, but it is the only way to reach these people. When I first went out there the congregation used to ap plaud me when I was preaching, but I finally got them out of such an unholy habit. No matter who dies, the proces sion is headed by a brass band. When I buried Texas Jack, the partner of Buf falo Bill, the cortege was headed by a brass band of forty-two pieces. Lead ville is also a great place for titles. Everybody has a title. Captain is pretty good but to command attention one must be a Colonel or a General. lam a sort of a General. I belong to five military companies,. and in my capacity as a militiaman I watch over my congrega tion. Of the fifty-eight men who framed the Constitution and declared the indepen dence of Texas, March 2, 1836, one is still living, Dr. Charles B. Stewart, of Montgomery County. NEWS GLEANINGS. There are 271,461 negroes in Kentucky. Tuscaloosa, Alabama, is to have a street railroad. North Carolina has 26,900 colored voters. The locusts have appeared in middle Tennessee. Corn prospects throughout Florida are very fine. Louisville, Kentucky, has a public library of 50,000 volumes. A 250 pound turtle was caught on Pensacola beach last week. Last year Bullock county, Alabama, bought 70 tons of guano; this year she buys 416 tons. W. H. Pillow has shipped from Pen sacola, Florida, this season, thirty-nine thousand quarts of strawberries. The Goldsboro (N. C.) Advance says bushels, barrels and hogsheads of straw berries at five cents a quart, and acres in the fields red with them for picking. Mr. Alger, of New York, has taken charge, and will begin and push through water works for Charlotte, North Caro lina. Mr. L. O’Neil, of Nassau county, Fla., cleared S6OO on a small patch of celery during the past winter. During last week, 50,000 pounds of* strawberries were shipped from Chattan ooga to Cincinnati. They brought $5,000. J. W. Willis, of Crystal River, Flor ida, has a field cf corn that averages betwen eleven and twelve feet high and not yet tasseled. The center of population of the United States is placed in Kenton county, Ken tucky, a mile from the south hank of the Ohio river. Two men recently found a cypress tree in Clay county, Florida, that meas ured four feet from the ground 251 feet in circjimference. At Goodlettsvillc, Tennessee, a few days since, 653 lambs were sold at five cents p'.r pound, and were shipped to New York by a Bowling Green man. It will take forty thousand bushels of corn to run the Dale county, Alabama, farmers this year. So they will have some $60,009 to pay for that article next fall. The Tecumseh furnace, at Rome, Ga., is said to be making an average of twenty tons a day, and not to have been cool in six years. Rev. Dr. S. G. Hillyer has resigned the pastorate of the Baptist church at Forsyth, Ga., and received a call from the church at Washington, Ga. This leaves vacant also the Presidency of Monroe Female College. Nashville, Tennesse, is well provided with schools. Amoug the most import ant institutions of learning are the Nashville University, Vanderbilt, Ward’s Seminary, with its 250 young ladies, Price’s Seminary, and Fisk’s University, the latter being a colored institution, well endowed, and provided with magnificent buildings. The Decoration of a Room. Crude white is in favor with house wives for ceilings—“it looks so clean.’ That is just its fault It looks so clean, even when it is not, that it makes all else look dirty, even though it may b clean. To paint the fiat ceiling of > moderate-sized room by hand is simply a waste of labor. It is only at great per* sonal inconvenience that one oan look long at it, while, as a matter of fact, no one cares to do so. You see it occasion ally, by accident, and for a moment, and, that that casual glimpse should not be a shock to the eye, as it is as well to tint it in accordance with the room, or even cover it with a diapered paper, which will to some extent withdraw the attention from the cracks that frequent ly disfigure the ceilings of modem houses. What hand-painting we can afford may beet be reserved for the pan nels or doors, window shutters, and the like, where it can be seen—these doors and the other woodwork being painted in two or three shades of colors, flat or varnished, according as we prefer soft ness of tone or durability of sarface. Perhaps it will be best in this instance that the woodwork should fall in with the tone of the dado; but this is not a point on which any rule can be laid down. The decoration of the panels should be in keeping with the wall paper patterns. It may be much more pronounced than they, but still it must not assert itself. One great point of consideration in the decoration of a room is the relation of the various patterns one to another. It may often be well to sacrifice an otherwise admirable design simply because you can find nothing else to go witii it. A single pattern, once chosen, will often contral the whole scheme of decoration. —Magazine oj Art “Going to School.” Class in geography, stand up. Now, who can tell me who was King of the Cannibal Islands 400 years ago? What, can no one answer this gravely important query? Is it possible that yon have knowingly kept yourselves in the dark on a point which may one day decide the fate of the nation? Very well; the whole class will stay for an hour after school as a punishment. The “B” class in geography will please arise and come forward for trial and sentence. Now then, in what direc tion from San Francisco are the Man grove Islands? What! can no one an swer? And you boys expect to grow' up and become business men, and you girls to become wives, and yet don’t know whether the Mangrove Islands are north, east or southwest of San Francisco! I shall send the boys up to the principal to bo thrashed, and the girls will have no recess. The class in history will now take the prisoners’ box, and tell the jury whether sunflower seeds are among the exports of Afghanistan. No answer? None of you posted on this momentuous ques tion? Two thirds of you on the point of leaving school to mingle in tlio busy scenes of life, and yet you do not know' whether Afghanistan exports sunflower seeds or grindstones! For five years I have labored here as a teacher, and now I find that my work has been thrown away. Go to your seats and I will think up some mode of punishment befitting your crime. The advanced class in mathematics will now step forward. One of you please step to the blackboard and illus trate the angular rectangle northeast corner of a quadrangle. What! No one in all this class able to make that simple illustration? James and Jolin and Josepli and Henry, you expect to become mer chants, and Mary and Kate and Nancy and Sarah, you are all old enough to be married, and yet yon confess your igno rance of angular rectangular quadrangu lers before the whole school! John, suppose you become a wholesale grocer. Do you expect to buy tea and sugar and coffee and spices, and sell the same again without reference to quadrangles? Mary, suppose you go to the store to buy four yards of factory at ten cents a yard. How are you going to be certain that you have not been cheated if you cannot figure the right angle of a trian gle? Ah, me! I might as well resign my position and go home and die, for the next generation will be so ignorant that all educated persons will feel themselves strangers and outcasts. — Detroit Free Press. A Relic of Washington, An old walnut cabinet of antique de sign has been discovered in the store of Frank Ware, a second-hand furniture lealer in Staunton, Va., to which un usual interest attaches. In moving the desk Ware turned it up and his eye fell upon a singular looking inscription, to leeipber which ho called in the aid of several gentlemen, to make it out as fol lows: “To George Washington by D. Webfter in ye year 1777,” and in another place: “Ye desk was presented to George Washington in ye year of ye Lord 1777 by D. Webfter.” The inscribton is quite distinct, except the “D” preceding Webster. The cabinet was bought re cently at a sale of the effects of the widow of the late Samuel Clark, a former Mayor of Staunton, and is about three feet long and one deep and stands upon four slender crooked legs. A drawer runs the whole length of the cabinet at the top and there are smaller shallow ones beneath this, with an old fashioned brass handle. It has been found that Samuel Clark married a daughter of Sampson Matthews, who was the first man who ever kept a tavern in Staunton. His tavern, which has long since disap peared, was a rendezvous for Continental soldiers. General Matthews, a brother of the tavern-keeper, was a friend of General Washington and was, Governor of Georgia after the war. The old desk evidently passed from General Washing ton into the hands of Governor Matthews and so into his brother’s family. Its identity is much strengthened by the strong resemblance between the inscrip tion upon it and the handwriting of Washington as seen upon an old auto graph letter of his which has been hunted up and compared with it.—Phil adelphia Times. True to the Last. Daisy Shoemaker, the pretty daughter of a farmer living near Richmond, Ya., had agreed to elope with Westland Pierce, but when the critical moment arrived she feared to transgress her parents’ wishes, and would not go to the rendez vous. Her sister Jane, two years her senior, begged her to keep her trust with her lover, but all in vain. “Well, if you don’t keep your word with West Pierce, mdo it for you,” she said, and indig nantly leaving her sister, she got into the buggy and dashed off, despite the screams of her sister. Miss Jane reached the waiting place; explanations were made; she said she was willing to take her sister’s place. The lover, touched by her pluck and captivated by her determination not to let the plan fall through, did actually marry her—so the story goes. A Disgraced Daughter. A doting mother in Chicago displayed her solicitude for her daughter’s good name by frantically rushing into the station and shouting, “My daughter is disgraced!” True enough, she had eloped with an insurance agent; but had the mother been discreet she wouldn’t have given it away. The New York Central runs one hun dred and sixty trains a day—one every nine minutes. SUBSCRIPTION-SI.SP. NUMBER 42. HUMORS OF THE DAT. Trouble that has been brain for soma time is hard to bear. To step on a man’s com is a bad sign. Look out for trouble.— Brooklyn Union Argus. Very precocious and forward children are not the salt of the earth. They are too fresh. The man who picked up a “well-filled pocket-book” was disgusted to find it full of tracts on honesty. A woman’s work is never done, be cause when she has nothing else to do she has her hair to fix. The Syracuse Herald don’t under stand liow, necessarily, a man may boa hatter who makes his influence felt. Speech is silver and silence golden. That is where it costs more to make a man hold his tongue than it does to let him talk. Old subscriber: “What are you growling about? If you want an article that will cover the whole ground, get a Chicago girl’s shoe.”— Boston Post. Says Henry Ward Beecher : “None of us can take the riches and joys of this life, beyond the grave. ” Don’t wan’t to, sir. We’ll take ours this side of the grave, if we can get ’em; the sooner the better, sir. An exchange asks “If kissing is really a sanctimonious method of greeting why do not the pastors who practice it ever bestow their labial attentions upon men?” Because the men are always away, at their business, when the pastor calls, and there is nobody left to kiss only the women.— Peek's Sun. Angry wife (time, 2 a. m.) —“Is that you, Charles?” Jolly husband—“Zash me.” Angry wife—“ Here have I been standing at the head of the stairs these two hours. Oh, Charles, how can you?” Jolly husband (bracing up)—“Standin’ on your head on t’shtairs? Jenny, I’m sliprised! How can I! By jove, I can’t! Two hours, too! ’Stronary woman!” A newspaper article asks: ‘ ‘What are the causes of decline among American women?” Well, generally because she thinks the fellow cannot keep her in sealskin sacks, French gowns and fash ionable bonnets. When a single man with plenty of “soap” is around there is not any decline among American women to speak of. —Boston Commercial Bulle tin. “I’ve noticed,” said Fuddidud, “that the railroads run past all the fences that are painted over with medical advertise ments. It’s funny,” he added, “butit’s so. Did any of you ever notice it?” All present acknowledged that it had never occurred to them before—just that way. Fuddidud is more than ever convinced of his profundity. —Boston Transcript. In one of the hotels at Nice is a beau ful American, who lately went to an “at home ” in full dress—low-necked, satin, diamonds, etc. On arriving and looking around the room she perceived the other guests to be in demi-toilet. “Well,” she said, “if I’d known that it was only a sit around I’d not have put my clothes on.” —London Truth. Americans are of a practical nature. When an Illinois farmer who had got rich was visiting Switzerland, they dilated to him of the beauty of the surrounding scenery. “Yes,” he replied, “as scenery it’s very good. But it strikes me the Lord has wasted a lot of Bpace on scenery that might have been made level and good farming land.” They wanted to lynch him.— Boston Post. The Chicago street car conductor may not be very civil but he is a man of im agination. The Jnter-Ocean tells a story of a member of the guild who, when a woman wearing a dolman waved her arms to stop him, and then, fearing to be run over by a passing wagon, did not move from the sidewalk but continued her gestures, shouted, “ Come, madam, quit flapping them wings and gt aboard.”— Boston Transcript. Not So Crcen After All. A chap from the rural districts stepped into a music store in the city of Provi dence, and, after taking a fifteen min utes’ survey of the contents, he stepped up to the counter and asked the clerk if he had any new music—“ bran new, just out ?” The clerk measured him with his eye for a moment, and, thinking he was ig norant as to music, and that anything would be fresh to his customer that had been issued since the days of “Rosin the Bow,” decided to palm oft’ some old pieces which had become a drug on the counter. So he took up “The Last Rose of Summer,” and said : “ Yes, here is a piece that goes with a perfect rush, and here is ‘ The Old Arm Chair,’ another favorite. There is ‘ When this Cruel War is Over,’ which is all the rage all over the city.” “That will dow,” replied Jonathan. “How much do you ask for the lot?” “ One dollar,” returned the clerk. “ Waal, you may dew ’em up in a piece of paper and lay ’em on the shell.” The clerk obeyed, but Jonathan did not pay for the music. “ I’m going down town a piece,” he said, and if 1 come back I will pay for that music and take it; but if I don t come back vou may light your pipe with ‘ The Last Rose of Summer,’ sit down in ‘ The Old Arm Chair’ and wait till ‘ This Cruel War is Over.’ ” Jonathan slid out of the door, and the clerk looked aa though he had been sold. A Real Convenience. All fashionable ladies should carry a hand-painted satin bag. In it can be carried a flask, gumdrops or a handker chief.