Rensselaer Republican, Volume 12, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 November 1879 — Page 4

fteptiMkan. MAJOR BITTERS A SOW, PabHtktn a*S rrfrUton. RENSSELAER, : INDIANA.

f j i at nightfall. ComwiiopyiyO* uiiyliiw. Just After ue w« wst itoya, „ i w stcntur **•; £**£**■*?? •** a ° w * Creep over tie hflMiwt hWBi Coming tkmg to tkegfcmmlng, With never a star in the sky. _ Mr thoughts vent arntmtng, ►roantn*, Through days that are tony gone by. Dwrs when desire said, “Tomorrow, IVvmorrov. he«t, well be f*yr Pars ere the heert henrd the sorrow Which echoes tfcroogfc yesterdey. Life was a goMet bamished. That with iqve for wine was tUed; The cup is bruised and tarnished. And the precious wine to spUled. But to the traveler weaij, i Just coinliif in liftt of bone* What does it matter how dreary * The way whereby he has come? Com Ins alone by the meadows, ' And watching the fading dy t> Duskier than night s dusky shadows Fell shadows of yesterday. In the northern sunset’s riimmer The Great Bear opened his eyes; Low in the east a shimmer Showed where the full moon would rise. Lights in a window were gleaming. And some one stood at the gate, ■ Said: “ Why do you stand there dreaming? And why are you home so later’ Yesterday’s shadow and sorrow That moment all vanished away. Here were to-day and tomorrow — What matter for yesterday? —CrOOQ W ora#.

UP THE RIVER WITH A LUNATIC.

i Alf Dixon, Tom Giffard and I had Sone tip the river camping out; we had one our second day s work. It was earlt morning on the third day; glorious weather. I was in the boat, getting the steering lines in order; Giffard anu Dixon were on the bank, talking to Dr. Rawle. 'As I understood it,’ the doctor was at the head of a private asylum for lunatics. He vras Giffard’s friend, not mlhV. He had been taking a constitu- * tional when he happened to fall in with us just as we were sitting down to our open-air breakfast: the chance meeting led to Giffard inviting him to share our gypsy meal. He did. He was a pleasant fellow, not too old and not too young. I liked him exceedinglv. We talked of things in general, and of lunatics in particular. Something led to his mentioning—l think it was speaking of the cunning of a certain ciass of lunatics, and the difficulty of keeping them within four walls—the fact that one of his inmates had escaped , a day or two previously, and had not; yet been retaken. This was the more singular as it was tolerably certain he had not gone far. and search had been made for him in every direction. As Giffard and Dixon were saying good-by. preparatory to getting into the boat, the doctor laughingly said: “Should you happen to come across him. I shall consider you bound to bring him back safe and sound. He’s a man of forty-four or forty-five, tall and bonv, iron-gray hair, and has a curious habit 6f showing his teeth and winking his left eye. Don't look out for a ravjrfg lunatic; for on most points he’s as right as you and I. He’s wrong in two things. Whatever you do, don’t let him lose nis temper: for whenever he does, though ever so slightlv, he invariably goes in for murder—he's all but done for two keepers already. And don’t talk to him of England or Englishmen: for if he should get upon his native land, , .he’ll favor you with some observations which will make you open voor eves.” | We laughed. Alf and" Tom shook hands with him, and got into the boat. We promised, if we should* happen to tocet him, we vjould certainly see him returned to safe custody. Alf stood up and shoved us from the shore: we sang out a last good-by, and left the doctor standing on the bank. Ii was a beautiful morning. The river was delicious, clear as crystal; we could see the bottom, and every stone ands pebble on it; just a gentle breeze fanning the surface of the waters into a little npple. We lit our pipes and took it easily. lam a good bit of a traveler, Know many lovelv nooks and crannies in foreign lands; I have lived abroad as much as at home; but 1 will match the higher reaches of our own Father Thames for beauty and for charm \ against any scenery in Europe. And on an early summer morning, after a spell of glorious weather, it is in. all its Erime; the water so cool, so clear; the anks so green, so charming; the stately trees on either side; the mansions seen over the meadows, or peeping out among the trees. You may choose your Rhine, your Garda, or vour Magoiore, or your golden Bay of Naples, but leave Cookham and old Father Thames to me. Presumably we had come for river beauties and the camping-out—presum-ably; but as a matter of fact there was - a young lady lived not so far ahead, a mutual friend, Lilian Travers. Separately and jointly we had a high opinion of Miss Travers, not only of her beauty, but of other things as well; and having come so far, we hoped we should not have to return until at least we had had a peep at her. Unfortunately, though we knew Miss Travers, we had no acquaintance with Mr.—there was no Mrs. We had met the young lady at several dances and such like; but on each occasion she was under th<c chaperonage of . old Mrs. Mackenzie. "Apparently Mr. Travers was not a party man. ■ But Lilian had promised to introduce us to him whenever she got a chance, and we were not unhopeful she would get that chance now. So you see that little excursion riverw&rd had more iu it than met the eye. We went lazily on, just dipping the oars in and out; smoking, watching- the smoke circling through the clear air. All thoughts of the doctor and his parting words had gone from our minds. We talked little, ,and that little was of Lilian and the chances of our meeting. We had gone some two or three hundred yards; we were close to the shore. Alf could almost reach it by stretching out his oar. We were dreaming anj. lazing, when suddenly some one stepped out from among the trees. He was close to us—not a dozen feet away. He was a tall man, rather over than under six feet. He was dressed in a 4iark brown suit of Oxford mixture; he had a stick jn his hand, wore a billycock hat, and his coat was buttoned right up to his throat. He had light whiskers, a heavy, drooping mustache, hair unusually long, iron-gray in color.. He might be a soldier retired from his profession, or an artist out painting; he certainly looked a gentleman. We were passing on, when he raised his stick, and shouted out, “Stop!” It was a regular shout, as though we were half a mile from him. We stopped, although it was an unusual method of

calling attention. “Gentlemen,” be said, still at the top of his voice, *• I should be obliged if you could give me a seat I have a long way to go, and I am tired.” We looked at him and at each other. • It was a free-and-easy style of asking a favor; bathe seemed a gentleman, and an elderly one, too. Common politeness dictated civility. ” I am afraid,” said Alf, “we have hardly room; she’s only built for tors£. “ Oh, that doesn’t matter,” he said”yo« can pat me anywhere, or rUtake an oar for one of you.” I was on the point of advising a pomt-black refusal, not appreciating T ; bnt

♦•All right,” said he; “we don’t mind, if yon don’t Steer her in. Jack.” I steered her in. No sooner were we near the shore than, quite unexpectedly, he stepped almost on my toes, rocking the boat from aide to aide. “ Hang it!” I said; “take care, or you’ll have us over.” “ What if I dor’ he retained. “ It’ll only be a swim; and who minds a swim m weather like thisP’ We stared at him; the ooohteea, not to say impertinence, of the remark, was amazing. Begging a seat in our boat knowing it was full, and then telling ns he didn’t care if he spiUpd us into the river! He seated himself by me, setting the boat seesawing again, crashing me into a corner; and without asking with your leave or by your leave, took the steering lines from my hands, and slipped them over his shoulders. “Excuse me,” I said, making a snatch at them; “bat if you’ll allow me.

“ Not at all,” he said; “ I always like something to do, and I expect you’ve had enough of it.” His coolness was amusing; he was impenetrable. 1 know I for one regretted we were such mules as to have had anything to do with him. We waited in silence a second or two. “Come,” he said, “when are you going to start?” “Perhaps,” said Alf, a bit nettled, “as you’re,in our boat a selfcinvited guest* you’ll let us choose our own time.” The stranger said nothing: he sat stolid and silent. Tom and Alf set off rowing; the stranger steered right across the stream. “Where are you going?” said Alf. V Keep us in.” “I'm going into the shade; the sun's too strong.” He had the lines; we could hardly insist on his keeping one side if he-pre-ferred the other. He took us right to the opposite bank, under the shadow of the willow-trees. For some minutes neither of us spoke. With him cramming me on my seat, aqd ramming his elbows into my side, my position was not pleasant. * At last I let him know it. “I don’t know if you are aware you are occupying all my*seat.” He turned on me short and sharp. All at once I noticed his left eye going up and down like a blinking owl; his mouth was wide.open, disclosing as ugly a set of teeth as I should care to see' Like a flash Dr. Rawle's words crossed my mind: tall, strong, about forty-five, * iron-gray hair; a habit of showing his teeth and winking his left eye. Gracious powers! was it possible we had a lunatic with us unawares? I know the possibility, nay, the probability, of such a thing made me feel more than aueer. If there is anything in the world I instinctively fear, it is mad persons, 1 know little of them—have never been in their company. Possibly my ignorance explains my dread: but the idea of sitting in the same boat and on the same seat with a man who—

Dr. Rawle’s warning, “ Don’t let him lose his temper, or murder will ensue,” made me bound from my seat like Jack-in-the-box. The boat tipped right out of the water, but I didirt care. The man was glaring at me with cruel eyes; thy muscles were strung, my fists clinched; every moment I expected him at my throat. * “ What the dickens are you up to?” said Alf. “Wbat’s the matter with you?” “Excitable temperament, hot-blooded yeuth,” said the stranger. I could have said something had I chosen, but I preferred discretion, I didn't like his eyes. “No-o—nothing,” I said. “I think Til sit in the bow.” I didn’t wait to learn if anyone had any objection, but swinging round, I scrambled past Alf, and tripped full length on to Tom’s knees. The boat went up and down like a swing; it was a miracle he wasn't over. “Is the fellAwmad?” roared Alf. At the word “mad” the stranger rose up straight as a post. “ Mad!' ’he said; “doyou know, sir—” He checked himself and sat down. “Pooh! he’s only a boy.” In passing Tom I whispered in his ear. “ The lunatic,” I said. “ What!” said Tom, right out loud. “Hold your row, you confounded donkey! It’s the man from Dr. Rawle's.” “The ” "He was going to say something naughty—l know he was; but he stopped short, and stared at him with all his eyes. Either Alf overheard me, or else the same idea occurred to him at the same moment, for he. stopped dead in the middle of a stroke, and inspected the man on the stearing seat. Tom and Alf went on staring at him for a minute or more. I kept my head turned the other way to avoid his eyes. All at once I felt the boat give a great throb. I turned: there was the stranger leaning half out of his seat, looking at Alf in a way I shouldn’t have carai to have had him look at me. “What’s the meaning of this insolence?” he said. The question was not tmwarranted; it could not have been pleasant to have been stared at as Alf and Tom were staring then. “I beg your pardon,” said Alf, cool as acucumber. “To what insolence do you refer?” Tom actually chuckled; I couldn’t have chuckled for a good deal; it seemed tome not only impudent, but risky; I couldn’t forget Dr. Rawle’s words about his homicidal tendencies. He turned red as a lobster; I never saw such an expression come over a man’s face before—perfectly demoniacal. To my surprise he sat down and spoke as calmly and deliberately as possible. \‘ Thank you,” he said; “I shall not forget this.” . There was a sound about his “ I shall not forget this” I did not relish. Alf said nothing, Tom and he set off rowing as coolly as though nothing had happened. I extemporized a seat in the bow, and tried to make things as comfortable as possible.

I- noticed, although Alf and Tom were f° cooU they hardly took their eyes off him for more than a second at a time. His behavior before their furtive glances was peculiar; he saw he was being watched; he couldn’t sit still; he looked first at one bank, then at the other; his eyes traveled everywhere, resting nowhere; his hands fidgeted and trembled; he seemed all of a quiver. I expected him to break into a paroxysm every second. If I hadn’t called out he would have run us right into the shore; when I called he clutched the other string violently, jerking the boat almost round. I heartily mshed him at Jericho before he had come near us. No one spoke. We went slowly along, watching each other. At last he said something “I—l will get out,” he said, in an odd, nervous way. ' “With pleasure,” said Alf; “in a minute.” ’ “Why not now? Why not now, sir?” he said, seeming to shake from head to foot.

Where are you going to gets-into the nver?” I admired Alf s coolness; I envied him. I only hoped he wouldn't let it carry him too far. The man glowered at him; for a moment he looked him full In the face. I never saw a look in a man’s eyes iike tkat in his. Alf returned look for look. Slightly, almost imperceptibly, he quickened his stroke. A little lower down was a little hamlet with a well-known uw and a capital landing-stage. When

we came alongside, the stranger said, “This will do: I’ll get out here?’ He turned the boat inshore. No sooner were we near enough than he rose in his seat and sprang on to the beach. There were several people about, watermen and others. Alf was after him in an instant; he rose almost simultaneously and leaped on shore; he touched him on the shoulder. “ Now come,” he said, “don’t be foolish; we know all about it.” The other turned on him like a flash of lightning. “What do you mean?” But Tom was too auick for him; he was on the other side, and took his arm. “Come,” he said, “don’t let’s Ipve a raw.” The stranger raised himself to his full height and shook off Tom with ease. He then hit oht right and left in splendid style. Tom and Alf went down like ninepins. But my blood was up. I scrambled on shore and ran into nim, dodged his blows, and closed. ' I am pretty strong. He was old enough to oe my father; but I found I had met my match, and more. I was like a baby in his arms; he lifted me clean off my feet and threw me straight into the river. It was a splendid exhibition of strength. Tom and Alf, finding their feet, made for him together, ana scrambling out as beet I could, I followed suit. You never such a set-out. We dung to him like leeches. The language ne used was awful, his strength magnificent; though we were three to one, ne waa a match for all of us. Of course, the bystanders, seeing a row, came up; they interfered and pulled us off. “Here’s a pretty go!” said one. “ What’s all this?”

.“Stop him! lay hold of him!” said Alf; “ he’s a lunatic.” “ A what?” said the man. “ He’s a lunatic, escaped from Dr. Rawle’s asylum.” Instead of lending a hand, the man went off into a roar of laughter, and the others joined. The stranger looked literally frantic with rage. A gentleman stepped out from the crowd. “There’s some mistake,” he said; “this gentleman is Mr. Travers, of Tollhurst Hall.” You could have knocked us all three down with a feather, I do believe. Could it be possible? Could we have been such consummate idiots as to have mistaken a sane man for a lunatic? and that man Lilian Travers’ father! I could have shrunk into my boots; I could have run away and hid myself in bed. To think that we should have dogged, and watched, and insulted, and assaulted the man of all others in whose good books we wished to stand—Lilian Travers’ father! Never did three men look such fools as we did then. We were so confoundedly in earnest about it; that was the worst of all. I don’t care what you say; you may think it a first-rate joke; but he must have been an eccentric sort of elderly gentleman. If he had behaved sensibly, if he had made one sensible remark, he. would have blown our delusions to the winds.

We tendered our apologies as best we could to the man we had so insulted; but; he treated us and them with loftiest scorn; and we got one after another into the boat amidst the gibes and jeers of an unsympathetic crowd. And as we rowed from the wretched place as fast as our oars would take us, we each of us in our secret heart declared we should never forget our adventure up the river with a lunatic. And we haven’t. From that dav to this I have never seen Lilian Travers, nor do I wish to. Harper's Weekly.

The Army—General Sherman’s Annual Report.

Washington, Novembers. General Sherman’s annual report to the Secretary of War was completed to-day. It is prefaced with the usual tabular statements and returns compiled by the Adjutant-General, commenting on which General Sherman says: “The eleven Generals, 1,559 officers, 20,586 men and 233 Indian scouts, together with such officers of the staff as are assigned by the War Department to duty with the troops, constitute the army proper, or the ‘combative force.’ All other parts of the military establishment are provided by law for special service more or lees connected with the army or militia, but are not available for frontier defenses. Thus, for instance, the 897 enlisted men of the Ordnance Corps are in fact workmen at arsenals; the 19* men of the Engineer Corps are at Wlllet's Point undergoing instruction In toroedo practice, and are not subject to the Division Commander. The 456 men of the Signal Corps are employed in observing the weather or in working telegraphs. The 114 Ordnance Sergeants have charge of old forts or fixed magazines. The 151 Commissary Sergeants are in charge of stores; 187 men are Stewards of hospitals. The West Point detachment, 186 in number, to localized at the Military Academy. The prison guard at Fort Leavenworth comprises seventy men, and recruiting detachments absorb 1,707 men at Davis Island, Columbus, 0., and Jefferson Barracks, Mo. These various detachments, aggregating 3.463 enlisted men of the highest grades, compose about one-sixth part or the enlisted men provided by law for the whole army, leaving but 20,799 for actual service. “ I mention these figures in some detail, because . I know that it is the popular belief, shared by many members of Congress, that we have 25,000 men on duty. I have done all in my power to reduce these detachments to the lowest number possible, so as to afford more men to our skeleton companies, but “ve found It impossible, and I notice that similar detachments are reported on all army returns for fifty years back. There are companies In the regular army; 25.000 men would give fifty-eight to each, which is as small as any company should be, and I earnestly recommend that you ask Congress to so legislate that the 26,000 men provided by law may bo allowed exclusively for regiments of the line, and that special provision be made for these several detachments, as has already been done for the Signal Service. The army cannot, with Justice, be held responsible for the work of 25,000, when so large a fraction to necessarily diverted to other u *©?’ of equal National Importance.’’ The tables above referred to show that the grand aggregate of the army roll is 2,187 officers and 24.262 men in service, and 388 officers retired.

General Sherman devotes a large portion of his report te the Ute troubles. He Introduces the subject with a history of the tribe. These Indians, he says, are of the worst class, and occupy the roughest part of our oountiv for farming, grazing, or military operations. Their management is complicated by the fact that their country is known to possess mineral deposits, which attracts a bold and adventurous class of white men. They are very warlike, and have no difficulty In procuring in exchange for their ceer-skins, horses and sheep any amount of the best rifles and ammunition. As long as the game lasts they will not work or attempt iMming, except in the smallest and most ridiculous way, and that only by compulsion. The report details at some length the history of the well-known events leading up to the movement by Major Thornburgh’s command, and continues; “With a knowledge of the result, and to throw as much light on the immediate cause of this war as possible, I give the last letters which passed between Major Thornburgh and Mr. Meeker, and I will here record my Judgment that Major Thornburgh was an officer and gentleman of whom the army has reason to be proud. He was young, ardent, ambitious, of good judgment, and no man could have done better In life nor met death with more heroism. ..... THORItBUROH TO MEEKER. , Hkadq’rs W hit* River Expedition, ) Camp or Fobtihcation Creek, V September 25, 1870. j “ ‘Mr. Meeker, Indian Agent, White River Agency. “Bib.-— ln obedience to instructions from the General of the Army, 1 am m route to your Agency, and expect to arrive on the 20th Inst., for the purpose of affording you any assistance in my power, and to make arrests at your suggestion, and to hold as prisoners such of your Indians as you desire until Investigations are made by vour Department. I have heard nothing definite from your Agency for ten days, and do not know what rtrte of affairs exists, whether the Indians will V*° W •“•ttUtles. 1 by Mr. Lowry, one of my guides, and desire you to communicate with me as soon as possible, giving me all the Information in your power, In order that I may °°«»I *ni to pursue. If practicable, meet me on the road at the earliest moment.

“ 1 V cry respectfully, obedient servant, September f eeker date September 27,as follows: httß^ T n - d ?, l^ a ?. dl . n * OO the way htther with United States troops, I send a messenger,Mr. Eskridge, and two Indiana, Henry and John Ayersly, to inform you • bsttor understanding can *e had. This I agree to. I do not propose to order your movements; but it seems for the best. The Indians seem to oonsider the advance of the

“Under SttT'Stoibar *, Major Thornburgh writes to Agsnt Meeker asfot* 1 stall more wlta my entire command to some convenient camp near, end £?£,“ .SST’TnLSr.&SKUS here carefully considered whether or not tt would be advisable to here ay command at e point as distant as that desired by the Indians, who were in my camp last night, and have reached roe conclusion that, under ay orders, which require ae to march this command to the Agency, lam not at liberty to leave it at a point where It would not be available In case of trouble. You are authorised to say for me to the Indians that my oourae of conduct is entirely dependent on them. Our desire to to avoid trouble, and we have not eoae tor war. I requested you In my letter of the Mth to meet me on the road before I reached the Agency. I renew my request that you do so, and farther desire that you bring such Chiefs as may wish to accompany you.'

MEKEEB TO THORNBCROH. u Under date one p.nu, September M, Agent Meeker replied: “ 4 Dsak Bin: I expect to leave In the morning with Douglass and Serrlck to meet you. Things are peaceable, and Douglass files the United States flag. If you have trouble in getting through the canyon to-day let me know. We have been cm guard three nights and shall be tonight, not because we know there to danC‘, but because there may be, I like your t programme. It la baaed on true military principles.* “ I give these letters entire because I believe that Major Thornburgh acted from the beginning to the mid exactly right. So did Mr. Meeker, and the crimes afterward committed rest wholly on the Indiana.’’ The report then recites the events inffident to the death of Major Thornburgh, the killing of Lleutenaut Wler, and the murder of Agent Meeker, and embodtos various dispatches and military orders relating to subsequent movements of the troops. EXIBTINO ORDERS. “The following dispatch will show the objects aimed at, and are the orders existing at this moment of time: “ ‘ Headquarters of the Armt, I Washington, D. C., October 24. t “ ‘ General P. H. Short dan. Commanding Division, Chicago: “ * I have received your three dispatches of yesterday, giving an account ot the killing of Lieutenant wier, and of the strength of your forces at White Klver and Forts Garland and Lewis. All those seem strong enough, and are well commanded. Let all preparations prooeed, and be ready the moment I give the word to pitch in. Should Agent Adams fail in his mission, I understand the civil authorities will stand aside, and the military will take absolute control of this whole Ute question and settle It for good and all. Meantime, humanity to the captive women and the friendly Utes, even of the White River Agency, Justified this seeming waste of time. W. T. Sherman, General.’ “ All the world now knows that Special-Agent General Charles Adams, of Colorado, appointed by the Secretary of the Interior to conduct these negotiations with the hostile Utes, has partially succeeded in his mission, has obtained the surrender of Mrs. and Miss Meeker, Mrs. Price and two children, who are already safe with their friends. He is now supposed to be again with the hostile* on Grand Klver, endeavoring to effect the other conditions required of the Utes by the honorable Secretary of the Interior, who to primarily responsible for the entire management of the case. I certainly applaud the courage and energy thus far displayed by General Adams, ana hope he will fully and completely succeed in his praiseworthy mission, and yet I believe that jprudence demands that the military preparations and precautions shall not slacken. Thus far we have lost eleven citizens, two officers and twelve soldiers killed, and forty-one wounded. The Indians admit a loss of thirtynine warriors killed, so that they have not much reason to boast.”

The report next treats of the Apache raid, and states that troops are in pursuit, but nothing definite can be given as yet. The Apaches, the General says, only resort to the Agency to rest, recuperate and make ready for the next war. He infers that as soon as winter comes they will return to their agencies and bo good. General Sherman refers at some length to last summer’s incursions of Indians from Sitting Bull’s camp, and kindred subjects, and remarks that some more permanent security must be found than results from the good will of our neighbors. He therefore recommends that Congress be asked to appropriate SIOO,OOO to complete Fort Assinlbofne, and $200,000 to build a new post near Wood Mountain, and says: “In this connection I also beg to submit my conviction that very soon the progress of events will make it absolutely necessary to move all the Indians now located on the Upper Missouri—viz.: The Arickarees, Gros Ventres, Piegans, Bloods and Crows, to the Sioux reservation below Cannon Ball Greek, and to open to actual settlers all the land in the region north and west of that reservation.” ■ A General Sherman reports a highly satisfactory condition of affairs in the Department of Texas, especially along the Rio Grande frontier. The large immigration which has poured into Texas having now extended to what were formerly her waste lands, the removal of some of the frontier posts further west is necessary, and General Snerman therefore indorses the recommendation made to him by General Ord for Congressional appropriations to construct military poets on the new western frontier.

Referring to the troubles caused during the past year by the attempted emigration to the Indian Territory from the southern border of Kansas, General Sherman says: “ The delicate duty imposed on the military was admirably performed by the troops under the order of General Pope. The opinion Is expressed that at least thirty superfluous military posts might be sold to great advantage.’' The report hi conclusion treats of the subject of military education, and after referring to the artillery school at Fortress Monroe and academy at West Point, says: “Similar schools should be established and maintained for cavalry and Infantry. These have repeatedly been attempted at Forts Leavenworth and Snelling, but no sooner have they been begun than some Indian outbreak has Imperatively called away the troops, so that at this time we have nothing of the kind. But the day must oome when schools for infantry and cavalry will be established in the nature of a post-graduate course, and if possible for instruction in the use of the rifle and horse, before your officers and recruits are pushed into battle and danger.”

Intoxication Among French Children.

Sylvanus Urban, in the Gentleman's Magazine , says: “1 shall, I doubt not, startle not a few of my readers when I state that during a recent visit to France I have frequently seen French children intoxicated. Strange as such an assertion may seem, I deliberately make it and stand by it. Again and again at tables d* hole I have seen children scarcely more than babies suffering distinctly from alcohol. It is, as travelers in France know, the custom in all districts south of the Loire to supply wine gratis at two meals, breakfast and dinner, at which the residents in an hotel eat in company. Repeatedly, then, in the hotels in French watering places I have watched children of five years old and upward supplied by their mothers with wine enough visibly to flush and excite them. At Sables d’OlonDe one little fellow, whose age could not be more than six, drank at each of two consecutive meals three tumblers of wine slightly diluted with water. The result was on each occasion that he commenced to kiss his mother, proceeded to kiss the person on the other side of him,.continued by sprawling over the table, and ended by putting his head in his mother’s lap and falling asleep. It never seems to enter into the mind of a Frenchwoman that water may be drunk at a meal. When long journeys by rail are taken there is always in the neat basket in which the French mother carries provisions a bottle of wine, or wine and water, out of which those of her children who have passed the stage of absolute infancy are allowed to drink. I can indeed say with truth that in the course of a pretty long series of observation of the French, chiefly made, I admit, in public vehicles and hotels, I have rarely & ever seen a flass of cold water, unqualified with ny admixture, quaffed by a native. It is now the faslvion to mistrust water even when blended with wine, for which purpose the various springs of the Eau St. Galmier are largely employed.”

—A neat little charcoal -sketch appears in the columns of a St. Louis journal. As a justice of the peace was sitting in his office and biting off the end of the second cigar, a man covered with charcoal grime tumbled over the chair nearest the door and asked how much it would cost to be married. The price was too high. The poor but honest bridegroom said that he lived in Jefferson County, that he and his intended had oome to the city peddling charcoal, and wanted to get back as man and wife. A barrel of charcoal was still on hand, and this was offered as the marriage fee. The kind-hearted justice concluded that it would be a good thing to make them man and wife, and the barrel of charcoal was dumped into the cellar, according to agreement;

USEFUL AND SUGGESTIVE.

Jelly covered with pulverized sugar will keep, without mold, if it is set away cm a high shelf, when small boys cannot get at it. New Tom Coodb.-One cup sugar, two-thirds cap of batter, onehsli cup of mfflt, two teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar, one-half teaspoonful of soda, and one egg. Add nour to roll thin and out in rounds. Home-made Crackers. —To five pounds of floor take ten ounces of butter, one pint of cold water and an even teaspeonful of salt. It will take a deal of strength to knead them. Roll thin and bake. . W Bazar Tongue Toast.— Mince very fine cold boiled tongue, mix with cream, and to every half pint of the mixture allow the well-beaten yelks of two egga. Place on the stove and let simmer a minute or two. Have ready some nicely buttered toast, flour over the mixture, and serve hot.

To Roast a Calf’s Lives.— Wash thoroughly and wipe dry; cut a long deep hole in the side; stuff with crumbs, bacon and onions chopped; salt and pepper to taste; bit of butter and one egg; sew or tie together the liver; lard it over and bake m the oven, basting frequently; serve with gravy and currant jelly. — N. Y. Times. Le Cultivateur remarks that rats, mice and insects will at once desert ground on which a little chloride of Ume has been sprinkled. Plants may be protected from insect plagues by brushing their stems with a solution of it. It has often been noticed that a eatch of land which had been treated i this wav remains religiously respected by grabs, while the unprotected beds round about are literally devastated. Fruit trees may be guarded from the attacks of grubs by. attaching to their trunks pieces of tow smeared with a mixture of chloride of lime and hog’s lard, and ants and grubs already in possession will rapidly vacate their position.—N. Y. Herald. Cauliflower Sauce. —One small cauliflower, three tablespoonftils of butter, one onion, one smalt head of celery, a pinch of mace, Balt and pepper, one teacup of water, one teacup of cream or milk. Boil the cauliflower in two waters, changing when about half done, throwing away the first, reserve one cupful of the last. Take out the cauliflower, drain and mince. Cook in another saucepan the onion and celery, mincing them when tender. Heat the reserved cupful of water again in the saucepan, add the milk; when warm Eut in the cauliflower and onion, the utter and seasoning—coating the butter thickly with flour; boil slightly until it thickens. This is a delicious sauce for any boiled meats. —Detroit Post and Tribune.

Plowing in the Fall.

After all that has been written on the subject of fall plowing, it would seem almost superfluous to add anything more, and it is not for the purpose of saying anything new at this time, but merely to keep in view a few of the chief benefits in its favor. There are those who do not appear to sufficiently appreciate the importance of this matter, often procrastinating the work until the severity of the weather prevents plowing until spring. Some of the prominent advantages of fall plowing have been stated as follows: October and November are deemed an excellent time to break up sod and land for planting the following spring. The weather then is cool ana bracing and the team strong and hearty for the work; while the weather in spring is more relaxing and the team less able; and spring’s work being always hurrying, it saves time to dispatch as much of the plowing as possible during the previous autumn. —~- Sod land broken up late in autumn will be quite free from grass the following spring, the robts of the late overturned sward being so generally killed by the immediately succeeding winter that not mnch grass will start in the spring. The frosts of winter disintegrate the E lowed land, so that it readily crumles into line particles in spring, and a deep, mellow seed-bed is easily made. The chemical changes and modifications resulting from atmospheric action during the winter, develop latent fertility in the upturned furrows, which, together with the mellowing influences, materially increases the crop. Most kinds of insects are either wholly destroyed, or the depredations materially checked, by late fall plowing, especially the common white grub and the cut-worm. Corn stubble land may be plowed late in fall, and thus be ready for very early sowing in spring, thereby going far to insure a good crop of grass—the roots of the new seeding getting hold well, or being well established before the drouths of summer come.

Where the soil is fine-grained and unctions, and close, or where there is a hard-pan of good quality, deep plowing may be at once resorted to, with decided advantage. Where the subsoil is poorer, the plowing may still be advantageously deepened by degrees, say an inch at each new breaking up. But in by far the majority of cases, deep plowing may be the rule with safety, while shallow plowing may be the exception. The subsoil turned up will grow several shades darker by spring. The frosts and atmospheric influences of winter will mellow the soil, the inorganic elements and all latent fertility will be made more active for benefiting the crop. In spring, spread the manure ana plow it m, or otherwise work it in or mingle it with the soil, to the depth, say of four inches, a little more or less, and you have the very best attainable condition for realizing good crops. Deeper plowing may thus be practiced than would at all times be safe or expedient, if the plowing be delayed till spring. —Western Rural.

Why English Farmers Emigrate.

A succession of bad seasons has, it must be admitted, had much to do toward making English fanners discontented, and awakened them to a sense of their true position. Following in the wake of these bad seasons has come a sharp competition of the United States, which has had the effect of depressing the price of all kinds of farm Eroducts, the losses from short crops at ome in no way affecting the price as formerly, when a few ship Toads of grain or meat from America made good tne deficiency and fully met the demands of the market. The first attempts at shipping live stock and dressed meat to Europe were not sufficiently successful or remunerative to. cause any serious alarm among the, farmers of Great Britain, and they all thought these shipments were only one of those chimerical Yankee experiments which would end in loss, and have no permanent effect upon the price of home products. But with every vessel sent out from our ports there was a gain in practical experience if nothing more, and soon shippers had acquired sufficient knowledge of this comparatively new branch of business to enable them to avoid the losses to which they were at first subjected; and now there are no more doubts in regard to our being able to send live stock, dressed meats, butter, cheese and similar articles to Europe than of our ability to produce them in almost unlimited quantities. The lowering of the price of farm products in Great Britain through the sharp competition from this oountry, and the succession of bad seasons and

ruined crops at home, are two powerful causes of what is termed the agrieukor*i depression on the other side of the Atlantic; but there are also others which are too important to be overlooked. These are the laws and diatoms under whioh the English farmer most struggle for existence. First among his grievances are the game laws, which protect hares, rabbits and other animals that prey upon farm crops, for the use of the gentry and landowners who may a few days in the year desire a little sport in shooting these pests, and at the same time ride down die farmers’ crops in pursuit of game. The farmer may see ids wheat, oats and other crops laid waste by the hares and rabbits, but cannot protect himself, because the “ game is preserved,” and if he complains at the loss, he is curtly told to go and do better if he can—just what many have done, and more will do, unless these laws are abolished.

Not only is the wild game kept in the preserves destructive to the crops on the cultivated farms, but there are thousands of acres reserved for their sole use which might be employed to raise food for the naif-starved millions of the surrounding country. A few deer, pheasants, and a hundred or two hares often occupy more land and oost the country more than it would require to feed and clothe a good-sized village of hard working mechanics and their families.

The farmers of England are kept down ip a hundred ways unknown in this country, and the only wonder is that they have survived so long or made so little resistance. They are not even permitted to use their own judgment and knowledge of agriculture in managing the land for which they pay rent. The kind of crops they shall cultivate, the number of acres of each, and how often any one kind shall occupy the same plot of land, are, as a rule, indicated, and put in the lease at the time of its execution; consequently the tenant is compelled to work in ruts made for him by persons competent or otherwise. If tne tenant puts his private capital into improvements, making the land yield more than it otherwise would, his rent is likely to be raised accordingingly, thereby compelling him to pay for increasing the value of property which is not nis qwn. If he grumbles, he is told that the land will fetch the increased rent, and he can pay it or leavo. This is no fancy supposition, but an actual fact which is of almost daily occurrence. In a late issue of the Farmer (London), a tenant of an excellent farm of some 800 acres, gives his experience within the past twenty years, which is a fair showing ■ of hundreds and thousands oi: farmers in England to-day. He commenced with $20,000 capital, paying in rent, tithes, and other taxes, $3,000 a year for his 800-acre farm, the best he could find at the time for this sum. First, he found that the land had been run down by a former tenant, and much of it was too wet for grain, and needed underdraining, which, if done, must be at his own expense. Then he found there were far too many hares and rabbits on the farm, all of which were of course preserved; and when he complained of this nuisance to the agent, he was informed that if the place did not suit he could leave. After he had held the farm ten years and pnt nearly his entire $20,000 into improvements, such as underdraining ana manure, the owner died, his successor raised his rent $750 a year, and the farmer either had to pay the increase or go and lose the money invested in the permanent improvements. He decided to hold on; but now, after Fen years more of hard work, he says: “I have given my landlord notice that I should leave next Michaelmas, going out with the loss of nearly my entire capital and twenty years’ hard labor.” The farmers of the United States have no such difficulties to encounter as those of England, for most of them own the land they till; and if crops are poor or low in price, there is no heavy rent to pay, and taxes are, as a rule* exceedingly low in comparison with those of other countries. Even if one fails to pay these, he cannot be ejected from nis home after a six days’ or six months’ notice. In fact the farmer in America is about as independent a human being as can be found anywhere in this world, although he exercises his privilege of grumbling to the fullest extent. There is, however, room for more good farmers in every State and Territory, and the more of the good, steady Englishmen, with or without capital, that come to our shores the better.— N. Y. Sun.

Curiosities of Fires.

At the recent meeting of the National Association of Fire Engineers Mr. M. Bennett, Jr., related the following incidents:

Of the fifty per cent of fires, more or less, not accounted for by incendiary origin, many undoubtedly originate from not yet understood causes. New hazards, from new or old processes, are daily developed and some most curious facts in this connection have come within the range of my own personal observation. Some months ago, in passing a prominent picture store in the city in which I reside, on a Sunday, my attention was attractecTby the actions of a boy, which •seem to betoken lunacy. He would stand with his back against the large show window outside for a few minutes, then turn about and carefully gaze within; then again plant his back against the window, j Curious to solve what seemed to be a case of idiocy in a bright-looking boy, I asked the cause of his strange actions. Directing my attention, I discovered that the rays of the sun through the glass formed a focus in the middle of a large and valuable chromo, which just commenced to smoke at this identical point, and would evidently soon be in flames. The boy stated that he was a clerk in the store, but had not his key, and discovering the state of things, he planted himself as a patent living fire screen to protect the picture from the sun’s rays. A well-known Hartford adjuster, while recently sitting in his room in one of our finest business blocks, saw his silk umbrella, standing in the corner, quietly take fire ana consume before his very eyes, and with no little difficulty he stopped the fire from spreading. Investigation proved it to have caught from the concentrated rays of the sun reflected from his graphoscope innocently resting on hi* table. Without a doubt, we do not understand many actual causes of fire, and numerous conflagrations are due to far different causes from those suspected or guessed at In the case mentioned, had the fire occurred during the absence of the owner, and theblock consumed, as it might easily have been, it would have remained one of those unsolved mysteries which surround so many fires.

The census returns of New Zealand for 1878 give the total population of that colony at 414,412, of whom 280,998 were males and 183,404 females. These figures are exclusive of Maoris, but include 1,947 half-castes (968 males and 979 females) and 4,433 Chinese, of whom only 9 were females. —Little Billy has been taken to sea his old uncle, who is so deaf that he cannot hear a single word without recourse to his ear-trumpel Billy watches the movements of this instrument for some time with great interest, and then exclaims: “Mamma, what does uncle try all the time to play the horn with his ear for, when fee cttp’t make it gq?”

Youths’ Department. A EOT 8 REMONSTRANCE. I AM feeUrwrery bedly; everything isgofc*to All the thlnjra I hare bettered in are going with The folks are growing tamed, and nil their Used faith In his bcst-bo-The fairies have been scattered, and the genii they have gone. There are no ennhsnted eaatlea; they hare vanished, emy one* never lived, and the dear Behehera ■ada, Though verv entertaining, waa a much ralsOf oouree I seethrougb Santa Claus, I had to, AadQu&boMirilllw going, the next thing that I know. For I heard, I wasn’t llstening-I heard the parson say, He had really—yes had really—grave doubta about the day. And as for Master Washington, they say the goose should catch it. Who believed a single minute in that story of the They’ve given a rap at Crusoe, and dear old We’ll aUbeLievTlnFriday, we boys will, till we die I

They may say it’s not “authentic/’ and such like. If they dare! When they strike a blow at Friday, they hit us boys. So there! And I’ve been reading in a book, writ by some college swell, That there never was a genuine, a real live William Tell! That he was just a myth, or what we boys would call a sell: That he didn’t shoot the apple, nor Oesler, not a bit— That all the other nations have a legend just like it. I think it’s little business for a college man to, A gal dear old stories and send them out of sight. And all the boys are just as mad! and so the girls are. too; And so we called a meeting to deride what we should do. And we passed some resolutions, because that is tne one And only way for meetings, when it’s all that oan be done. I send you here a list: Resolved, that there wxi* a William Tell; That by Us bow and arrow the tyrant Oesler fell. Resolved, that he was not a myth, whatever that may be — But that he shot the apple, and Switzerland was free. N Resolved, that Crusoe lived, and Friday, and the goat. Resolved, that little Georgy his father’s fruittree smote, t And owned up like a hero. Resolved, that all ' the science Of all the learned professors shall not shake our Arm reliance In the parties we have mentioned; and we do hereby make known The fact that we boys feel that we have some rights of our own— And request that in the future these rights be let alone. — St. Nicholas for November.

JIMMIE’S MESSAGE.

Aunt Lizzie was papa’s only sister, and when the telegram came, saying that she was very nek, he felt that be must go to her at once. This was very hard, as mamma was also very sick, ana he conld not bear to leave her. Pulled two ways, what was poor papa to do? Dear, unselfish mamma decided the question for him. “Yon must go, George,” said she. “lam in the miast of friends, and shall want for nothing. Lizzie is all alone. She needs yon most. Yon must go.” Jimmie wondered why papa looked so funny when he bade him good-bye. He wasn’t crying, of course, because papas never cried; still, the sight of his face filled his little son with a vague apprehension, and quite arrested tne flow of certain briny drops which were all ready to fall from a pair of bright bine eyes. , “ Are you sick, too, papa?” “ No, my son. Take good care of mamma.” And he was off.

Jimmie was lonesome. He told Eddie Wheelock, privately, that he felt like “ a norphan boy.” He had one {ileasure, however, to which he always ooked forward with delight. It was the taking of a “ letter” each day to the telegraph office. Every day, Jimmie, accompanied by his little friend, trotted off upon his important mission. Every day he ostentatiously handed his “ letter” to the “ roperator,” and every day his small brain was puzzled anew with wondering how the paper conld get over the wires “ without anybody seeing it go. How did the man make it stick on?” There was a delightful mystery about the whole proceeding, and it was no small gratification to the child to feel that he was in it.” Jimmie didn’t want it to rain until his father came home; but it did rain, nevertheless. Moreover, it rained so hard one morning that he couldn’t even set over to “ Eddie Wheelock’s ouse.” He was disconsolate, for Margaret didn’t want him in the kitchen, and the other rooms were too still for little boys. Somehow he didn’t like still rooms; they made him think of so many things. He went softly up stairs ana peeped in at mamma’s door. She was awake. “ O mamma,” said he, “Pm awful tired ofi you being up here.” “So am I, deary,” she answered. ** But we won’t forget to be good, will we, Jimmie!” Then she stretched out her arms, and Jimmie crept into the bed beside her. “ I love you, love you, love you,” he cried, ecstatically, with a succession of little hugs. “ You’re the nicest, goodest”— But just here Nurse Grey made her appearance with a covered bowl in her hand. “ Little scamp,” she said, looking laughingly, at Jimmie. “How did he get m there?” “ I crawled in,” he patting mamma’s thin face. “ Then you must just crawl out again, sir. Mother must have her bee? tea •while its hot.” “ Oh, dear!” Jimmie crept out with a quivering lip, which of coarse did not escape mamma’s pitying eyes. “ What do you suppose Margaret is doing?” she asked, with sudden animation.

“ S’pose she's skinnin’ rhubarb,” replied Jimmie, dolefully. “I saw her skin the skin off. I don’t like rhubarb.” “ I do,” said Nurse Grey, decidedly. “You don’t, do you, mamma?” “ Not much,” answered mummit, wearily. “ Run out now, darling, and —let me see—couldn’t you write a little letter to papaP Mrs. Grey will copy it for you by-and-by, and we’ll send it through the office. “ What’ll I write.” “ Anything you happen to think of. Go now, there's a gooa boy.” Jimmie hunted up his slate and pencil, and took his seat at the kitchen window. He felt keenly the importance of writing a letter, but what to say was the puzzling question. He looked up and down, but sky and earth were alike uncommunicative. Margaret, seeing that he was quietly disposed, gave him an approving smile. She was still “skinnin’ rhubarb.”

“ Sure he’s the little man that can write a be-autiful letter,” she said, encouragingly. “Isit to papa, justP” “ Yes, answered Jimmie. “It’s to papa. I know how to write a letter very well, Margaret.” “ To be sure. “ But I can’t think what to put in it.” Margaret laughed. ‘Tm just that way meself, dariin’,” she saia. “Just that very self-same way, for all the world.” It was evident that he must expect no help from Margaret. Poor Jimmie! His forehead was wrinkled, and his eyebrows “all scowled up,” with the earnestness of his efforts. “Do you like rhubarb, Margaret?” he asked, suddenly. “I’veno objection to it when the sugar’s plenty.” “•But do you like it? Say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”“Yes, then.” Jimmie went to his work with renewed energy. “ Nurse Grey and Margaret —there’s two that does; and me and mamma—there’s two that don’t Two does and two don’t” he said, thoughtfully. And the stubby pencil

traveled rigorously over the slate, the red tongue keeping Ume with the dinapled fingers. i * It seemed to Jimmie that the longer he wrote, the more he loved his absent father. Before he had finished, his poor little heart was quite heavy with it# weight of affection. He ooula not have papa staring “away off there” any fongerTtle really couldn’t. So he added a few more words, and then took the letter up to Nurse Grey. His shite was eovered with queer, straggling hieroglyphics which it would be impossible to transcribe. Nurse Grey couldn’t make them out at aIL Jimmie had to tell her evary word. !He did this very slowly and distincUy that there might be no mistake, “ For this is to go iroo the office,” he said, complacently. “Isn’t it, mamma?”

“Yes,” answered mamma, absently. “I want it fixed like papa’s letters are fixed,” he continued, eagerly. * “So, to please the little fellow. Nurse Grey wrote the address, just as she had written it for the dispatches. “ Take good care of it, Jimmie,” said she, “ and when we are ready to —” But Jimmie didn’t wait to near her last words. His delighted eyes had beheld from the window a tiny patch of blue sky. They had also seen Eddie Wheelock coming toward the house “as fast as ever he could.” He ran quickly down stairs to meet his little favorite. Strangely enough, neither mamma nor Norse Grey suspected for a moment that the “office” which Jimmie had in his mind was no other than the telegraph office, to which his small feet had taken him nearly every day for a fortnight; but so it was. Hand in hand the two children started upon their errand, chattering as they went along like a couple ofyoung magpies. Jimmie wslked up to the “square hole,” and boldly pint bis letter through. “That’s mine,” he said, proudly, to the clerk. But what made the “roperator” look at him so? He couldn’t imagine. “Is this to go?” asked the clerk, in what seemed a terrible voice. Jimmie trembled a little, but he answered bravely: “Yes, sir; that’stogo. That’s my letter.” “ Mother know ttF’

“Yes, sir; she said—” “All right. Helps the cause along. Pay at the other end, of coarse?” Jimmie looked puzzled, bid as the “click-click,” began to sound just then, the man turned away, and he had no chance to reply. He didn’t see Nurse Grey again until dinner-time; but when Margaret brought in a crisp, flaky rhubarb pie for dessert, be suddenly remembered. “I sent it. None Grey,” he cried, exultantly. “I sent it” “Sent what?" f “My letter. The one you writed off.” “ But you didn’t have any envelope, and it needed a stamp.” “No, it didn't need a stamp,” said Jimmie, his bright face all aglow with excitement. “It’s pay at the other end. The man said so.” Nurse Grey dropped ber pie-knife and held up both ber hands. “You don't mean to say you’re telegraphed that nonsense.” she exclaimed, in amazement. . “ ’Twasn’t nonsense. ’Twas my letter. I—I—” Such a grieved little face! Such a sadden clouding of the sunshine in rite bine eyes! Nurse Grey was not a hardhearted woman. She remorsefully essayed to comfort him. “Never mind, Jimmie. It can’t be helped now. We’ll—” Bat Jimmie had left the table, and was half way up the stairs, crying as if his heart would break. It was not until he had breathed his story into mamma’s pitying ear that he could be consoled. ;}

' “ Papa will be very glad to hear from his little boy,” she said, reassuringly; “ bat next time we’ll put the letter m a nice envelope, and Jimmie shall stamp it himself. That will be better, won’t it, dear?” She wiped away his tears as she spoke, and Jimmie was comforted. As papa had been informed that do more telegrams would be sent him while mamma continued to improve, he was not a little disturbed when Jimmie’s message was pnt into his hand. He hastily tore open the envelope, and read with a puzzled countenance the-, following communication: Dear Papa: Two likes rhubarb, two don’t. Come home quick. Jimmie. “ Conciseness itself,” he thought, mechanically counting the words. “ Jimmie does well for abeginner. Bat what can it mean?” he continued, anxiously. “ Has an epidemic broken out in the family that they are taking sides for and against this valuable drngP” It was very perplexing certainly, until all atonoe tne thought of the inoffensive pie-plant occurred to him as a partial solution of the mystery. This relieved him somewhat, and the next day came a short letter, written by mamoia’s own hand, which set his fear quite at rest, and over which he laughed heartily. A week later papa held his little boy in his arms again, and was eagerly drinking in every word of his childish prattle, when suddenly the conversation turned upon the mysteries of the telegraph. “ A horse couldn’t keep up with the ‘click-click,’ could he, papaP” “ No, my boy.” “ A el’phant couldn’t neither, could itP” “ I should think not.” “ D’you have to pay for my letter at the other end!” “ Yes, Jimmie.” “How much?” “ Fifty cents 1 .” * . “ Fifty cents!” cried Jimmie, in astonishment. “ Fifty cents just for such a little piece of writing as that! Why, you can get a whole printed newspaper down at Newman’s for five.”—lf. C. Bartlett, in Christian Register.

THE MARKETS.

r tv* November 10, WTO. LIVE STOCK—Cattle. -.. f« 75 @ $9 so g>©ep ....... 800 A 4SO FbOU C"®*** l to Choice ‘.' * ITO (ft 775 !*> & 131 CORN—Weetera Mixed »7tf<& 6S* OATS—Western Mixed. 43 & 43% 8YE—We5tern...j............ ss <a ssu fONK-Mee* M 40 & M6O CHEESE. m & WOOL—Domestic 86 & « CHICAGO. BKBVES-Extra $4 60 a $4 75 S°S* " § 410 Medium.... 315 & 3455 Butchers* SUwk.... 226 I 300 HOOS-Un-^OmdS,Ctotot in ISw nocx-wuu*. | KSCnrr- 58 I S“ GRAlN—Wheat, Wo. 0 Spring. 113*$ 114 Lorn, Ho. S. &£*** . . , nx 8 * s * god-Tlpped Hart » Ma 5 Fine Green tSS * $ Inferior 4 2 4% Crooked * .. z%§ 3* LUMBER-. * Common Dressed Siding.. 010 00 ©*l7 50 Flooring. «00 <& 30 00 • Common 80ard5..... 11 60 a 14 00 Fencing 10 00 2 14 00 LathTT!.... tas X sso A Shingles. 040 $ 275 BALTIMORE. HOGS—Good. 4 37*f 525 SHEEP- " iVowiiW* 00 ® **> - » RAOT LIBERTY. CAWLE-Bj-t. 04 75 A 06 00 HoGß—Yorkers.....,, ” 356 X ITO ;g I !l 9°* uac ®‘ • §SQ