Ligonier Banner., Volume 15, Number 26, Ligonier, Noble County, 14 October 1880 — Page 3

The Zigonier Banner. ¢ Aigonicr Hanner, < ; : * J. B. STOLL, Editor and Prop’r. LIGONIER, : 2 : . INDIANA. m e e YESTERDAY. ' ft only seems like yesterday; Why beut% this heart? 'tis over now; And those bright dreams of love and hope Arein the far-off Jong ago; Yet time hath wrought no change in me, My love is linked to yesterday. - It only seems but yestgerday; - How happily those days sped byl At evening 1 was sure to mect A sunsct smile and starlit eye; ; All those sweet smiles diedtout from me, With that sweet far-off yesterday. X 1 sometimes meet a smiling face, A kindly word of sympathy; - But what are they tomy crushed heart? - They only chain my memory . To those fond smiles tbhat cheered my way In that sweet tar-otf yesterday. I wander back to those brighy days, . . When all was one untroubied sea— My life a happy golden dream, No mazes of perplexity; . Those golden dreams have died away, With that sweet: far-oft yesterday. Ah, well! the past is over now: - o . And what therg is in store for me ; 1 do not, dare not wish to know, ' Nor penetrate tuturity, 1 know that all things work for good : :{n those who put their trust in od; = nd when [ reach yon-star-paved sky, The yesterday will be to-day.® | : g ] - —Good Words. 4 e e et v " “FIGHTING JOE.®

“ Who and what was he?"’

I was standing in the churchyard of a small town on the borders of South Staffordshire one bright Sunday afternoon in Aptil. I was a stranger in that part of the country and was passing through the place in the course of a fi)ng'walk from the larger adjacent town, to which my business haa taken me the day before.- The extensive mining operations of the last twelve or fifteen years had altered the little unpretending village materially and though the quaint old church and some long and low ’‘buildings, suggestive ‘of farms and homesteads, sti%l retained an air of rustic simplicity, they were being gradually obscured and the place itself sophisticated by the formal rows of plain and ugly tenements, built expressly for the mining population, which each yéar was becoming more and more numerous.’ .

1 had amused myself by deciphering some of the inscriptions on the gravestones— well nigh obliterated by the weather-stains and the moss that time had suftfered to find the root-hold in the hollows of the lettering-—when a man, presumably a miner, in the Sunday clothes peculiar to that class, carrying a little child of two or three years. and followed by another somewhat older, seated himself on a flat stone. and opened a conversation. : A civillysspoken fellow: eénough, though with -the uncouth accent of the country. | readily accepted the invitation he offered, and we chatted pleasantly. He had known the ‘place nuieny yeéars, he told me, aye, long before it had grown into the town it now was, when it was nothing but an humble village, and when the long orass or ripening corn, bowed its "head to the wind on the slgot where the unsightly engine-house and tall red chimney now stood, and where the heaps of slag and ciniler marked the busy life of the toilers in the earth below.. . . That handsome marble monwment, he told me. ‘denoted the last restingplace of the late rector, and this broad, massive picce of granite was the tomb of a certain local Sguire, popularly known as ‘‘Squire Jack,” who, -it seemed. was much given to horseracing, cocking and such kindred sports, and who, being a sad ** ne’er-do-well,” a thoughtless, reckless fellow, but withal good-natured and easy-going, was, as such gentry not unfrequentfy are, the most popular member of his iy, o

As my new-acquaintance pointed out these objects and others which he thought, I' suppose, would interest me, he had risen from his seat, and' we had strolled leisurely through the churchyard. It was in a corner and rather in a hollow, that, before a humble mound of green turf, and’' decked with the pretty spring flowers, carefully planted in thé form of a cross, we both, as of one accord, paused. It had not any gravestone, but only a piece of wood supported by two short- uprights. On this were roughly-carved, as if done with a pocket-knife, these two words: Fighting Joe.” : s ‘¢ That is a strange inscription to put over a man’s grave,”’ I said; and then added, ¢ Who and what was he?’" - The man seated himself on a stone close by and was silent for a few seconds. 'He had set down the little child he had been cartying and the two little things, attracted by the bright flowers, had found their way to the mound and were about to gather them. : ““ Here, you mustn’t touch them flowers,”’ he said and, taking a hand of each, led them away. i

*Well, mate,” he then went on to say to me, in reply to. my question, I don’t rightly know who or what he was. He was a stranger down here, and neither me nor my mates ever heard tell where he came from or who he was. When this here pit,- Fenton’s Pit we call it, was first worked we had but few _li_m.nds hereabouts and ‘ men as could work had no call to-wait long for a job and got 4 goed wage as well. Most of the hands were Staffordshire but we never knf)wed where Joe came from, and I don’t know as we asked and E’raps he wouldn’t have told us if we ad. He was quiet and lonely-like and said but little—that is, when he was all right; but when he’d had a drop of drink, as maybe of a Saturday night when he had gotten his wage, of all the hands I ever see to swear, spend his money, wrestle or fight, there wasn’t one like Fighting Joe.” ; ¥ ¢ And hence his name, I suppose?”’ I asked. | “And of course it is the old story again—drink, a quarrvel, a fight and a violent death; though I canmot understand, in that case, the evident «care that is bestowed on the poor fellow’s tomb—such as it i 8.”?

, ‘“No, sir,”” the man said, gravely, after a moment’s pause; ‘*not quite all that. A violent death, yes; and such a death as I might pray God might ne’er hap;l)(tan to the worst of us; but it wasn’t drink, nor a quarrel, nor fight with an--other man, that brought him to it. It was more the other way, poor lad—anore the other way.” o

Therough fellow beside me said this with a gentleness of tone and manner that was sufficiently outof keeping with his appearance to excite some degree of curiosity and I told him I should like to learn more of the story. - i *lt’s not much as such as you might care for,” the man replied. ‘¢ Here,” he said, turning to the little ones who were straying toward the green mound again, ‘‘ you mustan’t touch them posies, thouiknows; go and’ gb[t.some of them,”’ and he jerked a small piece of c¢oal he had in his hand toward where some daisies and dandelions were growing among the rank grass. c ¢« He worked in Fenton’s Pit along o'

me, an’, though- we never had angry words, many an’ many a day would pass and neither him nor me would speak. He was quiet, as 1 said, and when he hadn’t had drink would keep hisself to hisself. There was a lass living in these parts then, and Fighting Joe was right fond of her. I don’t know that lie had. said much to her, but |(we could 'see - that he was about -as fond of that lass as a lad could well be. I know that for mother was living then, and this lass would often be hetween her house and ours. It seemsithat one Sunday, as it might be this, Joe had met her, and told her how fond he had been of her and asked her to become his wife. She told mother that this same night. Well, it seems she said that Joe mus'n’tlook for that. for she was already promised, and was' going to be wed that Whitsuntide. When she told Joe that, he said ne’er a word, but he grew very white in the face, and turned quietly away. The next:day he had to work beside tdhe very man who was promised to the lass as. he loved. Well they had been at work for some time, when Joe’s mate, turning round to get hold of a shorter pick that was lying near sees him standing behind him with his arm raised and the pick in his hand, as if in doubt whether to strike or not, and with alook in his eyes as he had never been known to. wear before. The two men looked at one ‘another without speaking for a while, till Joe said,“* God forgive me!’ and turned away, and from that time they never worked side by side again. I don’t know how it was, but. we used to think Joe kept away on purpose—l mean, so as not to be ingthe way to strike the other one. That would be a mptter of three or four months before thé iire.”? «« What fire?” T asked.

“ What fire?”’ the other repeated, in a tone of astonishment. ¢ Why, Fenton’s Pit. Did you. never hear tell of the fire in Fenton's Pit?”’ e

¢ No,” Ireplied; ‘“you know I am a stranger here.”’ . '

““Ah, you must be, I should think,” the man said, somewhat roughly, *if you never heard tell of that.”” -

~ He took a small, blackened pipe from the pocket of his vest, looking thoughtfully before him, and filling the bowl in the mechanical manner of a person who, preoccupied by an all-engrossing thought, is going through some familjar action, for his thoughts were evidently far away, and the pitman’s face, rough and strongly marked as it was, became saddened and almost tender in its expression under their influence. He remained silent s0”long that I'at length said: ‘ : ¢« I shouldlike to hear about that fire if youdon’t mind telling me.’’ : * Was you ever down a pit, mate?”’ he asked. ' . ’ I told him no, but had often thought I'should like to see one. ; - ¢« Better stay where you are, mate,’’ the man answered. ‘¢Ah!” he added, after another pause, ‘‘it’s strange how we mining people die; but it!s stranger how we live!”’ “ How do you mean?" I asked. “I’ve worked in the pit for more nor twenty year,”’ he replied; ‘‘but I never go down in the cage now—that is, since that time I speak on—Dbut I think I may be going to 'my grave. What with the rising’ of the water, or the fall of the coal, or the choke-damp that means death, the lives of such as us ain’t worth much; but- all these put together ain’t nothing to a pit on fire! When the coal is bursting with the heat and the heavy masses of earth fall down, crushing or laming them that can’t get out of the way—when the cry is, ¢ Every man for himself and God'above for us all!—when fainting and struggling, they think for a moment on wife and children and then they fall and die! B

¢““Well, that was the sort of fire I speak of; and all of those at work in the pit that day rushed for the lift that might carry them up away from the place where the flames were roaring and rushing with the noise of a great wind.. Wefi, Fighting Joe was the last man in the lift, as they thought; but just as they were beginning to move they heard a loud ery for help and they saw that other one—him who had married Joe's sweetheart-——making for the lift and begging them for God’'s sake not to leave him behind. Well, I tell you, the lift was overfull then, but Joe sprang from it and, seizing hold of the other one, with the help of those inside hauled him in, and all we heard him say was, ¢ Tell her 7 did it an’ God bless thee, mate!” and then we heard the roar again of the flames and we never saw Joe again.”” - , -

The man sat quietly for a second or two, and, though his voice did not falter, he added, in a softer tone: - : ‘“ But " the next day, when the fire had burned itself out, I wasone ofthem that went down into the pit. There was a crowd of the miners’ wives and children standing at the pit mouth, and when we came up again we laid a body ‘gently on the ground, and the men took off their caps and said ne’er a word, while the women cried, and many" of them sobbed aloud; it was blackened ‘and ‘burned, and but for where the pit‘man’s jacket had saved him, it might have been no more than the earth it was lying on. But as we stooged ten«derly to raise and ca,rl('iy the body away, ‘the jacket fell off, and there, on that part where once beat a true heart, was alock of a woman’s hair. He had begged it of her, she said, so often, she had not the heart at last to refuse him, and God ~only knows, mate, what comfort poor Joe might have felt in wearing it for .her sake.

‘“ We buried him with that little curl lying on hig breast, and with many a sob, and many a ‘God bless thee, poor lad! we lowered him to his rest. We planted them little flowers, and it seemed to me as if they growed.

brighter on his tomb than anywhere else.’t | ! -

‘He paused again, and as Istole a.look at him I saw two large tears rolling slowly down his hard face. He was a little embarrassed at my observing them, I think, for he said: . o

¢ Don’t you think worse of me, mate, because I'm giving way a bit, but I am the man Joe saved.” .

A Debating Society Broken Up.

Not long ago a party of young men, all friends, orgariized a literary society, which held weekly meetings in 4 certain part of this city. For ashort time everything ran smoothly. Pleasant entertainments were given and rapid progress was made in elocution and kindred accomplishments. Then the meeting began to be occasionally marked by 11-’ivttl.e unpleasantnesses and finally the society was rudely dismembered and broken up. The facts of the collapse are thus narrated by a member of the organization. ‘ ;

One fine evening there was a spirited debate about wonten’s rights. gne of the members of the club made the remark that when he married he didn’t want his wife running around electioneering for another fellow and leaving him to mind the baby. ' A gentleman opposed to himi bothin debate and in an affair of the heart as well, made the remark that the first gentleman never would get a wife. He was too ugly. Whereupon the first young man made the remark that he had cut the other young man out of a certain young lady’s affections. : j

. The debate closed with the rivals in this mood and the'meeting adjourned without the usual logical summing up. A week later another session was held, and fate placed the rivals side by side. They eyed each other vindictively and were evidently both ready for any emergency. In the course of the proceedings one of them rose to a point of order, and when he sat down it was upon the point of a pin- which had been slyly slip({)ed on _his' .chair. ‘He rose again and instantly grappled with. the man, who sat next to him. They rolled over on the floor, upset all the chairs and created the worst kind of a racket. The President rapped on the table and called . order, the Secretary shouted order, the Treasurer shouted order and the Sergeant-at-Arms tried to separate the combatants. ! Pretty soon: the affair became a free fight and everybody had to take part in order to defend himself. When the din had somewhat subsided it wasseen that the President’s new coat had been torn, the Secretary had a pin stuck halt through his hand, while the Treasurer had a big lump over his eye, which lump was caused by being hit with a copy of Cushing’s Manual, and all parties were rather dilapidated. At the next meeting the Treasurer did not put in an appearance and none of the members of the society_have seen him since. Another meeting was held, at which aletter from the Secretary was read, in which he stated that he had used the funds in his hands to pay a docto®bill and he bade a long farewell to that literary society. ~Amid great despondency the society resolved itself into oblivion, with the understanding that whenever any of its members. saw that Treasurer he should notify the other ones and they would sweep the rascal from the face of the earth.— St. Louis Republican. : :

~ Boys and Wasps. : Boysand wasps are natural enemies. Boys hate wasps and wasps hate boys. Generally the wasps are victorious land a boy who has an interview with a wasp gets over the ground much faster than the boy sent on an errand. The boy does the electioneering shouting, but the wasp does the real work of the campaign. Itis so rare that a boy gets even with the wasps that when he does so, the event is worthy of more than a passing notice. Down near Kingston, Ont., a ];boy had a heated discussion with some wasps and the latter got the better of the argument—at leastthey made more pointed applications. * As the stings burned, the boy thought about fighting his Satanic Majesty with fire. It was ;a brilliant success.: The next neighbor’s barn and grain were the first to go, and the people barely escaped from the dwelling house. The woods and fields of wheat next went with stacks and .other combustible matter, while every now and then the burning of a house and barn added variety to the scene. The destruction was very great, but as the delichted boy afterwards remarked, ¢ You ought to seen them wasps singe!"’-— Delroit Free Press.

Death of the Knight of Kerry.

The champion -general of the landlords of Ireland has passed away in the person of the Knight of Kerry, Peter Fitzgerald, lately)created a baronet. The Knight could trace his ancestry: back to the time of the Norman invasion and his father was well known a 8 an advocate of Catholic emancipation and as a member of various Governments, both before the Union of 1780 and after that event. He always lived on ithe island of Valentia, which he owned ar.d thence he sent from time to time to the daily and periodical press letters in defense of the territorial interest. He was an able man and had a good style of writing, so that his productions' were highly valued by his clients and deeme§ worthy of attack by his opponents; but, of course, he generally came to grief in the numerous encounters which he provoked or in which he entered on invitation. His last production was an article in the Neneteenth Century for March, and it'is remarkable that in that article he announced that he would probably write no more. In person he was somewhat notable. He was about the middle height and of a lithe and active frame, while a face of sharply-eut features and large keen dark eyes was crowned by a head of snowy hair. It remains to add that, though he was not accounted a bad landlord, most of his tenants lived in the most absolute wretchedness.—Dublin Cor. Boston Herald.. e

—J. C. Mann, a mail rider on one of the Meriwether routes in Georgia, is the fourth member of a family wEo has been struck by lightning since the war One brother had a mufi; killed under him, and another had his trousers and boot legs torn open.

Giving Young Mechanics a Timely Bis of _ Encouragement. |

The American Institute of New York has taken pity, in a praiseworthy way, on a deserving class of the human race, generally snubbed and thrust into out-of-the-way places. It has taken steps for bringing to public notice the growing boys and the work they ‘are tryine todo. Heretofore, at the exhibition of this institute and of others such as our Franklin Institute and the various industrial and agricultural corporations which hold exhibitions, the desire has been to display only the handsomefinished work of experienced workmen. This is worthy of commendation as far as it goes, and it cannot be denied that such work is more. likely to attract attention and to command admiration than the royeh attempts of boys who have received but partial education in mechanical art-work. = But the pleasure of looking on elegant handiwork is one thing and that of encouraging the army of rising workmen is another. Any experiénced workman ought to turn out good work. It is expected of him, and the fact that he answers expectations with it creates no surprise. As to the Ts 4 @ partially educated workman it is in some degree a wonder that he accomplishes anything in a manner fit to be seen. He is but a student who has not completed his course of study. In some cases he has bad unreasonable and tyrannidal educators. In others, he has been his own teacher and has acquired information and skill under circumstances of great discouragement. The invitation now issued by the American llnstitute is to all amateurs and young persons who are beginning to learn mechanical arts, or who have made any reasonable progress in them, to exhibit specis mens of their work. This invitation covers all branches of effort, from painting a stick of timber to the fabrication of a complete steam engine. No more direct encouragement to the lads can be conceived of than this. Itisunderstood that the exhibited specimens of work are not expected to be as perfect as those made by the artisans who have spenta lifetime on what the youngsters are just beginning. Of course the amuateurs are to do their beést. No youth exhibiting work with his rame on it would want to show anything very inferior. Pride will prevent slovenliness and ambition will stimulate to the execution of the best that under the circumstances ecan be made. =

Young men who want to be mechanies have a great deal to contend against. Under the old apprentice system they had it hard enough. Then they were in much more intimate relations with their employers than under the present system. Now a lad who is taken “to learn the: business” fihds to his cost that he is more of an errand boy and a drudge than a student. - Much of what he learns is in spite of the people who are supposed to teach him rather than as the result of their efforts. It is their interest too frequently to keep him down so as® to continue his wages at as low a figure as possible. Many a boy in a foundry or factory or mill, who manages to pick up some knowledge of the busiuess is for a considerable time made to do a man’s work for boy’s wages. He may remonstrate, but the remonstrance of a lad against a capitalist or a corporation amoints to very little. ‘The boy who has a"chaj;‘ce to exhibit his werk, as contemplated by the present action of the American Institute, has also a’ chance to display his gkill to the people whose good opinion of it may be worth having. It is agood thing thus to bring boys forward with a wholesome stimulus. .= The present race of artisans will not last forever. "The world looks to the coming boys to take the place of the going men. It hasa direct interest in educating these boys so as to make the most of them, both for themselves and forl society. To snub a boy is cruel and mean. To stimulate him to deeds of excellence is noble and generous. — Philadelphia Temes. o o

Small Farming in the South.

The phrase ¢ small farming,” used of the South, crops out in directions curious enough to one unacquainted with the special economies and relations of existence in that part of our country. While large farming in the South means exclusive cotton-growing—as it means in the West exclusive wheat-growing or exclusive corn-growing—small farming means diversified farm-products; and a special result of the Southern conditions of agriculture has brought about a still more special sense of the word, so that in Georgia, for example, the term ¢« small farmer *’ brings up to every native mind the idea of a farmer who, besides his cotton crop, raises corn enough to “do” him. But again, the incidents hinginfg upon this apparently simple matter of making corn enough to do him are so .numerous as, in turn, to render them the distinctive feature of small farming. Small farming meéans, in short, meat and bread for which there are no notes in bank; pigs fed with home-made corn and growing of themselves while the corn»ang cotton were being tended; yarn spun, stockings knit, butter made and sold (instead of bought); eggs, chickens, .peaches, water-melons, the four extra sheep and a little wool, two calves and a beef—all to sell every year, besides a colt who is now suddenly become, all of himself, a good, serviceable Jorse; the four oxen, who are as good as gifts made by the grass, and a hundred other items, all repres’enting income from a hundred sources to' the small farmer, which equally represent outgo to the large farmer—items, too, searcely appearfig at.all on the expense side of the strictest account-book, because they are either products of odd moments which, if not so applied, would not have been at all applied, or products of natural animal ‘%rowth, and grass at nothing a ton. All these ideas are inseparably connected with that of the small farmer in the South. o .

The extent of this diversity of produet possible upon a single small farm in Georgia, for instance, and the certain process by which we find these diversified (f)roducts presently creating demands for the village library, the neighborhood farmers’ club, the amateur Thespian societff, the improvement of the public schools, the village orchestra, all manner of betterments and gentilities and openings out into the universe, show significantly, and even picturs

esquely, in a mass of clippings which I began to make a couple of years ago, from a number of country papers in Georgia, upon the idea that these unconsidered trifles of mere farmers’ neighborhood news, with no politics behind them and no argumentative coloring in front of them, would form the ‘best lpossible picture of actual smallfarnrlife in the South—that is, of the New South. ) .

To read these simple and ' homely scraps is indeed 'much like a drive among the farms themselves with the ideal automaton guide, who . confines himself to telling you that this field is sugar-cane, that one yonder is cotton, the other is rice. and so on, without troubling you for responsive exclamation or other burdensome commentary. - Rambling among these cuttings one sees growingiside by side, possibly upon a single small farm, corn, wheat, rice, sugar-cane, cotton; peaches, plums, apples. pears, figs, water-melons, cantaloups, musk-melons, cherries, strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, Catawba grapes, Isabella, Scuppernongs, peas, soup-beans, butter-beans, okra, squash, beets, oyster-plant, mustard, cress, cabbage, turnips, tomatoes, cauliflower, asparagus, potatoes, onions; one does not fail, too, to catch a glimpse of pigs sauntering about, chickens singing, colts flinging their heels at you and oft down the pasture, calves likewise, cows caring not for these things, sheep on the rising ground, geese and turkeys passim, perhaps the green-gray moss—surely designed.by nature to vack vegetables in and send them ¢ North”-—a very bed of dew for many days after cutting, and the roses and morningglories everywhegre for a benison.— Sidney Lanler, in Seribner’s Monthly. .

A Reform Called for in Pork Raising.

Public, opinion has been trained so long in favor.of improved brebds of pigs that farmers have become somewhat daft on the subject. They have been governed by this public opinion and seeming economy, uatil théy have about driven pork from the table, and made a nation of. epicures who turn away from pork, and even ham, with disgust. = Our forefathers lived longer than the present generation are likely to, and were men of brains as well as muscle. Pork constituted their chief meat diet. This is not the case now. The change is not because pigs’ flesh is necessarily more unpalatable, but because the character of the meat has been changed from a wholesome and desirable food to mere "lard tubs. Advanced public opinion now-a-days demands a pug-nosed, fat-cheeked pig, with thick sides (layersof lamdl), blind with fat, with just enough animation to grunt—no legs or bone, and a morbid appetite which must never squeal ‘“ enough.” This abortion, from the food standpoint, is called ‘‘improved.” It keeps easy—that is to say, it is made to convert corn into lard without any loss charged to exereise or vigorous health. It is then stuffed to the verge of feverish decline, or fou-nder‘ when it is speedily slaughtered to prevent loss.” Suchpigs are profitable to keep so far as the relations of feed and gain are concerned, but what is the use of growing pork which is unpalatable on account of Its over-fatness, and is consequently unsalable? Seventy-five| per cent. of the finest so-called *“ improved”’ pig is probably nothing but fat—indigestible to the great majority of modern American stomachs.’ It will do very well in cold weather, but in summer time is unsuited to our physical wants, A radical change inthe system of breeding and growing of pigs would soon change the animal structure from so much fat to more muscle, . with lighter food given in quantities to promote steady growth, united with exercise, which is the natural foundation for the development of muscle. Muscle makes the lean meat, and this will never be produced when pigs are closely confined and stutfed from their birth till the time of slaughtering. The body or frame should be first built up, and the fat laid to a moderate extent afterward. A’ pig thus reaved might not weigh as much when dressed, but will have a much larger proportion of lean meat, and need not cost as much.—Country Gentleman. - :

There’s Money in Trees.

What a delight it is to the, skillful worker in wood to shave into the perfection of smoothness and shape the invaluable wood of the white pine tree. And what grandeur there was—for we can no longer say there is—in the untouched forests of those noble trees covering: the ground so densely that one felt more than ever how solid the earth must be to carry such enormous lading. And what Aolian music the wind made far above, up in the dizzy region of their tops! An English farmer, who was at heart more a lover of workmanship in wood than of delving in the soil, ‘emigrated to Pennsylvania ‘years ago, and on seeing the pine forests of Clearfield County incontinently bought his farm in their very heart. He enjoyed and extolled their superbness to the last, as well he mighfi; but meanwhile his savings melted away and he found no source of resupply, for there was no way then of marketing lumber, and both the enormous tree-growth and the nature of the soil were almost prohibitory of all farm operations. Since then what a change! The lordly trees are gone, save here and there a remnant. A miserable growth bf bruised and broken undergrowth covers the groand with wreck. Hardly a promise of a tree of any kind of economic value is to be seen. What is to be doue for the coming century? It must be remembered t%at no money will build up a plantation of trees. Nothing but time—a life-time—will serve for their production, though the most favorable of soil and shelter and conditions of the air be present. Already single trees are being valued at tens and hundreds of dollars which fifty years ago would scarcely have sold for one. What will our cgildren see and do in half a century more. It is, manifestly, high time for the agricultural papers of the country to sound loud notes on this inevitable and scarcely remediable deficiency. Here and there we find a few who have seen that or all productions of the soil trees are what will have most money in them and who are taking measures to some day meet the coming' want.—N. Y. Tribune. -

MISCELLANEOUS.

—The Derby hat will be very much worn again this autumn, . - ~ —Greek mothers are very careful in/ training their children ,to"good}paz/ ners. o s oRS .

—Alittle daughter of Mrs. E. C. Vincent, at Union; 8. C., was killed by a fall from her mother’s lap. . .

—Sir Edwin Landseer could draw two different objects atabout the same time —one with his right ‘hand, the other with his Teft: - oridmsis e s

' —The deadly quicksand in the San Pedro River, Arizona, lately swallowed up a carriage containing a oentleman and three'ladies.”” = = 0 0 ia —Mlle. Sara Bernhardt is, by the official utferance of the- Paris Conservatoire, declared to be thirty-six years of age, having been born in'lB44, =

~ —For forty-eight days a Lowhill, Pa., hen was in a grain stack, where she had been accidentally covered up.. When released she toppled over in a fit, but soon recovered. i e - —W. H. Vanderbilt is to have in his new house a splendid square. block of stone containing 196 solid feet, which has just been shipped from an Indiana quarry. LR e

—The wife of a wealthy Boston sugar refiner was caught stealing a lace shawl in ‘a store, though - her wallet was crammed full of money, and her husband permitted her to. spend all she wanted to.: . 0 o

—Make your winter bonnet look really. sweet. Ornament it with the paw of a bear's cub with French steel claws. The thing can be bought in New York and it will be the most charming fhing of the season. .:. - BeR T e

—Charles Greenburghloved the widow Cleveland, in whose boarding house he lived, at Norwalk, Conn., but could not make her realize the fact. =~ After assuring her of his devogion again in vain, he seized a rope and ran to‘the woods. The widow gathered the neighborsand went in pursuit. They found him hanging to a tree. He recovered, however, and she, convinced at last' of "his sin-. cerity, has promised to marry him. —For some reason only to- be appreciated” by Frenechmen, mythological nanies cannot be given to children declared at the oftices of the French Mzfl*ors, names taken from - sacred *history only being allowable. Among the personages. considered sacred ~are Anadine, Faustine, Azemia, Chloris, Dejanire, Leda, Medore, Naya,-Norber-tine, Podalire, Zirphe and Zulmar.

—A farm servant plowing near Rosenberg, in West Prussia, a few days ago, turned up an earthenware pot containing' about six thousand gold/ coms. They were so-called ¢ hollow pennies’’ of the old Teutonic knjghts, and belonged to the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. - The ¢ hollow pegny’’ is a silver coin with-a raised rim around it; the center displays the arms of the Grand Master of the Order for.the time being. - There were twenty-one - different sorts among the coins found. ~

—While -.a party were ~watching a storm at night from the frent room of a brewery 'in_Tombstone, ‘Arizona, suddenly the apartment filled with a dazzling light. and an explosion like that of a ton of giant-powder: followed. The whple party were “lifted several feet from the floor, and thrown in a eonfused mass. When one of the party regained consciousness he found the ceiling in flames, the contents of the bar in woeful contusion, the doors wrenched from their hinges and -the weather boarding of the house torn into ribbons. Nobody serrously-hust. « . 7

—The Faith Doetor, as a Virginia clergyman named. Miller is called, is credited throughout that State with miraculous power. to cure diseases. A physician who has made an investigation reports that he. is wonderfully full of electricity, which -strongly affects nervously disordered persons with whom he comes in contact. . But Miller firmly believes that.his gift is directly from God, in apswer to fourteen years of prayer, and he proves his sincerity by refusing money for his services. He will accept nothing but food and lodging. -

—The Philadelphia: enterprise of a thousand onethorse coaches, of li%ht; and novel construction to carry eight persons each and run to.all parts of the city, is.to ‘be speedily put in operation.. The fare is to be five cents, or six tickets for a quarter of a dollar. The routes are so arranged that, for ten to fifteen cents, a trip can by transfer be made to almost any desired point; while a single fare will secure a ride onany one of the main lines, lengthwise or crosswise of the city. The movements of the vehicles will be arranged to suit the traffic. The street car companies anticipate a serious- decrease in their business. e - o e

—Mr. Fawcett, the Postmaster-Gen-eral of Great Britain, has hit upon a very. clever device for the purpose of encouraging the saving of money among the lower classes. The Government has issued at its various. postoffices an official strip of paper, having upon it places for twelve postage stamps to be stuck.. The possessor, man, woman or child can, whenever he has a spare penny, buy a stamp and f'ut' it upon the slip. When the slip is full, that is, when twelve stamps have been glued on, the holder can, by taking the slip to the postoffice, get a Savings bank receipt for a shilling, which is the minimum deposit ' that the Postoffice Savings Bank will take. »" © SRI R

—The champion jack-of-all-tradeés be-: longs to England and lives near-Chi-chester.. He has ‘served as seaman in the four quarters of the globe and acted as steward, sailmaker, cook, mate and navigator. He now hangs out his sign as ‘‘Prof. Pullinger, contractor, inventor, fisherman, builder, carpenter, joiner, sawyer, undertaker, turner, cooper, painter, glazier, sign painter, wooden pumpmaker, paper hanger, bell hanger,. boat builder, clock cleaner, locksmith, umbrelln repairer, china and glass mender, net-knitter, wire-worker, grocer, baker, ‘farmer, ‘taxidermist, .@%y; ing, clerk, letter writer, accountant, surveyor, engineer, land measurer, house a?ent,' vestry clerk, assistant overseer, clerk to-the Selsay Sparrow Club, clerk to the Selsay' police assessor and col-. lecter of land tax and property and income tax and _-collec,t_or,;of church and highway tates, &' = . T