Daily Greencastle Banner and Times, Greencastle, Putnam County, 31 May 1897 — Page 3
THE DAILY BANNER TIMES, GItEENCASTLE, INDIANA
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“Pretty soon.” ‘‘Pretty soon.” How the soft phrase slips, With limpid, laughing cadence, through tno languid lips. Where the plumes of the palms by the south wind swayed, Pling on the dewv terraces their filagree of shade. When the almond" and the myrtle have taken In their net, The doves that tread the measure of the tender minuet. And the nestlings of the nightingale cuddle low and croon To the laughter of the laurel, “Pretty soon,” “Pretty soon." “Pretty soon,” “Pretty soon,” cries Youth, I shall make A home amid the happy hills for her dear sake. There 1 will lead my darling as Dawn doth lead the Day, While (rod is making morning I will sit with her and say, “Yon river to its ocean troth will never he more true. The best of life is mine to-day because of love and you.” And heart shall rhyne* to heart as unto the summer m e n. The swinging sea doth sing “Pretty soon,” “Pretty soon.” “Pretty soon,” “Pretty soon.” sighs Age, I shall s ‘0 Tnat lily we call Heaven In the stream Eternity, And pin *k the rosy amaranths that make its me;i low.? sweet, Si ill swaying to tii) paees of the silver sa.i lal ■ I i ■■■', When beneath the healing trees they rellll the cr,..-tal urns, () how fha soul within me for their blessed weh'ome y ■ mi- , Hut the hand of shining spirits, with lips nr. 1 lutes in tune. Did me wait and hide their coming, “Pretty soon, ' “Pretty soon.” —Itobert M’Xntyre, in Chicago Times-ll rald.
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BIG, white steamboat | backs away from the j ^.oo. wharf, swings about, amt goes slowly down the river sounding her whistle at intervals, | for th>' fog is coming ' fy in rapidly. The few loafers on the piers eye ‘ curiously the tall, elegant woman who has come ashore. 8he, casting a half scornful glance about, approaches old Jed Rawson, and puts this query: “Can I hire any one to take me across the river?" “I reckon not,” declares old Jed, taking out bis pipe to stare at her with astonishment. “The steamer goes into port jest below here ter wait fer the fog ter lift. Thar's no gittiiv across the river ter-night, inarm!” “Can you manage a boat, my good man?” All the loafers smiled at this. Old Jed breaks into a mellow laugh which sends a perfect net-work of wrinkles over his brown face. “Why, leddy,” be says, “there ain’t navy a boy of ten or up’ard alongshore as don’t know how to handle a boat.” The lady laughs, too. She is very charming; oven old Jed realizes that. She takes a gold piece from her dainty purse and says: “If you will take mo and my trunk across the river, this shall be yours.” The trunk is a huge affair and Jed looks at it with one eye closed and shakes bis head. “If it wavn’t fer the fog, marm, eny one on us ’ud take yer aorost fer nothing. But we couldn’t see the boat’s length to-night.” The lady utters a sharp exclamation, auger and disappointment clouding her features. A brown-faced lad steps from the corner of the little red baggage bouse where he has been standing. “If you dare to go, madam, I will take you,” he says. She, gives him a radiant smile at whichj ho flushes to the roots of his fair, waving hair. Jed and one or two of the other men remonstrated with him to no purpose. A small brown wherry is brought up to the flight of weather beaten steps leading down from one side of the wharf. The big trunk Is lowered into it, and the lady handed down by Andrew Bussell, who is thrilled by the touch of her cool, satiny Augers. Ho pulls off into the fog bank while the loungers on the wharf make their comments. “Mighty line looking craft that.” “Carries too much sail.” “W hut ■• “i she want over the river?” “P Imps she’s bound for Barrington’s. ” “P haps. She looks like his kind.” It is late in the evening when Andrew Bussell returns. Old Jed meets him hurrying up the village stree', “Well, Andrew, you got across all right ” “Pcs, I had a compass.” "W. u-e’d she go?” ^^■can't tell you,” is the curt reply, as the boy passes on. All subsequent inquires elicit no further information than that Andrew landed her at the road which leads up by Barrington's, and that she expected fiomb sort of conveyance to come for her there. Barrington is reported to be imI menpely wealthy. He never mingles with the people there, and he lives in
a lordly fa' hion. He brings his own company from distant parts, and there are stories of gay and wild doings at the great house which till the unsophisticated natives with amazement. He comes and goes as he likes, and is altogether very mysterious. Andrew Bussell has a sweetheart on that side of the river—pretty Jen Hardy, the fisherman’s daughter. It is only natural that frequently he should row across in his wherry. But Jen Hardy does not see him every time he goes during the next fortnight. He tramps through a strip of woodland across lots until he reaches a sheltered vale this side of Barrington’s. Here he meets the mysterious lady again and again. Andrew is twenty —tall, strong and manly looking. Cars Ferris, ns she calls herself, uses all her blandishments to complete his enthralment. She tells him a pretty story. How that her uncle is determined to make a nun of her. That Barrington, being her cousin and friend, she has come to him for protection, until she can get out of the country. She wants to go to Europe, for as soon as her uncle discovers her hiding place he will follow her. She is apparently very confiding with Andrew, who is too innocent to see the flaws in her story. “Would he think she was twenty-five?" she asked coquettishly. Andrew returns a decided negative, never once dreaming that she is ten years older. Jen Hardy is too proud to own that Andrew does not come to see her any more. Andrew has no mother, and his father, who is not a very clear-sighted man, sees no change in his boy, who is moody or exalted by tits. In two weeks’ time Andrew imagines himself madly in love with this woman. He does not stop to reason over the absurdity of so brilliant a creature finding any attraction in an ignorant boy like himself. One night ho goes home intoxicated, by the memory of a round white arm about his neck, and the pressure of soft, warm lips to his own. A week later, one hour before midnight, he crosses the river in his little brown wherry. On the big rock which serves for a pier, a man and a woman await him. Barrington carries a valise in each hand. They enter the wherry, and Andrew pulls swiftly and silently down the river. In about an hour they come to a small cove, where a commodious sailboat is tied to a ring in the rooky, shelving bank. They go aboard this, the little wherry is fastened astern, the sails are unfurled, and on they go dancing lightly out into tho waters of the bay. At nightfall of the next day they come to a great city. Barrington and the lady go ashore. Some purchases are to lie made here, and Barrington is to see a man who will buy the boat— this is what they have told Andrew. In the meantime he is to wait here with the boat until their return, when they will all go aboard the great ocean steamship whose black funnels rise from a neighboring wharf. Andrew is not particularly pleased that Barrington is to accompany them, but nothing can dampen the joy of his belief that she loves him, and he can never forget that her lips have touched his own. The poor boy is quite daft for the time, and does not dream that he is being duped.
The city cl icks are striking 10,when a ragged street gamin crosses tho wharf and hails Andrew. “Hi, there. Be your name Bussell?” Andrew nods, and the boy hands him a note. “A big swell uptown sent this to jpr.” Andre w takes the note and tears it open. He knows, of course, that the “big swell” is Barrington. The note reads as follows: “When you read this wo shall be aboard an outward bound express. Goodby, my dear boy; many thanks for your gallantry. Mr. Barrington makes you a present of the boat as a reward for your services. C. F.” For a moment Andrew stares at the note in dumb amazement. His brain reels. The letters dance blood red before his eyes. Ho staggers down into tho little cabin, and throws himself prostrate upon the floor. He breaks into great sobs which shake him from, head to foot. To be fooled, playei’j with, cast aside, when ho had served their turn! Oh, the bitterness, the grief, and rage in the boy’s hot heart us he rolls to and fro upon the cabin floor! All night long bo battles with this first great trouble. In the morning be rouses himself and goes up into the city to find a purchaser for his boat, for the sight of it is hateful to him, and he must have money to get home with. He sells it for §150, which is -a pretty sum for a poor lad. At noon he has a sunstroke, and is conveyed to the city hospital. When he comes out of his stupor he finds himself under arrest for being the accomplice of an adventuress. He learns, to bis horror, that Cars Ferris is Madge Delaphine. That she engaged herself as eolnpanion to a little, miserly old woman. That she and Barrington, who is her lover, planned tlie old woman’s murder, in order to obtain possession of the money and jewels which she hoarded about her. That Madge Delaphine accomplished the murder by means of a subtle poison, packed the body into a trunk, and conveyed it to Barrington’s house, where it was buried in the cellar. The very trunk which Andrew ferried across the river 1 Andrew is taken before a Magistrate, where he tells his story, omitting the love passages. But the Magistrate is an astute old man, and reads between tho lines and pities the lad. “The woman and her lotor have been arrested, i want you to identify her.” He opens the door to an inner room and utters an exclamation of dismay. There, prostrate upon the floor, with her jewelled hairpin stuck through her heart, lies Madge Delaphine quite dead. “Is this the woman?” “Cars Ferris had dark hair,” returns Andrew, who is white to his lips. The Magistrate lifts a wig of dark hair from a table nearby. “A very simple disguise,” he says, and motions Andrew back to the outer room, where, after a few more questions and some fatherly advice, he dismisses him. The misery of Andrew’s journey home is boundless. When he readies the familiar spot he is taken ill and for weeks is delirious with brain fever. Jen Hardy is his patient and faithful nurse. To Andrew it seems as if the memory of his folly must torture him forever. But as the months go by the shame and agony die away little by little. Jen, faithful soul, believes in him and loves him. He is young, and the world is fair, and life is pleasant after all. So gradually he returns to his old allegiance, and it all ends as it should —with a wedding.—Dublin World,
Making X inogur From Honey. The experiment of making vinegar from honey has been tried in Europe, and, ns might be expected, was successful. Water was added to the honey, which, when in the first stage, made a palatable alcoholic drink, which has long been known under tho name of metheglin. Of course, when this fermentation progressed to its final stage it became vinegar. But some American experimenters with honey vinegar have found that it possessed peculiar properties. A writer in American Bee Gleanings says that this honey vinegar is absolutely worthless for making sour pickles, as of cucumbers or other vegetables often preserved by being put in vinegar. This hardens their exterior surface and prevents decomposition. When such vegetables were put into honey vinegar, on the contrary they were made soft, and soon when exposed to air spoiled. This seems to be a very suggestive fact. Ordinary cider or other vinegar made from sweet fruits or sugar is reckoned injurious to digestion. Why? It is evidently because of this hardening process, which prevents the digestive fluids from penetrating it. Honey is nectar of flowers mixed with gastric juices of the bee which digests its food. It is likely, therefore, that vinegar from honey will not he injurious to digestion. If the honey remains in condition to soften vegetables immersed in it, that is just wtiat is needed to be done for food in the stomach to aid digestion.
A Famous Fat Hoy. ^ ^ Currituck County, North Carolina, has long been famed for the most stalwart men in the State, and now it adds a product of a fat boy thirteen years and six months old who weighed on April fith 486 pounds. His name is Lewis T. Lewark. He has ten brothers and sisters, whose weight ranges from 180 to 250 pounds. His parents are under medium size and weight; his anoestors were some times fat people, showing that qualities skip children and reproduce remote ancestors.—At lauta Constitution.
FOR WOMAN AMI HOME ITEMS OF INTEREST TO MAIDS AND MATRONS. Tlio Evil Effect* of Idle (ioq&lp and Sliiiider* Never C'ea*e Summer l*arakoIs Vcritutde Hunches of Floral Hloom Household Hints. The Fast Finks Are Ilrokcn. (PuUIahed by request.)
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HE last links are broken That bound me to thee! The words thou hast spoken Have render'd me free.
Thy sweet Klance misleading On others may
shine—
Those eyes beam'd
unheeding
When tears burst from mine.
The chain that enthrall’d me In sadness was worn: The coldness that gall'd me In silence was borne. Thoueh sorrow subdued me. It did not appear; Though thy scorn hath pursued me, Long, long wert thou dear. If my love was deem'd boldness. That error is o'er; I have witnessed thy coldness— » I love thee no more! I have not loved lightly; I'll think of thee yet— 1 will pray for thee nightly. Till life's sun has set! .find the form my heart cherish'd Still In it shall dwell! But affection hath perish’d — And, love—fare thee well. —F. Steers.
Flciral Sun Shade.. The new parasols follow the hat vogue in being very fully trimmed with flowers. One, for example, is caught with great bunches of daisies, with their clusters of silvered leaves. This parasol cannot be entirely closed. Another, not a flowered one, has puffs of chiffon running around it, the puffs being separated by tiny bands of black velvet ribbon. A big chiffon ruffle falls over the edge. A very new way of using flowers Is to make floral handles. A bunch cf violets made of some paste material, and carefully covered, formed the handle of a gold and white parasol, and there are many carved wood sticks, painted like flowers. Some of these are small and fine; others make a single big red rose of an Easter Illy. Gold tinsel over white satin Is very much used. Old white satin parasols may be brought out and treated to a dress of gold at small expense. Dresden ribbons are much used. An immense bow to match the heart of the daisies was placed upon a parasol trimmed with bunches of these flowers.
Keeping I p Appearaneeft. How many women realize that it is really a sound business policy in every walk of life to appear prosperous? The woman who begs in dirty, squalid rags receives a halfpenny, which you would be ashamed to offer to the comparatively well-dressed mendicant. The professional man whose wife and daughters are fashionably attired gets on (letter than the one whose family do not
HOUSEHOLD AFFAIRS. Fried IIretail Inuteari of Vegetable*. Cut some bread, which, though stale, is still light and soft, into fingers half an inch thick; dip them in milk and let them drain for a while. Dredge a little flour oyer them and fry them in a little hot butter in a frying-pan. Pile them, pyramid-fashion, in a hot dish and servo with gravy. Oxtail* ami How to F*e Them. First always cut tho tail into neat joints and soak for an hour in salted water. Next set in a stew-pan, cover with cold water, add salt, and bring slow ly to u boil. Strain off the water, rinse the pieces of meat in warm water, and set in a stewpan sufficiently largo for the oxtail to lie over the bottom, add vegetables to flavor. Cover with water and stew very slowly for three hours. After that time remove the smaller joints and allow the larger to cook for another hour. It is very necessary, when preparing oxtail, to let it cook slowly.—Chicago Record. An A*pt»ragu* Omelet. ^ Eggs seem to have a peculiar affinity for asparagus, their combination being possible in a number of ways. An asparagus omelet is one of them. Boil a pint of asparagus tips, cut in pieces a half inch wide, in salted water for twenty minutes, drain, and keep on a hot plate; beat six eggs until they are light and foamy, add one-half tea J spoonful pepper and one cup of milk. When the walnut-size lump of butter 1 is hot in the chafing-dish or omeletpau, put in the mixture, cover, and let stand till firm, folding in the asparagus just before turning out on a hot platter.—New York Post,
lira in Cakcii. ^
Wash about live ounces of cnlves' brains in cold water, then set in a a stewpan, cover with cold water, sea- : son with salt and two sage leaves. Set the pan on the stove, and when it comes to the boil skim the broth thoroughly and simmer for ten minutes, ' take out the brains and put on a plate; when the brains are cold cut into small pieces and mix with three ounces of bread crumbs; wash some parsley, squeeze dry and chop a small teaspoonful. Place a level teaspoonful of butter in a stewpan, put it on the lire, and when melted add one ounce of flour, half a teacupful of stock and the shopped parsley. Stir the sauce till it boils and thickens; add the bread crumbs and chopped brains to tho sauce, and season w ith grated nutmeg, pepper and salt. Beat the yolk of an egg, add it to the sauce and stir over the lire till cooked, then turn the whole mixture onto a plate and let it cool. After ai» hour majto thp mixture into cakes of equal’ size, dredging theui with flour to prevent their sticking. Brush over with egg, roll in bread crumbs and set in a frying-basket, cook in boiling fat until a golden brown; this will tske about two minutes, and the cakes must be touched very little with the hand. Stand on thick paper to drain near tho fire. To serve, arrange tastily on a hot dish and garnish with fried parsley.
Jlljuriou* (iossip. Two girls ask these questions: What Is the most Injurious sort of gossip and who is the most objectionable and dangerous person in a community? Answer: All unkind and untruthful gossip is dangerous to somebody's peace of mind. It may not do any very great harm, but it makes Its victim very uncomfortable and oftentimes very unhappy. There is, however, one sort of gossip so malicious that It deserves the execration and contempt of all decant people, and that is the insinuating sort of malice that says just enough to suggest and not enough to furnish any chance for confronting or punishing the speaker. The man or woman who hints evil or says half-way joking things that start evil thoughts in the minds of others is unfit for decent people to associate with. They should be banished from the society of their fellows and punished as they deserve with the loss of all respect and consideration of those about them. The Insinuating circulator of falsehoods Is the blackest of criminals and deserves a hangman’s rope. Society Is powerless, and law, as It now stands, seems unable to mete out suitable punishment to these offenders.
A Victorian Dress. They are trying to say that we shall all dress this June as YTctorla dressed sixty years ago when she was crowned. It must be confessed that a figured summer crepon recently seen on a sunny morning was made remarkably like the old gowns. The skirt was full and round and fin-
ished with two plain ruffles. The waist was also round and belted with a satin girdle. The shoulder seams were cut low, and the shoulders flat and rounded, while the sleeves were little more than two big ruffles of white needlework.
keep up appearances, for, whether the principle Is right or wrong, the fact remains that people judge one another by the outward and visible signs. They argue that a clever man should be successful, and if successful he should be making money, and if he is making money he should be able to keep up appearances, and then, reasoning backwards, they say that if he does not keep up appearances it Is because he is not
clever.
A ratnliiou rinto*
FRENCH COSTUME OF BATISTE LACE.
The Leg. of a Fowl. An economy that many housekeeper! are unaware of or disdain is that of the use of the legs of a fowl. Miss Farlos adverted to this lately in a talk on French cooking, stating that so prized are they in the French cuisine that in Paris five sous a pair is the market price for them. A practical demonstration of their treatment was given. A pair cut off at the usual joint was plunged for a minute perhaps in boiling water, then taken out and, with a sharp kitchen knife, quickly skinned, the tough wrinkled cuticle peeling off almost like a glove. The toe nails were then cut off and the feet thus entirely clean were ready for use. They should be boiled six or eight hours In a pint of water to a pah. They are very rich In gelatinous matter and the stock made from them Is a cheap and strong-ly-flavored base for soups, g.avies and sauces of various kinds. In France they are sometimes roasted crisp after being cleaned, and served with a bit of garnish as an esteemed course. “Pigs’ feet and calves’ feet are not disdained In cooking,” says Miss Parloa; “why should these be?"
lIoiiftHtoli! Hint*. Vegetables ther have been a little touebeil by the frost may frequently be restored by soaking them for a time in cold water. Put a tiny bottle of flaxseed in th traveling bitg. Should a cinder bo blown into the eye a flaxseed will soon find it, and may save a great deal of pain and an inflamed eye. A cooking teacher says that the whites of eggs can tie beaten most quickly if a pinch of cream of tartar in the proportion of an eighth of a teaspoonful to each egg lie first added. Fruit brought from a cellar to ba eaten nnpared should be rubbed vigorously "with a dam)) cloth to remove the invisible germs of bacteria which flourish in a damp, close atmosphere. Clean finger marks from painted walls with a damp cloth dipped in whiting. Rub discolorations caused by scratching matches with a cut lemon, followed by the damp cloth dipped in whiting. Keep a box of powdered borax near the work table. Add a little to the water in which the dish towels and dish cloths are washed. They will wash easier, keep sweet longer, and the borax will aid in keeping the hands soft. Brighten the colors in a carpet by sweeping it with a broom dipped in salt water, shaking well to remove all surplus water. The broom should be damp, not wet. Use damp earth to remove the dust when carpets are lifted. Before broiling steaks open all the draughts to make the coals bright and clear. Hold the meat a few minutes at first close to the glowing coals, then turn. This will seal the juices, when it may be finished at a distance of several inches above the coals. From a broiled steak little or no juice should escape. Loops for hanging up garments are always wearing out and breaking, particularly with children’s cloaks and coats. To make a serviceable loop cut a strij) of kid from an old glove, roll in it a piece of coarse string, and sew the edges of kid neatly together. This loop, fastened securely to the garment, will stand any amount of pulling without wearing or breaking. Wash silver that is not in daily usa in soapy water, wipe and dry a few minutes in a warm oven, then wrap in tissue paper. Do not allow one piece to touch another. Place tissue paper between. Put the teaspoons and other small pieces in a quart can and hermetically seal. Put knives, forks and tablespoons in a two-quart can. They will not tarnish, and will require no oolishing when wanted for use.
A healthy man or woman averages seventy steps a minute in walking.
THE MAYFLOWER. . In the Maytlme, ore the rose* *■* Ha<l hei-un to Mush iietw*- a Dainty leaves of flutiMl satin. Dewy stvatlrs of emerald green. Elnise, the little orphan, Left the Hax upon the wheel, N And she sought the silent for -st, *■ On the velvet mos to kneel.
“I am weary—oh, so weary ^ Of the kitchen’s sanded floor, And the,string of withered peppers, And the horseshoes o’er th door, ® And the wheel forever droning, t ‘Come ami turn me. Elolso" ■ -pA And I long to live forever In the woods, among tho trees.” Then a slumber fell upon her, And she lay. serene and meek,’’ With her hands across her bosom. And a tear upon her cheek. 6o the waiting llax grew yellow. And the roses ceased to Mow; And the winter, coming softly. Hid her bleaching bones with snow, r May, returning to the forest. With its showers of crystal rain, e" Found a white and starry blossom Where the orphan girl hail lain; Bo in ail her maiden graces Still she lives among the trees. For the Mayflower in its beauty Is the soul of Eloise! •—Minna Irving,In Leslie’s Popular Monthly.
PITH AND POINT. It is better to be disappointed in love than in marriage.—Puck. Look out for the umbrella; the rain will take care of itself.—Puck. The man who never made a mistake in his life never got married.—Yonkers Statesman. Every man may have his price, but there is always a good deal of cutting going on.—Puck. “Miss Smiley has a retreating forehead." “Yes; it’s quite Grecian.”— Cincinnati Commercial Tribune. The kicker is never popular and seldom happy; but he is a jackscrew that has given the world many an uplift.— Puck. “What is his reputation for veracity?” “Very good; he hasn’t seen a single flying machine this year!”— Chicago Record. You are no doubt punished a great deal, but here is something worth thinking about: you do most of it yourself.—Atchison Globe. “For a while he was clear out of his mind about that girl.” “And now?” “Oh, now the girl is clear out of his mind.”—Indianapolis Journal. Mabel—“Summer is the season of love.” Kate—“Perhaps so; but I have known people to do some pretty healthy hating during that season.”—Truth. “You seem so cheerful when you have to move, Mrs. Diggs.” “Yes; such a lot of our ugly wedding presents always get broken.”—Chicago Record. “When I was first married I thought my wife was the only woman on earth.” “How do you feel about it now?” “Well, there's our cook.”—Chicago Record. Tf Strawber—“Why do you think yon will have any trouble in keeping tho engagement secret?” Singerly—“I had to tell the girl, hadn't I?”—Scottish Nights. “My husband is never a bit moved by the pathetic scenes of a play. Is yours?” “Oh, yes. They generally move him clear out of the house.”— Cincinnati Enquirer. “Those people next door are still in their honeymoon.” “Have you seen him kissing her?” “No, but be lets her read the morning paper first.”— Chicago Record. “I wish I was a sollambulist,” said the speculative tramp. “Why?” “’Cause den I cud save trouble by walkin’ in me sleep.”—Philadelphia North American. Fair young creature (after some recitations)—“Do you think I would do for a Juliet?” Manager (not to hurt feelings)—“Um—er—well, you’d look very pretty in the tomb.”—New York Weekly. “Where’s that son of yours, Mrs. Mulrany, that went to London?” “Well, sir, they tell me as Vs carrying all before him.’’ “Indeed! What is his profession?” “ ’E’s a waiter, sir.”—Tit-Bits.
How Holman's Town was Named. A pretty story is told of how the /ate Congressman Holman’s town received its name. The father of Hoi-’ man was its first settler. He laid it out into streets. He was the father of the village. The good people who were his neighbors assembled at Farmer Holman’s residence to select a name for the new town. Further down the Ohio river, nestled in the hills of that picturesque part of Switzerland County, there had been started a town which the good people decided to call Rising Sun, because of the lovely spectacle the sun made as it appeared above the crests of mountains. Farmer Holman and his neighbors, in a friendly spirit of rivalry, set their wires to work in an endeavor to select a name for their town more appropriate, if possible, than Rising Sun. He argued that by reason of a bit of difference in longitude the sun’s rays first peeped over the hills of their own town, and thence to Rising Sun. Therefore, we should call our town Aurora, or “The First Blush of the Morning. ”—Washington Post.
Victoria'* I'alace on Wheel*. A new train for the Queen of six carriages is now in course of construction at Swindon, England, an 1 its elaborate internal and external decoration is engrossing the attention of the most expert artists employed by the Great Western Railway. The only wood used is mahogany, and the doors of the Queen’s carriage are so contrived as to allow of the entrance of two attendants, one at either side of Her Majesty. It is also arranged that the approach to the royal saloon is to be on a level with the platform, so as to dispens^ with any necessity for steps.—Atlanta Constitution.