Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 29, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 March 1886 — Page 2

THB DI DK, - BY MARL MilM.l Oh, the dnd«. th® beautiful <lu<te! 6 Who stand* in a <*nuuio>ipte<** attituite About the floor* of the bix hotels. J And ptek* his tooth 'taoag languid owalla. Or lounges about th* theater door*. Watohtntt Um crowd m it outward poura, Glancing. ~ "linking away At th* India* tearing the mail nop. Oh. tha dude, tha baautlful duda I Though -dear old Katura waa pinched aad Whan'stM sent him out to cumber the earth. Wo thank her for giving nt cause of mirth JL* ***** hi* addled pate go by. —— 7 - And watch hi* w»ys ao awfully fly. Flirting. Smirking. Posing away, And smiling to think bo is just <iu fail. r . Oh, the dude, the beautiful dude! With never a smattor of cense imbued. I With the beauty and grace of en Bnslish png. That aimlesa women are Wont to hng. With a shapeless nose and a shy moustache, f-‘ *■( the female fools he cuts a dash, -Dancing. - i . Waltzing. Mashing away Th* tree sms' hour* at the 'prooch of day. BeauUful dude! It can do no harm As It softly grasps a lady's arm ; And, though It mg* e a true m«n sick, •Twould never do to give It a kick. Because life'* farce would be tame and crude Without a touch o/ the brainiest dude. Walking. ‘ Lounging; ■ -■ ; 1 wirllng hi* cane. And spending the bulk of hi* father * gain. —Bosfon Folto. - O!SF THIN(} NRKDFIX. BY BBSM STOkF.n. Sil Martha's house the weary Master lay, ...... pent with hi* faring through the bnrninr day; Th* busy bosteas bustled through the room On the household care* Intent; and at hi* feet The gentle Mary took her wonted seat "J Soft oom* Hie word* in muaic through th* ’ gloom. Cttinbared about much serving. Martha wrought. Her sister listening as the Mester taught, '■ill. something fretful, an appeal she made: “Doth it not matter that on me doth fall The burden T Marv helpcth not at all. Master, command her that she give ma aid.* •Ah, Martha. Marthathat art full of care, andpieny things thy needless trouble* share"— Thus, wi h the love that chides, the Master •tee thing alone is needful—that good part Hath Mary chi sen from her loving heart. And that part from her I shall never take." One thing alone we lack I Our souls, indeed, Have fiercer hunger than the body’s need. Oh. happy they that look in loving eyes I The harsh world round them tales ; the Master's s - voice In sweetest music bid* their souls rejoice, And wakes an echo there that never dies.

WALTER SOMERS’ ESCAPE.

It was an odd name for n girl—Sacratnento. j So the girl herself thought ns she stooped down beside a spring at the foot of a cottonwood tree and lazily dropped her pail into the water. “It ought to have been given to a’boy. if it was a tit name to give anybody,” she said, quite aloud. “But I'm more boy than girl, anyway." This fact was added rather bitterly, as she looked at her brown, rough hands and her bare ankle, and thought of the “boy’s work" she hud to do. And it was hard to believe that this was the best kind of a life for a young girl like Sacramento- Here she lived alone, for her father was down at the mouth, of the canyon all day. The garden work she was obliged to do, and the care of the cattle fell upon her. It was not often that she saw any person but her father, although now and then, in spite of herself, she came in contact wjth the rpde men of thf mining camp up above. Yet Sacramento had her dream, one that she “Scarcely dared to own, ” but it came to her often as she went about her work. - ’ She knew that down at Santa Barbara and in the towns along the coast, and far, far away across wide stretches of continent to the great East, there were girls who lived very different lives from hers, and she dreamed of such a life for herself. • “Oh. if I could only go away from here!” she cried out, almost as one cries for help. “If I could only go down to San Francisco and go to school there for a single year. Ah, if I had Ssiß>." - Suddenly there was ..a step—not a man, but of a horse—on the bank behind her. and then some one spoke. She knew the «»ice without looking up. It was Pete Larrabee, a fellow who lived on Hahnemau’s plantation, two miles along the trail. He sometimes rode by. He had not heard ber last words at «fii; yet, strangely enough, his own were a repetition of them. “Five hundred dollars. Sac,” said he; “SSOO in gold! D’ye want ter earn it? Ther’s yer chance," and he threw down to her a bit of paper crumpled into a ball. She picked it up, and, slowly unfolding it, run her eyes over its contents;

“500 DOLLARS REWARD. “The above amount will be paid for informationleading to the arrest, dead or alive, of Walter Somers, who has worked for some time past on Maxwell’s ranch. Said Somers is about 18 years old and live and a half feet high, rather good looking, with light, curly hair, blue eyes, and a light moustache. When last seen he hail on a black slouch hat. gray business suit, and blue flannel shirt, and boots with red tops marked with the maker's name. ” The name of the county sheriff was signed at the bottom of the bill. Sacramento, having glanced it through, looked an. “He’sbeen a stealin’ horses'” exclaimed Pete. “Got off last night with four of Maxwell’s best, somewhere. That reward won’t do much good, though. The regulators ’ll lasso him and string him up long ’fore tlie' Iww’ll git started. They're havin' a meetin' uow up at the gulch. I tell ye they are mad. They’ll make quick work if they ketch him. Yer father’s there. Ye needn’t look for him home afore night, much,” Then, after a word or two more, the-man rode on, and presently Sacramento took up her pail, and with the sheriff’s bill still in her hand, went slowly up the bank (and across the trail toward the house, thinking -*ery seriously about the 500 dollars all the while. It was some hours after this, and the afternoon sun was going down behind the tops of the mountains, that Sacramento, having finished her nousework, was preparing to sit down on the porch to do her sewing, when she was met in the doorway .by a young man she had never seen before. And yet he was no stranger. The girl knew him instantly, although the slouch hat was pulled down over the flaxen hair and blue •yes, and the gray trousers, torn and muddy, had been drawn out of the boot legs so as to no longer allow the red tops of the boots with the maker's name to be seen. It was the horsethief. She did not, however, express any surprise as she saw him. She was accustomed to the sight of rough, evil men; and at the first glance she had felt that this one could not be cither very wicked or very dangerous. He was not much more than a lad, and had an air of gentleness and good breeding about him that six months of Western life and the plight he was in at that moment had by no means destroyed. He seemed to be short of breath, too, and was trembling •s if he had been running. Instinctively he raised his hand toward

his hrnid, and then, bethinking Ifitnself, . dropped it again. “» onlil you give ms oomething to ent mid j drink?" he naked, in a hesitating vbi.ee. ! ''Anything will do, lam rery hungrr. l—l I Jiave had nothing to act nines hist night." "Come in,*' Haid'Sacrnuiento gravely. In her voice there was neither kiuduewH nor unkindnesa. she waa trying to realize the j -situation she waa in. “Come in and wit down!”' 1 , , i ’ Then sin* went into a closet near by. and began taking dow n milk bread and meat, ns she slowly didjo turning the mat* ter over i« her mind. Here was this man who had been stealing hones, and for whose capture SSOO was uflered, in her own kitchen. Five hundred dollars! Exactly the sum shii bad been wishing for —the num that wonld take her down to Han Francisco to school and make a lady ofher. And this sum may lie hers if she could in some way, secure this stranger or somehow keep bini in the house until help arrived. Help? Why, she hardly needed help. He, was weak and exhausted, and in the drawer' of the kitchen table there was a loaded revolver, which she well knew how to use. iShe enme out piesently, and set file things before him, bringing also the teapot from the stove and pouring for him a cup of tea. Then she went and sat down by the window, and watched him furtively as he ah*. In spite of his caution, he hnil taken off his hat while he was entingr She could better see what he was like.; It was alriiost A boyish face,' worn, bnF not’ wicke<f, with the curling h lir lying in dark clusters upon his pale brow, in the. hands, small and Well shaped, and in all hienrotions and mnnnter. she felt that she could read something of his story. She had heard before this bow young lads in the East, tilled with romantic notions about Western life and adventure, sometimes left their luxurious homes and found their way out to the ranches of the Pacific. Perhaps he was one of th. se. As she looked at him, fancying all this, and realizing the terrible strait he - was in and the probable dark fate that was before him, her heart yearned with true womanly sympathy, and her feeling found expression before she was able to restrain herself. “Oh, how could you do it? How could you do it?” she, suddenly exclaimed, her voice quite full of what she felt. He looked up at her in wonder; but as his eyes met hers he understood her. “I didn’t do it. Upon my honor I did not,” he said. “It was that man Dennis.” roliet.. Horse stealing was held in that section to be a crime worse than murder; and she was by no means free from the popular estimate of its grave nature. “Oh, I’m glad of that!” cried she. “But —” she hesitated, and then went on doubtfully* “But. then, how was it? Why did you run away?” “It was Dennis’ doings, their laying it to me. lie did that to clear himself. And after that you> know as well as I do that there would have been no use in trying to prove myself innocent. They always hang a horse thief first and then consider his guilt afterward. I had to tun to save my fife," “Do you know that there is a reward offered for your capture?” “I know that the regulators are after me,” answered ths young man sullenly. “They came pretty near catching me, too, this noon. I just escaped them, and came down the canyon by the mountain trail. I have had a hard run for it, and v hat with that and no sleep for twenty-four hours. I am about used up. I felt as though I could not go another step when I saw your house. Now—you have been very good to me. I shall never forget—” “But what are you going to do now?” interrupted Sacramento. “ You are not safe here.". _ “I know it. But I threw them off the frack this noon, and I do pot think they are within five miles of me. Now, I have had something to eat, I will take to the woods again. I hope I may get clear away. If I don't"--his voice trembled au<l tears came into his eyes. “If I don’t I shall be hanged, I suppose. Oh. what a fool I was to prefer this sort of thing to home! And yet, I wouldn't care so much, either, if it wasn’t for my father and mother." And there the poor fellow fairly broke down. “Hark!” Sacramento exclaimed. She had been crying, too. She could not help it. They both listened. In a moment they both heard plainly the sound of horses coming down the trail. The - girl turned with instant self-possession. “Go in there! Quick! Quick! , There is not a moment to lose. Here, take vour hat!”

After handing his hat to him she halfpushed him across the room and into her own little room that led off from it; Then she hnrriedlycleared the table again, barely finishing the task as the horsemen halted at the door. There were three of them. One was her father. Sacramento knew the other two men by sight. They were rough, but of the better sort of those who made up the of Kelly Gulch. The faces of all three were stern ami forbidding, and they evidently had .been riding hard. They dismounted together. “Sac," began her father, as he entered the doer, “hev you seen anything of a young chap afoot or a horseback coming this way?” Sacramento had expected the question, and was ready for it. And she meant, if possible, to answer without a lie. - “ A young chap about 18 years of age. and five feet and a half high, rather good lotiking, and with red top boots?” replied she. “Yes! Yes! That’s hi,m!” cried one of the other men. “Has he been here?” “I was only quoting from this handbill,” said Sacramento. taking the paper from the shelf w-hf re she had laid it. “Then you hain’t seen him at all?” asked her father. “I have been- right here all day. and nobody has gone by except Pete Larrabee. It was he who gave me the bill. Are you sure that he came this wav, the—the—horsfe thief?” “No; but we didn’t know but he might. The chances is that he is sloped off to the mountains, meanin’ to go through Stovepipe pass. They’ll get him, though, afore sundown.” “It's sundown now,” observed Sacramento.. ■ “Then they've got him now,” was the sententious response. “And we shall be too late for the bangin' es we sh’d go.back. Leastways"—this was added to his companions—“you’d better come in and have a bite afore you go.” • So presently the three men sat down to the supper that the young girl quickly prepared for them. And while they were eating, she herself, at her father's bidding, went out to take the saddle off Bueno, his horse, and give him a feed. As she approached the door once more, a few minutes after, she heard words which caused her to stop and listen. _ “I don’t like ter say anything against thet kid o'yourn, neighbor,” one of the men was saying, “but it hex kinder seemed to me all ther white’s though she sorter hed some'at on her mind like. Ye don’t s'pose she knows anything 'bout that young feller arter all?” Sacramento’s father laughed at this, as though it was too absurd to be considered. The other, however, was not to be laughed out of his suspicions, “For all we know, she may hev hid him somewhere on the premmysis."

I "It’s easy enough .to See,” returned th* 1 proprietor of the oa.id pr.rumyHiH,"jv«tily ■ " Wnere d'ye think sipo’> bi | him? In het I bedroom? ” ■■ v j As he said this Sacramento,who was now I linear enough to see into the kitchen, saw hei ' I father' line from his chair and step to the ■ door d* l ' r ’>i<ni where she had conceal* ! j I the fugitive. Her heart almost stopped ; IteaUng ns she saw him open-the door arid enter the room, followed by his companion. .."We'll make a chis search .of it y bile we’re about it,” she heard him say within. And then she stood there in terrible suspense upon the porch, expecting every iiistant to hear the shout that would follow the discovery of the fugitive. But np such shout was heard; and instead of it, a moment later two men oame oul again, her father still laughing at hir friends. IT What conld it mean?] Had the young man been able to conceal himself '■ in the room and so evade their search? That war not possible. Then she thought of tht window. Could he have escaped from th< room by that? The window was so smaL ►he conld scarcely believe that he coulc have crept through it. And yet- he mus’ have done so. She went hurriedly to the back of thr house and then down beyond the horei sheds. No one could be seen. She halted a moment under a live oak tree jus at the edge of the garden. The evening was very calm and still, and the twiligh shadows ware deepening fast. Wa*- it th< rustling of the wind in the boughs overheat that caught her ear? She listened. - “Hist! lam here —in the tree.* The words came in a distinct whispe from directly above her. She stood and thought a single momen* before replying. Then she said: “Yot must get away from here at once,” in ar eager whisper. “One of the men suspeett. something, and they may at any momen' make a search of the place. I urn goin# into the/house a minute. Get down at once ang g° through the garden and across the trail to a spring that.you will find there . It’s at the foot of a big cottonwood tree Stay right the.re until I come.” Then phe went hurriedly to the house. Th< three mon were still sitting at the table, am' Sacramento felt rather than saw that on< of still regarded her suspiciously ai she cairie in. She did not speak to them a/ all, but went directly through the kitchen,to her ownirdom, and in a moment more can out. went about her work in the Kitchen and took up a pail,.apparently to go to the. spring for water. Ten minutes later, standing in the shadow of the cottonwood, yoiing Somers heard:a step, and then Sacramento, leading Bueno all saddled and bridled, appeared. He started forward. “Hush!" she said; “they may come at any moment. Listen to what 1 say. Your life depends on it. You must ride straight down the trail for a quarter of n mile. Then, close by a big cottonwood, just like this, you will strike a path to tlse left. Bueno will know it, once you get him in it. It Will bring yon, but half a mile on, to a road, that crosses the swamp. The end of this roiul has got out of order, and there are some logs laid. Lead Bueno across and then pull the logs away. If ,wu do that it will make trouble for those who follow you. Deyond the swamp is a big plain. Strike straight across it, having the moon squats on your light—the moon will be up by that time—and three hours’ riding wilt bring you to the new railroad. After that—God help yon to get safe away!” Sacramento paused and put out her hand. “Can you remeipber?” she demanded.’” “I can, but I can never forget—” “Never mind that. Here, take this. It is a little money. You will need it.' Now mount and ride —slowly a little way, and then for your life.” The young man still had hold o| her hand. The tears tame into his Tty next moment he was gone., ” The next morning Sacramento told her father the whole story and coaxed him into forgiving her. And the following afternoon a marTbrOught-Bueno over from the railroad town, and then she knew the fugitive was safe. Six weeks later a lawyer from Santa Barbara appeared with’a letter from Walter Somers. He was with his friends in New York. He begged Sacramento to accept, as a gift of gratitude, at least the amount of the reward that had been offered. And so it was that she went down to San Francisco to school that winter after all.

President Eliot’s Curiosity.

President Eliot, of Harvard College, is a man of marked ability as an executive officer. He is weak on the scholarly side. His communication to the world that Gen. Grant hafr TOW heard of Oliver Twist reminds me of a rather good story on himself, the authenticity of which I can vouch for. When Bonamy Price. Professor of Political Economy at Oxford, was being entertained in Cambridge, Price and. Eliot were thrown together at dinner. Bonamy, who was an intolerable bore and on his old hobby, “The Basis of Civilization, What Was It?” loudly de-, clared that the only one who had successfully answered the question-was a young girl of Cambridge, England. So that I may arouse no unnecessary curiosity, let me say at once the answer to Prof. Price’s conundrum was simply this: “Progressive desire.” But, valuable or not, Price did not choose to divulge the wonderful answer on the occasion in question. He merely propounded it as something every One should know. The Boston men laughed uneasily, as if to say: “O. yes, we know it.” and the subject of conversation suddenly changed. The next day President Eliot sought out Price, and, after a little conversation, began in an embarrassed way to broach something. “Prof. Price, I was much interest <■ in the turn the conversation took last evening < No answer from Price, except a slight raising of the eyebrows. . “You spoke, I believe, of a young lady who, who——" ' A downward look from Price. -- “Who successfully answered the question, ‘What was the true basis of civilisation ?' ” Price nodded in the affirmative. “I forgot to ask you about it at the time,” continued Eliot in the agony of his literary pride, “but I have been haunted by the idea all night. Would you mipd telling me what is the true "basis of civilization?” “No, sir,” answered Bonamy, (promptly, “find it out for yourself!”— Ingleside. < b'.

A Good Stayer.

A San Francisco family recently engaged a young girl from the East who advertised that she had been “four years in her last place.” The familysubsequently learned that she would. have remained longer than four years in her last place if the Governor had not pardoned her when he did.— Puck’s Annual.

PEOPLE WHO WERE REALLY RICH.

Iliatorlral IVrnouag®* lte«l«le Whom the I.ato Mr. V anderbilt W»« » I'auprr. , Throughout all historical time there have been only isolated niillionairrH.J here and there. It may l»e to.tell of a few of these'. King Holomon w.-rw literally.the first merchant prince, Ljit Sohiiiien <vas hot a' self-made man. His father, David, made him the trustee of n fund for liuildiug the temple estimated I>y Prideaux at M,1ti5,000,00d; and if Solomon was like a good many trustees since his time he ought to have got a good start hl life with such a syiro in his hands. As it is plain that this was hut a single itam in the catalogue of his wealth, it is probable that at the time of his*accession to the thro’fte he was worth, all told, not far from $8,000,000,000. Was he satisfied? Not a bit of it. He at once took steps to monop..'olize every kind of"trade known at that time to the world.' He dealt in horses, chariots, linen; the commerce of the Red Hea was entirely in his hands; he controlled the entire lumber interests of Lebanon; the mines of Ophir and Tarshish yielded their treasures only to his myriads of-slaves. Solomon was ‘essentially a monopolist. If there had been any Knights of Labor in his day he would have -been boycotted. Still, he was of some good to somebody. For several years Solomon’s annual income is estimated to have been “at least $3,O(M),OOO,OQO, in round numliers.” And right here I want to cite a fact that I do not think has been” noted by any previous biographer. In the thousand and one females who, in the light of modern waytj.jjiay have had some claim on Solomon, there was not one who attempted to coiltest his will after his death, or if there was, his family hushed before it got to the ears of the public. Another rich man of antiquity was Croesus—King of Lydia. Croesus was not/so rich as Solomon, but he was rich. He was a great conqueror, and he robbed everybody, right and left. Rennel putshim down at $2,000,000,000, “approximately.” Herodotus tells of some votive offerings that he saw in the Temple -at—Delphi. They .had been sent by Croesus as asortof contributionbox donation. The intrinsic, value of these little presents was $15,000,000. Among them was a “suspended gold statue of the'woman who baked bread” for the millionaire. It is plain that she had not learned cooking at Vassar, under Miss Parloa. In that circumstance Croesus would probably have suspended her in person. Calculated from the relative size of rich men’s gifts to churches at the present day, Croesus’ donation of $15,000,000 would indicate possessions of greater value than the $2,000,000,000 set down to his credit by Rennel. It is possible, though, that Herodotus lied in his • accounts of the gifts in the. temple;.. Herodotus is the Tom Ochiltree of ancient history, any way. Xenophon, in his “Memorabilia,” : says that. Cru .sus was a “gltitton; he actually shed tears Once because a vessel he had dispatched to Crete for a load of kuamoi did_ not return by the time he had hoped for, andtwhat do you suppose these kuamoi ikere ? Truffles, or mushrooms, or reed birds? No; beans! What an inspiration for a Boston artist! Alexander the Great was ■ wealthy. True, he got his wealth byU system of robbery, but h“ does not , atond alone iuiMmg ”ricli men in that respect. He brought back from his expedition to Susa and Persia alone over $800,000,000. and during his whole life he continued to pije up wealth like the owner of a gas-house. When he lied he left a will that looked like the inventory of a bric-a-brac sale.

Ptolemy Philadelphus r who came not so very long after Alexander, is the first literary bloated bondholder of whom we have any record. He weighed 450 pounds, and had a private purse of $1,385,000,000. The historian Appian is authority for this. In order to keep this wealth in the family, Mr. Philadelphus married his grandmother. He was so economical in money matters that lie never paid out a piece of gold until he had caused it to be “sweated.” There was a Persian, with a name suggestive of swollen tonsils and hereditary asthma, who must have been well off, from all accounts. I refer to Dareoios Hystaspes, who was king about 480 B, C. His strong point was not so much his capital as bis income, about $1,500,000,000 per year, according to both Gibbon and Renncl. It is with pleasure that I write the name of a lady, the story ,us whose wealth looks like an arithmetic page in the throes of dLe|jrium tremens —Serniramis of Babylon-’-of course you guess at once. You have heard of the story of Semiramis and the bull, but you must not judge from that that Semiramis had anything'*tO'“c[o with' "stSCk's‘. Besides, Semiramis was homely, and if she was anything in that line she was a bear. It would be indelicate, perhaps, in the case of A lady, to inquire just what her fortune amounted to, but Diodorus tells of some statues that Semiramis erected in the Temple of Belus, the value of which the good Abbe Barthelemy places at $60,000,000. But it is not only in tales tinged with the warmth and color of the Orient that records of colossal fortunes are found. There was a Roman, Licinius Crassus, whose Wealth was such that he frequently gave al fresco suppers to the -whole—Roman population. And they, were real suppers, too—banquets—no mere measly offerings of sandwiches, from which the waiters had previously abstracted a wafer of meat. Rollo gives Crassus’ fortune at £71,614,583 6s. Bd. in real estate alone. He estimates his personalty to have fully four times that amount. Rollo,’by the way, is an artist in his line. A man must have an artistic conception of how to live when iie ventures so get down to shillings and pence in estimating the value of Roman real estate 2,000 years ’ago. Rollo ought to have gone as advance agent to the 40-year-old “star” who tells the reporter That her “ma won’t let her travel alone. F. Hirdlinger, in Hew York World. ; 1 A plant has been discovered in Arizona which carries a lare proportion of annin, and which, when used in the “manufacture 6f Lather, is found to give xtra weight to the article produced. This plant is of annual growth, indigenous to the deserts mid dry uplands,

and is known as gotiagra. It has a root somewhat longer and more scraggy tlian the cultivated beet, though resembling it in apfiearflnce, and practical use has demonstrated' its tannin properties to be alxiut three times its great as the ordinary oak bark, and tliat in all essentials it is superior to in the manufacture of leather, and immensely cheaper.

Ireland To-day.

Ireland's picturesqueness lies in its coast-scenery. Its center is mostly a dettd level of bog or pastureland. Therq are few or none of the smiling harvest fields which make England so pretty; the climate refuses to grow cereals, and, alas! the people have not the persistent industry required for cultivated farming. Neat hedgerows, well-kept foodlands, good roads, and, above all, the sweet, <«>ntented-looking villages and hamlets that one sees continually in England, must not be looked for here. Yet it was a green and pleasant country that, we swept through—no, crawled through—lrish railways always crawl—and, reaching our station at last, we mounted, defiant of old Time, the familiar outside car with its lively .Irish pony. Excellent animal! that day he did forty miles in sixteen hours. Does any one know how delightful it is to drive across country in an outside car, with just enough necessity for holding on to keep your mind amused, and just enough jolting and shaking to give you “the least taste in life” of horse exercise? How pleasant to feel the wind in your face, and see the rain-clouds drifting behind you—to catch in passing the sights and scents of moorland gorse, of ditch-bank primroses, and hidden hyacinths, and the yellow gleam of whole acres of cowslips! I never saw so many cowslips or so large; a sign, alas! of poor land. When the soil improves the cowslips always disappear. And for birds—there seemed a blackbird in every tall tree, and a dozen larks singing madly over every bit of common. But of human habitations there were very few. Now f and ( then a group of little Kerry cows—mostly black—or a family of hapyp" pigs, often blaekrtoodotted the pastures, implying another family close by, who turned out to gaze at us from what might be either cabin or cow-shed, or both—half-clad boys or girls, one could hardly tell which, with xvfld shocks of hair and splendid Irish eyes, full of fun and intelligence. And sometimes we passed a woman with a shawl over her head, Irish fashion, carrying a huge bundle and perhaps a child as well, - who first looked then looked away. Thin, povertypinched faces they often were, but neither coarse, sullen, nor degraded, nothing like the type of low Irish that one sees in towns. Much to be pitied, truly, but certainly not to be despised. Some, perhaps, drop a curtsey to “the quality,” but, generally,' they just look' at US with a dull curiosity, and pass On. Little enough have “the quality” done for them, poor souls!

Things that Make One Weary.

Old mutton dressed lamb fashion. .. 2. Goats and all other cranks. Men who sow the country with wind. The bug that stalketh at night. Butter strong 'enough to wiuk. ■ Wome& wlio-yatvp. The snriy_LjJlow=w4tfr wants his own way and lies to get it. Men who discuss subjects they know nothing about,— —. Longing to be wealthy. Working for love and never getting your pay. ' 7' ■ ’ The barber with hands the temperature and consistency of the under side of a toad. The fiend who always w ants to shake hands. Cyclones, earthquakes, creditors, bad bills, terrible murders, garrulous old women, and a sore toe. Mistaking a piece of soap for a caramel. Those who eat molasses with a knife. A boil—anywhere. Payingm quarter to see a dime show. People who use a fork as they would an eel spear. The man with Ing cuff-buttons and a Had breath. The fool who smokes everywhere except in bed. “Chestnuts.” ' L Cheese that has the strength to talk, but won’t. To be alone in a room with a talking machine —male or female. Men who always eat as though they were hurryin*"lo catch a train. - • The.giri who wants to know “where have you been at.” The smell of peanuts eaten by someone else. '' ■■■•*“ t -*,. The scandalmonger who never w ants his name mentioned, you know. To see rogues flourish and grow fat while honest men toil and wear themselves out for nothing. / The “I told you so” bore who always turns up after a crisis. One drop of hot grease in the wrong place. Making your views clear to a thickheaded man.— Detroit Free Press.

A Gallant Lover’s Reward.

“I declare,” she exclaimed, as he assisted her to put on a pair of new gloves, “it is too provoking. Ths gloves fit me perfectly except that the fingers are too long. I think my hand is deformed. The fingers are too short.” “On the contrary,” he replied, “your hand is perfect, the majority of hands are deformed, however, the length of the fingers being disproportionate to the size*>f the other part, and all gloves are. made to meet that defect. ' If this glove had been made for a perfect hand it would have been an admirable fit. The proportions of your hand are such as would almost start the , statue of the Greek Slave into life with envy.” ! | “George,” she murmured, with a rosy blush suffusing her cheeks and a bright light in her eyes, “I believe you asked to kiss me last night and I refused. You—you —a —may do so now.” And* George did, and the canary in the cage twittered, and the cannel in the grate glowed and the clock ticked tunefully on the~mantel-piece and modestly kept its hands on its face while the osculating exercise was in progress. Ah! there are some verdant and flowery oases in the desert of life, after aIL Boston Courier.

What to Do With the Boys.

We often hear the question asked" , “What is to become of our buys?” This, is indeed a serious questing for fathers and mothers to answer. It is a startling fact that far too many boys of the present day are bf unfitted to grow up, and that, too, witli the consent of their parents, without preparing themselves for the hard, rough-and-tumble fight ■that life surely has in store for them. Few Ixiys of well-to-do parents afo learning trades. Young men reach their twenties, who, if they were suddenly throwtr upon the world nnd their own resources, would be as helpless as the chihl in its teens. Why is it that so few of the boys of well-to-do patents are learning trades ? Is it because it is no longer considered honorable for a boy to learn a trade? Again, it used to be that young boys would go to work for $2 and $3 a week, at some trade, counting that, in addition to his small wages, the knowledge he ucquireil was worth much more than the yearly salary he received- Now it is hard work to get a young boy to work for less than $0 to $lO per week, his parents often upholding him in the demand, seemingly preferring that he do nothing unless he can get the wages demanded. Many young men are struggling today with the meager salary of clerks, or eking out a miserable existence in some of the over-crowded professions, who would be a tl'.o isand times lietter off had they put,their pride to the rear and learned some one of the useful trades. Money expended to educate a boy, if the education is going to fill his head with the idea that it is not honorable for an educated man to work, is money poorly expended. Education should l>e just as honorable in its shirt-sleeves, working at some one of the useful trades, as it is in a shabby-genteel Prince Albert coat loafing about a lawyer’s office. And it would be if it wasn’t for the tyrant called “Society.” Can any sensible father or mother tell ns why the boy who is clerk in the postoffice or a clerk in a dry goods store, measuring tape-and -selling- -embroidery and corsets, should be admitted to the drawing-rooms of society, while the door is shut in the face of the brother—son of the same father and mother—who is at work in the machineshop, the carpenter-shop, or on the locomotive? People say this is not done.; but it is done, and every day, in this city and every other city and town in the country. Is this the reason that more young men are not learning trades? Is your daughter less safe in keeping company with an honest young man who wears a check shirt at his honest toil all day than she would be with the young man who does nothing and who decks himself out with celluloid shirt fronts and cuffs of the seme material? 1 We often read of men who have grown suddenly rich by some lucky turn of the wheel of fortune, who disown their sons because of their marriage with some honest but poor girl, whose parents are in every respect, except wealth, the equal of the parents of the young man. Tins vulgarity such as only a wealthy vulgarian can assume, and such only as Jhe iytynt Society seems demand. Wealth is no crime, neither is it a virtue. The fatfierpr mother who makes it a test of respectability in choosing ; husbands and wives for their children are fathers and mothers scarcely worthy the name. Some writer, in giving advice to young men, put it in the following words: “Be and continue poor,, young man, while others around yon grow rich by fraud and disloyalty; be without place or power while others buy their way upward; bear the pain of disappointed hopes while, others gain the accomplismnent of theirs by flattery; forego tire gracious pressure of the hand for others cringe and crawl; wrap yourself in your own virtue, and seek a friend and your daily bread. If you have in such a course grown gray with unblenfished honor, bless God and die.”— Chicago Mail.

Extent and Velocity of Storms.

Prof. E. Loomis finds that in the United States a low pressure area, with Only one system of cyclonic winds, frequently has a diameter of 1,600 miles, and thatcyclones over the Atlantic frequently have diameters of 2,000 miles. Widespread areas of low’ barometer, haring several centers of cyclonic action, may have a diameter of 6,000 miles or may even form a belt extending nearly, if. not quite, round the globe between the parallels of 40 and 50 degrees north latitude. On the other hand, tropical cyclones are often only 500 miles, or even less, in diameter. In the United States, the signal service records, for thirteen yeans show that the average -rate of progress of storms for the year is 28.4 miles per hour, rising’to the maximum. 34.2 miles, in February, and falling to the minimum, 22.6 miles, in August. In Europe storins travel much more slowly, the mean rate of progress during the five years ending 1880 being 16.7 miles,.peaching the maximum of 19 miles in October, and falling to the minimum of 14 miles in August.

Life of a Locomotive.

The average life of a locomotive is placed at about ten or twelve years. By this it is not meant that the engine endures active service for ten or twelve years and then goes to the scrap heap, fey the nature of its construction, and the multiplicity of its parts, a locomo- - tive is practically undergoing constant repairs, though ordinarily a new engihe will go about two years before needing extensive repairs. Thus it is estimated that in ten or twelve years the cost for repairs has been equivalent to the cost of a new engine. * ' ■ - • - A large quantity of belt, says the American Machinist, is, required to transmit s little power. The sooner wo investigate and believe the above fact, the better it will be for our shafting, machinery and coal-heap. We may look at the fact as we please, it will bear it, and find that a slow-running belt to carry a given power must be very wide. If running at high speed, we must have the same number* of square inches of belt passed over the pulley, but the belt need not be as wide to do it.