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. VOLUME VII. BBpROFESStORAI CARDS. . -: ~ : Lawyers. IHHF * Attorney at Law- Douglasville, Ga. SKCOflloftiTi front room, Dwaffi building.) HHffi prsetieu anywhere «s<ept in the County U Court of Douglas county. ■K- —— gW A. JAMES, " • Atfnmey at Law, Douglasville,, Ga. FW" Will practice in *U the court*, State and M‘ Federal. Office on Court-house Square. k T. ROBERTS, Attorney at law, Douglasville, Ga. Will practice iu all the court*. All legal bua iue>e will receive prompt attention. Office iu eourt-bonae. U £• CAMP. Attorney at law. Civil Eugiaeer and Hnrvetor. Douglasville, Ga B. ’• e “ 008 ' Attorney at X«aw. Douglxville, Ga Will practice ia ail the court*, State and U JOBS M. EDGE, Attorney at Law, ■•-■— - Utoyglaeviße.' Ga. |Sblftrt-’* h,i p|uiu!>t tli in * c * re - lAW, C'wtolL Paatdluff. Cobb, Fulton ! ■ Attorney at law, \ Doughavilla, Ga MgAp •rwwawi toe H||y. T. ft WHITLEY, K nystotaMi mA lusmr Douglasvills, Ga. Special ettentioß io Surgery aud Chronic dio mm* iu either sea Office up ,taiu iu Dorsett** brick building. p u. fmoi, anA Bargeon, Sod* o ** * Edge’* drugstore, where wxnrw found at all liour», except whoa profMdenany oßgagrd. » } wi*l attention jiwn to Chrome caawt, and especially all erne that havo beea treated and are etifl uhcnrtd. jaulS S 4 ly IBEWRIOTFVTLY offer my mrvieea a* fhy ideiaa aud Burgeon to the paopte of Doiig iaeville aud vicinity. All calb will be attended promptly, O»n U found at the drugstore of Madeou A Edge during Um day, and at night at my mulanen, at the house recently occu pied by J. A. Pittman. ______ J* B- 8008. "bSS"' a """ t «J|’~ Ik OOOB,"* “ Itontol Snrgeesu Rm heated in DouglaavUte. Twenty year** Mpafiamw. Dentistry in all it* branchaa dona in tha omt approved Myte. Office over post* PaMr? *** < «y..i 111 i1... 11 M».i in .. .... m a BUTLER, lew Fntotor t Dougtaaville.Ga, WM nmhaold fnmlture look a* well m naw. ate* him a trial ia thia Um» Wifl dao so Boat* carpets tar ius wort. gfaiMagß <ns MterolHta. °b it traa doctor,” sakt * natural* Mft eitiaaa tfeffi Mbar day to «M of the iias-lteftw »«.$ filAk sal Waff Ma A*. w.n»W wrSWßwß’Elffil State* bland. “that th®y am begs® BuMf to vaccinate pwople for tb® *i boltevs it k Larry,” replied th* doctor “Aititough they hare not dto- a rood cure for cholera. they Uyv bi Imi lmd mt so« eeuN «t it. A **And whagt to that* dnetor?” ••Wmll Larry, it would ba hard fo* na to axplala U to yon. but parhao. . yew may have baard at mtorobaa-—. ‘ b "Os Mika (Mu, ot coutao 1 bav*?’ r “No, Larry, not Mike Oata, o*». enmity uodanaluw, bat mtocmtoa, to wee the proper oroaaaciatfoß.” <<X aye, Mkh Boba Ba lived i* toaaa ut»a «<s\ but —' liSg' Not that Sallow. Larry. I refer to iaOtavV awre •ttoUfh, toa McHohee, fas HCm et the wscet kind. Ths The Weeity Star. * s Dalafea. Rippling and toning at every breath. Os the random zephyr that passes by. The daisies sway like a sea beneath The deep blue vault of the cloud-flecked sky. Over the billows of gold and white Flicker the shadows and fall the light. There’s never a daisy in all the host Was here in the summers of long ago. And still the fancy that charms us most Is a haunting whisper, sweet and low. Stirring our hearts with its tender strain, "Here are the daises back again." The same dear daisies we used to cull When hands were tiny and hearts were gay, Gathering them till our laps were full, Many and many a Hammer day. Softly repeating a magic rune, Fringing the petals to time the tune. And here in the midst of the white aud gold, Old as Eden yet ever new, I* the same sweet story of gladness told finder the sky so wide and blue. Her face on the daises shyly bent. His eyes ou her with a proud content. There may be, far from this hushed retreat, Din and tumult and sordid care; Somewhere, perhaps, is the drum's harsh beat, And women kneeling in tearful prayer: There is only peace where to and fro In the silent meadow the daisies blow There are always dreams in this toilsome world, .Pure as heaven and true as tiod. z Who sends us dawns with the dews impearled, And scatters the glory of bloom abroad, May the story that's ever both old and new For the lovers here be a dream come true! —Margaret K. Rangeter in Harper's Bazar. A DIVIDED DUTY. The rain fell with a mournful patter on the Webster homestead, and the wind sighed an accompaniment through the stately trees that stood on the beau tiful lawn fronting the old house. Within the homestead, seated in an •asy-chair before the ruddy fire, was E ay-haired Farmer Webster, with head nt forward, the hot tears of anguish coursing down his wrinkled, weather beaten cheeks. Only yesterday the wife who had been his helpmeet and and adviser through thirty-five years of varying fortunes and weary struggling, had been borne a corpse from his home to the little churchyard at Weldon. He had brought her to the home-* stead a fair young bride, just after pur* chasing the place, where, ever since, they had shared so many joys and sor rows together. She had seen the little farpf of a few acres jafiaa^Lin t to a HtoMf u *^ nre ' in her 'happiest moods, TnxiWwer formed. She had seen many heavy obligations paid up; and now, | W&ivM. 3&&SKUL Sia**#** lii '»* , jovoiitokutV -■ ' j Thtosad eulmmattoo of all hto hopes | ‘ ’OwWiif% 'WW ! hls Kdfrie' on this gloomy evening and recalled the many happy recollections of the past, his grief overmastered him, and he gave way to it in bitter lamentations. ‘•Oh. God!” he groaned, “why has this sorrow befallen me? Why was •he taken away from me just when I needed her moat?” A fair girlish form, over whose shoulders fell a wealth of golden hair, tripped lightly in from an adjoining room, and, going to his side, placed her hand upon his head, and, in a gentle voice, said: “Dear father, do not give way to your grief. It is the will of God that mother should be taken from us, and it to wrong to rebel against His de crees. Cheer up. I am still left to comfort you.” ••True enough, Nellie,” he replied, looking up and drawing her gently down so that she' knelt alongside of his chair. Brushing back the dusters of hair that lay in beautiful disorder about her forehead, he went on: ••My dear girl, how much you look like your dead mother when I first brought her here! It never occurred to me before. God bless you! For your sake I will try and live down this sorrow. You are left to me, and you will be the comfort of my old age. But,” and here be burst' into tears again, “1 suppose that you, too, Will eome day leave and forget me, -and then I shall be alone, with no one U care for or love me in my old age." ••Don't talk like that, father,” sht replied caressingly. “How can yov be so cruel as to think for a momen* that I will ever desert and forge you?” Rap, rap, rap, came from a sturdy hand on the doo& ••That’s Ned!” Nellie exclaimed, jumping to her feet and running to ths door, her face lit up with welcome. Opening the door, a stalwart young ’ man, enveloped in a heavy overcoat, i .entered the room. The newcomer was scarcely past twenty. Throwing aside his hat and coat, • after greeting Farmer Webster, hs stood m the center of the room, ths very embodiment of manliness. “Oh, Ned,.l am so glad vou called.” exclaimed Nellie; •father and 1 have been to lonely here all day.” “I thought you would be lonesome,” Ned replied; “and so I concluded ts brave the storm and come here and sympathise with you in your loss.” “it to very kind of you, Ned,” an* I •wered Farmer Webster; “draw up i your chair to the fire, and make your* sett at home.” Ned complied, and Nellie drew he? chair alongside of his, and for a few moments they sat there, talking of eropa, the weather, and the latest top fcaftf iatereat in the neighborhood. ? It would not hate required a very j kee&jndgeof human nature to have toH Htot to the quiet glances that paae* ed between Nellie and Ned, their focwgbto wwe ocenpujd with a theme to which all others were fotredera. They had grown up boy and girt on adfoinlng farm.s, had attended the saws SS&mta. bad sbwd to BLAWINmci TO TO JLXJE.. DOUGLASVILLE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY. AUGUST 27, 1885. other’s pleasures, and with the dawn of manhood and womanhood, had learned that their hearts throbbed in love’s accord. Farmer Webster had noticed the growing attachment between the two j for each other, and had interposed no obstacle to its ultimate result : But now, bereft of his wife, a new feeling had taken possession of him. The thought came to his. mind as ha sat there, that Ned would soon take his darling Nellie from him, and leave him lonely and forsaken in the old homestead, and all the selfish instincts of.his nature rose in rebellion at such a prospect. The old-fashioned clock in the wall struck ten, and Ned, remarking that he “must be going,” rose to take hto leave. Putting on his coat, he bade Farmer Webster a hearty good-night, and started out on the porch, Nellie follow ing him; kissing her an affectionate good-night, he left for his home. When Nellie returned to her father, she found him pacing the floor to and ■fro. > His grief had given way to a calm and determined manner, as if his mind was deliberating on some serious sub ject. “Nellie,” he said, in a firm voice, as she seated herself by the fire, “you love Ned Bradford, do you not?” “Why do you ask such a question, father?” “I have a right to know,” he replied in a sei ere tone. “I know you have, dear father,” she returned, “and I will be candid with you. -I do love Ned, and have loved him for many yeai's. When we were schoolmates together, I loved him foi his many kindnesses to me. That lov« ,has grown with each succeeding year, and now love him for his manliness of character,” “Has he ever made a proposal of marriage to you, Nellie?” “What strange questions you are asking me to-night, father! What are ! your reasons for doing so?” “Well, Nellie,” her father replied, taking a chair and drawing it near the fire, “you have been candid with me, and I will now be the same with you. 1 have resolved, that your mother AftMjro one sipril take you you will respect it. thf£ yW will for get Ned Bradford and give tip all ■ thoufcht of ever becoming hip wile.' " I That 1 consider him unworthy bJ you He I’, a noble, manly ypiwg fel- > low, A *nd I should be proud to obo him i asSon and your busband. But , you Rre all that your mother hpa left me to love. In you I look for So lace of my old age, and I cannot con sent to ever part with you.” “But, dear father,’* Nellie began, her voice tremulous with tears, “if I become Ned’s wife, it does not follow that you will lose me. I shall always love you dearly, and shall consider it the first duty of my life to care for and comfort you.” “That may be all very true, Nellie. But, as your father, I know that all men want and claim an undivided share in their wives’ affection, and that it is useless for you to talk of caring for me and your husband, too. I say now, and I hope you will heed my re quest, I want you to give up all notion of becoming Ned Bradford's wife.” "It is a hard condition you place up on me, father. I will see Ned, and if he submits to your will I shall do so cheerfully,” Nellie replied sadly. A few evenings afterward Ned called again at the Webster homestead, and when Nellie and himself wore alone ■he told him of her father’s wishes. “What shall we do, Ned?” she ask ed, looking lovingly into his open, ex pressive blue eyes. “Nellie,” he answered gravely. "I have always believed it to be the duty of a child to honor and obey a father and mother; but I believe there are some things in our lives which are be yond the limit of a parent’s dictation. You and I love each other. We can live happily together, I am sure, until death separates us. It to your father’s will that our paths in life should be in different places. Let us remember the great loss that you have both suffered, and for the present respect his wishes. We will meet often as friends, and be friends, and wait Time will assuage hto grief, and then, perhaps, he will look at this matter diflbrently." “Dear Ned, what a philosopher you are! You dear, good boy, I * will ac cept your advice, but I will never cease loving you as devotedly as I do now.” The fevers passed away the evening ;in commonplace chat, and when he i took his departure. Nellie hastened to inform her father that they had agreed to conform to his wishes. ' The selfish old mem smiled an ap proval. and congratulated Nellie on her filial obedience. Throughout the long winter that foL j lowed. Nellie and Ned met often at the village church, at chun-h meetings, festivals, family socials, and all those i entertainments that form a part of the existence of every dweller in the coun ’ were attentive to each oWer io r the enjoyment of all these pleasures. Though both disci aimed any more i than mere friendship for each other, to those who knew them both, their ac | tions told plainly that a feeling purer, holier, and nobler existed in their ; bencto. ! The month et’ May came round again with its blue, unclouded skm boddmg MSffjssa . Ttoty bad r»X« torn dtotenes in j silence, m returning home at evening, i when Ned broke the stillness by say -1 * a B : “Nellie, ! think it cruel in your fath ? er to keep Wapart merely to gratify i what I otfaifflHEtoffihkn.” • Well, do, Ned?” Nel- lie asked. f "1 have the matter . over seriouAgMahne time,” Ned re t plied, “andi hnw wnduded that we i have father’s wishes i long enough. JBBhas not the right, I ! maintain, M'Wetofo that our lives re i main because he wants i you for With your con sent, on, “I intend to I speak to to-night, when we I get. if he will not agree ) to our spring.” "You w hearty consent, Ned, to do best in the mat t/6r’” “and I approve of 1 your i An brought them back to the cldTwmestead, on whose broad porch Farmer Webster sit- > ting in enjoyment of the beautiful even ing. i “Mr. Webster,” began Ned. as the loving couple stood before him, "we have come to you to ask your consent to our marriage during this month.” 1 “What!” the father exclaimed in a sharp voice. “I thought that you had both given up that idea long age. Nellie, did I not command you to abandon all thought of marriage dur ing my lifetime?” "Yes, father, you did,” Nellie re turned in a firm voice. "But 1 have decided that your command is unreas onable and unnatural. I owe you • duty, I know, and with God’s help I shall strive to discharge that duty as becomes a loving and dutiful child. I also think,..father, that 1 owe a duty to myself. Move Ned dearly, and he loves me. Our lives were made for each other, and I believe that I should be free to mtqrcise the same right that my mother enjoyed when she became your wif#” “Then you have resolved to marry Ned, haveyou, Nellie, contrary to my wishes?” asked Farmer Webster. “I have resolved to do so,-father, be cause I think 1 have the right to dis pose of as my love and natu*v prompt ”T I* < r T***»Utomiy UiiMwttT— An-, Mdwffiffiffi. ... began, ritnJg'To his feet and placing bia 1 are toWed rt is folly for me You We my akeyow heUahsm 1 with foe lift nefonwrer of my life. ’ ’ “That to hot a hard condition, is it, Nellie?” s|id Ned, as he imprinted » kiss on her lips. “We’ll agree to that, won’t we?’ "I shslybe delighted to stay in the old home?’ Nellie replied. “We ean have fatb«r with us, and how happy we can z >ke his life! Aud ” “Well, ’ interposed the old man, "now arr<c*;e for the wedding-day at your pletedFe.” after, Nellie and Ned the altar in the little church, and heard the words pronounc ed that made them man and wife. As the giergyman stepped forward to congratulate Jhe happy couple he turned to Farmer Webster, who stood near by, and remarked: “Friend Webster, God has blessed you in your daughter’s choice, for he will prove unto thee a restorer of thy life and a nourisher of thine old age. ” "God grant that he may,” returned the old man as he took the young couple by the arms and started down the aisle for the door. Several years have passed, and Farmer Webster has had many occa sions to appreciate the parson’s proph ecy of his son Ned, whose kindness and attention to his father’s every wish have been unremitting. As the old farmer sits at eventide on his porch, and sees his broad acres teeming with bounteous harvests—the results of Ned’s indus’.ry— >* to the merry prattle of two lovely grandchildren, the thought forces it self to his mind that it is the unwritten law of our lives that there will <xmm to us a time «vhen we shall be brought face to face with "A Divided Duty,” and that the supreme power of love will be the arbiter of our actions. , Yale College is said to have a private detective who keeps an eye upon the conduct of students and sends weekly reports to the “gov’nor,” or in other words, to their parents. He also fur nishes the number of marks the pupil receives, his losses at cards, the name* of the girls to whom he pays his at tentions, where he spends his evenings, and the like. Chttrch Manners. * t While we are upon this subject, wo wish to call attention to two matters in which the majority of congregations might easily improve their manners and add to the iiupreasiveneas of the wrices. It is a commoe habit whea the audience are to stand during tha singing of a hymn, to wait until the first line is begun, and then ruin tha verse by the confusion <d the rising. Again, during the latter part of the last verse the clattering of took* into the pew-racks before the dose of the song is a serious interference with all devotional effect, and especially so when that opportunity is seized for the putting on of wraps, rubbers, etc. No one would do this during the dosing ; sentences <rf a prayer: why should H be done during the ascription of praise to God? Hundreds, yea, thooaands of Cfertstian people thus thoughtlessly mar tha song worship in tha aanetsary. i- I ."' . _ ' 11 A LOST ART. Bow ths Millstone Hm Been Relegated Out of Use. « A number of heavy white millstones were piled up on one of the docks along the river yesterday. They were con signed to some interior town forty or fifty miles from the city, and were of the style, make, and finish so long in use . An old man, with a slouch hat pulled down so far over his face that his small, fast-blinking eyes were al most hid from view, stood a little way back on the wharf and talked to a young man whom he had halted and asked for a match. “Millstones have pretty nearly gone out of date,” said he, with a half mournful air, “and with them has gone the occupation I have followed for thirty years. See here,” and the old man crowded his hat over on the back part of his head and lifted his face for the first time into plain sight It was pitted all over with num berless ugly dimples, depressions and cuts, and looked as if he might some day have had the small-pox. "Do you know how that was done?” he asked. The young man did not know. "By picking millstones,” was the quickly volunteered information. "No one who has ever followed the business of giving those stones that keen cut texture that enables them to crush and grind grain can escape these cuts and scars. Why my face is liter ally filled with the little particles of steel and stone, and my eyes have sea sons of paining me terribly. But the profession has about run its race. In ten years the dictionary-makers, will put the stereotyped word ‘obsolete’ af ter the noun ‘millstone.’ Modern in ventions have relegated the time-honor ed millstone into oblivion. New pro cesses have been discovered for ex tracting the wheat from flour, beside which the millstone has no show.” The young man began to grow inter ested. He drew his companion into the doorway of a little switch shanty, secured permission for the two to sit down a moment before the fire, and asked him to continue. “Nowadays,” said the old man, “wheat is crushed between rollers and the flour produced is much superior to the old too, the bran that WMtfotoght to be almo.»t worth< fess 'i S r T Ay . a new pro- i than rwtiety. / W ’ of a I - beneath the j Wve showft that it h true of all vnge- I tables, espevtaily ot wheat. ; TAm *mg- | gested the i -sseve that, | would separate the iutfe particles of ' the kernel that to the 1 when it hashetA broken up and group d to pieces. It was successful, and the flour secured in this way, while small in quantity, is of superb quality. This latter process was only made possible by the new method of grinding wheat that has been generally adopted by all the large mills m the country. But in the meantime my occupation has been gradually undermined. Once in a while 1 have a cal! to go out in the country and dress a stone, but it is very seldom. Most of the millstones in use in this country are of French burr, a silicious rock, containing many small, rough cavities, and requiring less prep aration than a perfectly plain stone. It is quarried in the geological district known as the ‘Paris basin? A quarry has been worked for many years in the valley of the Savannah River, about one hundred miles above the City of Savannah, and the quality of stones se cured is said to be almost equal to those produced in France. The lower stone has generally a smooth grinding sur face. The moving stone is hollowed towards the center to allow the mater ial ground to flow freely between the grinding surfaces. The face of both stones have to be cut with straight grooves in direction inclined radii. The edges of the grooves are thus given a cutting action somewhat resembling that ot seizor blades, and a tendency to force the grain outward toward the circumference is secured, thus acceler ating the feeding and avoiding choking. To do this work perfectly requires an enormous amount of practice, and an apprentice must serve for four or five years on cheap stones before he is al lowed to touch the most valuable ones. Machines were once invented to do the cutting but they were not a success. It was a hard busineas to learn, and in its day was very profitable. Modern in novations, however, have no sympathy for workingmen, and in ten years it is doubtful if there will be a millstone in use ia this country.” Cleveland Xeoder. I, i— » •- The Fair of IzaMal. On the Bth of December the festival of Our Lady of Izamal w celebrated with great pomp. A large fair is also held th the city during those days in her honor. Even merchants from neighboring states flock there, if hot to kneel at shrine cd the Virgin, to worship at the altar of Mercury. Dev otees on those occasions crowd the pri vate apartment of the doll, which is al so carried in solemn procession, deck ed in gorgeous array, and followed by a long train of worshipers. After church service is over, all leave in a hurry and rush to the bull-tight. Many ot the Indians, who know abso lutely nothing about tauromachy, enter the ring to fight the bull, exposing i themselves to be injured for life, or die, : a painful death. In this we see an an-’ eieat custom yet prevalent Th. cients sacrificed their lives to deities for aay benefit received. To-day an' Indian begs a favorite of his patron saint, and as a proof of his deep gntiP tod* WOfoMwe to fight a bull, keep* N UMBER 29 drunk a certain number of days, or db‘ some other rash thing. | s 1 Bull-fighting in Yucatan, is not lilw: bull-fighting in Spain. The ring is al # double palisade sustaining sheds cover-' ‘ ed with palm leaves, that are into boxes. Every one provides his own seat. The best and the worst, big ' and small all attend the bull-fight.. Those who, on foot, merely play with the bull, only have a henequen sack to. serve as shield. Others, also on foot, are provided witli poles about three feet long, having a sharp iron head, like that of an arrow, When the people arg. ured .of the bull played w iftoTheV reitmerns. Those wSii scribed then come forward? - iness is to strike and kill it, but it is seldom done at once. The beast is chased by two or three men, blow after blow is. dealt, tha blood gushing afresh each time.. Th® first pain makes the animal furious, but the loss of blood soon weakens it, and it becomes almost harmless. Then tha horsemen are called on to lasso it an< drag it away. While another bull Ci being fetched rockets are fired, the people applaud, the band plays,a clown meanwhile doing his best to amuse the spectators. If a bull is disinclined to fight they gird his body with ropes in every possible way, fastening fire-crack ers about his head and tail. Aggra vated and tortured, the poor beast jumps about, and the crackers explode, to the great delight of all present, big and small. This renders it furious for a few minutes; but if it again refuses to fight it is taken away as a coward not worth killing.— Alice D. le Flong eon, in Harper'a Magazine for Feb. The young people of Tenderfoot Cit£, Ari., had a masquerade ball a short time ago, and an envious journal of a neighboring town had the following paragraph about it: “We understand that several young ladies xycre dressed as Indian maidens, in pink hosiery, kid slippers, diamond necklaces, with pea cock feathers in their hair. We don’t like to shatter this beautiful ideal of an Indian maiden, but duty compels us to say that no Indian maiden ever sported such a layout. ’ The genuine article wears an old plug-hat, a dirty army blanket,- and*a discarded pair of trous ers. For a necklace she wears a string of paleface’s teeth, and con siderable amouuj,. ot real with her wherevar g ' t ■ i'll** HiP'Tl't fit ‘C-*’- •’SItVZXiiF But it Ts not until the woman gets Well into the forties that she reaches ths.au gelic period where temper no longer wields the mastery,and mature thought smooths out the rugged outlines of her mental life. If she understands the art of self-preservation she may also retain at this age the better part of her physi cal charms, and be pretty in spite of her years. Ninon de L’Enclos was re garded as a belle and a beauty at sixty,: and care and dbcretion are only neces sary to carry the beauty of youth far into mature life. Another custom is coming into vogue which must lend hope to many a spin ster and widow of uncertain age, and; that is the fashion of women marrying: men younger than themselves. Per haps this can hardly be called a novel innovation, however, for it has been practiced in the older countries fori many years, and m Ireland has long ( been the custom. Dr. Johnson married a woman old enough to be his mother;' Disraeli was many years his wife’s jun ior, and Aaron Burr married a widow several years older than himself. The famous Mme. de Stael was forty-four when she picked up a young' officer of twenty or so,and Rachel married Vern hagen vou Ense when she was over for ty and he in the twenties. All of these were happy marriages, and Miss Thackeray, Mrs. Craik and Margaret Fuller seemed to believe in such unions, for they each chose comparative young sters for matrimonial mates. Modern and ancient unions of this kind have proved lucky unions, and, as some of the latter have given a sort of tone and; fashion to the custom, we may look for • tide in that direction. If it be comes the fashion for women to choose husbands younger than themselves old fashioned folks may preach against it in vain.— London Echo. _ Sarah, The Bantam. Mr. Soper, yard engineer on the Lake Erie and western Road, and residing in this city, has a bantam hen, “Sarah,” which has ideas of her own. Sarah is a little grey chick of very diminutive pattern, shawling to a partridge browa about the head, and a short time since determined to raise a family. Looking about for a suitable place to hatch her progeny, she espied through the win dow of her next neighbor’s house, that of Mrs. N. M. Suffnn’s, a handsome little tidy on a center-table, on which stood a 'stuffed prairie chicken on a base covered with lichens. Flying over the lowered window, she picked the! lichens off, carefully selected a wedding bouquet dried and pressed from a neighboring wall ornament aud placed it in the center, and was snugly en sconced beneath the wing of the stuffed fowl upon the center-table when dis covered. She was removed and the wreck ra placed, only to have it occur the second and third time, and it was onlv until after a week’s persistent fight that she gave up her chosen nest, and ceased to make herself the brightest and prettiest qrpameut in the lady s parlor.-LctfitA