Newspaper Page Text
" i The wanderer
Xore comes back to his vacant dwelling—
The old, old Love that we knew of yore!
' We see him stand by the open door,
With his great eyes sad and his bosom swell
ing.
He makes as though in our arms repelling,
He fain would lie as he lay before—
Love comes back to his vacaift dwelling—
The old, old Love that we knew of yore!
Ah! who shall help us from over spelling
That sweet forgotten, forbidden lore!
E’en as we doubt in our hearts once more,
With a rush of tears to our eyelids welling,
Love comes back to his vacant dwelling.
—Austin Dobson.
A WILD RIDE.
BY SMITH H. BROWNE.
'‘Sairy! SairvAnn! Sairy Ann Eliz
abeth!” with a strong accent on the final
syllable.
The voice proceeded from a head half
buried in the folds of a heavy, home
made counterpane.
“Cornin’, pap, cornin’!” answered the
girl; and hurying along the sanded
floor, she bent over the sick man,
“chirked” up the pillows, and smoothed
his long gfay hair.
“ 'Pears like I’m powerful weak
feelin’.”
_ “Yes, pap, yer don’t eat nothin’,”
sighed the girl; “if yer could only
think of somethin’ yer wanted.”
“I’ve a hankerin’ arter pone-bread
baked outen Cove meal. This yer
mounting corn ain’t no ’count, nohow.”
“Yas, pap.”
“Them Hawkenses hain’t paid mo fer
the tan-bark I skinned last spring,’’con
tinued the old man. “They mought
pay ye, Sairy; leastwise Bud mought.”
“Yas,” and her face reddened like the
‘buds of the mountain maple. “He’d a
paid hit long ’go if that air clay-bank
hadn’t caved in.”
“Can't yer go this arternoon? He
mought pay hit, an’ then ye could get a
turn at the mill.”
“Why, hitaint long till candle-light!
thesun’fe more n two hours past the noon
crack,” and she opened the south door
and pointed to the noon-mark on the
floor already deep in shadows.
“Ye aintafeared, be ye, Sairy?”
“No; but hit’s more’n seven miles
round by Deer Head Cove, and the trail
is mighty scatterin’ now, with the leaves
•a-blowin’ every which way. I can’t go
*this evenin’, pap.”
“My heart’s sot on’t, Sairy, an’ yer
the only one to do for the old man now.
Jest tuck in the kivers, an’ then be as
jpeart as ye can ’bout goin’.”
She hastened through the entry to the
cookroom, and sank wearily into a
straight-backed, splint-bottomed chair.
Before her yawned an open-mouthed
stick chimney. The fire was nearly out,
and the half burned logs had fallen on
the hearth. Mechanically she put the
chunks together, and brushed the un
even hearth with a sage-broom: and then
began combing her long, wavy hair.
Overhead hung rows of sausages,
dressed in their corn-hu-k gowns; and
looped over these were strings of dried
apples and pumpkin. On the left was a
doorless cupboard, in which gleamed
some blue-flowered dishes ranged in mili
tary rows.
On the right stood a loom, at which a
woman sat busily throwing the shuttle,
her head and face hidden by an indigo
colored sun-bonnet. With every click
of the shuttle came a puff of tobacco
smoke, and the weaver s form kept time
with the sley as she battened up the
web.
• “Mother!”
The sun-bonnet turned and showed a
face wrinkled and tired, but lighted by
a pair of kindly gray eyes. “Wall?” she
answered, at the same time removing
the pipe from her mouth and puffing out
a cloud of smoke.
“i’ap wants me to go to Deer Head
Cove and get a grist o’ Cove meal.”
At this Airs. Martin rose, pushed back
the weaver s bench, and sat down facin'*
her daughter.
v “>airy,” she said, decidedly, “we
can’t ax them Grays any favors; they
haint the favorin’ kind. Thar’s nary
cent in the house, and thar’s no eggs
’ceptin’ three dozing, and ye’ll have to
them fer coffee at the store.”
‘ “I’m goin ter try ter git that money
•the Hawkenses have been owin’ of us
•fer tan-bark ever since last spring,”
said the girl, emphasizing every word
with a jerk of her glossy braid.
“taint no use; Lige- Hawkens is
mighty onary since he's taken to peach
brandy. lime was he ’peared mighty
friendly, an’ was a-speculatin’ ’bout you
an’ Bud. Howsomever, that air ciay
bank kind er turned his head, an’ made
him feel mighty bigity.”
During this conversation Sara had
changed her dress, and was now tying
her bonnet, while her mother packed
the eggs in a poke with salt.
“Good-by. mother; shall I brin<* ye a
calico gownd or some store-threap outen
the Hawkenses’ money?” Then, laimh
ing, she turned and* walked down the
path to the bars.
C ope. U ope! Cope Nan!” she called,
lr. a pe.suasive voice, at the same time
drumming on the top rail. A whinny
answered Iromthe wood-lot, and soon a
spirited sorrel colt came running up
with arched neck and distended nostril-.
She put forth her hand and coaxingly
stroked the long, glossv face. Then,
grasping the fore lock, she led the colt
to the stable, out of which both re ap
peared. the animal saddled and bridled,
the girl holding up a long cotton rulin'*
skirt. °
She nimbly climbed the horse-block,
and after carefully ad msting the poke of
egqs, started down the ndge, and soon
disappeared in the brown, leafless for
ests.
Mrs. Martin stood in the doorway,
shading her eyes from the western light,
loner after her daughter was lost to view,
gating wistfully at the blue, shadowy
rim of the distant Cumberland Mount
ains. Somewhere in their purple depths
her oldest boy was clearing up a farm,
and even now, while one hand shaded
her eyes, the other was in her pocket
grasping a letter irom him, a brsgging,
manly epistle as full of good cheer as it
was of bad s; elling. With a sigh she
left the door aad went back to her
weaving.
The sun was hanging like a brazen
disk on the leaden vault of the sky, its
lower rim hidden by the moui tain’s
zigzag crest and fringed by the tail,
gaunt trees, w T hen Sara Martin drew rein
before the Hawkens’s door-yard. Half
a dozen hounds ran out to meet her, fol
lowed leisurely by a young man dressed
in “store-clothes.”
He approached in an easy, courteous
way.
“Good-evenin’, Miss Sara; won’t ye
light?” and he proceeded to open the
gate.
“No, thank you,” slowly replied the
girl; “Icame ter see Squire Hawkens on
business. Is he ter home?”
“No —yes —that is / ’tend to things
now,” the young man answered. “Pap,
he’s—wall—he’s not hisself. Can I do
anything fer ye?”
“I came,” she stammered, “to see if I
could get that money he’s been owin’
of us fer tan-bark.”
Bud llawken’s face, deeply tanned as
it was, glowed with a sudden color, for
he had an honest, manly pride that hated
equivocation and delay.
“Didn’t father pay him long go?”
“No,” she answered. “I wouldn’t
have axed fer hit, but father hasn’t been
like hisself since the tree fell on him last
fall.”
“I’m mighty sorry, Miss Sara; I
thought ’twaspaid last year,” and taking
out his wallet he handed her ten dollars.
“That is the amount, I reckon.”
An awkward silence followed, while
she put away the money; then, as a
gust of mountain wind struck them, he
began to insist that she should come into
the house. “Hit’s gittin’ late; ye must
stay all night. Mother'll be powerful
proud to see ye.”
“I'm jest ez much obleegel, but 1
can’t stay;” and bidding him “good
evenin’,” she turned her horse’s head
homeward. Horse and rider soon left
the main road, and struck into a weil
beaten bridle-path. The low, over
changing branches interlaced each other,
and constant care was needed to keep
them out of her face. The trail grew
more and more rough, till before long
she was compelled to dismount and make
her way on foot through the dense
bushes.
“Thar!” she exclaimed, at last, “we’ve
saved a mile,” and she led the panting
colt out into the open road.
She was now again going directly
away from home. Behind her rose the
mountains, while before her stretched a
picturesque valley, broken by ridges and
woodlands. The road turned abruptly
along the ri ge, and stopped face to
face with an old mill. The wheels were
still. Even tlic miller’s chickens had an
air of “no grist to-day.” A man leaned
out of the balf-door, listening to the
sound of the approaching horse.
“No grinding ter-day,” he muttered
to himself; “the mill’s gittiu’ fixed.”
In fact, that was the condition of affairs
five days out of the wees.
“Good-even’, Miss Sara; can’t grind j
ter-day, the mill’s bein’ ”
“I want ter buy some meal,” she inter
rupted; “’bout half a bushel; au’l’min
a mighty hurry.”
The miller came forward and helped |
her down, then entering the mill, soon !
reappeared with the meal.
“Yer don’t aim ter go home ter-night?”
he questioned. “Hit’s gittin’ late, and
the wolves hev been powerful ondacious
like fer the last week. Killed more’n
half o’ Bill Larkin’s sheep, an’ tuck arter
Bob Jones t’other night jist fernent the
Gap. Better not go up the mounting
ter-night.”
“But I must, Father’s been ailin’fer
a long time, an’ he’s took a notion fer
Cove meal. B’sides, he’d be that worried,
hit u’d bring on the fever agin if I
didn’t come,and mother’d be scared mos’
to death. Could ye lend me a lajfrcrn?” .
“I haint got un, nor no pine MOtses,
nor nuthin’. Green ’u’d go with ye if he
was to home. Ye better stay.”
She hesitated. It would be a dark,
moonless night. Black clouds were
banked high in the west, and ali£ iy it
was growing dusk. Even now the sough
ing of the wind though the pines
sounded ominous of a storm. But she
resisted the temptation to abandon her
duty.
“No, I can’t stay; but I never was
away from home in the night before by
my lone self,” and, in spite of her de
termination, there was an almost child
ish desolation in her voice.
“They oughtn’t ter let ye start so late
if ye had ter git back ter-night!”
grumbled the miller, while he deftly and
securely fastened the meal at the back
of the saddle.
“We didn't know the old trail was all
choked up with a windfall o’ trees, and
hit tuck me a heap longer ter come
round by the Gap.”
Sara rode away from the mill in a state
of nervous excitement amounting almost
to terror.
The night grew blacker and blacker,
till she could not even see the horse’s
head. Her teeth chattered, and a deathly
chill benumbed her limbs. One hand
rested on the warm shoulder of the colt,
and she could feel the play of the mus
cles. At intervals the horse shied, and
in her terror she was more than once
near being thrown off. No souud broke
the silence save the clatter of the horse’s
hoofs.
Thus three miles were passed, and the
road winding over the foot-hills became
broken hand abrupt, besides being ob
structed here and there by fallen trees.
The filly traveled more slowly, and
stopped frequently to rest. As the ascent
of the mountain began, the horse
! stumbled in the darkness and bara dis
mounted, drew her arm through the
bridle, and led the way. She pushed
forward slowly and painfully, now
reaching out to feel some familiar object,
now climbing over a pio-trate tree-
ej x
trunk, or going around its bushy top.
At a point about half way up the
mountain a wet-weather stream ran into
the trail, and for some distance kept
along with it. The purling of the wa
ter soothed her nerves; her fears van
! ishe.l, and she advanced boldly. But
l very soon her clothing was drenched—
i fur the brook had worn deep hollows
here and there, into which she could not
j help stepping—while her feet were sauiy
I bruised iu her stumblings amongst the
j sharp stones. Up she climbed higher
I and higher, watching eagerly for a turn
1 in the path, till suddenly she tripped
j and fell, with her whole weight upon one
wrist.
Dizzy, half stunned and in excruciat
ing pain, she lay for a few moments
upon the stones: then, with great effort,
j she bathed her face, bound up her wrist,
staggered to her feet, and rested her
head on the colt’s shoulder.
“WeY lo t, Nan 1 we’r lost!”
The filly rubbed her hand responsive
• ly, but kept stepping backward.
“Oh, you think we are too far up,
Nan, do you?”
She tied the bridle to a low bush, and
started down the brook, anxiously feel
ing of the tree-trunks, one after another,
till at last her hand rested upon the
familiar blaze of three notches.
“Thank God?” she exclaimed; then
she counted her steps back to the horse,
and, with much urging, led it down,
carefully recounting her steps, mean
while, lest she should lose the blazed
tree.
“This is the last step; hit must be
near here.” She tried to put forth her
hand. A cry of pain escaped her lips;
“It is broken!”
She took the bridle in her teeth, and
groped in the darkness with the other
hand.
“Here hit is!”
At this place the trail crossed the bed
of Hie stream. She knelt down and
crept along for several rods, eagerly
fumbling among the dead leaves in
search of the beaten path. At length
the way became definite.
“YAe’i*e at the long turn!” she mut
tered, and, regaining her feet, she hur
ried on. Nan followed reluctantly, pull
ing at the bridle with loud snuffing* and
snorting.
“Come, Nan, come!” Sara coaxed; but
the animal held back.
“Thar, Nan, sohl” She put forth her
hand. The horse trembled violently.
The ears were drawn forward in intense
listening. She, too, listened, and heard
the short, sharp barking of a fox. and
then the low, ominous howl of distant
wolves.
(Jne thought took instant possession of
Sara’s mind: If she could only gain the
top of the mountain, where the land
| stretched away for miles in undulating
swells, th re was still a chance of escape.
; She used every possible means to urgS
the filly forward, but the panic stricked
creature, like a frightened child, only
pressed back the more closely upon her;
as if seeking protection in her presence
There was nothing left but for the girl
to take the lead, and coax the hors®
after her, step by step.
Minutes passed like hours, but at last
the summit was gained. Here their course
shifted, so that the barking of the wolves
sounded no longer in front of them, as
had hitherto been the case, and the colt
was now ready enough to advance.
With the greatest difficulty the poor
girl, disabled and exhausted, managed
to get into the saddle, and away they
went, with the wolves in full cry behind
them.
It was a fearful race, the starving
pack every moment gaining upon the
filly. There is yet a quarter ot a mile to
the river, and at last the rocky beach is
rea hed, and girl and colt plunge into
the dark and rapid current.
The firelight gleamed from the
“shelter” window, and the open door
showed the form of Mrs. Martin peering
out into the darkness.
“She’s coming, pap, she’s coming!”
The girl struggled toward the house,
and threw herself down upon the big
stone step.
“Thank God, yer safe!” ejaculated the
old man, as he came tottering to the
doorway, his trembling fingers catching
at the wall for support. ‘ ‘Thank God,
yer safe!” He had no voice to say
more.
The girl was safe, although how it
had come about she could never tell.
The poor filly, terrified and exhausted,
had been unable to make the bank, but
she herself had somehow got on shore,
snatched, as if by miracle, out of the very
jaws of death.— Youth's Companion.
Opium Cultivation.
Opium occupies the first place in the
foreign trade of Persia. It insures the
largest and most direct cash return to
the producer, arnicas a natural conse
quence, the arc®.;'under cultivation is
increasing greatly. The two principal
markets are Hong Kong and London.
The quantity of morphia contained in
Persian opium is 11A to twelve per cent,
while in other op um producing coun
tries it rarely exceeds per cent. Pa
paver somniferum, or white poppy, of
which opium is the inspissated juice, is
grown principally in and about Ispahan,
Yezd, and Shiraz, that of Ispahan being
superior both iu quality and quantity.
The preparation of the land begins about
September 5, and consists in plowing,,
harrowing, fertilizing abundantly with
ashes aad detritus, and laying off into
squares to facilitate irrigation. After
sowing, the fields are irrigated three
times, at intervals of fifteen days. After
that there is only more irrigation—
about the middle of the winter. In the
spring, irrigation takes place on March
20, after which the land is repeatedly
harrowed aud hoed in order to extirpate
all parasitic weeds. The plants are
thinned, and then watered every ten
days until flowering begins, when all
work must cease. When the heads have
formed and have fully ripened, a last
flooding is given. Then six slight in
cisions are made at about the junction of
the stem with the head. This should be
done at noon. The juice that exudes is
collected the next morning, and the
morning following at daybreak. When
these first incisions have ceased dis
charging, others are made lower down,
and the operation may be thus thrice re
peated, the opium obtained after each
successive incision being proportionately
inferior Quality. Next, the plants them
selves are cut down and the heads sold,
the natives use the seed on bread as a
substitute for butter. The end of May
is the season for harvesting. —Chemist
and Druggist.
A Farmer’s View of Preaching.
Well, wife, town sermons seems to me,
Are like the ridin’ plow:
They’re easy, party kind o’ things,
But don’t go deep somehow.
They take ye over lots o’ ground,
An’ science styles is such.
Both in the sermon an’ the plow,
That one don’t feel it much.
To-day our preacher skinned along,
An’ ’peareil to do a heap,
A cuttin kivrin’ of the weeds
Heoughter plowed in deep;
An’ when he halted at the end,
An’ got his team ungeared,
The devil laded to see the tares
A grow in’, I’m afeard.
This scientific plowin’, now,
An’ science preachin’, too,
Both run too shaller for the work
The pint has got to do.
You’ve got to let the traces out,
An’ change the clevis pin,
Then hist the handles, hold 'em tight,
An’ le* the pint go in.
—Lu B Cake, in Omaha World.
BUDGET OF FUN.
HUMOROUS SKETCHES FROM
VARIOUS SOURCES.
Peculiar People—One Was Enough
—A Great Commercial Truth—
Betrayed the Old Man-
Short in Experience.
There was a young doctor of Skye,
Whose patients seemed destined to dii
But he left them one day,
To go fishing, they say,
And they all got well, just for a guy.
There isau old man in Duluth,
Who made up his mind in his youth
That he never would lie;
Now he’s longing to die,
He’s so tired of telling the truth.
There is a young girl in Cohoes,
As fair and as fresh as a rose:
But she ciphers in Greek,
And she si>eaks Volapuk,
And she’ll die an old maid, I suppose.
There was a young man in Japan,
Who wrote verses after this plan;
But the populace rose,
As you may suppose,
And they wiped out that wretched young
—Somerville Journal.
One Was Enough.
Agent —“Can I put a burglar alarm in
your house, sir?”
Citizen—“Nop; I had one once.”
Agent—“ What was the matter?
Wouldn’t it go off?”
Citizen—“Oh, yes, it went off easily
enough. Burglar got into the house one
night and arried it off.” —New York Sun.
A Great Commercial Truth.
Johnny (whose father is an editor) —
“Say, Mr. Storekeeper, do you keep su
gar, tea, calico and things?”
Storekeeper—“ Certainly, my boy.”
Johnny—Yes, and pa says you will
keep um unless you advertise.”—Sibl
ings.
Beirayed the Old Man.
“These fish,my dear Mrs. Hendricks,”
remarked the minister who was discuss
ing a Sunday dinner with the family,
“are delicionsly fresh. lam enjoying
them very much.”
“They ought to be fresh,” volunteered
Bobby, who was also enjoying them.
“Pa caught’em only this morning.”—
Bangor Commercial.
Short in His Experience.
Happy Young Husband—“ Belle and I
get along very amicably. Not the
slightest coldness has occurred, and we
have been married almost a year.”
Wise Father—“ Did you ever try to
match any trimming for her?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Then your experience hasn’t com
menced yet.”— Life.
Better Than Ether.
Surgeon—“ Now, my man, lam about
to amputate your foot.”
“Well, go ahead.”
“I would advise you to submit to being
placed under the influence of an ames
thetic.”
“Hang your anaesthetic! But I’ll tell
you what I wish you would do.”
“Well?”
“Have somebody bring me the score of
the ball game by innings while you’re at
work.”— Nebraska Journal.
Oblij* inj*.
Jones met a blind man in the street
the other evening who, with stick in
hand, was carefully thumping his way
along. Presently he saw him stop.
“is this your house?” asked Jones.
•‘Yes, sir.”
“Well, then,” remarked our friend,
always ready to do a good turn to a fel
low-creature in distress, as he placed a
box of wax tapers in his hand, “here’s
something to light your way up stairs.”
—Judge.
Imperious Hired Help.
First Dame (a few years hence) — ‘ ‘How
are you getting along now, dear?”
Second Dame—“ Very nicely. I have
secured the services of a person to come
in once a day, make the bed, dust the
bric-a-brac aud clean the silver. For a
little extra she also lists the clothes for
the laundry.”
“How fortunate you are?”
“Yes, indeed. That leaves me nothing
to do but sweep v cook, wash dishes,
carry coal and scrub.”— Omaha World.
Half and Half.
Young Wife— ‘ ‘John, I wish you would
rock the baby.”
Young Husband—“What’ll I rock the
baby for?”
Y. W.—“ Because he is not very well.
And what’s more, half of him belongs
to you, and you should not object to
rock him.”
Y. H.—“ Well, don’t half belong to
you ?”
Y. W.—“ Yes.”
Y. H.—“ Well, you can rock your half
and let my half holler.”— Clecela.id Tow
Topics. '
Horrible
Omaha man—“ Did you go !_-• .De
Fashion’s boarding house to-day?”
Wife—“ Yes. She refuses to take us
because we have a child; but I got even
with her.”
“Gave her a piece of your mind, eh?”
“No, indeed: that wouldn’t have done
any good. 1 told Miss Fad there was a
room vacant at Mrs. De Fashion’s, and
she went around and secured it; paid for
three months in advance.”
“Who is Miss De Fad?”
“She is one of those art enthusiasts.
She hammers brass.”— Omaha World.
In a Hisj Fickle.
Brown —“1 hear that Jones is com
plicated financially.”
Robinson—“Y'es, he is in a regular
pickle.”
“Maybe so, but he’s not in as big a
pickle as he was last summer.”
“I didn’t know that he was financially
embarrassed last sUmmcrr”
“I didn't say that he was. I merely
said he was in a big pickle last summer,
and so he was. He bathed every day in
the Atlantic ocean at Long Branch.
That’s being in a big pickle, ain't it.”—
Siftings.
A Nervous Disorder.
Lady (to physician)—“l wish you would
stop and see my husband, doctor. He
seems to be suffering from some nervons
trouble.”
Physician—“ln what way does his
nervousness show itself?”
Lady—“He jumps every time the front
door bell rings.”
Physician— “Well, I will stop when I
am passing; but I’m inclined to think,
madam, that your husband ought to see
a banker—not a physician.”— Tid-bits.
Where Colors Come From.
A well-known artist gave me some
curious information the other day re
garding the sources from which the
colors one finds in a paint box are de
rived. Every quarter of the globe is
ransacked for the material—animal,
vegetable and mineral —employed in
their manufacture. From the cochineal
insects are obtained the gorgeous car
mine, as well as the crimson, scarlet and
purple lakes. Sepia is the inky fluid
discharged by the cuttlefish to render
the water opaque for its concealmenl
when attacked.
Indian yellow is from the camel. Ivory
black and bone black are made out of
ivory chips. The exquisite Prussian
blue is got by fusing horses’ hoofs and
other refuse animal matter with impure
Eotassium carbonate. It was discovered
yan accident. In the vegetable king
dom are included the lakes, derived
from roots, barks and gums. Blueblack
is from the charcoal of the vinestalk.
Lampblack is soot from certain resinous
substances. From the madder plant,
which grows in Hindoostan, is manu
factured turkey red. Gamboge comes
from the yellow sap of a tree, which the
natives of Siam catch in cocoanut shells.
flaw sienna is the natural earth from
the neighborhood of Sienna, Italy,
When burned it is burnt sienna. Kaw
umber is an earth from Umbria, and is
also burned. To these vegetable pig
ments may probably be added India ink,
which is said to be made from burnt
camphor. The Chinese, who alone pro
duce it, will not reveal the secret of its
composition. Mastic, the base of the
varnish so-called, is from the gum of the
mastic tree, indigenous to the Grecian
Archipelago. Bistre is the soot of wood
ashes. Of real ultramarine but little is
found in the market. It is obtained
from the precious lapis lazuli, and com
mands a fabulous price. Chinese white
is zinc, scarlet is iodide of mercury, and
cinnabar or native Vermilion is from
quicksilver ore. Luckily for the health
of small children, as my friend the art
ist remarked, the water colors in the
cheap boxes usually bought for them
have little or no relation, chemically, to
the real pigments they are intended to
counterfeit. —San Francisco-Examiner.
T—
How a Vaquero Executed Orders.
The following illustration of “thiel
meeting thief” comes from California
Pastoral: A certain rancho owner in the
district of Monterey, a man who occu
pied a prominent position in California
“in the thirties,” one day needed a few
hides to complete a contract, and em
ployed a man to furnish them on that
same day.
Now, it was well known that this per
son was never over-scrupulous in his
manner of obtaining hides, and for this
reason the contractor, who needed them
quickly and at no advanced price, ap
plied to h:m.
“I cannot bring in to-day,” remon
strated the vaquero (cow herd).
“I said to-day,” the ranchero replied.
“But I have not the hides, and the
-nearest herd, except your own, is four
or five leagues away.”
“Before twelve o’clock to-night bring
me the hides I need. Now go.”
The job was done. The vaquero was
praised and paid.
But next day when the rancliero’s
Indian went for his master’s cow’s, he
found many of them missing. A chill
ing suspieiop crept flie owner of
the rancho. He mounted a horse, rode
forth, and, after due search, found the
carcases of his cows in the chaparral, in
the upper end of the canon.
He rode slowly back, his wrath rising
meanwhile.
“You villain, you killed my cows,” he
cried furiously, when he had found the
vaquero.
“Certainly, sir, it was my only chance
of filling your peremptory order,” was
the calm reply.
The ranchero was too shrewd not to
see that he himself had set the trap in
which he had been caught. He had to
be content with storming and kicking
the wily vaquero, who was only too
happy to escape with such a mild pun
ishment.
An Unsinkable Man-of-War.
The French Government are about to
build a new man-of-war, which, it is be
lieved on the other side of the Channel,
will effect a complete revolution in naval
architecture. This vessel is to be quite
unsinkabie, and it is claimed for her that
even when riddled by shells in every di
rection her power of flotation will not be
materially altered. This happy result is
to be attained by the use in her construc
tion of cellulose amorphe—a product of
cocoanut fibre, possessing such elasticity
and resilience that if pierced by a pro
jectile or the prow of a ship, or ripped
up by a rock, the aperture so made closes
again at once. The new material will
form the sides of the ship, the sole arm
mored protection consisting of a steel
deck of great thickness and a conning
tower for the Captain and helmsman. It
is evidently the idea of the designer that
even if the crew of his ship are killed off
by shells passing through the sides, the
vessel herself will not go to the bottom,
but live to fight another day—a quality
which can hardly be claimed for many of
our ironclads- or cruisers.— London
Budget.
The Origin or “Uncle Sam.”
Tlie sobriquet “Uncle Sam” arose al
the time of the last war between Eng
land and America. A commissiarat
contractor named Elbeht Anderson, of
New York, had a store at Troy. A
Government Inspector named Samuel
Wilson, who was always dubbed “Uncle
Sain,” superintended the examination of
the provisions, and when they were
passed each package was marked with
the letters E. A.—U. S., the initials of
the contractor and of the United States.
The man whose duty it was to mark the
casks, being asked what the initials
meant, replied that they stood for Elbert
Anderson and Uncle Sam. This was
considered a good joKe and soon got
abroad, /and long before the war was
over the name had become fixed, and
applied just a 9 John Bull is applied to
England.— Courier Journal .
THE ZOARITES,
ONE OF THE MOST SINGULAR
SECTS IN AMERICA.
A Community in Ohio in Which All
Property is Held in Common—
Their Live Stock—A Pro
cession of Milk maids.
A letter from Zoar, Ohio, to the Wor
cester (Mass.) Spy, says: This settlement
of German mystics and communists,
holding all property absolutely in com
mon, is a complete little kingdom in it
self. The Zoarites own 7000 acres of land
in one tract, of which half is under cul
tivation, while the remainder is heavily
timbered with valuable walnut, oak and
pine trees. Tneir original purchase here
was 10,000 acres, but ffOOO have been
sold from time to time at a great advance
over first cost. Every article, implement
or machine that is used, wrought with,
eaten, drunk or worn by the Zoarites, ia
produced in Zoar, as are also the materi
als of which it is composed. The only
exceptions to this rule are coffee, tea,
sugar and spices. The shoes the Zoarites
wear are made by their own shoemaker
from leather prepared by their own tan
ners from hides taken from their own
cattle. The coal that warms them and
cooks their food is dug in their own
gaines and is burned in stoves cast in
their own foundry, from iron smelted in
their own furnaces, from ore found in
abundance on their own lands. The
clothing that covers them is made by
their own tailors, from cloth woven in
their own mill from wool sheared from
their own sheep. The beer they drink is
brewed in their own brewery, from malt
made by their own malsters and hops
grown on their own lands.
All manufacturing in Zoar is done by
water power. Steam is scarcely used at
all. The Tuscarawas river, by means of
dams, is made to flow with sufficient
swiftness and volume to supply thirty or
forty horse-power to each of the Zoarite
manufactories. Nearly all the machinery
used was made in Zoar by Zoarite
mechanics. One of their principal pro
ducts is flour, of which, after supplying
their own wants, they ship large quanti
ties to Pittsburg, Cleveland, Washing
ton and Baltimore. One of the chief
places of interest in Zoar is the great col
lection of immense barns, in which the
milch cattle are kept. A considerable
portion of the Zoarites’ wealth is invested
in their live stock, and they have devoted
much attention to determining what are
really the best breeds. They have ex
perimented largely with the Holstein, the
Jersey, the Alderney and the Durham,
and are now inclined to favor the last
named, though all four varieties are well
represented in their herds. Every sani
tary and convenient device that modern
ingenuity has been able to suggest is
utilized in the construction of these cow
3tables. The stalls extend in long rows
on either side of a broad aisle, and the
conditions for light and ventilation are
of the most favorable kind. Already the
cows are out at pasture, and it is a rare
sight to see the mild-faced, patient crea
tures come filing in at eventide in a
seemingly interminable procession, each
one knowing her accustomed place, and
going voluntarily to it without the
slightest disturbance or confusion.
On the morning and evening of each
day all the young women in Zoar repair,
in merry procession, to these barns and
milk the cows. As members of Congress
sometimes are for a much less useful pur
pose, the girls are “paired,” and to each
two are assigned eight cows, which they
must always milk. Fancy more than thirty
buxom young milkmaids, with the good
looks which are the offspring of good
health, outdoor exercise and good diet,
sparkling in their eyes, lip? and cheeks.
Each one is tastefully dressed in well
fitting chintz or calico, and wears a white
apron, which, like everything else about
these most attractive young women, is
scrupulously neat and clean. The girls
have the privilege of naming the cows
assigned to them, and the name of each
cow is painted over her stall. These
names show that there is a trace of the
romantic in the minds of the young wo
men of Zoar, the bovines rejoicing in
such fnneiful appellations a 3 Lilly,
Maud, Ethel, etc.
Another place in which to see the
Zoarite young women to advantage is
the bakery, where all the bread and pies
for the entire community are baked
fresh every morning. From seventy-five
to a hundred loaves comprise the average
daily consumption of the town. The
baking is clone by men, but each house
hold sends its young women to the
bakery to procure its supply of daily
bread and carry it home wrapped in a
large, spotless vhite cloth which each
damsel carries with her.
Besides these quaint processions of
young women to the cow stables and the
bakery, there is another similar one to
be seen in Zoar on every pleasant day.
That is, a procession ot girls, ranging
from eight to thirteen years, drawing in
an old-fashioned baby carriage a younger
brother or sister for an airing. As all
property in Zoar is held in common, so
the Zoaritesshare equally,and participate
together in all their pleasures and duties.
1 hus even the babies of the society are
“aired” simultaneously in along drawn
out procession.
For the pleasure of the members of
the society and their visitors a public
garden and a greenhouse are maintained
in Zoar. Both are of considerable 'ex
tent and woulij be highly creditable to
any large city.
Remedy for Torpid Liver.
One of the best and simplest remedies
for torpid liver or biliousness is a glass
of hot water with half a lemon squeezed
into it, but no sugar, night and morn
ing. A person to whom this was recom
mended tried it, and found himself
better almost immediately. His daily
headaches, which medicine had failed,
to cure, left him, his appetite improved,
and he gained several pounds within a
few weeks. This is so simple a remedy
that any person thus afflicted will do
well to give it a trial, as it cannot possi
bly do any harm. —Family JJerald.
He Was Acquitted: Police Judge—
“ Prisoner, you are charged with having
brutally assaulted this man.” “I admit
it. your Honor, but there are extenuating
circumstances.” “Of what nature?”
“Why, this man asked me if a hen and
a hall' laid an egg and a half in a day
and a half how many—” That will do.
Y'ou are discharged.”— Lincoln Journal.