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ft vTJ ♦ / / acr ♦ i / / ♦. / J. C. HEARTSELL. Ed. and Pub. VOL NIL CL “l «as mmm rael —< J A Romance of the CivL War. BY MAJ. JAMES F. FITTS. ClI Yl'TKK If—Continued. “Gammon! You want ns to believe that fon don't know what brings us here aftei SOU'" “ I do not Know." ‘‘Wei’, yon shall By mighty, we won’t leave anything in tlio dark a! out that, though 1 icekou you know rebel as well ns sent w« do We believe you’re a spy, tip here to hull out nil about ns Union people, and toko i bo news to old Harris or some of his cut-throats. Maybe, if we badu t oorne iu here to-night, you’d be oh to-monow, and next we’d see of you you’d kill be guidii burn. g the That’s rebel the horse up here to and charge, stranger, that you’ve got to answer; and less joc can answer it better’ll 1 think you can, you’ll swing from one of those tall tree* bout down 1 eiow hire fore the moon is an higher.” A low, tierce murmur of assent ran through fearful the room. Confronted menaced at him. last with the peril that his outward the prisoner never lost com¬ posure, though his heart sank at the prospect. right of in “You have no to dispose me this w ” he said, with a show of ealm- uess. before i’ake the me Union to headquarters; General and bring I’ll me answer to liim on this charge.” A scotntui laugh from the crowd greeted uis words “Union General!” repeated Baird, “We haint seen any; you’d have to go a good tind ways outside of Bast Tennessee to one, I reckon. As for Union headquar¬ in ters—they’re mountains. anywhere, They’re everywhere, right here iu those this cal in. r.t this minute! They’re iu every but up and down the Clinch Moun¬ tains where there’s a man, woman or child that’s !e irned to love (ho 1 mil that our fathers fought for, and to hate the cm sed aristocrats that want to split it to pieces. Union headquarters, do you soy? Here they ate.” “Here, And the speaker the heart smote of iiis In-cast. and iu each loyal East Tennesseean who skulks and hides from Harris’ minions, and prays Union for tho day that will bring the soldiers up this way and give him freedom!” Even the prisoner himself was thrilled by this out-mirs- of ru le eloquence-, but the speaker’s companions were simply cat-lied away by it. Tho narrow cabin rang with their shouts; cboei-H for Lincoln anil the Union, and groans for Governor Harris made for a few moments a Babel of noise. “I hope you’re answered, Baird, when the clamor ha 1 cc.i-.ed. “Y’ou’re in tho hands of tho men woo t-re go ng to try you; and if they find you guilty of being a rebel spy, they’ll delay hatip you, and there won’t bo any n’ oul that part of it, neither. How is it. bora— will you be the jury and I the Jud ,e?” The answer was one loud “Aye." “AH right, boys. I haven’t much lam¬ in’, but I reckon I can manage this. 1 was a Justice of the Peace down below here, ’fore everything was broke up about bj this war. and I know something trials. I've got the witnesses right here to prove ve guilty, and I’ll call ’em on First- “Wait,” interrupted the prisoner. “1 don’t believe for a moment that you waut to kill mo to satisfy some of your hatred toward tho rebels. 1 believe you to bt just men, if you are rouuh in your ways. I think I can satisfy you that Will I am not give at all what you take me for. you me a fair trial? Will you judge me fairly?" do. But “Just as fairly as it’s in us to I warn ye—there's a strong case agin you." The prisoner looked calmly at his judge and. jury, and there was little of hope within him as he did so. Wallace Baird sat rigidly before him; tho others stood and leaned on their rides, except tho two who hedd him by the arms. He knew that they had come there, not to try him, but to hang him; ho saw their verdict made up iu their stern faces. Y’et. as one will always cling to hope, ho resolved to try to move thorn by simple and direct ap¬ peals at the right moment. “Since I have nothing to conceal,” he said, “I do not think you will want any witnesses. I will toll you the exact truth, either in answer to your questions or in tho form of a narrative. Go on; what dr you want to know?" Wallace Baird began to question him. . CHAPTER III. AT THE GALLOWS IEEE. Baird held up the envelope again. “What do you say about this?” “Tbat letter was received by me in Vicksburg, through the Postoflice, last May. Tho person who wrote it lives in the same city. My name is Charles Smed- iey. I was once a Captain in the army. ” “Ain’tyou in the rebel service now?” “No; and I never have been.” “Well, the letter squints that way— that’s all. I’ll read it out.’,’ Smedley started at the proposition; but he quickly avail, realized and that his protest would be of no would tell against him. YVith outward composure, but with something like inward madness, be beard bis rough judge with some hesitation and stumbling read tho following; Vicksburg, Slav 7, 1801. Captain Smedley: Your note of yester¬ day is received. You complain in it that, 1 treat you distantly when we meet on tho street; you say that you have called re¬ cently at my father’s house, and that the airl at the door said X was not at home, when you suspected that I was at home. You ask me for an appointment, yourself. when you may see me and explain Sir!—there is but one explanation you can make that will bo acceptable to me. Tlie' timo bo for plain other speaking kind has between come, and there The South can no us. needs every ono of her sons; your State calls you to the field. I am a true daughter oi Mississippi, and will not smile on one who, born on her soil, hesitates to draw the sword for her and her sister States which have set up a new government. She has a right to demand more of you than of roost others: for you have experience, voa have already achieved a name men!’ in war, you are qualified to be a leader of be Colon* My father says that you may SPRING PLACE. MURRAY COUNTY. GA. MAY li, 1892. of the iafauiry cegitiient now raising here, if volt will but ask it. TeH him to-morrow morning that you wish it: and in tho evening you will not be turned away from our door. Otherwise It will be useless for you to come. Isabel Montfobd. “ Wen?” asked Baird. “I h ue not seen the writer of that let¬ ter since its date,” Smedley responded. “I left Vicksburg on the 8th of Miy and with much difficulty got through the lines. ” “What does the letter mean where it says you have experience in war?’’ “It means the. I fought with the Mis¬ sis* p: i Volunteers in the Mexican \i«r '. ”a onV” “Yes.” “Come, now, Mr. Smedly—if that’s your name—don’t try to gammon us in that way. YVe’re not fools, if we be ignorant. You don’t look more’n thirty now. “Thirty-one,” said Smedley. “The Mexican war was over thirteen years ago, at least. You wasn't old enough to be there"*” “I enlisted when I was sixteen. 1 fought in some of its severest battles. I won s Captain's commission for bravery at Mon¬ terey, where I was desperately wounded, I have fought hard and often for this country; I never raised my hand against her yet.” The simple statement, the tone in whirl it was uttered, made a certain impressior on his captors. But the Judge went or with bis questions. "You won’t deny that you was writing this here?” and he held up the unfinisbec letter. “And “I was writing it when you came.” it reads well, too! Listen to it:” In the Clinch Mountains, i Miss Montford: East Tennessee. Aug. 15, 18G1. j Your cruel letter is always with nut. j road it duily with such Heaviness o; heart, as you will never know. The day after receiving it. I left Vicksburg; It was needless to tell you why 1 must depart; and yet 1 often regret that I came away. But what was I to do? I never could accept you hard condition: to live near you and not to see you. not io speak, to you. would be impossible. I have not drawn my sword against the Mouth; how can I. with you against me? 1 hear of Union reverses; everything Isabel—— is doubtful; I know not what to do. O, “How Vicksburg?” d’ye send such letters as this down to “I do not send them. I never have sent one.” “What d’ye write ’em for, then?" “To occupy my idle moments; to relic v. my distraction.” “What d’ye do with ’em?” “I burn them up.” Baird looked round with a kind of tri¬ umph. about him, From the expression of tho faces Smedley'* it was received plain that credence. this part oi “What brought story no you up here, anyway?' pursued “Can’t Baird. understand it?” The pris¬ you oner spoke with impatience and irritation. “If you are not blocks of wood you will know what those letters mean. I wanted to get away from men and women; to try to get away from myself. That is why 1 came to this lonely region. There was nc other reason." “O, wasn’t tlie-e 0 What did ye make all iliese pictures of tho mountains and the passes for—if not Jo send 'em to the reb¬ els?" “I swear I had no such in ten 1 ion. It was only to amuse myself aud occupy my mind.” “What did ye goto Knoxville for, n week ago? And what did Harris’ soldiers Jet}*- come back for?’’ “I did not go there.” “You didn’t?" “No. the I started, intending to go then aud get news and some suppl.es that I could not procure up here. I got within six miles of the plice and was warned bj a friendly Union woman not to go on. Sho found out what my sentiments were by talking with me, and she told me that rebel 1. would surely if 1 be conscripted Knoxvillo. into I the army got to made out to buy a very small store of provisions on the way and I started back here. 1 was at Knoxville a mouth ago aud learned to be careful.’’ “Here’s three small books, called ‘Har¬ dee’s “They Tactics.’ YVkut be they?” The} relate to the study of war. tell how- to drill and manage infantry." “What he you doing with them?” “I was a soldier in Mexico, I told voa. I have always since taken an interest ir studying tho movements of troops.” “Horace!” exclaimed Burt Hankins. “I’ve lieatd that name before. I saw it in a paper. He's a rebel General.” Smedley was tempted to smile, but the lowering faces about him thought warned him that this item of proof was to be seri¬ ous. “The book was written years before thit war, ” he explained. “The author was ther an officer in the United States I army.” “Humph! Lots How of ’em was, hear, wht is secesh now. did you get tbat paper if you didn’t go to Knoxville?” “You "I got it of tho woman I spoke of.” don’t deny that you was born it Mississippi?" “No; nor that I fled from there 'when 1 became afraid that I would have to join the rebel army if I stayed. I tell you, 1 have suffered forthe Union—perhaps more than you have. If I have not fought fot it in this war, I have not fought against it.’ A brief silence followed his words. “Ho you want to say anything more?’ Wallace Baird asked. “Nothing. If I hare not convinced yoi that I am not a rebel spy, then I can not convince you. I have told you the truth. It’ I die for it, I can tell no other story. I am as good a Union man as the best oi you. ’’ He looked straight into Baird’s eves, and knew that this man. at least, believed him guilty of the charge. Looking round upon the other faces, he saw little en- couragement. him “Sanders, Bullis," said the Judge, “take outside. YYe will consult a little. ’’ He went out with his guards. They stood in dull silence near him, gun in hand, while the confused murmur ol voices came from the cabin. Smedley looked around him and off along the misty mountains, over which the moon wag shade, shining, light. leaving the steep slopes half half But an hour ago life had seemed to him an intolerable burden, a dull, dreary pain; now, when it was threatened to be taken from him, the thought He wondered of leaving it gave him a pang. w here he should be On the following when night; if Isabel would really be sorry she heard of his cruel fate; if shewould Bhed a single tear when- “‘TELL THE TRUTH” The men in the cabin all came out to gether and gathered about him. He read his doom in their faces. “Smedley,” said the Judge, “we have voted you guilty. Parts of your story arc reasocable enough; but it don't hang well together. Banders aud Bullis, wiiat do you say?” "He’s a spy,” was the answer of both. “Come along,” was Baird's brief an! terrible order. All walked about ten rods to the scat - taring timber. The Judge paused under an oak that had a stout branch twelve feet up. "This will do,” he sabi. “Got ready." his Smedley ankles s arms were bouudbehind him, were tied, and his handkerchief was fastened ov> r his eyes. The noose was placed round Ins neck, the rope wai passed in the over hands the of branch, three and the end victii) was men. The swiftly commended his soul to his Maker. “This “Anything to sav?” asked Baird. - is a murder!” was the firm replf. “You will learn tho truth too late. May God fear forgive death, von! but I am a soldier and di> not 1 ought not to die thus." Wallace Baird raised his hand. Smed¬ ley felt tho rope tighten about his neck; he was lifted from his feet. Flashes of flte were before his eyes. Followed by darkness, the loud, roaring of somethin? like the rush of many waters, and h« knew no more. CHAPTER IV. AT THE I,AST MOMENT. For several hours before these occur¬ rences a man mounted on a strong black horse bail been ascending the precipitous side of these mountains, toiling through the defiles, anil penetrating the gullies. The road was winding and often ob¬ scure; often it ceased to bo of the char¬ acter of a highway, and became a mere path. This but traveler was no stranger in this region, there were places where the way became unusually steep aud rooky, and which the direction was doubt¬ ful, at he would dismount and carefully examine the surroundings, liis and then mount again and resume way. Though sometimes embarrassed he never failed iu the end to spell out the right path. He was at this time about twenty-five years of age, and appeared, as he easily sat on his horse, to be of medium height, broad-shouldered and muscular. Ilia large, with brown well-shaped head was from covered hair which showed un¬ der his wide hat, liis face was fresh and rosy, mustache a curly brown manly beard look; and long gave it a and while the mouth was thus concealed, there was a straight, shapely nose above, and there were two such large and deep I blue eyes as are not often given to man . His face, as lie rode slowly along was a a mirror of thought. Anxiety wonl be pictured there, then resolution would flash from his eyes, and then sorrow ot apprehension of evil would take its place. furnished Tho saddle that ho bestrode was with bolsters, and once he took out the pistols that they contained and At carefully examined day them. sunset of this be drew roin on one of tlie levels of these heights, and looked away to the south. The whole region was flooded with light, and all its picturesque features wore spread before him as on a map. He could see the towering horizon, ridges that seemed lost in tho the valleys that sheltered un¬ seen villages, and even thread-like glimpses of the French Broad, winding down toward distant Knoxville. Long and earnestly he looked, and a sigh burst from his breast. ‘‘And this region, too, must be given over to the flames anil horrors of civil war! Great God! to think of the misery that How is have in store merited for this it? innocent What have people! we wo ever done that it should come upon ns? Why can they not leave feuds us elsewhere?’’ in peace and fight out asked their bitter He the questions, anil answered them in his own mind as soon bb asked. He was a student, a reader and a thinker. He knew the causes of tho ter¬ rible conflict of arms tbtit bad been launched upon the land, and be was able to foresee what all could not—its long, bloody and devastating course. Ho turned and rode on. HIh face grew stern and moody, and, although the path was growing steeper and more difficult, be urged liis liorse to a faster gait. Twilight passed, the moon rose as he went on. He had no eyes now for the imposing grandeur of the scone; his soliloquy hail turned his thoughts upon his mission up here, upon those he had left behind the previous day with tear¬ ful farewells, and upon the doubtful and troubled future. A great fragment of rock fell from a cliff near the road screeched into a deep from chasm, a by, catamount and the a tree near combined noises echoed and reverberat¬ ed among the mountains; but the rider hardly noticed them. It was, perhaps, two hours after moon- rise that he turned off through a narrow defile which led to a small level almost covered with trees. There was a small house, hardly more than a hut, and a iked behind it. “This rode is the place,” the he door said. and He up to gave a loud “Hnlloa!” Avery small panel was shoved aside, and the rider was con¬ scious of being inspected from within. “Who is it?” was demanded. “ Brandon-from Knoxville,” was the reply. The door was unbolted and flung open, and a middle-aged woman, clad in a coarse cotton gown, with throe or foui somewhat ragged children at her heels, rushed out. The horseman had seen her before, and had before observed the lingering traces of feminine beauty iff her face, almost obliterated now of by these care and sorrow anil the hard life mountains. She came straight up to the saddR and offered her hand. Her faded eye» shone with gratification. is it really you?' “Why! Mr. Brandon, knew when I lookei “I thought I you through tho peep-hole; but it’s so lonj since you've been up this way—not sine the war began, have you?—that I fearei we’d nevej-.see you again. We’ve heart abooiit from you once in a while, though, am all we know of what's going oi at Knoxville aud beyond is the viewi you’ve managed to send us. Butcome- get off, and come in. Dan, take tin horse and put him in the shed. Wall; won’t be back till morning, but he’ll bd glad enough to see you then.” [TO BE CONTINUED.] t 1J j ~ VI mm » ■'l L Nr 7 an Jiffs a BSMi m mmm y IS SM smkr 59 SYMPTOMS OF HOUSE INSANITY. YVheu a horse goes insane he is apt to kill himself by butting his head into a corner. At the Veterinary Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania, the largest of its kind in the country, such cases arc treated in an oval brick chamber, per¬ fectly dark. When this is heavily bedded with straw it is almost impossible for a horse to hurt himself. Insanity, or “dumminess,” in horses is quite common. It is sometimes caused by a lesion on the brain, and is incurable, but when caused by stomach disorders it is often treated successfully.—Chicago Herald. THE CURRANT BOIlKIi. The question is often asked why cur¬ rant bushes grow weakly. Now and then a while strong, vigorous shoot will appear, most are puny. Mehan, in his Monthly, says that in most cases this re- suits from the work ol' the currant borer, if a branch be cut across it will be found hollow. This channel is where the borer has been. Only a very small black punc¬ ture on the outside of the stem shows where the insect laid his egg. If one could get used to noting this puncture in tho fall of the year, and cut out such twigs and burn them, it would help cur¬ rant culture.—New York World. GEESE KILL GRASS. Formerly geese were raised here — Vermont—in considerable numbers, writes O. 8. Bliss, but feathers and car¬ casses are neither as profitable as they wore, and the birds were found injurious to pastures, and few are now kept. We kept the Euibdca, or, as they were then more generally called, the Bremen geese, for several years, and they paid well, but their run was so restricted that they pulled the best grasses up, so as to spoil the feed, and we got rid of them. Others kept the Toulouse, but our farmers gen¬ erally contented themselves with a pure¬ bred gander, and stuck to the natives and crosses. In my boyhood, father used to pick up among his neighbors enough to make up, with our own, a»sleigh-load of line carcasses and take them to Montreal every winter, and it paid; but you could hardly persuade any¬ body here to keep geese now if you gave them a good outfit of the best breed. Then the grasses grew spontaneously and luxuriantly everywhere; now the stand of grass is maintained only with care and expense, and a goose will eat and destroy as much as a sheep. I like to see a flock of fine geese, and if I lived where they could have a good run on strong deep land, where the grass could hold its own against them, I would keep them.—New York Tribune. WATER IN THE DAIRY. In every gallon of milk there is at least seven pints of water, a fact in itseif sufficient to convince one that good milk cannot be obtained from an impure water supply, and that a shortage iu quantity will be attended by an immedi¬ ate and corresponding diminution of the flow; indeed, it would seem that the importance of water as an element in milk production is represented by the fraction representing its value as a con¬ stituent. Some men seem to think that nature made the cow a filter or rectifying ap¬ paratus, into which any amount of stale, unwholesome aud impure water may be introduced with impunity, but the ex¬ perienced cheesemaker knows better. In the course of an extended experience as a cheese instructor iu Canada, Scot¬ land and the United States, the writer of this article has met with more diffi¬ culty from bad water than from any other cause. It is a fact that in nine- tenths of the pastures throughout the dairy belt there are low places, swamps and frog ponds, at which, in the course of the season, the cow are compelled to resort to quench their thirst, This ought not to be. No prudent dairyman will permit his dairy to drink at these places. They should always be filled up or fenced out, and an abundant supply of pure, living water be furnished at whatever cost. It requires from one to three pounds more of swamp water milk to produce a pound of cheese than it does of pure water milk, and it always engenders gaseous curd and cheese of loathsome flavor.—American Farmer. KILLING THISTLES AND BURDOCK. At a Farmers’ Institute at Hortonville, Wis., the essayist gave his method of dealing with the above weeds as follows : “If I had a patch of Canada thistles I would turn it into a pasture and salt my stock on that lot at least twice a week, and I would cut off at or below tho sur¬ face what I didn’t salt. If I could not turn it into pasture I would have a sharp plow and plow it, and drag it thoroughly after it was plowed with a fine tooth drag. Then cut them up wbeuever they tome up. I dug mine out twice a week with a spade. Iu the fall of the year the weeds came up thick, aud for fear I might miss some I put the plow iu aud plowed it up again, and killed them the iiist year. Kerosene will kill them, and SI.OO a Year in Advance. salt in a wet time will kill them. Brine will kill them.” The burdock lie cuts up as soon as he sees it. An old root in rich ground often has the crown several inches below the surface in loose, rich ground. Wheu cut below the crown they never sprout again, but new ones may come from the seed. .Until more than two years old they do not. run down more than two or three inches and arc easily killed. An old morticing chisel with a long handle is the best tool for such work, and it is improved by having a spur in the handle upon which the foot can be placed m cutting a tough root. Many other weeds iu the meadows or lawns are easiest killed with such an implement, and while it is quite a task to go over a ten-acre lot that is very weedy, yet the number of such weeds that come after a year or two of cultivation and seeding to grass is not large unless foul seed is sown.—Ameri¬ can Cultivator. ASPARAGUS. Asparagus is the earliest, easily cared for, and most delicious of garden vege¬ tables, yet in how small a number of gardens it is found. It grows with the ease of weeds, and when once started, if taken care of, it will come up every spring for a lifetime. It grows with great prolusion in the Southern States, coming up iu the gardens, orchards and grain fields, and for several weeks fur¬ nishes the farmers with a dish of the most it exquisite f<w profit, taste. and Many farmers grow when cultivated and fertilized it will yield a net profit of §100 per acre. Before the plants begin to start iu early spring the dead stalls of last year’s growth are cut aud raked off the field *vith a harrow, which loosens the soil at 'the same time. As soon as the young stalks reach the height of six or eight inches they are cut, trimmed, packed in bunches of twelve stalks to the buuch, and shipped to the city in crates. The cutting then continues at intervals un¬ til the people get tired of asparagus and it does not pay to ship. After the cut¬ ting is over the ground is thoroughly cultivated aud the plants are hoed aud fertilized. Asparagus can be raised from seed, but iu starting small beds the best way is to buy the plants. They can be pro¬ cured at small cost of almost auy seeds¬ man aud will give the bed a start of at least a year. The soil should be well prepared rich loam and the plants should be set out in rows eighteen inches apart and a foot apart in the row. Great care should he taken to get the roots spread and well covered. In the Northern States it is best to cover the beds some time in the fall with three or four inches of manure, and early in the spring salt should be strewn profusely on the bed. Salt is one of the best fertilizers for ns- paragus, and raw bone is excellent. Asparagus is a luxury which every farmer can possess, whether he lives at the north or south, and I advise all those who do not already enjoy this most de- lieicus of vegetables to set out a bed of asparagus this spring. It will do to be- gin cutting in a year or two, after which it will be a source of pleasure as well as profit.—Farm Herald. FARM AND GARDEN NOTES. Put your sawdust around your currant and gooseberry bushes. They need good manure also, aud will pay for it. YYe cannot make the finest grades of butter from any one feed; but there is no question about our being able to make good butter from ensilage,although not the best. If you will mix a ration of cottonseed meal, ground oats, wheat bran, wheat middlings or linseed meal with the en¬ silage, you will be able to make as good butter in January and February as iu June and July. Some asparagus grower claims that an improvement of fifty per cent, cau be made in the asparagus bed by selecting two-year-old plants that bear no seed. These are males, and the shoot3 from them will be earlier and larger. Keep a little box of ground charcoal, one of clean, ground bone, and one ol small, sharp flint before the poultry,and plenty of coarse,sharp sand on the floor; also, a box of ground oyster shells, as. grit. But in recommending these sub¬ stances it may be stated that auy kind oi sharp small grit will do. Squashes want light, sauiy soil, with abundance of manure placed directly in the hill with the seed. But two plants should be left in each hill, and they be given about 100 square feet of ground to run over. They can thus be made to produce five tons to the acre, worth all the way from $6 to $10 a ton. Where there are undesirable trees or shrubs,which it is desired to have killed so completely that they will not sprout again, June is the time to cut them down. The sap that was stored up from the previous year will have been ex¬ pended and none new will have been prepared, and life ends with the chop¬ ping away of foliage. NO. 10. SCIENTIFIC AND INDUSTRIAL. An average man breathes about 20,• 000 times in a day. A process has recently been discovered for mahing flour of bananas. When a belt gets saturated wiflfc waste oil, an application of ground chalk belt will soon absorb the oil and make the -workable. A tricycle to be propelled by electricity and to run at the average speed of ten miles an hour ha* hecu patented at YVashington. Bismuth melts at a point so far below that of boiling water that it can be used for taking casts from the most destruc¬ tible objects. Steel is now being used in the manu¬ facture of fence posts. This is an inno¬ vation on the old cedar method, and promises to meet with extended use. The Midland Railway in England has now running between St. Pancras and Bradford trial trains fitted with a hot water apparatus, supplied from the en¬ gine, for heating the carriages. Electricity has now been put to many uses, the very latest being the working of a machine which it was said will revolutionize the art of stone carving. The inventor is a Colorado man. It has been proposed to make the upper half of war balloons of very thin steel, and the lower portion of ordinary bal¬ loon material, the whole so constructed as to hold hydrogen instead ot ordinary gas. The descendants of a single wasp num¬ ber as many as 30,000 in one season. November is the fatal month which kills them all off, except two or three females, on whom depends the perpetuation of the race. No animal has more than five toes, digits, or claws to each foot or limb. The horse is one-toed, the ox two-toed, the rhinoceros is three-toed, the hippo¬ potamus is four-toad, and the elephant anu hundreds of other animals are five¬ toed. Sheet-iron kites, to enable a vessel when in distress during a storm to com¬ municate with the shore, have been sug- gested. It would be a curious experi¬ ment. Of course, sheet-iron can be made as thin or thinner than writing paper. In its wild state the elephant fends heartily, but wastefully. It is careful iu selecting the few forest trees wliich it likes for their bark or foliage. But it will tear down branches and leave half of them untouched. It will strip off the bark from other trees and throw away a large portion. Lettuce is a sleepy vegetable. It has narcotic properties in the milky juice that exudes when it is cut. The proper¬ ties of this fluid are analogous to those of opium, but without the litter's disagree¬ able after effects. The rapid growth ol lettuce iu a cold frame diminishes tne lomnolent quality of its juice. The hop vine is said to be sinistrorse because it twines with the motion of the sun, that is, from right to left. Beans, morning glories and all other species of climbing plants, with the exception of one of the honeysuckles, are dextrorse, turning opposite to the apparent motion of the sun, or from left to right. After you have become tired of payiug s tool-maker to forge and grind up tools, you will try to cast iron tools made out of old car wheel iron and albutninum al- loy composite, in either a cupola or cruei- bte furnace. They will take a greedy bite and not get discouraged; and will not require grinding so often as steel tools, A Good Pocket-Knife. The costliest pocket-knives manufac¬ tured for sale are retailed at a store iu New York City, which sells nothing but knives. There are 1500 different kinds on exhibition iu the window, ranging iu price from five cents to $23. The $23 knife is the costliest known. The out¬ side plates of its handle are solid gold, and it contains two small blades only, a nail file aud a miniature pair of scissors. There is a little hook in the handle by which it may be attached to the waten chain. The sales of the $25 knife are very slow. The largest knife in America is sup¬ posed to be in Cincinnati. It has fifty- six blades and a chest of tools in itself, containing almost anything from a tooth¬ pick to a cigar punch, from a pair of scissors to a handsaw. It is for sale at $500 and weighs thirteen pounds. Tho largest knife ever known was made by Jonathan Crookes, a workman for Joseph Rodgers in Sheffield. It had 1821 blades.—St. Louis Republic. tr” Poet’s Definition of Poetry. W‘l fiber sung, spoken, or written, poetrj .says E. C*. Steidman iu the Cen¬ tury, is still the most vital form of human | j expression. One who essays to analyze its constituents is an explorer undertak- j n g a quest in which many have failed, Doubtless he too may fail, but he sets forth in the simplicity, of a good knight w ho does not fear his fate too much, whether his desert*be great or small, In this mood seeking a definition of that poetic utterance which is or may become of record—a definition both de¬ fensible and inclusive, yet compressed into a single phiase—I have put together the following statement: Poetry is rhythmical, imaginative language, expressing the invention,taste, thought, passion and insight of tho human soul.