Newspaper Page Text
tale with the boys.
renEFICI AI. RRSri.TSOE I.KAUN
thebknr* 1N g a trade.
n Trsu'e !'* Yi,
[M. Quad, in Detroit Free Press.]
The father who says to his son: ‘ ‘Here,
Will I’ve decided to make a harness- .
mak ’ of yon,” and who insists on the
r trade, is idiot. He
boy adopting that an
compel the boy to learn it, but lie
m8T Zn] out of twenty, make
nineteen times
workman who can’t earn his own
a clothes. The average boy
bread and toward the
instinctive leaning
tade he is fitted for, and he should be
left reasonably free in the matter.
It used to be quite the thing for some
old bald-head to pick up a baby and tell
its mother in all seriousness that the
gize of the head, set of the eyes, Light of
the forehead, or width between the eyes
was a plain indication that he would be¬
come a great judge, poet, inventor or
mathematician. There are plenty of in¬
stances where such stuff has taken root
and resulted in parents forcing sons into
trades or professions utterly unsuited
to their physical constitution or mental
caliber. It is quite natural for a father
or mother to desire a son to make the
selection of a good trade or profession,
but this desire should not become an
order or even a request. Said a black¬
smith the other day as he flung down
I his hammer.
“If my father had been a sensible man
1 shouldn’t have been here. I had a
natural taste for drawing and engrav¬
ing and I have no donbt I would have
I made a good one. Nothing blacksmith,, would and do
but I must beeome a
j here I am, supporting I hate the a work; family I have on $11
per week. no
[ I interest pound in what and I hear do, myself but I’ve called got to
away a
botch because I’m too old to go at any
j other found trade.” lawyer the other day in
I a a
| shabby third-story room, furnished with
f an old desk, two old chairs and a spft
toon. His clothes looked worn, and his
face had anything but a contented look.
“Oh, I thought it might be a client,”
ho said as I entered.
"Sorry it wasn’t. You don’t seem to
be rushed with business.”
“Rushed ! Why, I haven’t had a $5
fee in three weeks I”
“Too far up?”
“Perhaps, hut 1 believe the real rea
son is that I hate the profession. I was
cut out for something else. As a boy I
was crazy to learn the printer’s trade. I
got a chance and worked for three
months, but at the end of that time my
widowed mother prevailed upon me to
study for the law. I managed to gradu¬
ate, passed an examination, and the re
suit is that I can’t marry because I can’t
half support myself. n •
Farmers make a great mistake in de¬
ciding that their sons must follow the
same pursuit. It is very convenient for
them to come to this decision. It saves
the expense of educating a boy, and by
keeping him at home it saves paying a
hired man. They claim the services of
a son until he is 21 years of age, and if
he then desires to start out with a trade
he is handicapped by his age. He must
either go farming or become a laborer.
It seems not to occur to the close-fisted
old farmer that while he may save from
$6 to $12 per month by hanging to his
boy on the farm, the boy, if given a fair
chance, could take up some trade or
profession which would pay $10 to $1.
What about the boy who does not
take up with a trade or profession?
Look around yon and the question is
speedily answered. He must cast his
hook into any sort of pond and take such
fish as may be caught. He is a sort of
tramp. He may work in a brick-yard
to-day and in the harvest field to-mor
row. He does the drudgery and gets
the pay of the drudge. His wages are
so small that he finds it impossible to
lay up a dollar, and a fortnight of idle¬
ness will see him dead broke. The other
evening I met a man dragging himself
wearily along and carrying a pick on his
shoulder.
“Tired. More John ?”
so than any horse in Detroit. ”
“What do you work at ?”
“I’m a digger. Sometimes I work
for the gas companies, but oftener for
plumbers.”
“Good wages?”
So 8°od that my family never has
enough to eat, let alone buying decent
clothes. If ft wagn ’t for the wife and
children I’d wish for that street car to
ran over me.”
“Why didn’t you- learn a trade?”
“Because nobody had interest enough
to reason and argue with me. I might
have had a good trade and earned good
wages, but here I am, working harder
for $8 or $9 a week than any man does
to earn $18.”
And now, my boy, if men u._ -I you
i hat the trades are crowded, and that tlo
manv carpenters and blacksmiths and
painters and shoemakers and other
trades keep wages down, pay no atten¬
tion to such talk. Look over the table
at the head of this artice again. Notice
that little “to” in there between what a
common and skillful workman receives,
Take the trade which you seem fitted
for. Begin with a determination to learn
it thoroughly, and to become the best
workman in the shop. Don’t be satisfied
to skin along from one week to another
without being discharged, but make
■' our services so valuable by being such
a thorough workman that yottr employer
cannot afford to let you get
The Conyers Weekly.
VOL. VII.
THE BLOSSOMED BUD.
BY WILL OARLETON.
Twas a babe—a three-month old—
That Death had come to see :
It was white and still and cold
As any babe could be.
But its features softly traced
A life that God had planned :
Some one dreaming this had placed
A rose-bud in its hand.
Deeply wept the parents when
That spirit fluttered free ;
They were sad and wretched then,
As parents oft must be.
Each the other’s picture borne
Saw in the fleeting face.
When that heart from theirs was torn,
It left so large a place.
But when last in its repose
They kissed it mournfully,
That small bud had grown a rose,
As sweet as rose could be.
With its soft breath it perfumed
The sad and solemn hour;
And it smiled and glowed and bloomed,
A grand and perfect flower.
Then those hearts grew strangely light,
And bade their doubtings flee ;
They were full of hopes as bright
As stricken ones could be.
And the pastor gently said,
“This tells to our dim eyes,
That your dailing is not dead,
But blooms in Paradise.”
DYING FOR HIS MASTER.
A SHEPHERD DOG’S ENCOUNTER WITH A
RATTLESNAKE.
“My name is Thomas Wilman, and I
five in Philadelphia, where my son
Harry is a prominent business man.
Thirty-one years ago I married, in Great
Barrington, Mass., as pretty a girl as
that village (famous for its pretty girls)
ever sheltered. She had beeh well
brought up, but had no fortune. I had
$1,500 which I had made by running a
sawmill. We were young and had the
world before us, and we concluded
to go West. Going West in those days
didn’t mean, as it seems to now, going
beyond the Mississippi Going into
‘York State’ was going West then. I
had a cousin in Cattaraugus, a little vil¬
lage on the Erie Railway, 30 miles east
of Dunkirk, and we concluded to go
there.
It was late in August when we reached
Cattaraugus. My cousin gave us a
hearty welcome, and I set about looking
for a spot to build. Cattaraugus is a
curious sort of a place. The village is
surrounded by hills, and the wonder to
me is that it doesn’t slide down into the
washbowl-like valley on the side of
which it is built. A little creek runs
through the village, and a mile to the
west finds itself in a deep, narrow valley,
with almost Thi^valley perpendicular sides, 100
feet high. is called Skinner
Hollow, and is one of the most pictur¬
esque spots on the Erie Road. I went
down into the hollow prospecting. The
sides, where they were not too steep,
were covered with a heavy growth of
first-class pine, and for miles around the
hills were thick with the same timber.
I saw there was money in a Bawmill
right down in that hollow, and I built
one on the stream, which I could see was
a good-sized creek most of the year. It
is one of the branches of Cattaraugus
Creek, which empties into Lake Erie 30
miles west of Buffalo.
“I built my mill there, and close to it
a little house, so close, in fact, that the
two joined. I took Katie, that is my
wife, down there, and we began house¬
keeping. That was well into the winter,
and I began logging at once. I hired a
gang of men to help me, raised money
by contracting my lumber ahead, and
started in. We cut lugs on the hills
dose to the mill, rigged up slides, and
ran them down to the logway. I tell
you it was music to me when the saw
ripped into the first log and a clean-cut
slab dropped away from the teeth. We
dtd a little jollification. That was the
first log ever cut in Skinner Hollow, and
people drove miles to see it Business
was good. There was lots of snow,
which made it easy work getting logs *'
the mill and drawing the lumber out t*..
the village, besides giving me all the
water I wanted. In fact water was run¬
ning over the tail of my flume every
hour from the time £ turned it into the
race till the middle of July. Then a dry
spell came on, and I had to shut down
for two or three hours every day to let
my race fill up.
“But I didn’t mind that I had had
a tip-top season and had made money. I
had logs enough at my door to keep me
busy for a year, and I knew where there
were plenty more when those ran out
And, besides, I had two to look after in¬
stead of one. You wouldn’t think if
you’d see Harry, with all his refined
ways and education, that the first music
he ever heard was a saw tearing through
a pine knot. But it’s so. He was a
pioneer’s son and knocked around a
sawmill till he was into his teens. Well,
when business was slow I worked
around the house, fixing up things here
CONYERS, ROCKDALE CO., GA„ FRIDAY, OCTOBER 8,1884.
and there for Katie, so as to make her
more comfortable. She couldn’t have
been more contented. She used to think
that sawmill was just about the pleas¬
antest place in the country. Hour after
hour she’d stay out there with me, and
we’d keep up the conversation while the
log was running back and stop when it
went up to the saw. Dear me ! Dear
me ! Why, I can see her as she used to
look in those days in that little sawmill
just as plainly as if I stood there with
her to-day. She used to jump on the
log and ride up pretty close to the saw
and then, just as I would get scared and
jump to drag her away, off she’d go.
Nobody was ever happier than we were,
and we have never been as happy since,
though we’ve been pretty happy and are
yet.”
The yellow sunlight flickered into the
room where the two sat, and the wine
looked like blood as the dancing rays
shoDe through it. The old man was lost
in happy reverie, and the young man
ventured to remind him that there was
a snake story promised.
“True,” said the old man, starting,
“I’m just coming to that. I lost myself
thinking of those old days. There was
snakes then, and we had killed them.
Rattlers used to come out on the ledges
of rooks and lay in the hot sun. One or
two had come around the mill, and I had
shot one in our door yard. But we
thought nothing of that. People living
in the woods or in wild places get used
to things that would fill them with hor¬
ror in a settled country. We expected
to find snakes, and as long as they kept
their distance or gave ns a chance to
shoot them when they got too near we
didn’t mind them.
“As I told yon, I fixed up things
around the house during slack time.
One of the bits of furniture I knocked
together was a bedstead. It was more
like a broad lounge than a bedstead, for
it had neither head nor footboard. One
end was raised a little like a conch, and
that was the head. We had some bear¬
skins and blankets to sleep on, and more
blankets to cover us. It was a big im¬
provement on the floor where we had
been sleeping, and after a hard day’s
work handling logs I used to think it
about as comfortable a spot as I knew.
“Well, it got along into the fall and
we began tc have chilly nights. The
equinoctial gave us a big rain, and for a
fortnight £ had all the water I could use.
Then it got dry again. One afternoon,
after several days of threatening weath¬
er, it began to rain. Hour after hour
the rain came down till about 9 o’clock
in the evening, when it suddenly cleared
off and turned cold. It was late in Octo¬
ber and we kept a fire burning on the
hearth nights, more for the baby’s sake
than for our own. Our bed was parallel
with the fireplace and stood out near the
middle of the room. We had an English
shepherd dog named Leo, which we took
with us from Massachusetts. He was a
black and white beauty, and my wife,
who had raised him, thought about as
much of him as she did of the baby or
me—at least, I used to tell her so. The
dog was fond of me and I made a great
pet of him. He was a noble fellow, and
all he wanted was for me to whistle just
once and he’d come. We let him sleep
in the room at the foot of the bed.
Sometimes in the morning I’d wake up
before my wife and I’d whistle just once
to the dog. Up he’d come over the foot
of the bed and wake Katie by licking
her face.
“That night we were just going to
bed when it turned cold. I threw an
extra pine knot on the fire and went to
the door and looked out. I shall never
forget that look, for it was the last time
I ever stood there and saw stars above
Skinner Hollow. I closed the door and
went to bed and soon fell asleep. I slept
on the side of the bed nearest the hearth,
my wife slept on the further side and
the baby lay between us. For some rea
son I didn’t sleep long, ard when I
waked up I couldn’t get to sleep again.
Finally I got out of bed and threw an¬
other knot on the fire. Leo was
stretched out on the floor with his nose
between his paws. He eyed me sleepily
as I walked around the room and gave
me a loving look as I stooped down and
patted his head. I went back to bed and
fell into an uneasy sleep. All at once I
wakened with a start. It must have
been past midnight. I seemed to be
fully awake the moment I opened my
eyes, and such a sight as they rested on
God grant they may never see again. I
was •lying on my left side facing my
wife, who was lying on her right side.
The baby lay on its back between us.
As I opened my eyes a dark object glid¬
ed down from off the baby, and juBt
then the knot burst into flames and
flooded the roo£ with light A rattle¬
snake, fully five feet long, had slipped
down from between my wife and myself
where it had been stretched out presum¬
ably to get warm, and, startled no doubt
by some movement I had made in wak¬
ing. had thrown itself into a coil on tha
bed at the baby’s feet and just opposite
my knees.
“Somebody asks if life is worth liv¬
ing. I think it is as a general thing,
but if life had many such moments as
that I should say emphatically that death
was preferable. For a moment I lost
my head. I did not move, fortunately,
but I seemed to drift entirely out of all
consciousness. For a moment only this
lasted. Then my senses came back to
me, and I felt that from the reaction I
would probably tremble from head to
foot. How I ever managed to keep my
body rigid I don’t know, but by an aw¬
ful effort I did. I knew that to stir was
death, perhaps for myself, perhaps for
my boy, perhaps—my God, the thought
was agony—for my wife. Outside I
could hear the rain dripping from the
eaves, and I could deteot tyie Bound of
water running to waste over the flume.
To-morrow, I thought, I’ll have plenty
of water again. To-morrow I Would I
ever see to-morrow again ? And if I did
would I not meet it alone ? In spite
of all I could do a shudder ran through
my body.
“The snake felt it and raised its head.
I could see its eyes glisten and dance in
the firelight, and the bright rays glanced
over (lie undulating coils. I could see
that the snake was irritated, and I knew
that it was liable to spring at any mo¬
ment. Who would it strike? Either of
us was within easy distance. It seemed
to me that I could see the beginning of
the musonlar contraction which would
precede the spring.
“All this, of oourse, passed in a frac¬
tion of the time I have occupied in tell¬
ing it. My wife and boy slept on. I
prayed that they might not move, for if
they did I felt the snake would throw
itself forward. I moved my head slight¬
ly. The snake’s head again arose, and
for the first time it Bounded its rattle.
Instantly my wife opened her eyes, and
some way they rested on the snake. I
could sea that every vestige of color had
left her face, but she did not move a
muscle. Then her eyes slowly left the
snake and came up to mine.
“Looking back over the nearly thirty
years which have elapsed since then
I can see the look in her eyes yet. We
bad sometimes talked about meeting
death together. Now it lay between us
and in more horrible form than we had
ever dreamed of. Yet the look of per¬
fect confidence in me which my wife’s
eyes almost spoke was something a man
does not see more than once in a life¬
time. That look seemed to say, for
baby’s sake, and like a flash I became
as cool as I am at this moment. I could
not speak but my wife understood that
she must keep perfectly quiet and jump.
When the time came, slowly and with
infinite care I raised my head till I could
look down the bed to the floor beyond.
My wife’s eyes followed mine, and we
both saw the dog. The hideous eyes or
the snake swayed to and fro, and I
knew that what was done must be done
quickly. I looked at my wife aud she
realized my plan. Her eyes filled with
tears but gave consent. With a prayer
for help I moistened my lips and gave
one short, sharp whistle. The snake, I
think, didn’t know what to make of it,
but the dog, Leo, did. As quick almost
aB thought he sprang to his feet and
bounded on the bed. To this day I’ve
never been able to understand why the
snake did not strike when the dog
moved, but it did not. As the dog’s
body rose in the air my wife caught
hold of the baby’s garments and rolled
out or oea. i rolled out on my side,
grasped my rifle, which stood at the
head of the bed, and turned. The dog
and the snake were rolling together on
the bed. I caught sight of the snake’s
head and fired, and the reptile was past
doing any harm. The dog staggered
off the bed to the floor, shivered, moaned
once or twice, looked from my wife to
myself with more love than I ever saw
before or since in any animal’s eyes and
died.
“At daybreak the next morning we
buried the dog and started for the
village. I sold my mill and house to a
man who was visiting my cousin, and
before sunset we were on our way to
Massachusetts. I built another mill in
the East, and we prospered and grew
rich. Other children came to make our
home happy, and there are grandchil¬
dren now. We have enjoyed life, and
enjoy it now. But I tell you, young
man, that if poverty stood on one hand
and even a glimpse of Skinner Hollow
on the other, we would take poverty
cheerfully and think we had made a
good bargain.”
Mixed. —Black walnut sawdust, for¬
merly thrown away, is now mixed with
linseed gum and moulded into heads
and flower pieces for the ornamentation
of furniture. When dried and varnished
it is as handsome and much stronger,
and more durable than carved work.
NO. 80,
THE FLOATING BEEF.
A Sailor’s Yarn of the North Atlantic#
“Did yon ever hear of the floating
reef?” asked a sailor, with an air of su¬
perior knowledge, as he cut a piece of
tobacco off a plug so large that it was
difficult to tell which was the piece and
which was the plug.
“I never did,” answer a reporter j
“tell me about it.”
“Well, I reckon you’ve heard of ships
as sailed out of port aud never came
back, or made any other port. Some
folks say one thing happened to ’em,
some another; but I know what hap¬
pened to ’em; the floating reef hap¬
pened to ’em. You ask any old shell¬
back aud he’ll tell you jest as I do.
’Twan’t squalls, nor sea sarpents, nor
infernal machines; ’twas the floating
reef. This reef is something that sail
ors dread move than anything else. It
dodges about in the North Atlantic
Ocean, and is never in ono plnce long
at a time. It never comes anywhere
near shore; but is always away out at
sea. It isn’t very often a ship seos it
and comes back to tell the story; but
there have been ships as have sighted it
and escaped running on to it. I have
seen it with these very eyes as plainly
as I see that binnacle lamp a-burning
there—as plainly as I see that mast. It
was on the ship B-, in 1864. I waB
on the lookout and had somehow almost
fallen into a doze. I was brought wide
awake with a start by the second mate
scouting:
“ ‘For’ard there.’
(< t On deck, sir,’ I replied.
(( ( What’s that on the starboard bow?’
“It was just before sunrise, and in
the gray light of the early morning I
saw a reef of black, jagged rocks, with
the water dashing over it. It was about
a mile long and oval in form. We were
within a quarter of a mile of it, and it
was apparently drifting right across our
bows.
“‘Breakers on the starboard bow!’ I
shouted. ‘ Keep her off! keep her off!’
I was the worst frightened man you
ever saw ; so much frightened, indeed,
that the dressing down the mate gave
me for not keeping a sharper lookout was
a positive relief to me. We cleared the
end of the reef by about 100 yards, and
soon left it astern.
“At the time this happened we were
in the middle of the Atlantic, and in the
track usually followed by sailing vessels
from New York to Liverpool. I have
sailed over that very place before and
since, but have never seen the floating
reef except that one time. Don’t tell
me it was a tide-rip—I saw the rocks.”
How the Collins Line Started.
Ben Perley Poore, in his reminiscen
ces of Washington life, says Mr. Ed¬
ward K. Collins, a wealthy New York
shipowner, established and run suc¬
cessfully for pome years what was known
as the “Dramatic Line” of sailing pack¬
ets between that city and Liverpool.
The vessels of this line, named the
Roscius, Garrick, Sheridan, Siddons and
S akespear ® were the largest merchant
packets afloat, and they were well pat¬
ronized until 1840, when Mr. Samuel
Cunard established the line of transat¬
lantic steamers which bears his name.
Mr. Collins’s pride and patriotism were
touched by this elipse of his “Dramatic
Line,” and he conceived the idea of
building an American line of steamships,
to be fitted up in the most expensive man¬
ner and supplied with the choicest fare.
To do this it was necessary to have a
subsidy from Government, and to ob¬
tain this adroit agents, of both sexes,
began long in advance to secure prom¬
ises ef Congressional support, by prom¬
ises of free passages or money. It was
the initiation of the lobby work in
•behalf of the subsidies voted by Con¬
gress to aid railroad’s and lines of steam¬
ships which have left behind them so
many wrecked reputations.
Diseased Cattle Killed.
The first slaughter of animals, under
an act of the last General Assembly “to
suppress and prevent the spread of
pleuro-pneumonia among cattle,” was
made at Elmhurst, Ill., by the State
Veterinarian, Dr. Paaren. A Justice of
the Peace signed the papers condemning
the diseased cattle and appointed three
disinterested persons to appraise them.
Ten condemned animals were appraised
at $3,000. Some of them were shot
with a pistol and the others knocked in
the head with an axe. Several veterinary
surgeons made an examination of the
bodies, and the lungs of six of the ten
animals contained what was announced
to be evidenoe of pleuro-pneumonia in
its worst form. Mr. Boyd says he was
satisfied that the animals must be
slaughtered, but that the appraisement
would not oome within $10,000 of his
loss, as all were Jersey a with approved
records.
THE TALLAPOOSA SUNK.
STH rJCK BY A SCHOONER AN0SENT TO
the bottom in ten minute®
All i(.!■ ftftfcern un«l lien Saved Except
iiieeurtimd Knur l»lei»—Cliiiaina to tfce
i; ... i»« lor Solely
The United States steamship Talla¬
poosa, which sailed from Boston for New¬
port whets she was to receive Secretary
Chandler and bis party, was sunk
lately just off Martha s Vineyard,
and is lying with the tap of her smoke¬
stack and her topmast out c4 the water - .
At 11 o’clock she was struck by the
James S. Lowell, a three-masted coal
schooner, and went to the bottom in ten
minutes. There were 160 officers and
men on boargi all of whom escaped to
the deck of the schooner with the excep¬
tion of Past Assistant Surgeon Black
and a colored servant named George
Foster, and three men, who are drowned.
All of Secretary Chandler’s efleots were
lost. The rescued persons were taken
from the Lowell by the steamship Gate
City of the Boston and Savannah line,
and landed at Wood’s Holl, where the
crew boarded the United States steamer
Fish Hawk and started for the scene of
the wreck. The Gate City and the
schooner Mary A. Hood were attracted
to the spot by the blowing of the Talla
poosa's whistle, as the ill-fated steamer
went down. Many of the survivors were
afloat for some time before they were
picked up by the rescuing boats, Ow
ing to the mildness of the weather they
did not suffer greatly.
HOW THE DISASTER OCCURRED.
Lieutenant Commander Merry, of the
Tallapoosa, declines to make a state¬
ment except in the form of a report
to the Navy Department, but Captain
Reed, of the Powell, says: “It was the
most careless piece of work I ever saw.
When two miles away the lookout re¬
ported ‘light ahead.’ The course was
not altered until the green light could
be seen. To avoid collision, seeing a
vessel with light doing nothing to avoid
us I ordered the helm hard down, but
before it could be done, and before my
vessel had altered her course, the two
vessels struck their bows seemingly
coming together exactly. I found my
vessel leaking badly, though notin
immediate danger of sinking. The Tal¬
lapoosa drifted away and sank in ten
minutes before many of the crew and
officers had left her. As she went down
those who could took to the rigging and
taken off later. Our vessel is
were ffight dear,
badly damaged. The was
the lights of the Lowell burning all
night and perfectly visible a !.opg dis
tunce.
SCENES ON THE TALLAPOOSA.
Paymaster John F. Tarbell, of the?
Navy Yard, a passenger on the Talla
poos a, makes the following statement:
“Everything went well until we
reached Martha’s Vineyard. We were
six miles to the eastward of West Chop
light, runuing eight knots an hour.
When the schooner struck us I waB
sound asleep. I tumbled out of hod, and
just then some one called down the
companionway, ‘All hands abandon
ship!’ The men rrmhed on deck, but
there was no excitement. The officers
and men wore very cool. A few jumped
overboard, but most of us took to the
boats. This is the result of sliding
down the chains (showing his hands,
which were terribly blistered and torn).
We were in the channel, and the
schooner had struck us square on the
starboard side by the foremast.
“The schooner’s bow had out half way
through the ship, tearing a terrible hole
in the side, through which the water was
rushing. The foremast was cut away
and the schooner’s bow was shattered.
The Tallapoosa sank in ten minutes.
There was no time to save anything.
We had to leave just as we were turned
out of bed. The schooner sent out a
boat to pick up those who were In tne
water aud to render assistance. Another
schooner came up and took part of the
men, while the remainder went on board
the Lowell. She was leaking badly, so
onr men took a turn at the pumps until
steam pumps were got to working. The
Gate City came up in a few minutes and
took all the Tallapoosa’s crew.
On the Tnrf.
The reigns of the sovereigns of the
trotting turf, with their best records in
harness, and also the time with which
each beat the record of his predecessor,
may be tabulated as follows:
NAME OF HORSE. YEAR. RECORD.
Lady Suffolk...... 1844 2:26%
Flora Temple..... 1856 2:25%
Flora Temple..... 1859 2:19%
Dexter........... 1867 2:17%
Goldsmith Maid.. 1871 2:17
Goldsmith Maid... 1874 2:14
Barns............ 1878 2:13%
St. Julien......... 1879 2 : 12 %
St. Julien......... 1880 2 : 11 %
Maud S.......... 1-80 2 : 11 %
Maud S........... 1881 2 . 10 %
Jay-Eye-See...... 1884 2:10
Maud S...4...... 1884 2:09%
A glance at this review shows that the
record of trotting in harness has been
lowered sixteen and one-fourth seconds,
or a little more than a quarter of a min
ute, during the past forty years, and
just ten seconds or one sixth of a minute,
during fhe last quarter of a century.
A WASTEFUL YOUTH.
Politician (tc his fonrteen-year-old
son)— “What are you doing there, ny
boy?” Son—“Nothin’, I’m only chock¬
river.” pa.
in’ mud into the
Politician—"Well, stop it, you young
rascal. We can’t afford to waste any
mud this vear. The stock on hand ain’t
a bit too November;” large, and we want it to hold
out till
