Democratic Sentinel, Volume 20, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 March 1896 — Page 5

CHAPTER IV. - About this time an incident occurred •f which I can speak freely, for I witnessed it. Have I said that for years my favorite walk ran past Tumbledown Farm? One evening I had strolled gently there, and before I turned my steps homeward it was quite dark. Just as I approached the garden gate 1 saw a woman in a lightcolored dress come up the hill, and immediately I heard a strong, harsh voice say: “Is that you. Vanity?” “Yes,” replied another voice, which 1 recognized. Walking as I was on the grass at the side of the road, my movements were noiseless, and the deep shadow of the hedge must have quite hidden me from view. My next step brought me close to the garden gate, and here I could see a tall man beating the ground with his walking stick in a violent way. “Late again!” he said, more severely than before. “Night after night you go wandering off, why or where I can’t imagine. Do you know the hour?” “Know the hour? Not I!” Vanity replied, In a tone thinly disguised by affected gaiety. “Time passes quickly.” “When you are not with me, you mean,” replied the tall man. “You selfish, willful jade!” “Don’t be cross,” interposed Vanity. The white figure drew close to the tall dark figure, and, as well as I could see, she laid her head against his shoulder. He pushed her jiff, with a savage oath, and I saw him stalking back to the house. In went the great strong form, after followed Vanity’s slow white figure; bang went the door, and somehow through the crash I thought I heard a cry of pain or fear. You may be sure I turned this incident over in my mind a good many times; and though I made nothing, out of it, I resolved to tell Willie what I had seen. It was clear that at present the old father was not the only inmate of Tumbledown Farm; for though I could not discern any feature, the form of this stranger was that of a great able-bodied man. Was he a visitor only? Why, then, should he charge her with being late night after night? And how should a visitor speak to her in so violent a manner? Was he a brother? Was h'e a husband? One thing was clear to my mind: Willie did not know about his sweetheart all- that was necessary to be known by a lover. I resolved to start him on the track of inquiry; and it happened, curiously enough, that soon after he came to me to talk over his love affairs, which had come to a crisis. They had arranged a new meeting place —a little swinging gate, which you may see even now standing at the corner of the plantation. So far they kept up a

pretense of accident in these encounters; and sunset after sunset found them at * this swinging gate, ready to stroll off different ways, if need arose. At last, one Saturday night, Willie resolved to speak his mind. Vanity was leaning upon the gate, swinging herself to and .fro. fitting her white finger-tips into the blossoms of a long stalk of foxglove. A painter might have chosen her as a model of a temptress. “Vanity,” said he a* last, and felt that this was a great stride to make in a breath. “What is it?” she asked studying the pink thimble of foxgloves with the most alluring carelessness. “Have you any news to tell'me?” “What a white hand!” cried Willie, feeling more himself all of a sudden. “A pretty—little—white—hand!” “There are no rings to set it off,” Vanity said, looking at her hand with a pout. Then her face rippled into a smile and a laugh. “Cover your hand with diamonds, cover it until every finger carries a fortune,” he cried, “and the hand would not look so beautiful as now. Vanity, dear Vanity!” “Yes,” she said. “What have you got to say to Vanity—dear Vanity?” She raised her eyes, so that the last beam of sunlight touched them and irradiated. their dangerous brilliancy. “May I? may I?” Willie trembled at his own daring, yet he lifted the hand to his lips while he thus asked leave to kiss it. Vanity burst out laughing. “May I! may I! Of course you may!” she cried. “Dear timid lad! Look here!” Light as a flying bird, and as graceful, she touched his cheeks with her lips, skimming away after a pressure which would have scarcely hurt a butterfly’s wing. But her breath was on him. and her brilliant laughing eyes were sparkling close to him. Delight—delight with pain in it —shot through Willie’s heart. “Can I pass now?” demanded an imperious voice behind him, with marked emphasis. “If it will not be inconvenient!” Willie looked round. There stood Nancy Steele! Neither of the lovers had noticed her approach, for she had a light, swift step, and got over the ground ly“ls that you, Willie?” said Nancy, speaking now in her most agreeable voice. “I did not see your face. What a pleasant evening!” and passed by, showing to him no vexation whatever, nor even manifesting any curiosity. “Who is that?” Vanity asked, disdainfully. “Where does she come from? At least, where did*her bonnet come from?” “She is only a girl I know,” Willie replied, hardly able to speak for confusion. “Nothing more, I assure you.” Courting was over for that evening. ‘ Willie felt dashed by the sudden appearance of Nancy. Vanity, too, assumed an expression new to her —half angry, half reflective; and there was a coldness in their parting such as might have signified that their commencing tenderness was ready to vanish. What thoughts were in Miss Vanity’s mind’ I cannot conjecture. As fqr Master Will, I know he went downhill hanging his head, repulsed, baffled, foolish, ready to abandon this pretty Vanity, ask Nancy’s forgiveness, marry her, and live like a respectable man. CHAPTER V. Heavy was Willie’s heart that night. He was ashamed of himself, and dreaded the thought of meeting Nancy Steele, but events hurried him forward. Next morning when on his way to his place of business, he saw Nancy at a distance coming toward him. She held her hand out in a friendly way. "That was your Cousin Alice I saw with you last night, I suppose?” said Nancy, with a face of perfect gayety. “Certainly not.” Willie replied. “What

made you think of her?” “I felt certain she must be a near relation when I saw her kissing you.” Then she went on: “How many such kissing acquaintances have you got, Willie?” “Well, you see, Nancy ” Willie began. “I saw,” said Nancy, laughing still. “I had rather not have seen it, Willie.” Now she looked sad. “Never mind.” she cried, with a smile, and a sigh, passing on: “I tell no tales.” That night Willie came to me and laid the whole case before me. “Tell me candidly, doctor,” he said, “what I ought to do.” "Y'ou ought never to speak to Miss Vanity Hardware again; nor to see her, if you can help it. I have a suspicion that this Miss Vanity Hardware has a secret to keep,” said I, resolved to tell him all I knew. “Have you ever seen a wedding ring on her finger?” “What?” cried Willie, leaping up as if a bullet had gone' through him. “I brieve your sweetheart. Miss Vanity Hardware, is a married woman,” 1 went on. “Mrs. Vanity Somebody, as sure as my name is John Book. Don’t hold up your hand. Will, nor lift your voice, nor speak one word. I have seen that woman's husband," and I related to him the scene I had witnessed a few evenings before. “It is surprising—very surprising,” said he, like a man trying to disbelieve what he knows must be true. “But this stratiger may not be a husband after all, dotdor.” “Quite true; he may not be a husband; let us hope he is,” I replied, determined to give him my whole mind. “Ohs Will, she will make a fool of you. She was born to deceive hearts like yours.” Uphill he hastened with a beating heart. Somehow, as he drew nearer to the spots where he and Vanity used to meet the girl seemed to renew her enchantments. If she had any deep hidden trouble might not he be her friend and comforter? lie was pondering that question in a warm transport, when he saw Vanity standing before hint. “I am glad to see you this evening,” she said, with a serious air. “Thank God you are here, Willie!” “Why are you so glad?” he asked. “I have something to say to you, Willie,” she murmured. “Something very serious.” Her voice was not the voice of love. Sad, timorous, full of foreboding, intimating a dark uncertain future. Willie stopped her. “And I have something to say to you! Let me speak first!” She raised her eyes, and read in his face what was coming. For a moment she seemed irresolute, not knowing whether to speak or be silent; and he seized his opportunity. He drew her to his side, and in a few low words told her how much he loved her.

She could restrain herself no longer. A soh, which appalled her lover, broke from her ashy lips. For another moment she struggled with irresistible grief; then all her frame shook with crying, and she buried her face in her hands. “.Oh, Willie! my heart is breaking tonight! Breaking—breaking! forever broken!” Awe-struek, aud scarcely knowing what he did, Willie took her hand in his. But she cast him off imperiously, and drew away from him. as if there must he a space between them. “It is hopeless, Willie—rliopeless,” she cried. "1 love you—more, far more than you love me. But you can never marry me.” Willie remembered the story of the stranger, and his heart died within him. “Vanity.” lie asked, with a faltering tongue, “are you—married?” “Married!” she exclaimed, her excitement arrested by sheer surprise. “What made you think of such a thing?" She spoke as with indignation, but the tone was music in Willie’s ears. “If you are free,” he said joyfully, “if you can return my love, nothing else shall stand between us.” “Is marriage the only bar that can come between us?” she asked. “I know of no other,” Willie answered, wondering aud fearing. Then, with gathering boldness, he cried, "I fear no other!” “Poor boy,” she answered, shaking her head. "We have lived in different worlds. Listen!”—her voice became low and deep—“there runs between you aud me (like that stream) something which must divide us forever. It is red as blood, hot as tire, cruel as death. 1 love you, Willie. Who could help it? I might havo lived for you. God knows, this moment, I could die for you! But you must see me no more. There is something better in store for you than my love. Good-by! If you love me—if you pity me—let me go alone!” He watched her ns, with rapid steps, she hurried across the field to their own little gate; it swung back as she went through, and when she turned into the plantaitno, he saw her bury her face in her hands! Upon the peaceful evening air another heart-broken sob was borne, like the last cry of one drowning in some quiet cruel sea; and then she disappeared.

CHAPTER VI. Vanity was gone. Willie Snow was struggling with a rush of feeling, violent and turbid, like a mill race; and yet he weighed his sweetheart in the balance more carefully than he could have weighed her in Ill's quietest mood. In common conversation she was frivolous and malapert; against this fault he put the tremulous earnestness of her voice in this last supreme moment. “Vanity loves me!" quoth the deluded boy. “That much is sure. Vanity loves me —loves me—loves me tenderly!” After their parting at the brook ten days elapsed without his seeiug her again. Meanwhile, by every honorable means he tried to learn something about her and her father, but when the information he picked up was put together with that which I had learned myself elsewhere, we remained as much in the dark as ever. The Hardwares kept no regular servant. An old charwoman was engaged to do the housework and the cooking, coming in at seven in the morning and leaving punctually at one. At five she returned, and did such further turns as were needful; and at eight she left for the night. Of old Mr. Hardware this woman saw little or nothing. He never came down to brenkfast, and he would not suffer her to enter any room where he might happen to be. Cross-examined, the old lady declared that so visitor aver oa.me near the house.

Concerning the strange man whom I hat seen with Miss Hardware, she alleged that she knew nothing of him. It wu impossible he could be so often at the farm without her knowledge. Was'the old geutlemau & Kind father? She dared say; it was all coughing, and wheezing and groaning morning, noon and night. Did the old gentleman drink? Poor old soul! not a drop—lived on gruel and dry toast. At last the lovers met again. One evening, as Willie looked, with scarcely hopeful eyes, across their favorite field, he saw Vanity standing at the gate, waiting. as she had so often waited before. She was gazing pensively at the distant ltills, and did not see Willie until he was at her side. “What brings you here this evening?" he asked. “Fate!” she answered in a composed voice, as if she had prepared the reply a week before. “The last time we met you said loved me—did you not?" “i did.” “Vanity,” Willie cried, “I want nothing more in all the world!” She looked up. “Yes, one thing more!” he cried; “you love me —you are not married; yet you cannot marry me! What can the reason be? I have it!” he cried. "Y'ou have promised to marry some one else.” “I have not.” “Then why may we not marry?” “You must ask me no more. If I let my liking for you grow into love,” she went on. in a low voice, “I would love you till I died. You would take me out of myself, and hold me as your own. Do what you would, be what you would, I could never take back the heart I had given.” "Well. Vanity, what then?” "You could never love me so." "I should not. What do you mean?” said Willie. “If you knew that there was a fact in my life—an ineffaceable fact—which would leave me open to sudden shame; something that children ought never to know about a mother, that friends ought never to know about a friend, that a husband ought never to know about his wife, uuless he loved her with a love that was unquenchable—what then?” "I don't quite understand you,” Willie replied, hesitating. "My love is unquenchable.” "If all that were true of me, would you slill say that nothing in the world could alter your love'.'” “Y-e-s,” answered Willie slowly. “I believe so." Then, after a pause, he added, "Of course, it would be nothing really disgraceful.” Vanity rose with a sad smile. She touched him on the cheek. She seemed the eider and the stronger of the two. "Listen,” she answered, in a tone that sunk into his very soul. "If you had been brought up all your life amongst people who were some thoughtless, some vicious, some selfish, until you hardly knew that there was such a thing as goodness; and if, all of a sudden, you saw somebody who drew forth a pure and noble love, which flowed out for you like a delicious stream, promising to gladden a hard, scorched life; and if, just as you were going to drink, something told that you had no right to that love —Willie! Willie!” she cried, starting up wildly—“if the veil were torn off me, you would hate me! Go, and let me go! Tell nobody what 1 have said; ' let it be a secret between you and myself forever. Don’t write to me—as you value my life, don’t write to uie! O, Willie, Willie, my heart is broken!” “You are nervous and excited,” he said, soothingly. "You must be distressiiig yourself without reason. Are we to part in this way?” “We are,” she replied, grown more composed. "I have been foolish, and I must pay the penalty. Forget rhe, Willie, forget all about me! Remember me only as a boy rememberariiis first love.” “Am I never to see you again?” “Never, except at this gate,” said Vanity decisively; “and never unless you find me here, without asking me to com *’ (To be coutinued.)

WOULDN’T PAY FOR EARS.

A Company Draws the Line at Frozen Aural Appendages. He had one side of his head bandaged when he entered the office of the railroad company and approached ouo of the clerks, says a Chicago exchange. “Say,” he said confidentially, as he leaned over the desk, "how much is a frozen ear worth?” “A wliat?” exclaimed the clerk. “A frozen ear,” repeated the stranger. “I can show you the loveliest frozen ears you ever saw.” "But it’s of no use to me,” protested the elerk. "Of course uot,” replied the stranger; “but how about the company? How much docs it generally pay for them?” “Not a cent,” answered the clerk In desperation. “Do you think this Is a medical college?” "No, I don’t,” retorted the stranger, angrily. “I think It’s a railroad office, where they pay damages for broken legs and such things as that.” “They do that only when they’re at fault” said the clerk. “Well, they're at fault In this case,” returned the stranger. “Did you think I wanted them to buy it for curiosity? Did you have some sort of an Idea that I froze this ear so as to sell it for a mantel ornament? I froze it waiting for a train at one of the company’s stations.” "Why didn't you stay in the waiting room?” "There wasn’t any waiting room, and that’s what I’m kicking about. It was one of the suburban stations where they haven’t anything but a platform, some ice and a north wind. Now, can you tell me what the ear is worth?” “Not a cent,” replied the clerk promptly. “You are guilty of contributory negligence in exposing yourself. You should have walked to the next station aud waited there.”

Boy Train Wreckers.

An epidemic of train wrecking seems to have broken out among the boys of the Eastern States. One day last week a New York policeman saw a gang of about ten young boys In Douglas street They went directly to the Brighton Beach railroad cut. Then they scaled the bill and began rolling down rocks. When the stones reached the raih-oad tracks the boys arranged them carefully on the tracks iu a solid pile aud then braced them on each side with nails and sticks of wood. Next they placed an oil can on the top of the pile. The policeman chased them and followed Thomas Plunkltt, aged 16, to his home. /The next day he obtained a warrant for the boy's arrest. In court Plunkltt swore be did not mean to wreck a train, and ns the policeman’s testimony was uncorroborated, Justice Steers discharged the boy with a reprimand. The corporation of Mayence will celebrate the five hundredth anniversary of the birth of John Gutenberg in 188 Z.

FARM AND GARDEN NOTES.

ITEMS OF TIMELY INTEREST TO THE FARMER. Hens Must Scratch for a Living—Does Silage Injure Milk and Butter?—Canned , Meat for Summer. HENS MUJST SCRATCH FOR A LIVING. Of course it is possible to overdo the care of poultry, just as it is possible to overpet a child; but that is uot what is troubling the hen on the American farm. Still, site must earn her living —not only pay for it. but earn it while she gets it; in other words, even though you feed her. let her scratch for it. She needs exercise, the same as does a horse, or your hoy or yourself.—Home aud Farm. DOES SILAGE INJURE MILK AND BUTTER? It is quite certain that the milk condensers refuse to take milk from silaged cows, and some consumers of butter object to a peculiar flavor of butter made from this foo#. But the kiud of silage has much to <fo with this character of the milk. If the silage is sour or moldy, there cntr be no question of its tin tit u css for milking cows. For milk is sure to be contaminated by any unnatural flavor or odor in the food, as is so well known in regard to pi rite in pastures. Hut if one lms a special market for any product, it is wise to consult the requirements of it, and it Is very certain that good grass or clover pasture, or the feeding of fresh soiling crops in the summer and good liny aud •roots in winter, will always make unobjectionable milk and butter, so that it will be wise to avoid any cause of complaint by one’s customers, and supply just what they desire, and not try to opiiose them. That silage-made butter is not so well-flavored as other kinds is well known by experts, stud the difference of market value is some cents a pound; this difference will more than counterbalance toe advantage of feeding silage.—New York Times.

CANNED MEATS FOR SUMMER.

Farmers usually have a plentiful supply of fresh meat in winter when the weather is cold, and by freezing the meat can be kept sometimes for weeks without being injured. But in summer it Is different, and the ration of salt pork or corned beef is apt to become tiresome. It is a surprise that some of the fresh meat butchered in winter is not canned, as it may easily be. Cut it in small pieces without any bone, and cook so thoroughly as to expel all air. Then place it quickly in glass jars that have been slowly heated until they arc nearly as hoi as the cooked food. If this is done and the cans are immersed except their tops in hot water, the glass will not break. Pack the meat as closely as possible In the can, and when tilled cover the top with melted lard and seal the can. The lin'd will protect the meat beneath it from any air that may lie under the lid of Ihe can, and which may have ferment germs. A few cans of fresh meat for use in summer will be quite as convenient as the cans of fruit and vegetables which all good housewives now put up ever summer and fall in greatest abundance. Fresh fruit in the summer is more easy to get in the country than is fresh meat of any kind. -Boston Cultivator.

CARE OF WEAK FIGS. Every spring on the farm there are certain pigs- either not endowed with a fair share of physical vigor, or too numerous brothel's and sisters crowd them aside. They grow weaker and weaker and die, or they become miserable stunted creatures, giving neither pleasure nor profit to the owner. Whether it pays to try to save these weaks pigs depends on the comparative price of corn aud pork. If it will not pay, they should be put out of the way at once, yet many a pig Is killed or neglected that is well worth the little trouble needed to give it a fair start with its mates. The most frequent method of caring for runts is to turn them over to wife or daughter for pets; but a liand-i-alsed pig requires a great deal of care, to say nothing of the chances against its living, when put entirely on artificial food. Try the following plan onee and see if It Is not an Improvement on the “pet pig.” Wlint farmer’s wife isn’t enough interested in the stock to Inspect every new litter of pigs, even if they are of daily occurrence! And she can readily detect the one that is imposed upon by all the rest. Now. suppose she brings a cup of boiled milk aud a spoon, and slips it iuto the pig’s mouth a little at a time (of course the mother pigs are tame, or ought to be); a meal or two a day will help matters wonderfully, and there is not an entire change of food or lack of needed warmth. The weak pig will soon he able to hold Its owu. and it will be by chance if some other pig does not take Its place and need the food. Sometimes the entire litter needs feeding if it is large and the mother young. This is easily done by shutting the sow away from them until the pigs are hungry, then with n pan of milk—always boiled—and a spoon, -feed them. It is awkward work at first, but eaeli one will get a little. Rej>eaf twice a day, and in a week the little fellows will need no shutting up, but will tumble over each other iu their haste to get to the pan.—New England Homestead.

ASPARAGUS IN WINTER. Forcing asparagus for winter use is a very simple trick, and it is surprising bow little of this favorite vegetable Is grown in winter, considering how easily and cheaply it may be grown, writes Gerald Howatt, jr. During Hie winter of 1894-95 we had a constant supply of asparagus from Christmas until spring, grown as follows: The roots (from a strong nine-year-old bud) were allowed to remain in the ground until thoroughly ripened by the frost, and then dug up, great care being taken to get all the large roots, and not break or mutilate them, and not expose them to the air any length of time, as this would injure them very much. Then they are packed In dry soil In an outbuilding, where the temperature would be uniformly cool and even, and from this supply we took our roots,

In number a* required, to the forcing pits, placing the root* or dumps under the heuclie* or tables, where the growing shoots would get but little light. As each dump was put in all the long, coarse roots were ripened out. and good garden soil carefully sifted iu with the hands until the spaces were compactly titled; then the next one was put In, and so on until the plautiug was finished; then about three inches of soil was put over 'all, aud a thorough soaking of liquid manure given. At the eud of ten days we got the first cutting, and gave the bed another soaking of liquid manure. Two weeks later another bed was made to succeed the first one, and after that we made the plautings one mouth apart, and we found that each bed would last about that time. Our I test results were obtained iu a temperature of 45 degrees'to 50 degrees; altove that the shoots were weak and spindling, and the plants soon exhausted. 1 should say that the same results may be attained by using the corners of a moderately warm cellar, or liy putting the roots iu boxes that could be placed any where a 1 tout the house or bursts. Any one having an old asparagus bed can well afford the time required and simre a few of the old roots to make the trial, aud enjoy a great treat in midwinter. Rhubarb may be grown iu precisely the same way, with no more trouble. — Country Gentleman.

RAISING ARTICHOKES TOR STOCK FOOD. A few years ago I planted for the lirst time a peck of improved White French artichokes, merely as an experiment. says ,1. H. Van Ness. Front tills peek of seed I raised about 100 bushels of fine tubers. Part of these I fed to hogs, which fattened readily upon them. Before butchering, however, the hogs were fed a few bushels of corn as a finishing feed. The hogs were thus got ready for market at a very small cost. The following year I raised 1100 bushels of tubers, which were fed as before, with results equally as satisfactory. In addition to feeding theut to hogs, 1 also gave some to colts. In a short time I found that the artichoke was au excellent feed for horses. Milch cows ate them readily, and the How of milk was largely increased. The results of the first two years were so favorable that I have grown them extensively each season since. Last year I raised nearly 1,800 bushels. About half of the crop was dug and is now buried. The remaining half 1 left in the ground for spring planting and feeding. As yet, no Insect, blight or rust has affected the plant, and dry weather seems to be hut slightly detrlI mental to its development. 1 believe [ the artichoke has come to stay. I)urI lag the past five years drouth has been frequent iu tills Slate, but my artichoke crop has yielded me as high as <IOO bushels per acre during that time. The best soli for artichokes is low ground, which is of little value ns a cornfield because of lute frosts. Lind, therefore, which has hitherto been worthless except for hay. may lie utilized for growing artichokes, as frost does not hurt them. Prepare I lie seed ,tlie same as potatoes, cutting to one eye, and plant iu rows three feet apart and 18 inches apart jn the rows. Cultivate us for corn. The met hods of harvesting are varied. They can he dug late in the fall, and placed In a cool, dark cellar or buried, or they may lie left in the ground all winter. A good pin n is to turn the lings Into the field and lot them do their own digging. They will live and be In the best possible condition, and not need a pound of grain fetal. If the ground Is not frozen they will root out all winter, until the tubers become soft in May or June. The tops look something like the common sunflower, aud grow about six feet high. If cut while green, a good fodder Is obtained, which horses cat. about as well as hay. This feed wiih thoroughly tested the present season because of the scarcity of hay. Thousands of acres of tops were harvested and fed. It Is stated that the fattening qualities of artichokes are about the same as those of potatoes. Many people are afraid to plant artichokes'because they think it lmposilile to get rid of them after once olitaiuing a foothold In the soli. 'l'lils Is a false Idea. I The artichoke, like the potato, grows from an eye. Of course it is impossible to dig every one. A tuber left In the ground will sprout aud grow the next spring. All I do to get rid of them Is • to follow the artichokes with any other cultivated crop, and see that none of the plants mature, or turn the whole field under when the artichokes ure a foot high. The old tubers have decoyed by this time, and the new ones are not sufficiently matured to grow,-Ameri-can Agriculturist.

The Legislator's Mistake.

A story Is told down East of n comical old fellow who wus elect»ml to the Legislature a decade or more ago. He had never before (tone further away from home than Bangor, and so the Capital city was a perfect terra incognita to him. Arriving there he rather excitedly inquired of the station loungers where the State House was, and for a joke was told to “go over Kennebec bridge and turn to the right at the top of the hill,” and he’d know the big building when lie came to it. This of course, brought him after a long walk to the Imposing front entrance of the Insane Hospital. Here he rapped lustily until some one opened the door and asked what was wanted# “I suppose i’m entitled to a seat, in here somewheres,” he said, and It was a full half hour before they got matters straightened out so as to be satisfied* that l*e wasn’t a really, truly crazy man.—Lewiston (Me.) Journal.

Canine- Dudes of Paris.

Paris, the acknowledged center of fashion, can even boast of Its dog-tai-lors. A fin-de-siecle Parisian dog must have toilets for receptions, for racemeetings and for the seaside, and even pockets for it railway ticket. On wet days its feet are carefully protected by India rubber shoes. On the occasion of a recent fashionable wedding the animal joined in the bridal procession, being led with silken ribbons by gaily-at-tired pages. A fashionable dog-tailor made the costumes, which matched the servants' liveries. The quadrupeds are bedecked with white satin and lace and garlanded with orange blossoms. The Parisian canine “upper ten" are, in truth, very “gay dogs!”

The Czar’s Coronation.

The coronation of the Czar at Moscow text June is, if all one hears of it be true. » outvie in spleudor any “previous pageant >f the kind. The London Road offers a nirious contribution to tl»e descriptions in tdvapee. It gives an elaborate account if that will be used in the mperiol procession. The state horses, ae learn, are white, and of such color will be those harnessed to the carriage of .lie Czarina. Of all the carriages which will figure in the coronation procession—modern and ancient, witii their beautiful jaintings by Boucher, by Gravelot. by Watteau, forming a collection not to be *een in any other part of the world—none s more artistic, more beautiful, or so ricU n appearance as the two-seated carriage tl»e Czarina will be driven in. The Czar will be on horseback, as also the Grand Dukes. The royal vehicle, without doubt, ta the richest thing in the coaciimaker's »rt ever turned out. being of the heaviest gold repousse, the back |«tnel beautifully painted, and on the panel of the door the louble-beaded Russian eagle of large size in diamonds. Two genflcnieti of the court, high personages, walk behind, enacting the part of lackeys of honor; and in the small seat just behind the coachman, and facing (he Czarina, will lie seated two pages, especially chosen from the historical corps des )wtge4 de la t our, whose members are selected front the highest ranks of Russian society

Sound Teeth for Mail Clerks.

Most of tlx- postal clerks in the smaller offices in England are women, t audiJates must pass an examination. One of tlie regulations, according to a I’aris paper, is that, no one shall be employed who lias not absolutely sound teeth, no matter how fit in other ways for the post. The reason for this regulation is shrouded in mystery. To comply with this rule an English woman the other day exhibited a strange heroism. Having passed the other tests, the dentist reported against the condition of her teeth, his affidavit stating that two of her molars were quite hollow and that twelve others were in various stages of decay. Without hesitation the fair candidate hurried to the nearest dentist’s shop and at a single Siting had extracted tlie fourteen teeth that threatened to terminate her official career before it had fairly begun. Armed with a fresh certificate testifying that her remaining teeth were sound and in good condition, she again applied for employment and was appointed.

In the Moon.

In tlie opinion of Proiesnr Asaph Hail, as recently expressed, the problem of the physical constitution of the moon is one that yet remains to lie solved, of the “craters," scattered nil over her surface, the volcanic theory of formation fails, lie thinks, to be satisfactory. Another notion to which lie refers is that, ages ago, tlie moon was surrounded by swarms of “moonlets," which erentually were precipitated upon the moon’s surface, forming the craters now seen. Tims, t-lie Mure Imbriuru was created by the impact of » huge nioonlet, ninety miles in diameter, which, in striking, was raised to such a high temperature as to melt its substance. An immense hole or “crater" tael tig formed where It struck, the molten material of the nioonlet spread in every direction for a vast distance, partly filling up other erators; fragments flew to distances . f a thousand miles, scoring out deep furrows, one of tlie latter, as now seen, being 187 miles long, ten to twenty-five miles broad, and with it depth of 11.00(1 feet.

The Length of Coats.

It s quite a remarkable fuel that by the rule of contraries the fashions ill length of coats vary inversely, according to the condition of times. In other words, when times are worse the stern rulers of fashion have insisted upon long coats, which take most cloth and cost most, whereas when times are good and people, can better afford expense, the shortest coats Imve been stylish. As times arc grit dually recovering, the length of coats seem to lie diminishing, ami when we see twenty, nine-ineb sucks worn again we will know that prosperity has returned to the land. A wiig has suggested that the desire to cover up patches in tlie seat of pantaloons has made long coats popular in hard times, but we can hardly believe the fashion kings to be so considerate. .Suffice it to say tor the present that we expect inoderately prosperous times and moderately shorter coats.

Four Bullets in His Body.

Hahut de picaro—that is, t lie health of a rogue—has passed into a proverb, and it is exemplified in the case of u man the Herald mentioned several weeks ago. He was condemned to death in (Inunajunto for stealing a can of petroleum, unit wus actually led out and shot, three bullets penetrating his body, and the coup de grace was then given him just to make sure, fortunately for him with a pistol and not a rifle. When the tiring squad marched off the fellow got up an 1 ran away with all that lead about his person! He came to Mexico, and is at tlie Han Pablo Hospital, where lie stands an excellent chance of geltiug well. Naturally, be strenuously objects to returning to Guanajuato, as bis constitution might not stand another such a strain. And it does not seem fair to shoot a man after he Is legally dead for so small a matter us a can of oil.

How Wind Delays the Cars.

Trainmen say it is not the “head-on" winds that delay the cars, as the engine presents a small portion of itself to it, and, breaking through, the train can be easily pulled along after it. But when the wind strikes tiie train at an angle of forty-five degrees the trouble begins. The wind uses the whole side surface as a leverage and gives the engineer lots of trouble. The cars sway over to one side and are dragged along with difficulty. The wind most disastrous to travel on the Consolidated road is that from the northeast. It strikes the trains cornerwise and makes the engines struggle and strain to counteract its force. This is felt especially in crossing the Connecticut river, where the wind has a full sweep, and all the New York trains are a few minutes late when the southeastern are in force

Russia’s Proposed Great Canal.

One of Russia's greatest efforts in the improvement of her Interior communications and consequent increase of domestic trade, the projected canal between the Baltic and Black Seas, which has engaged the attention of the Government for some time past, is a great undertaking. It would cost. Including the purchase of ground, about SJXI,OOO.000. and full live years would be required to complete the work. It would be practically a uuitiug of lakes, and the project is entirely feasible. The full length of canal and connecting waters is 984 miles, and the proposed depth, twenty-nine feet, with a minimum width of 220 feet on the water surface and 120 feet at the bottom.— The Manufacturer.

DEERFOOT'S RECORD.

Famous Indian Runner, Who Held the World's Record. The last Indian has not gone to the "happy hunting grounds,” but ok] Deerfoot has. Deerfoot. the most famous Indian of the last quartea of a century: rightly nanus! aud famed because of his wonderful work as a ruuner. In American history there have been s<-oivs of noted chieftain, none of them so well known, however, as Deerfoot was from the Ix-giiming of the sixties, when lie toured England and established himself as the champion pace-maker of the world. He was sixty-eight years of age. and had Ixa-n a public figure ever since lie was twenty-two. Up to a mouth ago he was In capital condition, and remarked to a Buffalo friend at that time,--as he came In. glowiug and hearty from a walk of twelve miles: “Me sixty-eight years old. but me well and can run yet." lie bad been living at Irving* n village not far from Buffalo. Two sous survive him. He was liorti on the Uattamitgus Reservation, and in boyhood was an extraordinary runner. In short races and lacrosse lie was the wonder of liis tribe, the Senecas. In tile intertribal races in Western New York forty years ago, lie was always first. He got Ills name, according to Indian tradition, because lie lmd, on one occasion ui least, outrun a deer. Western New York was wild at that time, and big game abounded on every band. His real name was Louis Beunett, but by the world lie will always be remembered as Deerfoot. Though the figures are not official, it Is said on excellent authority that he has run tlie mile In four minute*. What is kuown as the "world's record,” as the present time. Is -1 four minutes and l’_* : Vi seconds, accomplished iu 1881! by W. *G. George, of England, and never since surpassed. At t’liicago at onetime Deerfoot beat a horse running a tulle at full till. Deerfoot was ti feet In height, straight as an arrow, aud of superb physical proportions. There was not an ounce of fat about him from top to toe. Ills weight wasabout 175 pounds, aud It was all firm muscle. In Ids time lie must have made a good deal of money, though Ills estate will not amount to more tlmu .f.IMMiu. He was enormously successful at exhibitions and on tours. At twenty-two he toured Hit' country as a runner, appearing In exhibition races. New York World.

Tempering Saws.

Tempering saws is an elaborate process, and none but the best, workmen are employed. Instead of being hardened by* dipping the red-hot saw in water, a composition of whale or some other animal oil and tallow is used. Sometimes rosin, pitch or turpentine is mixed with tlie tallow and oil. The oil and tallow give the steel strength and toughness, ami the rosin, pitch or turpentine break tip the settle made liv the heat, orns it is culled, makes “the scale strike." The saw is carefully heated iu a furnace, which gives every part of the thin metul an even heat. Then the blade is dipped in the hardening mixture, and kept there until it is as coo! as the composition. When tuken from the oil and tallow mixture the oil is removed by scraping, and the blade i* further cleaned with sawdust. When the steel is bright, tlie temper is drawn. This is done in several ways; lly laying it iu a muffle until the proper color comes, by reheating the blade in a frame which stretches It so that the blade will not warp, and by healing it between dies which hold the blade flat.

The Automatic Duck.

The most remarkable mechanical contrivance over constructed was Viiucuaison's automatic duck, which was exlilblicd liefore tile Paris Institute in 17,’is. it wus of natural size, and, when set In motion by the Internal machinery moved its wings and feet, and ate a.ml drank after tile exact fashion of tin* process of digestion was actually a real living biped. Furthermore il is said Hint the process of digestion was actually carried on lu tin* stomach. The editor hereof agrees with Stowe, wlm says: "If such was lvally the case (he food must have been dissolved by i In* aid of chemicals." The old account of this Vaueansou wonder adds: "May It also lie known that this <,d‘*verly made duck coulde quack lu a mituryal voyce, and that in dryuklng it muddied the water wytli yis byll, as live ducks are known to do.”

A Philadelphia Horse Trade.

The proprietor of an uptown hotel, which Is patronized largely by the agricultural classes, has a vacant stall in Ids stable, and thereby bungs a tali?. The iHiuifaeo was very anxious to sell a horse to a friend from the country, but the latter bad some doubt as to the animal's speed. The two agreed upon a certain day for a drive in the purk. and in the meantime the hotel man bud not been idle. They were bowling along at a pace which was scarcely calculated to create any great excitement when a park guard, who had previously been "fixed," arrested the owner of the horse lor driving faster than Hie allowed tln-ee-minute gait. He willingly paid Ills fine of sr>, and his companion was so impressed by the occurrence that lie immediately purchased the horse. There are tricks in all trades.— Philadelphia Record.

“Telling the Bees.”

The curious custom of “telling the bees” is observed In parts of nearly every country in the world. When a person dies those who observe the custom go to the beehives aud tap gently on each, I hen stoop and whisper under the cap that Mary, or John, as the case may be. is dead. The superstitious beekeeper believes that if the bees hre compelled to fiud out the fact of a death for themselves, they will forsake their hives and never return.

Fish Had Human Teeth.

When fishing in a pond near East Stroudsburg. Penn.. George Pareell accidentally dislodged his false teeth and they dropped from his mouth to the bottom of the stream. A few days later, while fishing In tin 1 same place, Pareell caught an unusually large fish. When it was .cut open the missing teeth were found in the stomach of the fish. Pareell now wears the teeth as usuul.