Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 April 1893 — HANDLING A HERD OF CATTLE. [ARTICLE]

HANDLING A HERD OF CATTLE.

Skill and Daring Required to Avert a Stampede on the Trail. The task of the drover and his assistant cowboys In getting the herds from the Southern ranches to the Northern shipping points was one Involving both skill and daring, says an article in Scribner’s Magazine. The daily programme was as regular as that of a regiment on the march. From morning until noon the cattle were allowed to graze in the direction of their destination, watched by the cowboys in relays. The cattle were by this time uneasy, and were turned into the trail and walked steadily forward eight or ten miles, when at early twilight they halted for another graze. As darkness came on they were gathered closer and closer together into a compact mass by the cowboys riding steadily in constantly lessening circles around them until at last the brutes lay down chewiDg their cuds and resting from the day’s trip. Near midnight they would usually get up, stand awhile, and then lie down again, having changed sides. At this time extra care was necessary to keep them from aimlessly wandering off in the darkness. Sitting on their ponies or riding slowly round and round their reclining charges, the cowboys passed the night on sentinel duty, relieving one another at stated hours. When skies were clear and the air bracing the task of cattle driving was a pleasant and healthful one. But there came rainy days, when the cattle were restless and when It was anything but enjoyable riding through thejpteady downpour. Then especially were the nights wearisome, and the cattle were ready at any time to stampede. No one could tell what caused a stampede any more than one can tell the reason of the strange panics that attack human gatherings at times. A flash of lightning, a crackling stick, a wolf's growl—little things in themselves, but in a moment every horned head was lifted, and the mass of hair and horns, with fierce, frightened eyes, gleaming like thousands of emeralds, was off. Recklessly, blindly, in whatever direction fancy led them, they went over a bluff or morass, It mattered not, and fleet were the horses that could keep abreast of the leaders. But some could do it, and, lashing their ponies to their best gait, the cowboys followed at breakneck speed. Getting on one side of the leaders, the effort was to turn them a little at first, then more and more, until the circumference of a great circle was being described. The battle behind blindly followed, and soon the front and rear joined and “milling” commenced. Like a mighty mill stone, round and round she bewildered creatures raced until they were wearied out or recovered from their fright. But the cowboy, with his white, wide-rimmed hat. his long leather cattle whip, and his clanking spur, is now a thing of the past.

A Fairy Godfather. Two gentlemen, one an American and the other a Viennese, met at an Austrian watering place, and, after a short but delightful acquaintance, the Viennese discovered that the American, who had given his name as Hunt, let us say, was a banker. “Are you, then, the head of the house of Hunt, in New York?” he asked, in surprise and interest. “I am. ” “How very strange l” “Why strange?” “I cannot give you a satisfactory reply without telling you a sad story,” was the answer, and he went on to relate the following incident: Two years before a charming girl who was under his guardianship had married a man who had at once set up in business on his wife’s capital, and had become bankrupt. The next step was his disappearance, and so discouraged had he been over his ruined hopes that every one believed him to have committed suicide. Within a few months, however, his sorrowing wife had received a letter from him written from a town in one of the Western States of America. He begged her to forgive him for leaving her, and promised to send for her as soon as fortune should once more favor him. Letters continued to come, now from one city aDd now from another, until he wrote from New York, saying that he was in the banking bouse of Hunt, at a salary too small to allow him to send for her, though if industry and perseverence could advance his interests, she should not have long to wait. “And now,” said the Viennese, “do you know a clerk of yours named Pray?” “No,” was the reply. “I left home months ago. But your story is so interesting that we ought, if possible, to spell out the sequel. I will cable home this minute.” “Have we Clerk Pray in our service?” ran the message, and next day came the answer, “Yes.” “What salary?” ran the next message. “Is he satisfactory?” The reply to this was a condensed certificate of character of which any clerk might be proud, with the additional information that Pray’s exceptional virtues were paid for at the rate of S4O a month. “Pray promoted,” cabled Mr. Hunt. “Quadruple his salary.” A day later the forlorn young wife in Vienna received a mes«age from her husband, delightedly hinting at good-fortune and urging her to come to him at once. Mr. Hunt, of course, heard the news, and, no doubt, congratulated himself on his ability to play fairy godfather at the right moment.

A Telephonic Newspaper. The London Standard's Vienna correspondent tells us of the very newest thing in news—a Bellamyidea translated into fact. The first socalled “telephonic newspaper” appeared in Pesth yesterday. In other words, the latest items of news—political, local, commercial, sporting, and other—are sent out from a central office by telephone to the subscribers, who for this Intelligence pay the very modest sum of 75 cents a month. This novel undertaking comprises at its central office two departments—a regular editorial office, which receives the telegraphic and oral messages and works them up into leaders or paragraphs, and a sped a} tele-

phonic publishing department, where experienced speakers, each possessing a soft but distinct voice, transmit through the instruments the contents of the manuscripts delivered from hour to hour by the first department. There are two languages used, German and Hungarian, The news includes stock exchange quotations and financial articles, reports of theatrical performances, book reviews, and paragraphs on all the miscellaneous topics found in a daily newspaper. The subscribers who receive the news have a square wooden tablet before them, from which are suspended two tubes long enough to reach their ears when they are sitting in an easy chair or at a writing desk, or even when lying in bed. The service commences at 8 o’clock in the morning and lasts until 9 in the evening. The novelty has so far been very well received in the Hungarian capital.

The Enfant Terrible. • They had just settled down for dinner, and the nervous spinster who had the guest’s seat was still primping, as persons of her class will, when the family infant let out a whoop that told of grief and terror which could no longer be suppressed. “What’s the matter, dear?” inquired the visitor, in a voice of the deepest solicitude. “You go ’way from our house,” was the shrill and startling response; “you’re just killing my mamma, so you are.” “Why, Mary dear, how you talk,’’from the mother. “What do you mean anyhow talking like that?”. “You sa-said, mamma, if that 01-old ma-maid st-st-stayed for dinner sh-she would b-be the de-ath of you, soyo-you did, boo-hoo!” Then there was a scene that beggars description, and when the ancient maiden flounced through the front door she was coldly congratulating the mother upon having so charming and so courageous a little child as the one who had just saved her life. A minute later the merry sound of the maternal slipper in active service was mingled with the cries of the enfant terrible.—Detroit Free Press. Chronicled in a Woman's Album. Pierre Loti’s likes and dislikes were chronicled by him lately in a lady’s album. His favorite color is “changing mother of pearl.” his favorite perfume the wild “pinks of the dunes,” his favorite animal “the cat,” his favorite color for eyes and hair “it has often changed; it depends upon whom I care for.” In answer to the question, “Which is the vice you most detest, and why?” he writes: “None. I have immense pity for them all.” His favorite occupation is “to wander about in the open air in the East,” his. favorite pursuit, “riding or gymnatics.” His ideal of earthly happiness is “to be handsome, young, agile, and strong;” the pleasantest time of day, “the evening on shore or very early morning at sea,” the country to live in, “India, Persia, or Mohammedan country:” his favorite nation, “the Arabs, because of their tranquillity.” As to his hero of history he write: “I know so little of history." As to his hero of fiction: “I have no interest in any.” As to his favorite writer: “I do not read.” Practical Boston. Boston notions are numberless and very apt to be good. In that city notices in English, French, German, and Swedish are hung in the waitingrooms of the railway stations and pier sheds warningyoung girls against strangers and stating at what hours a matron, who will be recognizable by her prescribed badge, maybe found to give all needed information and advice. In the same city, which is peculiarly the home and originating place of practical charities, a second good scheme is that of the Young Travelers’ Aid Society. Under its auspices matrons meet the chief trains, both incoming and outgoing, and aid by suggestion or information the traveler who needs it. A country girl, a foreigner, a mother wrestling with an unwieldy family of slippery children, particularly if she is a stranger in a strange land—these and similar helpless and distracted wayfarers are righted, relieved and sent on their way rejoicing.

Now, Boys, Now. Boys, above all, don’t by will or deed, add to the burdens of your mother; remember that she loves you as deeply as when you were a clean, white little babe, though you may now. be a “tough kid” whom everybody dislikes. She is not so strong as she once was; the hand of time, maybe, has touched her hair and left it gray and streaked where it was once beautiful and glossy. Her step is slower than it used to be. Be a man; respect her, live right, and when she dies who loves you more than any one will ever love you again, when the wasted, tired hands have been folded for unbroken sleep, there will go with you sweet and tender recollections like guardian angels along the rugged road of life. Now is the time to begin to be a man; don’t wait until you are grown up.— Cass County (la.) Democrat. “Nothing Like a Good Old Mother.” An English paper tells a story of a well-known bishop who suffers from impaired vision. He recently held a levee. At length a guest approached and said: “How do you de, my lord? My mother wishes to be kindly remembered to you.” “Ah,” said the bishop, “that is very good of her. And how is the dear old soul? Nothing like a good old mother! Be sure to take care of your old mother. Good-morning.” The bishop did not in the least know who his visitor was, and said to his footman, “Who was that?” The servant replied, “The last gentleman who left your lordship’s reception is the Duke of Connaught. ” The Queerest of Railroads. One of the queerest railroads on this continent is the Salisbury and Havey, in New Brunswick. It is but twenty miles long, and although it connects with the Intercolonial Boad, an admirably constructed line, it is confessedly unsafe. A printed notice hung up in the cars cautions passengers that it is well to get out and walk on reaching a certain bridge, and it was long the custom to push the cars over this crazy structure before the mighty engine was trusted upon its rotten timbers. Poor Kansas. There is danger of a rabbit plague in Kansas similar to that of Australia.