Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME VII
PROFESSIONAL CARDS.
Lawyers.
ROBERT A. MASSET,
Attorney at Law.
Douglasville, Ga.
(Office in front room, Dorsett's building.)
Will practice anywhere except in the County
Court of Douglas county.
ijjy~A. j a®,
Attorney at Law,
Douglasville, Ga.
Will practice in all the courts, State .and
Federal. Office on Court-houre Square.
yyM. T. ROBERTS,
Attorney at I rw,
, Douglasville, Ga-
Will practice in all the courts. All legal bus
iness will receive prompt attention. Office in
owurt-hofcc.
0 D. CAMP,
Attorney. atXaw,
Civil Engineer and Surveyor.
% Douglasville, Ga
jg G. GRIGGS, ♦
Attorney at Law.
Douglasville, Ga
Will ni RctW in all the courts, State ana
MSO—
JOBS HU*!,
Attorney at Law.
Douglasville, Ga
Will practica in all the courts, and prompt
y attend to all buHtnew entrusted to hi* care.
J S. JAMES.
Attorney at l aw,
. Douglastille, Ga
Win practice in the court* of
Campbell. Carroll, Paulding. Oobb, if niton
and adjoining counties, Pion.pt altantto
given to ah bartuts*.
.. —M* ■"» j
V 01,8 J' “Z
-* Afloraer «*Uw
Douglueville Ga
* j
doctors.
-■ -ijrnaorj -i-irn-jur •rr.T.
JJB. T. R. WHITLEY,
Physician and Surgeon
Douglasville, Ga.
Special attention to Surgery and Chronic dia
msiti in either sex "»
Office up stairs in Dorsett's brick building.
p 8. VIBDERY,
Physician and Burgeon.
Office at lludHon & Edg.'‘n drugstore, whore
ho ertn bo found at all hours, except when
prof««feiona!ly engaged. 8 .ecial attention
given to Chronic taae*, and especially all cases
that have been tre.-ted and are still uncured. I
Janl3 'BS ly
J B BDGB,
Physician and Surgoan,
Chronic diseases of all kind given special
attention.
Office at the Drngstore*of Hudson Jt Edge
Broad street, Douglasville, Ga,
Moh iht
*J R. COOK,
JJen ‘«%’’ Surgeon, '
Has located in Twenty years’ j
•vperi' iioe. De«vfairy in all its branches’done I
in the most approved style. Office over posi- ]
office.
Painter.
fp «. BUTLER.
House Painter, I
Douglasville, Ga
Will make old furniinru look as well as new.
<Ms e him a trial in this line. Will also do
IgOUM carpenter’ »<e writ
The New York (ZrapAw' gives the fol
lowing direction* "how to tell a wo
man’s age-.”
Ask some other worn u>.
Few gttujdruothersare lew than 26 off
the stage. •
Bnmettes as a rule look older than ■
blondes of the same age.
Slenderness is supposed to be girlish
unless it produces wrinkles.
An unmarru'd woman is a girl un
til she is 40. After that she is an old
maid.
During leap-year deduct ten year
from the age of even unmarried wo
man.
If a woman has false teeth and
phmap.-nt it to put her down aa
her hjjw old she is and multiply
the answer by two. If she is an octrees
multiply it by four. :
K increases the apparent age of a
.■■m-uj under '«.» years and lessens it
aver that
*
~ ■.• z .. ■ 7 z 7 // KT
' ■ / f i./
TA WT '
The Weekly Star.
Only a Correspondent.
A grave in the desert, a word in the papers:
is that
All? Is that all?
•io shrine which a pilgrim mayflnd, no memo- ■
rial whereat , . ~
Those who loved him may call
On his name, and thank God their beloved
lived, and if dead
Died for the pledge
01 England; for love of the needy and sorely
tx*sot
On the desert’s deadly edge.
Not for him the medal, praise, and promotion
r and fame,
The danger alone;
And now hot death at a stroke, and never a
* star to his name
To go with his memory home.
Never an honor, a star, a cross, instead of the
living man;
Nothing to say
How true and swift to his post as ever a sol
dier can.
Historian of fight and fray. x
He st ood mid the smoke of the guns, and
ro<b' through the blinding sand,
Never behind;
i Scoffed at more than praised, top ready to
understand
Whatever might, be divined,
Vet blowing the trumpets of fame, not for
himse:f, but for you
Generals al 11
Seizing <nit of the clamor, ■while the dust and
the bullets flew,
Names of the brave that fall;
Names of the great that triumph, records to
fire the blood.
Never forgot;
Taken out of the heart of the battle, from
desert, and kraal, and flood,
Wherever the fight was hot.
And for recompense, when something falls to
each trooper’s share.
Twenty lines or so
In his journal, but never a tribute or word of
honor where »
Your rolls of glory go.
A grave in the desert, a word in the papers; Is
that
All? It is scant,
Yet enough to light the torch of a good ex
ample at;
- What more does an Englishman
want?
\ —Tho Spectator.
••BILLY SMITH.”
His name was Wilhelm Schmidt—
•‘Billy Smith,” the clerks in the whole
sale store in tho bottoms jocularly,
called him. His Americanized cog
nomen be bore with his accustomed
good-nature. Ho was such a simple
minded, honest fellow, that everybody
liked him.
Once 1 came across him unexpected
ly in the little room which he made his
rendezvous. In his hand he held a
picture at which he was gazing intent- '
ly. Looking up rather shamefacedly, '
he pul it with awkward haste into his
9ai<l ’ LntgbiQgly ’j
v-IIM/I.k''.”! id’-T-.rn-* <>n firs
With Writtent perplexity.
i "The wedding, I mean,” I Went on,
! when I saw he did not unoerstsnW,
j “come, out with it. Isn’t that your
t sweetheart’s picture?”
“I dells you,” Billy said, in a sudden
burst of confidence, "if you don’d gif
it avay to de poys. Dey vould poge
fun at me.”
1 promised, and Billy handed me the
picture with trembling fingers.
"Dot vas Mina,” he said eagerly.
"You like her?”
When I expressed my satisfaction at
the tin-type, Billy gave a sigh.
"It is dree—vier years since I see
her,” he said. "Bud ven I go away,
Mina say she vaid. Und, shust so
soon I ged de money I bromised I
vould send for her und ve ged mar
ried. Meester Raymond, I dells you
somedings.”
Bending over, he continued in a low,
glad tone:
"Soon I send for her. I have de
money in de bangk—-almost, notquide.
Meester Raymond, ven Mina und 1 ged
married, you must gome up. Ve gif
you a goot dime.”
1 tola him that 1 would and left him.
The next day the newsboys were out
upon the street with the news of the ?
suspension of a bank that bad long en- j
joyed the confidence of our German ‘
citizens. Excitement was fever heat.
There were many who in the twinkling '
of an eye saw the savings of years
swept away. A crowd of powerless,
d&spairing depositors surrounded the '
police-guarded building and strove to ;
enter the locked and bolted doors, i
And, happening to pass by, 1 saw Billy
among tnein.
"Why, Billy,” 1 said, with surprise, .
"what are you doing here?”
He turned his face, which had grown
worn and haggard in a day, to me, and
said hoarsely:
"Meester Raymond, I vand my
money. Id’s gone dey say—l no gaix i
ged it- I—l don’d understand.”
It was one of the worst failures that
Cincinnati had ever known. 1 looked
at Billy’s face, that was raised appeal
ing’v to me, and pityingly replied:
. "Billy, I’ m afraid it’s gone. There,
there,” as a bitter groan escaped his
lips, and he bowed his head in misery,
"don’t take on so. Be a man, Billy.”
But the picture of the fair-haired ;
fraulein in Germany, who was waiting
so trustfullv, was before me, and my ;
voice trembled.
The next day BiUy resumed his du- I
ties as porter in the store. Somehow,
with the look he wore on his face, the
boys did not chaff him as much as I
usual. Happening by his room I
caught a glimpse oF him slowly writing I
a letter. Aud oh. the sadness that it
rnusi have brought when it finally
reached that little far-off town on the
river Rhine.
Finally the holidays grew near. I
had told the head of the house Billy's
story and the day before Christmas the
latter was surprised to find in an en
velope that was handed him a crisp
SIOO bill. It was a large gift, but one
which its ge crons donor could afford.
Billy first tried to thank him, and then
broke down and cried.
There, Billy,* he said, a suspicious ■
moisture in hiis eyes. "I want you to
•end tor that sweetheart of yours right
away, and from the £r>t, jqux wagea i
TO IMOIVK—CHARITY TO AlhT-.
DOUGLASVILLE. GEORGIA. THURSDAY. OCTOBER 22,1885
are to be increased $5 a week.’’
And then a second letter this time
bringing joy and gladness jn its train,
winged its way to distant Germany.
When a month had passed there
j came a response that was full of love
, and hope. In it Miua announced her
intention of starting for America in
several weeks. Billy went about his
work with a light heart, the letter
placed carefully away in his pocket so
that he could read it twenty times a
day. Aud then, just when happiness
seemed within his grasp, he paid the
penalty of some imprudence by a severe
attack of pneumonia.
He was taken to the hospital and
tenderly cared for. When it became
known that he was sick all the boys
would ask about him, and not a few
Howers and fruits found their way to
his room. There were kindly wishes
expressed on all sides for Billy’s speedy
recovery.
I had just returned from work one
day when a knock came at my door.
A messenger boy was on the outside
with a note in his hand. It was from
one of the doctors in the hospital.
Billy was worse, it said, and wished to
see me very much indeed. So I put on
my hat and overcoat and prepared to
face the blinding snowstorm.
When I finally entered the room the
doctor who was in attendance gravely
shook his head. One glance at Billy’s
face told me that he was sinking fast.
I softly went up to him, and, opening
his eyes, the poor fellow reached out
his hand with a smile upon his face.
"Meester Raymond —it was with
the greatest difficulty he spoke—
"you’ve gome. I vas gladt, sair, gladt
Mina
He handed me a strip of paper that
was crumpled up in his hand. It waa./
a telegram. In it Mina announced her
safe arrival at New York. She wanted
Wilhelm to meet her at the Littlfi
Miami depot that night. Billy lookers
up at me with an anxious look in hia
eyes.
"All right, old friend,” I said, with
a glance at my watch. "Tho train is
almost due now. 1 will bring her to
you.”
He gave my hand a silent pressure,
and 1 hurried away. By the time I
reached the depot the train had already
arrived. In the almost-deserted wait
ing-room I found a young Gertsan giri
talking confusedly to the trainmen It
was Mina, I knew, and I went uj» to
; her. I
It took me some time to explain
to comfort
“Ah, Mina, dear one. do not cry,”
he said, in the language of his beloved
Fatherland. “It will not be long npw
before I am well again, and tnen we
will be happy—so happy.”
But it was not to be. When the
chill, gray dawn stole in at the win
dow Buly was asleep with Mina’s hand
still clasped in his own. But it was
the sleep that knows no waking!
This was years ago. Mina is living
out now on Walnut hills. I often see
her with a look of trouble on her pale,
sweet face, that time has softened, and
my heart goes out to her.
Gen. C. F. Smith at Fort Donelson.
From General Lew Wallace’s illus
trated account of the capture of Fort
Donelson, in the December Century,
quote tho following: “Taking Lau
man’s brigade General Smith began the
advance. They were under fire instant
ly. The guns in the fort joined in with
the infantry who were at the time in
the rifle-pits, the great body of the
Confederate right wing being withGen
\ eral Buckner. The defense was great-
Ily favored by the ground, which sub
jected the assailants to a double fire
from the beginning of the abatis. The
men have said that ‘it looked too thick
I for a rabbit to get through.’ General
, Smith, on his horse, took position in
; the front and center of the line. Occa
sionally he turned in his saddle to see
i how the alignment was kept. For the
most part, however, he held his fa«e
' steadily toward the enemy. He was,
of course, a conspicuous object for the
i sharpshooters in the rifle-pits. The
air around him twittered with minie
bullets. Erect as if on review, he rode
. on, timing the gait of his horse, with the
movement of his colors. A soldier
said: ‘I was nearly scared to death, but
I saw the old man's white mustache
over his shoulder, and went on.’
“On to the abatis the regiments mov
ed without hesitation, leaving a trail of
dead and wounded behind. There the
fire seemed to grow treblv hot, and
there some of tho men halted, whereup
on, seeing the hesitation,General Smith [
nut his cap on the point of his sword,
held it aloft, and called out, ‘No flinch- ’
ing now. lads!—Here—this is the
■ wav! Come on!' He picked a path :
through the jagged limbs of the trees,
i holding his cap all the time in sight; 1
and tla> effect was magical. The men ;
swarmed in after him, and got through :
<in the Iwt order they could—not all of i
them, alas! On the other side of the I
obstruction they took the semblance of
re-formation and charged in after their !
chief, who found himself then between
the two fires. Up the ascent he rode; '
up they followed. At the last moment ■
the keepers of the rifle-pits clam lie red I
out and fled. The four regiments en
gaged in the feat—the Twenty-fifth In
diana, and the Second. Seventh, and .
Fourteenth lowa—planted their colors
on the breastwork. And the gray-hair
ed hero set his cap jauntily on his bead,
pulled his mustache, and rode along
the front, chiding them awhile, then
laughing at them. He had come to i
stay. Later in the day, Buckner came
back with his division; but all bis es-
i forts to dislodge Smith were vain.”
, Maria Ward and John Randolph.
One of the saddest and most roman
tic love affairs in the social annals of
I Virginia, writes E. L. Didier, in Harp
er's Magazine for April, was that of
Maria Ward and John Randolph of
Roanoke. Beginning in his early boy
’ hood, it became the one enthralling
passion of his manhood, filling his
: whole being until, as he himself said,
■ | “he loved her better than his own soul
; or Him that created it.” There is a
| picture of John Randolph in the rooms
I of the Virginia Historical society,
I taken„at the time when he was the ac
cepted lover of Maria Ward. It repre
-1 i sents a singularly handsome youth of
I 25, h]>eyes dark and full of intellect,
his iHuuth beautifully formed, and over
1 his proud and lofty forehead fell a pro
fusion of dark hair. The breaking off
of the. affair is wrapped in mystery.
All we know is, that ope summer
he rode up to the house, and
after a long interview in the parlor the
lady left the room in tears, while he
rusheef from the house, mounted his
horse, and rode He
never saw her again; but one day he
approached a house where she was
staying while she was singing in the
parlor. Fascinated by the sound of
her voice he lingered on the porch, and
sent ip from time to time a request for
her to sing one after another the tender
little ballads which were associated
with their loves. Maria Ward sang
unconscious of her lover’s presence,
while,he rushed frantically up and
dowtfTthe porch in an agony of grief,
waving hia arms, and crying in the
anguish of his heart: "Macbeth hath
murdered sleep; Macbeth shall sleep
no more?”
J. Maria Ward married Peyton Ran
j 4nlph. son of Edmund Randolph, who
.governor of Virginia, the first at
| torney-general of the United States,
and Mjcretary of state under Washing
ton. This lady was distinguished for
the exquisite grace and fascination of
her manners and her bright wit. Her
. portrait re (presents a lovely girl of 16, '
I v. 4 th wondtous blue eyes, exquisitely
I delicate complexion, a profusion of
brown curls, and in the quaint
costume of the last century.
Maria AV ard died in 1826, aged 42
yciprs. Aliccfotemporary accounts unite
in describing her as possessing a singu
lar fascination of manners, a charming
sweetness and amiability of disposition,
an eachanting gayety and esprit, and a
peculiar, irresistible, personal loveli
ness. VAt the time of her death she ;
was sii*t as fresh as the summer rose.
in mind and manners as
hear?-nf John ihtudcl'phyi RiXinoke. ;
.ThK North Georgia marble is sat'd to ?
bo tkc finest in the ivbrld. A local
qu ary man has just cut a counter six
teonTeet in length and four feet broad
out of one solid block. He says: “Wo
could supply a flawless marble column
eighty feet song and five feet in diame
ter. A hundred years from to-day the
quarries will have been jjarely touched, i
The supplj’ of marble of surpassing
quality and of every shade of color is
exhaustlessdj
Recognition at Sea.
In view of the many first-class lines
now crossing the Atlantic, the question
that at first suggests itself upon seeing
a steamer in the distance is: To what
line does she belong? Is she an Inman,
Guion, White Star, or Allen boat, or is
she a Cunarder? To the uninitiated
all steamers look alike at sea, aud it is
frequently a puzzle to the passengers
to understand how the officers can tell
so readily on being asked—even if the
strange steamer be passed at night—to
what line she belongs.
Each line has a distinctive “funnel
mark” by which its steamers can be
told by day, and a distinctive kind of
firework signal by which they can be
known by night. When you see a
steamer whose funnel is two-thirds red,
with a white band and a black top, you
may know that she is an “Allen liner.” I
If at night she sends up blue, white and I
red rockets in succession, she belongs
to the same line.
An "American” line steamer will |
will have a funnel the lower part of,!
which is red, with a white keystone,’
painted on it; above these will be a ,
narrow white band, jvith a black top. j
The night signal is OTSt a red light, fol-‘;
lowed by a Roman candle throwing six j
red balls, and then another red light.
If a steamer's funnel is buff, with a ;
black top she is a “White Star” boat, i
and her night signal will be a green
light and a rocket throwing two green i
stars.
When you see a black funnel, with a !
white band about a third from the top,
it will show an Inman steamer: and a
i night signal of blue lights forward and ,
i aft, with a red light on the bridge and I
• a variegated rocket, vou will know she I
. belongs to the same line.
The Cunard line is known in tho
■ daytime by a red funnel with a black !
’ top, aud at night by two rockets and |
, blue lights simultaneously.
I If the funnel is black,’ with a red i
| band two-thirds of the way up, it is
j that of a Guion steamer, to which line |
i the famous Alaska and Arizona belong. !
j The night signal of the line is blue j
! lights burned forward, aft, and on the •
’ bridge simultaneously.
A steamer with a white funnel, with j
| a black top to it will be a National line
boat, and her signal at night will be a
blue light, followed by a rocket, and.
, then a red light.
The Anchor line boats have black \
funnels without any mark, and the :
i night signal is red and white lights
| burned alternately. Boston Tran- ,
i script.
It is statea that William Thaw, of
Pittsburg, is worth $25,000,000. It I
■ will be a cold day when Thaw geu left.
Lustra Painting.
These are among the newest of the
“art crazes,” differing from some in
that they really are artistic in charac
ter, presenting quite a beautiful effect.
They may be appMed to plush, satin, or
. any fabric usually decorated by em
broidery. Kensington painting imi
tates crewel-and-floss embroidery, and
is at the same time easier of execution.
• Oil colors are used and an embroidery
design is copied, every stitch being
imitated by a stroke of a fine brush or
pen, the brush being used for the lar
ger stitches, the pen for blending or
stitches too small for the brush. Pre
pared gold pens are sold for the pur
i pose, but a steel one will answer.
Lustra painting also imitates em
broidery, but more remotely. Properly
speaking, it resembles flowers or leaves
made of colored bronzes; thence its
name, meaning literally lustrous. The
colors for lustra painting are made
from bronze powders. They are mixed
by the artist with prepared liquids, of
which there are two, the "special
medium” for all other colors. The fol
lowing are the principal colors em
ployed: Pale gold, rich gold, green
gold, lemon, orange, fire brown, pale
pink, middle pink, carmine, dull red,
shaded blues and green, purple, spark
ling silver, silver, steel and black. A
china palette is used. Nearly all of the
colors are employed as prepared, but
yellow, greens, red-browns, and the
like are produced by mixing.
Lustra painting is broadly decorat
ive; so bold, free designs are the only
ones admissible, fine, delicate lines and
shadings being almost impossible of
attainment in lustra. The design may
first be outlined in silk, as in embroid
ery, or merely sketched in with paint.
To work upon plush the color should
be about the consistency of syrup, but
for lighter fabrics thinner paint is de
sirable. The sparkling colors are used
for high lights, the dul l ones for deep
shadows. The former may be height
ened, the latter deepened by glazing
over the ground a sparkling or dull
color, as the case may be. To regulate
the lights and shades imagine that the
light fulls upon the top of the object,
thus throwing the upper part into high
light, the lower into deep slfkdow,
causing a scale of middle tints between.
Harmony of tones and brilliant effect
are all that can be realized in lustra,
color, pure and simple, being a second
ary Conventional flow--
ers may depar 4 ‘ their natural
models to any/^ x^ent - AU flowers may”
ba readily imiW*®^—that is, remotely 1
—in lustra, crimson ones. These
ha and
f crimson coiurs, lighted with
' carmine, a color. Iq painting
I stamens itmpstils wait until the petals
61’the flower dry and draw ovoe.l
them with cow.-- flowers as
the golden-rod paint only the mass,
attempting to delineate the
small and indistinct petals.
Lustra paifitiiig, like Kensington is
easy of execution. The only guides for
either are practice and the worker’s
own taste.—New York Sun.
An Easter Story.
I must tell you what our Daisy did
on Easter Sunday.
She is only four years old, and mam
ma does not take her to church because
she is such a baby yet she will go to
sleep.
But Easter Sunday she wanted to go
so much mamma said she could.
It was a lovely morning, and Daisy
looked lovely, too, 'only she wouldn’t
put her hands in her muff; that was
queer, I thought as she would persist
in having her muff, although Winter
was over.
When we got to church mamma
went in the pew first and Daisy next,
and then me (I’m Daisy’s brother
Will), and then Harry (he’s Daisy’s
little brother), and last, papa.
Daisy kept awake a long time; but
at last her eyes would button up tight,
and «be went sound asleep.
The sermon was over, and there was
I a little stir as the people straightened
up and put their hands in their pock-
! ets to get out some money.
Just before the plate got to our pew ’
II heard a little “me-ow,” then I heard
it again; and what do you think!
Daisy’s little kitten walked out of the
muff Hurry hiughed; he couldn’t help
it I didn’t, but I felt as if 1 wanted to.
Mamma took Kitty and put her in
the corner and covered her with the
end of Daisy’s I guess she
went to sleep.
When church was but I put Miss
Kitty in my overcoat pocket
After we reached home mamma •
asked Daisy why she took kitty to
church, and what do you think she
said? That she took kitty to give as
her Easter offering, because that was
the very “bestest” thing she had.
Mamma had told Harry and me to i
give something we cared for as our
Easter offering, so Harry gave up can
dy and saved his money, and I gave
up something too.
It secuicd Daisy heard us talking,
a*id thought she would give up some
thing. and hers was the "bestest”
give-up of all, mamma said.—Presby
terian Journal.
All the animals were sitting around
quietly after the afternoon perform
ance, and the giraffe was thoughtfully
observing her colt snuffing about the
lamps at the top of the center-pole, i
“Young man,” she said at last, as he ;
thrust about eleven and a half linear
feet of neck through an opening in the i
canvas to look out upon the world, :
“telescope yourself in out of the damp i
October air. A colt with a swallowing
thing like a telegraph pole has no busi
ness tampering with the croup. "-Bur- ;
lington £tawkeye.
NUMBER 36
A Nation of Egg-Eaters.
> "There are at least. 50,000,000 eggs
i consumed daily in the United States/’
- said a wholesale dealer near Washing
ton market to a reporter.
“That is over 4,000,000 dozen, and at
• an average price will amount to at least
■ SBO,OOO. Think of the outlay and bus
iness activity required to handle this
enormous quantity. The American
people are egg-eaters. As a general
: thing the supply is equal to the de
mand, but about three years ago late
■ after January wfe ran ashore on domes-
’ tic eggs. What was the result? Eu- *
- rope be<ran to ship us pickled eggs by
the millions. Shiploads came over.
Prices went down, and the European
pickled eggs at fourteen cents a dozen
became immensely popular. This al
most ruined our home egg market.
During the months of April and May
the eggs are pickled by means of a so
lution of lime water. They are kept
until November and December, and
then come in to lower the market.
Fresh eggs, though, are worth thirty
cents a dozen.”
"Where do the eggs in the United
States principally come from?”
"From Jersey, Delaware, Virginia,
North and South Carolina, and Mary
j land. The western- States, of course,
furnish large quantities, but not so
much as the Stales mentioned. Nine
teen million two hundred thousand
eggs were shipped from Europe to this
country since the first of April to Sep
tember. They come from Belgium,
Copenhagen, Hamburg, and the great
est egg market in the world, Antwerp.
But all these European eggs are pick-
Jed, and although not half so good as
the fresh, yet they have the effect of
lowering prices. All of the peasantry
in Germany, Belgium, and Hollani
raise large quantities of fowL But in
the United States a few farmers only
pay attention to the industry.”
“What is the reason that the farmers
in the United States do not raise more
fowls?”
"Simple enough. They have been
in the habit of making large profits
from stock and grain and other prod
ucts, and thought egg-raising too slow.
They see their mistake now, and in less
than ten years eggs will be exported
instead of imported.”
“How will the increase come about?”
"If this new experiment of hatching
e £g s 6y means of heaters proves suc
cessful, then bacon and beef as life-sus*-
j/taining foods will perhaps be supplant
ed. Thus far the results on a limited
scale have proven successful, and the _
old hen, instead of wasting days over a
oe iwitiM*-*,
her
wffrbe made. Every'
farmer with eiwerpfisa will have an «
egg farm or hatchery, just as the rich
have hot-houses now, and send millions
to market. New York, per
haps, will be the greatest egg center in
the world, and ships will be chartered
by the wholesale to do export bus
iness.”—N. Y. Mail and Express.-
Exigency, Not Character.
"There is character in every step a
person takes,” said a man who thought
he knew it all, so far as the science of
gait was concerned. “When 1 saw you
Sass our hohse the other day, Miss
lara, I was impressed by the easy,
independent freedom of your walk.
Such firm yet gentle strides betrayed
the dominant unconventionality of your
character.”
He was a Doctor of Divinity, and I
didn’t care to sffiJs him, but I felt bound
in Christian honesty to ask him:
“Was I wearing iny brown and Mack
plush suit?”
He believed so. *
“Then I was making a special effort
to take long, swinging steps,” I said,
“because that is the only way I can
make the confounded drapery swish
right That meant exigency, not char
acter.. See me in my new" dark-blue
street costume, with its narrow skirt
and internal strappings, and you’ll say
I’m a mincer from Mincevillo.”— Clara
Belle, in the Cincinnati Enquirer.
•The death o? Mrs.* Yulee, the wife
of ex-Senator Yulee, who represented
Florida in the United States Senate be-'
fore the war, closes a
career,” says the Atlanta Constitution.
She was of a distinguished Maryland
family, and reigned as a social beauty..
Yulee, an ungainly young man, sought
her hand, when she laughingly replied
that, when Senator Yulee presented
the suit, she would consent. He went
at once to Florida, and was forgotten
by the beauty. It was not long until
he won his prize, and no one was more
surprised than the lady herself when,
the Florida Senator claimed the fulfill
ment of her promise.”
Ellen Ashmore, of Bridgewater, Pa.,!
lost her voice through scarlet fever,.
and spoke in a whisper for twelve*
years. She became a prosperous mil-!
liner in Ohio, and lately, when some;
of her employes grew rebellious, Miss'
Ashmore suddenly exclaimed in a loud
voice, "Oh, darn’ these girls!” Since
then her voice has been perfectly nat-,
- . - f
The railway up Vesuvius has already
paid for itself; the trains which ascend
night and day, are well patronized by
native and foreign sight-seers, all
strangers ascending nowadays, where
as formerly a foot ascent was so irk
some that only the daring undertook
: the round trip.
Tn Ceylon, says tne Tropical Argri
j culturist, a patch of four acres planted
with cardamoms yielded $6,000 in one!
| year. This statement may be worth
the attention of those who are trying
to raise dates, olives, and tea in Cali*
foraia or elsewhere- _ • ——