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Where Summer Rides.
Down through the mountain’s silver haar.
Down through the song-thrilled wooded
ways,
And ’midst the meadow ’s drenched grass,
The feet of Summer swiftly pass.
“Stay! stay!” the yearning mountains cry,
“Stay ! stay!” the drowsy grasses sigh
But on and on the sweet guest flies,
With wind-blown hair and wide still eyes,
On, on, until her eager feet
Abide amidst the yellow wheat.
— [Lucy L. Tilley in Harper's Weekly.
ONE IN A THOUSAND.
BY MAY KKVDAI.L.
It AvaR a lovely May morning, a
morning on Avhich even the life of an
omnibus conductor seemed endurable.
Besides, the particular company for
which Archy Johnston Avorked had
become infected by socialistic princi¬
ples, to the extent of only employing
their hands from 7 a. m. to 10 p. m.,
and giving them, as a rule, the alter¬
nate Sundays. So that, as tilings
went, lie might be considered Aveil off.
Better off, at ali events, than the
pale young man Avho, as Andy com¬
pleted his arrangements before start¬
ing, watched him, with a melancholy
air, from the curbstone. For this
pale young man, Avhose name Avas
Warner, by special permission of the
company, to whom a benevolent cler-
gymau had appealed on Warner’s be¬
half, came CA r ery morning at 7 o’clock
to see if there was a conductor off
work, and, if there Avas, to take his
place on the omnibus.
For the last month he had presented
himself regularly, and the men had
come to knoAV and have a kindly feel¬
ing toward him; hut in that mouth he
had only been on duty seven days.
This fact inevitably raised the ques¬
tion as to what Warner did Avith him¬
self when no vacancies occurred. He
did not look as if he did anything very
remunerative.
Archy’s omnibus started last, and lie
had tAvo or three minutes to spare; so,
being a sociable young fellow, Me
crossed over to speak to Warner, Avho,
for his part, responded with an anx¬
ious good-wili in which, if Archy had
knoAvn, there Avas a certain undercur¬
rent of penitence. The fact Avas,
Warner had just been thinking, as be
saAV the,omnibus roll away, and roal-
ized with a sigh that all men Avere on
duty—“What if one of them Avere to
die, and he were taken on as a per-
mnnent baud?”
He did not in any Avay appeal for
pity, and yet the few facts Archy drew
from him Avere an appeal to any one
conversant with the city. He lived a
mile away, 24 Dilk street, an address
that lingered curiously in Archy’s
memory. He had been a carpenter,
and comfortably off; but now he avus
hopelessly out of work, and, Avith his
Avife and their young child, had been
living how he could.
“We feel it most, yon see,” he said
in his patient way, “for the child.”
Then he checked himself, as if lie had
said too much, and added quite hope¬
fully, “But it’s a long lane that has no
turning, isn’t it?”
No more passed betAveen them just
then, for the conductor’s time was up.
But the next morning, as his eyes
encountered the depressed-looking
figure, again, a sudden impulse seized
him.
“Can you take my place today?” he
said, accosting Warner; “I’m awfully
anxious to have the day, but I can’t
risk getting sacked.”
Warner’s face beamed. “I told
Janet this morning,” lie said. a9 lie
folloAved Archy, “I’d a feeling 1
should be in luck today.”
“It’s just here,” said Archy, staring
straight before him. “I’m thinking of
going down into the country for a day
—or tAvo —<»r maybe more—I can’t ex¬
actly tell, not being on the spot, how
long I may require to stay. And it
Avould be a load off’ my mind to know
toy place wouldn't be snapped up.”
“I’ll keep it for yon,” said Warner
energetically, “and give it up to you
Avhen you come back; for it’s a queer
thing, as I knoAV, to be thrown out of
work. And I’m sure I hope you’ll
have a pleasant journey. Beautiful
down in the country this time of year,
ain’t it?”
“Ah!” said Archie. “Yes, the
country’s a fine place, esjiecially, as
you say, abont this time of the year.”
He grasped Warner’s hand, and
turned away. After all, he had done
nothing remarkable; and yet, such
was the serene benignitv of his tone
and manner, that for a moment War¬
ner stood stock-still on the pavement,
staring after hitn.
Archy went back to his lodgings;
but he could not rest there, and soon
he went out again. He found himself
wondering what Warner’s wife and
child were like, and it struck him,that
as he had nothing else to do, he would
go round by Dilk street.
It was a small street of tiny, jerry-
built houses, with their numbers in¬
scribed very legibly on the doors, 60
that Archy had no difficulty in recog¬
nizing 24. There was a brown blind
over the lower half of the Avindow;
but Archy’s tall head rose above it,
and as he passed he glanced furtively
in, as if it were a crime. It avss a
small bare room, with no furniture
but a deal table, a box or tAVO, and an
old rockng-chair drawn up to the
hearth, whose tire had gone out. On
that vo.king-chair a girl was sitting,
Avith a baby in her arms, rocking
slowly to and fro, and singing wearily,
over ami over again,
“There is not in the wide world a valley
so sweet.”
A mere girl she looked, but very
wasted, and her cheeks had not a tinge
of color; and yet it Avas one of the
BAveetest faces, Archy thought, that he
had ever seen. If this was Warner’s
wife, perhaps he Avas a lucky fellow
after all.
lie Avondered if there Avas anything
to eat in the house. She did not look
as if there was. But, for the life of
him, he dared neither ask her, nor
order anything to be sent from the
nearest provision dealer’s; and though
he thought of all kinds of expedients
for getting a shilling inside the door
that should look as if it belonged to
one of them, and had been mislaid,
none of them Avcre feasible. If it had
been dusk, he thought, scanning the
Avater-spout Avith a critical eye, he
might have elambered on the roof and
dropped the shilling down the chim¬
ney. He was nearly as tall as the
house already, and lie could climb like
a sailor. But it Avas broad daylight;
and at last—lie had been lounging all
this time in front of a small grocer’s
shop close by—he turned aAvay in de¬
spair, reflecting that, after all, Warner
had had a day’s Avork on Monday, and
it Avas only Wednesday. He AVould
go noAV into some other quarter of the
city, and look for work himself, For
Avork? Well, yes. It Avas hardly that
he consciously made up his nund to do
so. But that Avas Avhat he did.
It Avas a month later, and Archy
had not gone back to his old position.
Neither, however, had he found regu¬
lar work. If he had gone to the right
quai ters, it may be said, of course, he
might have found it. Archy stood,
indeed, for a moment outside the
doors of the general relief committee,
but there the beautiful probability of
his story of hnvinga place as omnibus
conductor that he had not been dis¬
missed from, and yet could not go
back to, oAving to having heard a
white-faced girl through a aviiuIoav,
singing the “Meeting of the Waters”
—as related to a credulous relief com¬
mittee, struck him so forcibly that he
broke into a loud Jaugh as he turned
away.
But it was not a cheery laugh.
Though he had given up his old lodg¬
ing and been sleeping Avhere he could,
the few pence he contrived to earn
Avere not enough to keep him. and for
weeks he had not had a hearty meal.
A dull despair Avas creeping over him;
but he tramped blindly on, asking for
AA'ork, till he fancied that the officials
at different establishments Avere look¬
ing on him Avith suspicion, as one
Avhotn they had refused before. And
all the time he knew that he might go
back to his old place. Warner AVould
give it up Avithout a murmur, or a
grudge; he was that kind of fellow.
Then he fancied Warner going home
to tell his wife the news, and then he
fell to Avondering how they were get¬
ting on. lie fancied he Avould go aud
see.
That day. Avhen Warner’s omnibus
stopped at the end of the route, at 1
o’clock, every passenger had left it.
They had a quarter of an hour to Avait,
and the driver slipped hastily across to
his faA’orite public house, which was
conveniently situated. Warner looked
eagerly up and down the street, as if
expecting some one, but it was almost
deserted. There was a policeman a
little way down; there was a shabby-
lookiug fellow standing at the corner,
against a lamp-post, with his hat
slouched over his eves—no one else.
Warners face fell, but it lightene
again in a moment, as a girlish figure
emerged from a street nearly opposite
and ran lightly across to the omnibus.
Warner held out his hand and she
sprang in.
“Here it is,” she said proudly, 'un¬
packing the small basket, “You
can’t guess what I've made you for
dinner today, and, if you eat it now, I
do believe it will be hot.”
“Meat pie, Janet I” said Warner.
“Well, you are a cook ar.d no mis¬
take. I’ve twelve minutes—blest if
there ain’t that unfortunate old lady
who always comes a quarter of an
hour before we’re timed to start.”
“She’s a long way off,” said Janet,
Avith a look of disappointment. “Go
on with your pie, Will; she Avon’t be
here jet awhile.”
“Very Avell then,” said Warner re¬
luctantly. “Hang the old girl—look
at her umbrella!”
They kissed each other hastily in
the omnibus, thinking that no one shav
(hem. Least of all, the aimless vaga-
bond at the corner, Avith hat slouched
over his eyes, Avho was looking at
nothing. He—ah, no! Then Janet
sprang down again; and presently the
old lady mounted the 6tep, and War¬
ner ate his meat pie furtively, between
maintaining a conversation on the
drink traffic, a subject in Avhich his
passenger seemed to take an absorbing
interest; but then she had had her
lunch before she started.
Yet Warner had also time to reflect
pleasantly on how much better Janet
was looking, and Avhat a color she had,
and Avondered also if the j-oung man
who had gone into the country AVould
be back tomorrow, and couldn’t help
hoping not. Then more passengers
entered, and the driver hurried back
at the last moment, stuffing a large
fragment of bread and butter into his
pocket; and the omnibus rolled away.
But that night, when Warner re¬
turned to the small house in Dilk
street, he found a note thrust under
the door, that no one had noticed. It
ran thus:
Dear Mr. Warner: I leave this note in
passing to say I have given up my place as
conductor for good, and therefore hope you
will stick to it as long as it suits you. I
have ina4e up my mind to stay down in the
country. Yours, with best wishes,
Archy Johnston.
Hens as an Aid to Peach Raising.
Level-headed farmers in Connecti¬
cut have for seA’eial yeai's past been at
Avork reviving an old industry—the
groAving of peaches for market. Fifty
years ago the peach crop of the Nut¬
meg State was au important item, but
the trees ran out after a time, the
orchards Avere cut doAvn, and apples
and other small fruits took their place.
After giving the land a long rest, the
industry was revived again about ten
or tAvelve years ago, and each succeed¬
ing year the peach premiums at the
several agricultural fairs has been in¬
creased in importance until they have
draAvn out some of the finest samples
of the fruit raided north of Mason and
Dixon’s l.ne.
As to cultivation, there are as many
methods as there are individual grow¬
ers. The simplest was that practised
by William Platt of Newtown, a for¬
merly very successful grower, but
Avho is now an inmate of the Middle-
toAvn Insane Retreat. Mr. Platt used
to spade up a circle around each tree
of perhaps three feet in diameter.
Into this he planted or sowed very
sparingly corn, oats, buckwheat, and
other cereal*, Then he turned his
large flock of hens into the orchard
and let them scrat:h for their living
He claimed that by this method he
kept the earth about the roots of the
tree loose and easily permeable by
rain and dew, and the hens, besides
gathering the corn and oats, acted as
insect and Avorm destroyers, keeping
the trunks of the trees free from bor¬
ers and other pests, which AAould oth¬
erwise have to be looked after Avith a
sharp eye. Mr. Platt used to raise
peachc9 the size and flavor of Avhich
gained him a wide fame.—[New York
Sun.
Insulted the Wrong Man.
“You say the brother of the young
lady pulled your nose?” inquired Chol-
Iv. “What did you do? Did you re¬
sent it?”
“Wesent it?” said Fweddy,the veins
in his forehead swelling with indigna¬
tion. “Didn’t I? Bah Jove. I told
hitn if he evahdid it again, bah Jove,
I’d have him ahweeted!”
BIG PANORAMAS.
Painting Scenery on an Im¬
mense Scale.
Many Men at Work on the Great
Circular Canvas.
“As I wanted to see how pa o-
ramas are made,’Writes a press corres¬
pondent of the Picayune, “l Avcnt to
the spot Avere Philpot is at work, up
by the place de la Bastile. The place
is in disorder, the space between can-
A*as and spot Avhere the public will
stand being crowded Avith scaffoldings,
ladders and barrels.
“One painter, as high up as the
fourth story of a house, Avas making
sky by laying on large daubs of blue;
another Avas whitewashing buildings:
lower down, on the first and second
landings, Avere two collaboratcuvs of
Philpot, MM. Du Paty and Sabattier,
avIio Avere painting in the characters.
I avus as nothing standing before the
j n)mense circular ca on Avhich so
many thousand pei e pencilled,
though they have no* .A received the
baptism of paint brush.
“When the plan of iny panorama is
definitely decided on,” said Philpot, “1
go in search of ail possible informa¬
tion, for later it becomes of great as -
sistance. If the subject is one that
takes place in the present time, 1 leave
town Avith my two collaborators and
proceed to the very spot, where Ave
take A’ieAvs of the place as carefully as
though we were making a picture. If
the action passes in olden times, as it
docs in the panorama now being
painted, avg go to the Carnavalet Mu¬
seum or to the National Library to
consult engravings and books of the
period. After this, dresses are pro¬
cured and placed on models in my
studio. The first thing is to make a
series of small i ictures containing all
the scenes that are to form the pan¬
orama. That done, a small panorama
is constructed, about one-tenth the size
of the real panorama, and this is, so to
speak, the model-
The small panorama being finished
in all its details, is photographed in
parcels, which operations are done in
(be studio, and then the artists carry
their necessary working materials to
the place where (lie panorama is to be
constructed, where the virgin canvas
is ready. This one contains 5850
square feet, and if avc recommenced the
designs already executed on a small
scale on this canvas we should not be
ready in several years. What we do
is this: The photographic stereotypes
arc pnt in a magic lantern, Avhich pro¬
jects them on the canvas to the re¬
quired size of the real composition.
i i Before this, however, the canvas
has been divided into squares like on a
checker board, and the stereotype
plates correspond exactly Avith these
divisions. A counter-drawing of the
composition is afterwards made, so
you see the matter is very simple. The
task of producing a panorama is thus
rendered easy, and what could not be
done in less than a year without pho¬
tography, is designed within a fort¬
night. The design finished,each pain¬
ter begins his task and finishes it Avith-
out ceasing. One man paints the sky,
exactly similar to that of the small
panorama, another paints the houses
with the personages.
“The panorama once painted in its
entirety, I go over it again completely,
and giA'C it finishing touches, so that
the public will not see that it has not
been done by one hand. The canvas is
held in place by hooks at the top,
weights being suspended to the bottom
60 as to prevent any creases. The
perspective is obtained first of all on
the small panorama, and it is then
faithfully reproduced on the large
canvas; and Avhat adds to the illusion
is that the public, at a certain distance
from the canvas, do not know Avhere
it commences or where it finishes.
The space where the scaffolding is
now placed, and Avhich is 45 feet wide,
will be filled up Avith real objects that
will stretch from the public to the
canA’as Avithout any cessation, and in¬
stead of the panorama having a gilded
frame like pictures, it will havo a
framework of natural at tides. The
illusion is thus complete, the more so
as the public is in the shade under
vehun. while the canvas has a full,
almost blinding light thrown on it.
Au American biz-mark—$
Stopped His Shooting.
Now and then you will find a
who will bully and light at the same
time. Such a chap was “Lop-shou!-
dered Bill,” as Ave called him in Ai 011-
tana. llc Avas ugly, quarrelsome and
a braggart, but he would have fought
ten men as soon as one. t or two
years he had a revolver where l ;e
could drop his hand on it in a second,
aud the half dozen chaps Avho were
looking to get the drop on him had to
keep on waiting. One day, however,
Bill’s shooter got out of repair and lie
gave it to a miner to be' fixed. In.
stead of waiting for it he wandered
down to a saloon where the hard ’ans
congregated, and it Avasn’t a quarter
of an hour before he set out to pick a
fuss Avith a new arrival, just
ached to kill somebody, and when he
nettled the stranger into “talking
back” he reached for his gun to pop
him. His gun Avasn’t there. When
Bill realized it he turned white a-
snow, thinking his time had come.
The stranger had draAvn on him, you
see, and he carried a wicked look in
his eyes.
“Well?” he asked, as Bill raised Lis
hands.
“I haven’t any gun.”
“I see. Leave it somewhere?”
“Yes.”
“Very careless in you. I’ve got the
call.”
•‘You hev.”
“You are a bad man, and I ought to
shoot you through the head, but 1
don’t like this cold-blooded business.
Hold up your right hand and spread
out the lingers.”
“Stranger, don’t do it.”
“Either that or I’ll put six bullet¬
in to your heart! Spread!”
Bill held up his right hand and three
reports followed each other like the
ticking of a clock. Each finger was
shot ofi'at the first joint.
“That’ll do,” said the man, as lie
loAvered his Aveapon. < « Ypu can’t pull
trigger with nothing on that hand, and
before you can learn to shoot Jei't-
handed some one will bury you.”.
He went out and away, and Bill
sent for a doctor and sat there and
cried like a boy. Next day he left
without a word to any of us, and we
ahvays believed he jumped off Horse
Cliff into tint creek, Avhich Avas tlicA
on a llood.—[New York Sun.
A Patagonian Child Doctor.
When a child in Patagonia is sick, cr
messenger is despatched for the doctor,
and never leaves him uut'l he comes
Avith him. As 6oon as the doctor ar¬
rives, lie looks at the sick child, anil
then Avith much ceremony rolls it up in
a piece ot skin. He then orders a clay
plaster, and by this time the child lias
ceased erving, soothed by the warmth
of the skin, and so rendering still more
solid his reputation as a wise man.
YelloAv clay is brought and made into
a thick cream with Avatcr, and the
child is painted from head to foot,
causing him to erv again. “The devil
is still there,” says the doctor sagely>
and undoes two mysterious packages lie
carries, one contains rhea sinews
(ostrich) and the other a rattle made
of stones in a gourd decorated with
feathers.
He then fingers the sinews, m'Utcr-
ir«* something for a few minutes, then
he seizes the rattle and shakes it vio¬
lently, staring very hard at the crying
child. Then Avraps it in the skin again
r«4id it ceases crying. Again it i*
painted, rattled at and stared at, and
again it cries. This is done four
times, and then the cure is considered
complete. The doctor leaves the child
quiet, enfolded in the warm skin, and
goes his Avav, having received two
pipefuls of tobacco as a fee. Strange
to say, the child generally recovers,
but it it does not, the doctor gets out
of the difficulty by declaring that the
parents did not keep the medicine
skin tightly around the child, aud so
let the devil get back again. This is
the only treatment sic.i children in
Patagonia are ever knoAvn io receive-
— [Ladies’ Home Journal.
Every-Day Tragedies.
“These affaire of the heart sometime
end in tragedies, don’t they?” hundred
4 • Yes, indeed. I’ve seen
o? men avIio were dead in love.”
It Was the (at.
Bobby —“Hoav did you manage- fi>"
get the bowl of cream?”
Tommy—“Told ma I 6aw the cat
put her nose in i'.”—[Epoch.