Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 March 1886 — Page 2

THE IOKSAKEM FARMHOUSE. Against th« wooded hills it Stands, Ghost of a daad borne, staring through Its broken light of wasted lands Where old-time harvests grew. Unplowed, unsown, by scythe unshorn, Tne poor, forsaken farmrflelds lie, Onoe rich and rife with golden corn And pale green breadths of rye. Of healthful herb and flower bereft, The garden plot no housewife keeps; Through weeds and tangle only left The an eke, its tenant, creeps. A lilac spray, once blossom clad, Sways bare before the empty roams; Beside the roofless porch a sad. Pathetic red rose blooms. * His track, in mold of dust and drouth, On floor and hearth the squirrel leaves, And in the tireless chimney s month His web the spider weaves. Has leaning bam about to fall Resound a no more on husking eves; No cattle low in yard or stall, No thrasher beats his sheaves. <* £o. sad, so drear 1 It seems almost Some haunting Presence makes its sign; That down yon shadowy lane some ghost Might drive his spectral kine 1 —Atlantic.

HER REPROOF. Underneath a shady tree Chanced a youth a maid to see, To this cool, sequestered nook She bad wandered with a book; But the heat her senses dulled, Insects’drone to slumber lulled, And the author was so deep She had fallen fast asleep: Spying her thus slumbering there, , - Sweetly innocent and lair, , . He stole softly up behind. Gently o'er the girl inclined, And, half fearing breath to take Lest, perchance, she might awake As the bee sweet honey sips, Boldly kissed her pouting lips. Wakened thus, in shy surprise. The maid cast down her lovely eyes. And the youth began to try His rash act to justify. *1 know," said he, “that I did wrong, But my temptation was too strong, Such a melting mouth as this Surely was but made to kiss." Deeper still the maiden blushed, Hosier yet her sweet face flushed, Lower down she drooped her head, As with modest air Bhe said: "It was wrong, most certainly, Thus to steal a kiss from me, I was sound asleep, and you— Might just as well have taken two I*

THE YOUNG MINISTER.

BY C. E. RAYMOND.

Frank Brown was the only son of the Browns on Jefferson Avenue. He was a young man of five-and-twenty or' thereabouts, but his thoughtful expression, his dignified bearing, and ripe scholarship would have led anyone to consider him much older. His face was strong rather than handsome; his figure fine; his manner cordial. He was not an ordinary yaung man, at least in the estimation of the Browns, and his future promised great things. Two years before he had finished his course in college, and immediately thereafter he was installed as the pastor of the Unitarian Church in Bath. During the tw> years of his ministry very flattering reports were spread concerning his remarkable ability. The strength and wisdom dis§layed in his sermons surpassed anything !ath had known heretofore, and it was not the young minister was the subject of much favorable comment. It was said by a few, a very few; “Mr. Brown lacks spirituality, but,” they continued, “time and experience will bring that.” Many of these good reports reached the Browfis, to whom, by the way, they were not unexpected; for Mrs. Brown often thought to herself, she was too wise a woman to scatter her thoughts broadcast, “Some day our Frank will be a great Unitarian divine.” The said Browns were a very old and respectable family. In spite of their name, they could trace their line to a remote period, which line had always been characterized by brain power. Mrs. Brown occasionally alluded to “my people,” and the slight emphasis on the “my,” accompanied by an almost imperceptible bending of the chin, suggested much. I would not have it imagined for one moment, however, that Mrs. Brown was one of those common persons who try to hide their obscurity behind ingeniously concocted tales of ancestry. Nothing of She was far too well-bred to neea any references. Indeed, everything about her, from her low voice to her shapely hand, stamped her a lady. She had inherited that title from generations back until it was part of her existence. She sometimes said with the faintest smile, “As if a lady could forget to be a lady; as easily change the cdior of her eyes.” All this has been ■aid to convince you that Mrs. Brown, although she sometimes alluded to “my people,” had no idea of using the terms as a fortification to her social position. Beside Frank, the Browns had two other children, Maud and Ethel, young ladies grown. The former was a stately girl something after the style of her mother, a little pale, perhaps, but withal beautiful. Her manner corresponded perfectly with her appearance. One would think that ■he had devoted her whole life to the mastery of the emotions, and so successful had

shebeen, that even when a school-girl she was never known to show any excitement. She read wise books, studied deep subjects, talked learnedly, and was a most graceful listener. She had few girl friends, for girls, as a class, you know, are so frivolous, wasting their energies on little nothings. Those who knew little of her either stood in awe of or disliked her; those who were intimate with her called her “superior.” Ethel, on the contrary, might, under different circumstances, have been an emotional young lady with loves and hates, like other girls; but the home atmosphere had, Tery early, stunted such rank growth, and we find her a demure lass, who looked up to and copied Maud as the ideal woman. Though not so learned as her sister, she appeared often “With the Poets” and in “Poetry of the Period,” and now and then she wrote prose articles on “Practical Charity,” “Society’s Needs,” •New Factors in Keform,” and the like, all of which appeared in the Sunday edition of the Bath Educator, and were duly discussed and appreciated. The Browns were not wealthy, but they could not be called poor, for had not each in himself the realization of a fortune? They were rich in ideas, and when were ideas not in demand? They were rich in inherited memories, which, even in demo- ' eratic America, entitle the holder to some consideration. They were rich in self-es-teem,which adversity had only strength- . ened. “1 Is ' Mrs. Brown and her daughters ofkn discussed Frank's future. ’ “Frank will marry, some day. Oh! yes. A fine lady of intellectual ability. Some one who will understand and appreciate his power. Some one whom we can consider as one of us.” And they even went so far as to mention one or two young ladies that would “just suit Frank.” And tho ladies of his own household were not the only ladies that were interested in his fu.nre. Many mammas looked at him and thought; “Just the husband for our Mary,” “He should iparry onr Helen; she is so good and so nice, that she would make an > excellent wife for Uie young minister," or, •What a sensible thing it would be for Mr.

Brown to marry our Hannah." The above are some of the thoughts that oocupied the minds of several anxious mothers, ns they listened to the inspiring words of onr young ditSne Sunday after Sunday. Still farther, it may not be unreasonable to suppose that some of the young Indies, whose years would enable them to properly estimate the value of our hero, Would have been glad to settle the question and remove l all farther cause of anxiety. In the very face of all this, Frank Brown, apparently, was the only one who gave lit- I tie or no heed to the subject. It may 'A>e imagined then how the following announce - ment was received. The family were seated in the pleasant little dining-room one morning, when Frank, looking up suddenly and interrupting a conversation between his Sisters, exclaimed: “Mother, I am thinking of being married.” His mother smiled faintly, ns she always did when she wished to show approval, and replied: “I see no reason, my son, why you should hesitate as soon ns you have found a suitable person.” \ It may be well to observe Mrs. Brown was one of those persons who are seldom taken by surprise. She was very cautious in her reply, and used the term “suitable” as meaning a great deal, “Well, mother, I think I have found such a person, and she has promised to be my wife.” Mrs. Brown nnd Mand would have waited for Frank to tell who this remarkable woman was, but Ethel, forgetting herself, exclaimed: “Dear Frank, who is she?” Now, whether he anticipated what was coming, or whether, like many young men in love, he was somewhat "embarrassed, certain it is that Frank Brown for once hesitated, blushed, and then said, “Fanny Gray.” What-had happened!

The stately mother, the emotionless Mand, the demure Ethel, all cried “What!” and then, as if ashamed of such an outburst, each face settled into a stony expression and absolute quiet reigned. Frank looked from one to the other, ami,having resumed his normal state, said, measuring each word, “Yes, lam proud to say Fannie Gray is to be my wife,” and, meeting with no answer, arose and left the room. Ihe three ladies sat speechless for some time; then Ethel said, as if trying to understand something, “Fannie Gray,” and Maud, as if awakening from a dream, echoed, “Fannie Gray.” Mrs. Brown, however, recovered her self-possession before she had committed herself the second time, and remarked coolly, as she withdrew: . “If Frank wishes to' marry Fannie Gray, I presume we have nothing to say.” Now who was Fannie Gray? Just across the street from the Browns was the home of Dr. Gray. Eighteen years before a very sad home it was, for Mrs, Gray, the Doctor's child wife, lay quite still and pale with rosebuds on her breast and in her little white hands. The light had gone from the laughing eyes, the sweet smile from the bonny face. The Doctor walked up and down, through one room, then through another, with a queer look on his face. People whispered in frightened tones,“He is losing his reason,” but the wise old nurse put a laughing infant into his arms, and when he saw Fannie’s smile in the wondering eyes, and played around the baby mouth, he took it into his heart of hearts. This dimpled, crowing, blue-eyed darling took full possession of the Doctor’s heart and quite vanquished despair. Y r ears passed bv and “the Doctor’s darling” was his darling still. This little blossom that had grown in the pure atmosphere of love, ttnder, innocent, beautiful, was Fannie Gray. Eighteen years had stamped no care on her fair brow, left no tears in the clear blue eyes, brought uo sorrow to the trusting heart. When she was small, people called her “a spoilt child;” as she grew older, mothers wondered “What kind of a wife will Fannie Gray make?” but the good old Doctor and Fannie lived in the sunshine of each other’s love, aud knew nothing of what the world thought or said.

This simple, pretty, laughing Fannie Gray, , with her innocent blue eyes and childish speech, was then to be the wife of Frank Brown, the learned young minister. Was it any wonder Mrs. Brown marveled? Was it any wonder Maud, with all her wisdom, could not understand? Was it any wonder Ethel quite forgot “Society’s Needs” in thinking over Frank’s “queer choice?” As soon as the engagement was announced there was a great deal of genteel gossip. Genteel gossip. as f you know, is confined entirely to the “best circles.” Mrs. Harvy, Hanna’s mamma, thought it was “simply ridiculous for Frank Brown to throw himself away on such a simpleton as Fannie.” Mrs. Black, a mojre refined lady, said; “It’s a very remarkalfle union.” Miss Blake, who was sure she knew just the kind of people suited to eatih other, remarked: “Such an intellectual difference!—no affinity whatever—a grave mistake.” Then there was Sophia Smart, whose system of philosophy, if published, and be it said to her credit she did her best to have it widely known, would' have surpassed Hamilton’s, who solved the whole difficulty thus: “It’s strange, but nevertheless true, as can be proven by noted examples, that the most brilliant men many the most stupid women,” and Miss Sophia gave her head a toss, as much as to say, “If brilliant men married brilliant women I’d be the wife of a brilliant man.”

Some of the young men, however, who were serving their apprenticeships as tailors’ models, couldn’t see what Fannie Gray saw in Frank Brown. One of them said, and the rest sanctioned it, “She’s just throwing herself away.” And so people talked. Whatever the Browns thought of Fannie, no one was the wiser. They were too sensible to tell “this dear friend” or “that old acquaintance” anything that could reflect on one of their family. There were two people who thonght it a very sensible union—Fannie Gray and Frank Brown, and as they were the only ones directly interested, it may be concluded they were right; right or wrong, wise or foolish, they were married in the fall and began housekeeping. And where in all the wide, wide world was there such uhome? Fannie possessed the fairy's wand that turned everything it touched into beauty. Her parlor was so pretty- and cosy, only to be outdone by. Frank’s study. Everything in the little home Showed order and taste. Her housekeeping was enough to discourage prophecy. She had no head for matheihatics, but it was wonderful how mnch she could do with a little money. She never guessed it required u very wise head to plan such comforts. Her roses blossomed in the sunny little dining-room and stole their beauty from her dimpled check. 0 . People who went to the parsonage, and there were many who loved , to go, never could tell which was the greater attraction, Frank’s learned conversation or Fannie’s sweet smile. She had p little nook of her own in the, s ndy, whene she used te sit and work quietly while Frank was studying or writing; but when she saw a tire«Bexpression on his .face, or noticed anv signs of weariness, she wonld go to the piano, and in a low, sweet voice sing some tender little love song, aud he, throwing himself oa the sofa and watching the slight figure through half-closed eyes, would smile as he listened tjll the music grew fainter and fainter and finally ended in some celestial song.

Thru she stole from the room nrd Went about some work of kindness with a smile of her bonny face. # ? When Fannie visited the Browns she was just a little timid; not that they illtreated her; uo, she was Frank’s wife and entitled to their love and *' respect, but she did not understand them. They were so wise, just like Frank; and then her beautiful face would grow thoughtful, and somehow, she was not the old Fannie, mirthful, gentle. At timeß she almost looked sad. She wished she was w'pte like Maud and Ethel. How grand it would be to understand the things they did. She could not talk on literature, science, or art. If she read anything sad, she cried; if humorous, Bhe laughed. That was the extent of her power of criticism. When she came back from one of her visits her husband noticed the change, and, one day, looking into her innocent face, he said: “Fannie, darling, something is troubling you, and you know, dear, it makes me very sad.” She hesitated,’'looked away, and then, meeting his gaze, said in a trembling voice: “Do you know, Frank, Isometimes think you did wrong in marrying me? You are so wise, and your mother and sisters are such superior women, and I, l4m so simple.” And then Frank drew her to his heart and told her how he had thanked God every day for his suuny home; that in all the world there was no one so dear to him as 6he; that wisdom of the heart was rare wisdom; that she, and only she, made it possible for him to understand the deepest lessons in life, and kissing her fondly, he left her with the sunshine in her heart and its reflection on her face. Some people said she did not understand her husband’s sermons; be that as it may, she followed their precepts, which was more than the wisest of his listeners did. Three years have passed. Dr. Gray has gone home. The Browns have moved to Bath to be near Frank. They think “Fannie is a dear little thing; but how nice it would be if she were Frank’s equal.” One afternoon Fannie ran in to see Maud and Ethel. They were all sitting before the bright fireplace, when Dr. Hay, an eccentric but kind-hearted old man, came in suddenly and seemed very much annoyed at something that had happened. The winter was a severe one. and numerous reports of small-pox were circulating. The town afforded no hospital, and an old building in a marsh some two miles distant was set aside for that purpose.

The old doctor was no sooner seated than he exclaimed, “It’s a shame. This town ought to sniffer for allowing such a thing to occur. It makes my blood boil to think of the injustice—” “Why, what is wrong?” interrupted Ethel. “ Wrong! it’s all wrong. Last night a man at one of the hotels was taken sick. He came in on a morning train, and finally sent for a doctor. The doctor pronounced it small-pox, and no sooner had the landlord learned the result than he insisted on his removal. • Two men were hired to take him to the hospital, if that can be called one, and, just think of it! they came with an open buggy, put the man in, waited about for nearly an hour, the man freezing the while, and then brought him out there. I was called, but it was too late. He died in less than an hour. I never heard of a more brutal thing,” and the doctor looked from one to another with an outraged expression. Mrs. Brown thought it was shocking. Maud wished people would give more time to the consideration of such emergencies. Ethel declared she would write an article “this very evening, setting forth the needs of a decent hospital and well-trained nurses.” But Fannie said nothing, only the color came and went in her pretty tape, and once when she thought, “What if it had been Frank?” she grew so pale that-Dr. Hay said, “Mrs. Brown, are you ill?” Then she blushed and replied, “Oh, no, but I am so sorry for that poor man, he may have a family. ” “Just so,” returned the doclor. “Besides,” continued he, after a pause, have no idea this part of the town is in clanger, but in the negro quarter the disease is' bound to run riot. Old Uncle Ike and Aunt Hannah are both down, and not a soul to take care of them. People seem to forget duty in the face of danger. There is not so much danger after all from small-pox, if proper care could be given to the patients, but that is just where the difficulty lies. However, I beg your pardon, ladies, for burdening you with this news,” and with this he departed. Mrs. Brown and her daughters discussed the subject fully, and all agreed that Ethel should write her “article.” But Fannie, dear, simple little Fannie only looked grave and finally went home. Once at home she sat down and thought a long time. “If Frank were only here,” she sighed, “I would ask him; but it must be right to go. Just think, if Frank were sick and no one to take care of him!” and tears dimmed her eyes. Then she filled a large basket and went out into the night. Down the long, handsome street she passed, seeing here and there children’s rosy faces pressed against the panes waiting to welcome papas; througn narrower streets, finally through dirty alleys, till she stopped in front of Uncle Ike’s door. As she entered the cold, dark room some one said faintly: “Who’s dar?”

“It’B I, Aunt Hannah, and I’ve brought you a nice supper, and we’ll soon have a light, and a good warm fire,” Fannie answered, cheerily. By this time she had lighted the candle and began to look around her. Sad confusion confronted her every place. On a cot in one corner Uncle Ike lay very still, arnd when Fanny went up to him and looked into his face, she started back instantly—he was dead. Then she went over to Aunt Hannah, but she seemed unconscious; in fact, “Who’s dar?” were the last words she ever uttered. Fannie tidied tho room, tried to help the poor woman, and was just wondering' where shd could get some one to help her, when Dr. Hay entered. He looked around, looked Fannie, looked from one to the other of the old people, and then looked aF Fannie again. He seemed stnnned; then as he laid his hanj tenderly on the fair young head tie said: “My dear child, yon shouldn’t be here." The clear bine eyes looked askingl.v into his face and he turned away only to hide a tear. He examined Aunt „ Hannah and found her recovery was impossible. Then he sat down and watched all through the weary night with Fannie. Ohce he arose, brought her shawl, and folded .it around her, and now and then he me. d thoughtfully but quietly up and down. In the morning Aunt Hannah had joined Uncle Ike. .Fannie helped the doctor make all necessary arrangements for the buria}, and then he insisted on takina her home?; ’ Np, Fannie catch the disease, but she,had a very severe co d afterwards, and somehow Dr. Hay could not break it up. Soon Frank began to grow uneasy and several doctors were consulted, hot all to no purpose. * j . N ; 1 hey hoped mnch fiom the, spring, and she really seem ;d to improve. She thonght the qpr ng was beautiful this year; she never remembered so mauy soft shades of green, so many bird voices." Phe often Iky tor hoars bolding her husband’s hands spa.

smiling sweetly as she looked into his face, and he—his heart was breaking. They wheeled her cot to the window, where the fresh breezes toyed with the golden curls that played on thb fair young brow; and when the shadows lengthened and the golden sunset shimmered through the ieov’eti, she watched the twilight deepen into night. Frank never left her now. He sat for hours looking at the beautiful face, never sjo lovely before, for the blue eyes grew larger, the fair brow fairer, and the trusting/expression deepened on the childish fact*. One day* in early June -nature was hushed. Not a ripple on the lake. Not a rustle in the leaves. Even the birds forgot to sing. The midday sqn had scarcely kissed the tears from the upturned faces of the flowers. Quiet reigned in the parsonage. It was “the doctor’s darling” again that lay so still and fair with rosebuds on her breast and in her loving hands. “Angel Fannie,” many called her, had taught Frank Brown tfie deepest lessons of life, and the last one he learned from her patient suffering made it possible fpr him to take up life anew And live it as only heroes can. If his 6ermons were wonderful before, they were more wonderful now. Mapv said he spoke as if he had looked beyond. Certain it is he went about doing good, carrying nope to’the despairing, light into gloom, until it was said of him—“his face is a benediction.”

The Colored Sexton.

The sexton of a Baptist Church in a large Western city was a good colored brother, who rarely took part in the social religious meetings of the society; but when he did, all present held their breath, for it was well known that someone was to be “hit on the head,” and great amusement was in store for the others. On this particular occasion the subject of the prayer meeting was “Christian Humility.” Mr. Bascom, one of the wealthiest church members, while leaning on his gold-headed cane and toying with his elegant watch chain, concluded his remarks, with great affectation of humility, by saying: “If I ever should be so favored as to reach heaven at all, it seems to me that a place in the most remote section, the most obscure corner, of that blissful region would be infinitely more than I deserve. And when the call comes to me to ‘go Tip higher,’ it| seems to me I shall feel like putting my hand upon my mouth, and my mouth in the dust, and crying out, ‘Unclean! unclean!’ ” When he was seated, the colored brother rose in the rear of the room, and slowly advancing, faced the audience, and thus addressed them; “Brudders an’ sisters, when I hears de angel Gabri’l blow de trumpet a-callin’ me home, ’pears to me I’ll be so powerful glad I’ll just call out, ‘Hoi’ on dar, Gabri’l ; I hears de trumpet, an’ I’s cornin’ mighty quick!’ An’ it ’pears to me I’ll be so bustin’ full ob joy I’ll jest go shoutin’, skippin!, leapin’ right up to de front oh de throne as fast as I kin git dar. An’ dar I’ll stan’ wid de white robeS on, a-wavin’ de palm branches, an’ a-slioutin’ ‘Glory! glory! glory! glory to de Lambdat was slain!’ For what do de Scriptures say ?—‘YVho are dese in white ‘Dey what came up through great tribulations.’ Down here de black skin, an’ de great tribulations ; up dar de white robe an’ de joy for ebermore. Now, my brudders an’ sisters, what do de Scriptures say agin'? Dey say‘what though dey he black as ink’ for something to dat effec’), ‘dey shall be whiter dan snow.’ An’ it ’pears to me I’ll be so powerful happy up dar dat I'd like to shake han’s Avid all nay brudders an’ sisters, widout distinction ob age, color, or previous condition ob servitude —good many on ’em I hain’.t shook no han’ wid here—but ’pears to me I’ll be so occoopied a-wavin’, an’, a-praisin’, an’ a-slioutin’ hallelujah! hallelujah! hallelujah! close up on de right side ob de Lamb, dat I won’t hah no time to go peekin’ roun’ de dark corners ob heaven to-find Brudder Bascovi.” —Lynn Burdette, in Editor's Drawer, Harper's Magazine.

The Champion Snorer.

Persons afilicted with an incurable habit of snoring are apt to become a positive nuisance to others who may be forced to take their nightly rest within ear-shot of the annoying music; and we remember some time ago the suit brought by a French lady who demanded to be separated from Ber husband on no more serious ground than because he snored so tremendously and incessantly that nerves were affected. She had patiently tried every device ingenuity could suggest to palliate the nuisance. She had selected for her bed chamber a room at one end of the apartments the conple occupied, while her husband slept in a room right at the other. Yet the sounds were too audible; she fell a victim to a nervous disease, and she pleaded for separation. In court this poor woman declared she believed no other man ever did, over could, snore like the man whose name she bore. In this, however, it would appear she mistaken, for a farmer named Lester, lately deceased, in Switzerland; and known as the snorer of Zurich, did far more in the same line. Fortunately he was a bachelor. He lived alone, it is narrated, in a spacious house, the malady—.for such it seally was, in his case —with which he was afflicted, having of recent years attained such a degree of intensity that his snoring might be heard of a night from the garret to the ground floor. This peculiar infirmity was a cause of genuine trbuble to the poor fellow, and it was on account of it that he never dared to marry. —London Standard.

An Unexpected Explosion.

Professor Bernstein (expatiating)— “Life is hollow; it is a nubble; nothing is what it seems." Everybody—“ How beautiful!” Professor B.—“We are walking on Volcanoes, which may at any moment overwhelm us.” Everybody—“ How trne!” Professor B. (getting excited* —“I myself could explode this volcano. For instance, there are some men who habitually decoive their wives. There is a man here " Six men (rising)—“Well, Professor, I can assure yon —” -v, \ [Scene of great confusion, and six women faint. }—St. Louis Globe-Demo-craL •. ’ • 'aU ■ When anger rises good judgment falls into a back seai.

For the Drinks.

The nights are full of frost and starlight, and the'snow is frozen to the ground so that even a gum shoe on a one-legged man makes a singing noise as he trudges on. Long . after the respectable element has gone home and is asleep the city is full of wayfaring men looking for a shelter, or a steam coil, or a hot stove, or a cheerful man behind the bar. One of these chaps went into the Grand Pacific bar just as Big Jimmy was about to leave and looked up at the dock. “It is late,” he said. “Is your clock right?” »•" - / Jimmy lookecPat his watch and said the dock was just right. “Horrible night for a railroad accident, ain’t it? ,I suppose you heard of that one on the Georgia Pacific where an engine run clean through a sleeping car—twelve people killed and the engineer saved?” “Seems to me I did,” answered Jimmy. The man, encouraged by this, took evers on the barkeeper with a cracker. “Yes, these engineers seem to be more reckless now than they did when I Avas ruonin’ on the Cry &P. We never had any such accidents in them days as they have noiv. I remember once Avhen I was on No. 9. It was a cattle train. I had orders to run ’em in by a certain hour so as to get the advantage of a raise which the OAvner Avas expecting. The fast mail was new on the road and we all hated it, or, to Jell the truth, we hated the men Avho run the engines on them trains. They were powerful stuck-up until some of them; got the window. ” “"What’s that?” Jimmy interrupted. “Same as the g. b. They used to fire a man out of the door,, but noAV they throw him out of the window. See?” “Yes. Well, as youAvere saying ” “As I was saying, we hated the fast mail. I Avas on No. 9, cornin’ this way —east—and had a load of cattle. The fast mail was ahead of us. I saw it about six miles down the track. It had stopped in the open peerary for some- 1 thin’. I says to my stoker—Nick Avas his name—:that fast mail’s in our way. I’m thinkin’ she’s behind herself, and I know Ave are, says I. So I pulls open the throttle wide and tells Nick to tie his boots on. Doavu grade all the Avay. When we got in a few feet of the f. m. I kind o’ pulled the throttle one-sided and we left the track. It was an open peerary, and the ground froze hard. We cut cross lots to the curve and struck the track again, ahead of the fast mail, and came into the Union Stock Yards one hour and three minutes ahead. That’s as true as I’m standin’ here.” “You say you Avere coming east, and the fast mail was ahead of you?” asked Jimmy, of the bar. “Yes, that’s Avhat I said.” The lights Avent out and so did the man. Hie met his comrade on the curbstone and said: “Don’t never try to Avork a hotel bar man Avitli a railroad story. The minute I said the fast mail was cornin’ east I saw that he Avas on. The fast mail don’t come east. He had the sugar in the glass until I said east, hut I wouldn’t go hack on my Avord. S’pose we go down to the House of David and try it on there T’^f-Chicago Herald.

About Sealskin Sacques.

Sealskin was first utilized as a garment in 1-867 at London. Forty years ago the skin was considered to have little value. The garments made were little capes that covered the shoulders. In 1874 jackets began to be made, but they were without any fit or style except in the rich appearance of the goods. In 1876, sacques were made to fit, and in 1880 the first long Newmarkets were put on the market. Since 1882 cloaks and sacques have been : made with as much care as to fitting as any cloth garment, and the seal sacque is the standard and fashionable wrap of the day. i The process of manufacture is interesting. The raw skin goes to London, where it is dyed and dressed. This labor consists of two dyeings, with a plucking of stiff and gray hairs between. Good dyeing is performed with a comb and brush, and requires great patience. Women are the best workers at this, as their touch is more delicate than a man's? An entire day is necessary to properly dye a skin. The—process of dipping a skin into the dye works harm to the hairs and materially injures the skin. Only about 700 out of every 1,000 skins can be used after dressing. When the dressed skin arrives the manufacturer stretches it and nails it tp a board, with the fur inward,, and a search for imperfections is made. These can only be discovered on thb skin side, and it takes a keen and experienced eye to find most of the bleniishes. They are generally shown in minute, almost imperceptible discolorings of the skin, which, if not immediately cut out, will extend, ,and rot the fur above them until the hairs drop out. When discovered these spots are cut out and skillful hands are set to work to sew up the incision. Often a' cut six inches long has to be made to get rid of a spot not much larger than a nail’s head. To bring the pieces together again, without patching and without visible seam, requires the utmost delicacy. After this is done a paper pattern is placed on the skin and it is out accordingly. Then the skin is finished and lined, and the garment is ready. It is stated that there were never so many inferior skins on the market as at the present time. Thousands of seals are canght on the coasts pf China and Japan and the skins sent to London for dressing. These are of the sanje shape ind general order as the Alaska seals, but they do not wear on the edges, and they turn red and soon begin to look shabby. ' t „ It is estimated that some of the sacques can be sold at a profit as follows: Made of Lobos Island skins, S6O; Japan (known to the trade as “cape”) and China, $75; Victoria Island, SIOO, and Copper Island, $125. They are bought by the New York manufacturers at from sl3 to sl6 per skin, after being dyed and from three to four skins to complete a sacque, according to the Bize. The English dressed Alaska skins cost from S4O to SSO, dyed and dressed, And the ■ -.'V . '", . ' / - A '

cost of manufacturing a sacque is between $25 and $35. Then there are the imitations of sealskin in plueji and kindred materials, but these are not so popular as formerly.— New York Star.

The Menagerie.

The hippopotamus. —Yes, as I was about to observe, mum, this is the hippopotamns—the beautiful river-horse of the Nile. In his native land he feeds on the lotus flower and the papyrus plant. No, my hoy, he never climbs and sports in trees, as doth the little busy monkey and the brisk and gam» bolsome baboon, thought he is sometimes seen takin’ a stroll along on the bottom of; the sea. At certain seasons of the year, mum, river horses goes to bathe in the Nile in sich wast numbers as to dam the river, causin’ those inundations of the Avalley as perjuces that wonderful fertility of which we have all read. No, aunty, he doesn’t open his mouth that way because he’s sick; he’s never sick except once in a great while when he,happens not to be in good health. No, mum, he’s not sul> ject to the toothache. He’s a werry affectionate creetur, and he only means to smile when he shows his teeth like that. Ah! could have told you, sir, that you’d loose the tail offn your, coat if you persisted in leanin’ against the cage of the wishious bobtailed baboon. The ounce.— My good woman, what you see before you is an ounce, hut it is an ounce that weighs many pounds. This is a little joke that we have about the animal. You may allow your little boy to laugh, mum. Even in this great moral exposition we are not averse to little harmless witticisms that advance knowledge and improve the understanding. The children, mum, generally admire the joke about the ounce. A remarkably bright little boy that of yours, mum'?.'already begins to show the penetration of his mother. Oh, your sister’s child?. You are fortunate, mum, in havin’ such a sister. She is already married, I presume? If that South American sheep spit in your eye, you young rascal, it Avas because you was apunchin’ of him up! The hyena. —Here Ave have the wild high-ena of the hills. He ransacks graveyards, digs up dead bodies and devours them. His native home is in the tombs and pyramids of Egypt, and his nat’ral food is mummies—the P®tiphars and Pharaohs. This is the highest ena now trav lin in the United States. We 'had a low ena for a few months, but found he was too low for a high moral show sich as this, so had him shot. Madam, I Avould advise you ta stand further hack from the cage if the little darling there in vour arms has not been vaccinated, for the animal now under consideration had half a small-pox patient for his breakfast this mornhi’. —California Maverick.

Mine. Greville.

“In her days of maidenhood,” says the NeAv York Commercial Advertiser, referring to Mine. Greville, “she was a teacher in a Bussian family; her father, a native of Norniblidy, Avas for years a professor in the University of Petersburg, Avliose feminine head was, like so many Slavs, eccentric, tyrannical, and cruel. This ‘lady* ordered Madamoiselle Floury to perform some menial office, which she refused, whereupon the former, flying into a rage, declared that if she did not obey her instantly she xvonld have her flogged By her seris. The teacher replied with perfect composure: ‘Have it done thoroughly then, madame ; for, if I die not under the lash, I will proclaim your savagery to all the world. ’ The pettiooated despot hesitated, and the teacher, who felt her danger in a place so remote, lost no time in flying from the place.”

Going to Stay in Canada.

An inquisitive man on a train on the New York Central going out of New York was seated next to a fashionablydressed young man, who looked as if he might be a bank clerk. “Going to Poughkeepsie?" asked the inquisitive. <r “Yes.” “Goingto stay there?” “No, I’m going on to Albany. “Going to stay in Albany?” “No, I’m going on to Niagara Falls. * “Going to stay there?” “No, I’m going on to Montreal." The inquisitive man smiled, 'nodded lijs head; as much as to say “Now I know all about you, " and finally added: “Well, I guess you are going to stay in Canada, ain’t yer?”— T&ras Siftingg. . People who are slender and nervous sometimes express a dread of the effect that “shock" might have upon them in case of accident. At a recent meeting of the New York State Medical Association, Dr. C. W. Brown, referring to individual susceptibility to shook, said that “some persons of fleshy habit and apparent health will succumb sooner to a minor injury producing shock than some others of delicate habits and nervous temperament, the nervous system in the latter giving away less readilyJk Also, shock is less in persons suffering from chronic diseases than in healthy people, - though the former are less likely to make complete recoveries. The cost of cremation in Italy is much less than with ns, the entire expense at the handsome marble crematory at Milan being sl9. There, too, the flames come in direct Contact with the body and the reduction takes only two hours. The walls of the crematory bear a fine medallion of Albert Kellar, who gave the \ structure to the city, and many small tablets, some of them with the names of persons whose ashes repose in the niches behind, and some, marked “assegnato,” the names of persons still living who wish to be cremated and have selected their crypts.

She Didn’t Understand.

do you run a bone-yard ?" “Mercy, no, Agatha? Whatever put such an idea into your head?” V “I heard the tailor and the grocer say list night, that you had refused to pay for any more dead horses."— Exchange. “Leo Xffl," writes Mrs. Brewster from Borne, “is a thin, wiry man with a fiber as strong as steel; he can stand shocks that stouter, flabbier men cannot.” . * One rich man in Chicago pays SIO.OOC a year,for a pew in a, church. “ ■ \> *' ■ ' * \ “V' - r - • *