Pike County Democrat, Volume 15, Number 26, Petersburg, Pike County, 6 November 1884 — Page 4

oyer; now, don’t h Mornin’, David’s queer; there *s a streak t queerness in the famerly, an’ when i don’t crop out in one place ’twill in anoth er. He’s straight enough in his head he’s honest, an’ tidy, an industrious an’ kindly disposed* an’ allers doin some one a good turn, though he’s : tritie near in money matters as th ole man was, an’ is afters dodging qnes tions. . 3 That’s David, said Uncle Reuben, i Vc drove by a cluster of iishermen shanties, that’s him a-settlng there, a he alius sets that way, David does, as he was lookin’ at suthin’ that’s conn in from the sea, when there’s nothin’ look at, not even a lobster booy, Tht ain’t nothin’ han’some about David l eomi Nobody ever got David to say “yes” or “no.” Ask him if he got a good catch o’fisli to-day, an* he’ll say “tollably middlin’;” ask him if he’s goin’ out • to his lobster-pots, an’ he’ll say, “Jest as like as not,” ask him if its goin’ to be fair weather, an’ he’ll cast his eye around a while an’ then answer “mebbe.” Nobody ever got to the wind’ard o’ David, askin’ questions. He’s bin a witness in two lawsuits, an’ the hull court couldn’t a fetched a direct answer from him, not ef it was the dawn o’ iedgment day. Dpvid was fifty-two years old before he begun to talk o’ gettin’ married, an’ he’s made a fool of himself about the women ever sinq* It broke out all on a sudden two winters ago. He never spoke much with women, an’ never visited any, but was alters a trifle shy, handin’ his head in a bashful sort o’ way, an’ keepiu’ his words to himself when women folks was around. *liut he spruced np all to wunst, begun to shave his heard an’ go to meetin’. Then he begun to talk o’ gettin’ married, an’ folks they begun to laugh. He's a likely enough sort o’ man, David is, an’ he’s a nice house where he lives all alone by himself, with his old mother-to do the cookin ; besides one of the best farms in the township, an’ quite a piece o’ money he’s saved up from farmin’ an’ fishm’, an’ from what the old man left; but somehow there ain’t a woman in the county who’ll have David, though he’s safe,-an’ stiddy, an’ kindly, an’all that. . J He's proposed to a dozen or so of old maids, David has, but they’ve all gi’n him the mitten. He’s shy o’ widders an’ young girls, David is, an’ mebbe that’s Why he’s had such bad luck courtin’. Widders, he says, is apt to be contrary an’ set in their ways; young girls is too hity-tity an’ spend too much on dresses an’ ribbons, but old maids, he says, is sort o’ willin’ an’ easy to

piease. David might o’ married easy as not years ago, for he was as likely a young man as there was In the county, an’ his folks was oilers forehanded; but the old man was a terror to women, an’ David allers lived to home. Money was the old man's god, an’ he never gi’n himself nor his family no comforts an’ no pleasure. He never did nothin’ but figure out the easiest way to get rich, an’ ho s had tollabul luck at it. David is a good deal that way himself, an’ is anxious to accumulate, but he’d give any woman a good home ef he’d get one to marry him. Stinginess come nateral to David, an’ he couldn’t no more help bein’ near than he could change the shape of his nose, which is just like the old man’s all over. ’Twas David’s father .that an old story ’s told about. It wa’nt true, but might as well a been. He was so mean, they say, that he didn’t feed his children nothin’ but potatoes, an’ they got so sick 6” -potatoes that their mouths wouldn’t open to’era any more. They’d a starved to death but for the old man’s * boldin’ up a piece o’ meat an’ motionin’ with it jest as if he was goin’ to feed it to’em, but when their mouths’d'open he’d shove in a lot of pot&o instead. _ He paid David’s mother—she that is livin' still—nine shillin’s a week wages after they was married jest the same as before, an’ allers docked her when she was sick an’ wa’nt able to work. She was his hired help before manyin’ him, you know, an’ might as well a been after so far as betterin’ her condition went, for she was independent when she was single an’ could a’ left him, but after they was married she wa’n’t. I never heerd o’her complainin’,-al-though she had to put up with a good deal from the old man, an’ mo3t people wouldn’t a stood it, but she never murmured, an’ when he died she showed genuine sorrow. Mebbe if he’d died in bed she wouldn’t a took bn so, bnt the way it was went hard with her, ’ “’as an awful shock to her nerves. 1 didn’t take on much though. ** i was a hand master, an’ i his slaves. ‘It was -his shattered Woodbury --1, an’ its a wonder to fabors that David an’ the old 1 it as long as they did. - «r, tax' she died after l a year or so. Her icr body to the old and to find it’s restj they come to ooverI’t no lid to the coflin- : the barn aboard how

eat one summer, an’ vendoo, fattier, you load o’ shoe-knittin'-needle, in the barn. k,an* no one couldn't m shoe-pegs without was left to give him four an’ charge four the critter wouldn't eat anyfce farmer he'd worry best his appetite. The old 1 sort o’ mixture, made o’ Stewed up, which was warappetite of a horse harmless mt it had orse that the shoe-pegs would be yenough to eat his own head off Ht’dgota dose or two of it an’ seen driven six or eight miles sours© the medicine got the credit him, an’ gave the old man a reputation as a horse-doctor. He a mite o’ money sellin’ his thistlestew for four shillin’s a bottle, until shoe-peg business was discovered one day. Then he quit the livery, and took ip drivflT stage. He made money that way, too, an* didn't lose but twenty-five cents all the [ years he was at it. That was the time a stranii»r had a fit, »n’ died in the- stage “before.he’d paid his fare. There wa’n’t no money an’ no marks on him, to tell vhwlm was bv, an’ the county had to bury him. The Commissioners refused to pay his stage fare, though the old man worried ’em agood deal about it, an’he had to give It up. It was the first an’ only money he was ever beat out of, an’ it was a lesson to him, for he 'never faded thereafter to collect fares in advaiee. * Nothin’ but death ever got the start of D: arid’s father. The way he died was awful, an’ while David owed the old man nothin’ he hadn't paid twice over, he eonldn’t but feel sorry when they brought the body home. He was so graspiu’ an’ mean that j.x.^i. fo*. nieufls, but what there was of ’em gave him a decent burisil. It was down on Turkey-foot Spit that it came about. The old man was haulin’ sea-weed for manure, an’ suthin’, about the gearin’ o’ the team gave way: while he was a-crossin’ the beach. He was idlers timid, but he overdid it this time when he onhitched the team to keep ’em from startin' while he was under the wagon. He must ’a been a-tinkerin’ as he lay upon his back on the sand, for the reach slipped out, an’ failin’ across his stomach, pinned him down. There’s no tollin’ what he did, an’ there’s no tollin’ what he thought; he must a’ yelled, but he was a mile or so from anywhere, an’ the breakers were so heavy that he couldn’t a’ been heard forty feet ‘Way. There he was, pinned down, dead sot, an’ no use a’ stirriu’ under a load o’ sea-weed till the tide come in an’ covered him over an’ the vragrin, too. The team they wandered home, an’ found tM barn, an’ when the old man didn’t show up, David, he an,fthe neighbors, they went to huntin’ an’ it was sun-up the next mornin’ before they found him, after the tide went out W aal, when the old man was buried, an’ they wa%’t no’ tears shed except by the old woman mebbe, for she’d sort o’ got used to him, an’ missed him, don’t you know, David, he come into the property an’ begun to fix up about tho place. He raised the old house a story higher and shingled the roof ; painted the barn an’ fences, an’ made everything as neat and showy as a new harness. Seme one asked him what he was doing so much fixing up for, as there was plenty of room in the old house for him an’ mother, but David, he sort o’ smiled, as he does,-an’ said as how it was the first time in his life he’d been allowed to du as he was a min’ tu, he thought he’d go the hull figger. But sence then he's never spent a copper on the. place, though he’s allers kep’ it tidy. Woodbury, you know, who lives in that flat-topped house down the rqpd a piece yonder, is David’s full brother, but he ain’t a mite like David. It ain’t fair to David to speak on ’em both in the same breath. Woodbuiy took all the old man’s cranks and meanness, an’' he’s shattered too, so’s ’tain’t safe t* have him around; leastways I don’t wan t him near me. He’s an odd critter.

w ooamiry is, an'is up to all sorts o capers, but there’s a good deal of eussednesst into him, too. Ho was bom and raised here, an’ everybody knows him, but that don’t help him a bit. He’s eternally crittin’ up didos, an’ scarin’ the women folks, an’ most everybody wishes he was somewhere else. Two years ago he ripped out the hull insides qf his house, makin’ one room upstairs an’ one room down, an’ riot even a buttry or partitionany where, an’ he chopped up the doors for firewood. He says he done it because he wanted mom air within, an’ as long as it is his own house I ’spose he could do as he was a min’ to; but the trick didn’t give him. a very {food name. Then again he hauled a lot o’ brush an’ piled it up in the road, an’ sot it on fire at midnight, an’ scared folks most out o’ their wits. Everybody run out to see what the fuss was, an’ there sat Woodbury, smokin’ his pipe by the roadside, an’ askin’ each one that came up if he thought it ’Id be fair weather come day time. He's a widower, Woodbury is, an’ he has a boy snthin’ like twelve years old, who’s as big a loon as he is, an’ goin’ to loo more so. “Las’ winter he stripped the -boy stark naked—there wa’nt a rag: on him—an’ put him in a bar’l o’ the strongest brine you ever sec. The boy yelled like fury when the salt began to eat into his hide, an’ the neighbors all run in to see what Woodbuiy was up ter, an’ ’twas well they did, for he was just a headin’ of the bar’l up, an’ the boy’d a been dead as a rsd herrin’ in a few minutes. Woodbuiy, he said-he was fearin’ he’d run short o’ pork that winter, an’ as the boy wa'n’t no good anyhow, he thought he’d pickle him. But this didn’t seem to lake with the selectmen, an’ they had Woodbury sent up to the county farm where they waVt no'fear o’ runnin’ short o’ pork. But he come back again this spring, an’ has scnce lieen livin’ over yonder with the boy, just as if nothin’ hadn’t happened. People is sort o’ ukeared. of him, as they don’t know when he’s agoin’ to break oht next. But David, he ain't a mite like him, as his queerness all runs to gettin married, ’-though he's now past fifty-two years old. The girls has had lots o’ fun with David, ’an ain’t done nothin’ but make game of him. He never done any visitin’ till two wintcra ago; so when he came to- a house where any women folks was, an’ single at that, they knowed he was courtin’ an’ begun to fool with him to wunst. He's hsd so many setbacks that he’s sort o’ used to ’em, you know. But last yrinter he had a snubbin’ that lia nin’f nniihp (mf nrnr on’ T oulVorlofo

Horace’s “I want ter know,” says David. “Yes, am* she's just the match for you,” saysi s wife. “Not tool yjwmg, nor too old, but just young an*, old enough, an’ they say she’s «, great ketch where she David, ’ says she, “an’ ilf you’re still of. a mind to many, you kin come around Sa turday night an lrll make you acquainted with her, an’ y ou and she kin do some sparkin' in the best parlor.” “I want ter know/’ says David. So, on Saturday night; David fixed himself up in his Sunday best, as; pretty; as a ripe pumpkin, and he mosey id over to Horace’s house to see the woman company firom Ex’ter. He was introduced, an’ fer a while all the fdUts was in the best room with ’em; but bimeby they slipped out one by one, and left David alone with the woman company. She was a slick talker, and she kinder drawed David out, out, so to speak, an’ got him to telliu* about fish’d’ and farrnin and his new house, with nary a woman to pat into it Then David he asked, her if there was a good deal of marryin’ at lEx’ter. She said there was more or less, and then David inquired why so pretty and likely a woman as she had never got hitched herself. He was fishin’ with a short line, David was, and he didn’t waste no tim$. She tittered an’ blushed, an’ smd she ’sposed ’tv-as because no one had asked her; that she’d beaux enough, but she hadn’t never seen no man until that night to whom she’d give encouragement Then David, he came up to the pint at once, an’ said if that was all that stood in the way she’d not die single on his account Whereupon she spoke up sharp like, and says, says she: “David, be you jestin’?” She looked him square in the eyes when she said that, an’ David, lie stood it like a man. He said he was never so dead in earnest in all his life as he was at that blessed minute. He said he had a house, new built, an’ as good a, fishin’ boat as th an: was between Provineetpwn and Portland, an’ ’though he’ was ’long In years somewhat, he wasn’t a drinkin naan, and come of a long-lived family. If she wanted to hitch he did, and the parson couldn't be called too soon for him. ‘Til marry no man who doesn’t git down on his knees an’ ask me in toe on ms Knees an _ old-fashioned way,” siiid she. At this David flopped down on his prayer-homes and popped the question. “Git up, David,” says she, takin’ him by the hud, “I’U marry no man but you.” Then tllre folks was called in, and David he told ’em as how he and tho woman company was goin’ to get married, an’ they all went to the kitchen an’ had some pop-corn an’ cider an’ butternuts. The next day was Sabbath, an’ when David went to meetin’ he looked over to Horace’s pew, but there wa’nt no woman company there, only a young man who looked amazin’ like the .girl he kissed the night before. When pimachin’ was over an’ the benediction said, David waited in toe entry, an’ when Horace’s ifblks come out he was just about askin’ for the woman co mpany, when the young' man stepped up as spry as ooiud be, and takin’ him by the hand, he said: “David, I’ll marry no man bnt you,” r» ^ Ikuvill kIX ljXiXEfOil An *iV an’ David he looked as if he’d through toe bottom of the meetin’ house. It was a wicked thing, I think, but it cured David of courtin’ strangers. The young mam was a school-teacher at Exter, au’ the boys brought him over to play it on David as they did. He had been actin' a woman's part in some theater pipy at the school, and did it so perfect that nobody could have told a bit of difference. ’Twas a great trial to David; hehaint been so much eut up by anything afore or sence, an’ many folks in his place wouldn’t a stood it; but there wa’n’t nothin’ he could do to make matters any better, or to stop folks a talkin'' about his blamed thunderin' foolishness. It aint talked about so much now, by a good deal, but the tongues was pretty busy at sewin’ societies an’ candy-prills last winter, I can tell you. David got along pretty middlin’ well, an didn’t say much to folks aliout it, but he told nis old mother he’d a realizin’ sense of his foolishness an* quit rannin after the women for a time. But he ain’t gi’n it up yet, an* ^ou’ll hear from him in some scrape or ’noth-., er next winter ef he’s spared.

there s plenty o good in David ef he is near an graspin’ an’ never thought o’ marryin’ tell he was fifty-two. He’s got a tender side to little ones, an’ is often kindly an’ good-hearted on the sly. There ain’t a better seaman nor a braver man on the hull coast than David, an’ when the Seagull foundered on the Fosidick rocks a few years sence, he was the first man to shove his doty into the surf an’row to her. Others went to her, but David went alone an’ asked no help. He said there wan’t no use o’ fillin’ the dory with folks if any lives was to be saved. It was most sundown an’ a nor’east gale was on, shakin’ the rocks as the waves struck ’em. The breakers rolled as high as the biggest barn in the township, an’ now you could see the Seagull an’ now you couldn’t When. David got to her she’d been heaved way up on the rocks, was ripped an’ split an* ’t wasn’t only a matter of a mini* <« so when she’d _ keel over. The .skipper had got his wife into a boat with some o’ the crew, and the rest of ’em was in another, an’ they was just about shovin’ off when David he come up. He east them his painter, an’ they was just makin’ it fast when the woman she fainted dead away, an’ her babe that was in her lap it rolled into the sea. David (rrabbed the child liefore it went under, an’ lifted it into the boat, but while these doin’s was goin’ on he lost his oars, the painter parted, an’ a big breaker which broke over the Seagull drove the two boats apart. An’ there David was with a child in his arms an’ not even a stick to scull with. Night had come on by that time, an* the little dory was a tossin’ like bubbles d’ foam. But David, he never lost his grit. He knew if he could keep the dory floatin' the tide’d drive if in. The waves broke over the boat’s sides and time an’ again it was on the pint o’ swampi n’, but there was a bait bucket aboard, an’ he hailed the water out with one hand while he held tie baby with the other. It was a, fight between death an’ David, an’ he handicapped with that child. But he won, for jest as he oalkilated, the tide turned soon, an’ drove the dory shorewarcls, an’ when it struck a rock he, David,, jumped overboard with the baby an’ swum to land. It must a been three o’clock in the mornin’ when we seen David a cornin’ up the bench, drippin liko a muskrat, with the child wrapped in his jacket, soakin' wet but sloepin’ jest as quiet as if it was in its mother’s arms. There’s a blcssin’ somewhere for such doin’s, an’ it’ll come to David, as sure as you’re born.—E. Ourtia, in Inter Ocem. mission ninety-three varieties of choice Wine grapes were exhibited- ' ; I" ,1 : * ’’ . J‘v-f • ■ V.*; '■- —At a i the Califoi us Dy Com

—Corn foods, par with clover bay, is a *stitnte for timothy hay. When properly secured it can practically be rated at three-fourths the value of timothy.—Cleveland Leader. —Soot is one of the most valuable of fertilizers, and should be carefully! saved. That from coal is superior to that from wood. It is rich in nitrogen, and benefits all crops to which 'it may be applied, as well as being an excellent remedy against the attacks of many kinds of insects—Albany Journal. —Silk Crazy Work Sofa Pillow—Take a square of cambric or cotton cloth, the size you wish the pillow. Baste pieces of silk, satin or velvet on the cloth, any size or shape they may be, fitting them so the cloth will not show. Turn in' the edges and fasten them down in silk in various fancy stitches. — Chicago Times. —When the hair brush is soiled, remove all the dust you can, by tapping it on the edge of a board or basin. Then dip it (bristles down) into a little warm water, containing a few drops of ammonia, being careful not to wet the back or handle. Rinse in the same way and again tap it on the board to remove all the water possible, and put it down to dry, with bristles down. —A contributor to the Prat,He Farmer says that he had over two hundred hogs, and had lost half of them by hog cholera. _ He then dipped ears of con in Carolina tar, besmearing them, and threw them among the hogs. They ate it greedily, and in a week all were on the road to recovery. Another remedy he had used successfully is that of feeding corn in the ear, which has been charred black. —A great convenience is found in this simple contrivance. Have a tin dish made tapering and with a long handle; have it small enough aronnd so that you can place it inside the tea-ket-tle; it is invaluable when there is sickness in the family, as there are so many occasions when one needs to cook gruel or custards at short notice, and with perfect immunity from the danger of burning, even though constant attention can not be given them.—Boston Post. —The editor of the Boston Journal oj Chemistry has learned by observation that the ant is an active and efficient destroyer of the canker worm. The little creatures would seize the worms which were feeding upon the leaves of an elm tree, and bear them |n their powerful grip to their nest in the ground. The rapidity with which they did their work, leads the editor to say, that ho does not believe the birds that prey upon the worms will do the work m a week in our orchards that these ants were doing in an hour. —The Agricultural Gazette copies an address in the course of which the following paragraph occurs: “Theorists say, teach a boy Latin and Euclid, and he will fight his way anywhere. But English farmers will not and can not believe that such an education will teach their boys how to tell whether a seed will produce the plant asserted, whether a manure contains the proper percentage of nitrogen and phosphates, or when, how, and why land should be plowed, sheep shorn, cows milked, oxen fed, and a variety, of other details of farm practice.” SHELTER FOR STOCK. Proper Protection Necessary to Keep Animals In Good Condition. Those farmers who have large cornfields into which they turn stock to forage during winter, ought to build sheds for their protection, unless there are belts of forests near by, to whieh they can retreat to pass the night, and shelter themselves from pitiless storms of rain and snow during the day. Where lumber abounds, sheas may be built in a cheap way, and if of ample breadth, and open only to the south, they will prove a passable protection, even in the worst weather. They ought to be placed in such positions as to be easily reached by the animals feeding in the most distant parts of the field, so that after- eating and drinking they are not obliged to travel a long distance for shelter.

If it is intended to cultivate the field in corn for a number of successive years, it would be best to make the sheds close-boarded up'bll round, and shingle tiie roofs. They might also be constructed so high as to make storageroom enough directly over the cattle to hold sufficient corn-stalks or hay to fodder them in the worst weather, and thus supersede the necessity of their going out during 6uch time for forage. This would be a great comfort to the stock, and enable them to keep in much better condition than if exposed to rain and show while feeding. Cheaper sheds may be made of hori- . sontal logs, or perpendicular poles, and the roofs thatched with straw or coarse hay. When these can not be had, corn stalks will be better than nothing, although the rain and melting snow would soon be dripping down through them. But belts of trees would be much better than imperfect sheds, especially if they are evergreens. These may be set out anywhere, if they do not already exist, and they will grow up with great rapidity by properly cultivating them the first few years.—•National Live-Stock Journal. TRYING FOR TOO MUCH. •‘Tryln* for a Good Many Ear* to a Stalk and Getting None.” A Farmer writes: “Last year a friend sent me an ear of a variety of sweet com which he has been growing for several years, in the effort to get a kind that will produce several ears upon one stalk. This seed was planted in the usual way, and of the whole planting there is not one good ear, but every stalk has several nubbins. Some have five or six, and the average is four, but not one good for anything. This seems • to me to be trying for too much. .1 have found my best crops of com to have one good ear to a stalk. Last year I had SO bushels and a little over of shelled corn to the acre, and there were very few double ears. Some years ago I planted mammoth sweet corn as an experiment, six feet apart each way, and but one stalk to a hill, and had ears averaging two pounds in weight; some were nearly three pounds in weight, 10 inches long and 11 inches In circumference. These ears sold for 25 cents each for seed making, at the rate of over $300 to toe acre. My evergreen sweet com this year, planted near this new kind, has over a0,000 ears to the acre, equal to $75 an acre, at only 75 cents per 100 ears, while the new corn is quite worthless excepting for fodder. I believe the efforts made to improve com by getting many ears upon a stalk to be in the wrong direction, and the advice so often given in agricultural papers to care for seed ears from stalks that have two or more upon them to be Wrong and mischievous. The most covetous farmer, in the way o> large crops, ought to be satisfied with one ear to a stalk and three stalks to a hill, and 8,000 hills to an acre; which is about 4 by 3} feet apart, and gives sufficient room to grow larger ears. This number of ears would give from 90 to 100 bushels of grain per acre, which should satisfy any reasonable man. This is better than trying for a good.many ears to a stalk and getting pone.”—# f.

THE TRUANT SJWBEAii. SsSSSIs”' ToW him ail that he mu UloT And this naughty » tie 811 nlieam Bald: “ He did nut eare icrat, S peeing all the workl was dill And with dear the limbs ail I * Did not eure tt ail the data iea Caught their death, witl ruffles wet? And those tall and starch] lilies Lost their fine and state y set, ** Guessed he wouldn't mini I his papa And go working down below; B’lieved he’d sail out in a ,-loud-boat. Or go sliding on the bow. “Bald he would not light the world up Like a useful little lamp; Thought he'd run array forever And become a sunbeam tramp.** Bo. Instead of working bravely Till his task was fully done, Be played “ keens” for rainbow marbles; Till the little clouds all won. Then he climbed the black cloud mountains Tilt he came right to the top. Where this naughty little Sunbeam Found a most unpleasant stop. For his aunt, the busy South-Wind, Who was out there for a walk, Met this idle little Sunbeam, And they had alittle talk. Then she led him to a comer Where the heavy clouds were banked. And this Uuy littlo Sunbeam Had his little person spanked. 3511 he said: “He’d mind his papa; Thought twas horrid playing tramp; Guessed he’d go and light the earth up like a useful little lamp.” So he came down In a hurry. Right among the dripping wheat; Kissed theyeuow grain and poppies Till they all were dry and sweet. Dried the white and stately lilies. And the roses full of fun. And the red and yellow tulips, Till his work was fully done. Then the New Moon, his sweet mother, Laid him in her shining how, And he said that “ ho was sorry,” As she rocked him to and fro. —Little A*. Barr, in N. T. independent. CRUELTY TO PARENTS. The Boy Who Teased His Mamma for Improper or Impossible Things. I suppose you children have all read of ** cruelty to animals,” and even of “ cruelty to children ” by parents or teachers. Bnt did you ever hear of cruelty to parents from children? Let me tell you about a visit I recently made to a friend. This lady had a little boy nine years old, and I had often heard it said: “ What a nice, pretty boy Frank Weston is, and what good manners he has!" I had been in the room but a few moments when Grant rushed in, and, bowing slightly to me, ran to his mother, exclaiming; “O, mamma, please give me some money to buy a writingdesk?” “ L would if yon needed one, certainly,” said his mother; “ but yon know yon have a very good one.” “ Yes; bnt, mamma, I want one like iHarry Cole’s and the other boys, that 'have a place for everything. Please let me have one, mamma.” “My dear,” said his Mother, “the old one must answer for the present.” “ O, mamma, but I am siek of the old thing, and I will pay with my own money.” Whereupon Grant seized his savings hank, and commenced so unmercifully a rattling in his mother’s ears that she hastily took it from him, [and bade him say no more about the matter, Off Grant ran, bnt was back in a few minutes, saying: “ 0, mamma, please let me ride up to the Comers in a handcar with Dick and Tommy White.” Now, if anything - could alarm Grant’s mother, next to going on the water, it was the mention of the railroad. She said at once : “My child, yon know I never allow you to play about the railroad track.” “Bnt it is perfectly safe, mamma, perfectly safe ; and Dick and Tom ‘know how to work the car.” “Grant, you can not go,” said his mother. “O, mamma, it is such fnn! do let me go,” and Graut hung nipon the door, waiting for a favorable answer; but his mother looked at him in a way which decided him to dose the door and depart. Not for long, however, for he soon returned, and called his mother ont for a series of contidential requests, which were treated like the others. Now, I would not have you think that Grant’s mother always refused him. On the contrary, she was very indulgent; and it gave her«great pain.to deny him, when she must. i At dinner-time (■ rant was dismissed from the table, after teasing in vain for a third piece of pie; and 1 hoped that, for. a time, we might have a little peace. But ho soon came back to convince his mother that he should be the most unhappy boy in the world if he could not have a toy pistol “right off.”

At tea-time he was on hand—as boys usually are—and three or four friends with him, when he modestly requested that they might have a tea-party by themselves in the kitchen. Now, as his mother had already prepared tea for company in the diningroom, this plan was extremely inconvenient, and she was obliged to tell Grant, although it was very unpleasant for her to do so in the presence of the boys. Grant did not think of this, however. So he continued: “But, mamma, we. won’t make a bit of trouble. Mamma,* I promised them we should have it before they came in.” He continued with ranch more teasing, until his' mother finally succeeded in removing' the young visitors from the house, and we had our tea in quietness, after which his mother went with him to his room. When she returned, she said; “It is such a relief to me to get that child to bed, for he wants so many impossible things, it seems to me he is wearing my life out.*’ “Wearing her life out!” I looked at her, and thought she was speaking more, truly than she knew. It was not many years since that pale face was rosy and those eyes were bright, which had now such a weary look. But, because she loved her little boy so much, the pangs that went through her heart when she must refuse the ‘impossible things,” and the dread that came with them, were wearing her life away. And I wondered if this was what the Bibile meant by “murderers of fathers and murderers of mothers.”—Well Spring. „ THE BOY THAT DIDN’T DIE. (tint He Fornul Out end How It Affected Him—His Good Resolution. June 20—I’ll have a lot to Write, now. More than I ever had before, for I’ve found out something. Six months ago we moved out here on our farm, and then we didn't go to town, only just once in a while, on the cars. They put it in the paper when we left, and once in a while they puti it m that pa had been in the city—when he called on the editor. But I hadn’t nover been in. - In the paper, I mean. So I was just the surprisedest you over saw, to read yesterday, in a little corner: “Died, June 18, in Hickory Township, of brainfever, James Willis, aged thirteen years." That was me! only, of course, I hadn’t died, nor nothing, and I lived In Hickory and all. But then, it wasn't me, of course, and still I couldn’t help believin’ it was, if they’d only left out the brain-fever and the dyin’. Everybody else thought it was me,

= everybody in le right out to Cousin Fred C»i, how sorry everybody was! How they pitied pa! and how they pitied ma! and how sorry they were lor Bess and Bob for Josin’ snch a noble brother! and what a great man I had given promise of making:! and how much good they had all calculated on my doing in the world! ' Really, I couldn't help thin kin' it would nave been a downright shame if it had lieen me—everybody was so sorry. It was publicly announced in the town schools,* Fred said! and the teachers were all so sorry, and the scholars just felt awful—especially the girl that had sat in front of me, and the two girls back of me, all who had borrowed my knife and things most of the time. I think it’s wrong to like a fellow as much as they did me, and never let him know It. I’d ’a’ treated them lots better in life, if I’d ’a’ known it There were resolutions drawed np, and the teachers cried and said I’d been a good boy and they’d always been so proud of me, and had so hoped I’d live to bless the world. It seems that I was the principal hope of that institution. If I'd 'a' knowed they had such hopes of me, I never would ’a’ whispered or laughed or traded in school, once. June 21.—There was a great long piece in the paper this morning. And oh, everybody’s a-feelin’ 60 bad! The resolutions came out, too. They made me feel very queer. But we’ve found out. Somebody did die, bnt it wasn’t me. It was just another boy. His folks moved here lately, and arc renters. June 22£3tom*ng.—T m going to town to-day with Fred. He wrote Ms folks a postal, sayin’ I was all right, but for them not to tell, but let my return be a surprise. I thought it might be too much for everybody if I just went fright in to them, and I suggested the propriety of sending a telegram or something, to tell them to prepare fro be awfully startled. Bnt pa said he guessed it wasn’t necessary. So I’m goin’ right in, just so. Oh, 1 am so anxious to see everybody! Won’t they all be glad? I feel as if it would be a dreadful thing for everybody if I teas to die. I hope, harder’n.ever, that eveiybody’ll live to rear me. I mean, I hope for everybody’s-sake, that I’ll live to grow up. I never want to afflict people so again. Everybody liked me so well, and I’m so thankful, and want I to stay with them! I’m going to have a ^ood time now, with so many friends. ; I guess I’ll amount to a considerable. Night. — Well, most everybody was flad—I gness. But it wasn’t a bit like thought it would be. Everybody had i heard about it bein’ another boy, and 1 some had been a-sayin’ they knowed all along it wasn’t so. I wasn’t the kind of yonth to die early. And one boy said I hadn’t brains enough to catch a fever in ’em. And some that had took on about it looked sheepish; and that ungrateful Ettie Green took it back, and said she never cried a bit. And I wouldn’t never have nothing to say to her again, if I was a hundred vears old. The Principal laughed, and said the President’s chair wouldn’t have to go empty, after ail, and the teachers took on some. A good many of the boys said, “Hallo!” and didn’t even shake hands. And when I saw Ed Hunter, I thought: “Now he’s coming to tell me how much he always loved me,” and I looked pleasant at him; bnt he turned off another way, and looked as if he m ;r sneak than ever. idn’t have no right thought I was a big I almost felt like I < anywhere. 1 suppose the folk’s sorrow had kind of reconciled them to my loss, and when I came back, it confused them. I ain’t sorry I’m goin’ home to-mor-row. I’m just another bov, after all, an’ I ean’t help thinkin’ if it had been that Ed Hunter himself that had died, there’d ’a’ been just as big a fuss made about it, and may-bc Ettic Green would have cried, too. ' 0 It’s a funny world, hut I’ve got just as good a right here as anybody. Happy thought!- I’ve made a new resolution. It is to he just as good and studious and promising as allijie people seemed to think I had been, filter that notice appeared. Then, if anything should happen, folk’s wouldn’t ’have to be so two-sided about it.—Sue Gregory, in Youth's Companion.

N^W STYLES. The Proper Thing in the W»y of Tests, Collars, Etc. The newest vests for cloth dresses extend the whole length of the front, hav^two points, two darts each side, and small pocket flaps: they also are seen an inch below the collar in the back of the basque. A special novelty in such vests is to cut a square of four or live inches just below the high standing collar, and fill this in with a cravat knot of satin or of velvet; this knot may be of poppy red velvet on a blue vest of pale blue satin on an ecra vest, or of bright yellow Japanese crape on a bronze vest. The high collar is made of the material of the vest, and the finish is given by a fold of double etamine or* white canvas being worn instead of a collar. A mushroom-colored uncut velvet vest, with frine bronze figures is made in this way in a bronze cloth cress, and a sky-blue faille throat bow is ad*ted. A narrow revers of cloth tapering still narrower at the waist line finishes the front edge of the basque that fastens pn such a vest . A second popular shape for vests is the Bretonnc, of a single piece with a row of buttons down each side. This is now cut to a point at the waist line, and should be sewed to one side of the basque, and lapped over across thy, buttoned front of the lining. It is very* stylish to make this of the basketwoven fabric already described. The double vest is a third style now in vogue; this has two vests,of which only the inner one meets, and this is of a lighter shade of cloth than the outer vest. The edges of both vests have rows of stitching, and the inner vest, after being fastened by hooks and eyes, has strips of cloth across it Still another design has the vest closed and made of many cross strips of velvet and cloth, each pinked in points to lap upon the row below it and made of colors in contast, such as golden brown velvet and navy blue cloth. This is liked for Dircctoire basques, with wide revers collar in Directoire style passing up each side from the dart tops and around the back. The Swiss girdle, sometimes takes the place of vests oh young ladies’dresses, and is made to point up high jn the middle of the front and curve down to the width of belt on the sides. This belt is of different material from the dress and may be made of velvet or of frise figured faille on cloth basques! The standing colMts are of the material of the vest usually, and the turned-over collar of that of the basque. The most stylish collars are now very high, indeed as high as the wearer’s neck will permit and are made to meet in front and are fastened by two hooks and loops—not merely by one, as narrower collars are. Some of these collars aro a bias fold and without a seam in the back, while others are more like a band of doubled velvet put on straight on the curved neck of the corsage. A fancy for trimming sieves with a V-shaped inserted piece is seen, and in cloth dresses this may be of basketwoven braids, and extend from the annholo to a point just abovo the elbow. There arc also wool basques with vclvot sleeves put in to match the vest and lower skirt of cloth ilrcsscs.— Harper's Bazar.

Ol.T JEtll.ttJ X tUJJ, £X)»« AUKUAT. etc., shonid try “Brown's Bronchial Troches," a aware remedy. 35 ccWt a bos. What is always S* fashion? The let ter »K» taUity,cured tj “Weils’ fiealth Konewer.’* XL “Has* arv> two frogs that nerer erohk,** said a railway man, pointing to tba switches on the track. » Hul for the l>g»i Q-itdnnne: Its it lawful for a blind non to sue on a bill payable at sight.—ii/e. Bunging. Inflammation, all Kidney and Crtntry Complaints, cured by “Buchupaiba.” XL “I Tisi.oi£r> hint tfca palm," an. the old lady said when she spanked her erring “RoughenTain.” Porous Plaster, for Baciktehe, Paine, in the Chess, RlseumatisEXi SSc. A-Bcstor agricnitaral editor says that the best sny m preserve peaches is to keep a ban dog ilh the orchard. “Rough oa Cores.” Be, Ask for it. Complete cure, hard or soft corns, warts, bunions.

THE MARKETS. S 75 a so 7614 «BX 37 2«St so* _NSW YORK, November 3, US. CATTLE—Native steers. .S 4 75 <S$ 6 72 COTTON—?4iddlln*...... 9)4® FLOCK—Good to Choice. 3 65 ® 5 60 WHEAT—No. 2 Red..... 85*4® 86)4 CORN—No. ‘3... 53*4® 55 OATS—Western Mixed...*. 32 a 33 TORE—New Mess...;..,.. 16 50 a 16 75 _ ST. UMTS. CCOrtPON—j#hwiu>3.. 9V® 10*4 MEEVES—Good to Heavy_ 5 oo ® 5 85 ...... „ Fair to Good,. 4 35 ® 4 75 HOt.s—CoBuioor. to Select_ 4 30 a 4 85 S11KEP— Fair to Choice........ 2 75 « Fl.OITt—XXX to Choice.. 2 SO ® WHEAT—No. 2 Winter... 76 \® NO. 3 “ 66*2® COHN—No. 2 Mixed... SB's® JJNts—n o. . % a KYE—No.2. 40*4® TOBACCO—Logs. 4 50 ® 6 50 .. ... . Medlom Leaf_• 8 73 ® lfl 00 HAY—Choiee Timothy. 12 50 a 13 60 BITTER—Choice Hairy. 22 ® 25 ECUS—Choiee... 17*4® 18 f^'KK—New Mess....... 15 25 ® 15 50 BACON—Clear Rth. 9*,® 1# JAKb—Prime steam. 6.T,® 7 CHICAGO; CATHE-Exports... S25 ® 7 75 HOGS—Good to choice. 4 76 ® 5 60 4.. .lo choiee- 3 30 a 4 00 F LOIR—Winter..,.:.. s 75 a 4 50 . 3 50 ® 4 50. WHEAT—No. 2 Spring. 74*4® _ No. 2 Red.. *® CORN—No. 2. 41*4® OATS—No. 2. 25*4® PORK—New Mess. 15 25 ® 15 50 KANSAS CITY-CATTLE—Native-Steers.. 5 20 tt 6 35 IltKts—Sales at.. 4 45 e M HEAT—No 3.. 53 ® CORN—No. 2 mixed. 31 ® OATS—No. 2. ® ttH 75*4 42*4 25?4 4 48 53*4 £1 22 , . NEW ORLEANS. FLOOR—llifth Grades..... 3 65 ® 4 25 CORN—White..... « W OATS—Choiee Western .... 35 ® 36 HAY—Choiee. .... ® 19 00 PORK—Mess. ® 15 75 BACON—Cleat Rib... .... ® 10V cotton—jiWdiiiijr..;.... a »k . l.OVISVILLE. WHEAT—No. 2 Red. New. ® 75 CORN—No. 2 Mixed. .... ® 18 OATS—Mixed Western. ® 28 PORK—Mess.i.. ffl 15 60 BACON—Clear Xih. ® 15?4 COTTON—Middling.. ® 9)4

CURBS. Rheumatism, Neuralgia, Sciatica Lamfcago, Bacfeaehe, Headache, Toothache, aore Theoat. And AHCnSm BODH.T j*iutitS ud AOE2S. Sokl by Drcggastv ami Peelers everywhere Ktty Cents _» hottje. fhrwuonaia 11 LangUAses. THE CHARLES A. ViKiELJER CO., (Successors to a. YooieurjK * co.) Baiti»03t*,llIiJ.,T7.S.A.

TBS ■' “Iwaa taken siek a year ago with bilious fever M My Actor prootaneed me cured, tat I got rick nr lit, with terrible talas iu my tack and rides, ami 1 got so tai 1 Coiikt nut moral i shrank l Freni *J8 !lta to 1*01 1 tai beta doctor* ing fur my liver, bat it dU mo no good X dkt not export to Bra mom than three months. I laegaa to use Hop Bitters. Wrectly my appetite returned, my pains left me, my entire system seemed renewed *• It by magic, and after using several battles, I tun not only as sound as a sovereign, but i weigh awni than I did before, To Hop Bitters I owe my life," R. Ftrzratiuc*. 1 UuMin. June 6, >81.

“NaM.-r. Maps., Feb. 1. 1«*X GenttemcnI suflervd with attacks of sick headache.' Neoralghi, female trouble, for yean In the most terrible and excruciating manner. No medicine or doctor could giro me re* lief or cure, until I used Hop Bitters. “ The first bottle Nearly aired me;” The second made me as well and strong as when a child, u And I have been so to this day.” My husbitttd was an invalid for twenty yean with a serious “Kidney, liver and urinary complaint, ** Pronounced by Boston’s best pbyai* elans— “Incurable!” ^ i V 1 Seven bottles of your Bitten cured him and 1 know of the “lives of eight persons” In my neighborhood that have been saved by your bitters, _ And many more are using them with great benefit. “ They almost l)o miracles?" —Jin. E. IX Stack. How to Gar Sick.—Ezpoae yourself day and night: eat too much ■without excreta.*; work too hard without rest: doctor all the time; take all the vile nostrums advertised, and then you will want to know how to get mV, wh ch is an* swerv’d in three words—Take Hop Uitterst tSfXone genuine without a bunch of green Hops on the white lafce!. .Shun all the vilo, poisonous stuff with “Hop” or “Hope” in their LEARN TELEGRAPHY chance ever olkwL A*1 J. I). Bk PATENTS-** ate. Send stamp fear pain* s college, id& kTy. ||~ WharisCaUrphT* mmm It is a disease of (he Bpl mucus inembrane.gen* nB crallj originating in iJW the nasal passages and Hi 1 maintaining Its strongArJ hold tn the head. From r'M| this point It sendsforth !fM a poisonous vims along ’^■the membranous lln/5a Ings and through the digestive organs, eorB rupting the blood and {•roduclng other troub* esome and dangerous symptoms. this disease and can bo depended upon. SOets. ataruHrists; «Octs. by * me UTUjQfletSt W tlV. Ily titered. Sample bottle by mail lOcts. Elt tuggista, Owego, N. Y* CHORAL WORSHIP long time been furnished. A noble collection of Church Music, and full Instructive Couise. CHOIttJL WORSHIP has S31 pages, divided as follows: 100 pages for the Elements, full of pleas* ing exercises and Secular Songs in 1.2, & or 4 parts: *5 pages of Hymn Tunes in all meters: lib pages of Anthems; and about 3D pages of miscellaneous Sacred music fo r concerts. Mailed for the Retail Prjee, tl; Price per dox., «9. A charming collection of genial little mary Schools, Kindergartens, .and tl Home. 36 pictures and 62 Songs. By Ell* son and Gertrude Swayae, assisted by Mailed for the Retail Price,» eta.; Pi LYOX A HEALT, Od« OUTER DITSoIr A CO.,

| PURGATIVE Positively cure SICK-HEADACHIf, Biliousness, and BLOOD POISON, and Skin Disease*bare uo eo,uaJ„ “I Had them a vaiuate_„_„__ “In my practice I use no other.—J. Dennison, hL3>., DeW nail lor 95 eta, in stamps. Valuable iimawn»^a ffepy everywhere, or sent Iff k CO., BOSTON, MAM,

,009 HOLIDAY PRESENTS £?&}b»d? who sends as directed gets a present worth from SO rent* to $500. The proprietor ot TH* fWLTIT SKEPKR, beingdesirous of having the already well fcnowru and popular Poultry paper more widely circulated and introduced into house* where it is not already known, have determined to throw off all profit this year, and in addition two a portion of his capital foe the sole purpose of increasing the circulation to llMMIMfi copiee. After deciding to more extensively advertise than ever before the following plan has been adopted hy us. \Tc will entor jrour came on cur subscription book awl mail THX FOVLTRY kfEflfi regularly to you OM YEAK and immediately send'a uuui'ucred Receipt* which wilt entitle the holder to one of the following present*. If any one desirgs two receipts they will Ik- sent for $!, and their subscription will be entered up f ar two years. LIST OF PRESENTS TO BE GIVEN AWAY.

W I-; 8. tiucernwrat BmuSs cf ........ 10 of Sitttt.. . MW® io r. s. ev*«mWk«er*ieo...... i.ooo 1 Xfeket platfii fblwaUA ... 150 1 (irtn.1 H^aare l*hw........ ................ €00 1 (irhM'l fekhmt Orgaa.... 300 1 Ttsrvr sput iUekawaj................ ........... 500 3 Sttwr IHbu*<- 8mke.... 16© 5 X«p .. 1,000 30 V.S. tireeafcaefcii efts© wl...... l.WO 1060 Autograph Abtuns $3 tack.. 3,000 2 Village CferU...... 20®

1 Pen J Pkrtoi.. l.OWI*.*ket Silver Fralt Kaim..,.*1,000 Knlvt-..i.. 1,000 1,000 V.9. «r*«bAfka of *1 mk.. 1.000 . 1$ tout*' Void tfatthrs Knglkk ■•foaaeat........ 800 I " ** “ ........ on 20 Bo pa' Sifter *» Iwrtni - .... X t KolUlr* OUmoitd KtBjrr King*.. 44 SPrttat Marmlfn... 1,<M 2,000 Elegant Art <■**».*... 1.04 6 li« Nik Parlor 8«it randUrr.u. l.OC 1,460 Void PlAfor Klaga, Udk*’ Brraat Flat,

<seari riiM, ih os«iaa ower pmefia, vuuta oom cents 10 «i, mura a grauu awrtynitw or 100,00a presents, thus ca*ranteeii-« a prv^at to each and awry M» aulneriber who send* ua 5© cants. AH of the ubov** presents will be awarded in a foir and imjtartial manner. Present* will be sent to any part of the United States or Canada. No |v«ta$e will be asked, from any subscriber to forward presents. 'PM Mo 80 C23SES0TJ2fiS» which you send us is the regular price for a year’s subscription and therefore we charge nothing for the present. OI K PROFIT will be in your future patronage and the increased rate we will get for our advertising space. YOU R SI’ BBCK1PT10N FREE. Cel five of your mends to join you by cutting this out and showing it to them. Send u*? 02.50 and we will send you THE POULTRY KEEFER for one year, and one numbered receipt for each of your subscriber-., and one extra for vour trouble. No postponement. SEND TEN SUBSCRIBERS WITH $8.00 and we will send you IS subscriptions and thirteen receipts. Eft Rive ftIBi V 9 This offer will hold row! till December Stub only, as we shall limit the number of new sub. 3U UJI K v> URi, I i scriptidm to 100,000, so we would advise all our friends to forward subscriptions at an early date, as in no ease will they be received later than December 20th. YUE? DAIiS YD V tfCCQRB best and ablest edited Poultry Taper in the country and already has a emuI ilia rVVn 5 S3 5 AbuWII lation c.f $'.000 copies, and only requires 70,000 more to get the desired number. It eoutaina sixteen pages, beeutifhtty illustrated.' Tells how to make poultry pay. 4 v • ' •- 600 GOLD WATCHES FREE You Can fJT \U Ir. .ratio, »p th« .Urn bt of *10,000 IN IHES*!iTS, w. iooKloO to ro.*r<. , Kn „ JB la t&OOO to he divided equalty among the first 500 subscribers received. If you Get XhlB f# ^nl—m». J1 send 50 cento you wffil>e entitled to ONE RECEIPT good for ONE PRESENT, |« IB and if y»tir letter is anionjt the first 500 received you will be entitled to thi« T?^P'C»*53iTJt‘ uSL /B beautiful watch. We will print in lull in the January issue of TH1 POULTRY fedrUW JS KEEPER the names and addresses of the winners of the 500 (SOLD WATCHES. __ _ /iP Thil nlt>r i< ivinik fllln m.t will tw nrri»>l nnt I.a tha kH»r SmiiI iUn l wait Gold Watch for 50 et& may be sent in an

mm HAMLIN niiinQ mmi UHtlitUd m to m Higbeet Komm St all 6XS1T WOBLD'S EXHI.BMntCNS tor Seventeen Tear*. Only Anetta Organ* AwanJ«d anch a* bay. Far Cork, Kiu> Pitjiitciito or Rented. -ssUPPISCHT PIAHOSssPwsenMn* -eery highest excellence yes nttatnedtn such tnst'U-nents; adding to HI prevtoo* Improvement «f>Bf of gjoster value than any; securlog moM pure, waned, niuslrnl tones and increased donbilltv t eepet/ah^ Redding liability togytwt eg HASlIjIffl&AfSD )g!flEfS9Up^!h^JSti^