Newspaper Page Text
w. F. SMITH, D. J. THAXTON & S. J. SMITH, Publishers.
THINGS THAT NEVER DIE.
It never dies—n molher's holy lnvo
, Wlth ev “ r y i!1 that may betide;
Phase of Life its waters move
<ttj Ci ;m . n t. strong, and fathoinl -s, and
r.-pm the heart’s altar other flames miv rise
while they seem as warm, and erand’
and hiarh, ’
1 he lnnonsr; of one lives to reach the skies—
A mother’s tender love can never die.
Th;*y never die—the onjrs of other days,
i he unstrung, harps all covered o’er with
dust.
Are in some rambling >re-house laid awav
A>’>YlMlW.ny other wrecKS or In Vo uni trust.
Each harp throws 'btff'lf&bAAlFff* 1.
tiijrh, " “* '*l..
4rwl Y)'li""“ ,rv ‘* x Qi ” r ’ r ' hushed our chamb rj
With soiurs of other days that never die.
Jt nevov dies—the memory of a wrong
Tl n< ! to 'V ,n ';V cont and trusting he.’irt.
nr m,h out wardly t s einefh w. li and strong,
A pain is-there which never can depart*
imc o .-r the spot may weave afa rne v kin.
H A . I ,V‘ ry ,nu ‘° bf ‘ hid.len (rr.ni the eye
lint all the aaxmy is elo-ed within
to d'io 013 UIU3 h alcd aro “’evor known
'J hey never die—the kindly deed and word
iiiven to the needy without pomp or pride
f-o.„.er or inter they reap their reward
w ho pass not over to the other side*
Ana crumbs thus cast upon the sea of life
May not return in man is -ailing o’er,
Mi'fl 11 . h . rt . r,^ ts fro!n agony an I strifi*,
Me il lind the loaves upon the other shore.
lit never file-—the bow of prom is • set
In every landscape, be it bleak or fair
/here s hope lor all upon lif s billow vet
VOr ther 1 * 8 ° Wn hund ha<l t )luced Hie' token
Though overwhelming storms of wind and
••am
Chase every sunbeam from the pilgrim’s
'd'.y.
After much peril ’twill gleam forth ugtin
l or rainbows come and go, but never die.
1 hev never die —the moon, and stars an 1 sun
Have shone upon the wicked and th • ust
b dolm 8 m ° Bt :lorio ‘ l 9 handiwork was
!,r °7 e a '“ bdgiby from the dust;
i 1-cn wo elo.,r> our eyes upon this world
" 1 "■ them in Heaven bv and b,.
J ui h 1!!, ’ 'uOTjnnnor th re will be unfurl' and
die *’ a ° ‘ moon ’ and stars, that never
~J/e' S JeweJ, ’ in Cam ridjc (Mass.) TrUi-
HOW WR BOYS TRIED IT,
“I’.ill Brayton’s father came one
s|>r nnr and rented a farm near ns.
lather said we’d better not have
much to do with ’em at first, till
we found out what sort they
were, but they got so neighborly all at
once we couldn’t help it very well.
J h(‘\ came ’mo-ff every day to borrow
someth ng, and then if they didn’t bring
it back—and the, ’most alwavs didn’t
—1 used to have to go for it, so L saw a
good deal of Nod and Bell.
‘‘They had a cousin tha 1 came out for
a wee \in harvest time. He was in bus
iness in ew York, and wore light col
ored plaid clothes, lie was \ cry socia
b e, too. anti would come around about
lunch time in the hayfield, and would
eat with us as free as a lyth'ng, which
seemed very good of him who you’d
hear him talk of his ho.el in the city.
He was very fon 1 of the plum 4 and
harvest apples, too, and praised up
e cry thing wo offered him, but did say
that, as for him lie had no teste for
farming. The city was the pia *e for
boys of spirit. And the Brayton b >vs
thought so, too, and sail they hid no
lasfe lor farming, and they meant to
get into the city as soon as theyeou’.d.
And when 1 came to think it over, I
really began to see that 1 had no taste
for farming either. And I tho ghi il
strange that lather and mother had
inner concerned themSehes to lind out
what my tastes were, for I had read in
a ho k that it is a solemn duty for pa
rents to study tlie tastes of their chil
dren, and that their success in life de
pends a great deal on sue t things.
“Tom Hlv—that win the city chap’s
name—had a lot of splendid little books
he lent 'lie Brayton bo\s, and they lent
’em to me and told me not to tell. Th *y
were regular rip-roaring stori s, I f< V
you ’ —all ab lit tights, and scouts, and
death struggles, and dark mysteries,
and bold adventures. The fellows in
them were so bra e that one of 'em
would ihink no more of riding up to a
lot of fellows, and stabbing one and
shooting two or three with his revolver,
and knocking down another with it
and putting spurs to his horse and gal
lope g oil’ in a perfect hailstorm of bul
let-, th 'n of eating breakfast.
“ Bill Brayton thought he'd try being
one of these heroes out on the plains,
and come back in a few years rich—
owning a cattle-ranch and no end of
go and mines ami things. But Ned Br y
ton and ] thought we and go into business
in the city, like Tom Blv.
“I spoke to father about it. He
laughed when 1 toid him of my ta-t
ami said I didn't know when l was well
oil'. That is just the way th3 fathers in
the books did—‘keeping your ives
crushed down by uncougeuial surround
ing ’ thev called it And Bid and
Ned's father said he hoped thev and
crow up to something better than such
ii hand-to-mouth life as Tom Blv's.
“So it was veiy easy to see how the
hoys in the books had been driven to
run away from their homes. We talked
a great deal about it. and made up our
minds that if we wanted to have any
thing of a career, w must run away.
“It was an .August morn mg very
early when I tiptoed down stairs in my
stocking-feet. As I passed mother s
door 1 did wish I could have wished her
good-bye, and tol l her how 1 and remem
oer niv promise to her never to -moke
or drink a glass of beer till I’m twenty
one. (She thinks, you see, that if a
fellow lets it alone that long, he 11 have
-?nse enough to Keep mi letting it
.done.) 1 almost felt like giving it up
"hen I knew she and feel badly aooitt it.
hut I’d left her a note telling her 1 was
just going to New Yor<. to make my
fortune, and I’d wiite to her. And l
thought of all the splendid things L and
do for her when I got to be a great mer
oha t, and sol stole into the parlor and
cot a card picture of my two l:Ule sis
ters and wrapped it up (there wnsti t
any of mother) and went on. V\ e had
Devoted to Industrial Infer.st, the Diffn-ion ol Truth, the Establishment of Justice, and the Preservation of a Peoples’ Government.
three miles to w Ik to tne railroad sta
tion.
“ No more milking cows or piling
wood or dropping corn or plowing—
Hurrah!' says Bill, as we rattle.l along
in the cars.
“ka h of us had money enough to
‘five us to New York, and a little over.
e .ound it a sight 1 Otter to pr; ii\in ,r
aiong that Way ill die tine morn ng
than to be tuning out io a day's work.
We w r : going to look for lorn Blv —
he had told us all to 1 e sure to ome
right to him if ever we c ame to wn.
..p. 1 / l ' f,|, "’ht it lkelv he cotihl find
wu . es *• Hs at once <: u „., , :i hi , own
' usmess or among his friends. As we
walked ah ng tW* hand ome streets, we
com.in the p won leringim-tT ~<aQ 3 .. >u;( ,
'idcud ands ores migid belong ?o~iTs
“ Bill had loin lily’s address—he was
a grocer—an I wo soon 1 egan to look
for h The street they told us to gc
to didn’t look so nice as we thought it
woud. But at last we found Tom Blv’s
>!ore, and that didn't look nice at all.
We went in an 1 looked lor him. 1 was
looking lor the plaid clothes; for I'd h
known ’em anywh re, but l couldn’t
see ’em and nobod. seemed to !a ow
a out Mr. Bly. But soon Bill sung out,
‘ lie to I'om ’— an 1 ! saw a wagon drive
up and Tom was driving.it. He hadn't
on llie pla and clothe , and he hadn't any
coat or eo lar on, and he didn’t seem so
very glad to see us.
“‘Well Tom, lbll said, ‘ here we
are, you see. We’re in for it. Heady
to have you gd us itflo something right
oil jes as you said, you know.’
“‘The old scratch you are!’ said
I "in. ‘i ou haven’t i een such foots as
to ' ome ’way down here for work, have
you?’
“ ‘lsn t that what you told us?’
" ' ell -may be I did, just to he oo
lite, hut I’m b'essed if 1 thought boys
as wed kept as you’d ’a’ come pokin’
down here where there’s more folks
a’ready tlian’s wanted. Where there’s
one situation there’s ten fellows a ter it.’
“ 1 his was a wonderful take down.
We thought he’d ask us to go to lr.s
hotel, but he didn't. We said we’d
stroll ’round a little, and we strolled
’round; and we asked in some places if
they wanted a hoy, but nobod seemed
to want any boys. We went into a park
to cat all we had left o? tha pinch we and
brought from home.
“Be of there—you some
one shouted, and the first th ng we knew
a big policeman was hustling us out,
and telling us if we ever set a foot there
again we’d be locked up.
“ah lor going oti tne grassr
“‘There's lots o’ grass to home,’
whim were 1 Ned. Ned was smaller u
me anil Bill. ‘Let’s go home, / say!’
“ We laughed at him. but uot very
hard. Bill sad ho was go ng to start
for the plains to-morrow, going to work
•his way out somehow. >Vc went back
to Tom Bly and asked him if he knew
wh ere we could sleep, and he s’posed
they’d take us in whore ho slept, if we
had any money.
“We all thought it would be very
grand to put up at a city hotel, but it
wasn’t. There wasn’t half enough
supper, and the beds were aw ully
crowded up in one room, in the morn
ing a man came along and said we were
to pay thirty cents each for our supper
and our beds.
“Me and Ned had given Bill out
money to take care of, all but a few
rents, because be was the biggest. And
now lie fell in his pockets and it was
gone! He felt and felt, and then, lie
hollered out:
“ ‘l've been robbed! Thieves!’
“The man swore at him, and asked
him if he meant he’d been robbed there,
lie look ail the money me and Ned had.
and then lie gave Bill a kick and told
him to be oil.
“Tom Bly gave us a lot of crackers
at his store, and said we'd better go
home. But I was too much ashamed,
and thought I’d try yet to get work, i
walked till l was footsore, and all the
work I found was carrying a parcel, and
1 got ten cents for it and bought a loa
ofbread. Bill said he was going to the
depot to go West. Ne l went with him,
and when night came I waited till it was
dark, and then I sneaked into a pretty
yard where there was trees, and crawled
Unto a hammock there and fell asleep.
“I wok ‘ very early, and saw a gen
tleman in the yard looking at me. 1
was afraid he was going to have me
taken up or going oh his grass, and
jumped up. The lianimo k stuck to one
o nr. buttons, and 1 didu t wait, but
tore away from it and ran away without
my hat. The gentleman called me to
stop, but ] jumped over the ience and
ran as hard as 1 could a great way, till 1
was clear out of breath.
“When I stopped to see where 1 was,
a bov came rushing up to me and su\ s
he: ' “Isn't this your pocket-book?"
Then he ran away. I thought at ' rst
it might 'a' been mine that was stolen
but in a second I saw 'twasn't, and !
hollered after him to tell him. But he
didn't stop, and while I was looking >t
it and seeing ’twas a very handsom •
one, two men ran up and took hold of
mv arms. 1 says:
* * • You le' go me, now!’
“But they says: ‘Come along, mv
fine fellow,’’ and the- snatched the
pocket-book and went to hauling me
along. There was a crowd ’rot nd me
in a m mite. I kicked and tough' at
’em. but they held ire tight, and they
slipped some iron things on nv. wrist-,
and there I was —jerked along that
wa , and a big lot of bo s KoMring
after me! They took n e into a greu
b dlding and locked me up. and 1
didn't know what ’twas for more'll the
dead.
“I lay down in a corner and won
dered it I’d ever get out. and if 1 :
ever see home again. 1 wondered what
mother'd sav it she could see me. I
wondered what they were doing on the
farm. After a great while they look
me out.
“ ‘Where you going to take me?’ 1
said.
“ ‘Before tlie magi-trate.’
“ 1 hen folks came and told how last
night I’d stole a pocke -book from a
lady, and they’d been tracking me ever
since, an I just found me with the
pocket-book in my hands. I broke
r.giit out. and told liow the fellow’d
given it to me, but they made me stop
til. they'd ex n ined a lot o’ witnesses,
and they all said I’d stole it. Then
the . let u e tell how I'd slept all night
so ev, here else, but they wanted ire
to bring someone to say if it was so,
: ml wouldn't believe me when 1 told
’em it was the solemn truth. Just then
1 saw the gentleman standing in the
i.oor fflat bait seen me iu ixio hummock.
1 hoped he wouldn’t see me, for 1 was
afraid he and come to see about getting
■u e punishe 1. But he did see me, and
< a eup to me. He took a button out
of h 8 pocket, and laid it against my
coat. It had a bit of the coat hanging
to it that 1 had tore out when I ju t ped
iron the hammock, and it just fitted in.
“ ‘This boy was in my grounds all
n ght,’ he says. T was up preparing
important papers, and waiting for tele
grams. I saw him several times.’
“They asked him some more ques
tions, and then the magistrate says:
‘J lie prisoner is discharged.’
“The g ntleman took my arm, rnd
led me out. I says to him:
“ ‘l'll never do it again, sir. What
you going to do to me?’ He laughed,
and says:
“ ‘Haven’t you got astray, my boy?’
“I thought I had the worst way.
you’d bettei believe! And I told him so,
and I told him all about it and he
thought I’d better go home. I’d given
mv eyes to get there that moment, but
1 hated to tell h m I had no money to
go on, so 1 told him as Id come I’d like
to try doing something, if I had a
chance. He took a long look at me,
and said perhaps that would be the
best, and said he'd write to my father.
“He was a real good friend tome,
He talked lots to me, and got me a
situation. They told me they never
paid much to green bands. T slept un
der a counter and got enough to pay my
board an ! a little over. I ran errands,
and swept and scrubbed floors, and
worked harder’n ever I’d done in my
life. My clothes got shabby, but I
saved u > every cent.
“And on Thanksgiving-day I got a
didav. and then 1 told the i oss 1 had
K> saste for the city. And l took the
uirh train for home.
‘As 1 o'oi oil' the cars to walk h me n
train came in from the other way, and I
saw a lanky-look'ng chap get' olb. I
didn’t know him at lirst, and then I saw
it was I ill.
“* u-t gettin’ home?” said he.
“Yes,’ said I.
“1 a'd \our wav?”
“Yes.’
“ *\ oii’ve done better’n me,’ says he.
‘l’ve been as lur as induyyv, and I’ve
been down with the chills-and-fever six
weeks, and someone wrote lo father tor
money to send me home.’
“ ‘Where’s Ned. ’ says I.
“ ‘Home. He started to walk bank
that day I started West. Footed it all
the seventy miles ’cept lifts he got!’ I
found father just putting up the horses
rtf e • they’d got home from church. I
went up io him and says I:
“ ‘I o you w r ant to hire a boy, sir?’
“He dropped the halter on the barn
floor, and grabbed hold o’ both my
hands and looked into ray eyes.
‘• 4 The Lord bless you. Sammy,’ says
he, ‘we’ve all been looking for you.
Well—yes, 1 do want a boy—if I can
get one that has a taste for farming.’
“I .-lioutcd out: T'\u the boy!’ and
then I rushed in and got my arms
around mother’s neck, and nearly made
her drop the great big turkey she wai
just getting out of the oven. I guess
’twas some time before she or the little
ff.rls knew whether they were laughing
or c ving. and then father came in ana
—if l hadn't been a boy I’d a hardly
known either when 1 told ’em how
sorry I was I'd given ’em so much
trouble, and how glad I was to get back.
“ I tell you. boys, if there’s anything
to be thankfuller for on 'Thanksgiving
than anything else, it’s for having a
h‘ me and having a chance tosta. there.
“Me aid 811 and Ned thinks there’s
!oN o' worse work than plowing or
feeding stock or di g ng potatoes, or
doinn’ an\ thing we’re ikeiy to do on
anv farm.”— Sidney Dayre , in N. Y.
Examiner.
-Wo know of no better way to pr©
gen e cabbages through the winter, says
the C rm n'.own T ciravh, than that
which we have recommended for a num
ber of years. It is to plant or set them
up in vows as they grow— that is, with
the roots down—bill in with soil pretty
freely, then make a covering by plant
ing two post? where there's a fence to
rest on, or four where there is not, al
lowing for a pitch to carry oft' the wat
er; lav bean poles opposite the wav of
the pitch, and cover up with corn fod
der.’ straw or boards. In using through
the winter, avoid a- much as possible
the sun side and close up again.
A curious problem has suggested
itself in Winnepeg. There are about
GOO cows in and around the city, and
these produce 1,200 gallons of milk per
day. Yet 4,000 gallons of milk are sold.
The question is, how do the milkmen
perform the miracle of selling 4,000 gal
lons of milk out of the 1,200 they get
from the cows? The answer is
be. “chalk, lime, salt, and Red River
water.”— -Chicago Herald,
JACKSON, GEORGIA.
A Str.inre Complication.
Among the William H. Kennedys of
this city, of whom there are no less than
five, there is internal dissension that
threatens to divide the family against
itself. The cause of the trouble is tho
result of the election lor Coroners.
William H. Kennedy was elected
Coroner by a large majority; but as
there are live of this kind of Kennedy
the majority of each is obviously much
smaller than that of the Kennedy taken
in a lump. To the credit of the Ken
nedys, it must be said that there are
only two of them who are now threaten
ing to cut one another's throat over tho
result of the election. The most strik
ing difl'erence between these two Ken
nedys is that one handles spirits and
tho oihor bodips. William H. Kennedy,
of 864 Third avenue, sells liquor; Will
iam H. Kennedy, of 470 Pearl street, is
an undertaker. Returns from the other
three William H. Kennedys have not
yet come in. They will no doubt all
claim to be the Coroner rather than have
any hard feeling in the family. For the
present the undertaker and the seller of
drinks have the floor.
A Tribune reporter spoke to William
H. Kennedy, of 864 Third avenue,
Wednesday, on the subject nearest his
heart. Mr. Kennedy was behind his bar.
“Are you still laboring under the
hallucination,” asked the reporter,
“that you were elected Coroner Tues
day?”
“Hallucination be hanged,” replied
Mr. Kennedy, in an affable and engag
ing manner. “1 was elected by a hand
some majority. I never thought 1
would ever be the Coroner of New
York. ’
“But Wilbam H. Kennedy claims to
be elected.
“Correct, sir. And as I’m William
H. Kennedy, I suppose I’m elected. I
did all I could to help William H. Ken
nedy to be elected. There wasn’t a
man w ho worked harder for his election
than ? did; and as he w r as elected lam
Coroii tr. All the boys call me ‘Coroner’
now."
“Did *ou celebrate your victory last
night?”'
“Oh, yes. I ‘blew off’ the boys. Be
fore the election when the boys came
in for money to help the election I sent
’em all down to the undertaker, as he
was doing all that sort of work. Of
course, it was kind of him.”
•‘lnasmuch as he claims to be the one
elected, what do you intend to do?”
“I’m going to consult a lawyer about
it. And if I win the case I slia’l prob
ably sit on his body—the defeat will kill
him. He is a nervous, excitable fellow.
Everybody seems to enjoy the joke. At
the same time there have been all sorts
of th:eats against me.”
“You propose to bring an action,
then?”
“I shall undertake—”
“But,” interrupted the reporter, “if
you undertake you’ll lose your identity
—you’ll be the unde taker.”
“Well, I’ll serve him with an injunc
tion.”
Mr. Kennedy scorned the idea of hav
ing the Kennedy's numbered so that
they could be identified.
William H. Kennedy, the undertaken
was found in his shop leaning on an
empty and upright coin. He seemed
to be in an excile.d mood and proposed
to take his seat as Coroner if it cost him
a codin.
“You are aware then that there is
some doubt as to your being William H.
Kennedy ?” the reporter began.
“Aware! yes, aware!” roared Mr.
Kennedy. “Yes, sir, I’ll take that seat
if it takes every drop of blood in my
body. I’m not Sammy Tilden. No,
I’nTnot. I don’t propose to give in.
I’ll roast the other Kennedy’s before 111
give up that seat.”
“You are sure you are the Kennedy,
the only real full blooded Coroner Ken
nedy.”
“Kennedy!” shouted the enraged
would-be Coroner. “Coroner Kennedy!
Fifty thou-and people will tell you I’m
the man.”
An effort was made to find the three
remaining William H. Kennedys, but
they were not found. As the < oroners
elect do not take o.flice until January 1,
188:’, it is possible that the feud may
run high and that some of them may
be killed off before that time. That
would simplify matters. — N. Y. Tribune.
The Paris Sewers.
The so-called sewers under the city
appear to serve little purpose but that of
interesting British and American tour
ists, who delight in being rowed about
down below in boats, and are always
enthusiastic over the absence of evil
smells in the handsomely-vaulted and
well-lighted passages through which
they are conducted. Seeing that the of
fensive matter which ought to find its
way into the sewers is cleared out of the
houses at night, and carried in carts
through the streets, and that vegetable
refuse and stale water are habitually
thrown into tbe open gutters to poison
the atmosphere, it is not surprising tbe
air should be 'f anything purer in sub
terranean Paris than in the magnificent
thoroughfares on the surface. It would
probably not be rash to ascribe the su
perior healthiness of London, as shown
by its exceedingly low death-rate, to the
fact that the English capital is really
drained, whereas Paris is drained only
in name. The teeming slums in the
East End, the multitude of factories, the
dense, foggy, sunless winters of London
have no equivalent here, yet the average
death-rate of the French capital, even
when no epidemic is raging, is, com
pared with that of London, as twenty
nine to eighteen; but then, if a French
tourist were to venture into the great
sewer of London, he would probably not
survive to tell the tale.
Fashions in Carriages.
Fashions in carriages change as rap
idly in this country as everything else,
and as in England people cling to older
ideas, and the carriage of one season is
the carriage of another, it is impossible
to satisfy the demand for novelty by
copying from the British model, and
thus it happens that a style of carriage
exists which is essentially American,
while it follows a French rather than an
English ideai. But at the present mo
ment, for one of those mysterious rea
sons which no one attempts to fathom,
the fashionable carriage par excellence
is in, a heavy style upon eight springs,
known to the trade as suspension springs.
Linings to-day are either of goatskin or
of cloth. The objection to goatskin
coverings is, that, owing to a rapid mo
tion of a carriage a certain amount of
friction is engendered, and ladies’
dresses are apt to become rubbed by the
unevenness of the material; whereas
cloth, having a uniformly smooth sur
face, is free from this objectionable fea
ture. In former times there was but
one fashionable color for the lining of
coaches of every description, and that
was drab; but to day the choice lies be
tween green and wine color. Both are
in demand. Furniture, as we learn from
novels, is often chosen with a view to
the general appearance of the lady of
the house; it is destined to set her off,
and so now and again a fine livery de
mands something exceptional in the lin
ing and style of a carriage, and there
have been cases in which a delicate satin
lining has been indispensable fora com
plexion, but these are isolated cases. In
this country wedding carriages are rare
ly seen, as they may often be in London,
lined in white satin; but coaches in this
style have been expressly made for ex
portation to South America.
The cost of elegant carriages in this
country is high; labor is dear, and a
well-built carriage employs many hands
and takes considerable length of time in
its completion. From four to six months
is the time usually allotted to the manu
facture of a thoroughly good carriage,
and the wood of which it is built is al
ways old and well seasoned. American
timber is specially well adapted for the
purpose, and it often happens that car
riages brought to this country for their
lightness and finish by families who
have been abroad prove upon exposure
to this climate very bad investments.
The difference between a carriage of
first-class make and one of the inferior
quality depends mainly upon the sea
soning of the timber, the value of the
cloth used in lining, and above all in
the iron. If rolled iron is used for the
axles instead of hammered iron, this
alone makes a difference of $25 to S3O.
Rolled iron is liable to snap at any mo
ment, whereas the hammered iron,
which alone is used by leading firms, is
practically infrangible. During recent
years it has become increasingly popu
lar for ladies to drive themselves, and
mail phaetons are specially adapted for
this purpose, and are much in fashion
in Washington and Newport. They
are built on four springs, and when of
American manufacture are very light
and handsome in appearance. In the
London parks it is very usual to see a
lady driving a pair or thoroughbreds in
her mail phaeton, the groom, with fold
ed arms, being seated behind.
At the Centennial a very good oppor
tunity was affored of comparing Ameri
can carriages with those of foreign
build. Buggies of ever} 7 description
stood prominently forward as exhibiting
the combinations of strength and light
ness. The great strength possessed by
the latest style of light buggy is due to
the insertion of a vertical steel plate in
the wheels, and by its aid a buggy with
a top can be made as light as 140 pounds,
and the adoption of this invention has
led to a complete revolution in wagons
for trotting matches. W. 11. Vander
bilt, Robert Bonner, and other leading
authorities testify that the latent make
of buggy is unsurpassable in speed and
strength.
Old family coaches in England, bear
ing coats of arms upon their panels,
have many imitators here among the
wealthy, but it is becoming more fash
ionable to decorate with a monogram
and omit the crest. The price of a lan
dau on eight springs, with detached
boot and rumble, is about $2,800, while
a more ordinary one, upon elliptic
springs, has the value of about SI,BOO.
A brougham costs about $1,350; a Vic
toria, with eight springs and detached
boot and rumble, $2,400; a cabriolet
about $1,100; while a T cart can be ob
tained for a little over SBOO.
The latest critics upon carriages are
of opinion that those of the most mod
ern make and finish excel all that have
ever neen attempted. Among the lead
ing causes of this improvement is the
division of labor which now prevails in
the manufacture of the component parts
of a carriage. Axles, springs, clips,
bolts, and all iron parts, which every
carriage builder formerly manufactured
for himself, are now produced in -pedal
I establishments, in great perfection and
at much less co-t. —V. Y. Time*.
Sot the Right Animal.
Teacher —“ John, what are your boots
made of ? ”
Boy—“Of leather.”
“Where does the leather come from ?”
“From the hide of the ox.”
“What animal, therefore, supplies
you with boots and gives you meat to
eat?”
“ Mr father.”
Tun little bit of a baby has his bur
dens —all the good-looking girls kissing
him. He kicks against it now, but ii
after years—well, let him do his own an
ticipating.
SUBSCRIPTION—SI.SI.
VOL. X. NO. 16.
FACTS AND FICCBt.S.
—Recently-compiled statistics place
the death rate from the administration
of chloroform at one per 1,000. —N. T*
Sun.
—The provincial immigration agent
states that $.\500,0X) was brought Into
Manitoba by Europeans only. He esti
mates that Americans brought $2,800,-
000 and Canadians $5,000,000.
A German arithmetician has been
calculating the aggregate number of
combinations in the game of dominoes,
and has shown them to be 284,528,-
211,840! Two players, playing four
games in a minute, would onlv exhaust
these combinations in 118,000,000 years.
— A year ago a Laramie plains cattle
man was ollcred a Utah herd and ranch
for $70,000, which o!!et* was rejected.
S nee that the Utah man sold $45,000
worth out of the herd, then sold the
ranch lor $4,500. afterward put $9,000
more into the herd, and then sold it for
$ 140,000. (Chicago St w*.
—Bo-ton is the larg?st market for
boots and shoes in the world. There
were shipped during 1880 over 2,250,000
cases of boots, shoes and robbers to in*
terior and coa-tw sc ports, the case*
holding from twelve “to seventy-five
pairs per case, but containing, at a low
estimate, over 50,000,000 pairs.
Transcript.
—The latest Russian census shows St.
Petersburg and its suburbs possessed of
a population of 1)27,407 in 10,929 stone
houses, 9,318 that are of wood, and 918
that are partly both. The city has 75
hotels, 625 restaurants, 1,416 beer rooms,
170 grog shops, 793 wine rooms, 645
schools and 109.000 children between
the ages of 7 and 16.
—Ground has been broken for the new
Pension < Mlico on Judiciary Square,
Washington. The building is to be 400
by 200 feet and 75 feet high, and will
accommodate 1,500 clerks and cost
$400,000. General M. C. Meigs thinks
it will be finished in two vears. It will
resemble one of the old Italian palaces,
but will be built of brick rind iron.
—lt is said that the old post-office,
which was sold in New York recently
for $650,000, is probably the largest
block of down-town property ever sold
in this city at public sale. The lot
comprises 19, w OO square feet. The
property has changed hands but three
times in 155 years. In 1727 it was pur
chased by the consistory of the Re
formed Dutch Church, for $2,875, and
it remained their property till 1860,
when it was bought by the Federal
Government for $250,000. — N. Y. Inde
pendent
“Oh, How Shiftless!”
One of the shiftless ways some men
fa 1 into is to use the postal card oa
which to write important business.
he postal card is all right, and
indispensable in its place, but When an
order lor goods is scrawled over its
surface and then written cross-ways ii
is no wonder that the receiver gets in
dignant and puts the sender down m ft
slovenly sort of a fellow. The mu
whose whole stock of stationery consists
of postal < ards does not carry on, gen
erally, a very extensive business. More
en c\ the inveterate postal-card sender
gets into the bad habit of still further
curtailing his expenses by using a pen
cil instead of a pen and ink, and mors
over saves his valuable time by not put
ting any date line to his esard. Hft
fusts to Providence that hi message
won’t get obliterated, and to the p st>
master that he will put the stampoof
he P. O. upon the face of the card, so
that the receiver will know where it
tame from.
hi case the postmaster stamps the
name of the post-office too faintly, er
not at all, as is the case nine times in
ten, the receiver is at sea as to which
one of the ten thousand or more post*
o w es in the country this particular
card came from. Granting, however,
that the postmark is legible, lead-pencil
marks are usually indistinct, and a des
perate guess is made as to the contents,
if it happens to be a lucky guess, all
goe- serenely, but if not, trouble begins
and we believe no man is so unreason
able as the man who does a postal card
business. “We pay no attention tft
postal cards” is a remark now frequent
ly made among business firms. Thft
sooner these nu sances are banished
front a place and a work in the business
world that they are not suited for, and
were never intended for, the better it
will be for every class of business.
Living in New York, 1794.
The Tontine House, under the care of
Mr. Hyde, is the best hotel in New
York. He sets from 12 to 16 dishes
every day. He charges for a year's
board, without liquor, $350 to S4OO.
Butter in the market is 37} cents pet
pound; beef, compared with English
beef, is poor; turkeys are 62} cents each:
common fowls are 25 cents each. Of
“Albany beef,” sturgeon, you can get
enough for 12} cents to feed a family.
Oysters are plenty and large. Peaches
sell 2 cents for three to six of them.
All ranks of people smoke cigars six or
seven inches long. Silver money is
plenty, but gold is rarely seen. Ths
popnlation of the city is abont 80,000.
There are two places of public enter
tainment in the environs of the city that
are much visited in the summer; one is
called Belvidere (on Bunker’s Hill), and
the other Bundling’s Gardens. -Magfa
mine of American History.
Said a crafty nusband to his business
partner, “I have promised my wife an
immense surprise for her birthday.”
“ More extravagance ? ” “I shall give
her nothing, it will be an immense sur
prise.”