Nappanee Advance-News, Volume 6, Number 27, Nappanee, Elkhart County, 2 October 1884 — Page 3

Stall* yAPPAwn. i indiaea. ■ 1 -■■ *" ■ i ■ i ■■ hi 11 _ A BIT OF LACE. . Her Halrjs*whlte ssthedriven snows: taWW, •Joel the lace la done. Sir Priest. Oh! watt. Ih* pay mre. though sometimes later* in eky. Bummer la a heartless heart at ease. With swift, white heads to snatch and soda Qltetrom a lover, who kneels to please wsSi*£ff>jU£ajwtay?, jvmi wait. later m * n C ° mC * Np:*not V Ue e Utin?hs/amT' But wait; There still la something to relate. Only a httof laea. Only a few ells Iona: . But the whole of attro. and a life's lastgraoe. 6oae In a moment, without a trace. Were In the threads of that bit of lace. Ohl the death and doom In the song! Ohl the death and doom th the song! But Ihe mills of thn gods grtnd slow, grind late! -J. T. Independent. i ' A CHOLERA SCARE. Mr. Timothy Pox Was an old bachelor of comfortable means and unsocial ways, who for many yean past had Bred entirely for himself and fay himself. He was even teote selfish than old bachelors usually are; and he had. as they invariably have, a monomania. His monomania was the fear of disease. * Though brave enough and sensible enough in other respects, nothing could persuade him to go near any one suffer'3aETsS < S I SS •scape the infe Hian. He would walk i *“• ont of h* *y to avoid passing a house where there was sickness; and ne admitted that he would rather suffer penal servitude than venture into those slums where fever and small-pox add to the misery of vice and poverty. Accordingly, when in the early summer he heard that small-pox was becoming epidemic in London, he immediately determined to leave town. At first, as certain business matters necessitated his being .near London, he only went to a western suburb; but directly* these matters wen Arranged and there remained nothing feSfero with his freedom, he decided to go to some seaside place. After* good deal of earefhl consideration he.ehose Dover; bfit he had not been there three weeks when to his terror th# cholera made its appearance at Toulon. To most per- , sons it would appear that the distance ' between Toulon and Dover is such as ts preclude any of contagion; but to Mr. Fox it did not seem so." On the contrary, ha, was firmly convinced tnat before Icon that seaport must beoome a hotbed of the fearful epidemic. It was. he reflected, on the highroad*between England and France; what could he more likely, than that some Frenchman, flying from the plague-stricken towns in the south, should cany the contagion to Dover? This thought made him'feel extremely uneasy. If he had not contracted for his lodging for the whole summer he would have left at onoe; but having done this, and bring of rather a parsimonious disposition, he resolved not to leave until the cholera reached, at least, Paris. Bat once it appeared there, no matter what it might cost him, he determined that he would take refuge in some quiet country place. While he watched with anxiety and alarm the progress of the disease in Sraaea, and traced each day its movement* northwards, he thought it would he as well to make all necessary preparations for au immediate departure should that become desirable. This gave him hut little trouble, ftr at Lilyburn—a little village about fifteen muss from Dover—resided a nephew at hia, a farmer with a large family, who on account of his poverty and children, was very deferential to Mr. Fox, in view of his wealth and childlessness. To him Mr. Fox wrote that probably before the r SSSr/LT" OTO , r Lilyburn a long-promised visit. The nephew : replied by return of post that he would only be too happy to have the pleasure of bis delightful company. Then, having settled this to his own satifaction, Mr, Fox awaited the approach of chol- * era with more equanimity. One morning, when wandering up and down the Admiralty Pier he encountered Charley Reckless—a. young Mtetfbfthnes of Mb, afefbf an old friend, in reply to Mr. Fox’s inquiries, Charley, who was a mediefi student, told him that, having been “pluoked” at bis last-examination, he and a friend who had suffered the same, fate bad come down to Dover to spend the summer and to study top the text attempt. It Immediately occurred to Mr. Fox that, as medical students, they, were likely to know more about the great subject of his thoughts—cholera than ordinary persons; and so, though he was not fond of Young men’s comwMamj^ttssßs B°id. to spend an evening at his tense. They At once accepted the invitation. When they came they soon discovered the reason of the old gentleman’s hospitality; but as he gave them free run of his wines and spirits titty, did not object.to the position, and told him all they k trew about the cholera and a great deal more besides. They made his blood run cold and his hair stand on end by the terrible aneodotes they relatad to Mm about the sufferings misfortunes <4 cholera patients, all of which anecdotes were of course evolved from their own brilliant imaginations. Mr. Fox was horrified, but stffl he was fascinated by these accounts. He again and again invited the youths to bud with Wm# aad every time they came .insisted on turning the conversation oil the old pic. The young men were equal to the occasion, and they seldom left him without having placed before him something .more unspeakably ghastly than anything he had heard before. But at length their power of invention began to. fail them, and they got tired of the old gentlemau’s company, which was hot, at the best of times, particularly entertaining, and of late it' bad been less so to them as he had been . considerably more stingy with his wine. The novelty too bad worn off of frightening him; in fact, the young medicos wanted some change in the entertaip•anent. tine day, however, Charley ' Reckless, who was of an inventive torn bfmmd, hit upon a happy idea. “Would it not," he said to his frilovr* t student, “be great fun to call late one evening on Mr. Fox, tell him that the cholera bad appeared in Dover, and ndiu.c him to.get into a cab to go over to Lilyburn, andthen to spend half the sight driving him to his nephew's?" Tliev could easily, he maintained, whan ae had been there two or three days, •rite and tell him it was a mistake, and that the cholera had not appeared Yhti suggestion was no aoouar mads than r“ wfwfwvW* Mum

agreed to; and they determined to put it into immediate operation, both chuckling over tba old gentleman’s rage and indignation when he found that he had' been made a fool of. Late the next evening, Charley Reckless aad hie friend called at Mr. Fox's lodgings. When they were shown in he at onoe noticed that their faces bore a very serious expression. He anxiously inquired as to its cause. “The feet is. Mr. Fox,” said Charley, inn solemn voice, “the cholera has appeared hem’’ “What!” exclaimed Mr. Fox. taming Kle with alarm. “You don’t mean in ver?” “Yes, I do," answered Charley. “The authorities are trying to conoeal H to prevent panic; but tter can’t. There have, been nearly a dteen deaths abetek; and it’s said there are over a hundred persons attacked. There’s a terrible panic in the town. Every train that leaves Is simply orammed." “My gracious!*' exclaimed Mr. Fox, in a helpless tone. “What shall 1 do’ I wonder whether I could catch a train to-night for Lilyburn?” “Don’t try that,” said Bold. “Very risky tesiness traveling in crowded carnages. Possibly your next neighbor has gotlnfection. You should drive." “Yes, yes, I will drive. It’s only a few miles. Coaid one of you get me a cab while I pack up some things? I thought I had everything prepared; bat then I did not expect so sudden an outbreak as this.” “Yes, certainly,” said Charley. “Harry, you run out aad try to get a cab. They’ll kardlv all be hired yet* Til help Mr. Fox to pack.” Bold started off at once; and Mr. Fox and Charley began to hastily pack a portmanteau. They had just finished their work when Bold returned with a stout hack and a closed fly, bat without any driver. “All that's left,” said he to Mr. Fox. “No driver—all bolted.” “No driver!” exclaimed ihe old gentleman. “What on earth shall I do?" “Nevermind,” said Bold; “Charley or I will drive yon; in feet, we’ll both drive.” *Tm so much obliged to you, Mr. Bold,” answered Mr. Fox, a little donbtfblly. “Bat I couldn’t think of patting yon to such trouble. I can surely get someone; I’m ready to pav anything.” ' “No use,” said Bald; “no one to be had for money. It's no trouble to us." “Not the least, my dear sir,” interposed Charley; -“not the least, I assure 'you. Just give me your portmanteau. And before Mr. Fox had time to protest his portmanteau was thrown on the top of the cab, and he himself was bustled inside. The young men theft jumped on the box ana lashed the horse Into almost a gallop. For a few minutes Mr. Fox was inclined to aooept the situation without objection, so glad was he to get out of Dover; but before long the pace became so great that ho felt bound to put hia head out of the window, and remonstrate with the drivers. He might as well have remonstrated with the wind; they never paid him the slightest attention. So after screaming himself hoarse he had to set down again, exhausted and scared. He expected everyminute the eab would go over, and he was surprised to find himself, at the end of half an hour, still uninjured. 'As for Charley and Bold, they were enjoying the joke immensely. Jt was true, they had carried it a little farther than they intended. Instead of the quiet drive they had decide! upon girding old Mr. Fox, it had: turned out a wild gallop. But in their excitement they thought little of this. In fact, instead of wondering whether they had not gone too far, they began to consider whether they could not go a little farther. “How would it do to upseli the oah?” suggested Charley. Before he had wdll spoken Bold, who held the reins, turned the horse into the ditch by the roadside, and in a second (he cab went over, and Charley and Bold were flung head-over-heels to the ground. Charley fell into the ditch, and was not much hurt. He immediately sprang to Lis feet and caught the horse, which, not having fallen, and being frightened by the shook, was plunging about iu a dangerous manner. Then a glance round showed him his friend Bold stretched insensible on the road, and bleeding from a wound on the head. The cab. with one shaft broken and all the glass smashed, lay against the hedge. What had happened to Mr. Fox he could not say, but he was glad to know, by the cnee coming from the inside of the cab, that at any rate, he was alive. The serious state of affairs brought Charley to bis senses. He now sawtne folly of which he had been guilty in its true light.

As he was trying to calm the frightened horse in order to leave its head to assist Mr. Fox and to see to Bold, a man came running ud. “ Upset, sir?” ha inquired. “Yes; give ns a hand;” answered Charley, thankful for the unexpected assistance. “Help tbe gentleman out Hi a few minutes Mr. Fox was on tKo road. He was considerably shaken, but not otherwise injured; and Charley was delighted to see that he -seemed to have no idea that the upset wte due 19 anything lint pure accident, Bold was next attended to. He wii raftering from a ent on the forehead, which, dangerous. He was anon restored'to consciousness, and then was able to stand without rapport. But the upset put them all into a difficulty. They were still seven or eight miles from Lilyburn, the cab shaft-wye. broken,.was too late to look-for another conveyance, and Bold* what too much injured to walk far. have turned out very awkwardly iffhe man who came to their help had not, with rustic generosity, offered to give them the shelter of his roof for the night. This they all at last decided to aooept and the stranger conducted them to his house. It was a neat little farm homestead, at no considerable distance from the scene of their mishap, at a prettj little place called Whitfield. Bold at once went to bed and ’Charley remained with him* They both, however, were very hungry, so the farmer kindly took them a substantial meal up in their bedroom. Mr. Fox had a little refreshment with hid host, and (hen also retired to reek Charley and Bold did not wake np very early the next morning; and when they did sp they didn’t fedi particularly Wjtil Considering what they had both gone through the previous^night it by anything that had happened. They were both deadly sick. Charley noticed that Bold’s face was of a pea-green color, and when ha arose and looked in the glass he found his own was the same. They felt so weak that they, could hardly summon sufficient energy to put on their clothes. Neither <4 them could' suggest any possible cause for their sickness. M Whra toey left their bedroom their host. asked them to. have some breakfast, but they both declined. The very sight of* the rashers and eggs almost made them sick. They naturally, however, inquired after Mr. Fox. when the farmer told them to their .surprise that their friend had left—having had an early breakfast and started to walk over to his nephew's. They therefore

host ([who refused to accept anything far Ms hospitality) was by no means pleasant in his manner. He kept looking at them- in an inquisitive and not over pleased way, evidently struck by their ghastly appearance. • “You both look extremely ill,” he at length said. “I'es,” answered Charley, with a sickly smile, “we don’t feel quite as well as we could wish.” “I’ve got your cab into workable order.” said the farmer; “so I hope you will drive back once to Dover and consult a doctor.” "Oh, we’re not so ill as that,” answered Bold in a weak voice. “I don’t know,” replied the farmer in gloomy and almost sulky tones; “hut at any rate I should feel greatly relieved if you left as soon as you could. I don’t want any more sick strangers in my house. I have had trouble enough that way lately.” * ‘ Os course we’ll leave at once,” said Charley. “We’ve trespassed on you long enough already.” ‘‘Don't mention that,” answered the farmer. “I’m sorry I have to appear so inhospitable. But only four days ago a Frenchman, whom I never saw before, while coming along the road, became suddenly ill. I was foolish enough to bring him here and send for a doctor. He died next night in terrible agonies in the very room yon slept in; and the doctor said it was cholera. You may guess what a scare that was for me. Now I don’t want to frighten yon, but you have just the same look in your face now as he had when I took him in.” “Good heavens!” exclaimed Bold, turning a shade greener than before. “1 knew there was something frightful .the matter with me.” “You ruffian!’’ shouted Charley. “Why didn't yon tell us that last night? Oh! my goodness!" he moaned, ‘Tm dying; I know I am.” “Well, if you are, you’re not going to do it here,’’ cried the farmer, angrily; 'Tm not going to have any more of that. Here, get into your cab, both of yon. One of my men shall drive you home.” “You scoundrel!” began Bold; but he was too weak to say more, and without making any opposition he allowed himself to be put into the cab. Charley, in a similar state, was soon beside him. Then a laborer mounted the box and drove them rapidly toward Dover. Every yard they went on their way to Dover they felt, or imagined they felt, worse, and by the time they reached their lodgings they were almost unable to move. In feet, it required considerable exertion on the driver’s part to get tfcdm out ofthto cab and into the house. Once they were there the landlady was instructed to send Immediately for a doctor. Before the doctor arrived the postman knocked at the door with a letter for Charley. When that youth saw by tbe postmark that it came from Lilyburn, in spite of his illness he tore it open and read it. “What a confounded old devil!” he exclaimed, in a tone so energetic and so different from the one he had lately been speaking in, as to at once attract Bold’s attention. . “What is it, Charley?” mo&ned that sufferer. “Read that. Instead of onr fooling him he has fooled us.” Bold read the letter. It ran: Mr Dbar Chakl.es: I take the earliest opportunity of writing to thank you and your friend for the kindness ana earnestness you both displayed in assisting jne to escape from Dover. Itrusttho unfortunate accident did neither you nor the cab much damage. I should be sorry If you were put to any inconvenience or expense on my account. Yours, etc., ’ Timothy Fox. P. % —Did the farmer tell you about the oholenv-smftten Frenchman? He should have, because I paid him to do so. And how did your supper agree with you? T. F. .££j —London SVufe.

The Stage Coach in New York City. When the railroad car took the place •f the slow stage-coach, it deprived travel of most of its pleasures. One sees but little of the country as he is whirled rapidly through it amid noise and dust. There is no way in which scenery can be so well enjoyed, as from an outside seat of a stage-coach. The moderate rate of speed allows all the beauties of the scene to be appreciated, and the changes of the road present an ever-varying panorama. Then the -stage-coach allowed of social enjoyment, and chat and stories made the time pass pleasantly. What a contrast between the tavern, where the stagepassengers stopped for dinner, and the present railway station with its “five minutes for refreshments!” There is so much that is pleasant and enjoyable in travel by stage that wealthy gentlemen in New York City and vicinity not long ago formed a coaching club, each member of which had a “coach and four.” There are now many members of the clnb. Each has a coach made in the best possible style. The body of each and the running gear is painted in a different style from the otherp. The horses are carefully selected, and have the most complete harness and trappings. The coaches have seats for six upon the roof, besides a place for the “guard,” who with his horn announces the arrival of the coach. The driver is usually the owner of the coach, andthere is no little friendly rivalry among the members over their skill in “handling the ribbons.” A parade of the coaching clnb is something well worth seeing, and the club makes occasional excursions to more or less distant points. On one occasion its members, or a part of them, drove to Philadelphia and back, by the stage-route followed before.the days of railroads. One member of tjxe dub is so enthusiastic a coachman that he runs a daily coach betweengneoi the hotels, of. this city andfa point in the suburbs. He takes passengers at a round price, and thus allows those who are not members of the clnb to enjoy the pleasures of this mode of traveling. So popular is the Tally-ho Coach that places are engaged many days ahead. The passenger oy the coach leaves the city by that -beautiful gateway, Central Park, and sees the city melt gradually into the country. His road takes him past bean .iful villas as well as primitive farm houses. His senses are soon saluted by the refreshing sea air, and he arrives at his destination prepared to do justice to the ample dinner that awaits hlih. His destination is Pelham Bay, one of the most charming spots upon Long Island Sound. He here exchanges the varying scenes and sights of the road for one of tranquil beauty. The blue waters of the Sound strotoh out in front of him, and the many sailing craft go lazily by, their qniet being in strange contrast to* the fnssy little steamer that occasionally phases. After a few hohrs of rest at Pelham Bay the homeward journey is commynced, and the passenger enjoys the same scene in tiie light of the declining sun, and reaches the starting point just as gaslights and electric lamps, are replacing. the daylight, refreshed by the novel mode of travel and the change of air and scene. “But,” some may say. “it is very expensive,” So it is, but unlike many of the . aipuseiyents of the wealthy, every dollar expended by the CoaehingATub helps someone. The coach iteket 1 , the painter, the harness maker, and many other trades are benefited, and. even the . farmer, who breeds stage horses, has their Value increased by what some regard as the extravagance of the Coaching Club.— American Agriculturist. —The latest cause given for Indian is the existence of an excessive number of goats. The theory is that goats dostroy trees, and the consequent decay of forests decreases the rainfall. There are U.0Q0.000 goftte in the ftwl-

HOME, FARM ARB HARDER. —Egg shells clear coffee as * the egg itself.— Cincinnati Times. T —When soaking salt fish before cooking add a little vinegar to the water; it improves the hsh.— Exchange. —Poached Eggs: Nearly fill a fryingpan with boiling water. Add a little salt and vinegar. Break your eggs one at a time into a wet saucer, ana slip from this upon the surface of the water. Cool slowly three minutes, take up with a perforated skimmer, and lay carefully upon rounds of buttered toast.— The Eottsehobl. —The disease called mauge is the result of filth, and having hogs sleep in rotten, dirty straw. It is an insect, very minute, which burrows under the skin. To cure it give pigs first * a good washing in warm soapsuds, using car-bolic-acid soap, and selecting a warm dry day. Then grease the skin with lard, to which has been added a little coal oil, and clean out the pen and quarters.— Troy Times. —The demand for mutton as an agreeable and cheap food is steadily increasing. The markets of New York alone require more than a million sheep annually. Farmers, too, who once used only bacon and pork, are becoming mutton eaters. The convenience of a few sheep on every farm to furnish the family with good, wholesome food, is now appreciated more than a few years since. —A”. ¥. Times. —The following remedy is recommended for a horse having scratches: Put his feet and legs in bran poultices for thirty-six hours, then wash clean with warm water and castile soap, and when dry rub the pits of his heels with the following: Take Goulard’s extract and olive oil, equal parts, mixed. Do not allow them to get wet after the first washing, but keep them clean by rubbing well with a coarse cloth. . Give the following powders night and morning in his feed: Take nitrate of potash, five ounees; pulverized resin, one ounce; mix; make into twelve powders; give regular daily exercise.— Prairie fanner.

Sawdust in the Stable. A few years ago there was a very strong prejudice against the use of sawdust lor bedding cattle and for absorbing the liquid manures of the stable. Many men who owned saw-mills were afraid to use their mill dust for fear it would spoil the manure, or the land. It was contended that sawdust made worms to eat the potatoes and cut off the roots of the corn. It was also said to burn the manure, and some thought it would permanently poison the land to which it was applied. Pine sawdust was deemed specially dangerous on account of the pitch it contained, and as proof we were asked to notice that nothing will grow under the dense mat of needles which annually fall from the boughs of pine trees. Other fanners who found straw bedding at twenty dollars a ton rather too expensive for free use, but who were determined to keep their animals clean and comfortable when in the stalls, have persevered in their experiments with sawdust till they have lived to see very much of the prejudice against it removed. Men who once refused to use sawdust made at their very doors, now go miles to obtain it for bedding cattle and horses. It is impossible to use it in excess of ndeds, ana to apply the manure improperly. Green sawdust will heat readily when used for horse bedding, and the heat may injure the manure unless it is spread thinly, kept wet, or trodden down solid by nogs, or other animals. It has been thought to cause humors upon the skin of horses, which may be true in a few instances, but is certainly not a general complaint. Sawdust that is left out to ( the weather and is constantly wet, may be cleanly -enough as bedding, but it is not a good absorbent. It should be stored under cover and kept as dry as possible. Green sawdust piled under cover will heat itself dry in a few weeks of summer weather.

It may be used in cow stables merely to dust down the'floors to keep them looking neat, or it may be spread deeply, two or three bushels to an animal, for making a soft Md, the soaked portions being removed as occasion requires. We would not use manure for top-dressing mowing fields when large amounts of sawdust have been mingled with it in the stables. Such manure is comparatively light and will not lie as close to the surface, nor rot as rapidlv as would manure that was mixed with sand or dry loam. Sawdust manure will do best plowed or cultivated into the soil, where it will keep moist and decay rapidly. That it is poison in any true sense of that term, we do not believe. We have applied manure in which it formed a liberal part, to all kinds of farm and garden crops with no ill results whatever. It neither oreates nor attracts worms of any kind. We have used it one year olefin hot-bed soil, and found the plant roots running through it and clinging to the particles of rotted) wood as if they were bits of bone. Rotten sawdust is too'near akin to wood mold and the dust around rotting tree stumps, to be in itself injurious when properly used. A member of the Fraiiklin Farmers’ Club once drew a load of sawdust and dumped it in a heap in one of his fields, and after spreading it about so it was not. more than three or four inches thick, plowed it in without seeing any ill effects whatever, but a slight improvement in the crops after two or three years when the dust had thoroughly rotted. We have used pine needles in the same way, plowing them into the soil of a corn field without being able to see any special effect whatever. Still we make no claim that there is great value in sawdust as manure, but only that it is a most excellent absorbent and perfectly safe to use in reasonable quantities.—New England Farmer.

The Prominent factors. Although many think that farming is a very simple business, one that requires but little, if any, tact, they are most outrageously wrong in their premises. The fact is that farming is quite a complex business. We may divide it into seven prominent factors: Land, labor, horsepower, implements, manure, weather and brains. Capital is not included in this list, because the first five items represent it. The ratio these faotors should have to each other is a matter of the first importance. The truth is that the proper adjustment of the several factors among themselves does not receive the attention which it deserves. It is obvious that keeping more homes or hiring more labor than is necessary to cultivate one’s farm certainly entails loss. This proposition is readily seen and its force acknowledged, yet it does not seem to be as readily appreciated that having more land than can be cultivated or utilized is quite as bad policy. Labor costs more than all other things about the farm put together. Now, if such an amount of land is cultivated as oan be properly attended to by the owner and his family, then all that the farm produces may be counted gain after deduotiqg feed of horses, seed, wear and tear of maohinery and agricultural implements. To th.is must be added the interest of money invested in land, buildings, implements and horse-flesh. It is'readily seen that when one has more land than he can thus readily cultivate his excuses increase, and the greater .the amount above this the greater the expense of labor; or, in other words, the profit in proportion to the number of aorej above this point is less than when lust the amount of lapd is cultivated ‘hat can | be bundled. <r-&w /Vatwfcw • TTTciT . i •

Our Young Readers. A WEEKLY LETTER. “ Write often to the-old folks,’* Said sister Kate to me: ** You’re goto? off to college. Will. ’Mona strangers you wiU be. I know you’ll work as well as play. But whatsoe’er you do. Please don’t forget that, we, at home. Will long to hear ftvmi you.” * Now, Will, don’t think roe foolish. But mother is not strong. And she will surely worry If you put oif writing long; I know her eyes would sparkle. And a bloom would tinge he/cheek; If you could only write her A letter one> a week. * “ Write often to the old folks. Their hair is growing gray. Not very mdny years, alas! Have they on earth to. stay; Oh, promise me this favor. And never will you rue The hours you write the old folks, *1 Who will long to hear from you.” * Dear sister, this I promise,” And the tears began to flow — “ I’ll write often to the old folks. If you think ’twill please them so.” % * * -ft • And 1 write a weekly letter. In my snug and cheerful room— And sister Kate informs me Mother’s cheeks are full of bio om. —Leon Iklead, in Youth’s Companion.

OUT ON A LARK. Johnny and Joe stepped to the fence that August morning and looked through into the old Mr. Thomas’ orchard,'where the branches of the appletrees bent beneath their burden of luscious-looking fruit. “Don’t they look good,” said Joe, whose mouth already watered lor such apples as these. He could easily understand how our Mother Eve gave way to temptation when it was presented in the shape of a plump, juicy apple. “Yes, they do look nice, that’s a fact,” Johnny answered. “I wjsh we had some like them in our orchard.” “It’s bard work to go by here every day and see those apples hanging there to tantalize a fellow so‘” said Joe, with another longing look through the fence. “Just see that-big red fellow on the end of that limb. He bobs about as if he was saying: “Don’t you wish you could get me?’ Wouldn’t it be jolly if you and I could have a chance at ’em? O-oh!” and here Joe made an indescribable sound intended to express the pleasure he felt confident he would experience in having the free range of such an orchard as this was. Everybody said Mr. Thomas had the finest apples in the whole country. “ Guess you fellows have got quite a mouth for apples, hain’t ye?” said a gruff voice close by, and both the boys were so startled that they jumped, feeling almost as if they had* been detected in doing something wrong. Mr. Thomas was standing in a corner of the fence, leaning over the rails, watching them. “’Twon’t do to let you starve if a few apples ’ll save ye,” and he laughs in his usual grim way. “Here’s half a dozen for ye. Jes’ picked ’em up under that tree on that knoll yender. Fust I’ve found ripe, this year. I don’t gene’ly give many apples to the boys, for they steal ’em afore I get a chance, bnt 1 dun no as you’d do that Druther give ’em away than have ’em stole, cause feller likes to have the handlin’ of his own prop’ty,” added Mr. Thomas, with a chuckle. The boys took the apples and thanked Mr. Thomas for them. Then they went on toward the village to which Johnny’s father had sent him and his cousin Joe on some sort of an errand. * Before they had got around the corner the apples had disappeared. “My! Wan’t they good?” said Joe, smacking his lips. “If ther’d only been more.” That night he proposed something to Johnny. “Say,” said he, in a low and mysterious tone, when they were going upstairs to bed, “wouldn't you like some -more of those apples?” “Course I would,” answered Johnny. “Then let’s get some,” said Joe. “What d’ye say?” “How’ll we get ’em?” asked Johnny. “Why, take ’em!” answered Joe. “If we don’t some other boys will, an’ we might as well have ’em as anybody.” That was a very poor argument. No one was ever justified in a wrong action, because if they didn’t do it, someone else would. “ Wouldn’t it be stealing?” said Johnny. “ Folks don’t call it stealing if a boy takes a few apples to eat,” answered Joe. “Besides, Mr. Thomas won’t miss ’em, anyway." “May be not,” said Johnny, hesitatingly. * ‘But it don’t seem just right, for he gave us some, and as much as said he didn’t think wo’d steal —or take any without his lieve,” corrected Johnny.—He hardly liked the sound of the word “steal.” “Well, you needn’t doit if you don’t want to,” said Joe, with an offended air. “1 thought you liked fun.” “I’ll go along,” said Johnny, who was always ready when there was a chance for sport. He didn’t quite approve of this way of doing business, but, like a good many of us “children of a larger growth” he smothered his conscience and set off.

“I don’t suppose there’s any need of being very careful,” said Joe. “’Tain’t very likely Mr. Thomas ’ll be ’round this time of night.” But they were careful, for all that, and didn’t speak above a breath until they were in the tree from which the frpit had been taken that had so aroused Joe’s aDpetite for apples. “Ain’t this jolly?” whispered Joe, with his mouth full of apple. “Seems to me they taste better than them did this morning. I’m going to stuff my pockets with ’em, aud carry all 1 can in my shirt. I—Hark!” The exclamation was caused by a noise near them that sounded very much like a step in the dry grass. “Wouldn’t wonder if some of the other boys were out on a lark too,” whispered Johnny, who was not without some misgivings, however. “Listen.” Fes, the sound they heard was the sound of a step sure enough, and they fancied they could hear others near by. “It is the boys, sure’s you’re alive,” said Joe. “I’m going to hail ’em. S-a-v, boys, hello!’’ “What’s that? Who air ye, an’ where be ye?” demanded a gruff voice that sent terror to the boys’ hearts—the voice of the owner of the orchard. “Stealin’ apples, hoy? An’ hain’t sense enough to keep still about it. Lucky I came home ’cross lots. Now d’ye jest git right straight down out o’ that tree, an’ don’t yer try to run. or the dog’ll take after ye. Come down, you thoivin’ young scalawags, so’t I can get a squint at yer Dy’e hear?” “We’ll have-to get down and run for it,” whispered Joe. “That’s the only chance. Be spry, or he’ll nab us.” Joe jumped and for the fence on a run. Johnny followed, but Mr. Thomas was too quick for him, and the unlucky youth was “nabbed.” “Sic ’em Towse!” cried Mr. Thomas, and Towser, nothing loth, gave a yelp or two and started in pursuit of Joe. “It’s you, is it?” cried Mr. Thomas, dragging Johnny into the light. “I thought better on ye than that! I gave ye apples this mornin’, an’ that didn’t seem to satisfy ye, an’ now I’m goin’ to give you a tannin’. Don’t Ifleve ye’ll be apt to come ’round to-night fer more o’ that,” and' Mr. Inomas chuckled as he cut a long sprout from the nearest tree Then he proceeded to “tan” Johnny in a way that left but little to be desired in that interesting performance. Johnny bore it like a martyr. .He knew it was a deserved punisbmenti ant} he felt ashamed to

“Now jest make tracks for home an* don’t ye ever let me ketch ye in this orchard ag’n.” said Mr. Thomas. Johnny took his advice, without stopping to find out what had become of Joe. That young lover of forbidden fruit had started for the fence, but he heard the dog so close behind him that he took refuge in a tree. There Mr. Thomas found him with Towser sitting at the foot of it, growling. “You’re safe, I reckon,” said the old man, with a grim chuckle. “Keep watch on him, Towse. Good night, hub. Hope ye’ll rest well.” Then he went away and left Joe to the longest night of meditation he ever saw. lie tried to drive the dog away, and then, failing in that, to coax him into being friends, but in vain. The dog know his business, and wasn’t to be driven or coaxed from doing his duty. ilarly the next morning Mr. Thomas came over to Joe’s uncle’s. Johnny saw him, but kept out of sight. “One o’ your young critters is in my orchard,” called out Mr. Thomas over the fence. Got in las’ n'ght. Better go an’ get him out, I reckon.” “I will,” said Uncle Able, and started forthwith. He expected to find the fence down, and a calf in mischief. Instead of that he discovered Joe perched in a tree looking about as foolish as a boy can. “You’re the calf I’m lookin’ for hey?” said Uncle Able, having to laugh in spite of himself at Joe’s crestfallen appearance. “Had a good time, I s’pose? Don’t seem as if it jest agreed with ye to be up all night, judgin’ from yer looks.” Joe climbed down out of • the tree, while his uncle kept Towse at a safe distance. “I—l wish you’d lick me,” he said to his uncle, with such a queer and comisal expression on his face that Uncle Able had to laugh again, and Joe laughed, too, in a siokly way, and marched off homeward, feeling that “larks” didn't agree with him as well as he fancied they might. K “I’ll tell youwhat,” he said to Johnthat afternoon, “you don’t catch me stealing apples again.” “Nor me,” said Johnny, thinking of his sore back. “Didn’t we get ‘come up’ with in good shape, though?” “Should say we did,” answered Joe. “You’d better believe I felt mean and foolish when I saw Uncle Able coming. 1 never did feel quite so ‘streaked’m all my life. I’d rather have had a ‘tanning’twice over.” “And to think of the way in which we returned Mr. Thomas’ kindness,” said Johnny. “He gave us some apples aud we were mean enough to try and steal more from him. Last night it looked like fun to me—or auy way I tried to make it look so, but since I thought it all over I see there wasn’t any run about it. I tell you what it is, Joe, it doesn’t pay to do*a mean thing and try to excusq yourself by calling it sport.” “That’s so,” answered Joe. So the boys found out that forbidden fruit often leaves a bitter taste behind it —Eben E. Rexfdrd, in Western Plowman.

A Faithful Little Girl. She was a little girl, not more than ten years old. A faded calico dress, not over-clean, a pair of shoes with more buttons missing than were present made up a by no means fashionable toilet Her eyes were not “large and dark;” in fact she was a very common-place looking little girl. If you met her on the street it is quite certain that you would not look at her twice, for in New York there are many little girls not so clean and with clothes more ragged than Rose’s. She came into a court-room in New York one day, two or three weeks since, leading by the hand a little boy with bare feet, ragged clothes, and a bat with a tom crown. He was crying very hard, and once in a while would say, between his sobs: “I won’t do it again, Rosie, I won't do it again.” Bnt Rosie shut her lips tight, and walked through the little iron gate, and stood on the platform before the Judge. She was not afraid of the good-natured-looking man who was the Judge that morning. “Please, sir, will you please take care of’Johnny? he is too jpuch for me. I can mind the baby all right, but Johnny runs away.” “1 won’tdo it again,” wailed Johnny. “Where is your mother?” said the Judge. A crimson wave flashed over the face of the little woman, and with eyes looking on the ground, she said: “On the island.” “Why?” “She got drunk.” “Where is your father?” “I don’t know; and, please, will you take care of Johnny?” After much questioning the story was told. Little Rosie for eight weeks had been taking care of a baby sister eight months old. and Johnny. Now, Johnny would not stay at home, and Rose had heard that there was a big house ifp-town where he would be taken care of, and from which he could not run awav, and she came to the Judge to have him sent to that place. Rose really took care of Johnny and the baby. She earned money by selling papers and “minding” the babies of two or three mothers who lived in the big tenement-house down town in which she lived, who had to go away from home to earn money. She paid the rent of the one room she called home, and was father and mother to her brother and sister.

The Judge did send Johnny to the place up town where Rose wanted him sent. How he cried when the big policeman took him away from Rose! And Rose cried; the great tears rolled down her cheeks as she went out on the street, and she waited round the door, with the baby in her arms, till it was almost dark, to see Johnny go away. Perhaps it was best that Johnny went out by another^door while she was waiting. Now Johnny plays on a big lawn with a lot of other little boys. His face and clothes are clean, and when Rose goes up to see him she will be surprised to see how fat and happy he is. Some people went down to see Rose, and tried to persuade her to put the baby in a Home and go to another Home herself. But Rose said “No;” she must keep the house and the baby until her mother got back, and she could not be separated from the baby. She was so womanly, so motherly, m her determination, that she was permitted to do as she wished. To-day, if you should go into one of the tenement-houses near that great gloomy building called the Tombs, you would'find Rose living with the baby, and if it was in the afternoon you would find three other babies whh her, to whom she proves a good nurse.— Christian Union. —Feggokilt, on the Island of Mois, Denmark, is for sale. The owner guarantees that it was the birthplace of “that remarkablo man Hamlet,” and that on it is “a hill with the grave of King Felgge, who was the identical individual Sain by the young Prince to avenge the ‘mnrder most foul’ of his father.” —Miss Lauia Shclnut, of Walnut Grave, Ga., dreamed three times ,of a handsome young man with a mi nwektie, who pointea but to her the soot where a treasure was buried. She found the place, %pd dug up a tip box fall of gol<| corns, So '(is nh4—F, K

Temperance Reading. MARCHING ON. Time: The Battle H*mn of the Republic, ISunjr by Mrs. V. C. Smith, of Springfield, 111., at the Sangamon County Teachers’ Institute.] Pass the word alone fit* column now, and sound it with a will—“No saloon down in the valley, but a school on every hill,” Ever let it be our watchword, then, and for it. labor still. As we so marching on. Chon*—' There’s a pnd time coming, hallelujah ! No saloon in the valley, halleluiah 1 But a school on every hill-top, hallelujah! As we go marching on. Despair not, weeping mothers, for there still is hope for you. . Hope for the drunkard’s starring wife, his ragged children, too; Cheer up! The clouds are breaking; there are brighter skies in view. As we go marching on. ChorusCheer up. ye weak and erring ones, to drink enslaved so long; Come aid us bind the demon now, in fetters last and strong: For God will ever help us as we battle ’gainst the wrong. As we go marching on. Chorus— Guard well your home, your own sweet home. Where'er that home mav be; Strike telling blows ’gainst all our foes till from the traffic free. We raise our hallelujahs high in songs of victory. As we go marching on. Chorus — THE FLAGMAN'S STORY. It was a dismal November evening, and the rain and the darkness were begenning to fall together, as I reached the A street crossing, intending to board the evening accommodation, which, as I knew, was usually slowed at this point to let off an official living in the neighborhood. As the train was not due for nearly half an hour, I took refuge in the shelter-hut of the old flagman with whom 1 had long been on excellent terms. He was a jolly, gossipy little man, who had become superannated in the service of the company, and was enjoying in his old age what was to him a position of ease and honor. He had just finished his sapper, brought to him, as usual, by his granddaughter. As he lifted the tin pail to make room for me on the scanty bench, he carefully put back into it some choice pieces of meat, bread and cake, sufficient by themselves for a quite substantial meal. ‘‘That's for the General," said he. in answer to my look of curosity. “My old woman would no more forget his supper than she would forget mine.” “Who is the General?" I inquired. “Well, sir, he's what you call a man with a history.” “Tell it to' me. I am fond of history. “I’ve no objection—but wait a bit, I f 1 ess he’s coming now—Yes, sir. that’s im. Just keep quiet, and don’t notice his crankiness, and you’ll see a character.” A shuffling step, and a hoarse, tearing cough announced the approach of the General, who soon presented himself at the door of the hut. where he Eaused and struck an attitude in the alf-light of the flagman's lantern. General, indeed! A once tall and muscular man, now a miserable slouch, with stooping shoulders, hollow chest, bending, tremulous knees, the dress of a vagabond and tho face of a sot! Yet there was something in his bearing,' in the lines of the mouth, in the glance of ■the blood shot eye, that seemed the shadow of departed power; and his salutation to tho flagman was given and received as that of a superior to a dependent. Upon me he glowered fiercely, exclaiming: “No loafers allowed around these premises!” The flagman explained that I was waiting for the train. “Why don’t he go to the depot? This is not a station.” x

I was about to reply when the flagman drew forth the tin pail, saying: “General, they have sent us up our lunch from the hotel; will you have it now?” Steadying himself against the door, with-a hand that shook as with the palsv, the wretched tramp took the old man’s bounty as if it were his by right, grumbled at its scantiness ana quality, said he must be off to the office, and w:thout thanks or farewell shuffled away. We heard his cough, mingled with an occasional wheezy oath, as he disappeared in the darkness. “There!” said the old flag-man, taming to me, “what do you call that?" “The wreck of a great man, but exceedingly disagreeable in its present state. lon have, I see, some less unpleasant associations with it.” “I should think so. Why, sir, fifteen yean> ago that man was Superintendent of this road! And the best one, by all odds, that they ever had. He was engine, steam and engineer, all in one. Things went just like clock-work. He knew every man, and wheel and spike bn the whole road. You couldn’t blow a. whistle or swing a lantern anywhere on the line without his leave. We called him the General; and we might as well have said King, for he was every inch of it. He had a good salary, owned some stock in the road, had a nice home, and moved in the best society. His son had a first-rate position in the general office. His daughter was engaged to a young millionaire —a nephew and ward of one of the Directors.

“But the General had one bad enemy —liquor. I’ve heard that he learned to drink at the wine suppers that the railroad magnates, used to give when they met to lay their plans, and all that. At any rate he learned pretty fast, and practiced what he learned. Now and'then he gave a wine sapper himself ; and many a young man under him—his own son among the rest —took his first glass at the GeneraTs table. “ By and by the habit began to show itself in his face; next in his step; then in his temper, and at last in the road. Screws came loose; things ran down; stock declined. Then the magnates complained; and when they saw that complaints did no good, they tamed him oat The young millionaire turned up his nose, and asked to be released from his mai-rfage engagement The fill approved his decision; dismissed im kindly, and before morning was a raving maniac. “ All theso troubles, instead of sobering the General, made him worse; For four months he scarcely knew a sober moment He spent the savings of his life; his house and goods were sold under the hammer, and he and his heartbroken wife moved into a little tenement in the alley yonder. “ At last the Good Templars got hold of him, and he signed the pledge. You never saw such a change iu a man. He was like one alive from the dead. The railroad folks had so much faith In him that they made him train-dispatcher. It was a step down; but he took it willingly, and did his work well. When the new depot was opened, the beer was famished without stint. To every body’s horror, the General took a glass. What happened after that no one knew; but that night he ran two trains together at the Millwood switch, killing one man and wounding four. In half an hour after the accident, the dispatcher was discharged. In three hours, he was drunk in the street, arrested and sent to the lock-up. “Some of the boys went over and paid his fine. Then he swore by all that is holy that he would 'never drink again. After a probation of six months, and when his reformation seemed to be genuine and permanent, he was offered a conductors position. It was another step down; but he took it gladly, and did his very best, which was as well os the best could do. One day, the Directors’ car was attached to hie train. ||e wont through as (hey

wen at dinner. The smell of the wine awakened the old demon in him, and ah the next station he got agiaasof Honor. He made a fool of himself; insulted tho passengers; was complained of, and discharged. “Once more after that the company Sure him a chance to earn his bread. e was appointed to a petty clerkship in the general office. His son had long ago lost bis place there on account of intemperate habits. The father soon lost his in the same way. Some suddentemptation overtook him, and away he went again “It was pitiful to hear him beg for another trial. He would do anything, and at any price. He would be flagman at a crossing. But there were no vacancies; and if there were, be eould not be trusted. He would be watchman in the depot; but they dared not depend upon him. I believe he would have joined the mop brigade if they would have let h*m; bat it was oat oc the question. “from that time he gave up trying to be respectable, and sank lower ana lower. You see what he is now—a common tramp and beggar. His wife is in the workhouse; his son is in the penitentiary; be himself will soon be in his grave. But so long as I have a oast of bread I will hot let him starve. “Your train is coming.- When it stops you will see a man get oft. It is the present Superintendent. Be.begaa as an office-boy under the General; bat he never surrendered to the General’s enemy. While the General was coming down, his clerk was going up. up. up! He took one place after another, each one higher than the last, till now they have'made him Superintendent! He’s a teetotaler himself, and he won’t have a drinking man on the road if he knows it. Here he is on the platform. He hesn’t half, of the General’s ability; bat, bless yoa, what’s ability worth when it’s preserved in alcohol?”— Rev. George Huntington, in Ckioago Advance.

A Ready Resource. { The women of Arkansas have a ready resource against the mischief of the saloon. It is comforting, even to those of ns who have not the oomfort at this ability to help ourselves, to read in the recently issued circular letter of the State President of such quick success for home prelection ns the following incident records; ’ • * A lady living in a small settlement, said to me; * Mr. is banding a saloon in oar neighborhood; what is to become of our boysP “For answer, 1 furnished her with a blank petition, which she used as directed. The result was the prohibition of the sale Os liquor within three miles of the school house where that lady lived; and she cried for joy when she heard the news.” ; . It may not be known to every reader of these simple lines that the petition referred to, if filled with the names of a majority of the adult inhabitants of the district (men and warned 1 ), would be the effective instrument in sedfirfflgthis immediate 'prohibition. Almost any woman would become a “temperance tramp” the tramping might bring about suth blessed ana such speedy results.—Union Signal. Liquor Dealers and the frerking-Mea. The working-man’s friends are not the liqnor dealers. A man’s true friends never take from him his hard-earned wages, and give him nothing in return but a liquid that poisons his Wood, destroys his intellect and rains his soul. They never send him oat in rags to find his bed in the gutter. They never send him reeling home to wreck his frensy upon a defenseless family; to make their lives more miserable than his own. They never reduce a man from riches to penury; from honor to dishonor; from life and* happiness to death and disgrace. They never put the madness into his brain that prompts to deeds oi awful crime. They never send him to the poor-house, the prison cell or the SJlows. The liqnor dealers are not a friends of working-men.— N. T. Observer.

Temperance Items. Total abstinence is science and common sense combined. Drunkenness is midnight Moderation is twilight Abstinence is sunlight - A New York saloon-keeper has fastened the portraits of three Presidential candidates upon his beer glasses, enabling his patrons to use a Butler, Cleveland or Blaine glass as they desire. When one inquired for aSt John glass, the keeper declared hotly: “Wo have no use for water here.” Parisians consume upon an average over a pint of wine per aiem, each man. woman and ohildof them. Eli Perkins says of them that “they axe all sallow, never a rosy-cheeked girl to be seen, and even the babies have a sickly look.” He urges the substitution of a pint of milk as the dally beverage. The New Orleans Times says: “No liquor has been sold for the last six years in one of the wealthiest and most prosperous oounties of Texas, and consequently the jail is empty. The reader should pause and consider that word ‘'consequently.” It implies a groat fact and -a groat moraL— Chicago Standard. The favorite fiction that vine-gtow-ing countries have no drunkenness ought to get its end in the Temperance agitation in Switzerland, where brandy drinking is on the inoroaso and a pov-erty-stricken country, with the area of Maryland and the population of Ohio, spends $30,000,000 a year -or liquor.— MHladelpkia Press. Whisky made the trouble between “Muhce” Roane and his wife, and caused his wife to nearly kill him with an ax. He was taken to the hospital and there became temporarily insane. He got away from the. hospital and frightened a great mpny people. One lady, Mrs. Voorhies, was frightened so badly that she died in twenty-four hoars. If Roane had been a sober, industrious man all this would not have happened. Whisky was the cause of it Ml, and yet good men are found who favor the selling of whisky.— lo%oa State Begister. The quotation Nuisance. Will no critic of eminence raise a protest against the quotation nuisanoeP A fierce desire to quote something—anything—especially anything that rhymes —is raging like, an epidemic among our public speakers, and ministers seem specially exposed to the attacks of the disease. Bnt is it not written in the now almost forgotten decalogue of style that unless a quotation is very fresh os very apposite, it is not an ornament, but a blemish to a speech? Now the ministerial tags are the oldest of the old, and often dragged in by heed and ears into the bargain. Lord Dartington’s “Why did yon kick me downstairs?” is one of the hoariest veterans in the service; but it at least oame in naturally in bis speech at Manchester the other day. But one can not say even as'much as that for Mr. Chamberlain’s application of the “little viotims” of Gray’s ode on a distant view ot Eton—so often victimized before—to the House of Lords. But then Mr. Chamberlain is an did and obstinate offender in tide respect, and one can only hope that, if he oun Mttaflp quoting; he will in future be more faithful —A rich New Yorker is charged with brutality for refusing to let bis wife wear a “Mother Hubbard” dress, and a Georgia wife hit her hatband an almost fatal blow for doming home in a pair of iklo-tight pagta.—DUrsff frm {fa*.