Newspaper Page Text
W. B. JinrCKY, Editor.
VOL. 11.
There is no present prospect that work
will bo renewed on the Panama Canal.
The New York Telegram concludes
that the Cherokee Nation is not likely to
sell its lands.
It has been calculated that tho rail¬
roads of the world are worth nearly
$300,000,000,000.
The Louisiana lottery has offered to
assume the State debt of $12,000,000
for an extension of its license for fifty
years.
The balance of trade against Canada
during the last fiscal year was $17,000,-
000, or $6,000,000 worse than tlie
previous year.
• The New York Sun is startled at dis¬
covering that the internal revenue of the
United States is increasing more rapidly
than the customs revenue.
The Massachusetts Legislature has
done well, thinks the New York Com¬
mercial Advertiser , in making it a penal
offence to dock the tails of horses.
The startling and highly important in¬
formation that the Shah of Persia has
taken to wearing a silk hat instead of a
jeweled turban has recently been cabled
from Europe to America.
i Before the recent Presbyterian General
Assembly in New York the Rev. L. L.
Coffin said that 2700 brakemen were
killed and 20,000 injured every year - od
the railroads of this country.
Tho Alaskan seal fisheries must be
protected, declares the New Orleans
Times-Democrat, or they will be totally
destroyed within a few brief years, and
thus a great and unique industry anni¬
hilated.
Dogs are to he enrolled and trained in
the British Army. They are to act as
auxiliary sentinels, as scouts on the
march, as despatch carriers, as searchers
for the wounded and as auxiliary ammuni¬
tion carriers.
The New Haven (Conn.) Register will
give $100 for a properly authenticated
case wherein the cucumber ever did any¬
one harm, “The vegetable has been
shamefully maligned and insulted,” this
champion claims.
‘ ‘If some museum man wants a chamber
of horrors, ” says the Minneapolis Tribune,
“why doesn’t he hire Chicago?” Or if
he wants a deserted village, retorts the
Chicago Times, why doesn’t he make a
date with Minneapolis?
President Carnot, of France, is very
fond of Americans, and is cultivating
sedulously the society of our countrymen
now in Paris. At his receptions more
Americans are to be found than in any
drawing-room in Europe.
Various bodies have petitioned the
Pennsylvania Legislature lor so many
legal holidays that, according to the
Detroit Free Press, each day in the week,
including Sunday, would have been a
holiday had the petitions been granted.
Dr. Rosenberg, a New York chiropo¬
dist,tells the Epoch of a little patient that
he was called upon to treat. It is a year
aud a hail’ old and has three corns and
two in-growing nails, although it has
never walked. By the aid of cocaine the
operation on its tiny feet was rendered
roiil1 s3 -
•ing the last sixteen months,” says
pondent of the London Times
‘ ‘only £ (jfj^ves were imported
. ■ ■ "have been only
n veqn private per-
’ Aie reckoned
tici [ number of
irivate fami-
Kiks to the
It effectual
ibis class of
learncst
lorce of
[for
ins
the
8 Com-
iugh to
the
a
if
E d -
(ell
sum
JASPER, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, AUGUST 2, 188!).
TWO SONGS.
i.
So sweet, so sweet, sho sang, is love,
Lifting the cup to lips that laughed,
Drinking the deep enchantment off,
Fire, spice, and honey in tho draught.
n.
So sad, so sad, she sighed, is love,
Bitter tho lees, and black the art
That from the deep enchantment wrings
A spell to break a woman’s heart!
—Harriet P. Spofford, in Harper.
FOUND AT DRURY’S RLUFF.
by rniLip JAKVIS.
“Phil, my boy, wish me good luck!
I’m going to ask Mildred Graves to marry
me before I go. ”
My God! I wish him luck in winning
the woman who was all the world to me!
The one woman whom I had loved from
my boyhood’s days! All the savage in
my nature was aroused into fury at the
thought that he dared to aspire to what
was mine, by the right of long years de¬
votion. I could have throttled him as he
stood there—so handsome and debonair
—so self-reliant and confident of success.
Yet what claims had I upon her affec¬
tions? The hot blood grew cold; my
fierce wrath died out. How could I be
' sure she might not love him best? Was
he not finer-looking, more agreeable than
I, a man in every respect better calculated
to win a girl’s fancy?
Mildred and I had been friends from
our school days, the most intimate friends;
and on my part that friendship had grown
into a part of life itself. I had no hopes,
no ambitions, which had not her happi¬
ness for their object. Yet no word or
token of love had passed between us. I
was shy and reticent on this one subject
that lay so near my heart. I shrank from
declaring myself her lover, doubtless feel¬
ing that if she could not return my love,
I should destroy forever our friendly re¬
lations.
So matters stood between us, when she
was twenty, and I twenty-one, in the fall
of ’60 when Carl Maxam came to our
village. He and I were associated in
business and soon became friends, as
friendly intimacy goes between men. He
was five years my senior, and had read
and traveled much, and had acquired the
ease and polish of a man of the world,
while I was shy and reticent in society,
I felt he had every advantage in his favor,
in his intercourse with Mildred, but until
to-day I had never had la. jealous feeling.
In the spring of ’61, came the fall of
Sumter, aud the declaration of war.
We both enlisted, though in different
regiments, and were ready to leave for
Washington. We had returned to our
homes for the final leave takings with
friends, I in my plain suit with only a
Sergeant’s chevrons on my sleeve, he in
the gilt and epaulettes of a Lieutenant,
looking handsomer than ever in his fine
uniform.
On the morrow we were to rejoin our
regiments, and on this last afternoon had
met for a final friendly chat. We had
talked on other matters of mutual interest
and at the last moment, as we stood at
the gate, he had said:
“And now comes the toughest part of
it. I’m going to ask Mildred Graves to
marry me before I go. Phil, my boy,
wish me good luclc, can’t you?”
Filled with surprise and anger I could
make no reply; but it passed unnoticed
as he went on without looking at me.
‘ ‘I have been half in love with her ever
since I first met her, and long ago de¬
cided she should be my wife if I ever got
ready to marry, that is, of course,” with
a nervous laugh, “if she’d have me. I
don’t know, she always seemed to like
me, and I fancy I’ve the inside track
there; at all events I’m going to make
sure; I’m not going off for a year or two and
leave her for some other fellow to win.
If she’ll promise to marry me, I can trust
her to wait my return, if it were ever so
long.”
At that moment, to my great relief,the
Captain of his company drove by and
stopped to take Carl in.
“Well, good-by, old fellow, hope to
see you later,” and with a wave of his
hand he was gone.
“He shall never have her,” I said
savagely to myself, as he was driving
away; “at least, I will know first if there
is any chance for me,” and I hurried off
to Mildred’s home.
But when once in her presence—fool
that I was—I talked of everything else,
past, present and future, all save the one
subject that lay nearest my heart; my
tongue seemed tied whenever I ap¬
proached that.
A half-hour passed, other visitors
came and I rose to leave. Mildred fol¬
lowed me to the gate.
“I shall miss you so much,” she said,
as she held out her hand at parting.
There were tears in her eyes, and a tremor
in her voice. My heart leaped; surely
she must love me a little, and the words
I had tried so hard to utter came to my
lips; but she added: “you have always
been a brother to me,” and I felt as if a
cup of cold water had been dashed in my
face.
Ah! yes, a brother! she had never
thought of me as a lover; could I declare
myself one and lose all this friendly re¬
gard? I hesitated—others joined us,
and the opportunity to speak was lost
forever. I said “good-by,” and went
home, inwardly raging at my own stu¬
pidity. it
•‘But perhaps is better so,” I
thought at last; “she would remember
me as a friend, love me as such, which
a3 a rejected lover, she could never
do.”
Then I thought of all her kindness
“WE 8EEK THE REWARD OF HONE8T LABOR."
during the long years of our intimate
friendship; underneath might it not sisterly be possible that
all this regard there
might lie the germs of a deeper love?
And could I not awaken it to life by long
uud careful wooing? 1 would be so pa¬
tient if there was only one spark of hope
that she would ever love me. I would,
like Jacob of old, serve seven years, oh,
so willingly, could I but win her. Was
1 not a coward, after all, tojqeld my own
chance of success to another, by not put¬
ting my fate to the test)
Under the influence of this feeling I
dashed off an ardent, impulsive letter.
All the love I could never speak, found
expression now.
“Can you not, dearest Millie,” I con¬
cluded, “find down deep in your heart,
underneath all this sisterly- regard you
have given me, one spark of something
dearer, sweeter than a sister'#iove? Will
you not give me just one worn of hope
that, in time, you may learn vo love me
better than a brother or friend?”
I sent the letter by a sure messenger,
and waited impatiently for a reply. Now
it was done, and I had risked all on one
throw of the dice, I felt all tfte gambler’s
unrest. My blood was alternately at fever
heat or ice cold. The moments seemed
hours. Hopes and fears alternately held
sway, until I could scarcely endure the
suspense. At last the answer came. Hur¬
rying to my room, I tore open the enve¬
lope. There in Millie’s handwriting, I
had learned to love so well, were the
words: “Dear Friend;” a cold hand
seemed to clutch my heart as I read:
“Your letter was a great surprise to me.
I have always regarded you its a friend,
and as such, you will ever have my high¬
est esteem, but my love has long been
given to another. Forgive me if I give
you pain by this avowal, and I pray God
may bless and keep you, in the danger
into which you are going. Sincerely your
friend, Mildred Graves.”
The letter fell from my hands, my head
dropped upon the table beside me. The
worst had come! All the hopes and fears,
the sweet dreams of a lifetime were over.
Carl had won her, and I had lost all that
made life endurable.
The memory of every hour of sweet
companionship—every gracious kindly smile word, she
had ever given me—every
came back with redoubled sweetness,now
that she was lost to me forever. Through
all the years of youth and manhood, she
had been interwoven with every hope
and plan; it seemed like gi ving up life
itself to lose her. Tint, it was Jpver now,
over forever! If I met her again it must
be as the betrothed, or the wife of an¬
other.
Could I live and bear that! Thank
God, I could go away in a few hours,
and perhaps death on the battlefield
would end all this dreary heartlone-
liness.
On the morrow I rejoined my regiment,
and within twenty-four hours we were
marched to the front.
In the change from home to the stir¬
ring scenes of army life I tried to forget;
but by the camp-fire, on lonely picket
duty, or in the rush and roar of battle,
thoughts of Mildred would intrude.
I shrank frefm no exposure, feared no
danger. Men called me brave; I was
simply reckless. I had no flread of death;
why should I have? Life had lost all
charm for me.
Months rolled away, one, two, nearly
three years passed. I never heard from
Mildred, except an occasional word in my
mother's letters. She was still un¬
married. I did not wonder at this for I
knew Carl was in the army, and fre¬
quently near me. But I never sought
him, even when our regiments were side
by side. I mo longer felt hatred toward
him—I could not do that, if Mildred
loved him; but I had not reached a point
where I could meet him calmly, and I
preferred not to see him at all; and,
strange as it seemed to me at times, he
never sought me. until,
Step by step I advanced in rank,
when the battle of Drury’s Bluff was
fought, I held a Captain's commission.
All night we had lain on our arms,and
with the first gray dawn the enemy were
upon us. Our regiment w as in the thick¬
est of the fight.
Again and again the Confederates
hurled their forces against us and were
met by the fiercest resistance of our men.
Charge succeeded charge, volley returned
volley, repulse followed repulse; back¬
ward and forward surged the huge col¬
umns of men; broken, charing rallying, retreat¬
ing, advancing, for victory one
moment, and beate 1 back by the foe the
next.
The dead, the wo unc ? ct L the dying lay
in heaps. The wheels of the guns could
not be moved until the windrows of dead
were removed. Then* were few wounded,
nearly all wore killed outright. Carefully
wc removed those few' and bore them to
the hospital tent in tJ e rear - I was di¬
recting my men in tl ie work, when sud¬
denly from among th8 piles of dead, a
face was upturned, a face I knew only
too well. Carl Maxan' and I had met at
last.
He was horribly m ln gle<L and I saw
could only live a few foments unless the
flow of blood was checked. For an in¬
stant the thought flashed across my brain,
“If he died Millie wou?d be free!” But
I crushed back the ti»itorous thought,
and hastily improvising torniquets I
stopped the bleeding arteries as best I
could, and, with the hUP of one of my
men, bore him to the hospital tent. him
He opened his eyes as we laid
down. One glance a K ? I knew I was
recognized. He raiser Li* hand feebly,
and tried to reach his l rcast pocket.
“A package—ray pocket!” he gasped.
I slipped my hand into an inside
breast pocket and drew forth a small
package, carefully enclosed.
“Mildred,” he said, with great effort,
looking at me wistfully, and vainly try¬
ing to say moro. His lips moved for a
moment but no sound came from them;
then the jaws relaxed, an ashen pallor
spread over his face, and with a few short
gasps he was dead.
I placed the package in my breast
pocket, and just at that moment the call
sounded to re-form in line of battle, and
we were hurried away to another part of
the field. In half an hour wc were again
in the thickest of the fight.
At the first charge a hall passed
through my leg, and the battle of Dru¬
ry’s Bluff was over for me, and the war,
also, it proved, for after several weeks in
the liospstnl I was discharged from the
service and returned home.
All this time I had carefully kept the
package Carl had given me. I had a
morbid desire to give it to Mildred in
person, and waited my return home, which
I knew from the first must soon come.
The day after my return I lay on the
large, old fashioned lounge in the living
room of my father's house when Mildred
came to me. Wun and wasted with suf¬
fering, with one leg gone, I was scarcely
more than the wreck of my former self.
She had changed almost as much as I;
all the girlish freshness and bloom had
faded, and the grave, quiet manner
seemed more befitting a woman of fifty
than u girl of twenty-three; yet to me
eho seemed dearer and sweeter than ever.
“I am so glad to see you home once
more!”she said, as she grasped my out¬
stretched hand.
There were tears in her eyes, aud her
voice trembled.
How good it seemed to look into her
face to hear the sound of her voice, and
feel the pressure of her band once more!
Could she—could she care for me, now
Carl was dead! I found myself so eager,
even now, for her love, that I would be
only too thankful for even a small part she
had given him.
But Carl’s letter must be delivered first,
thought it might he the means of separat¬
ing us still more widely.
After a few mutual inquiries and re¬
plies, I drew the package from my pocket.
“I found Carl on the battle field of
Drury’s Bluff, and he gave me this for
you as he was dying,” I said, holding it
out to her, and immediately turning
away my head that I might not sec her
emotion.
“For me?” she said in tones of sur¬
prise. “I don’t understand.” I
“It probably explains itself,” I said,
wondering why she should think it straDge
that Carl should send a dying message to
her.
I heard the rustle of paper as she un¬
did the package, and in another instant,
with a strange cry, she dropped on her
knees beside the lounge.
“OPhilip, Philip! what does it mean?”
she said, her face as white as the letter
she held out to me with trembling hands.
I took it, and the first line brought me
to a sitting position, with an astonish¬
ment great as her own. I read in her
handwriting the words:
“Dear Phil: There is no need that you
■should teach me to love you. I learned that
lesson long ago. You have been dearest of
all in tho world to me since our childhood’s
days. will Come to Four me at eight this evening Millie.” and
you find, own love,
Faint and giddy with tho surging tide
of emotions that swept over me, I caught
both her hands in mine.
“You wrote that, Millie, wrote it to
me?” I said, scarcely believing such good
news truo.
“I wrote it in answer to your letter tho
day you went away; and you never came
—I heard nothing from you until I knew
you were gone next day. I could not
understand it.”
“But I received an answer,” I said in
bewilderment; ‘ ‘you wrote you had never
thought of me except as a friend—that
loved another."
“Oh, no, no! I wrote that to Carl in
answer to one I received from him at al¬
most the same time as yours. And
I must have enclosed them in the wrong
envelopes. O Philip, to think of all
these years of sorrow to us both, for such
a stupid me?” mistake! How can you ever for¬
give “There is nothing forgive, if
to you
only love me now,” I said eagerly.
“I never loved any one else, I never
could; you seemed a part of my life, and
I’ve been so wretched, so very wretched!
It’s like heaven itself to have you back
once more!”
“Oh, thank God! thank God!” was
all I could say as I caught her in my arms.
Oh, the delirious joy of the moment, af¬
ter all those years of sorrow, to know she
loved me, had always loved me; could
heaven hold any rapture to equal this?
All the wretchedness of the past seemed
to vanish as a dream, in the glad joy of
the present. Then, suddenly there came
a reaction of feeling. What was I now?
Broken In health, crippled, helpless!
What woman would take such a wreck of
manhood as I?
“O Millie, darling!” I said, despair¬
ingly, “I’ve loved you, God only knows
how well, but, I’m only a wreck at best;
I cannot ask you to marry me now.”
“You need not ask me at all,” she said
archly, between smiles and tears, “I
shall take you anyway. O Phil, you can¬
not think I love you less for this? So
long as there is enough of the body left
to hold the heart of my dear old Philip
you’ll be just the same to me. No, not
same, but a hundred fold dearer for
you have suffered, You will be strong
well soon, dear, and your lost let is
an honor, not a blemish.”
Was not this the acme of all earthly
Shall I shame my manhood when I
$1*00 Per Annum, In Advance.
say the tears were running down my face,
as I caught the dear girl to my heart, and
thanked God, for such a treasure.
After our emotions had calmed down
somewhat, we examined the package moro
closely, and found a letter from Carl tell¬
ing how he had received the note in an¬
swer to his letter, that he had rightly con-
jectured that in her envelopes, agitation, Millie had
misdirected the that his must
have been a rejection and had been sent
me. In his chagrin and disappointment
that I had been preferred to him, he had
kept the note, hoping that the one sent
me might have no name in it, and thinking
I had been rejected I would leave without
an explanation. Then followed an ac¬
count of the upbraidings of conscience,
the strivings of his better nature, until
ho had written this explanation to givo
me, in case of our meeting or of Uis
death.
“I have been a coward and a villain,”
he wrote in conclusion, “not to have re¬
turned the note long ago. I cannot hope
for your forgiveness. ”
But in the supreme happiness of our re¬
union could < find in hearts
we no room our
for enmity toward tlie dead, even though
he had wronged us so bitterly.— Yankee
Blade.
WISE WORDS.
Be honest and then be generous.
Mockery never degrades the just.
Let none wish for unearned gold.
Whose credit is suspected is not safe to
be trusted.
A true man never frets about his place
in this world.
Something is wrong when a man is
afraid of himself.
Honesty is better capital than a
sharper’s cunning.
Leave your business unduly and your
business will leave you.
It would be a shame if your mind should
falter and give in before your body.
No longer talk at all about the kind
of man that a good man ought to be, but
be such.
We ought not to judge of men’s merits
by their qualifications, but by the use
they make of them.
Usually speaking, the worst-bred per¬
son in company is a young traveler just
returned from abroad.
There is a transcendant power in ex¬
ample. We reform others unconsciously,
when wc walk uprightly.
There are many that hr 1 ' - “4,
world; but if there be uu_, that
the whole of it, it is because the other half
despises them.
Women famed for their valor, their
skill in politics or their learning, leave
the duties of their own sex jn order to in¬
vade tho privileges of males.
Farming Land Getting Scarce.
The Farm and Home says: The time
when “Uncle Sam is rich enough to give
us all a farm” is nearing its end. Nearly
every acre of desirable Government land
open to settlement under the homestead
act is now taken. This fact explains the
extraordinary rush for Oklahoma, which,
under the President’s proclamation, was
“opened up” April 22. The most which
any settler could securo was a quarter-
section (160 acres), and as there are only
3,000,000 of acres in the proposed new ter¬
ritory, a little figuring will show that less
than 13,000 quarter-sections were availa¬
For this amount of land there was
grand scrarablo by at least 30,000
would-be settlers, boomers and specula¬
The territory was open for settle¬
ment at noon, and within a few hours
from that time the proposed city of Guth¬
was laid out, a daily paper started, a
postoffice opened, a bank set a-going,and
a municipal election held. In other parts
of the “promised land” similar scenes
were enacted, the whole being a state of
affairs peculiarly American and such as
could not be paralleled in any other na¬
tion on the globe—a territory as large as
Rhode Island and Delaware together set¬
tled in half a day. The new territory is
a part of that formerly ceded to the In¬
dians, who again have to move on before
the tide of civilization.
This results from the craze, started
nearly half a century nvo,>to empty the
surplus population of Europe on the pub¬
lic lands of the United States—to give
away these lands ns soon os possible and
leave American posterity to paddle their
own canoe, and let most of them do with¬
out lands. Then there was a craze among
railroad companies and politicians to
bring landlords and land kings from
Europe and sell them tens of millions of
acres of land, Then great cattle trusts
absorbed minions of acres, and bonanza
wheat farmers millions moro. When their
is no moro land for sale, what next?
Uncle Sam will soon bo landless; not rich
enough to give us all a farm.
A Mongolian Napoleon of Finance.
Not many years ago more than fifteen
million mackerel came to New York in a
single week. More than half-a-million
were thrown back into the water, and
good fish could be bought at retail for
less than a cent apiece. There was a
golden opportunity, and Moy Shoen Bak,
a twenty-year-old Chinaman, saw it and
seized it. He formed a syndicate among
his fellow-countrymen and bought two
million mackerel. These he took to the
Chinese quarter, and employing all the
help he could, he speedily had them pre¬
served in varioug ways in vogue among
the Celestials. The syndicate cleared a
fortune in two weeks, and Moy Shoen
Bak is now rich.— Argonaut.
Jay Gould says that he made every
cent of his money by hard work.
NO. 41.
LOVE ROMANTIC. YET MOST TRUE.
Three men, who were good and groat,
Favored by fortune and fate,
Loved one woman; but sho
Loved nono of tho three.
They wore friends and they lovod each other
As friend loves friend, or brother brother;
: But no one aver spoke
I Tho name his heart awoke.
■
Tho first his love to the woman told,
; In passion’s words, by hops made bold;
j Moro “Better than than life fame itsolf, or wealth,
1 * you!" said,
ove y°“i * k>ve he
listened, but she shook her heat
And answered, low and true; •
“I love not; love not you.”
The second said: “I love you well,
Moro than through life my lips can tell..
Living, I'll love but you,
In death to you be true.”
Why, she did not understand,
But she laid in his her hand;
Aud throughout all her life
She lived his faithful wife.
Of his love for her, the third
■
Spoke never a single word;
Yet was his love’s degree
The highest of the three?
Ho watched her life and saw her die,
But his heart never voiced a cry.
Somehow, when her life was past,
He knew she was his at last.
—Gertrude Garrison , in Dress.
IIUMOR OF THE DAY.
A rash intruder—Measles.
Not a religious stick—The post chap¬
lain.
Well-made men—The oleo-million-
aires.
“Bound for Europe”—The tourists’
guide.
When a man is ‘ ‘taken in” he is usually
“put out.”
Silence is golden, but it doesn’t make
a mute rich.
Dressed beef should be dressed as cool
as possible this weather__ New Orleans
Picayune.
There is nothing in the language of
flowers so eloquent as a pair of pressed
tulips .—New York Herald.
It may be of some consequence
To some one if we say,
The man has certainly horse sense
Who knows when to say neigh!
Customer—“May I use your tele¬
phone?” Merchant—“Very sorry, but
we do not handle hollowarc .”—Omaha
World.
Mealtime Caller—“When do you
dine?” Precocious Little Daughter—
“We always have to wait till callers go.
Pm getting awful hungry.”
Says a New York paragrapher: “A
majority of our rich men arc not educated
men.” This will also read just as truly
the other way.— Home Sentinel.
Paterfamilias—“Clara, I see that tho
front gate is down this morning.” Clara
(shyly)—“Yes, papa, you know love
levels all things.”— Burlington Free Press.
Husband (on his wedding tour)—“I
want rooms for myself and wife. ” Hotel
Clerk—“Suite?” Husband—“Of course
she is—perfectly lovely. The sweetest girl
in the world.”
Bashful Young Man—“Ahem—Sally—
ahem.” Sally—(encouragingly)—‘Well,
George?” “Sally, do, you suppose your
ma would be willing to be my mother-in-
law?”— Boston Gazette.
The interest with which a young
man watches the growth of hair on his
upper lip is only equaled by that with
which the man of forty watches its disap¬
pearance from the top of his head.— New
York Herald.
First Omahan—“Going to have any
plumbing done this spring?” Second
Omahan—“Did think I’d have a pipe re¬
soldered, but changed my mind and will
buy a farm with the money, instead.”—
Omaha World.
Young Husband—“What? You are
twenty-five years old to-day? Why, you
told me a year ago, just before the wed¬
ding, that you were only twenty.” Young
Wife (wearily)—“I have aged rapidly
since I married .”—Yankee Blade.
I ani'lying, Egypt, lying in my own peculiar
I acquired’the day habit lately, hut I do it every
Every repair morning to the river with my tackle I
To beguile tho speckled troutlet from his
In tho deep, pellucid lu Ir;
victim’s evening, on returning, I describe my
size.
And I am roaming, Egypt, roaming in a
wilderness of lies.
—Nebraska State Journal
The City Dog Catcher.
The humble office of the meek and
lowly dog catcher is an industry not to
be despised from a pecuniary standpoint.
The City Marshal, who is the official
head of this branch of commerce, re¬
ceives $4000 a year in salary for doing
practically nothing. His allowance of
deputies and office expenses is ample.
The dog pound revenue is one of the
political secrets, but it is estimated by
those who have been in the confidence of
the Administration as $7000. That repre¬
sents dogs caught and killed in St.
Louis, and costs in case animals are re¬
claimed. Then there is another alleged
source of revenue, the value of which
nobody but the incumbent knows, and
that is the price annually received for dog
carcasses from the East St. Louis Govern¬
ment, It is said that every day a wagon-;
load of dead dogs, that have just suffered!
the sulphuretting process at the St. Louis
dog pound, goes across the bridge, and
is there redeemed at the price of twenty-
five cents per head.— St. Louis Star-Say¬
ings. ........ -____ — J