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The Fayetteville chronicle. (Fayetteville, Ga.) 1886-1???, November 05, 1886, Image 1

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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