The Fayetteville chronicle. (Fayetteville, Ga.) 1886-1???, November 05, 1886, Image 1
CLARK A JiILL"Editors and Prop’rs.
FAYETTEVILLE, GEORGIA, NOVEMb- - 5, 1886.
Vol. 1. No. 1.
"Dri* oloMr Jennie. for my rok* U vMk.
A nd Mir tl wftrtlrt m* th*» noo to iDMk, •
B«i tb*rt* t* «>m«tblnm lyin’ on my halrt
Thai I maun liofctta, laaa. a fora wa part.
Tp>« barn a *utd wlfa, Jennla. and a trua,
Aud waa am I to leave you aa I do—
Wl' Uttlr balnm o' tbe warl'a weal
F»*rby the bo-ale and the eouter'e ataaL
“But y« are younp and irl*, and wael I aee,
" en* na«' n lu irruw for a carle Ilka me.
Ye ll hm« want w«oera when my baivea are
laid
Amani the ro<x»b-atweel a oauldlfe bed!
“Tak bent, and dlima throw yrracl awa , aa
A cmnna b-*dy la ron Hueh UcOrmw,
And ane m»ur ridant never ca'd a pnxl;
Think w«el o' Hugh when I'm auoath tka aod.
“There'* Dario Btronach, wha waa hara yaa-
irren,
I taw him watch ya wl’ hla wanton eea;
I like ua Dert*\ i>»o' a Mmppln cbUU
And aa the war I ftnrt, forehaull waali
“He'a nao to Hpp n till: tak my advice
And let him rang —for haitb It will be wla#|
1 c-'Uldna n at amanr decent km.
If ale a ally tyke should tak )t In."
' Heat or nee real. I tell you anc- for a’.
I n i*« vor fMali inya-I wl' Hugh McOraw;
' on a Mllydralglc ! In can geng to poll
I'M jlat tak Davie and the acre lotr’
A Maitiaod.
WHY 1 KKI’KNTED.
When I was a young man I (all Id
lovi\ ah young mull generally do, with
the girl who camu handiest. This par
ticular 'girl happened to be Bello Bur
ton. and I devoted myself to her—rode
with bur. boated with her (it wee a
country place whore we met), walked
willi her. talked with her, begged hor
for the roses she wore in her hair, and
tried in vain (for I was no poet) to
make sonnets not only to her "eye
brows,'’ but to her hair, her cheeks, and
her lily-white hands. In fact, I went
through the pretty dream of first lore as
most young people do, aud it ended, aa
it generally duet, in an unpleasant
awakening.
One day the stage arrived at the hotel
with a dozen dashing New-Yorkers for
passengers. The next, one of them ob
tained au introduction to Belle Burton.
There waa no doubt whatever that he
waa handsomer than iiicd usually are,
or that bis grace and accomplishments
were equal to bis personal charms.
Handsome Arnold he was generally
called, and girls went into raptures over
bis large, loug-laahod eyes aud blonde
mustache, and men feared hi* brotd
shoulder*, deep chest, aud splendid
proportions For my part I hated him
from the first, for no sooner had he ap
peared upou the carjiet than Bello
seemed utterly to forget my very exist
ence.
I suppoee she had never cared any
thing about me, but she had liirioil with
me while there was no better fun to be
had, and 1 was not old enough to know
that the man she loves is the one no
woman ever flirts with. With Arnold
tho waa rather graver than with moat
men, but her eyes sparkled as he ap
proached her. She blushod when hie
name wa* mentioned, and cared tor
jothlng in which he had not eome
•bare. In fact, it was as plain that aba
was In love with him as that he was de
voted to her; and there was no doubt
in any one’s mind that all this would
end in a wedding. It wa* a good
thing, said the old people, for poor
Belle Burton, for sho "had nothing."
»'or my part it seemed to me that all the
tuck was Arnold's.
I should have taken my departure and
put myself out of tho way of hourly
torture, but I did not do so wisely. I
fingered about the place and did small
things to spite tho happy pair—Intruded
on the tete-a-tete*, managed to force the
eoclety of some excellent and loquacious
jiatron or some troublesome child upon
them, looked daggers of* contempt at
Dim and forgot to pass the butter to
•er. At last a grand chance to annoy
him occurred, lie was a good rider
end proud of his accomplishment, and
he bad a restive, nervous animal which
os boasted no one could rid* but him
self. I had heard him declare himself
S perfect msater of the creature, who
ad never given him serious trouble
.•(.re once, when suddenly brought Into
the presence of an artist who was sketch
ing under a white umbrella.
"That." said Handsome Arnold, "wa*
•oinefhing Prince could not under
stand, and made him forget who held
the bridle."
As be raino prancing up to the gate
or rode away with an air I used to wish
for an artist with a white umbrella. 1
desired to see that fellow unseated and
ingloriously turned into the mud- That
would have made me happy; and once
when he had offended me more than
over by his gallant style of riding I
sauntered out into tho flclde—cursing
him in ray inmost soul—when what
should 1 spy in the middle of the grass,
intent upon a bunch of clover, but a fat
pro Kapliiielito artist in a white suit, a
dapping hut. and a white sketching
umbrella that would have frightened
tho clergyman's gray mare, who wa*
nearly as old as himself, into being a
runaway.
I rushed toward this artist with en
thusiasm. I took off uiy hat to him. I
said:
• Sir, I rejoice that one of your glori
ous profession bss at last visited ua
You love the minute, I sec. Have you
noticed the spider-web* on the black
berry busltc* st the torn of the lane, the
dev sparkling on the silvery dim, the
delicious fruits growing beneath—have
you seen that, sir?"
The pre-Raphaellte artist scratched
hi* beau with hi* brush end said:
••WeU. bo. I ain't" , ,
"WU1 jou ootae and eea It s^F I
•aid. “Will yo« make h fatnsoftal oa
yowoaavM?
The pre-Raphaellte artfct replied:
“Well, 1 wouldn't ala ' "
I did not care whet he t d eo that ho
came. Idy object was not art; U waa
the white umbrella 1 desired to have
him seated where the eye of handsome
Arnold'* restive Prince would fall upon
him as he turned the corner of the
e rden walk, aud to that very spot I
gulled my artiat and there stationed
him. and, when he bad settled with
Chinee* precision to bis spider-web and
blackberrlu* hid uiyself oehiud a tree
to enjoy the oomic eoene I fully ex
pected would follow.
1 heard handsome Arnold bid adieu
to the ladiea 1 heard the patter of his
horse’s feet upou the road, and In a
moment more I saw him come gayly
on, a smile upon his handsome face, s
rich color on his cheeks—youth, health,
strength, happiness expressed In every
curve end outline of his statuesque
for so. The Best las last Prince had
seen the white artist aud the white um
brella Afid then—then, Heaven fore
give me, not the amusing spectacle of
handsome Arnold's disoomfiture that I
bad hoped 'o ace. He kept his seat,
while Prince, rearing and plunging,
dashed wildly away with him toward a
precipitous path along the cliff side and
vanished like a mad thing with hie
rider still upon his bsck, going straight
toward a certain awful precipYoe which
overhung the rocky river shore below.
I cunuot go ou. They picked him
up just alive, no more, at the foot .of
that preoipice; and they carried him a
mere mass of broken bone* and bleed
ing flesh back to the great hotoL Late
at night I crept softly up-stain on my
way to bed, and, passing Belle Burton's
door, heard those slow, heavy eoba that
tell of a breaking heart issuing thenoo.
"lie cannot live." the meetenger had
■aid, and 1 was perhaps doubly a mur
derer. I thought seriously of adding to
ray crime by committing suicide that
awful night a
But poor Arnold did live. He had a
wonderful ooustitution, unbrokeu, as all
the meu who knew him knew, by dis
sipation of any kind, and it is hard to
kill such a man. Ho lived, end strength
returned to him at last; but no one
would call him handsome Arnold any
more. Jle had fallen on his faoe on the
horrible, jagged rocks, and during his
illness all his bonny brown hair bad
turned gray. No one would know him,
they told me; aud so powerfully had hi*
beauty and his sweetness effected even
men of coarse natures that they uttered
these words for the most part with tears
in their eyea A* for myself 1 would
rather have seen a ghost
Yet the sight was forood on in*. On*
day I reoeived a note from kim asking
me to oome to tho hotel, aud it was
signed—Henry Arnold.
I had no choice. I could not refuse.
I went to him.
\l I saw hin> snntih lie»gm> bik
chair in tho room to which tho waiter
showed me—as ho nroso and adVfcnoed
toward me, and I saw that ho limped
heavily—1 wonder that ho did not aie.
I felt the blood leaving nit face, and 1
saw the hot flush rise to his, as he no-
ticod the shock It gave me.
But ho only said:
"Sit down, it is klud of you to
ootne."
1 staggered to a chair, and I saw
nothing for u while; vet through it all
I wondered what lie thought of my
strange conduct, and hated myself for
my weakness.
At last he spoke:
“I see how 1—how my apposranoe
affects you," he said, very sadly. "It
is a horrible tiling that 1 am trying to
grow used to. 1 wish I had broken my
neck. Of course, any man would under
the circumstances. But I did not ask
you to oome that I might say that to
you I want you to take a note from
me to a lady at your aunt'* house, if
yon will be eo kind. I chose you be
cause you are, as it woro, one of the
family,* aud you will be very careful and
—ana kiud, 1 know, it Is to Mis*
Belle Burton. I had hoped to marry
her one day. Of course, all that is over
now. No one would—no women oould
—overlook my hideous appearance.”
Ilia voice broke a little, but he went
on brevely.
"So I have writton to her. I do not
want her to see roe, end X shell go
abroad in a week or so, end—you'll toll
her you’ve seen me. you know. I have
loved her very much. I alwaye shall;
and tbl* is terribly hard."
He broke down entirely there, and
took e letter from his bosom end put It
Into my bend.
"Give It to her," he said, and turned
sway.
1 went straight to Belle Burton. I
found her In the garden, end I told her
from whom I oame and gave her the
missive. She read It through gravely,
but without tsar* Then eh* looked at
me with eyes that bed euoh a solemn,
holy look in them, as on* would hop*
to see In an angel’*.
"Edward," she said, "he ssys he Is
frightfully altered; I* it so?"
••Yes," I answered.
"My poor boy!" eeid the "As If
anything could change me but e change
in hi* heart. Will you take me to him,
Edward? I must go at ono*”
"Command me," I said.
She caught up the wide strew hat on
the bench beside hor end drew on her
glove* end took my arm. 1 never
loved her so well as I did ihen, but, for
onoe. It wee with a perfectly 'unselfish
love 1 knew what ebe wa* about to do,
and 1 blessed her for It. '
And eo 1 took her to him; my hand
opeued tho door of hie room fur her;
my eye* saw—ye* and gladly—that
however that changed face might affect
others it only meiTo hor lovo for biro
more binder. 1 sew her rush into hie
arm* ana hide hor head on lilt shoulder;
and then I went softly itway and hid
myeelf whore no ono oould sou mo, and
cried like e baby.
Ab! well, that is a good while ago,
end they have been very hapny. The
big *:llow Is always as graceful a* ever,
ged M fur his faco—1 do not think *t
would matter much to mo wliat my
faco was if any one lowed it ss well es
Belle does his.
1 go to see them sometimes, and my
road fancy of knvc'ing down and con
fessing my share in tho horrihlo affair
of tho past is quite abandoned. Be
sides, Bello's daughter is 16 now, and
if an old follow of SC—all! well, who
knows wliat may happen in the future?
Only that would be auolhor story quite,
and 1 need not tell it here. If it is
written it is written.
The Summer Care of Young Chil
dren.
It goal almost without laying that U
is more dlflloult to guard the health of
young children la warm weather til A
In cold. We have but to eee that a child
is thorourhl. protected against winter
oold, without much regard to the dif
fering degrees of intensity, while in
summer the varying heats aud damp
nesses often render our climate troplo
one day, and cold the next Such var
iations are tryiug to the delicate organ
izations of children, especially of baoles,
and the greatest care must be used to
protect them aud at the same time en
able them to grow and gain strength.
The food, the clothing, aud the air
breathed, are our tools to work with
end, in the wise management of them,
are our safeguards.
The most perfect food for a baby is
Its own mother's milk, always provided
the mother ie healthy, not over-workod
nor exoeeeivelv nervous, and not. like
Martha, troubled with much serving.
The milk of such mothers is npt to make
"colicky" babies and in that case Baby
is far better with some preparation of
milk or other food which can be relied
upon to be always the same. Care and
judgment aloue will determine the par
ticular form of food which will agree
with each individual child. Hut once a
food is found reliable, keep to it alone
and do not allow yourself to change
from one sort to another except under
medical advice. A young mother's
heart is so full of love and unxiely (or
her bab$ that her judgment is often
wcakeued and a reliable food abandon
ed on aocount of some temporary ail
ment.
Let the most perfect accuracy aud
cleanliness be used in preparing the
food, snd let nothing be too trifling for
attonlion in a matter which so vitally
concerns the dear one. By nil means
use a thermometer to test the heat of
water or milk, and let there be no guess
ing in measurement. For cleaning jars
or Dottle* In which mils has begp sept,
nothing is better than "bird gravel,"
which u sold for the use of caged bird*
a terapooutut oi —*.<
soap, Well shaken, will perfectly clean
any bottle If tbit is done onoe a day.
the thorough rinsing of a nursing bottle
after eaoh use will keep that article per
fectly sweet in any weather. A mother
should attend to tnls personally, aud it
cannot be urged too strongly that she
take time to food the child herself.
(Having the milk safely in the bottle is
by no means an assuranoe that the child
will be properly fed.) Thia need not
be made unduly burdensome
Regularity should be the first rule o(
Baby’s life; regular feeding and regular
sleeping. Regular feeding times in the
day, and each day the same time, will
make the matter comparatively easy,
and is the only healthy way.—Mrs
Agnts B. Ormsbee, in Good Uousekcep-
ing.
He Hadn't any Situation.
A dsy or two since a gentleman of
good address called at Gov. Stoneman's
office, at the capitol, and walking up to
ward him said, in a docidedly business
way: "1 want a situation.”
The governor was somewhat non
plussed gt so abrupt and unmistakable
an application for appointment to some
soft place of political favor, and after
hesitating an Instant replied! "Well,
what plaoe do you want?"
The oaller, with Increased attention
to busines* replied? "I want a situa
tion, slrt"
The governor followed with two or
three parrying remarks, such as an exe
cutive can ao skillfully do after practi
cing in turning away offloeeeekor* by
thehundred and making them all feel
that they have their pockets full of
"prospect*” but which always fail to
materialise. To each of these the pres
ent would-be officeholder responded
with, “1 want e situation."
Finally the governor's equilibrium got
out of hinge and suddenly letting down
two or three of the top bars of official
dignity he started to fire the intruder
out, with emphatic words of refusal,
•aylng, "I haven't got any situation for
you!'”
Without waiting for words which
were evidently to succeed those, tho
Ty "Hide" y lo ''nrtve."
A voting woman’haTln k "pealed to
the for the correct m.js of the
y< rdi 'td* sad drive, that authority in-
fonucdrher that "M> a yowng wtMflan
horseback wlth-a young man
•tie rid, i with him; but if sho goes with
k m In a carriage or a ’buggy’ she
orlvos vv ith him." From this dictum the
Washington /W dissents, declaring
that tin re is no foundation for it, either
in grammar or in best current usage.
‘As a matter of fact," it says, "one
does i.de in a carriage, and usually
does ni\ dri ,c, but hire* a cheap gian
to dfivr for him. It wiP answer-well
.efietiyk in England, where equestrians
,n OT T_AC' j'- 'isuon, to irmke the dlsorlmina-
tilA'fli* v .boh tho Sun explains, but It has
4o allocation to this country, where
lucre are more who ‘ride’ on bicycle*
than on horseback." The usage In this
part of*ho country among many culti
vated peoplu who are tint mere "verbal
dudes uni! rhetorical exquisites" sanc
tions the distinction made by the Suq.
But th- re is no authority for it in the
best English dictionary. Stormouth
gives \ho words os synonymous. A
"ride” ts “an excursion on horseback
or in a vehicle," and te ride is*to "be
borne or carried along, as In a carriage
or on horseback.” A "drive” ia, *o-
■sordini; to same authority, "a ride or
excursion in a carriage;” while the verb
signifies "to guide or regulate, as ^he
horse.- in a carriage.” This would seem
to liniit the driving to the ono whq
drives, all others in the carriage simply
riding The obvious nnd root meaning
is commonly the best One certainly
rides, but does not drive on horseback;
he ridis, but may not drive, in a vehi
cle. To say that vou have been out
•'driving” conveys plainly enough the
fact that you have been in a carriage.
'To say that you have been "riding”
Xnay r-quire a descriptive word to tell
the whole story. It was this fact prob
ably, which led tho country folks to sav
"buggy-riding" and "horseback-rid
ing." The latest word, “horseback-
ing,” is dreadful. The suDi of the mat
ter is that it la oorrect to say either "to
drive" or "to ride" to indicate an "ex
cursion in a carriage;" and that to in-
dicaU^en equestrian excursion plainly
one most say “In tho s*ddlo” or "oa
horseback.’ * 1 * * * S -—Boston Utrald.
tow Animals Practice Mrdlolnn.
Animals got rid of their parasites by'
using >iu*t, niqd, clay, otc. Those suf
fering from fever restrict thoirdiet, koep
quiet, ,cok dark, airy places, dfcink wa
ter eiyi sometimes plunge into it. When
* dog", as lost its appetite It eats that
e. gl— 1..VWI.
which'sots as an emetic and a purga
tive. Cats also eat grnas. Sheep and
cows, /when ill, seek out certain • herbs
An animal snfferiag from chronic rheu-
raatlsfn always keeps, as far as possible,
in the sun. Tho warrior ants have
regularly organized ambulances. Lat-
reule cut the nntcnmn of the ant, and
other ants came and covered the wound
ed part with a transparent fluid secret-
od from their nioutha If a chimpanzee
is wounded, it stops tho bleeding by
placing its hand on tho wound or creas
ing it with leave* end grass. When the
animal h&s a wounded leg or arm hang
ing on, it completes the amputation by
means of Its teeth. A dog, on being
stung in the muzzle by a viper, was ob
served to plunge Its head repeatedly for
several days into running water. Tbls
animal eventually recovered. A sport
ing dog wa* run ovor by a carriage.
During three weeks in winter It remain
ed lying in a brook, where its food was
taken to it This animal reoovered. A
terrier hurt its right eye. it remained
undor a counter, avoiding light end
best although it habitually kept olose
to the fire it adopted a general treat
ment rest and abstinence from food.
The Ideal treatment consisted In licking
the upper surfaoe of the paw, whioh it
applied to the wounded eye; again lick
ing the paw when it bcoame dry. Ani
mals suffering from traumatic fever
treat thehiselves bv the continued ap
plication of oold water, which M. De-
Ianney considers to be more oertain
than any of the other method* In view
of these Interesting facta we are, he
thinks, foroed to admit Bat hygiene
and therapeutloes as practloed by ani
mals may, in the interest of psychology,
be studied with advantage.
Many physlelans have been keen ob
servers of animals, their diseases, end
the methods adopted by them In tbelr
efforts to cure themselves, end have
•vsllfkl of the knowledge so brought
under' their observation In their practlo*
—A’«w Orltant Picagunt.
Teaching Children.
A glance backward at the so-called
"good old times" will soon convince
•trenger quickly put out his hand for the veriest pessimist that in th* matter
recognition, and with a hearts laugh 0 f the treatment of children the world
laid: "Hn» tro vniL old bnvP"
said: "How ere you, old boy?
The governor flushed with embarrass
ment for e moment, but after the ex
change of a few words he recognized
and hoartlly greeted Gen. De Csncey
Floyd-Jones, a follow classmate at Wes
Point when they were leaving their
teens, and subsequently officers of the
seme regiment In the regular army prior
to tho war of tho rebellion. They bad
not met for e long time, nnd during
that period advancing years had brought
•ilrered hair ind other change* w hlch
covered the lints of former femille. 4
taco* — Sacrame a to Bccord- Union.
During a thunder-storm el New Rich
mond two thunderbolts went through e
f Allow, oo* et each end. A young
ady’s heed reposed on th* pillow, end
her hair was singed and ruined, and
her faoe bunted. Next time she will
hang her heir on the beck of e chair In
a distant part of th* room, where e
thunderbolt can get at It without sooroh-
lng her face.—Borruloton Utrald.
has advanced rapidly of late. There
was a timo In the history of European
civilisation when the father had the
power of life and 'death over his
children, *nd there are still parts of th*
world where this Idea U not extinct,
fiber*wm a time, and It was not very
long ago—scarcely a century—when
th* only idea of the school was a plaoe
where a schoolmaster, armed with rod
or whip, forced unwilling youngster*
to devour the contents of books with
their eyes end regurgitate them from
their mouth In vain repetition of word*
This Idee ia not dead yet, because th*
old style of teacher Is not dead yet:
hut It i. dying, as dies the dtrkness of
night, before the dawn of the Idee that
teaches that children mtnt be taught
to think, and that their weakness gives
bo men or woman the right to 111-treat
them. — PMadtlpb\a Ktcord.
Princess Mercedes, eldest child of th*
King of Spain, 1s said to be preooetoua
and pretty.
ETCHING.
A Visit to tho StuOlo „I on Artlet-Tto
Tools Mo Works ’.VUh anil I ho
1£(Toots (Is Crotlucos.
On the top door of a high brick build-
ir which fronts ono of the largest
squares in this city, says the Now York
Comtntrcial Advertiser, it tile studio of
an etcher whose name on nu artist's
proof is a sure guarantee that tho sub
ject is worthy a place in any salou.
There -is something characteristic in
the homo of every artist -something
w^ich enables even a casual observer
to classify the occupant et onoe. So the
first glaoce st the room In questioh
leaves no doubt in the mind of a visitor
that it is inbebited by e man devoted to
art The hardwood floor is covered
with ruga; the walls are lined with un
framed pictures and nlastor of •Paris
models; the panels of tno door and the
larger pieces of furniture are decorated
to corrokpond, aud iu the center of all
(■lands the eH^el.
It is to l*e obs» ved, however, that the
easel does not occupy the principal
place in the room. Indeed, it may be
.said that Ibis alone constitutes the chief
^difference, in the genera! appearance,
between a painters and an etcher's
studio. 'The paifiter executes his work
ou a piece of canvas, stretched over a
traine. and placed on au easel. The
etcher does his work on a heavy cop|>er
plate, placed Bat on the top of a table.
Near at hand are a set of sharp-pointed
steel tool* etching ground, spirit lamp,
a twisted lump of "wall-wax. ’ burnish
er, and rolior.
On a certain rainy night -the writer
wn« seated in a comfortable chair in
this studio. Crackers, chocse, and boor,
unfailing accompaniments of an artist’a
quarters,occupied u conspicuous place on
a heavy oak table. Tlie air 1irJ begun
to turn blue with smoke from the pipes,
when the etcher, to answer the innum
erable questions which had been asked,
said:
"L«t mo give you in a connected
story the history of an otchiug from the
time the copper plate is placed in posi
tion for work until it leaves the hands ol
the printer. in the first place, the oop-
por plate is thoroughly washed with
turpentine, or, better, with benzine, for
tbe fwmer is a little too thin. I bis ia
to remove any grease. The plate is then
heated, commonly by burning under it
heavy etching paper, or, if tbe plate is a
largo one, by a spirit lamp. It is heat
ed to such a temperature that water will
roll off in globules. When the plate is
sufficiently heated a preparation known
as ‘etching-ground' ia applied. This Is
a composition wjjjch cxnaes prepared in
of a black walnut, and^mfiiClIlIo* ol^ij*
phaltam, beeswax, and oil of laveuder.
This composition is carefully tied up in
silk, amt through this silk tho etching
ground ooz.es on lo the plate, whore it is
laid with a roller. After the ground is
applied and has sufficiently cooled it is
smoked, in order to.give the etcher a
black surface on which to work. The
smoking is done with a twisted wax
taper, candles, or in fact with any sub
stance which will produco the desired
effect. When tho plate is cold tho
ground is perfectly hard. So much for
tho first part of the process; that of pre
paring the plate.
"The etcher is now ready for work in
earnest. Ho takas a drawing, which,
of course, may bo original or a cony,
and etches its fac-simile on the plate
before him. if be wishes to take special
pains with his subject, which is usually
the caso, ho doea not copy the .drawing
directly on the plate, hut takes an inter
mediate step. Over his drawing ho
fastens a perfectly hard transparent
gelatine composition, snd with bis etch
ing point otchca the drawing on this,
exactly on the principle of the transpar
ent slate in our nursery days. The gela
tine plate is romovod, and presents a
rough and scratched surface. It is
lightly scraped, but so lightly that the
indented linos are not disturbed or ef
faced. These lines are tilled with red
chalk. Tbe gelatine plate is then re
versed and placed on the etching ground
at the copper plat* A burnisher la ap
plied, which transfers tho chalk to the
etcher's form or upon the plate. Thus
the etcher has a perfect outline of the
drawing on tho piste on which he is to
work. In this way he is guided in his
task, and his work Is expedited.
"The etchor now begins to use the
tools of his trade, each of whioh is known
as an etching point' With theee in
struments the subject Is again etohed,
this time on the etoher's ground. Where
the etcher wish** to obtain th* darkest
effeots fewer line* ere etched and are
made further apart to enable them to
stand s longer -bite' by the acid. Of
oouree the acid bites into the oop)>er
plate only where tho otchiug point ha*
scratched through the etcher’s ground
to the original copper plate. if tho
plalv on which the artist is at work is a
small one, it Is placed in a pan and the
acid Is then poured on. If, however, It
Is a large one, there ia put, around the
edge of the plato what is known aa a
•frame of wall-w*x,’ in one corner ol
which is placed a spou; for convenience
in pouring off thu acid. The first appli
cation of th* acid ii woak. It Ditee
clean and delicately. It loaves the akv
line* the distance line* and, in general,
the lighter part-of the picture. After
theee lino* are hittea the acid ii poured
off and the ground washod with water.
Then the part* which tho artist dooa not
wish to have longer acted upon by the
aohl are oovered with a 'stopping-out'
varnish. The next application of th*
ecid Ii stronger. In order to obtain th*
heavier effects. So the artist continue*
•topping-out one piece after another un
til the plate Is sufficiently bitten, and
uutll he has reached tbe foreground.
When the entire plate he* been suffi
ciently bitten, or, in other word* when
the ploUire he* been etched into th*
ow«*t date by means of the acid, the
wax'wall ia removed aarT the plate
thoroughly cleaned with benzjo*. Now
ho can go to the printer aod see wbst
he has. If some ol the lines prove too
heavy, n little instrument known ss tho
burnisher will reduce them. The lines
can even he run out entirely. If the
lines are not strung enough, a new re
lating ground can be put on wherever
desired and the changes made.
"When the last touches have been
completed the plate is sent to the pub
lishers The publisher* send it to an
electrotyper to have a steel face put on.
This is done to protect the plats, which
would otherwise soon be worn out on
the press. The operation of electrotyie-
ing the plate is so delicately done that
^hen steeled the picture which it print*
oould uot be 'distinguished from the
picture printed before the operation by
the original copper piste. The tinsel
lines are coaled; lines which are hardly
visible to tho naked eye. and which
originally have the appoaranoe of a
hair.
"The beauties of etching are explain
ed in many way*. I think, however,
that its special adaptation in the hands
of an artist is to enable him to give to
tbe public, not to onepsraou, something
of his individual work, something which
has the charm of a sketch, yet which
can be produced to anv extent For
instance, an artist sketches a landscape.
It is inijxisaible for more than one per
son to own that piece of work—that 1*
there is but one copy. There can pos
sibly be but one. Now the etching
aides the artist to give hia sketch to
tjir public iu just tho mood iu which it
was made. For, iesImQ of marking It
on pajHir or canvas. Birha* made It on
a copper plate, lrom which it can be
indefinitely mulliplied.
Thr Oolilsn Iloee.
The reoeipt bv ihe queen regent of
Spain of thtt |x>|si's golden roe* has led
some curious writer to put together the!
following particulars concerning the
flower: The first of these rose* were
simply flowers of red enamel, represent
ing tho natural color of the rose Later
the color of the rose was left white and
a large ruby was pul into the orntcr,
the reflection from which gave the petals
a red tint Innocent XI. had a golden
rose mado which weighed over eight
pound* was ornamented with several
sapphires, and represented a value of
over 10,000 francs. Alexander VIL
ordered one rose at 6,000 francs and an
other at 4,000 francs. Lately the golden
rose has been worth over ld.000 fraue*
aud lie* taken tie form of a branch
with several flowers, a natural rose
Which has been blessed by the nwpe.
TWrwmcTfTCT atf*Bh'1yf|^T* ,l ffl( rt tWl»
has just reoeived. It is planted In a
magnificent stiver gilded vase, which is
a splcnded example of Roman work
manship. The rose itself is said to be a
•ymbo' of the Creator; the splendor and
richness of the metal represents the eter
nal light which surrounds the divine,
and the perfumes and spices, which are
placed in the vase by the pope, symbol
ize the glory and resurrection of Christ
The benediction of the rose is a solemn
ceremony. The holy father, in his sacred
robes, reads the formula of tho benedio-
tion from a book which is held by a bish
op. ’"he other bishops, holding light
ed candles, stand by his side. The high
dignitaries of the papal court surround
the pontiff, holding the incense the holy
water, the spices, and other perfumes.
Another dignitary, kneeling, presents
tho rose to tho pope, who reads the pray-
ors, blcssos the incense, the spices, and
tho perfumes, which are in turn present
ed to him by a cardinal. After putting
them into tho vase which holds the rose,
tbe golden rose is blessed, aud the cere
mony ends,
Herman Ctrl*.
There is less difficulty in German girl*
of the middle class finding suitablw
partners for lifo than is the case in lha
same class in England, says a writer in
the National Jteview. German girl*'
as a matter of course, take their snare
In household work. This doea not pro-'
vent their being frequently very aooom-
p'ished, often excellent musicians, but
it . >es prevent a great deal of restless
ness and vague discontent. A young!
man who marries in that class know*
that he may reasonably expect his bride,
to be a good housewife.. ft he la In th*
upper middle class—for instance a thopq
keeper—his wife often keep* th* ac^
counts of the shop. 1 have wondered!
■t the close attention to business detail*
shown by women who might have ex-
r ictcd to be spared such exertion* Bu^
was assured they preferred to be thue
occupied; partly in order to save th*lr\
children. It seemed to me that th*
master and mistress in most shop* wer*
on friendly terms with their assistant*
who wore permitted to rest at interval*
during the day in a room behind th*
•bop.
A Wild Miat lion of She Plata*.
The sunlight came playing through
the tree* aud burned on his sorrel ooet
liko motion gold. Th* graceful body,
round and smooth, expended where the
vest haunches end sloping shoulder*
set into It in w aided masses of binding
muscle that stretched to tbe deer-like
lluib* with their then knee* end book*
each leg strung like a harp, with oorda
of stec' to the Ivofy bon* His flowing
mens and tall seemed Impatient to be
waving backward In the strong wind of
Lit racing gilop. Though h« stood
like a b ron ie, with only tho trumpet
nostrils working to oatoh th* air, the
•mall head, white even to the eye*
tnrned over his shoulder to sorvay the
Intruder* who bed disturbed hi* water
ing plao* • • • There stood th*
bora* keenly alive to hi* danger, nay,
even challenging It, for the een let*
themselves slowly back—the eye* be
gan to tbin* — Cagi. JCtmtys in On:;»g v