Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 March 1894 — Page 4

I LOVED YOU, ONCE. And did you think my heart Could keep its love unchanging, Fresh as the buds that start In spring, nor know estranging? listen! The buds depart: I loved you once, but now— I love you more than ever. ’Tis not the early love; With day and night it alters. And onward still must move, Like earth, that never falters For storm or star above. I loved you once, but now— I love you more than ever. With gifts in those glad days, How eagerly I sought you ! Youth, shining hope, and praise: These were the gifts I brought you. In this world little stays: I loved you once, but now— I love you more than ever. A child with glorious eyes Here in our arms half sleeping— So passion wakeful lies; Then grows to manhood, keeping Its wistful young surprise; I loved you once, but now— I love you more than ever. When age’s pinching air Stripe summer’s rich possession, And leavee the tranches bare, My secret in confession Still thus with you I’ll share; I loved you once, but now— I love you more than ever. —[G. P. Lathrop.

ONE OF NATURE'S NOBLEMEN.

“How lovely I” “Party as a pictur’. There ain’t nothin’ that lays over an October sunrise on these mountains. Look at the mist risin’ from that cascade t’other side of the valley. Makes a rainbow. You kinder take to this sort o’ thing, don’t you, Miss Pembroke?” “Oh, yes, indeed. I am a worshiper at the shrine of nature. One glimpse of such scenery as this is to me worth a journey across the continent,” and the truth of Miss Pembrook’s assertion was reflected in her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. They were on horseback, and had halted on a high plateau where the sunrise and this choice bit of mountain scenery had burst simultaneously upon their view. To look at these two riders one could not avoid the impression that both were somewhat out of place in each other’s society. One was a beautiful young lady, fresh from the heart of ultra-civilization, with an unmistakable air of culture and high breeding; the other was a hardy miner, whose knowledge of the world was confined to the wild, mountainous gold regions of California and Nevada. One had a slight, willowy form, displayed to good advantage in a neat-fitting habit of some rich material ; tho other revealed a tall, athletic figure, clad in garments that were coarse and unpretentious, but by no means unbecoming. They had met by the merest chance. A party of tourists from some Eastern city had stopped for a month at the little town of Blazeaway, and Miss Pembroke and her parents were of the party. Blazeaway, one year ago, had been nothing more than a mining camp, but it had grown like a mushroom in the night, as it were, and had become so popular with travelers and pleasure seekers that a passable hotel was now one of its most important institutions. In its immediate vicinity was some of the grandest scenery to be found in the whole range of the Sierra Nevadas, and this with its delightful climate and many advantages of location was the secret of its attractiveness. It so happened that Joe Langdon, the miner, became the favorite guide of this particular party on their sightseeing expeditions, during their sojourn at Blazeaway. He was a goodlooking, big-hearted, intelligent fellow, with a certain rough eloquence in his speech and manner, and a peculiarly graphic style of relating the legends and anecdotes connected with the points of interest that came under their observation. Strange to say, the proud Miss Pembroke became deeply interested in this Joe Langdon. She found him an entertaining companion, with views and ideas similar to her own, if they had only been cultivated, and she was amused rather than shocked by his simple, unpolished language. He liked poetry, and she read to him sometimes by the hour, while he listened with beaming eyes and bated breath. And while she marveled that a man so utterly without culture and learning could be fond of such things, it probably never occurred to her that it might not be so much the poetry as the musical rhythm of her own sweet voice that engaged his rapt attention. At any rate they were good friends, and when the entire male portion of the excursion party went off for a two weeks’ hunt up the Sacramento river, Miss Pembroke was left with little else to amuse herself with beside this new admirer of hers. It was certainly a great comfort to her to have him always near her, as guide and protector, when she went beyond the limits of the little town. They had risen early this morning on purpose to see the snn rise. Langdon having expatiated on the beauty of the scene as viewed from a eertain point on the mountain, Miss Pembroke went into raptures over it. “It is the most beautiful sight I ever witnessed!” she exclaimed, again and again. “How good of you to propose this morning ride, Mr. Langdon. You are always thinking of something new for my enjoyment. I must induce the rest of the party to see this before we leave here. By the way,” she added, “the gentlemen are expecting to return to-mor-row, and I presume they will propose an early departure for some other point. I am so concerned about Charley that I shall be glad “Charley who? ’ asked Joe Langdon, almost sharply. “Why, Charley Brantley. He is one of our own party, you know. You must have seen him.’’ “You mean the handsome fellow With the long moustache that kept so close to you the day we rode over to

A conscious blush reddened the lady’s cheek. “Yes,” she replied; “that was Chrley Brantley.” Langdon saw the blush and moved uneasily in the saddle. “Do you love him, Miss Pembroke?” “Sir!” “Do you love Charley Brantley?” It was a plain question, plainly put. From another person it would have been resented as a most impertinent one; but even the haughty Miss Pembroke could not get angry with this frank, simple-hearted man. With heightening color she replied: “Yes, Mr. Langdon; I don’t mfnd telling you that Ido love him. We are engaged to be married.” She was not looking at him. She did not see the gray pallor that crept slowly into his face, or the nervous manner in which he raised his hand to his throat and pulled at his collar as if it were choking him. She was looking out over the valley, too much abashed by her own confession to meet her companion’s gaze. “ I am anxious about Charley,” she said, after a whije. “ I fear his life is in danger—” Joe started and looked positively guilty. Had she read the thought that flashed lightning-like through his mind? But the girl did not see—did not know. With eyes still averted she continued: “Charley has such a temper, and he sometimes loses control of it. The day he went away he caught a man in the act of stealing his silvermounted rifle, which he valued so highly, and without pausing to consider the consequences he struck the fellow across the face with his riding whip. I have since heard that the man has sworn vengeance on him, and declared he would kill him at the firstopportunity. The thought is so terrible that I cannot drive it from my mind, and I fairly dread Charley’s return. Perhaps you could contrive to save him, Mr. Langdon—” “Eh? I—l don’t—did you speak to me. Miss Pembroke?” She looked at him now, with an expression of surprise. She saw how deathly pale he was, and with a woman’s readiness to jump at conclusions she exclaimed: “You believe it, too. You think Charley is in peril! I know you do!” “Wait a minute, Miss Pembroke,” said the miner, making a mighty effort to recover composure, and partially succeeding. “You say some feller has taken an oath he’d kill your—Charley Brantley. Who is the feller, an’ what’s his name?” “The people here call him ‘Whisky Tom.’ He is alow, dissipated halfbreed. Of course you knowjhim.” “Whisky Tom! I know liim for a drunken scamp and vagabond,” said Joe, with emphasis. “He oughter been hung long ’ago. Why, bless your heart, Whisky Tom ’ud murder his mother for a glass o’ whisky. When he says he’li kill a feller you needn’t flatter yerself that he won’t try his blamedest to do it, jest as soon as he can make a sneak on the feller. All I’m s’prised at is that he tried to steal a rifle —unless he wanted to sell it for money to buy liquor with. He never uses firearms nohow—couldn’t hire him to have anything to do with ’em. He does all his shootin’ with a bow an’ arrow, an’ he can knock a woodpecker out o’ the top of a Californy pine every clip. Why, Miss Pembroke, you’re white as a ghost!” “Oh, won’t you try and save him, Mr. Langdon?” “Save who?” “Charley. If anything like—like that should befall him it would kill me. I know it would!” It would have been hard to tell which was the paler of the two, only for the sun-bronze on the miner’s face. It was a trying ordeal through which he was passing, and for a moment it seemed as if he were turning to ice; but the big, unselfish heart melted beneath the piteous, pleading gaze of those eyes that had played such havoc with it during these sunny weeks. Joe Langdon wiped the perspiration from his brow, conscious that he was trembling, and that she would surely notice his agitation. “If so be,” he said, with another great effort to be calm—“if so be it should come in my power to do Char, ley Brantley a service, I’d do it, of course—for your sake! But come, Miss Pembroke,” he added, in a more cheerful tone, “you mustn’t let yerself think o’ sech things. I guess Mister Brantley ain’t in sech danger but what he’ll take keer of hisself all right. It’s time for us to be movin’ down the mountain. We’ll have a sharp appetite for breakfast after the ride, I reckon; but it won’t do for you to carry that white face back to the hotel. You’ll skeer everybody out of a year’s growth.” Then, after they had started off at a brisk canter, he said: “What do you say to a race, Miss Pembroke? Let’s see which o’ these horses can take the rag off the bush in a mile stretch.” And away they galloped at a reckless rate of speed, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. It was the next day after this occurrence that Joe Langdon stood leaning against the trunk of a huge tree, just beyond the limits of Blazeaway, absorbed in thought. He was alone, and he could scarcely have looked more pale and haggard if he had just risen from a long, wasting illness. “I don’t know what ails me, onless I’m goin’ starin’ mad,” he muttered to himself. “I didn’t think it ’ud strike me all of a heap to know that she loved some other man, but that’s jest what it’s done—blame my skin if it ain’t! I’m blowed if I understand myself at all. It’s the fust time I was ever kerflummixed by a woman, an’ I reckon—l reckon it’ll be—the last.” He made a movement as if to wring his hands, but seemed to check the impulse, as if he were ashamed of his weakness. “Joe Langdon, you’re a blamed fool!” he said, unconsciously speaking aloud. “You’ve got the brass of a road-agent to go failin’ in love with a fine lady like Laura Pembroke. But how can a man help it. She ain’t like other fine ladies. She makes a feller forget that he’s nothin’ but a rough cuss: an’ she couldn’t tai lr *ny

nicer to the President himself than she does to me. I don’t know what I’ve been thinking of all this time. I ain’t fit to be mentioned in the same day with her. I can’t bear to think of her going away ” “You can’t, eh?” interrupted a sneering voice. “If that is the case, it is time you were being taught a lesson I” Joe looked up with a start. Charley Brantley stood before him, tall and handsome, with an angry gleam in his black eyes. The miner felt himself growing weak to think he had committed the crowning folly of betraying his secret to this man. “So you are in love with Laura Pembroke,” continued Brantley, with cutting sarcasm. "I have heard of your persistent attention to her during my absence. And you think you can’t bear to see her go away from here. That is bad, truly.” “Wait a minute, Mr. Brantley,” said Joe, his voice husky. “You have heerd what I was foolish enough to say out loud, an’ there’s no use in my denyin’ it now. I do love Miss Pembroke, but I didn’t intend to let her know it, nor you. I know she ain’t for me; I know she’s to be your wife.” “And knowing that, you have the impudence to tell me that you love her—you, a low, miserable specimen of humanity, too ignorant to realize your own audacity!” cried Brantley, his temper getting the better of him. “You’re a scoundrel, sir—a dog—” “Stop!” If Joe Langdon’s face was pale before, it was ghastly nov. “Stop!” he repeated, and his voice was terrible from its very calmness. “There ain’t but one man on earth that can call me sech names as that, an’ live—an’ you’re that man. But you musn’t do it ag’in, sir—by the Eternal you musn’t do it ag’in, it’s only her love for you that saves you now.” “You threaten me, do you?” cried Brantley, in a white heat of passion. “You threaten me—” Whatever was in his mind to say, it remained unsaid, for at that instant Joe Langdon sprang upon him with the quickness of thought, and bore him heavily to the ground. The attack was so sudden and unexpected that Brantley was not prepared for it, but with a furious curse he struggled to his feet and drew his revolver. He was about to’fire when he heard a woman’s scream, a man’s shout, and a strong hand seized his arm and held it. “Drop that pistol!” cried a stern voice. “You wouldn’t shoot a man when he’s down I” What had happened? What did it mean? Was that Joe Langdon lying on the ground with an arrow quivering in his side? Was that Laura Pembroke kneeling beside the prostrate miner? Was this Mr. Pembroke who had grasped his arm and wrenched the pistol from his hand? Charley Brantley realized these things gradually, like a man waking from a nightmare. “You told me to'save him, Miss Pembroke,” said Joe, faintly, as the weeping girl lifted his head to her lap. “You told me to save him, an’ I’ve done it. I see’d that wretch, Whisky Tom, lurkin’ behind the bushes yonder, with his bow drawn and an arrow p’inted at Brantley. I knowed what it meant, an’ I knowed Tom never missed his aim, so I—l jumped onto Brantley and pushed him out o’ the way, an’ took the arrow myself. Good-bye; don’t cry for me. I’m glad it turned out this way. I hope you’ll be happy. Good-bye—-good-bye—” And Joe Langdon was dead. It was merely an episode; and after a handful of citizens had run the murderer down and hung him to the nearest tree, after the fashion of Western justice, the event was not long remembered. But there were two who never forgot—Mr. and Mrs. Brantley.

A Night in a Coal Mine.

“I once spent a night in a coal mine,” said Charles F. Tomley, of Indianapolis. “It was partly the result of meanness, but more largely of forgetfulness. I was out on a tour of inspection and investigation in Ohio at the time, and had a letter from the manager of a mining company authorizing me to look over their mines. I was generally received very courteously, and had no difficulty until one day a miner’s boss demanded very rudely a liberal contribution. When I refused, he told me that I could stop down in the mine until I changed my mind, and he actually refused to allow me to go up in the shaft. I never imagined he meant anything more than a joke, and as I did not know the mine was only working short time, I did not dream the men were leaving for the day. Such, however, was the case, and although|l waited hour after hour, no friendly shaft came to my rescue. What had been first intended for a bluff had been converted into an outrage by sheer forgetfulness, and I spent a horrible night in intense darkness and miserable dampness. The horrors of that night with noises all around, for which it was impossible to account, can hardly be realized, and if it is anything like what a prisoner suffers in solitary confinement, such unfortunates have my hearty sympathy.”—[St. Louis 'Globe Democrat.

A "Straw Bridge.”

A “straw bridge” is a Texas curiosity. It is built across the Red River, seventeen miles from Quanan, Hardman County, Tex. As described, the bed of the river is very wide, quite shallow and is of a very fine, red, treacherous sand, making the passage of heavy vehicles impossible. The bridge is really nothing but a causeway three miles long, about five feet high and wide enough for two teams. It was constructed by a settler, who charges a small toll for its use. It is built of alternate layers of long grass and sand, and is rebuilt every season, as the high water washes it away. An attempt has been made to build an iron bridge, but it was swept away almost immediately, and the natives are said to find the straw cheaper and better. York Dispatch. • France is worth, all property considered, H 0,000,000,000.

GOWNS AND GOWNING.

WOMEN GIVE MUCH ATTENTION TO WHAT THEY WEAR. Brief QI ■■Bee a* VAnclea Feminine, Frivo* low, Mayhap, and Yet Offered ta the Bepe that the Beediap May Priwe Beetful to Wearied Womankind. Cl atrip from Gay Gotham New York correepondenee:

favor, and it is a steady progress, if a slow one. That it is deliberate there is no denying, but if there is any truth in the saw, slow but sure, they wiH prevail before long. Women in general don't like the thought of donning overskirts and paniers, and they are almost sure to speak of Dolly Varden styles with sneering emphasis. Nevertheless, they are watching closely the output of new shapes, as, indeed, they must if they hope to keep to the fore in fashion’s fray. When there comes a cut’of either of the despised styles which pleases a woman, she will surrender and take it up, and as a legion of them are coming, recruits to the army of reluctant acceptors are in direct proportion to the number of new models. In the race for favor, the overskirt has so far outdistanced the panier, and, for that reason it may be, panier devices and effects are now becoming mors numerous and more attractive. In the first two pictures of this column two views of the same dress are shown, to present clearly an ingenious accessory which combines the bertha with the panier effect. It is made of black moire edged with black braid. The bertha is a pointed vest piece with a folded collar, and on either side of it is set a wide bertha rever of the moire spreading over the shoulders and narrowing to the waist. At the back is a box-pleated piece of silk arranged to

COLLARETTE, PANIERS AND BERTHA COMBINED.

fall, in collarette fashion, across from shoulder to shoulder, and attached to the folded belt of silk is a series of curved panel pieces. The two front ones appear to be the ends of the bertha side pieces. Those on the side shorten and those at the back are still shorter and set out slighly. A more useful accessory could hardly be planned, for black moire goes well with almost anything and we are assured that braid will hold its own this summer. As first offered, it is applied, in the described materials, to a simple, street dress of blue serge, but for strictly dressy use the same affair might be carried out in the almost equally popular white moire. Then the pointed vest viece should be a soit pleating of white chiffon, and frilled lace should be used instead of the braid. Even the despised Dolly Varden paniers are heralded in the puffs on the hips which narrow in front and spread wide at the side. Flowered organdies are employed for this style and the closely fitting skirt beneath shows through the transparent folds of the paniers, but scon we shall have the same fashion carried out in stiff brocades and moires. Even now a model is being widely adopted that shows a much-befrilled skirt of striped silk with a paniered polonaise bodice of flowered brocade, made with big puffs draping over the hips and a deep pointed stomacher reaching below the waist line in front to which the panier is fulled. A modification of the same effect shows only the stomacher and the paniers of brocade, epaulette-like pieces being attached to the stomacher,

OVERSKIRT WITH PANIERS SUGGESTED.

the whole presenting the effect of a skeleton bodice to be treated as an accessory and worn with a plain bodice and skirt. General acceptance of the overskirt will mean brisk business for dressmakers, and they fully realize it. So anxious are they that the happy possibility shall not escapfo them that an occasional resort is made to the ways and wiles of the professional promoter. Thus, the third illustration depicts an anmiatakahle overskirt -with equally

apparent panier effects, but it is introduced as a Louis XV. skirt To the learned in the history of drees, this may mean overdress ana nothing else, bat as the name is no disguise when the style is seen, the deceit if any were intended, can be forgiven. Let it be then a Louis XV. skirt and this one consists of a foundation bell skirt of satin which is bordered around the bottom with a wide band of velvet The upper skirt is cut a little wider than the lower and is draped in the manner indicated, and the folds of the various looped-up parts are held in place by large velvet bows. The fullness around the hips is arranged so as to imitate paniers. The material of the overdress is tobacco-brown brocaded silk. There is a separate jacket of brown cloth which closes with a full velvet bow and a cut steel buckle. This is sleeveless, and its garniture consists of a revers collarette of brown velvet. The bodice sleeves have double puffs banded with velvet and ornamented with buckles on the outside, and long velvet cuffs. The present craze for ribbon is adjusted to the demands for paniers and the result is a sash effect most unique and effective. The ribbon used is extra sash width moire. Two puffy loops are made, one end short and cut

VERY designer of women’s oosi tumes in the laud, ,it would appear, is making a great effort to put forward models of paniers and overskirts which shall achieve popularity. The number of jtheee designs increase every day, and meanwhile women remain suspicious and quite unlike Barkis. Still it is plainly noticeable that noth overskirt and panier make headway in

across at the edge, the other three yards long. The loops are set on the hip, the short end is brought to the front, the corner turning back in rever fashion, and the long end is carried to the back. Here it meets the other long end, a big tie is made of the two ends with drooping loops and ends to reach the edge of the skirt—and there you are. The illustration last dascribsd merely suggests how bows break out everywhere. It is now possible to have them all around the edge of the skirt, to have one on each side of the bodice for paniers, a huge one at the throat, and the entire bonnet of one. This, too, is all at the same time! In telling of a contest it is fair to give both sides, so in the last two pictures there are shown two new costumes which do not include overskirts in any form. These are at the left side in each case. The first is made of black velvet, black b2ngaline and rich black lace; the skirt is trained, lined with silk and trimmed with two full ruches of fine black crepe lisse. The bodice has a square yoke of bengaline and is garnished with lace that crosses in back and front over the yoke. The immense velvet puff sleeves are finished with deep lace frills. The other member of the opposition is a street dress of dark blue cheviot trimmed with black watered silk. Its plain skirt is garnished at the bottom with five narrow rolls of moire. The bodice has revere and turned down collar of watered silk, but the narrow basque is made of cheviot. The standing collar consists of folded moire hooking with a small head in back, and the cloth plastron in front is hidden by an enormous cravat-bow of watered silk with lace-trimmed ends. Since the struggle for and against the overskirt seems to be going in its favor, it is politic to return again to consideration of overdresses. At the right, in the fourth sketch, there is a tasteful example of its use on a youthful costume. It consists of an underskirt of silk or satin draped with an accordion-pleated overskirt of gauzy

crepe lisse that is lifted at the left side. The right side of the bodice laps over and is fastened with a spray of rosee and foliage. The fullness at the top it draped in front, but the back is plain. The lower parts of the sleeves consist of a series of gauze puffs, with two larger puffs lined with silk at the top. In the last picture at the right there is seen the familiar form of overskirt which opens at the side. These are now often seen on walking dresses and promise to be more plentiful. For those who object altogether to the overdress there is a compromise in the shape of a lace affair that fits closely over the underskirt to about the knees, where it points off into vandykes. From under the vandykes a ruffle set on the underskirt escapes in pretty fullness. This model, as you see, avoids all fullness about the hips. Something of the same effect is obtained by an overdress made entirely of ribbon set lengthwise with alternating insertions of lace. The ribbon ends in pointed pieces, and the whois fits closely over the under silk skirt. Yet another quaint sort goes on over the head. It is only a square of silk or silk-lined velvet with a hole cut in the center and a belt set in incasing a draw ribbon. The overdress is flipped on over the head, the draw ribbon tightens the belt, and the four corners of the square fall prettily, one to either side of the front and one to either side of the back. The same idea is carried out in light wash silk for summer dresses. A little cape affair made on the same plan, and cuffs to match, complete the garniture of the gown. Copyright. 1894. The laughing jackass, when warning his feathered mates that daybreak is at hand, utters a cry like a troop of boys shouting, whooping, and laughing in a wild chorous. The night jay has a cry like one lamenting in distress. The United States stands. ahead of all nations in the value of cattle.

A COSTRASTED INDOOR PAIR.

A LIKE COUPLE OUTDOORS.

SNAIL FARMS.

SNAILS BECOMING A POPULAR DISH IN NEW YORK. A Hotel Keeper Soya That Fortunos May Bo Mode in Raising Them--Their Cultivation Abroad. “It is surprising,” said the proprietor of a well-known New York restaurant to a Tribune reporter a few days ago, “how many snails are eaten in this city. I remember well the first time we added them to our bill of fare, not many years ago. We cooked them day after day, displayed the fact in large letters on our bills of fare, but it was all in vain. The patrons of the house seemed afraid to try them. We lost considerable money in our efforts to introduce them to New York. At first they remained on our hands, and day after day we were obliged to throw our supply into the waste barrels to be carried away as food for animals. But it is different now. People seem to have overcome their prejudices, and snails in various forms are ordered so frequently that we have ceased to be surprised. I do not doubt at all that they will become a favorite dish among New Yorkers. Fortunes, in fact, may be made by their cultivation, and the enterprising Americans who begin ‘farming’ them now will be certain of large incomes from this industry in a few years. It will then be unnecessary to import them, as we do now, almost exclusively. Many of the snails to be found in the restaurants of New York and on the tables of some private families are imported from France and Switzerland. “In the Canton of Zurich, Switzerland,” added the hotel man, “a number of peasants have established large snail farms from which they derive handsome incomes. Soft land, covered not too thickly with trees, is the favorite breeding place for these little horned animals. The trees and shade must not be too thick, because the uncovered snails will then die in great quantities in the autumn and early winter. In the sun, they usually get large, handsome, white-shelled houses, and the snails with such coverings are always the best. The earth should contain a good percentage of lime or chalk, so that the snails can easily get material for their houses. Neither should the earth be what we call ‘fat.’ If the earth does not contain sufficient lime, the farmers should sprinkle it with burned chalk or sand. The snails lay their eggs in May. To keep them from ‘running’ away from the farm there should be a wooden fence about two feet high built about it. On the fence iron-vitriol or some bad smelling oil should be sprinkled. It is not a bad idea, either, to surmount the fence with nails placed closely together, as this will prevent the snails from crawling over.

“As a rule one can raise 500 snails to a square metre of earth. One person can easily raise 20,000 t0J25,000 snails on fifty square metres. The space, however, must not be too cramped. When the sun shines too hotly snails like to conceal themselves. It is, therefore, necessary to provide hiding places, so to speak. Moss along the fence about the snail park and low sheds made by placing boards over a framework are to be recommended tor this purpose. “The best food for snails is salad, cabbage, kitchen waste, nettles and dandelions. In dry weather they eat nothing, but as soon as it rains they seem to become hungry and seek food. If the food is not at hand when they want it they will try in every way to escape from their bounds. White-leaved weeds seems to satisfy them also. If the farmers wish to make them very fat they sprinkle some kind of meal on the leaves which they eat.

“In the beginning of f Autumn—about the end of August or the first of September—the farmer strews the entire snail park with moss. It must not be too thick, or the snails will smother. They crawl under the moss at this time of the year, and remain there until they are wanted. When they are covered with their shells they are sorted out, according to size and quality. If they have finely rounded or vaulted houses, which shine in the sunlight, then they are nice and fat, and the purchaser can tell that he has good ware. “They are packed in boxes containing from 1,000 to 5,000 for shipment. Hay, or some other soft, loose material, is used to keep them apart. They can stand cold better than heat. If it becomes too warm for them they will open their shells and burst the strongest box. “A different method of raising snails is used in parts of Bavaria. There they have as much freedom as possible until the fall. Then they are picked up by the children or servants of the farmer and thrown into a deep hole. Grain is put in the hole, and they feed on this until they become fat enough to be sold. This is generally in the spring. “In Switzerland the monks of the Capuchin order raise large quantities of snails. “Americans have not begun to pay much attention to their cultivation as yet, but fortunes await those who begin at the proper time. The snail as a delicacy has come to stay, and will become more and more popular every year with the New York gourmands.”

Lucky Incendiarism.

“The destruction of the Fair buildings by fire is regretable from an artistic or sentimental standpoint,” said Mr. John D. Hamlin of Chicago at the Arlington, “but it was very lucky for the stockholders. The buildings were fully insured, or nearly so. If they had remained standing they would have been nearly a dead weight upon their owners. They could not have been sold for the cost of the lumber in them, and as revenue producers they would have been very expensive failures. As it is, the stockholders Will get something like their approximate value. One or two attempts to fire the remaining buildings have been made. Of course there have been ugly rumors. There always are in such cases, but wise men take no stock in them. There is one thing about Chicago that the outside world does not

appreciate: Every man, woman and child in it is heartily tired of Columbus and everything that has the Columbian tang. Steel Mackaye’a latest enterprise, the ‘Scenatorium,* a successor to his uncompleted ‘Spectatorium,’ has failed, because it gave scenes from the life of Columbus, including, of course, the inevitable landing and meeting with the awestricken but joyful Indians. The people simply would not pay to see it.”—-[Washington Star.

A FAMOUS FLOWER.

Wholesale Destruction of Edelweiss Stopped in Switzerland. Every traveler in Switzerland is familiar with the tender star-shaped flowers of this curious plant, whose sage green blossoms are stuck into the hat of every guide and collected with rare ingenuity by the importunate little rascals who race the carriages on the road, or start out like rabbits from the bushes as the pedestrian begins his solitary climb. The plant is scarce and very partial. It is found in the Engadine, seldom in the Bernese Oberland, and has particular corners and mountains that it loves to affect. This scarcity and partiality gave to the edelweiss a somewhat unhealthy notoriety, according to the Philadelphia Times. The rarer it becomes the more ambitious were the excursionists to obtain a sprig. Some years ago every cockney hat was adorned with the curious bloom,feathered,as its botanical name applies, like an old man’s beard, and it was no longer a sign of patience and endurance to wear this pretty badge that hitherto had denoted a long climb and a patient search. When tourists began to brand their alpenstocks down in the valley with the name of a mountain whose base they touched, but whose top they never attempted to reach, then was edelweiss sold by the handful at Interlaken, Chamounix and Grindelwald, and the guides, porters and boys were tempted to rifle the mountains of their peerless flowers. When the rage for art greens came upon us in full force aesthetic young ladies flattered themselves that a wreath of these soft petals would look becoming in the hair, and some went so far as to appear at fancy balls in the charter of “The Alps” smothered in edelweiss. As for the flower itself, it refused to be in any way gracious at the touch of the botanist and sternly declined to be transplanted. The more obstinate was the edelweiss the more determined became the florists, and they purchased it by the root, carefully tended it during the journey home, nursed it across the sea, watched it at every railway station and handed it to the family gardener in order to hear in a few days that the plant, sickening and sighing for its mountain home, had refused to exist in England with the aid of any artificial process. There have been only one or two rare and exceptional cases where the edelweiss was induced to live and give forth flowers in England, and then the result was only obtained by a system of nursing that would have worn out the majority of botanists. At last the Swiss government determined to put down by law the wholesale destruction of this popular flower. It was rapidly disappearing altogether from the country when an enactment made it penal to take a plant up by the roots. The dignity and importance of legislation gave a new impetus to the interest that was attached to the plant, and going in search of the edelweiss became as attractive a source of danger as any to be found in Switzerland. Unaccompanied by guides, and straying from the beaten tracks, more than one tourist has risked his life, and several have been killed in the quest.— [Washington Star.

Bird Butchery.

Over five million birds are massacred each yeajr to plume the hats of womankind. Terns from Cape Cod, black partridges, hoopoes, golden orioles and blue jays, pretty kitiwakes from Sunday Island, egrets and herons from our southland and bobolinks and rail birds from our own fields and woods are murdered to feed the female passion for display. The women of the period will hoot at the Tamil and the Sinhalese for slitting their nostrils for the insertion of jewelry, but they will kill and mutilate harmless carolers that plumes may dance from their bonnets. In the case of the kittiwake, the plumage is taken at a season when the birds have hardly learned to fly, and it is usual to tear off the wings while the bird lives. Then there is another side to the question. A great deal of arsenic is used in the preparation of these feathers, and the eyes and nostrils of the wearers are exposed to danger. A more important aspect of the case is that all life depends on vegetable life, and Michelet declares there can be no vegetable life without bird life.— [Washington Star.

What Is the Attraction?

One of the curious conundrums of human nature is the attraction that hardened ruffians and scoundrels possess for women. Its existence is unquestionable. Never a burglar, murderer, or villain of any stripe is brought to justice, but he at once becomes an object of admiration for some women, and these often refined and lady-like women. A striking instance occurred at Dubuque, lowa, the other day. Hugh Robbard has been convicted of robbery and murder and sentenced to life imprisonment. As he left the court room Mrs. May Fanning, a widow, who is employed as clerk in the sheriff’s office, rushed up to him, handed him a bank note and a basket of fruit, and kissed him tenderly. In the basket was a note, telling him that he had a friend who would never forsake him, signed, “Your Loving May.” She had never seen him until he was brought to trial. What is the charm? —[New Orleans Picayune. Switchmen in Saxony consider themselves well paid with $l7B a year. A female tack maker in France is fortunate if she makes $1.16 per week.