Newspaper Page Text
V
primj part limulmifp.
J. C. HEARTSELL, Ed. and Pub.
VOL XII.
EA.sn.-r settled.
■T UBS, M. K'ALLISTEB.
•What shall be done with the surplus?"
Is the Question that troubles them now;
Dear brothers, leave that to the sisters.
We'll settle It far you, somehow.
A tew of ns, maybe, have sealskins,
Some have diamonds and gowns of silk;
Yon know how necessary these things,
We need cream—no; any skim-milk.
Jnst give us a chance at the Treasury-
Ill tell you how you can do,
Have our names arranged alphabetioally,
And give ns a chance to go through.
How, Samuel, a secret 111 tell vou,
Please bend low your stately head.
To your ear, dear Uncle, be it whispered,
That some of us haven’t even bread.
Dftboit, Mich.
CAPTAIN SMEDLEY.
A Romance of the Ci vil
War.
BY MAJ. JAMES F. FITTS.
CHAPTEB IX.
AS ONE IN CHAINS.
,.Y j E are at Yicks-
r\ I burg, at the ena
w of May, 1861.
1 ASlaTlie M-^was place which
in the years
eA’large come to fill so
a space in
(jr the annals of the
> war had so far
I known of the
contest only The by
report. still
great river
(PPYig*, ran there “unvexol to fortifications the sea;”
) were no
jaCJS from Memphis to the Gulf.
New Orleans was still under
Confederate control, and
steam-traffic passed up and
down as usual. In fact the
time was so near the begin¬
ning of hostilities that the Union armies
had made but a feeble effort to seize the
great water-way, and the occasion had
not yet come for the Confederates to de¬
fend it.
The hot sun of that latitude at that
season shone down one afternoon on a
great fleet of river steamers at the land¬
ing, broad on others aud puffing the up fair and city, down rising the
stream, on
from the water up the heights two hun¬
dred and fifty feet above, its streets well
shaded with ornamental trees. Under
the wide veranda of n largo brick man¬
sion overlooking the river a family group
Bet enjoying the shade and the prospect
of city ana stream below them. An
elderly dently lady, invalid, pale, reclined emaciated, in and evi¬
an a wheel¬
chair. Opposite her was a corpulent,
bald-headed man of sixty, dressed in
fanltlesB broadcloth, with ruffled shirt-
front and wristlets, gold-bowed glasses
astride his nose, reading a copy of the
daily paper. His general air and ap¬
pearance were those of the comfortable
citizen, and a fine expression of after-
dinner complacency and satisfaction
lurked about the fat corners of his
mouth.
A third person finished the group. We
need not describe her; that has already
been done. Could Graham Brandon
have looked upon her at that moment he
must have owned that his friend’s de¬
scription of Isabel Montford was not
overdrawn.
She was not only beautiful; she was
stately, hair and splendid, brunette c .ptivating. face contrasted Her darn well
just with her simple summer costume, and.
Of now, varying for the omotions of anxiety,
enthusiasm Southern cause, of
hope and fear, alternately swayed that ex¬
pressive She held countenance. her mother’s hand;
she
looked affectionately at the invalid.
“Dear mother,” she tenderly asked,
“does not this mild air and bright sun
make you feel better?”
“I don’t know, Belle," was the languid
reply. mind “I am very weak. I should I think that if
my were at ease feel better
In body,”
The daughter’s dark eyes lit. “O
mother!" she said, “how can you doubt
pur cause? How can you fear that the
South will not succeed?"
“I hope for it, Bejle—that you know.
But you can’t judge of what is likely to
some, as I can. I was sent North to be
educated; I was for two years before my
marriage York. at a ladies’ academy in New
I learned something of the
strength of the North and its resources.
I have heard your father read tho papers;
I remember Lincoln’s proclamation, aud
the response of the Northern Governors.
The whole country seems to be aroused!
All are taking sides. I fear I may not
live to see the end of the struggle. ”
Mr. Montford laid down his paper.
“Why, madam,” he pompously said,
is “you already are very much mistaken. The South
periority of practically victorious; been tho su¬
her sons, has demon¬
strated where; in the Virginia, Unionists so it will be every¬
can not prevail
against her."
a The invalid sat with closed eyes.
“There wifi be battles f ought, and much
bloodshed,” * she said.
“0, very likely; enqugh to giy§ win opr gal¬
lant people an opportunity to laurels
in the field. But the end is not doubtful;
It must come within the year. We for¬
tunate people here on the river will be
merely spectators—the course of the war
can not reach us; the Mississippi belongs
of right to the South; we always shall
keep undisputed possession of* it. As
the fall advances there may bo a great
battle in Tennessee, possibly another in
Virginia; then Beauregard will take pos¬
session of Washington, and Johnston of
Cincinnati, and dictate terms of peace.
Mark my words—by the 4th of July, a
year from now, all this will be accom¬
plished,” 1
1 The gpgakgr rose, wqrm^h, •grayed the waited pqper over
his , ‘head’ in‘ his ana up
find air. down Th@ the invalid veranda sighed with deeply. a mqgnifipent
“Take me in, Belle,” she said. “I must
lie down. *
The daughter rose and wheeled in the
chair. In a few minutes she returned.
“Father,” she said, “I want to ask yon
a question. ”
'Proceed, daughter,"
SPRING PLACE, MURRAY COUNTY, GA. JUNE 9, 1892.
“Is this the twenty-third of May?”
“It is.”
She turned away from him an instant,
and examined the postmark of a letter
that she took from her pocket. It was
addressed to herself, and bore the Vicks¬
burg “I believe,” postmark of May.
she said, “that our young
men here have very generally volunteered
for the Confederate army.”
“Yes; to a gratifying extent."
She hesitated.
“Do you know if Charles Smedley has
done so?”
“ Smedley—yes, the son of my late
friend, the large cotton-planter. Why—do
you not know? Doesn’t he come here?”
“He did; but for more than two weeks
I have not seen him.”
“Ah, is that so? Well, my daughter, 1
rather suspect that you did not want to
see him.” ,
She made no answer. Her heart beat
fast, but she kept her seoret.
“I have not desired to see our gentle¬
men," she replied, "unless they eome
wearing Confederate gray.”
“That’s the talk, Isabel! Stick to that,
my iest daughter! kind of Southern Show yourself the spunk¬ You’ll
a woman.
ley—I help the haven’t cause gloriously. him As for Smed¬
seen nor heard of him
for some time; about the time you name.
He ought to he all right; he’s a native
Mississippian; flat-footed, but be’ll and have to come himself. out,
Shall I inquire soon, him?” explain
about
She hesitated again.
‘‘Yes, “To for yourself—not for me.”
be sure. There’s a boat just in
from above; I'll go down and see if
there When iB any good news from Richmond.”
she was alone she crushed the
letter passionately in her hand. She
looked at the street; no one was at tho
instant approaching; she looked within—
her mother was already asleep upon her
bed. The proud beauty unfolded the let¬
ter, smoothed it out, read it—and burst
into tears.
“I never wept for any man before," she
cried. “Shame upon you, Isabel Mont-
fordj—why has not answered do you weep call; for him? He
your he does not
love you well enough to make any sacri¬
fice for you. And yet—yet-"
The remainder of her thought was un¬
spoken. Her face showed that Bhe was
tormented by the thought.
Her feelings were too deep to be re¬
strained. gratification Soliloquy her. was a relief , if not a
to
“Oh, why, why,” she exclaimed, clasp¬
ing her hands, “can I not win him to this
cause? He could be almost anything he
chose in it. Ho has ability, experience,
courage. I must conquer his scruples.”
Sho glanced down the street aud saw a
man approaching. He was young, not
more than her own age, tall aud erect;
his face was refined and expressive, set
off by a long, drooping mustache, a
bright, large eye, and a complexion dark
fashionably enough to denote tho creole. He was
dressed aud carried a light
cane in his hand.
He came up the steps, raising his hat
as he approached. The manner and
aspect of Isabel Montford were now nil
hands changed. She came forward with both
extended; she greeted him with
bewitching “You smiles.
Landry,” are a wayward stranger, Mr.
she said. “I have not seen you
for two whole days. You promised to
keep me well posted about the war-news,
1 have depended upon you. Now toll me
all about it. What are our people do¬
ing; A what will they do, at once?
flush of gratification came to his
cheek.
“Pardon me, then, Miss Montford,” he
said, “that I have not dared to oome
each day. Gladly will I do so, if yon
permit.” “Provided
news,” she rejoined. only that you ’ bring mp good
“And provided-
hut that we will talk of further on. T’ell
pae your glad tidings, first.
“There is really little that is new,” he
replied. threatening “In Washington; Virginia, our people are
the Federals
arp but reported as concentrating at Cairo,
they General make folk nq move. is Nearer home,
pur force at-Memphis. assembling a large
wei}. Everything, The it seems
to me, goes on war must bo
brief; there may be a few sharp collis¬
ions—and we shall win.”
“Oh, that I were a man!” Isabel Mont,
ford cried, with flashing eye, extending
her would shapely not miss hare that arm strife in a for gesture. ourgfor, “I
ious cause, short as the struggle will be.
In the years to come, When anr groat
Southern Empire shall extend ‘ .over
Mexico, with New Orleans for jflpfi’roud
capital, I would shame to htsVe it said
that I was a grown man, and had no part
in the fray that made that nation!”
He stood there aud admired her,
Abashed and humiliated by her words,
feeling striving their keen sting in every nerve,
to repress his vexation—still, he
had to admire her. He had seen nothing
on the dramatic stage like her presence,
her passionate outburst of that moment.
She saw his embarrassment; in a
breath she was mild and gentle. “Come
in,” she said. “I have something to say
to you.
He fellowed her into the luxurious par¬
lors. His head was filled with a species
of intoxication at her flattering recep¬
tion. Never had from he met with his such
encouragement ' her; hear!
bounded with h|in hope.
She placed on the sofa, and seated
herself beside him. Without a tremor
She turned questioned her him, glorious eyes upon him,
and
“I am a daughter of Mississippi, of the
South,” she said. “It is for such as I to
see that our young men are uot wanting
at this crisis in their duty. I have
urged I them doubtful to do their part; some of
them am about. I want to
ask you. What do you hear of Mr. Smed¬
ley?”
She might have been an actress had
circumstances favored; she was acting a
part then. She kept her composure.
“ Smedley?” he questioned back. “ Why—
he has gone North."
She started, sjie wambled. Her suddpn
enaction “Toil'must dtd not escape him.
be mistaken,"‘she sajd, wjtk
an effort: “ What could Charles B,medley
be dojqg at the North, this?” among PUr <me-
prifis, at such a time as
‘'That is the place for snob as he,
Miss Montford.”
“For suoh as he? I do not understand
you. “The Please explanation explain yourself.”
is easy. Captain
Smedley is recreant he has left to our cause. For
that reason us.”
She s pran g up; she stam ped her foot
“TELL THE TRUTH.”
with excitement. Her eyes flamed; her
cheek glowed.
“I do not believe it; I will not believe
it!” she cried. “He has been slandered;
he never would betray his own people
and their cause in such a way. He has
been reluctant to take up arms. Others
have faltered, too.” And Stephen Lan¬
dry felt her eyes looking straight through
him. “But he will prove true.”
“Pardon me, Mias Montford; you are
sadly mistaken in him. I have' known
him well and observed his silence when
others pledged themselves to the cause.
I saw him take the steamer for Memphis.
He bade me farewell, saying that he was
going that to leave Vicksburg forever and
for faithlessness he hoped I would not reproach him
to our cause. I tried to
make him explain himself, but he wa£
wild in his appearance and manner and
rnueh disturbed. He turned away and
would not talk with me. It wag in this
way that I parted with him. He has not
since been seen here or heard from, so
far as I can learn. I cannot doubt that
he is at the North this moment.”
“When did this happen?”
He reflected a moment and answered:
“It was the 8th of this month.
The 8th day of May! She remembered
that her own letter was sent The previous
day.
She tried no longer to restrain her
feelings. “0. this is infamous!—it is
jruell” she cried, and sank Into a deep-
sushioned chair.
Mr. Landry sprang to her assistance.
She motioned him away.
“This is of no matter,” she said, with a
shaking hear of voice. such “It moves me, of course,
io treatment of the South
by her sons. There—it is past; I wml
think no more of it. 1 will never men¬
tion the hateful name of that man again.”
“He was my friend,” said Landry. “Yet
bis conduct is to be detested."
She —■
turned upon him like a tigress.
“Bad as it is, sir, is it for you to blatie
him? What have yon done—what are ypn
doing He for the cause ? ”
shrank before her, grand as sho
seemed in anger.
“My heart is in it,” he falterod. “But
you know-”
“Yes—I think I know,” she bitterly in¬
terrupted. and “You are rich; you love votir
ease your pi- this asure. You would give
your money for cause—but uot your¬
self. Others are uot too good to brave
the perils of war for the Confederacy; you
are too good. Is it so?’’
He was hard hit. His dark face flushed,
his whole frame trembled.
She stood before him. Her mood was
strangely winning; altered; again she was soft and
he wondered how he could have
thought heart but a moment before that her
“Why was will yearning for Smedley.
Her voice thrilled you not go?” sho asked.
him through.
“Do you ask it?” he replied.
“I ask it of you, of overy Southern-born
man.”
“But of me, now?”
“Yes-—of you. 11
Her words, her manner emboldened
him.
“What reward shall I have?”
“Tho reward that always goes with duty
well done. Perhaps promotion, fame:
who known.”
He dared to t ke her hand. “Y’ou do
not offer enough,” he cried.
“Goto the field,” sho said. "Do not
come back to me till the independence of
the South is secured. Then-”
She averted her face.
“And then?” he repeated, seizing her
other hand.
Her struggle was not yet over. There
wns a moment’s silence, and her whisper
came.
“I will not say yoi* nay.*
Ifo rapturously kissed her hands. “God
be praisefi for this hour!" he cried. “I
never hope—for thought to dare it. O, my queen,
my you I will endure all!”
Sho turned her face; it was as marble.
His eyes looked imploringly on her; she
stooped and lightly pressed her lips to his
forehead.
“Farewell, for a season,” he said. “To¬
morrow I shall join General Polk at
Memphis,” He
went out from her presence as one
in chains.
Jto ^c coNTrNu^rKj
“Ditto.”
There were three or four unoccupied
seats in the car, but he stood for a
moment, grip in hand, near the door,
and then walked to a seat in which a
young side her lady sat alone and sat down be¬
with an impudence that aston¬
ished all other passengers. The girl
looked up at him and around the car,
and for she evidently realized the situation,
took pencil and tablet from her
reticule and made ready for him. Af¬
ter about live minutes the man turned
to her and observed:
don’t “Beg pardon if I am mistaken, but
you live at Utica?”
She looked up in a furtive way and,
then wrote on the tablet and handeff
him:
“I am deaf and dumb.”
“Ah! By Georgy! Deuced pretty
girl to have such a misfortune. Well,
I’m left, after all n;v smartness, Saw
her at the window before I got on, and
Carrie# dumb, opt the plan to a dot. Deaf
eh? First one I ever
struck!”
Ho nodded his head to her to signify
that he understood, and he would have
been glad to change seats if he could
have done so without loss of dignity.
As the train thundered on he perused
the contents of a couple of newspapers,
yawned finished awhile, and then finally bought and
a novel, and the after a
ride of four mortal hours whistle
blew, ‘and he reached for his grip with
thererhari:
' “HI be hanged if I ain’t glad this
stupid “Ditto,” ride quietly has come to an end at last,”
she turtted him. replied the girl, aa
bn
there “Yqu—you—he gasped, as he stood
twelve looking kinds of emotion down upon galloping her with
over
his countenance.
“Good-by,” and dropped she said, and he hacked
out to the platform like a
man legs retreating from a mule’s hind
.—New York Sun.
Anstralia has 750 acres devoted to hot
cubure. '
RAISING BUFFALOES.
Trying to Save the Monarch of
the Plains From Extinction.
A Nebraskan’s Scheme for
Propagating the Species,
It was somewhere in the neighbor¬
hood of the early 80’s that “Buffalo”
•Tones located a drove of about fifty
buffaloes in the Staked plains of Texas.
He went down there with an outfit,bat
succeeded illy in the enterprise, the
few he got not surviving. Again ho
visited tho region next year and
searched the plains over, and again
his luck was poor. Two or three
salves were secured this time and
were brought to McCook, Neb., where
he owned a ranch and where they
were placed for safe keeping. Again,
with tho return of tho Beason, he
risited the plains, and in 1886 he suc-
seeded in making a haul, getting over
twenty and cleaning up the herd. The
older animals died in transit, but ho
succeeded in landing tho calves and
began the work of breeding.
Jones' ranch is admirably located
for the work to which he has put it-
His neighbors laughed at him as a
visionary when he began his pilgrim¬
ages to the Staked plaius, but now
they are ready to take all manner of
stock in him. Satisfied that no more
buffalo were at large Jones settled
down to reap the benefit of his efforts.
A few years after his first catch he
sold a couple of the now matured
buffalo for prices of a particularly
fabulous character, considering the
fact that only a dozen years before
the ancestors of these same animals
had been killed for their hides.
Jones was not content to grow the
regulation buffalo, however. He is
an experimenter, aud so he crossed
the breed with a stock of choice beef
cattle. When the calves were born
he was at a loss to know what to call
them, but at length decided upon the
name “catalo” as covering the parent¬
age on both sides. Tho catalo, when
growif, was found to possess remark¬
able merits as a butchor animal. The
breed was as hardy as the buffalo and
larger than either buffalo or cattle.
The fur was of a sort of half-and-
half coat between fur and hair. Ex¬
periment once again caused Jones to
see what would be tho effect on the
fur. The result was a lade resemb¬
ling cloth that had much the exper¬
ience of fur aud which was easily
handled and cut. Of this cloth is
Jones’ own coat made. It is a uuique-
looking garment and quite unlike any
other in existence.
Since his first cross Jones has tried
other experiments aud has brought
the trial down to sixteenth-buffalo
blood. There the difference between
the catalo and ordinary cattle is slight.
The best results, lie thinks, are from
quarter bloods. He now lias in the
neighborhood of fifty buffalo and a
large number of catalo and other
hybrids. Recently be sold teu of tho
full bloods to stock au English hun¬
ting ground or park for $10,000.
The animals were shipped to New
York in improved stock cars and were
thence taken on shipboard and attend¬
ed with extraordinary care to guard
against injury or sickness, The
change of climate, however, seemed
ttt affect them uot at all, for they were
delivered to their English purchaser
as sound as when they had left the
eorral at McCook.
Jones’ method of capturing tho
beasts in the start partook of the
nature of a detective expedition. He
traced them rather than hunted them,
and when they were finally located it
became a matter of extreme delicacy
to get all without injury. On his last
trip one bflll got away and made for
the west, Jones kept track of him
for mouths until he was finally lost
among the mountains of Colorado.
Even then the buffalo colleotor was not
satisfied until he had indisputable evi¬
dence of the death of the animal, and
this may safely bo considered the last
of the buffalo. The captured buffalo
were all driven overland when taken
to McCook.
Buffalo Jones purposes to continue
his breeding of buffalo for the money
there is in it, not from poetic reasons.
He values his fall bloods at $1000
each and declares he will be getting
pore as the years go on. He has tried
$1.00 a Year In Advance.
to establish shows with the animals,
notably on the shores of Salt Lake, but
his efforts have not been particularly
successful, so he will now let the other
people furnish the shows and he will
furnNh the buffalo, he being the only
man in the world who makes this his
regular business.— [Chicago Times.
Wiiat We Owe to the Arabs.
It was to the Arabs and the .Tews
that we probably owe the discovery of
America. Prom them the Spaniards
and Portuguese learned all that they
knew of civilization. The Arabs from
the ninth to the twelfth century were
the rulers of the sea, the founders of
European commerce. Edrisi, the Arab
historian, describes the harbors of
Almeria, in Spain, filled with the ships
of the East and of Lisbon (Eschbona),
the centre of wealth and trade. Two
Mohammedan travellers, or one, who
visited China in the ninth century,
found ita ports frequented by the ves¬
sels of their countrymen, who sailed
around the coasts of India. Edrisi,
again, describes the China seas, un¬
known to Greek and Roman, and the
Chinese ships as the finest of their
kind. The adventurous Arab sailors
were found on every sea.
It is from them that Portugal and
Spain learned the art of ship-build¬
ing, as most of the other arts. In
1466 the Spaniards everywhere clothed
in Arab dress, imitating the Arab
manners, riding Arab horses, and the
kings surrounded by Arab guards.
Splendid Cordova and matchless
Granada still ruled the taste of the
peninsula. Even the chief terms of
business and of naval afiairs, of police
and finance, the Spaniards borrowed
from the Arabs. The maravedi, an
Arab coin, was used in the time of
Columbus to express all their moneyed
transactions. It was at Lisbon that
Columbus first planned his voyage.
But long before, when Lisbon was a
flourishing Arab city, intelligent and
splendid, Edrisi relates that an expe¬
dition was sent out from its port to
explore the dark and unknown ocean.
The commanders were brothers knowii
as the Almagrurins, or tho Wandering
Brothers. They must have set soil
before tho year 1150.
They crossed the Atlantic, it is said,
visiting unknown islauds, and dis-
covering new lands. After a weary
voyage of many months they returned
in safety. A street was named after
them in Moorish Lisbon, called the
street of the Almagrurins. Possibly
the attempt might have been renewed,
and a Moorish city might have sprung
up in Cuba or Hispaniola, at Phila-
delphia or New York. But soon the
conquering Christians took Lisbon
and chocked its advance in knowledge.
For many centuries it was given up
to war and chivalry. At length it re.
vived tho Moorish instincts of trade
and commerce. Lisbon became the
centre of discovery, and Columbus
learned in its traditions, perhaps, the
story of tho Almagrurins.—[Harper’s
Magazine.
Cost of the Thirty Years’ War.
The thirty years’ war cost Germany
halt her people; the almost incessant
fighting of the monarchial eighteenth
century and the bloody wars arising
from the French revolution and the
unsleeping ambition of the First Na¬
poleon kept the population at a low
figure, lu 1816, when the Corsican
master and destroyer of kiugs had
been finally chained to his rock at St.
Helena, exhausted Germany was
scantily peopled. Her entire popula¬
tion at that period was only 24,881,-
896. In 1890 this had increased to
49,689,758; and this increase had
come in spite of a German emigration
during those years of at least 6,000,-
000 .
Crystals Like St. Andrew’s Cross.
If small quantities of butter, lard
and beef fat be separately boiled and
slowly cooled for twenty-four hours,
the resulting crystals will show very
marked differences under tho micro¬
scope. The normal butter crystals is
large and globular. It polarizes bril¬
liantly aud shows a well-marked St.
Andrew’s cross. That of the lard
shows a stellar form, while that of
beef fat has a foliated appearance. In
course of time, as the butter loses ita
freshness, the globular crystal de¬
generates and gradually merges into
peculiarly rossette-like forma.— [New
York Journal
NO. 14.
The River.
.•Tor centuries oceanward it has flowed oa.
Through moorland wild, beneath the hills’
great feet,
Past orchards rich and flowered meadows
sweet,
Singing its happy lay; the sun has shona
In silver splendor o’er it, and the moon
Has blazoned silver etchings here and
there
Upon its glancing waters; the soft air
Has crisped it, and the winds made sullen
moan
Above it, like weird spirits seeking rest.
So flows my life through scenes of joy and
woe:
Around me now sweet summer flowers
blow,
And now I seem the dreary desert’s guest;
Yet, like the river, ever on I move
To the vast ocean of eternal love.
—[William Cowan, in Chambers’s Journal
HUMOROUS.
In the spring the young man’s fan¬
cy lightly turns to thoughts of loaf.
When an alligator basks in the sun
you may think he has a soft snap, but
he hasn’t.
It is hard for the average husband to
be cross to his wife when he wants to
have a button sewed on.
Excuse me, madam, I am afraid I
very late. Oh, my dear Herr von
Eifferl, you are never too late.
The love of money is the root of all
evil. It is always best to go to the
root of things if you would succeed
in life.
He (rejected)—Better reconsider tho
matter; you are not so young as you
were once. She—That is the reason of
aty-refusal.
Mr. Hogan (after hammering on the
door for five minutes)—Is it dead or
alive ye are? Mr. Grogan (within)—
Nather, I’m slilapin’.
Marriages were never so much a
failure to a man as when something
goes wrong at home that he can’t
possibly blame on his wife.
“You seem to be a man of exten¬
sive views,” said the talkative man in
the train. “I am,” was the answer.
“I’m a stereopticou lecturer.”
“Do you guarantee them eggs?"
“Yes, ma’am. If there’s one o’ them
eggs as won’t poach, provided it ain’t
been opened, we’ll take it back.”
Mrs. Flopp (entering store)—la
Mi% Paine in? Clerk—No, ma’am;
he has stepped out. Mrs. Flopp—
Will he be in after a bit? Clerk—
Possibly; he has just gone after a
saddle.
There can be no doubt that every
wife in this land loves, esteems, re¬
spects and honors her husband, but
when a mother wants to be especially
severe on her offspring she invariably
remarks that he is just like his father.
Corporal: Ou the field of battle •
brave soldier will always be found
where the bullets are thickest. You
understand? Private Schnorr, where
would yon be found, then, ou the
battlefield? Recruit—In the ammuni¬
tion wagon.
The Rev. Dr. Primrose—I hear
your husband is dangerously ill. 1
hope he’s prepared if the worst should
come? Mrs. Surface—Pm happy* to
lay he is. Pa insisted upon his tak¬
ing out an insurance policy before he
married me.
Adaptability of Insects.
Insects, says American Garden, are
particularly qualified to adapt them¬
selves to changed conditions. An in¬
sect fed upon wild plants in Colorado,
occupying a limited area which was
largely determined by the disti^bution
of the food plants. A cultivated plant
closely allied to the_ wild plants was
carried westward to Colorado. The
insects attacked it, liked it, and
spread. The plant was the potato,
and the insect became from that time
the potato beetle. A maggot lived in
wild thorns. But it chanced to find
better and more abundant food in the
cultivated apple. It spread, and be¬
came tho apple maggot. A grub
bored in oaks and other forest trees.
The forest trees were lessened, and
fruit trees were increased. The inseet
attacked the fruit trees aud became
known as the flat-headed apple-borer.
An insect in Europe lived upon flow¬
ers of figwort, occasionally attacking
furs and cloths. It came to this coun¬
try and attacked carpets, a habit
which it does uot possess in its native
country. In America it is the carpet
beetle. Instances of changes of hatft
are abundant.