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" 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.