Decatur Democrat, Volume 39, Number 28, Decatur, Adams County, 27 September 1895 — Page 8

DECATUR, IND. M, BLACKBURN, - - • PCTiMraBB. There is enough red in the stare and. itrlpes to suit the taste of any true American. The emperor himself will admit that old Bismarck has once more become a bigger man than young William. Barnum’s show has a woman clown. It seems strange that woman has not Invaded this field before; she often has made a circus in the home circles. H. H; flolmes, like many professional criminals, is a total abstainer, notwithstanding the likelihood that one of these days he will take a drop too much. A Kentucky physician shot and instantly killed one of his patients the other day. Isn’t this sort of professional slaughter contrary to the medical code? ' “ I notice that a gentleman by the name of Dieterich, living at Mobile, Ala., has had five wives, but nobody seems to be digging in his castle for family skeletons. —H. H. Holmes. Ab Germany has appropriated 100,000 marks to purchase bicycles for the army we shall probably hear less talk about preparations for a war being afoot in that country. An editorial notice of a woman’s grocery store reads as follows: “Her tomatoes are as red as her own cheeks, her indigo is as blue as her own eyes, and her pepper as hot as her own temper.” The discovery of a “conspiracy of filibusters to overturn the republic of Hawaii” was evidently unnecessary at this stage of the game. News may be scarce, but it isn’t so scarce as that would indicate. Helen Gould is traveling “out West” under an assumed name. If Helen doesn't like her name and wants to change It, we believe the matter could be arranged without much difficulty, if she herself favors the idea. New York can afford many private residences that cost more than $1,000,000 each, but for all that the recent police census shows that there are more than 50,000 children in the city who have been deprived of school facilities because of a lack of sufficient school buildings. The new army regulations will make some important changes in the method of payment of troops, and probably win be found objectionable to all officers who command posts or companies. Instead of sending payments to the various posts throughout the country, the rolls will be made up at the headquarters of the army department, or at the posts where there is now located a pay headquarters. These rolls will be accompanied by envelopes containing the money due each officer and soldier, and will be sent to the commandant of each post by express. The commandant will distribute the rolls! and money to the company commanders, and they will pay the troops and make the return. An English lady was called on the other day by her footman, who announced that he had a grievance. Being encouraged to proceed, he stated his case as follows: “Your ladyship ’as how visits too many philanthropic and psychological women, and that sort of thing. They give such small tips that I feel ashamed of myself for receiving them. The temperance women give no tips at all. I suppose they think we servants spend all our tips in drink. Formerly the tips used to be nearly equal to the wages. I counted on them continuing so. This is my ’ole case, and I beg to inform your ladyship that I speak for Jemima and Susan, the housemaids, and for Green, the coachman.” The lady answered that she feared she must get a new set of servants, and that, whether she did or not, she would cause placards to be posted in all the guests’ rooms to inform them that servants were not allowed to receive tips. She was ready to allow, however, a small increase in the wages. If that was not satisfactory all might leave, and at once, if they desired. They took her at her word. Western railroads, represented in solemn council by their general passenger agents, have practically refused to make any special rates for passenger traffic to the Atlanta exposition. The sapient agents present at the meeting declared their belief that the volume of traffic would not justify low rates. They assert that if under the rates they adopt business is rushing they will reduce th? fare. This is as If a merchant should say: “ Iwill sell this silk at $1 a yard. If the demand for it is lively I will make it 50 cents a yard.” What merchant would Invert the laws of trade thus by selling cheapest that for which there is most demand? The shopman creates demand by low prices; profits by great demand by exacting high prices. The railroads, instead of selling cloth by the yard, sell transportation by the mile. Their logical policy is to reduce rates when sales are small, thus stimulating trade. These Western roads insist on fixing high rates at first, with a promise that they shall be ! reduced If traffic Increases in volume,.. But It will not increase until rates are lowered. Doubtless It will be urged that the tailroad passenger agents are experts, knowing their own business. They were experts when they made the j

flrat half ot the Chicago World’s Fair a local enterprise only, because they would not carry out-of-town visitors at reasonable rates. They are experts now that they put the Atlanta exposition into quarantine. They are always expert in strangling and affronting the public—in killing the goose that lays for them the golden egg. Notwithstanding the fact that many people trace the Missouri River in name from the Yellowstone country to the Gulf of Mexico, United States engineers are asserting the possibility of that stream becoming only a dry ravine. Government gauges ar. Sioux City, lowa, show that the registered measurements for twenty years indicate a gradual decrease, until in 1895 the volume of water passing that point is 20 per cent less than in 1878.. Civilization has always played fast and loose with the geography of a new country. It has leveled the trackless forests and torn up its roots. It has encroached upon arid lands and made them fertile and productive. In noth'ng, however, has it worked more changes than in the great rivers of this country. East of the Mississippi the great rivers have suffered less, and yet the denuding of forest lands has materially affected the average depth of the Ohio. Forest lands which once were natural reservoirs of the rainfall have been stripped. The soft loam of deftd leaves has become firm before the plowshare and the unveiled sun. The rainfall rushes down in the wjet season, flooding the low lands — rio longer trickling down throughout a whole summer and through a thousand springs, brooks and creeks. In the great seml-arid West there have been the most changes. Rivers which once floated steamboats are now crossed by small boys In knee breeches. Fed from snows in the mountains, the Arkansas, the Platte and the Kansas are almost drained before they cross the Colorado line eastward. Irrigating ditches have wrought great changes, and every year the drain is heavier and heavier. Engineers are at a loss to account for the decrease in upper Missouri curents, unless it be that the artesian basin of South Dakota, which has been so successfully tapped, is draining it Whatever the cause, it may be safely conjectured that careless methods of handling enterprises affecting rivers are at the bottom of the apparent phenomenon. Combination is the tendency of the age—as several million orators ha ve remarked—and now this tendency is to assert itself in the management of the theaters. There is to be a theater syndicate, or “trust,” and, presumably, the managers will operate the dramatic stage very much as the managers of the oil trust operate in shares of stock. They will control the market for plays, stars, leading ladies, “heavies” and “supes.” They will invest even shares in the products of Mr. Pinero’s talent and Mr. Ibsen’s genius and monopolize the visible supply. They may even secure the option for all America on such priceless histrionic commodities as Bernhardt and Duse and Sir Henry Brodrib Irving. The facts suggest some amazing possibilities for the future. The drama is—or should be—classified in the world of art What if the syndicate movement extend to the other branches of art? A time is conceivable when the market for modern French painters will be In the hands of a syndicate which will drive all competition to the wall. A painter not employed by the trust cannot hope to “sell.” He must accept syndicate terms or get out of the business. Then there will be a sculpture trust and a music trust We shall buy Brahms and Rubinstein and Dvorak by order through a syndicate, which will carefully grade prices to meet the demand. A poetry trust would be inevitable and could be handled magnificently. There would be a catalogue number and price list for every poem. William Morris, for Instance, would rate as “Al” or “extra quality,” Lewis Morris as “middling” or “inferior.” We should order poems ►by telephone and pay the syndicate rates—or else put up with home-made poetry and run the risk of Infringing some of the syndicate patents. In the end there will be one all-comprehensive syndicate of all these syndicates. These will be an art trust. The prospect is interesting, if not alluring. But just wait until John Ruskin hears of it and takes his pen in hand! A Peddler’s Percentage. An individual called upon a jeweler in Montreal, and stated that he had managed to accumulate, by hard labor for a few past years, some seventh-five dollars; that he Wished to invest it in something whereby he might make money a little faster, and he had decided on taking some of his stock and peddling it out. The jeweler selected what he thought would sell readily, and the new peddler started, on his trip. He was gotfe but a few days when he returned, bought as much again as before, and started on the second trip. Again he returned and greatly increased his stock. He succeeded so well, and accumulated so fast, that the jeweler one day asked him what profit he obtained on what he sold. “Well, I put on about five per cent.” The jeweler thought that a very small profit, and , expressed as much. “Well,” said the I peddler, “I don't know as I exactly understand about your per cent, but an article for which I pay you one dollar, I generally sell for five? * In Quantity Sufficient. The late Master of Trinity, London, was asked by a lady whether a certain ' florid divine had not?“a great deal of taste.” The reply was: “Yes, indeed, madam—and all of it bad.” Some women are such poor cooks that they should be ashamed to look their j husbands ip the face.

THE EGGS THAT HE VEH HATCH. There's a young man on the corner, Filled with life and strength and hope, Looking far beyond the present, With tbe whole world in his scope. He is grasping at to-morrow, That phantom none can catch; To-day is lost. He’s waiting For the eggs that never hatch. There’s an old man over yonder, With a worn and weary face, With searching, anxious features, And weak, uncertain pace. He is living in the future, With no desire to catch The golden now,' He’s waiting For the eggs that never hatch. There’s a world of men and women. With their life’s work yet undone Who are sitting, standing, moving, Beneath the same great sun; Ever eager for the future, But not content to snatch Th? present. They are waiting For the eggs that never hatch. —Leisure Hours. ST NINETEEN lIHD TWENTYSEVEN. BT EMMA M. WISB. Esther Lindsay was nineteen when her first story was published. It was not the first oue she had written by any means. Ever since she bad been able to form the alphabetical characters and joiu them legibly her fertile brain had been weaving all sorts of possible and impossible romances, many of which she had forwarded to publishers in various parts of the country, believing with all the fervor of her youthful egotism that her crude sentiments still more crudely wrought would inspire in some editor’s soul the same faith in her greatness which she herself already possessed. But somehow her contributions always fell short of the mark of excellence necessary to insure them a favorable consideration, and manuscript after manuscript was returned to her and was securely locked away in the old drawer of her old fashioned bureau, which had been dedicated, with a good many tears fit disappointment, as a repository for all rejected offerings at the shrine of literature. By the time she was nineteen there were probably a hundred or more of those hapless productions laid away either to be ignominiously forgotten or to be resurrected and revised when her mind should become sufficiently matured to sift out whatever meritorious material there might be in them and use it to good advantage. She worked steadily for more than three months on her “Story of the Steamer Kendrick.” One night she finished rewriting it for the twenty-first time, and the next day she sent it to Jesse Arnold, editor of Ironton Inland Weekly, with a five line , note, asking him to read it carefully, and even if he could hot use it to let her knbw what he thought of it. Os all theritors in the land she seemed to have choSenMvipi as her most favored target, why she cbuld not have told, for she had no personal acquaintance with him and his letters accompanying returned manuscript had been even more curt and forbidding than those of his brother publishers. But for all that each unhappily ending venture only added fresh fuel to her zeal to secure a foothold among the ranks of the Inland Weekly’s contributors and compel its chief by sheer force of her importunity to acknowledge her developed dr potential ability. Her ‘ ‘Story of the Steamer Kendrick" was not a work of genius, but there were phases of the plot that were strong and passages that were unusually well conceived and executed, and after reading it three times Jesse .Arnold, who was a conscientious editor, decided to keep it He accepted it with that feeling of/uncertainty with which an insurance man issues a policy on an extra hazardous risk, and congratulated himself on his shrewdness with equal delight when it turned out to be preferred. The public liked the story, and several critics who condescended to review the Inland Weekly praised it. Perhaps Editor Arnold himself was more fully aware of the glaring absurdities in the piece he had brought out than were any of its readers, and each favorable comment that came to his notice only made them all the more apparent. At last he concluded to write to his unknown literary protege and warn her against certain errors which might be pardoned in a young author’s first story, but which, if often repeated, would be serious drawback to her advancement in her art. Before he did so, however, she sent him another hastily written story, and a letter which was a strange jumble of gratitude to him for bringing her before the public, thankfulness that she had been so well received, and unstinted expressions of a steadfast belief that she was fairly launched on a sea of success, where wrecks and disasters were an impossibility. In conclusion she hinted that he ought to be eternally grateful to her for allowing him to print a story which would, in all probability, shed lustre round his own reputation as well as her own. That evening he wrote the contemplated letter “You are in dauger of being spoiled,” be said in part. “You need advice and! feel that I have the right to address you in the capacity of censor. Remember that you are in an up-to-date world and the literature that will live will be the very essence, the embodiment of that world. Visionary, idealistic sketches such as yours may make very good reading, but they are not the true stuff. You have unquestioned ability, but if you wish to succeed you must turn it to the portrayal of living men and women, not the imaginary puppets that you have manipulated for the most part in your ‘ ‘Story of the Steamer Kendrick.” Take your hero, for instance. It may be quite comforting for a time to come in contact, through the medium of printer’s ink and paper, with an Apollo, a. mental Hercules, a spiritual god and a financial Croesus, all combined in one American man, and a New Yorker at that, but I doubt if any of us would relish a closer acquaintance with him; he would be apt to prove unpalatable. Besides, he would be an excrescence on the human race, and after your second or third story the public would have none of him. So take warning. Make your hero a real man—full of

Imperfeetions if need be—and let the gods take care of themselves." Esther Lindsay read knTreread the editor’s letter. He had not Intended to make it unnecessarily pointed or critical, but of ' all the characters she had ever conjured up her last hero had been the object of her most sincere admiration and the admonition to shun him and bis ilk touched her in the most vulnerable spot. “I want that man to understand me,” she said to her mother, after having dreamed over the contents of the letter for a couple of nights, ‘ ‘and in order to bring that about I am going down to Ironton to see him, for it would be utterly useless for me to attempt to explain in writing just what stand I have taken on this subject.” Her family knew her too well to remon strate against the proposed visit and the next morning she took the early’ train tor Ironton. 4t was late in the afternoon when she reached the office of the Ironton Inland Weekly. Jesse Arnold was closing his office and she met him just outside the door. She Inquired for him and he stepped back into his paper bestrewn den and motioned her to follow. “I am Jesse Arnold,” he said, in that stiff way which he habitually adopted when addressing strangers. “What is it you wish to see me about ?" At h s best the editor was not a good looking man, and that day, when he stood between her and the window, where the full beams of the evening sun poured in and seemed to exaggerate every defect of his person from the most upright end of his short, straight black hair to his disproportionately large feet, be was painfully conscious that his loosely knit body and swarthy complexion never appeared to worse advantage. She took in the details of the room and the general make-up of its occupant with one comprehensive sweep of her clear, blue eyes, and then said, simply: ‘‘l am Esther Lindsay. If it does not inconvenience you I should like to talk to you a little while about this last letter you wrote me.” There was but a trace of his former reserve left and he took her hand impulsively. “I am glad to see you,” he said, with a smile—the best part of Jesse Arnold was his smile—* are you willing to let me be your doctor and to take my prescriptions faithfully?’’ “No,” she said, flushing slightly under bis close scrutiny, “I don’t think I am. I don’t think I can. You don’t understand,” she went on earnestly, encouraged by his look of friendly interest. ,“I don’t suppose there are any men that are absolutely perfect, but I have my ideal of what a man should be and I put him body and soul into my “Story of the Steamer Kendrick.” I don’t think that I am over optimistic when I say that I believe with all my heart that such men live and that you and I have met them and can point them out.” He shook his head in quiet controversion of her theory. She waited a moment for him to speak, then exclaimed impatiently :— “Well, why don’t yon say something?” “Because,” he answered, leaning far back in his creaking chair and clasping , his hands behind his head, “I see quite plainly that whatever argument I may present it will only antagonize you. You may know such men as you depict; Ido not, and my experience has been infinitely more varied than yours. I know you will not heed me, but I repeat that it will not pay to live in a world peopled only by ideals. You mqst associate with the real. Take some man of your acquaintance; study him; take human nature for your model, and you will be on the right traek.” “You have only due view, and, though it may be right, I feel as though I should be giving np the best part of myself to sacrifice my opinion to yours,” she said, with that touch of wisdom she had lately assumed. “Cut I suppose,” she continued, “that if my stories are up to the standard you will not decline them on account of that one technicality.” He smiled again. “No,” he said, “not on that account.” To have one article printed, even though it be in the Ironton Inland Weekly, does not give unquestioned entree into the columns of every other periodical in the country, and for many months after the appearance of her first story Esther Lindsay plodded wearily over her literary way, which was an up-hill, sinuous path. A score o( unfortunate tales were added to the unpublished library in the bureau drawer before she found an outlet for her ideas a second time. Then followed five years of ups and downs. No literary aspirant ever had a more jealous guardian than she had in Jesse Arnold. He exulted in every victory she achieved and deplored every defeat she met as keenly as though it had been his own, and then one day when some unexpected ill-luck made her despair of trying to push on further in the course she had mapped out for herself he capped the climax of his sympathy and interest by asking her to marry him. It was a surprise to her and she promptly refused him. “I never expected 4his from you,” she said, trying to temper his dismissal with a kind an apology, “you know me so well. You may call me a dreamer, an idiot, if you like, but I have my ideal still, and unless I find him in real life I shall never marry.” . “I’m afraid you will always stay single then,” he rejoined, sharply. “I thought, judging by your latter writing, that you had commenced to bold common sense views on some things, but I suppose I am mistaken. You may change your inind yet.” “You shall never know it if I do,” she flared out, angrily, and that ended the first chapter of their own. romance. The outcome of his pre-matrimonial venture had been a bitter disappointment to Jesse Arnold. He went back to the office of the Ironton Inland Weekly and tried to deaden his grief in the duties and responsibilities devolving upon the editor in chief of a great publication, and she, realizing something of how deeply she had wounded him, tried to forget her pity for him and to work out her salvation, and him as well, by writing with renewed energy. Gradually her stories took on a tone of reality .and s broad sympathy with humanity, and gradually her merit began to receive general recognition. She never sent any of her work to the Inland Weekly for publication after that one unhappy Incident which left the friendship that had existed between her and its editor partially wrecked, and he only knew her progress through the magazines, to which she had at last become a frequent contributor. He wstotw*! with particular interest the

s evolution of the character of her beroea. The Juno issue of a well known monthy . contained a story that made hie pulses i throb and quiver with hope and joy. He f left the Inland Weekly in charge of a sub- > ordinate for a few days, and wont down r to see Esther Lindsay. “When you wrote your ‘Story of ths i Steamer Kendrick’ your hero was the ideal of mankind, was he not?" he asked as soon ' as ho could speak to her alone. I “Yes,” she said, softly. • “And you were determined that if you ; failed to find such a creation in real life > you would never marry?” r “Yes," again. t “When you wrote this last story you ’ had evidently experienced a change of heart and mind.” , Again the monosyllable reply. . “Would you mind telling me where you , got your idea of the man therein dei scribed?” “No," she said, defiantly, “not in the least. I painted my Imaginary character as I remembered you that day when I first saw you in your office at Ironton. You ought to recognize him; there’s the same crooked nose, the same unruly hair, the same smile, the same sunlit window at your back. You told me then to make a friend—some one full of imperfections, it might be —and study him and make him a model for my hero. I have done so." He leaned forward and looked into her pretty blue eyes. “And Is he your ideal?" he asked. “Yes,” she said once more. A FLOATING THEATER. Russia Has One, and the United States May Follow Sult. The Washington Post is authority for the statement that a number of theatrical ladies and gentlemen in this country contemplate chartering a steamboat and establishing a floating theater, which shall be at the same time the hotel and the means of transportation of the actors, on the co-operative principle. The idea is not original. A St. Petersburg syndicate has already had a great steamboat of the character built, some 400 feet in length and 40 feet in width. The steamer Is just about to start out on a tour of the Volga, and as many of the Volga citiesand the towns of Its navigable tributaries are without theaters, it is believed the venture will prove a gold mine to its projectors. The Russian floating playhouse is so constructed that an audience of 1,000 can be comfortably seated. A large mass of scenery is carried for the production of an extensive repertoire of Russian comedies and dramas and French operettas. The quarters of the actors, actreses, supernumeraries, stage hands, orohestra and all the crew are in the extreme bow of the vessel. The extreme stern is taken up with the machinery, which is of the lightest possible kind, so that its weight will not throw the bow in the air. All the fuel is carried under the body of the theater, which occupies four-fifths of the entire length of the boat and all of its width. From the lowest point of the orchestra to the roofis fifty feet. The stage is a trifle less than thirty feet in width, and all the scenery is let down from the flies. The wings are just wide enough to admit of the entrance and exit of the players. Os course the scenic effects are by the lack of room, bqt a’ much smoother performance caiU be given than in the meagerly equipped theater of the small town. The players are not fagged out by a tiresome journey or made unfit for first-class work by the fare of indifferently con* ducted hotels. If such a boat were built by a syndicate in this country its construction would necessarily be based upon the requirements of the large canals. Using the stern paddle wheel it would be possible to construct a boat of great beam and length, yet one which would draw comparatively little water. It is suggested that, starting from New York, such a vessel could make a trip up along the north shore of Long Island Sound, stopping at the towns on the Connecticut and Rhode Island coast; thence back to New York, and after doing New Jersey towns, up the Hudson, stopping at the various places up to Albany and Troy. From Albany to Buffalo the Erie Canal can be used, and once in the lakes a cracking business would lie open to the adventurous thespians. Homerand Carrier Pigeons. The homer and the carrier are both brilliant fliers, but the homer Is the speedier bird and better fitted for long distances, The homer has the widest spread wings of all pigeons, andean for an enormous distance through midair. It is also considerably lighter than the carrier and is possessed of more phenomenal powers of endurance, having been known to fly 800 miles without alighting. On a clear day, with a good sky and favorable wind, 400 miles is an admirable record, although 500 miles a day is the goal of every ambition. A bird that can perform this remarkable feat is worth at leas SIOO, and may be valued at SSOO if it is capable of a better record. The bird’s gameness, stamina, and speed reach their highest point of excellence at three and four years of age, which is the natural primp of life for a flier. After they hgve passed their prime they deteriorate in a scarcely noticeable degree, and at ten or twelve years of age are still good for the shorter® distances. '- ■ — YOUNG AMERICA. Irate Father—l can’t understand you giving your mother so much impudence. I never dared talk back to my mother. • _ Henpeck's Son (with a sneer) —No, you would't dare talk back to my 1 mother, neither I—Puck.

CARRIAGE IN MADAGASCAR. .eremonlea Are of • Somewhat Peculiar Character. We have beard a great deal about the rar In Madagascar, but very little has •cen said, about Its inhabitants, customs jid superstitions. Some of the latter are ■cry strange. Its inhabitants, so far as he women are concerned, offer an inter, sting study. . The Hovas are no longer savages, they are subject to laws and regulations nd obey an absolute authority which preides over their political destinies and deermines their social condition. This lower is vested hi the queen, and though n reality blio wields no visible power in he actual ruling of the country, yet bea nfluence is so great on the minds of be" nibjects that nothing, even the most unmportant action, happens in their lives n which her name is not mingled, in vhlch her influence is not felt. Her wishes are considered supreme commands md she is regarded as a divinity. When she gives an audience in her jalace, her visitors are obliged to observe he greatest ceremony. They approach \ jer with reverential salutations and genu, lections, the number of which are dejermined by their caste and honors. Every morning her bodyguard present krms before her palace and before she irises intone the national hymn, the “Sid i kina," to which everyone listens itanding and uncovered. When she goes io any public ceremony, she walks under i red umbrella ornamented with a golden ball, through a respectful crowd, who unit cries of joy, clapping their hands in unison. The queen’s husband, the prime minister, is a man of the people and is really the head of the government. It is he who directs the policies of the Irnjenian kingdom. Surrounded by his secretaries, his staff and bis aides-de-camp, who are counted by the thousands, he exercises the power which the queen represents. He is perfectly familiar with all that Is passing in Europe, where several of his sons have been educated, and he is ably seconded by skillful advisers. Marriage among the Hovas presents one peculiarity which is indigenous to Madagascar; it is always preceded byja novitiate, if it may be termed, which prevents any unpleasant surprises to the married couple later. They are authorized to make a preliminary experiment of the duties aud rights which will follow their union. Tha young girl is introduced into her future busband’s home, and after a few days it returned to her parents. After these formalities are complied with, the husband’s family address an official demand to the young girl’s family for her hand or they signify their refusal. An orator in these affairs repairs to the home of the future bride at the bead of a deputation composed of the fiance and his family. He expatiates on the object of the delegation, goes over the titles, qualities and genealogy of the future busband and winds up by making a formal demand for the young girl’s hand. The father or his representative replies in a eulogistic speech, enumerates the conditions of moral conduct, and wise administration necessary in the household, makes a discreet allusion to divorce or an amicable separation which will always be permissible in case of incompatibility and terminates his address by grant- 1 ing bis daughter’s hand. Then the fiance gives some earnest money and acquires marital authority. Ever after the wife will be counted among his goods and chattels. She becomes a piece of merchandise and may in case of necessity enter into legal transfers, whether for debta or crimes. It is therefore to a husohnd’s advantage to add to the number of his wives. This is what he generally does. Polygamy in this sense adds to the wealth of the household A Coon Hunt. “Speaking of coons,” said Mr. D. T. Dougbtry, of Cordele, as ho finished laughing over an account of a coon him* in a recent issue of the Cordele Sentinel, “when I was a small boy I saw the greatest contest I ever heard of between a coon and dogs. I had . gone to the river with my father, and as usual I carried my two dogs with me. Father went down the river and left me to prowl around and do what mischief I could. “I was peering up an old hollow tree when I saw two shining eyes. I was scared, but my fright was turned into delight when father returned and told me he thought it was a coon He got a long pole and twisted the varmint out and sura enough it was a coon. The dogs went for him at once, but the old rascal made for a lake near by. He didn’t stop till he reached deep water. Then he stopped and allowed the dogs to come to him. “The first thing he did was to grab one of the dogs by the ear and carry him under the water. As soon as the dog would come to the surface be would make for the bank; but the other dog would manfully make for the coon, when the same process would ensue. This performance lasted until the coon became almost exhausted. Then he floated near enough to the bank where we stood for father to reach him anddrag him in with the pole. “I shouldn’t think." continued Mr. Dougbtry, “that a coon would be very easy to drown.” Great Texas. It should be remembered that Texas has nearly 275,000 square Miles and 174,585,840 acres. It has more coal than Pennsylvania, more iron than Alabama,more granite than New Hampshire, more oak than West Virginia, more prairie than Kansas, more corn land than Illinois, more cotton land than Mississippi, more wheat land than the two Dakotas, more sugar land than Louisiana, |nd more rice land than South Carolina. It contains as rivers as any other five States, and as much eoast ’as any other three. As was appropriately said by Mayor Tone, of Den* Ison, the iron mines of Michigan, the granite quarries of Marine, the wheat fields of the Dakotas, the corn fields of Illinois, the cotton fields of Mississippi, the prairies of Kansas, ths oyster beds of Maryland, the orange groves of Florida and the vineyards of California are all duplicated in Texas. A