Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 April 1894 — Page 4

FAITH. She nt where daisy blossoms tossed Their heads beneath an elm tree’s shade; Her hands upon her knees were crossed— My bonny, laughing, gold-haired maid. In lover’s tone of fond command, I said, while sketching at her feet, “Pray take a daisy in your hand And make yourself a Marguerite.’’ "These foolish flowers have naught to tell,” She answered, blushing winsomely, ••Your lips have said, ‘I love thee well,’ And that’s the oracle for me.” —Kate Field’s Washington.

A BUNCH OF VIDLETS.

BY V. ETYNGE MITCHELL.

Past golden fields of yellow buttercups and open-eyed daisies, over hills on which the lights and shadows of a summer morning were playing hide and seek, through valleys where drowsy cattle were grazing by the side of idle brooks, rushed the express train known as “The Wildlrishman,” running between London and Holyhead. Seated in one of the center carriages, which had no other occupant than herself, was a young girl whose face had the exquisite coloring of a portrait by Titian. Large brown eyes shaded by curling lashes were in strange yet pleasing contrast to the golden hair which fell in wilful little curls about her forehead. As they neared Chester, the only station at which the train stopped on its long journey, the young lady leaned forward and watched with slight interest, the eager crowd of men and women who awaited the arrival of the cars. “I wonder what fate has in store for me in the way of a traveling companion,” she murmured, and the answer to her thought came almost immediately, as a gentleman wearing the costume of a traveler, and with a much bronzed face, entered the compartment. Selfishly regretting the disturbance of her solitude, the young woman opened a book, which she had drawn from her taveling bag, and appeared to be entirely absorbed in its perusal. The newcomer at once proceeded to make himself comfortable, stowing away parcels and umbrella, and finally taking possession of a seat at the opposite end of the car, facing his fellow-traveler, but barely glancing at her. Only the sound of the busy wheels or the whir of a passing train disturbed the quiet of the journey. The stranger had followed the example of his vis-a-vis, and having taken out a newspaper, was soon lost in its contents.

By and by a mischievous south wind, blowing with impertinent familiarity through the open window, disarranged the fluffy curls peeping from under the girl’s hat. She rose impatiently to shut out the offender, but fate ordained that the window should stick, whereupon she glanced with feminine helplessness at the man who had dropped his paper and was looking full at her. For the first time their eyes met, and a bow of coldly formal recognition passed between them. “Miss St. John,” he murmured, “I hardly expected to meet you here. Allow me .” And, closing the window, he quietly returned to his former position, while she, having expressed her thanks by an inclination of the head, resumed her novel. ‘ The constraint of their position was uncomfortable to the couple, who had evidently met and parted on some occasion which had either left them unfriendly or almost as strangers. From under his heavy eyebrows the young man covertly watched his companion. She was holding her book upside down. A smile broke upon his lips as he observed this, and rattling his newspaper noisly to attract her attention he leaned forward impulsively determined to break the silence by addressing her. ‘ ‘ May I inquire how your sister, Mrs. Arlington, is? She raised her head, but not looking at him replied with freezing discouragement of tone. “Thank you; Mrs. Arlington is quite well.” “Ah, and your mother (with quiet persistence), I hope she is better, Miss St. John. Am I correct in addressing you by the old name? You may have changed it.” “You are quite correct,” she returned icily. Through the window nearest to Mr. Dennison a saucy bee, giddy with clover, bounced with a noisy jocularity; then, regretting his imprisonment, strove to escape' from it by flying with spiteful buzzing against the face of the young lady, who gave vent to a little scream which she instantly suppressed. “I see that you retain your antipathy to bees,” remarked the young man, placidly folding his arms and smiling; “some things are unchanged.” “Among them your disagreeable habit of teasing,” replied Miss St. John, and turned her attention to some russet-colored cattle that lifted their heads from the tall reed grasses to gaze in open-eyed wonder at the passing train. “Don’t you think,” suggested Mr. Dennison, when the silence again became oppressive, “that, as we are likely to be shut up together in this compartment for two full hours, it might be more philosophical—not to say agreeable—if we raise a flag of truce? We can confine ourselves to commonplaces—the weather, catching bees, or other harmless topics.” “Ohl confine yourself to catching bees, by all means,” she cried nervously, as the insect in question reminded them of his presence by bouncing against the ear of the young lady. “I have no objection to an occasional interchange of remarks about the weather,” she added more genially as she watched Dr. Dennison chase the offender through the window. “Very well,” remarked the young man, resuming his seat and scraping his throat a little nervously, “it is

1 “Very, but rather cool for the season.” “Ah, yes; perhaps we may have rain, which was slow in coming.” “Possibly—or rather it does not look probable to me.” Having delivered herself of this brilliant speech, she arched her neck with extravagant courtesy to examine the clouds. “We had thunder last week,” continued the young man, desperately. “Is it necessary,” retorted Miss St. John, “that you should turn yourself into a weather bureau and give me reports of what has been? I suppose that we should confine ourselves to the present or future.” “There is no future for me,” said her companion, sadly. Then flippantly, as if anxious to recall his words, he added: “Don’t you think there is a limit to the—weather for a topic? Suppose we try something else.” “We have talked long enough,” returned the young woman, severely. “I prefer to read.” And she resolutely opened the novel. “Is it interesting?” he persisted, after a pause. “Intensely.” “It must be rather difficult to read upside down. Is that an acrobatic feat you have learned to accomplish in the four years of my absence?” “It goes without saying that the same length of time has not improved your manners,” said Miss St. John.

Mr. Dennison accepted in silence the reproof of his companion, but after a moment of hesitation he left his seat and ensconced himself in the one directly facing her. “In a little while,” he whispered, disregarding her glance of angry toleration, “the train will reach Holyhead, and like thistle-downs we shall be blown apart, perhaps never to meet again. We were very good frieuds—once—but, of course that is all over, and you cordially detest me. Just at this moment you are wishing me away.” “I did not say .so,” exclaimed the girl, with flashing eyes. “I thought,” he continued, “that to pass away the time and enable you to forget your antagonism to my presence you might like to hear the plot of one of my stories. Possibly you remember that I wrote a book—occasionally.” “Yes,” she seemed to force the words from her lips—“l remember—that. It is very obliging in you to entertain me. What is your plot?” Mr. Dennison began to count off on his fingers his dramatic personnse.

“There is Miss Maude Vivian—heiress. “Mr. Henry Dubois —a povertystricken artist. “Mr. John Halifax—very handsome, very rich and nothing in particular. “Scene —Central Africa.” “Your scene is preposterous and your combination of characters improbable,” complained Miss St. John. “Truth is not necessary in fiction,” responded the story teller. “Oblige me, then, by not romancing any more than is absolutely necessary.” “Miss Vivian was fair and lovable. Consequently when she met Mr. Dubois at a lawn party he fell in love with her and she reciprocated his affection. “A lawn party in Central Africa!” expostulated the young lady. Pray are you telling me a romance among the Manyemas?” “The color of the skin is immaterial,” replied Mr. Dennison, “but as you object to Africa I will call it Europe—England will do. All went well with the lovers until, like the snake in the Garden of Eden, a third person stepped in, Mr. John Halifax. Well, one cannot blame Miss Vivian if she preferred the corn and wine of Egypt to love in a cottage with poverty.” There was a pause, which Miss St. John broke by exclaiming irritably: “You are not entertaining at all. Your story is not worth writing. No publisher would accept it.” “Why not?” (politely). “Have you never known of a similar case?” “No, never, except in some absurd story.” “By and by,” continued the young man, “Mr. Dubois decided to ‘win or lose it all.’ He asks Miss Vivian to marry him at once and share his modest income, which is, however, a sure one. He—made a fool of himself.”

“Most men do,” murmured the girl. “That is true, otherwise women would not care for them; but in this case the lady shared his folly.” “ In what way?” “ She threw aside a loyal heart.” “ Probably she had good reason for so doing.” “It occurs to me that you espouse her cause very warmly.” “ Possibly the young man was overbearing and impertinent. She very properly declined to be a slave. It is a Briton’s privilege.” “ I grant it. But suppose that Dubois loved her deeply and truly; that, realizing that he had spoken hastily and regretted it, and wrote her a letter full of entreaties for pardon, which he sent by mail with a bunch of Parma violets. ” “ Well ?” whispered Miss St. John; “well?” It was easy to see that she was at last deeply interested. “Mr. Dubois asked her in this letter if she still loved him to wear his flowers the next evening at a dance where they would meet. He called her his ‘little queen’—he was madly in love with her.” “And then?” the girl’s voice sounded as if she were crying. “Oh, then, he went to the dance. She was there, radiant, smiling, beautiful. But she did not wear his violets. Her gown was white, but upon her bosom nestled a bunch of crimson roses—which had been given to her by John Halifax.” The voice of the narrator trembled, but he did not glance at his companion. Already they were approaching a tunnel which heralded the end of their journey. Miss St. John realized it and was thankful, for she hoped the semi-darkness might hide her falling tears. “That night,” continued Mr. Dennison, “he met a friend who *vas to sail for Africa on the following (Say. Impetuous as ever. Dubois decided to

go with him. He was away four years." “Did it occur to him,” whispered the young girl, reaching a satchel, out of which she drew a small jeweled box and laid it on her knee, “that Miss Vivian might not have received the letter until after the hot-headed and impetuous lover was beyond recall. Besides, she might have been too much hurt to evidence her desire for his return. With such men ‘love flows like Solway, but ebbs like its tide.’ ” Already they were at the mouth of the tunnel. The revolving wheels of the train sounded like thunder, but an instant before the engine plunged into darkness Dennison saw Miss St. John pinning with trembling fingers a bunch of faded flowers to the bosom of her dress. On her lap lay the open box and a letter. “ Madelinel” cried the young man, seizing her hand and covering it with kisses. “ Oh, my little queen, my sweetheart.” She uttered no word of protest; only her tears bedewed the violets upon her bosom, and lay there sparkling diamonds in the flickering glow of the carriage lamp. “ All these words wasted, when I might have held you in these arms,” exclaimed Dennison, drawing the golden head down upon his shoulder. “Oh, Eric!” said she, “how could you have thought it was your poverty that influenced me. If you are poor I will help you. See how strong I have grown.” She looked up proudly with tender eyes. “Have you never heard of the laurels I have won? he asked. “ I am no longer poor, Madeline. Fortune has smiled upon me. My last story was an El Dorado.” “ Oh, how sorry lam,” exclaimed the girl naively. “Now it will not be possible to prove my love for you.” Dennison picked up the bunch of flowers which had fallen from her lap and as the train shot like an arrow into the glad light of the May afternoon, he whispered: “ Darling, these violets are proof enough. I can never doubt your loyalty again.”—[Globe-Democrat.

A QUEER CHARACTER.

Incidents in the Career of the “Most Eccentric Man in Portugal.” It was in the House of Deputies at Lisbon, many years ago. There had been a debate on the budget, and in the excitement, many bitter words had been spoken. Among the speakers in opposition to the Ministry was Vicompte Antonio de Soto Major, known at the time as the most eccentric man in Portugal, and one of the cleverest. In the course of his speech he had attacked the Ministry so severely that the President of the House called him to order several times, and at last withdrew from him the privilege of the floor. The Vicompte left the chamber for a few minutes, and then returned to his seat. Rising to his feet, he drew two pistols from his pocket, placed them on the desk in front of him, and then demanded recognition. “The first pistol here,” he began, “is for you, Mr. President, if you dare to call me to order again. The second is for that colleague who dares to interrupt me.” He was known to be a man of his word, and the astonished House listened to him in silence. The Vicompte died a few days ago in Stockholm, where he had been Portuguese Minister for many years. He was born in 1832, and was a member of one of the wealthiest and most aristocratic families in Portugal. He began active life as a cavalry officer, but resigned from the army after marrying a Spanish woman as wealthy as himself. They took up their residence in Paris, but lived in such a manner that their fortunes were soon gone. In the fifties the Vicompte returned to Lisbon practically penniless, turned to journalism, and became editor of The Tribune, soon making the paper a power in the little kingdom. His newspaper connection led him into politics, and he was elected to the House of Deputies. There he became famous for his eloquence, wit and fearlessness. On one occasion he publicly called the Minister of Finance a spendthrift. His Excellency replied that such an accusation was hardly in place from a man who had wasted a whole fortune.

“That is not true,” quickly replied Soto Major. “I have spent not only one fortune, but three. The great difference between us, however, is that I spent my own money, while Your Excellency wastes the money of others.” Naturally enough the Government wished to get such an opponent out of the way. To make him as harmless as possible the authorities offered him the mission to Sweden, which, almost strange to say, he accepted. He soon became one of the most popular figures in Stockholm. Every child in the city knew the small, white-bearded diplomat, whose wit was as much admired as his collection of jewels and cravats. Even in his old age he was unable to overcome the wasteful habits of his youth. Many are the stories told of him in Stockholm. Once, in one of the best houses of the capital, a young woman happened to drop a small coin, worth not more than five cents. The Vicompte opened his pocketbook, took from it a hundred-crown note, and lighted it to aid the young woman in her search.—[New York Tribune.

Nickel and Silver.

Some authorities say that the prices of nickel and silver will eventually cross each other. They argue that nickel is more useful, is scarcer, and is not so readily produced, and that as silver is used more as a symbol of wealth its value in that direction will gradually depreciate. In such an event there is a long road, because silver has in it the tradition of ages, and the poorer classes of the world would be actuated in its use as the rich have been, and for along time the downward course would be stayed by this sentiment alone.— [Hardware. Boston has 446,500 population and 853 police, who last year made 89,996 arrests. (

THE JOKER’S BUDGET.

JESTS ANO YARNS BY FUNNY MEN OF THE PRESS. Ready to Begin--Better Than Electricity -- Modest Willie Early Depravity--Etc., etc. READY TO BEGIN. The Governor—Now that I’ve paid your debts, Harry, you can make a naw start. Harry—Thank you, father; please lend me a hundred.—[Truth. BETTER THAN ELECTRICITY. Agent—Wouldn’t you like to have a burglar alarm set up in your house? Mr. Binks—Don’t need it. I’ve got a wife.—[New York Weekly. MODEST WILLIE. "No,” said Willie Wibbles, “I‘jn not a bit afraid of a bicycle.” “You are quite brave,” said the young woman. “Oh, not necessarily,” rejoined Willie modestly. “You see, I nevah wide one. EARLY DEPRAVITY. “Papa,” asked Tommy Goodman, " who was Cain’s wife?” “Caroline,” said the Rev. Dr. Goodman, after an ominous pause, addressing his wife, “will you please hand me my heaviest slipper mid leave the room? There is going to be a trial for heresy right here and right now.”—[Chicago Tribune. AN IDIOTIC BIRD. “ I have a parrot at home that repeats every word I utter,” said Jarley. “What an idiot of a bird,” ejaculated Cynicus.—[Harper’s Bazar. A CONDITIONAL POP. “Then you are engaged?” “Conditionally.” “What do you mean?” “Why, George put the hypothetical question to me last night and I said yes.”—[.Judge.

SIGNS OF THE SEASONS. The earth exhibits signs of spring And brighter grow the days; A sign that birds will shortly sing For us their merry lays. Each season has its signs—the fall, Spring, winter, as they pass, And that of summer is for all The sign, “Keep off the grass.” —[New York Press. COULD DO WITHOUT IT. O’Jones—l don’t object to a man blowing his own horn if he wants to, do you? McSmith—Not at all; still, I have very little ear for that kind of music. TO STRENGTHEN IT. Mrs. Wreckhard (the landlady)—ls there anything I can help you to, Mr. Slimmer? Slimmer—Yes, ma’am. Can I have some milk put in this cream?— [Puck. ANSWERED. “What!” cried the orator, fiercely, “what, I ask, causes poverty?” And from the back of the hall a hoarse voice answered “Lack of cash.” IMPROPER FRACTIONS. Mamma (as she is serving the pie at table) —What is an improper fraction, Johnny? Johnny Anything less than a quarter, mamma.—[Newport News. A PRACTICAL VIEW OF IT. “They say the wolf is continually at their door.” “Well I don’t know what he is there for—they never have anything in the house.”—[New York Press.

OUT OF SIGHT. Investor—l see you have a railroad mapped out here, but where’s your town? Land Boomer—Well, to tell you the truth, it ain’t built yet; but there’s six candidates for Sheriff in them gallberry bushes, one moonlight distillery, three Prohibitionists and a pond for baptism.—[New York Press. TOO POOR. “Lend me ten, Fweddie.” “Can’t do it. I have just been jilted by a girl worth half a million.” —[Life. A DIALOGUE FROM LIFE. “Where are you going?” “To the chemist’s.” “Is it for yourself?” “Oh, no, fortunately—it’s for my wife.” —[Le Soir. ABSENT MINDED. Benson—l have a literary friend who is so absent-minded that when he went to London recently he telegraphed himself ahead to wait for himself at a certain place. Smith—Did the telegram have the desired result? Benson—No. He got it all right, but he had forgotten to sign his name, and not knowing who it was from, he paid no attention to it. — [Pearson’s Weekly.

FEELING IS BELIEVING, TOO. Teacher—l don’t suppose any one of the little boys here has ever seen a whale? Boy (at the foot of the class) —No, sir. but I’ve felt one.— [Brooklyn Life. THE GENIAL POET. “Ma, ha,” laughed the poet. “Haye’s a good joke.” “What is it?” asked his wife. “ Why,” returned the genial bard, “ a fellow wrote to me for my autograph the other day and I sent it to him. Then what does he do but copy it on a check and try to get some money at a bank. Tried to get good cash, my dear, with my name on a check. Ha, ha!” [Philadelphia Life. SOCIETY ORNAMENTS. De Snapp—l congratulate you, old fellow. Miss Purkey’s face is rather plain, but she is worth $200,000. De Muttinedd—Thanks, dear boy. You are right. It was her figure that attracted me.—[Chicago Tribune. HER SOCIAL TRIUMPH. Mrs. Gossip—l hear you attracted much notice on your appearance in the social world abroad. e y—l should say so. I wore on an average from $20,000 to $85,000 of diamonds every ball. I went to.—[Chicago Record.

WAS AWARE Of IT. “Remember, witness,” sharply exclaimed the attorney for the defence, “you are on oath.” “There ain’t no danger of my forgettin* it,” replied the witness sullenly. “I’m tellin’ the truth fur nothin’ when I could have made by lyin’ fur your side of the case, an’ you know it.”—[Chicago Tribune. GROUND FOR DISBELIEF. Mrs. Mullins (reading the newspaper)—A Philadelphia man rejoices in the name of Medycvnv Garczynskiego. Mr. Mullins —I don’t believe it. “You don’t believe that is his right name?” “No; I don’t believe he rejoices in it.”—[Life. DIRECT FROM THE MUSEUM. “I see that the india rubber man and the ossified man are to have a walking match.” “Then I bet on the india rubber man.” “Why?” “Well he may not do much on the first half, but he is sure to show himself on the homestretch.” “That’s all very true, but at the same time he’ll find the ossified man a hard man to beat.”—[New York Press. THE BETTER WAY. Chollie —I was so angry at my man this mawnin’ that I kicked him. Chappie—Deah me! How could you do such a thing? Chollie—Why, what do you do when you get angwy at youah man? Chappie—l make him kick himself.”—[Harper’s Bazar.

queer, very! Van Arndt—Funny thing about society. Miss Whirlsfair—What is? Van Arndt—A girl is not “in” it until she has “come out.” —[Truth. A CASE IN POINT. “Jones says the ocean is a living thing and that it has intelligence. The idea of water having intelligence!”— “I don’t know about that. I’ve seen the rain pouring over a book.” —[New York Press. HIGHER PRICED. Mrs. Skimps—How much do you charge for weaving rag carpet? Old Mrs. Loomis (the weaver) — Fifteen cents a yard, mum. Mrs. Skimps—Oh, that’s too high. I will give you twelve and a half. Old Mrs. Loomis (with dignity)I’m a carpet weaver, mum, not a spring poet.—[Philadelphia Life. NERVOUS. Spectator—Doesn’t it require a good deal of courage to go up in a balloon? Aeronaut —Not a bit, ma’am. It’s the coming down in it. HER WISH SET FORTH, She—You are getting angry now; you know you are. He —I am doing nothing of the sort. I can get angry if you wish me to. She—But I don’t wish you to get angry except when I don’t wish you to.—[lndianapolis Journal.

A Wonderful Cliff.

Jeffrey’s Cliff,located four miles east of Hawesville, is a natural curiosity and a wonder. It consists of a huge cliff from 200 to 400 feet high all around, and looks as if Providence had set a huge boulder down on the face of the earth. There is a soil on the top of it from ten to thirty feet deep, and before it was partially cleared off a heavy growth of timber adorned it. There is probably more than a hundred acres of good land on top of it. Nature left no way for a man with modern vehicle to go up it, but at an expense of hundreds of dollars a wagon-way has been cut through the solid rock and the dirt graded up to meet it. In two other places footpaths have been provided for the lone traveler. On this wonderful natural production the towns of Cloverport Cannelton, Hawesville and probably others can be plainly seen, as well as a large scope of surrounding country. Cattle in the bottom look like mere midgets, and one’s head swims with the dizziness of the height when buzzards, which make the cliff their roosting place, sail half way down the sides of “Salt Peter Cave,” and other points of interest make up its peculiar wonders. There is an aperture in the cliff on one side, about a foot wide, that sends out the year round a cold breeze. The warmest, sultriest day that can be imagined in August, this constant flow of cold air greets the sightseer. It sits in the middle of the upper bottom, and the Ohio river curves more than half way round it at a distance of a mile and a half away. Truly this is a home wonder.—[Hancock (Ky.) Clarion.

Flying Machines.

Benjamin Franklin used to compare the balloon of his day to a child who would presently come to man’s estate. He thought the aerostation was in embryo, and it due time would do marvelous things. But his aspirations, one may now say, were too sanguine. Our aerial achievements are still literally “ in the air,” the flights of our best aeronauts are involuntary. They are “ blown about with every wind. ” It is true that the parachute has been brought to considerable perfection, but that is not flying, but falling. It is something to be able to fall softly from a great height, but it is not much. It hardly seems worth while to go up so far in order to come down again. This reflection applies to the very latest improvements in the science. The winged man of Steglitz has, we are told, “ accomplished a journey of 250 yards, ” bnt this merely means that, starting from a tower he has built for the purpose with a spring board, or from a steep hill, he has flown down that distance. As for the aerial machines of various kinds that are to “ revolutionize warfare ” by dropping dynamite over cities and armies, they may be marvels of mechanical science, but they have never yet “ risen to the occasion,” or even risen at all. Even the “ Maxim” invention has, I understand, “never left the rails,” which, although a great virtue in a locomotive, is very little credit to a flying machine.—[l-ondon News.

LILIES OF THE VALLEY.

How Florists Protract Their Season of Blooming. There is an interesting and curious trade between Germany and this country in the lily of the valley. Many thousands of those lily “ pips,” as they are called, the roots, each with a single tight-wrapped bud, are imported at this season earlier and later. As the habit of the plant is well known, and it may be counted upon to flower in from nineteen to twenty-two days after the pip has been planted in sand and placed in a forcing house, the importers commonly make their contracts in advance with florists, and order in accordance with these contracts The pips come over in the holds of the great steamers, twenty-five bunched together, tied with a vegetable fibre and wrapped in moss. They are thus delivered to the florists, and then transfered to the forcing house. Hi five or six weeks from the time when the meaningless looking pips have left their native German soil the exquisite spray of drooping white bells, and the sheaf of green leaves is adorning the jacket of some young woman as she trips down Broadway. When the pips are first planted in sand they must be placed over steam pipes for the sake of the bottom heat, and kept continuously in a high temperature until the blossom is pretty well advanced. They are then removed from the pipes in order that the time of blooming may be prolonged. They are ordinarily planted in rough, shallow pine boxes, and spray after spray is clipped off as it is needed for bouquets, or roots and all are transferred in clumps for potting. The plants in the original pine boxes are much less attractive than the blossom when made into a bouquet. Many thousands of these lilies are cultivated in the open air. They may be set out just as they arrive from Germany at almost any time of year, and they resist frost with perfect hardiness. The out-door lilies bloom in the spring, and continue the season for the florists after the crop of the forcing houses has been exhausted. When these out door bloomers are exhausted, the florists have another resource in reserve. Thousands of lily pips, on arriving from Germany, are at once placed in cold storage, and kept there at a low temperature for weeks or perhaps for months. The development of the plants is thus arrested, and some weeks before the time when the outdoor bloomers will have been exhausted, part of the pips on cold storage are brought forth and either forced indoors or permitted to develop normally in the open air. In this way the season is further extended. Florists find that the lily of the valley is most difficult to manage for autumn flowering. The period of development is then at least twenty days, and the flowers are upon the whole less satisfactory than in winter and spring. Beautiful as the flower is it is not expensive. The pips may be bought at retail in November at from 30 to 40 cents per dozen, or about $1.50 per hundred. The price to the importers is far below this, and the rate to florists is such that there is a handsome profit in the plants when the cut flowers retail as low as five cents per spray. As each pip produces only one set of blossoms and the percentage of loss is reasonably uniform, florists know pretty well what to count on in forcing the lily of the valley.—[New York Sun.

Arithomaniacs.

An arithomaniac is a man who has a strange idiosyncracy for some one of the nine numerals, and is impelled by a power beyond the control of his will to cause that particular figure to play a part in every transaction of his life. Boswell says that Dr. Johnson was so afflicted and that hiS idiosyncracy was to touch with his hand every third pillar or post he came across. The affliction or habit, or whatever you choose, is rare. It formed a topic for discussion last night in the Broadway Central Hfetel, by a group of commercial travelers with Henri Durand, of Montreal, as the interesting center. Mr. Durand, who was inclined to be facetious, says that the figure two is constantly in his mind’s eye, and that, try as he will, it keeps before him in everything he undertakes or performs. It has been that way since I was a child,” said he, “and as long as I can remember. The figure two or one of its multiples must always be connected wtth everything I do. It is difficult for me to convey my meaning clearly, when I make such a broad assertion, but perhaps you will understand me when I say that I am always impelled to take a room in a hotel whose number contains the figure two. I always want two pitchers of ice water; I eat two meals a day; I order my dishes two at a time; I invariably comb and brush my hair with two combs and two brushes; I wear two suits of underclothing; every day of my life I wear two hats, one in the morning, one in the afternoon ; two collars, two sets of cuffs, two pair of shoes; take two seats at the theatre, whether alone or accompanied ; I always buy two trunks; two valises are my constant companions—in fact, I do not know of anything in the ordinary affairs of life that I am not impelled to calculate on two in the concrete or abstract.” “Do you always sleep in two beds at once?” asked one of the party. Mr. Durand was silent for a moment. Then he said: “Thesedoubts are too, too bad. Let’s adjourn.”— [New York Mail and Express.

A singular disease is epidemic in Southwestern Ohio and Southeastern Indiana. It appears to be a fever of the glands of the body, and is extremely annoying. The disease appears to be contagious, and it is a singular fact that the patient improves after a sharp wind blows. Those afflicted are compelled to take to their beds. Missouri has a most remarkable phenomenon in Ray York, eleven years old, whose eloquent preaching has been stirring up the dry bones during a revival at Warrensburg, in that State. Ray preaches in knee breeches.

TARAHUMARI INDIANS.

A Tribe in Mexico Whose Members Profess Christianity. At the recent annual meeting of the American Geographical Society Mr. Carl Lumholtz delivered an address detailing his observations among the Tarahumari Indians, among whom he has spent most of the last three years in the arid plains of Northwestern Mexico. For the most part the Tarahumari, who number about 80,000, are Christian in profession, although much tainted with prehistoric superstitions and practices, and now surely lapsing into heathenism. Mr. Lumholtz found the Tarahumari unyieldingly opposed to the use of the camera on them or their belongings, until a fortunate day arrived, when his photographing was followed by a much needed rain. Ever after the use of the “rainmaker,” as the camera then came to be known, was sought as a favor. The numerous caves which are the product of erosion and percolation in a sandstone country are used as temCorary habitations by these people, ut their improvement seldom extends beyond building a low wall in front of the cave’s mouth, or the hanging of one or two blanket partitions. The dull, undeveloped nervous system of the semisavages was well illustrated by an experiment’ made on a sleeping child of six years. Six hairs suddenly pulled from its head produced no visible effect, and twentythree torn out at one pull simply caused a momentary head-scratching, but did not wake the sleeper. Unlike most tropical Indians, heat does not troubje them. Bates, Darwin and others have pointed out how unfitted the Indian found in tropical America is for withstanding the fierce noonday heat, as a proof that he is not to the manor born; but Lumboltz found the Tarahumari entirely unmindful to the most excessive heat, the noonday siesta not being a desideratum among them, and their youngest babies often being left for hours exposed to the full and fierce action of the summer sun. This they do that the “sun god” may recognize his offspring and give it long life. And to further prevent his failure to recognize the infant, it is not washed for one year after birth. The Tarahumari may be said to belong to the Koch-Pasteur school of medicine, as they are firm believers in the bacterian origin of ail diseases. There bacteria, however, take on such gross forms as lizards in the stomach, frogs in the lungs and snakes in the circulation, the charming away of which their medicine men find a very profitable occupation. In endurance these Indians would seem to rival any other people. A letter carrier has been known to cover 800 miles in five days over devious trails and under a burning sun, and they derive their tribal name, Tarahumari—“run counters” —from their fondness for extensive foot contests, of which careful account is kept by a simple system of stone counters.

A GENEROUS SACRIFICE.

A New York Doctor Gives His Blood For a Patient. The layman’s invariable test of surgery is implied in his question, “Did the patient get well?” If the answer is negative, he doesn’t care for the operation. The doctor’s views are not so prejudiced. He knows surgery when he sees it, and recognize* the merit of it, when it has merit, without regard to idiosyncrasies of the patient. When the doctor says that the operation was entirely successful, but the patient died, the layman usually says nothing, but looks despondent. But even a layman can understand the success of that operation the other day at the Long Island College Hospital, whereby the blood of Dr. Franklin Kemp was run into the veins of Kate Pomphrey. Kate Pomphrey had been found almost asphyxiated with gas, and was dying. Dr. Kemp, the house surgeon at the hospital, proposed to try transfusion of blood, and offered to contribute the blood. The operation was done before two hundred students in the operating-room of the hospital, and though mischances delayed its success and a lot of good blood was wasted, through the efforts of two surgeons, and largely through Dr. Kemp’s own pluck and persistence, it was presently made to work right, and for five minutes blood did run through a tube out of his veins and into hers. The effect was immediate. The woman, who had been black in the face and very near death, revived at once,and though she died twenty-four hours later of other complications (Bright’s disease), it remains clear chat her life was saved for the time being by Dr. Kemp’s loan of a share of his own abundant vitality. Dr. Kemp’s prompt and generous benevolence is highly praised, and rightly; nevertheless, I think that far more than most of us realize it runs in human blood to shed itself for humanity when the occasion calls. I suspect that there is a little parcel of heroism put up with almost every new soul, wich survives the crowding of ordinary petty selfishness, and is rarely eliminated altogether, except by years of calculating porcinity. It is strong stuff, and curiously capable of sudden expansion, so that as long as any of it is left, there is always a risk that it will swell out all in an unexpected moment, crowd calculation to the wall, and boss the job in hand.—[Harper’s Weekly.

Long Distance Firing.

A series of tests was recently made at Shoeburyness for the purpose of investigating the conditions attending firing at very long ranges. The weight of the gun used was twentytwo tons, and that of the projectile 380 pounds, which, fired with a charge of 270 pounds, gave a muzzle velocity of 2,360 foot-seconds. The elevation of the first round was 40 degrees. The projectile fell at a range of about 21,000 yards, or nearly twelve miles. A shot at 45 degrees elevation gave a range of 21,600 yards, or about 12.4 miles. The projectiles remained in the air about 66.4 seconds, and its trajectory reached a height of 17,000 feet, or about 2,000 feet higher than the summit of ML. Blmxc.—[New York Telegram.