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A COUNTRY THANKSGIVING.
Ay, good man. clo«“ the great-barn door-
The mellow harvest time Is o’er!
The earth has given her treasures meet
Os golden corn and hardened wnaat. .•,
You and your neighbors well have-wrought,
And of the summer's bounty vangttt;
Won from her smiles and from her tears
Much goods, perhaps, for many years.
You cornea tribute now to puv-
The bells proclaim Thanksgiving Day.
Well have you sown, well have yoji reaped:
And of the riches you have heaped, •
You think, perhaps, that you will give
A part, that others, too, may live.
’ I
But if such argument you use.*.'. ,
Your niggard bounty 1 refuse. •..
No gifts you on the altar lay
In any sense are given away.
Lo! rings from Heaven a voice abroad:
“Who helps God s poor doth Jk'nd the Lord."
What is your wealth? He'd fra're you know
To have it, you must let it go.
Th'nk you the hand by Heiven struck.cold
Will yet have power to clutch Its gold?
Shrouds have no pockets, do they say?
Behold, I show you then tho.wgy :
Wait not till death shall shu|.'h9 door.
But send your cargoes on before.’
Lo! he that giveth of his hrtflrd
To help God s poor doth lend the Lord.
To-day. my brethren—do not wait;
Yonder stands Dame Kelly's gate;
And would you build a mansion fair .
In Heaven, send your lumber there.
Each stick that on her wood-pile Iles
May raise a dome beyond the skies;
You stop the rents within her walls,
And yonder rise your marble halls;
For every pane that stops the wind
There shmeth one with jasper lined.
Your wealth is gone, your form lies cold.
But in the city paved with gold
Your hoard is held in hands Divine;
It bears a name that marks it thine.
Behold the bargain ye have made;
With usury the debt is paid.
No moth doth oat, no thieves do steal,
No suffering heart doth envy feet
>• . 5
Bing out the words: Who-of-hjf hoard
Doth help God’s poor doth.lend the Lord!
Go get your cargoes under way:
The bells ring out Tlmnsglving Day 1
A MEMORABLE THANKSGIVING.
Thanksgiving week was always a
busy week at the Gates homestead, but
it seemed to Dear that it was busier this
year titan ever. She couldn’t quite un
derstand it, either, for as they wore
coming home from church on Sunday
she heard her mother say to Aunt Ma
rgaret, wiih a little break in her vpice,
that she had “no heart for Thanksgiv
ing this year.” Dear knew why, and
she thought they woijld.havo a sorrow
ful thanksgiving. or, perhaps, no
Thanksgiving at all.
But Tuesday moiling there could be
no doubt that they were to have Thanks
giving this year, for .there was what
Tiptop called a “bonfire” macle in the
great brick oven in rifle kitchen, which,
since Dear s remembrance, was opened
and heated only during Thank.'jgiving
week. Tiptop mounted a chair «o that
he could see into the'frven, and shouted
“Fir®!” and daneedJu, ecstasy till, for
getting that ho had only a chair-bottom
for a floor, he danced oil', and bruised
his nose, and had to. be eumforlpd by
Dear jud when she Was so busy seeding
raisins. • ” ‘ ’ °
Roundtop and Sqw«*etop counted it a
great privilege to Ijriqg in the long
sticks of hickory woqd’to heat the oven?
each holding an end, t ugg ng it along
with great gravity and an owns ona”
fall on their toes, and. if they were al
lowed to thrust a slice into the
oven, their satisfaction was c niplete.
Dear paused, in her hurried trips through
the kitchen, to look" into the l.lazinw
depths and think oUShiidrach. Meshach
and Abcdnego.
Then they all stood around to sec the
coals drawn out and the-ouen swept; and
when their mother^l^ii^ing ,1h : v hand
far in to test the temperature, «olepinly
declared it was ♦|u4t right,” they
watched breathlessly while the loaf-ea o
and spice-cake andswti'kjps wtw* care
fully put in, and breaffie'd a deep sigh of
relief when the oven ifobr Closed upon
the g >od things committed to its keeping.
Wednesday morning the oven was
heated again, anifcjifled With mince
pies. which came*out so delightfully
brown and so delicjoiisly fragrant, that
the Gates children grew desperately
hungry, and thought • Thanksgiving
never would coiye. And then such
pumpkinpies, ami apple-pies, and
tails, and at last, as the evening drew
on. great batches ofTjyown bread and rye
bread ami wheat bread 'filled the oven
to the door. u- •
When the, chicken-pie and turkey
were ready for th® oven’ next day. the
tired mother drdppTd into the low
rocking chair, and taking Tiptop on
her inp, looked wearily into the-1 re.
“Let me hold Tiptop, mamma,”
said Dear, thinking How tired her moth
er was; but her inbfher made answer
only by holding Tiptop with a closer
arm. The children gathered around as
the twilight came on, and sitting there,
waited for their fat hdr to come. Grad
ually silence fell uppn them all. broken
only by the subdued roaring of the tire
in the stove, and the loud ticking of the
clock on the mantbl-shelf.
As Dear listened, how vividly came
back that sorrowful night when she
stood and heard the clock ticking loud
er and louder, as Tiny gcntlv breathed
her life away; and'it seemed to Dear
that she would never again hear the
clock ticking in the night without think
ing of that scene. She glanced at her
mother, and did not wonder that she
had no heart for Thanksgiving this
year. Indeed, she thought they all had
more cause for complaint than thanks
giving. ve-
Half blinded by thtes, .she started up,
and, going to the whitlow, looked out.
It was a frosty, starlight night. There
was no snow on the ground, but here
and there patches of ice were forming
over the pools of still water left by the
heavy fall rains.
“Why don’t papa c ?“ said Tip
top, fretfully. 1
“He will come soon,” said Hie j
soothingly, and, in obedience to an old '
habit, began absent-mindedly humming
Greenville, the one tune she knew, and
by whose aid she had year alter year ,
hummed the Gates babies to sleep
“Is papa at the shop?” asked Dear,
in the first lull in the humming.
“ No; he went down to the cotton
mill with a load of bobbins, and he
ought to be here by this time.”
“May I go a little way and meet
him?” asked Dear.
“Yes,” —remember ng that Dear had
been in the house all day—“ only first
light a candle and make the tea. and
put more wood in the stove, and bring
me Tiptop's night-dress, and untie the
boys’ shoes, and wear your hood, and
don’t be gone long.”
Dear had closed the outside door,
ready to start on a run, w hen she heard
old Fan's whinny in the direction of the
bam. “ Papa has come, and is unhar
nessing Fan,” thought she, feeling a
little disappointed that she could not
meet him and ride home. Instead, she
turned to the barn.
At the stable door stood old Fan*
steaming as if she were having a vapor
bath. “Papa had a load home,”
thought Dear, as she went up to pat
Fan. But what was that she stepped
on? A thill? Yes. a broken thilL. still
hanging to the harness. Startled,
Dear glanced around the yard. The
Wagon was not there, and now she saw
that only a part of the harness was on
the horse, and that was trailing on the
ground.
Before this in her heart had time to
take shape, Dear opened the stable door
and let Fan in, and, carefuljy closing
the door, ran for the street. The road
over the top of the hill lay like three
narrow foot-paths, with straight ridges
of turf between, and along these narrow
paths Dear sped with flying feet, strain
ing her eyes to see she dared not think
what.
At the brow of the hill she paused
an 1 looked down. The road wound
like a brook down the long hill-side,
turning to the right and to the left.
With here and there steep pitches and
many bars, till it was lost in the dark
ness far down toward the valley. As
far as her eyes could reach there was
nothing unusual to be seen; but at her
feet lay a broken harness strap. Up
that road Fan had come, and down that
road Dear must go.
< n and on. over bars and pitches,
scarcely touching the ground, loose
stones hit by her feet Hying before her,
till, suddenly, halfway down the steep
est pitch, she came to a place in the
road where the stones and the gravel
had been plowed up as if by the plung
ing of a horse.
Here lay the wagon seat. A little
farther on lay two or three planks across
the road, and at the foot of the steep
pitch lay, on its side, a wrecked lumber
wagon, which had run backward till it
capsize I; and across the steep gutter by
the road-side lay a load of plank which
had slid from the wagon as it went
over. Here was a part of the broken
reins belonging to the harness, with the
ends under the load of plank.
The wagon was her father's, Dear
knew that; but where was her father?
She stood said looked on either side, up
the hill and down into the valley.
Nothing moved; there was not even
wind enough to bend the tall dead
grasses by the road-side, and no sound
was to be heard in all the still night but
the purling and babbling of the little
brooks t hat had gullied deep channels
in the water ways on either side of the
road. Dear could bear this silence no
longer.
‘T’apa, papa, where are you?" and
the wild cry went up the hill-side and
down into the valley, bringing no an
swer.
’'<) papa, papa! what shall I do?”
she called again, and as she listened
with straining ears, she heard, or
thought she heard, a low mo in near her.
Shi* dropped on her knees. “Papa,
papa, are you here?” It was a praver
now. Surely she hoard a sound as if in
answer, and it seemed to come from
the plank that had" slid over the gutter.
In an instant Dear was over there
pee ing among the planks. She could
see nothing, but she could hear a sound
phiinly now. She tried with frantic
haste to raise the planks, but there was
not strength enough in her small arms
for that, and almost without thought
she darted, not up the hill to her
mother, but down into the b'ack valley
at the foot of the hill, where a cart-path
loading from the woods intersected the
road. Along this dark path, overgrown
with alders, she went till she came to a
low shanty built, between two trees,
and. bursting open the door, she crie.l:
“O Biddy McCoy! comequick; some
thing dreadful has happened on ths
hill.”
“What is’t yer sayin’?” said the
startled Biddy, starting from her seat;
.but as Dear was already out of doors’
she added, suiting the action to the
words: " Here, Bridget, tak the babby,
and you Mike,” to a stupid boy by the
tire, “got yer lanthern and cotno
along;” and without waiting to put any
thing on her head she followed Dear.*
The child was already out of sight,
but Hiddy went on at a sounding gallop
till she canie to the foot of the hill.
There she saw the small figure flying
before her and beckoning her on. * ”
“Shute, an’ somethin’ dreadful has
happened.” said the breathless Biddy,
crossing herself as she came up to the
wrecked wasron. “Is any one hurted?”
as 1 >ear c died her tn help.
" I’m afraid—l'm afraid there's some
one under the planks,” gasped Dear,
trying single handed to lift the load.
“ Here, gurl, that’s no way to warruk,
tak' the top one first. Mike, yo lazy
sowl. get along wid yer lanthern!” and
her voice went down the hillside like
the blast of a trumpet, starting even the
slow Mike into a run.
“ There, hould tha|,” said she, hand
ing the lantern to Dear, and with Bid
dy’s stout arms at one end and Mike's
at the other, the planks were thing over
into the road. Dear held her breath,
and before the planks were all off they
could see that a man lay there stretched
in the bed of the gutter. The planks
were over him like a roof, or the cover
of a box. and. when the last one was off,
1 ear saw her father's fa e, still ami
white, but she could not utter a sound.
n- j i owlv Mother, helpus!” e aculated
Bid iy. “Take his feet. Mike, and help
get him out of the wather He'll he
arowned intirelv if he'sno kilt already."
Tor as he lay damming up thenarrow
channel, the choked water had risen
and spread around him in an ever-ririn<r
pool.
As they took him up and laid him
doun in the road, the motion seemed to
rouse him to life, for Biddv. stooping
over him with the lantern, saw his eyes
suddenly open. He looked about him
in a bewildered way, and then lilutched
at the reins that were still in Ids hands,
shouting: “Whoa, Fan, whoa!” Then
he slowly raised himself on his elbow,
and seeing the planks scattered about
him muttered: “Why! she’s got away.”
“ Are ye much hurted. sur?” asked
Biddy, concernedly, taking his arm as
if she would help him to his feet.
“I don’t know, I’m cold,” said he,
•lowly.
“An’ well ye might be, lyin’ in all ;
that wather,” and she told him how I
they had found him lying in the gutter,
with the planks over him, but not on
him, and the water around him.
“ Is that you, Dear? and has the horse
gone home?” asked he after a moment,
seeing the little, shak ng figure beside
him*
“ Yes. nana.’* and all kt Once th*
convulsive sobs leaped oeyond her con
trol, and she fell on her knees, quite
unable to say or do anything but sob.
The sight and the sound of her sobs
did more than anything else to restore
her father to himself. With Biddy’s
heln he slowly rose from the ground,
and, after standing a moment, he said,
steadily: “I believe I am all right, only
cold and a little confused. The fall
must have stunned me, and but for your
help, my good woman, I should have
been a dead man soon.
“It was yer little gurl tould us? We
shouldn’t have known.”
He held his hand to Deaf, and she
caught it and held it under her chin,
still unable to sneak.
“Do ye think ye could walk, sur?
1 e’ve no right to be standin’ here wid
yer wet clotlies.”
Thus admonished they began to move.
Biddy and Mike and the “lanthern”
went with them to the top of the hill.
By that time Harvey Gateshad obta ned
full possession of himself, and he bade
Biddy good-night, telling her he would
see her on the morrow.
“Now, Dear,” said he. “run home
and tell your mother, quietly, that the
wagon broke down, but that I am all
right, and will be in directly.”
It was not until near noon the next
day, when Dear broke into an irrepress
ible fit of sobbing, that her mother knew
how near death had been to them that
night. She turned very white, and after
a moment said: “Children, we have
great reason to be thankful today.”
A little later Harvey Gates came in.
He had been down with Luke to get
the planks out of the road and to see
Biddy McCoy. He told a pitiful story
of the poverty in the little shanty.
“ There will be no Thanksgiving supper
there to-day,” he said. Mrs Gates
winced a little. She was a thrifty
woman, and it was not easy for her to
understand the blessedness of giving.
“ And such a baby, such a little mite of
a baby! ’ continued Harvey Gates, as If
speaking to himself.
“A baby?” repeated Mrs. Gates,
pausing on her way to the oven; “did
you say Biddy had a baby?”
“Yes, and the poor little thing looks
half starved.”
“Mamina,” said Dear, eagerly,
“why can’t we have them all up here
to Thanksgiving supper? We’ve got
enough for them.”
Harvey Gates glanced at his wife.
After a moment's hesitation she sad:
“Yes, they can come, I suppose, if
there ain’t more’nforty or fifty of ’em;”
and she opened the oven door and
basted the turkey with energy. “ Har
vey.” she called, as she neard him
going toward the door, “tell B ddy to
bring the baby; and here, you take that
thick shawl in the entry to wran it up
warm.”
And so the McCoy’s had the grandest
Thanksgiving supper of their lives;
and no more thankful company gathered
in New England that day, the Gates
family feeling very tender oxer their
escape from agreat calamity.— Josephine
R. Raker, in .s, .S'. Times,
Horse-Shoeing.
Horse-shoeing is-.quite an “art.”
though there are hundreds of smiths
who know how to tack a shoe on, per
haps how to make a neat-looking one,
but who do not know when a horse is
properly shod. If horse owners only
knew how a horse should be shod there
would be fewer poor and careless horse
shoers One great fault, and one to be
avoided, is burning the hoof with a red
hot shoo to “ tit” it to the foot, and no
horse-owner should permit the srn th to
do this, as it crisps up the foot, making
it harsh, brittle and liable to be broken”
Do not permit the smith to tit the foot
to the shoe by needless rasping and cut
ting. but have the hoof dressed up
properly, and then have the shoe fitted
lo the foot. Fixe nails in each shoe, if
properly driven and “turned,” will hold
almost any shoe on until it should be
removed, though for horses which do
very heavy work seven nails may be de
sirable. Never permit the frog to be
pared away. If there be ragged or torn
edges, these may be taken oil', but never
do more, for nothing protects the foot
from injury as does a healthy frog,
while a large part of the foot-lameness
we now see is caused by being careless
in this matter. —Jfmneapo/ts Tridane.
Extinction of a Family.
A remarkable instance of the extinc
tion of a family has occurred near Rox
ana. N. C. Jacob Evans and his wife
died a year or two ago and left two sons
and two daughters. An unmarried
brother of Mrs. Evans hamed Taylor
also lived for the most of his time with
the children. A short time ago one of
the daughters, who had married mean
while, died. In a little while Taylor
died. In a week or two more the other
daughter died, and was followed to the
grave in a few days more by one of the
brothers. The other brother and only
remaining fragment of the family ha’s
been for some time at the point of death,
though at present is reported better.
These deaths have occurred within the
space of little more than a month. The
family are said to have been mentally
weak, and when death removed the first
the rest gave way to melancholy and
. died.— North Carolina Payer.
—The Italian ship Francesca, laden
with rice, sprang a leak the other dav
and put into port at East London. She
was promptly pumped out and a large
force of men were set to work to unload
her. The rice was in bags and the work
was pushed with all speed; yet the rice
swelled so rapidly that the ship was
violentlv burst asunder.
RELIGIOUS AND EDUCATIONAL.
—Drawing has been made obligatory
in the th rd year of the regular high
school course in Boston.
—The Baptists of Ge-many will cele
brate the semicentennial of the mission
in 1884 by establishing a fund for in
valid preachers.
—The Board of the American Baptist
Publication Society have sold the Na
ti< na' Raplist to its present editor, Rev.
Dr. 11. L. Wayland.
—Ad I e:t College, which was built
by Amasa Stone, Jr,, of Cleveland, at a
cost of 0,000, Was dedicated recently
with impressive cer monies, many dis
tingu'shed educators being present.
—-Rev. E. Morrow, of the Canada
Methodist Church, has bequeathed $lO,-
000 t > various funds of that church, and
also ninety-two acres of land for the es
tabl sbuicut of a Methodist College in
Manitoba
—The church membership 1H Balti
more is said to be larger in proportion
to the population than that of any other
citx’ of Ito size in the Union —117.689
o! the 34'1,000 profile bring enrolled as
commune nts in the several Churches.
—The Pre idency of the new Meth
odist College : n Foochow, China, has
been conferred upen Rev. G._ B.
Smy h, of the Newark Conference.
He is a graduate of the New York Col
lege andof the Drew Theological Semi
nar.’.
—We hear, says the London Acade
my, that the i‘eviset‘3 of the Old Testa
ment have made so much progress that
their work Will certainly be finished in
a few more months. Indeed, there is
even soma probability that the re
vise I Ohl Testament may be ready for
pubbeat on by the close of next year.
—The Indian school at Carisle, Pa.,
has 330 pupil, on its roll. The experi
ment la-t summer of sending the chil
dren out among the farmers of the
neighborhood was so successful that the
plan has been ado - ted, and about fifty
of the Indian children now under the
care of the institution Will be placed
with farmers during the winter and at
tend the public schools. Chicago Times.
—Archbishop Bourget, of Montreal,
now ari octogenarian, has within two
years paid oft' a debt Os nearly $1,000,-
000 resting upon the DiocesC, being
largely aided by the increase in the
market value of real estate belonging
to the church. He is now engaged in
building a cathedral modeled after St.
Peter’s in Rome, to cost $1,000,000, of
which amount $400,000 has already been
subscribed. —Chicago Times.
* ■■ ■ 1
A Learned French Locksmith.
If Adrian Maquet, the learned lock
smith of Marly, finds that to be famous
is a pleasant sensation, he must thank
his good fortune for having given him
\ ictorien Sardou for a neighbor. But
for the dramatist’s kindly help in writ
ing a preface to his humble friend’s re
cently published book, “Les Seig
neurs de Marly,” the Paris literati
m’ght never have recognized the merit
of its remarkable author. The preface
has aroused so much curiosity in the
sub ect of it that the locksmith, who a
few days ago had scarcely been heard
of outside his village, is now receiving
visits from Paris journalists, who de
scribe his poor dwelling, his gray hair
and horny hands with graphic exact
ness. and are eager to publish anythin'
he may tell them about himself.
Adrian Maquet has added another
name to the list of learned working
men. For thirty-five years the study
of local history and ant’quities has been
his ruling passion. Whenever he could
steal a day from his toil he would be
take himself to some public 1 brary at
1 aris or Versailles, and by the aid of a
system of short hand that he had in
vented. would often take notes enough
to serve h in for three months’ noctur
nal study, lie had another way of ob
ta ning tl e information he coveted.
W hen sent to work at a neighboring
chai eau possessing a history, he would
beg leave of the proprietor to look at
the family documents, and, the motive
being appreciated, the permission was
readily granted. In course of time he
became as expert in deciphering
an -lent manuscripts as an adept of the
Ecole des Chartes. The paleographic
locksmith is now in a fairway of re
ceiving some Government appo'ntment
which will free him from those hin
drances to his beloved pursuit which
for thirty-five y»ars he has so bravely
struggled against St. James' Gazette.
Analysis of American Hnmor.
American humor is something of its
own kind, as purely and peculiarly a
part of, the United States as pumpkin
pie. We have among us the vivacity of
the French, the fun of the Irish, the
graver mirth of the English, and the
epigrammatic expressiveness of the
Scotch; this curious mixture has made
our wit what it is, and every American
humorist shows the traces of it. If we
analyze the elements of the distinctive
kind and sort of writing which passes
under the general head, we shall be sur
prised to see the resemblance among
themselves and their difference from all
other foreign species. We are born fol
lowers of. Baron Munchausen, and exag
geration is at the bottom of the most of
our humor. When John Phoenix said
that he called out to the crowd on shore,
“Good-by, Colonel,’’ and every able
bodied man in it raised his hat and
cried “Good-by, Colonel,” in response,
he touched the great nerve of American
humor; and when he stated that he held
the belligerent editor down over the
press “by means of our nose, which we
had inserted between his teeth for this
purpose,” he showed the second trait of
the characteristic comic writer—namelv,
ludicrous juxtaposition and reversing
of ordinary ideas. And so, when Arte- '
mus « ard says to the young man who
disturbs him in the theater: “I’d ap
pint your funeral to-morrow afternoon,
and the corpse should be ready,” he
gives us the third feature, quaint phrase
ology and odd turns of dialect. In these
three points, then—exaggeration, lu
dicrousness, and odd forms of speech—
we find the distinctive peculiarities of
our American wit.— Prof. S. W. Duffield.
mN. 1. Independent. M
-A stranger dropped into Waco,
lex., the other day and showed’em how
to make lemonade for five cents a gallon,
sixty of those who imbibed had to call
the doctor. I
VTM. A. MILLER,
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r he TOLU, ROCK AND RYE CO,, Proprietors, 41 River St., Chicago, 111.
marll janl till 59 Broad Street. ATLYN TA. G <
K. r. 'WKIGrIXT,
XV liolesale and Retail Druffgist,
Dealer in
I3BUETG-S, ZMLTGTDIOIJNTES, CHEMICALS
PW for n u B l e’coiora’i?On t’in '"t Art 'U s E ene 1 r » 1I y : White Lean, Mixed Paints, read
ror use, colors in OU, Dry, Linseed, Tanners’, Machine and Kerosene Oils- Varnisha*
Putty, Window Glass, I.amps and I,amp Fixtures: Surgical \pparatus such '
th.- a A b d orni na> Supporters, Trusses, Lancets. Poekft Cases’ Jte etc
This flrm also deals in Smoking and Chewing Tobacco, Fine Cigars and Snuff and have the ax
ciusiye Drug trade in fine Wines, Whiskies and Brandies in Dalton ’ “
aompa?c with Atlanta. C ° rner ° f K ‘ ng *“'* Hamilton streeta, Dalton, Ga. Fries guaranteed
j. ,|el» tfe
TClxo 1> Alton. .A. y i <=s 9
[CHANGRD FROM INDIPENIINT HEADLIGHT,]
Brightest, Most Progressive, Liberal and P opula
News Paper in Northwest G-eorgia.
O3NTLY O2STE LDOLEuJLEL Al YEAH
H. A. WRENCH, Publish sr.
The Virginia Country Squire of the
Colonial Period.
Apart from politics, these country
squires found but little business where
with to occupy their time. The direct
supervision of the slaves was ordinarily
intrusted to overseers, and the masters
were thus secured in the enjoyment of
ample leisure, which men of noble ambi
tion. such as Jefferson and Madison
could turn to good profit in cultivating
' ,’r minds. But to men of more common
mold this ample leisure became monot
onous, and in such a society as that nere
depicted, with no town life, no roads
or inns worth speaking of, and no amuse
ments save horse-racing, the entertain
ment of guests by the month together
was regarded both as a duty and as a
privilege. Every planter kept open
house, and provided for his visitors with
unst nted hand. The style of living was
extremely generous, and often splendid.
Ihe houses were spacious and solidly
built, sometimes of brick or stone, but
more often of wood. Panelled wainscots
of oak and carved oaken chimney-pieces
were common, and the rooms were
furnished with the handsomest chairs
and tables and cabinets that could be
brought over from England. The dress
.00, of both men and women was rich
and costly, and the latest London fash
ions were carefully followed. Silver plate
elegant china, and choice wines were
commonly to be found at these great
manor-houses, and the stables were
stocked with horses of the finest breed.
-John Fisk.-, i, t Harper's Maqazine.
—About the most uncomfortable seat
a man can have, in the long run, is self
conceit.
Effect of Cultivation.
he common potato probably shows
he etlect of cultivation as much as any
plant ever introduced into fields or
gi adens. But it is not generally known
. that the change from its normal to what
we may term improved state is quite
lapid, requiring only a few years to pro
duce large tubers of various colors from
♦k Wl !' l , ones b y careful culture. Where
v 'll* plants grow abundantly in
L ew Aae * lco an< l some parts of Arizona,
the ranch men assure us that when they
plow up the wild plants in putting in
cultivated crops, the effect upon the po
tatoes is quite marked. The tubers at
first are about the size of small marbles,
or a half inch or a little more in di
ameter, but the second season after
being disturbed they will become nearly
or quite double the original size, and
the next season still larger, if not killed
out in the plowing and hoeing. The
* lz e °f the plants also increases and the
leaflets, which at first are only about a
halt inch wide by an inch in length, in-
? r t a T * n sanie proportion as the
uoers. We have ourselves gathered
the tubers from the wild plants in the
undisturbed soils of the valleys of New
Mexico, as well as from the disturbed
or plowed land, and noted the dif
erence in size as claimed by many of
Her ild ldentS ° f the countr y— N ' K
~A man Charlotte, N. C., touched
a lighted cigar to the elephant’s trunk to
11 11 anything would happen. People
' ho picked him up after his flight found
' mr and arm broken.— Detroit Free
i. ee..