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AGRICULTURAL
Farm Notes.
Quantity of Lime per Acre: Thequan
tiy of lime which should be used per
acre varies with the character of the soil.
On black vegetable or mucky land 100
to 300 bushels per acre may be used with
benefit; 'one bushel to the square rod
of 160 bushels to the acre is a reasona
ble quantity. On ordinary arable clay
or loam soils 40 or 50 bushels per acre,
or a bushel to every two rods square, is
{[enerally thought sufficient. Upon such
ands it is better to repeat the applica
tion in two or three years than to use
more than 50 bushels, unless the land
has had at the same time or previously
a heavy dressing of manure.
Condition Powder: Condition powder
is a medicine designed to be alterative
and tonic; first, to remove some un
healthful condition of the system and
then to Improve the. digestion and se
cretion from the skin. A good mixture
consists of sulphur, four ounces; gen
tian roM.tinely powdered, two ounces;
muriate 'oMron, two ounces; iodide of
copper, one ounce; cardamom seeds,
two ounces; linseed meal, four ounces.
Pulverize all finely and mix thoroughly
and give one tablespbonful in cut feed
twice a day for a week. These so-called
condition powders should be used with
caution and only w hen by over-feeding
or neglect the horse actually requires
them.
Diseased Milk: Persons may be pois
oned by milk of cows which show no
indication of disease. This is because
the poison taken by the cows in un
wholesome plants eaten by them is all
absorbed by and excreted ip, the milk,
thus removing the ill effects from the
Cow and conveying them to the persons
who use the milk. The well known
milk sickness which affects persons so
dangerously is an instance of this fact.
“Milk sick” is a gastric and enteric fe
ver, and much like some forms of ty
phoid fever in its symptoms, and is
chiefly prevalent at this season. If ev
ery one would boil the milk as soon as
it is received any infection from typhoid
fever would be avoided; but the pecu
liar poison known as milk sick is not
destroyed by boiling, as it is really an
extract from poisonous herbs and not a
germ of infection like that of typhoid.
Experience is the only ’safe teacher.
It occasionally changes prevalent popu
lar notions very considerably. For in
stance, it has been said that soft corn is
not a wholesome food, but is productive
of disease. The present season the wri
ter’s horses have been fed wholly on
soft corn, in what is known as the roast
ingeagstage, and with the stalks, with
the very best results. They have fat
tened? rapidly, and were never better.
Thedtalks have been cut and fed whole
the ears, morning and night,
and the ears have been given alone at
noon. This food is exceedingly agreea
ble to the horses after long feeding upon
dry grain and cut feed, and the whole
stalks are entirely consumed, even to
the butts. The surplus ears gathered
from the fodder fed to cows are greedi
ly eaten by pigs and fatten them very
rapidly, ft is a common custom among
the Souhern farmers to use corn in this
way, and as corn is very easily grown it
is the cheapest and most economical
feeding for the late summer and early
fall. The corn is wholly digested, and
this is one reason no doubt why this
food is unusually fattening at this stage
of its growth.
I A Gambler’s Llfb.
•‘Gambling possesses a peculiar
•harm for some mfcn,” said an old
sport last evening, as he leaned over
the bar of a down-town saloon, “which
b not explained by a love for money dr
' a desire to amass wealth. A case came
to my notice recently which is worth
•.relating. Three months ago a young
man came to Milwaukee from an inte
rior town in the State, and got inter
ested in poker. In the first game in
which he took part he won $2. In ths
second he won $25. Then the fascina
tion of the game was on him, and he
gave up his situation to indulge in
play. Night after night helost. He
pawned his watch, and lost it * Two
rings, the gift of his dying mother,
were parted with. His spare clothing
was staked and lost Finally his over
coat went He borrowed from all his
acquaintances, but could not win. Yes
terday he met me on the street ’Bill,*
he said, Tve made up my mind I can’t
be a successful gambler; in fact, I don’t
care about leading a gambler’s life.
Can you give me money to buy a ticket
back home?’ I bought him the ticket,
and he left at 9 o’clock last evening.
“Professional gamblers meet with
hundreds of cases similar to this,” he
continued. “Very few, however, return
home. Most of them hang around the
gambling-rooms, living from hand to
mouth, and, as broken-down sports,
borrow a quarter here or a half there.
The town is full of these so-called
broken-down sports. Go into a gam
bling-room and you will sec them sit
ting apart from the crowd, hats pulled
low over their eyes, nervously hand
ling a worn deck of cards. Others are
watching the progress of the game,
criticising the playing.”
“When gamblers lose all their
money, where do they get a sum to re
sume on?’’ was asked.
“Pawn something. One gambler in
Milwaukee has a ring which originally
oust slls. He paid enough broker fees
on this ring to increase the cost i th*
article to $250. Most successful gam
blers w ear good jewelry, on which they
can rvalue a ‘stake’ at any time.”—
JfUwauAes Journal.
Two of a Thirsty Kind.
It was in the queer, old-fashioned
tavern in Pmnpton. N. J. A New
Yorker, waiting there for a train, saw a
miller all covered with flour rush in.
throw down a nickel and toss off a glass
of boor. It was done like a flash, with
out a word having been spoken. Be
fore the New Yorker recovered from
his astonishment the same thing was
repeated—the miller rushed in, threw
down his nickel. to>s<»d off hb glass of
beer again and was off.
I* “Doe* that man drink every two
“minutes?” the New Yorker inquired.
“What man?” said the tavernkeeper.
“That miller who keeps running in
•Oh.” said the tavernkeeper,“ibem's
twins. ifarperb
Cuban policemen stand on the street
'" w»*r* *«th laewras heng c« pole#.
War in [mope.
ALEXANDER I,
i -
Prince of Bulgaria, with,
which State Roumelia
has been Recently
United.
Great events are taking place in
Europe, and greater ones are in prospect.
A few weeks ago the people of Eastern
Roumelia suddenly changed their gov
ernment and united themselves with
Bulgaria. In so doing the Treaty of Ber
lin, 1878, was violated, but Russia backs
the Roumelians in what they did, while
Servia, jealous of Bulgarian growth, is
preparing to check it by force of arms
if necessary. Both Roumelia and Bui
garir were constituted tributary states
df the Ottoman Empire under condi
tions which have been violated by the
revolution accomplished in Roumelia,
the object of which was to present a
stronger front against Turkey, the supe
rior power, and gain a larger degree of
self government. European powers are
to have a meeting in Constantinople in
the hope of settling the trouble which
has arisen, without war, but everybody
feels that this is not improbable and may
easily be brought about by only a little
more friction than that already existing.
Our subject, Alexander I, Prince of
Bulgaria, has prepared himself to profit
by the action of Eastern Roumelia in
declaring itself to be a part of the terri
tory governed by him. He is at the
head of a large force of Bulgarian cav
alry in Roumeiian territory.
The jPrince, though young in years, is
a soldier of experience, and a magnifi
cent man physically. He was born April
5, 1857, the son of Prince Alexander
Louis Grederick” Emile, of Hesse. In’
1870 he entered the Prussian army, and
in 1877 that of Russia. He fought in
the army of theT’zar against Turkey in
the campaign of 1877-8, and was a very
popu.ar officer. The Treaty of Berlin
was’ signed in 1878, alter the war had
ended triumphantly for Russia. It made
Bulgaria a State tributary to Turkey,
but having considerable independence,
and Eastern Roumelia also the same,
but less favorable conditions in
the direction of self government. Now
the Roumelians, by giving themselves
to Bulgaria, evidence their want to have
less to do in the way of paying tribute
and honor to “the unspeakable Turk.”
Alexander is the first Prince of RulgaX
ria under the new arrangement. He wa® 1
elected m April, 1879. His administra
tion has been successful, but he is said
to spend money more lavishly than his
people like. He has sunk a great deal
in building a fine palace. His allow
•ance from the treasury is about $120,000
• year. Many assert that Alexander is
an ambitious young man who was not
surprised at the revolution in Eastern
Roumelia, because he had been the
principal wire-puller in bringing it
about. This is probably not true, how
ever, as if accounts of him are trust
worthy he is not possessed of the brains
and tact necessary to direct a successful
revolutionary scheme.
Insignificant, homeless, and friend
less as the foundlings may seem, sad
as the lot of him whom neither father
nor mother care to own, some of them
have been made of the stuff that would
not, like Banquo’s ghost, “down at the
bidding” of misfortune and adversity,
but struggled on, and at last climbed
the steep where Fame's proud temple
shines afar. Such was D’Alembert, the
writer and academician, who was a
poor foundling left on the steps of Notre
Dame. Mrs. Achmet, the actress was
also a foundling. Savage, the English
poet, whom Dr. Johnson records the life
of. was the son of the countess of
Madesfield and Earl Rivers, and the
author of a poem dedicated to his
mother, which’, however it may have
mortified her, never melted her to com
passion.
• No mother'# care
Shielded my Infant innocence In prayer;
No father's guardian hand my youth main
talned.
Call'd forth u»y virtue#, or from vice re
strained.
Fielding, the novelist, found a worthy
theme in the adventures of “Tom
Jones, the Foundling,” and Moore
wrote a play, “The Foundling.”
Foundling asylums have not always
. found favor. Even so able a writer as
McCullough doubted their usefulness,
and declared the arguments nicely
balanced as to whether they did not
offer more temptation to crime than
they relieved suffering. There is no
foundling asylum in Pittsburg.
Speaker Carlisle is making a collec
tion of the most curious communica
tions he receives—such, for instance,
as a letter from a Minnesota man. who
wanted an appropriation by Congress
jto provide him with a good sleigh. He
1 told what kind of wood it was to be
‘ made of, how many bells it should
> have, and how thick the steel of the
! runners should be; and in a post
; scriptum intimated that the salvation
' of the country depended on the ap>
I propriation. _ i
One of the most curious cases on
; record is that of a man in Memphis
i who can’t live without a noise. Si
lence nearly dements him. His mania
at one time was rather expensive, as
he was constantly traveling on steam- ;
| boats, going into sawmuls, visiting
boiler repairing shops and the like.
But his friends will be pleased to hear i
that he h on the point of getting mar
ried. and will star at home from now
•*.—JfempAu (Icna.) JrehvuAc.
Old Barney, the Mine Mule.
Three years ago, writes a Coalbrook
(Pa.) correspondent to the New York
Sun, a mule known as “Old Bpney,”
having spent thirty-five successive
years in drawing coal-cars fn the tun
nels of the G|d Hickory collery, was
taken out ofilthe by. bis owner
and tyrned out to _dq as he pleased.’
Not having breathed any fresh air ndr
had a glimpse of daylight since 1850,
Old Barne’y did not take kirfdW to'his
new life, and fdx weeks
the mine, recognizing the voices of the
miners as they went inland came out,
and giving every evidence, that he was
homesick and wanted to go back to the'
dark and gloomy chambers where he
had grown old. He was unable to see
in the daytime for several days, but
his sight gradually adapted itself to
the new conditions. After' Barney
found that they were not disposed to
let him back into the mine, he quit go
ing near it, and spent his time wander
ing alone about the neighborhood,
making no spot his particular habita
tion, but being welcome everywhere, .
as he was known for miles around and
respected as the mule that had lived
thirty-five years in a coal mine.
He acted as if he felt that he had
been turned out as a useless append
age, and he had a perpetual look of
melancholy on his face, and chose the
most solitary spots, whereHwr-nveuid
sgjpetimes remain for days at a time
Communing with himself. In spite of
his melancholy and his eyes
were bright, his coat soft ana-glossy,
and his body in good flesh. Whenever
he appeared in the mining
which he did frequently, he was al
ways surrounded and followed by.
troops of miners’ children, tugging bis
stubby tail, hanging to his mouse-cel- ,
ored ears, and straddling his round
back. He tolerated children without a
protest, no matter what they did to
him, but their merriment never dis
pelled his melancholy for a second.
For a week or so past workmen have
been blasting in a ledge of rocks nfiar
Old Hickory colliery for the purpose of
cutting a roadway through it Last
Thursday Old Barney^came sauntering
along from some place in the hills, and
stopped to watch the men at work in -•
the ledge. He evidently remembered
the days of blasting in the mines, for
every time the men made a chArge
ready and sought a place of safety to
await the explosion, Old Barney would,
take himself off, too, returning after
the blast had gone off.
After half an hour of solemn enjoy
ment of this kind, Old Barney walked
off and disappeared behind the ledge,
and the men soon forgot all about him.
An hour later they put in an extra
large blast and retired as usual,to their
safe retreat About the time they ex
pected to hear the report and see the
fragments of rock flying about, what -
was their astonishment to see Old Bar
ney reappear around the ledge ami
walk deliberately up to within six fe4t
of the burning fuse. It was too late tte
drive him away, for the fuse woiffii. »
burned to the powder before thebueu
could go ten feet toward the mule, i
They turned their head?. The folaat.
went off like » oanaou, _
Barney was thrown a red awajOnd
torn to pieces by the mass of rocks tbo
concussion hurled from the ledgq. No
one can. convince any one Who tver-
Jknew Ola Barney that he did iMMac*
Tffflßseffin the way of the blast, know-.
ing well what result would be, for
the purpose .of ending a life that had
become burdensome to him. ... ...
, Little Edith Goes to Court. ’ v
| A mite of a girl with dimpled pbeekl
( s and hair in pretty locks stopped at the
steps of the Yorkville Court yesterday
morning and gave a crumpled bit of,
paper to a policeman standing there/
The policeman read:
Please direct this little girl to York
ville Police Court, Fifty-seventh street,
between Third and Lexington
nues.
“I’m Edith Jenith Adams, 8 years
old next January, and my house is al
488 Lexington avenue,” she said to.
Roundsman Mulflooh, who met her at
the door. *Mamma’s sick and papa’s
a letter carrier, and can’t get hire yet,
so I came alone.”
“What can we do forvou, litfegirl,”
inquired the roundsman’ • .
“Shoot a dog.” exclaimed Edth, ex
citedly. “He bit me. and my namma.
and papa are 'fraid I’ll get hy-<ro-pho-.
bia if the dog's not killed.”
“Where did he bite you?” isked a :
crowd of court clerks and officers who
gathered around the little girl.
“Here and here and here,’ said
Edith, pointing to a scratch at tioside i
of her right eye and two bftmps oi her i
head. “I went to Henry E. Kohl’s l
grocery store, at 753 Third avenue be- i
fore 'lection day to buy some elobes- <
pins for mamma. A greenhorn bq* in
the store had a big black dog.”
w “What’s a greenhorn boy?” aked
the listeners.
“Oh. don’t you know?” said th lit
tle girl, in surprise. “Why, one who
has just landed. Greenhorn boys act
in New York just like they did ii the
old country. I said to the greenorn
boy; ‘How* funny your dog wash# his
faces.' The dog flew up in th air.
right at me. Hfs top tooth stuk in !
my head, and his lower tooth aruck
• almost in my eye. The blood wet all
; over the floor. ’ The storekeeper tuck
' a piece of paper and mucilage q my ; !
■ head, and gave a pear not to td my I
papa. Dr. Andrews had to fix mytead, 1
i and every bit of my hair is fallin. out ; 1
| Will the Judge go now and shot the 4 i
dog?”
I “When he comes back this afteioon I 1
i I'll tell him about it,” said Roundman I
I Muldoon. t |
Edith's father, in postman’s unbrm*. • <
! having just finished his route, fanned <
I into court, and took his little davhter i
! up in his arms. ; j
“Papa,” the child said, “you td mo I
; this was a place where people caie to * 1
I find ont what to do. They won' tell <
me anything here. They won’Uven
■ give me a sample." I ■
Everybody at Edith. Mr. •
try to get amnd •
Jon wdßu-uiorroil* morning, amear- t
i ried his daughter oAhis shonlder it of I
court.—Aew It
)
f The yeSHy product of Amrrieaifor- ’ J
ests exceeds in value that «f a ths X
irea, steel a*< teal eewbiseC «
J
LADIES COLUMN.
. - Fashion Note*4
Embossed,velvets and velveteens are
inTfavor.’ ‘ *• “* *
Scarf drapery is much employed on
dress Iskirts..*-.- ? „ ...
", Velvet belts beginning at the side
sdams'Afe fastened in front d>y" buckles
X)f hammered- silver
2 bpp^d ! h>raid for
boTabrifig Skirts, and narrower designs
~ for .bodices are novelties. '**
■ Jersey plush-vests, the
favorite combination 'being* seal brown
, with vest.of golden plush. ..
Woolen dress fabrics, embroidered
with tinsel and with frise palm leaves,
and also with silk coyd, are novelties.
The day of much .draped, much put
up and flounced, pldited, shirred and
ruffled,,dresses is goue.by. s . .•>
A'gen’d’armer bipe -yelvet' turban is
trimmed with a band of gray astrachan,
a seagull’s head anji breast, and an aig
rette of heron’s feathers.
woolen jersey stockinet hats
are- novelties. They are made over a
felt shape, but being much dearer than
felt and not “dressy,” they will proba
bly not be very popular.
A black velvet capote, with-full crown,
is trimmed with a-mass of loops of wa-
among which nestles three
Java sparrows. The strings are of broad
watered, ribbon.
A costume of brownish homespun has
long drapery ,at the back: The front
drapery is long and pointed at the left
side, showing side pannels trimmed
with rows of-brown braid. The postil
lion bodice has a simulated Eton jacket
bordered' with two rows of braid, bands
of braid ending in loops forming the
trimming on the sleeves, and on the
shoulders are epaulets of passementerie
and braid. , -
Among the prettiest of costumes for
morning dresses we must mention those
of dArk .fabae linen, worked in open
work eipbroidery with red cotton, or
else of pale buff linen, worked in red,
blue or prune cotton. The embroidery
consists .cfaiefly of circles of eyelet holes
and of large wheels filled up in lace
stitches, yhe edges are scalloped out
and worked round in button-hole stich;
the embroidery entirely covers every
part'of the dress; the scallopedout
bands dorm the trimming, of course.
Embroidery, is, in fact, employed for
the ornament of all styles’ of toilet; for
silk dresses and elegant*’mantles the
patterns are worked.in beads of all col
ors. The skirt fronts and panels are
covered with' jet. pendants,- small gold
seqiiains, or patterns •in leaden beads.
These beads nave, let us hasten to say,
but the appearance of lead,’’and not its
weight. .«
-r-;
'Household Notes.
Oyster .Fritters: Drain off the juice
and add to it a cup of milk, three eggs,
salt and pepper and flour enough to
make a thick batter; stit iQ the oysters;
drop from a large'spoon into hot lard to
i fry. ’ ,r
*5 Creaur Sauce: if All* a of butter,
one cup of powdered stfgaf, onedourth
'v i cream or milk, a teaspoon-
of vanilla extract; beat butter to a
Bgar gradufdljs beating con
a light, and, creamy add
slowly, then flavoring: a
is » ftreat ; improvement
ins: Half a pint of flour,
iw’6et cream, a third of a
teaspoojiful-of salt, three eggs. Beat
wfaij|B«to-a.j£iff froth, beat yolks and
saffjyadd the cream gradually. Stir in
t/ie flour and thdti the whites very gent
ly. Rake in biittered gem pans in a
quick oven from ten to fifteen minutes.
Sponge Gake: Four pggs beaten to a
stiff froth, one cup of sugar (beat eggs
and sugar until thd ’mixture is very
light,) 'One cup of flour stirred in gent
ly. Flavor'with-lemon or vanilla.
Tomato Catsup: • One<half bushel of
tomdtaes,’ veryripe; -scald and peel;
not quite a pound- of, salt, fwo pounds
of sugar, one-quarter pound of black
pepper, pound of allspice,
fwo.ounces.of cloves. Get whole spices
and put-in a thin' bag’;’ three onions,
eight or ten peppers chopped fine; cook
about four hours, and. n(teen minutes
before done add one quartfof good strong
vinegar; when, cold rub through a sieve
and-bottle.. '• ’ .
■* How to Preserve Grapes: Grapes may
be kept for. njonths in the following man
ner: Cut the bunches ip the middle of
a dry day when*the fruit is dry; seal the
end of the stem with a drop of wax, and
pack in clean boxes with cotton batting
between the -layers. Put the boxes in
a dry, cool place, and do not open them .
untfl they are wanted for use. Grapes j
thus-packed have been" kept until the
spring in excellent condition and with
out shrinking.
Society and the GlrL
A young woman in St Louis who re
cently ran awAy from home to enter
upon a life of- shatne gave an ex
cuse for her conduct that she could not 1
earp a living as a music teacher and
she was too proud to earn her bread <
with the labor of her hands in a town
in whose society she had lived as a <
lady. •
I 1
It is evident that something is wrong
with- society or with the girl, or with ]
both. A pride which revolts at manual ]
labor and willingly embraces disgrace j
is something altogether too common in ]
this day, though ft is very rare that we
find any one who confesses to its pos- 1
session... A great many men have been r
brought to ruin id the, same way,
taking different paths*it may be, but f
bringing up at thri* same place. • The #
Sirl id qnestion-wppears to have chosen i
egradation with a great deal of delib- t
eration, and it is probable that in her
weak and disordered intellect she found v
justification for hey conducts t
Her foolish and shameful misstep is J
not to be palliated. ’ but responsibility ■ a
does not rest with her alone. She is a i g
victim of the orazj^| idolatry of riches j
•nd contempt of honest toil which have I
become enthroned in “society." When : #
society becomes s more rational thing /
than it now is and when money wifi
not pass current in it unless fortified i
by common sense and merit we will ' j
have fewer such escapades by silly i r
girls and money-getting men. Society .
beeda a reorganisation. —tWfcape Jtor- t
. _ - ; ; t
*- A
A. Quiet Man's Joke.
When Stillman S. Conant was man
aging editor of the Times, a short time
prior to the mysterious death of its
chief editor, Henry J. Raymond, his
> first name was regarded as by no means
a misnomer. He was the mildest-man
, nered managing editor that ever order
ed a two-column article to be cut down
to a paragraph. But quiet as his gen
-1 eral demeanor was. he held the reins
1 firmly and sharply curbed any tendency
to undue briskness on the part of the
‘ editorial team he was driving. He
i could, however, take a joke and”match
it with another.
One cold night in the winter of 1869
the box in which copy for the editor
was sent up-stairs from the publication
office suddenly shot up to the editorial
rooms, and a sharp-ring of the
nounced that it had arrived with some
thing in It Mr. Conant stepped to
the box and took out a package, some-,
thing bulky, that looked as though it
might contain something intended for
publication. Looking at it closely he
read these words on the envelope:
' i Mr. , : z
: Night City Editor, ;
: Give us a puff. :
Mr Conant's suspicions were at once
aroused by this rem&rkable superscrip
tion. Could it be : that the man who
edited the city news was in collusion
with some outsider who was sending
him “a first-rate notice” for insertfan
in the news columns, smuggling it
without paying duty at the advertising .
desk? This was, lyonthy of immediate
investigation. He immediately sent
for the man to whom the package was
addressed and closely ’ scanned his
countenance while the’ latter opened
the envelope.
And then the nature of the atrocious
attempt to tamperwith ’the press was
made manifest The contents were two
fragrant cigars, whipped irt a piece of
paper, on which was hastily scrawled
the same words that appeared on ; the
envelope—of D. O. C. Townley, a
writer (since dead) who was “(Jive us
a puff.” It was signed with the initials
at that time attached to the staff of the
Times. The laugh that-followed was
at Mr. Conant's expanse. y - *
“Well,”he said, joining in the gener
al hilarity, “I thipk that is
notice,” and lighting one of* the-cigars
which was passed to him by the blue
pencil man of the city room, he re
sumed his duties at the desk. .»
Shortly afterward,
where the sub-editor was vigorously
engaged in “btwl/iingV'Copy/-apparent
ly deriving much - aid and comfort in?
the operation from the which ( he
was silently pulling,* while the 'smoke
wreaths curled above his head liKe the
steam from anv other boiler, Mr. Con
ant said: “We 11 ,see Xhat is, sent
up.”
“Eh? what is,?” asked the other.
“Why,” said Mr. Conant, pointing
to the fragrant clouds-of tobacco smoke
that flouted over "head, “thkt is. That
is sent up.” The j«ke flagrant,
though timely, .to the maqfto whq,
for the moment, had rested under the
faint cloud of suspicion that was so
speedily dispelled, it has been a fra
gAmt memory ever airier.—Acw •
The Fftutaffraph* •
•‘lt was thought the Viantagraph
would make any one an artist,” said a
commercial artist as he ran, the .tracer
of the little machine, oter tlfe outlines
of a peculiarly shaped picture. “But I
can tell you it hadn’t, , Wrr*n it was
first invented a spveLjfldeji to be
able, say in a* small * photograph, to
trace correctly the outlines'to a mathe
matical
sired size, almost, bn another paper. 4n #
other words* tqjite<#lly . .ap ,op-* -
larged silhouette froth A small ’picture. 1
It was a capital idea, btit '-artiAfirsre
born, not made. t '■ ,
“After the picture was enlarged, -and
all the outlines faithfully- transferred, it
was found that to fill in pnd give ex-
pression could npt be done' by apyon
but an artist. ‘The invention ’of thi
pantagraph created a sensation. Rap
id artists went all over the Unitec
States giving lessons to classerand sell
ing the instruments. Each pupi
bought an instrument and- a few, box e;
of crayon. Very z fe#,vyejre eveyTnowr
afterward to succeed in making** pict
ure that resembled the*
less to become artists.”
“Are the paragraphs much used?”
•“They are used mostly now to trace
maps and irregular mechanical draw
ing. See, lam enlarging the interior
view of a Pullman palace car, and, in
stead of using a rule to draw the per
spective lines and get .the -seats an
equal distance apart,'l-do it all in a
short time with thepantagraph.”-
New York Mail and Jh-prcss.
Before and After Using.
“I notice that thev are going to tax
bachelors in murmured Dora,
reading from the paper'David had just
laid down. * v *
“That isn’t■ right,’* frtrwned David,
biting nervously at his -.after supper ci
gar; “their lot4a Jiard and. qnnappy
enough as it is. _ '
Dora got up and kissed David at this
suggestive remark. They had been
married
Time swept op in that calm and re
lentless fashion for which time is cele
brated, and Dos a is the mother of a
six-weeks-old-baby. At intervals, also,
David is reminded that he is joint pro
prietor in this fanffly acquisition, which
nas a studied ambition for sitting up
nights in company with its father.
“I was thinking,” mused Dora softly
from her easy chair, “I was thinking
about that item we were reading last
winter. I wonder if they really do tax
the bachelors in France.”
“I don’t know,’’‘returned David,
who was warming some sort of a mix
ture in a little tin dish over a spirit
lamp; “but,” he added malevolently,
as he tipped the mixture over just as it
get warm, “thev ought to make them
pay something lor the luxury.”
And Dora sighed ax she asked if it
wasn’t about time to mix the food.—
Rockland Courier-Gazette.
Scene, Boston; time,* present ‘day.
Fair Anglomaniac (just returned from
England) pointing to some passing
school-children—“l say Emily, pray ob
wrve the droll figgers of these childem
la eelered froths and white ap»na.”
The Modqrn Grandmother.
The new grandmother has come to
the front of late years and made her
presence felt in the most emphatic
manner. The old grandmother whom
we used to know has been shelved.
How she used to sit in the corner, al
ways in the same place, with her great,
kindly eyes watching the sparks fly up
ward from the back log in the fire
place; how she used to be demure und
..silent when there was company pres
ent; how she used to take a back seat
j»when the bbau came in to see the
" granddaughter, and how she used to
. say “Yes” when the granddaughter
asked her what to say to the beau—all
these things some of us know and re
member. But the new grandmother is
a different sort of a person. You found
that out when- you were courting vour
wife. How. often when you called bn
the Matter before marriage and said
something about going to the theateir or
out for supper or out for a drive did
this new-fangled grandmother make
the response in first person, plural
number? When you married, the.
.grandmother was around. This was
,ali right Now that some years stretch
'back of that event, in the evenings at
home you find that while the
finger of time is tangling itself in jour
' hair the grandffiother seems to rear up'
in stateliness. She is quite handy in.
every respect. You buy two spring
bonnets instead of one. You get tlirea.
fheater'tickets instead of two. You
get two opinions instead of one. In
• the long and dreary winter this modern
grandma does now and then seek her
couch, and you do have a chance to
hear -your wife talk. But oh, in the
summer time, when the robins nest
again and the green grass is growing
all around, and she comes out—grand
ma—and sits down on the steps, and
sits and sits until “the eternal daaces
. of-the midnight sky” run down, and
she continues to sit until your wife
says it is so very oppressive that ice
cream would be a luxury—then you
know how sturdy grandma is; how
much better she looks than she did.
How much stouter than the poor old.
grandmother you used to read about
when you were a boy. Brethren (on
the quiet), have we not on this first
Sunday in spring pounded a responsive
ichord in your bosoms? Don’t all speak
at once—but haven’t we?
, He Was Cool.
There had been a row in a Western
and after a great deal of promis
cuous shooting Jim Jackson, a noted
tough, was killed and the fun stopped.
Arrests were made,and the participants
brought before the court. Wheri Joe
Duff, one of the principal witnesses,
took the stand, a young lawyer tackled
him.
“Your name is Duff, I believe,” he
said, after a little skirmishing around
the edges.
“Tlfet’s what they call me,” answfiM
ed Joe.
, “You were in this row?"
“In course. Yer don’t s’pose I’m
losj.n’.anj' chances fur fun, does yerf*- <8
hain’t missed one in ten years in this
towiaUiALaca tv-1.0 OVCF the
river preticipatfrf in someth*®*
sort on - thet side.*
“Did you see this man, Jackson,
shoot at any one?”
“Yes.” . ’ t 7 I
“Was it early in the difficulty?”
“Well, I never kno wed Jim to wait
for interductions in a case uv emergen
cy.”
“Did he appear to be agitated when
you first saw him?” • - >
“Nd more’n you’d be in charging a
man $lO for 15 cents’ worth o’ work.”
“Don’t be personal, sir. ' I to
Jackson jwas also cod In the
‘ latpu’ portion of the trouble?’.’ « •
“Yer betchef life he wns. cool. He
was dead—colder’n a Sunday roast on
a wash day.”
The witness was ordered to step
down.— Merchant Traveler.
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