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olnnibia • HAKIM. GEORGIA. l‘l Ill.H-HI I> EVERY THURSDAY. Ballard «*> AlUln«on. PBOPnUCTOM. Tli- C<»mHii‘»i<>ner >.f tbr Gramral Ixmd Office hn* mud- the remarkable diwovery that, through u hgWatlve or dericnl ■ cidrnt, the Indian title to lO.tXHI.OtM. arm of land in Dakota ha* not l*<n < *■ tinguioheil, though not l< * than twenty thoWMih'l people have moved in and *• t lied the M-< tlon. Ten million i<•* ur< n good ileal of land enough to maki three «tat< Ilk* < ’onn» <t» nt and hav< , million •<(<■« over What wouldn't th< average lx»y give if hi* pa would only wrid him to the Fort Wratigel training *< hool in Abi-ka? Ihe new jmjHl of tl.it jiltue -av> that the boy* of the rhool la-t year kilhd for the uac of the Institution 121 <l« r, 11 acai*. I leaf nlioul 150 wild g < -<. over 300 duck*, and numerous grouse, |tor« npine*, niannot* and ani|H . and < aught rill the salmon, halibut, eodtlsh, trout, herring, flounde r cralis and <lama they needed. Tii- Euphrates river, once a mighty ■tri am, »eciua liki ly to disapja iir alto getin r. For some years tin river hanks la-low Babylon have been giving way, so that the stream spread out into u marsh, until steamers could not pa**, and only a narrow channel remained for flu native boat*. Now tin pnssnge is k ing tilled up, and the proajs< t is that the towns on the banks will lie ruined, and the famous river itwlf wUi be swallowed up by the desert. The Boston ./<oowd recently told 11 cor rrajamdi lit tluit tin report that snow had fallen in the West when the mercury was 80 degrees below zero is rm erroi, assert ing that it is then "too cold to snow." The bt Paul /‘imror J'rtne denies the •aaertion most emphatically, saying that in Minnesota, it doe* snow, and snows furiously, when the mercury is SW) degrees below zero. These, the editor adds, are terrible storms for the people who ure caught in them The principal astronomical event of IH*H will be the total el lipse of the sun on the tjgth of August The line of totality in this eclipse will cross the At lantic Ocean, traversing land in the West Indie* just after sunrise and in Southern Afri, ati iward* sunset. On the coast of Bcnguela the total phase hets nearly five minutes, and nt Grenada, in the Weal Indies, the duration will la- nearly four minute*. Three comets of known |*ri *>d arc < x|* vted to return during the year, tHber*'comet, with a |a riod of •evenlyone ami a half years, will proba bly reach Perihelion near the close of the year. A small comet discovered by Pons in 1619, and rediscovered by Winneckc in 18.18, i* due in 1888, as 1* also the one tint seen by Temple in 1 HOP, and again observed by Swift in 1880. The ]ieriod of each of these two comets is about live •nd a half years. Lieutenant Greely makes a pathetic ap peal in his recently published book fol the survivors of the Lady Ffanklin Bay expedition. Some of them have not laen fully |>Mi<i for their Arctic service; not one of them has been promoted in the army; one lies in n city hospital the re ci|Hiit of private charity, and one and all are neglected and forgotten afterglheit faithful discharge of tin government service required of them in the fat North. The Lieutenant remarks that Brainard, who wit* Lock wood’* associate in making the furthest North, is still a ■ rgeant in the United States Army, whereas his gallant service would havi earned liiui a commission in any other ■■rvice in the world. The New York TrJniM thinks that the fai t that these nu n were sent to Lady Franklin Bay by the I nited States government and were cX]a>M'd to the most agonizing suffering in the internet of science fairly entitle* them to generous consideration. The Cur /bidder reproduces the half jiagv photograph of a strangv r sight than Baron Munchausen ever saw. A train wa» stallevkin as:: -w bank. An engine with a small snow -plow started out from the station to aid the incoming train. Sup|*>snig the stalled train to be three miles out instead of two, the engine with the plow ran into the stalled en gine in a spow bank ami a< tually took tlie incoming locomotive < ntirrly up on its entire length. Th, smokestack, liell, •ami chest. Mid cab were wijM-d off tin lower machine, but the up|wr one hist only it* smokestack. The two oar drive wheals of the upper locomotive sit over the pla of the lower smokestack, and the forward trucks above ate in the place of the low. r cab. There is iuh of per hajw ten degrees to the right in the up per locomotive. Both engines vur, now in a dangerous place, ■< the pluck y engineers plugge d the broken pip s~f the und«T engine and di«. on rod that it <lll cvuld be work d. In this condition, with a full sired locomotive on its ba. k, the under engine was iun back tWs miles to a si.iitrack and swit.hisl. 1 DO not ere any object in j- alouay, for ten to one if tbiaw w e are jealous < f are not •qualta jealous of some one olac. An inslam -of the intimate rolatkrn *hip between a horse and its keep r is afforded, says the New York Timet, in the remarkable history of the hor— Epaul.-t, for whir h Mr. Bonner offered 620,(8X1 in vain. On its first app-aranee in th- ring it was unnoticed mid lost the first two heats. Tl.< regular driver mid trainer of the horse, n colored man, begged . arm -fly to be p rmitted to take the horae and drive the remainder of the rru-e, rind fortunately Ida request was granted nt the last moment. The horse n.-ighed with pleasure when hi* well known driver mounted the sulky and showed hi* satisfaction by putting forth all L;» effort' mid winning the rare, uud o-veral othw afieiw.ird th- sum. -i a-on, with eiise. Hi* record i-to<*i at 2:19, 2 ‘iO 11. 2 :20 14, in three straight herit“, which for a 4 y.-ar-old was so gratifying to .Mr. Bonner that In at once offen d the large price mimed for him. With any oth-r driver the horse sulked and had no i-nthii-iasm. Th- affection which exist* between all kinds of animals mid their kind and sympathetic keepers is a trait whi< h should ni-v. r la- ignored. Considerable attention ha. la-en lately directed to the commercial ami indus trial value, at least prospectively, of the tupdo gum and willow oak timbers of Mississippi. After various and thorough tests the first named has lieen pronounced almost a* soft ami light as cork, and the whitest timla- in the valley. It is ex tremely light, <ain not be split, while at th. same time it. i- v.-ry tough, tenacious, and will hem a heavy strain, its various qualities rendering it specially valuable for buckets, pitchers, trays, ox yokes, ami almost all kinds of water vessels, as well as for many other purposes. The water or willow oak is raid to Is- si-cond only to the live oak, is almost as hard wh.-n scnsonisl as is the bitter, and for the rim and spokes of wheels is alleged to have no superior, while for ship-build ing it will almost equal the live oak in its firmness and durability. Test* have been made of the . rushing capacity of this wood, and al o of its transverse strength, with remarkably favorable results, the published data showing that it is one third stronger than any white, red, or black oak, and only one eighteenth less than live oak. • ‘‘The comedies of Washington society are more funny than those that upp-ar upon Die stages of its theatres,” writes th.- correspondent of the Cleveland "Throughout every part of the city, just now, the sublime is tramping upm the heels of the ridiculous, and the high and low, the rich mid the poor, the patrician* and the apostles of the raggeU edge bump up against each other, bow mid apologize, mid move onward in a mixed up, indescribable throng. To the looker-on in Washington the funniest of things are those behind the scenes. You go to a reception and as the gayly dressed throng flits by you, you think of the skele tons w hich each one has in his closet. That indy dres'.-d so nicely and wearing such elegant stuffs, like ns not buys her clothes on instalments and does not get them paid for before they are worn out. That great mini’s wife has laen mixed up in some questionable si nndals before she was mar ried, mid the next man you meet may have bought his wealth mid good clothes by a long can er of Ibbbying. Washington s.H-icty contains more good and bad than you will find any where in the country, mid the danger of it is the vices are all so fair, and they never walk the streets but in the clothes of virtue.” Origin of the Word Texas. In u recent article published in the -Ae-fA -limrrorn Rerifir, Governor Ire land, of Texas, asserts that the word Texas means "welcome;" mid that on the landing of the first white men on the coast of Texas, the Indians greeted them with the exclamation of "Texas!" or “welcome." This theory,according >o a correspond ent in the Texas Terir.ierf* is not cor net. In the ancient Spanish archives. Stored away in the land office at Austin, it app-ars that certain lands wen- situ ated “eu el puis de his Tejas," or in the country of the Texas, or Tejas Indians, x and j being pronouncisl alike. It is well known that the Texas or Tejas Indians were a trilie or Indians liv ing in the valley of the Bio Grande, who were exterminated or driven off by a more savage tribe. The won! Texas or Tejas is the root of the minu sos all the Indian trilx- in Texas and Mexico. The prefix indicated the locality of the tribe. The A- Tejas, or Aztecs, dwelt on high lands of Anahuac. The Tol-Tejas or Toltecs, lived as far south as Yucatan. Tin Huas Tejas lived on the Gulf coast, b. tween M taniora- and Vera Cruz, and .he Tol Tejas were located in tin- state ■f Coahuc!:; /’aru* ■> Not ‘he Mleh'ent Consequence. I..t< waite iprofusely > "My dear Mis’ Olivette, you must excuse me. Passed viHi on the street—baw Jove! forgot to bow - actually didn’t see you!” Miss Oliv.tte (iiffablyh-"I beg you won’t distress yourself. It is not th< •lightest consequence,” Lit* Waite (still in a flutter "Ah, yes, but I—you know—l am—’’ Miss Olivette unore affably 1 "Not the (lightest ixiusequincc." /‘AiWe/pAia t U. 4. Whip-Poor-Will. The ran Is sinking tn hi* rest 'U.bm.l tli* brown hili'* distant ere* I ho river wander* townrrf the aea, f b<- weary !*«■ drone drowMly; '.Vh»-n, «w iftly a* the falling -tar, \ clear voice soundeth from afar— Whip-poor-will, whi|e|>oor-wilL \ fl<-ld. with liarvoat sheave* aglmr** Tail willow*, drooping to the streau A farm house with it* momy «h«i«, A garden from whose spicy bed* A savory odor, rising, float*. And mingles with those mournful notes. Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will The cloud shi[>* in the western »ky With cloae reefed sails at anchor Ua Upon a sea whose- tint* of gold And purple hue* lie fold on fold, And with the dewdrop’s gentle fall There ech.iea still that plaintive call— Whip-poor-will, whip-poor ivilh One pale star trembles in the east, A long guest at a gorgeous feast, Whose brilliant colors slowly fade A* drop* the nighttime'* somber shade. And clear and soft the distance lend* The voice that with the twilight blends— Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will. All through tlie darkness and the de Until the- day ls-gins anew, 'i'he katydid- and nightjars lone Will sing their weary monotone; ' But only through the dusky trail Os evening comes that tender wail— Wbip-pxir-will, whip-[*s>r-will —Effie M. Lan*. HER CHILD'S PICTURE. In a secluded village in Brittany there lived some years ago an honest peasant woman, known as “La Veuve Yvonne.” She happenoi one day to hear some of her neighbors speaking of the wonderful powers of photography. “Wonderful indeed!" she exclaimed. “Where are the best of these marvelous pictures to la- s -en?” “In Paris. Why do you ask, Mere Yvonne 1” “Never mind. I have an idea. You will see.” The widow’s mind was strong and sim ple; it did not take long to “make up.” Without staying to deliberate, she packed up a few necessaries, and one fine morning, rich with the savings of many industrious years, she set off alone for Paris. She arrived in the great capital, with her scarlet petticoat, her white necker chief, her large cap and her honest face. Directly she arrived she inquired: “Who is the best photographer?” In reply she was furnished with the a Idress of a clever artist, to whose studio she at once hastened. “Everybody says, monsieur,” she be gan, “that your likenesses of children are admirable.” "Everybody is very kind,” replied the photographer. “If I have attained any unusual skill it is probably because I have worked eon amore. I love the little rogues. I have, moreover, plenty of little subjects of my oivn to practice upon. See here!” He opened a door, called, and the next moment half n dozen merry children, of ages varying from three to twelve, rushed into the room and crowded round his knees. “It is a child, I presume, madame, whose portrait you wish taken?" “Yes, monsieur, it is a child. He will b> neither petulant nor rebellious, the poor little love. Good reason why; he is dead.” At these startling words the photogra pher felt distressed. He felt he must have bitterly renewed the mother's grief in exhibiting to her these fair children and caressing them before her eyes. “Go and play on the balcony,” he whispered, hastily; and as they passed through the door he kissed them tender ly, but softly, lest his visitor should hear. Then he said, with great gentleness: “As the little child of whom you speak is dead, it is, I conclude, a posthumous portrait you wish to have taken the pic ture of the little creature whose innocent soul has fled, lying in liis white bed, a cross in his hands, a crown of white roses on his colorless forehead. I shall be happy if you will give me your ad dress. to proceed as soon as possible to your residence.” “Thank you monsieur,” she said. “My child has been dead six years. ” “You have then already a portrait of your son?" he said, after a pause—“a painting, perhaps, that you wish photo graphed 1" “A painting of him!—ll" exclaimed Dame Yvonne. "Mon Dieu. no. It is the hope of obtaining one that has induc ed me to make this long journey." “What, madame! Anil do you imag ine that without the original, without another portrait, without any sort of in dication or guide, I can produce a like ness of a child dead six years ago?” “What. monsieur!" cried Dame Yvonne, in her turn; “and do you mean to say it is itnjMissible? People vaunt on every side the prodigies, the miracles of photography. Cannot the art that ac complishes these marvels repnxiuce a vestige, a shadow of my son : Cannot it give ever so imperfect a resemblance of her child to a desolate mother, who " Sobs broke the sentence. Dame Yvonne could say no more. The kgid-hearted photographer did not wish the simple peasant t* return to her Breton village disappointed, so he re flected awhile. “Madame," he said, thoughtfully, “nothing is absolutely impossible.” “Ah," *he cried, quickly, “then you can give me a portrait of my darling?’ "Who kaows?" he said, "I will try at any rate.” “You have preserved the clothes of the child you have lost?” he asked. “Preserve them?” she echoed; “I have the very little garments still as good as new, in which I dressed him the last time he ran chasing the butterflies in the green fields.” “Send them to me directly," said the artist. “You shall have them in an hour, mon sieur,” she replied. The clothes were sent, the work was begun, and two days afterward Dame Yvonne received the first proof of the portrait. She uttered a cry of joy. “It is he!” she exclaimed. “I knoxv him again! It is my son! See! there is the little vest with the silver buttons— the little trousers I made with my own hands; there are his little arms, his tiny fingers, his long, golden hair, falling over his shoulders. Oh, yes, it is—it is my little child! Oh, monsieur, how much do I owe you!” “Madame,” said the photographer, “in presenting to you un image which you recognize as your son, dead six years ago, I have accomplished a miracle. Miracles are not paid for.” For us, the miracle is not difficult tc explain. Nothing is so like, in figure, air and attitude, to a child five years old as another child of the same age. The photographer merely placed before the camera one of his own children, dressed in the pretty Breton costume of the dead boy. He was represented kneeling on a cushion, h s head bent, his face hidden by his hands, which were raised and ciasped together in the noble and grace ful attitude of prayer. Dame Yvonne returned to Brittany. She showed the portrait to every one she knew; and to all who would listen she enlarged, in terms of reverence and won der, on the marvelous power of photogra phy, which had produced the likeness of a boy who had been dead six years. Weathercocks. At Bishopstone church, in Hereford shire, the vane is in the form of a grid iron, this being the symbol of the cruel death of Bt. Lawrence, the “patron saint” of the place. The towers of the town-halls are fre quently furnished with five vanes, a cen tral one higher than the rest, and one at each angle. Sometimes the initial letters of the four points are placed midway be tween the vanes. We know the market place of a small Border town, pebble paved, with a tall market-cross raised on nine steps near the centre of it. There is still a large square stone among the peb bles, where bulls used to be baited, tied to the ring upon it. There is still an an nual procession to it of men on horseback, carrying halberds, to proclaim a fair. There is still a bevy of pleasant country women clustered in it every Saturday, who have brought butter and eggs for sale from the distant farms among the hills and moors. It is always cool, quiet, and grey, with the surrounding hous ea looking down upon it pensively. Among these houses, on the west side, stands the Town Hall, with an archway run ning right through it for foot-passengers, and on tlie top of the hall rises a central tower, with the vsir s all pennon-shaped. Curiously, in country residences, the vane is generally placed in the stable yard, either on the bell-clock turret or on the louvred ventilator. As these notes have raised our eyes to objects above the ordinary level, we may notice the ornamental ridge with which large steep roofs are generally furnished, as they have an origin not generally known. In early times our predecessors placed turfs or clods on the upper ridges of the slanting sides of the rough roofs to keep out the rain at their junction. Out of these lumps of earth clusters of flowers and weeds grew freely. Accustomed to the floral outlines thus made, our more recent ancestors handed down their re membrance of these wind-borne seedlings in the conventional foliage of the orna mental clay ridge now in common use.— Qu leer. Sheep and Goats of Thibet. A letter from Thibet, to the New York Tribune, has the following: The most disagreeable feature of the Nirpania Dhura is the sheep. They come in strings a mile or two long in charge of short, sturdy little Tibetans, who appear at in terval' in the procession wrapjx'd in dirty sheepskins and carrying a long rifle slung over their shoulders. They brandish their sticks and emit various awful squalls, squ< als, whistles and gurgles to cheer the minds of their woolly charges. Each sheep carries a pair of little leather saddle-bags stuffed full of salt or borax. The caravan is generally led by a number of huge goats similarly laden. In this country sheep are covered with wool, and goats with hair. This may appear to you a matter of course, but in many parts of Western Asia the sheep are just as likely to have hair and the goats wool. There I could only distinguish the goats bv their turned-up noses and generally im pudent bearing, and the sheep by their mild, Roman-nosed dignity and their huge fat tails, which sometimes weighed twenty pounds. CHEAP MEALS. A Paradise for Tramps In the Great Metropolis. A Restaurant Whera a Dinner May ba Obtained for a Few Cents. After a very pleasant lunch in Park Row, Detective Gilbert Carr said to a New York reporter, “We know how all j decent people live; suppose we see how tlie beggars and tramps eat their food. Let us go to Tramps’ Hall.” Tramps’ Hall is a small restaurant, if it can be so styled, in Pearl street near Chatham. The sign over the door bears the inscrip ' tion, “Small Delmonico. There area half dozen tables and twenty-four stools in the place. The tables are made of rude material and are covered with white oilcloth. There are a few cheap pictures | and theatrical show bills hung up on the walls. The kitchen is in the rear and i communicates with the eating place by I means of a door in which an aperture lias been. cut. Through this door the dishes ordered by customers are handed out. The cook and the kitchen are rigidly kept in seclusion. No outsider is allowed to enter the mysterious laboratory in which the repasts of the Lazaruses of . New York are prepared. There are no waiters, for the proprietor, Air. R. Barna- ■ t bo, is too wise to trust strangers in sc economical a business. He acts as wait er and cashier, and his deep trousers ' pocket is the till from which he make ! change. Mr. Barnabo is an adipose Ital ian of an oleaginous nature, something in the way of a cross between Mr. Wardle’s ; fat boy and Uriah Heep. He fairly bub bles over with good nature and impress es a casual visitor with tlie idea that he is ready at any moment to throw his I arms around tlie stranger’s neck and kiss I him on both cheeks, after the traditional and repugnant Italian fashion. A curious crowd was partaking of J Air. Barnabo’s ' cheer. There were two blind mendi cants ami two blear-eyed women who ! share their spoils, a cripple who hobbles f about on the stumps of his legs, anjorgan : grinder who had deposited his instru- ment under the table at which he sat, j , and a vagabond dressed in soldier’s uni- | i form, who is doubtless familiar to the ; general public as a broken-down veteran who lost his arm at Fredericksburg. The i plates were of the coarsest crockery, the ! knives and forks of the commonest kind and the spoons of pewter. “It does not pay to have expensive articles here,” said Detective Carr, with an explanatory smile; “the customers might be tempted to leave the house and take them with them.” Mr. Barnabo proudly exhibited to the reporter his bill of fare and price ■ j list. It read as follows: Cents. I Cents. Cup of coffee or tea. 1 Fried fish, 4 I Bowl of coffee or tea,2! Beefsteak, Cruller, 11 Pork chops, 4 Bowl of soup, 2'Fried brains, 4 Fried liver, 31 Pork and beans, 4 Heart stew, 3 > Sausages, 4 Fried heart, 3 j Bread pudding, 4 Hash, 31 Liver and bacon, 5 Roast heart, 3 Roast beef, 5 Pies, 4 Veal cutlet, 5 Pies, half, 2 Roast mutton, 5 Beef stew, 4,Two fried eggs, 5 Mutton stew, 4iMaecaroni, Pork stew. 4'Chicken stew, 5 Corned l>eef and cab., 4 Roast veal, Pig's head and cab., 4 Ham and eggs, 10 Mutton chops, 4, Hamberger steak, 10 AVhen asked how he could sell food at such a price and earn any profit, Air. Bar nabo smiled, shrugged his shoulders and i said: “Economy, signor, always econo my." On leaving Tramps’ Hall Detect ive Carr said to the reporter: “There is ' no mystery about the matter. In the hotels the unused food left on their plates by guests at meal-time is sorted out when brought back to the kitchen, i Every evening Air. Barnabo calls with his wagon, secures it and recompenses the I cook with whom he is doing business. That is tlie cook’s penpusite. So it is that the precise article which a surfeited millionaire refused to his stomach yester day is consumed complacently to-day by “One-eyed Jimmy" or “Slobbery Alike” in Tramps' Hall.” The Boy Got Along. The AVall Street Daily Xew» tells this story: “It was a New York capitalist who flung SI,OOO at one of his sons a l year ago and said; ‘There it is, and it is the last dollar you'll get from me. You don’t know enough to pound salt. Spec- I ulation! You haven’t sense enough to buy and ship eggs. The other day the old man went down to Florida to see about a 3,000-acre tract of land he had purchased at $3 an acre for an orange grove. He went to the headquarters of ‘The Florida Orange Grove Estate Agen cy,’ and he found that his son was Presi dent. Secretary. Treasurer, and sole own er. Half an hour later he discovered | that his 3,000 acres raised alligators in stead of oranges, and that the boy had cleared about SB,OOO in the single trans action. Lightning Photographs. At a recent meeting of the Franklin Institute Prof. Houston presented two photographs, taken on a dark night by the light pr.xluced by flashes of light ning. in which a building and trees were distinctly shown. They were thrown on the scene by the aid of Prof. Holman’s lantern microscope. The duration of the flash by which the plates were secured • was estimated at the 1-300 pan of a sec- I ond. Chicago Trjl/un*. Song. 3h, three little birds on a bramble spray] Each flew to fin 1 him a nest; Diere was one went rarely over the knd one flexv straight for the North But the third Little bird, ffe winged his way to the watery Where one that I love sits sighing. 3h, for the withering bramble spray And the bird that sleeps in his nest! Diere is one in a castle over the sea; Ind one in a pine in the North Country- Bnt the third Little bird, He sings *t a lattice far in the AVest, Where one that I love lies dying. Ah me, for the thorny bramble spray And the weary bird in his nest! There is one that dreams of the silver And or.e looks over the North Country But the third Little bird, He sings o’er a grax-e in the silent West, I Where one that I love is lying. —Chambers' Journal HUMOROUS. Hobbies nre hard steed* to manaM. ■ Society’s favorite flower—The dand* lion. A tongue that never talks scandal—the tongue of a shoe. An anomaly in pantaloons—They jr never tight when they are full. The pupil of one’s eye is made to tend to business by thq lash that is held over it. A woman refused to give a meal toj dwarf the other day, because she xj] □pposed to dine-a-mite. A man should buy ready-made shoes il he wants something to wear well, be cause he never secs the last of them. ; She—“ What a man you are, George; always making fun of the ladies' taper waists.” He—“ And what should Ida with a taper, but to make light of it." 1 ‘Give us the ballot box!” is the cry ot but very few of the fair sex, while the rest of our feminine population is content with being allowed to frequently stat the band-box. “Afaud, dear, why is a gardener :a your checks?” “Now, John! you know I never can guess conundrums. Why ii he?” “Because he is the culler of mses, love.” Tableau. In olden times they used to punhhi man for lying by boring a hole threap liis tongue. In modern times they unit it, because a man’s tongue would nol last more than six weeks, if a hole w put in for every lie he told. Lieutenant (to a brother officer): 'i have ill-luck in getting married. A fair one without money my father objects ti A homely one with money my persooq feeling objects to. A fair one witk money her father objects to. A honwlj one without money—why, naturall] everybody objects to. Senators on Exhibition. It is astonishing the extent to xvhidi the Senators pose for the galleries, says* AVashington letter to the Boston I/rri/A There is one Senator who appears to make this almost the sole object ofhir service on the floor ot the Senate. No matter how thin that body is in attend ance, you will always find him there. He strikes many attitudes, but hem 'er retains one of them long at a time. He will sit in his own seat; then he will go into the lobby; soon he returns anil walks back and forth behind the rows of benches; then he takes the seat of anoth er Senator; then he rises to promenade again. He does not make speeches him self; he writes little in his scat; he sel dom talks with other Senators; he is just on exhibition. Another from the Vest is not so tall, so large, or so handsome, but he is almost equally conscious. He looks so different from the rest that the visitor’s eye rests on him at once as it surveys the Senate board, and generally the inquiry is made as to who he is. is a Senator who does speak, and he speaks with the realization that be is ® presence of the galleries. Not a w™ that comes from him escapes the ear® the auditor in any part of the building- How Many Honrs for Sleep- There is an old saying that has fright ened a great many people from taking the rest that nature demanded for them, “Nine hours ary enough for a fool. They maybe; and not too many for* wise man who feels that he needs them- Goethe, when performing his most prod igious literary feats, felt that he need™ nine hours; what is better, ho took the®- We presume it is conceded by Sli thoughtful persons that the brain in v’lf young children, say three or four year* of ag-, requires all of twelve hour-® rest or sleep. This period is shortened gradually until, at fourteen years of art the boy is found to need only ten. full grown and in a healthy conditio the man may find a night of eight ho-y’ sufficient to repair the exhaustion of ta» day and new-create him for the morr >*• But if he discovers that he needs mo® sleep he should take it. There is surt-f something wrong about 1 ini; perhaps» forgotten waste must be repared. H* sleep, evidently, has not bem made up and until it has and he can spring to work with an exhilaration for it, »* should sensibly conclude to let hi’ stiuct control him and stay ia bed-"” Good