Rensselaer Republican, Volume 20, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 December 1887 — Page 2

J OCT AT SKA. ’*, . < ] bur>v. Kt Jam thin#, mate, so fetch the JMWte h T’v ' ” ’; . . " .jMat a Uj 1 unopened In Uje (hc*t for five *ud twenty years. , ' * And bring alU'ht alongof you, and rand a l it o - . ’ i_ 2 , 1 Who haTn’t heard a word of It since first I came to son. B*a five an>! twenty year, lad; . dnee the w< nt to . her rest _ t Who vut that there old Bible al the bottom of | mych«t: .■ /. ?; And Lean well remember the words she ssj to me; ■Wow, Pcn’t forget to rejnt it,' Tom, uti. n yon ' go oft to sea." i And 1 never thought of it, mste. for It cl an sljp jasl from my head; Bat when I came from that first voyage, the dear i old girl was dead. Aljo the ri< ighb''rs told me while I stooo as still | as Mill can.tye. That she praywf for me and lilesSyil me as wail just gone out to sea. And hen I shipped again, mate and forgot the I Bible Jure. For f to. ver gave a thought to it a sailing every | where; Byt wow that I am dying, you nan read a bit to nw, As I re,•«. to thl; k a'-mit it.now I’m ill and down at soa. And find a lit )e Pb.b r, la i. an I say it* up right I loud. Bo font the L > d on; heat it if it finds Him in a crowd, 1 ean .citee heat wjurt yotVte saying tor the wind I that bow a to lee; . But the laird’il <ar about it all, for He’s be’ n j out to sea. It’s ret tn very dark, mate: and 1 think I’ll say j good-night: But atop--fouH. iberi'l.why. mate, why, Bill the cabin h turn.ug light ’ , And the dear old mother’s standing, there as give the book tome! Al)right: I’m coining! Ililhgiaxl-.bye! My sottl’a going iH.t.to sea! —.l. s. Fletcher, in Chambers’ Journal.

GNEWYEAR'S SURPRISE

It wax a chilly December Bight when the tr.'iiu g"? into Hampden, Hampden as OU* of those new. untinibhed place* wF Hi :• q iireH the brightest of. Biur ght, the gte»!*bl fiarae of quivering leaves 10 make them at all presentable. And in the gray, uncompromising meit uni of the December dusk Hampden looked dreary enough, with the dark chimnoy of the new si ikmill riaing+mt of the .-hemlock woods, the staring depot.. tl<- vhnreh, which bore a strong family r* semblance to a child’s wooden t bvn and It - sF be’q liiiif y- to the left, which reminded the thoughtful look*run of a gigantic fortification in an unfinished state. “Humph!” s4,d Mrs. Nedley, as she looked around her. “A queer place.” Her nit ce, Thebewas There To meet her with a box-wagon' and a whitenosed old horse. “Folks can't always choose where they’re to live,” said Phebe, v.ho was always in a state of antagonism io Mrs Nedley, “and Hampden is good, enough for me.” “How is Philip?" asked Mrs. Nedley. •‘Philip is well,” said Phebe, as she helped the depot boy <o hoist Aunt Nedley Atn k into the wagon. Pnilop Barrow was Mrs. Nedley’s favorite at school, hdp •riplendedibi* fortunes, ; and finally purchased a share for him in ti e new eiik mid. "He's all I’ve got,!’ said Mrs. Nedk-y, “exc-pt Phebe, and Phebe and I never did hitch hori-es together. Ami I want him to succeed in the world." But within a few days a new claimant had arnen to Aunt Nedley’s protection and tender consideration. “To be sure, she is no relation to me,” said Mrs' Nedley, “but her mother was my dearest friend and I think I will adopt her for my sake’ ” And it was scarcely an hour from the time in which she learned shat Sylvia Sray was orphan that she wrote a kind letter to the girl, invi ing her to come to the east for a visit. “If you like it', my "dear, there need be no occasion for your going back,” she wrote. “We are bo h alone. Let us be companions to one another. She had waited and waited, and no reply had arrived, and while she waited a plan had develops! itself in her mind. “If she is her mother’s daughter she •an’t help being pretty,” said Mrs. Nedley. "Phil is a handsome lad. She shall marry Phil.” And this explains Mrs. Nedley’s presence at Hampden. “I suppose you are still keeping house for Phil?” said Mrs. Nedley, as they drove along in the chill twilight. “No,” said .Phebe, skilfully guiding the old horse down a steep place in the road. “He boards, eh?” said Mrs. Nedley. “No, he don’t board," ‘ answered Phel»e; “his wife keeps house for him.” “What?" said Mr. Ntd.ey. “He is married," announced Phebe, very much in the tone in which she might have said “it :s aco d eveni nz,” - for “The train is late.” “Philip married repeated the nM lady; “married! Stop, Phebe; don’t take me a step further! Turn round at once. Take .me bacM te ■ fee-station; turn to Concord.” asked Phebe. y <- ~ “Not ifhe is married,” answered Mrs. Nedley, in a choked voice, edPhebT “YmfUbkeher.” ’ “No, I shan’t,” said Mrs. Nedley. “Phil—married. Phebe, if you don’t tarn around Til get out and walk.” __ Mib. Nedley’s will was like adamant

Bwn.i pmboß.wrbw to iki; 1 # ■ 4 ‘■ < Anihaoit happened t tat Pfiebe and , the »’!/*• nosed pony arrived solitary j and alone at the little cottage of , the [’mill Htipoiinlendent half an hoar liter. Phil came oat into the porch, carrying a'lantern. Mrs. Phil ran after hint, with a pink apron tied around her. elint waist, and brown fringe of hair-flowing back fr >m . herforhead. i “WhereVunjcauntt” said Phil, as Phebe jumped oat. “Didn’t she come?” ‘‘She came,” said Phebe, curtly, “but r he’s gone back again.” “(lone back again?” “Yue. She didn’t like it because you’ve got married, so she’s gone back by 8 06 train.” “XJh, PhflF’'<‘rt<ffl’'Mrs Barrow, who was a rohnd, cherry cheeked little woman, with soft, Hazel eyes and a mouth like a rosebud, “ What shaft we do? Why didn’t you consult her before yon married me?” - Phil Barrow broke into a great laugh. "My dear,” he said, “it wasn’t her consent I wanted; it was yours,” “Oh! But, Phil, she has done so much for you.” “She’s a gjod soul, but she’s eccentric,” said the mill superintendent., “Go in, Phebe, and get your tea.” “I’msure I can’t eat a mouthful,” bald Mrs. Pnil, despairingly. “And the biscuits I mixed myself; and the fried chicken; and the White Mountain cake —oh, Phil, oh, Piiil!” T ■——— /Don’t fret, dear,” said Phil; “my Aunt Nedley has missed a very good supper, that.l c«n toil her.” ”. “But I have blighted your future,” said Mrs. Barrow, tragically -seizing the

sugar tongs. F—“We’ll go to Concord to morrow and see the old lady,” soothed Phil. “She must 3..rrender if she sees you, wifey.” Phebe chuckled grimly. “That’s all very well,” said she, “but you forget that an old lady and a young man don’t look at a girl with the same eyes.” “Hold your tongue, Phebe,” said the mill superintendent. “What’s the use of always croaking?” And then Mrs. Phil began to laugh, and Phebe, who, after her crabbed fashion, was fond of her pretty sister-in-law, laughed also; and after all the dainty little supper was eaten and enjoyed, even though Aunt Nedley’s face was steadfastly turned toward Concord. Her own fireside bad never seemed so solitary and dreary as it did upon that long December night. The maids, gossipping in the kitchen, were called upon to rekindle the dead fire. The tea, smoky and half cold, wts served, and Mrs.. Nedley was just resolving to go to bed, when Betsy brought a letter. “Postman, mum; he left it a week ago," said she. “It had fall down back of the letter box.” “Ahl” said Mrs. Negley, fitting on her spectacles an 1 scrutinizing the seal and direction, “from Sylvia Gray. Now I shall have some t one to love in Philip’s place.” But sh -had not read three lines before she flung the letter indignantly on the sulking fire. “Married!’’ she exclaiined, “That child! Is everybody crazy to get married, 1 wonder! And she hopes I’ll excuse her, but her husband thinks—folly and nonsense! what is her husbani to me? Betsy, my chamber cand'e.” “Bless me, madam,” said Betsy,’ “what has happened?” “Every thing,’’said Mrs.Nedley.“Don’t call me to morrow morning, even if it is New Year’s day. I almost wish that I could go to sleep and sleep forever.” And Mrs. Nedley, in the silence aud. solitude of her own room, fell to thinking to what charitable institution she could leave her money. With Solomon of old ane could earnestly have cried: “Vanity, all is vanity!’ “I loved Philip,” she said, “and I bad set my heart oh Sylvia Gray—and such a match as it would have been.” Next day was New Year’s, jand Mrs. Nedlsy. having announced that she was going to Hampden to see her nephew, had not received any callers. She was therefore sitting somewhat disconsolately at her luncheon, with her cockatoo on one side of her and her poodle on the other when Bstsy opened the door. “Please, ma’am,” said Betsy, “company." “Bitsy,” said Mrs. Nedley, severely, “Didi not tell you that I would not receive anybody to-day.” “Please, ma’m,” giggled Betsy, °he would come in.” “Who would come in?” said Mrs. Nedley. “It’s me. Aunt Nedley,” k said Philip Barrow, “and my wife. Don’t be vexed." T tits- tall young mill superintendent came in with his pretty wife hanging, on “Won’t you kiss me, Aunt Nedley?” said Mrs. Phil, putting up her rosebud “Eh?” said Mrs. Nedley. “Didn't you get iny letter?” said Philip’s wife. “Letter?" Mrs. Nedley was more convinced than ever now that she was asleep and dreaming. “I wrote you all about it,” said Mrs. PhiL “Don’t you know! I am Sylvia Gray. I met Phil when he came out to Denver to look at the new mill ma-

|chjnergr, and he be married; imAnediatefy. said ;he 4asrsure yotf would'ftygive him. 'Will you forgive him Ann! Ufiidley, as a New Year’s gif ?” “Yes, my dear, I will,” said Mrs. Nedley, her face brightening updike the full moon peeping through mist wreaths. “But why didn’t they te>l me you were Sylvia Gray?” “Philip wanted to surprise you?’ said Sylvia, hanging her head. '• " “Well, he has surprised me," said Mrs. Nedley. She went to Hampden with the mill superintendent and his wife, and slept in the pretty pink and white bed room which Sylvia had prenared for her with so much pains; and she praised Svlvia’s chicken salad and prune pies, and she even condescended to approve of Phebe’s half completed counterpane; for life was all coleur de rose to her now. It is a great thing for a woman of Mrs. Nedley’a age to have her own way.

GRAND ARMY BOYS.

General Phil. H. Sheridan weighs 184 pounds. - ■ . It is reported that the National Home at Milwaukee will soon have a beer hall of its own. Forty-five subordinate Relief Corps have been chartered in Indiana since April 30, 1887. The Minneapolis, Minn., Posts contemplate the organization of a central relief committee. The National Home at Dayton, Ohio, is full, with 1,340 applications oi> file for admission. There are twelve posts in Clermont county, Ohio, with a membership of 600 in good standing. ' Private Dilzel and his wi’e celebrated their crystal wedding anniversary at Caldwell, Ohio, Nov. 29. The Union Veteran Legion will hold its next annual National Encampment at Youngtown, Ohio, Feb. 22, 1888. A charity fair will be held at Ottawa, Kansas, commencing about Dec. 23, under the auspices of George H. Thomas Post No. 18. It is expected that there will be 100,000 comrades and 200,000 visitors in Columbus, Ohio, during National Encampment week in 1888. The Ladies’ Aid Society,an uxiliary to the Order of Sons of Veterans, now has seventy local organizations, sixty-five having been chartered since Jan. 1,1887. A Massachusetts man desiring to name two sons after distinguished military men, called one them “Army of the Potomac” and the other“ The Ninth Corps.”

Joseph Livermore, a veteran of the war ol 1812, died at Hartland, Vermont, Nov. 9, aged 98 years. He had lived in Hartland and on the same farm since he was four years old. Lieutenant Oharles Griffin claims the credit of capturing the first rebel flag. He captured it at the battle of Phillippi. It was presented by some Wheeling ladies in June, 1861, and is now in their possession. Colonel Loren Andrews, President of Kenyou College, Oijio, is given ths credit of the first Ohio volunteer in the war for the Union. The honor of being second is given, to Major A. O. Mitchell, of Columnus Ohio. The figure-head of the rebel steamer Star of the West was found near Greenwood, La , recently. It has been purhased of the finder, and will be pre .seated to the“ Confederate Monumental Association” of Richmond, Va. The board ot managers of the National Home for Disabled Volunteer Soldiers, at a meeting held at Lis Vegas N. M. Dec. r 6, decided to locate the Pacific branch of the home near the town of San Monica, Los Angeles County, Cal., and is about fourteen miles from Los Angeles and connected with the lastnamed city by two lines of railway. The land consists of 300 acres, and is donated by Senator Jones and Mr. A. B. D. Baker. One hundred thousand dollars is also guaranteed to be paid in $20,000 installments,and is to be devoted to adornment of the grounds. The construction of the home will be commenced at once. The building to be erected will cost $150,000.

The Longest Balloon Voyage.

St. Nicholas for December. Prof John Wise, a world famed aeronaut, sailed through the air in Ju1y,1859, from St. Louis, Mo., to Henderson, Jefferson county, N. Y.-—a distance in a straight line of 835 miles. He laid claim to 1,050 miler, by reason of the many turns taken during the trip, which took hie balloon out of a direct course into circlesand curves. This voyage is the longest recorded in balloon history. The balloon was in the air over night, a period of about twenty hours. Prof. Wise tried more than once to equal or exceed the famous trip men tinned. Finally,a few years ago, he left St. Louis in a balloon on a long trip, for the last time. He has never been heard from. A reported who, went with him was found some weeks later shore of Lake Michigan. By reason of this and other disasters, the suggestion of along air voyage gives rise in the public mind to a keen sense of the perils which attend every attempt to stay in the sky over night. A tolling stone gathers no moss, r but it knocks out all opposition at -the foot of the hill. - tut—a fuddled playwright.

THE FARM.

1 WARM WATKB FOR STOCK. The subject of warming water for stock during the cold weather is just now occupying the attention of farmers. The experiments made are interestirg, and the results are almost universally reported in favor ot the use of < warm water. A correspondent of the American Cultivator sums up the evidence nn the subject thus: “Stock kept in warm stables require warmer water than if they are kept in cold stables, so that this subject is doubling in importance. A cow kept in a warm stable, and turned out to drink ice cold water, 32 degrees, being a temperature of over 60 degrees lower than that of the system, makes a great contrast which must give diaeomlort to the animal and loss to ita owner. The profits of farming are so small that it becomes necessary that all leaks should be looked after,even the small ones,and especially the larger ones, like the one under discussion. In the reading of five agricultural pa pers, and in conversing with many farmers, I find all are unanimous in the opinion that our stock should be provided with tepid or warm water, but the degree of temperature to which it should be raised becomes a question upon which writers do not ag.ee, though none seem i o know, or are positive,varying in their opinions from 50 to 113 degrees. An average opinion seems to be from 60 to 80 degrees. It is also agreed that in warming the water a saving is made in the feed, if nothing more. Nearly all believe there is a saving in fl-*sh, milk, and the manure pile, in addition to the feed. 1 ‘ I have seen but one estimate of the value of the feed Saved daily per cow, and that was eight cents, which would amount to several millions of dollars in every State yearly, a sum worth saving; and this sum, be it remembered, is net gain, after the expense of warming the water is taken out. One writer says that he drew all the water that forty cows drank for one winter one mile from a spring, rather than have them drink from a river near oy, and be thought it paid him well.

The result of an experiment at an agricultural school in France showed an increase in milk of one-third, the water being warmed to 113 degrees. Other parties claim an increase of from 20 to 39 per cent At. the Agricultural College in Kansas an experiment resulted in the increase of milk 8} per cent., the water being warmed to 65 degrees. Another experiment in France showed an increase m milk of three pints daily per cow by warming the water instead of usipg punip water. Professor J. P. Roberts, of Cornell U 5 liyersity, says: “Th g water consumed by two sets of cows, containing three animals each, was weighed for a period of thirteen days. One set drank an average of 110 pounds of cold water each day sper cow, and the other set an average of 120 pounds of warm water ner cow each day.” I have another statement that cows will drink onethird more when water is warmed to 8b degrees than they will at 32 degrees, and that the milk will increase onefifth to one-fourth and without deterioration. Another statemeni: “A cow that makes six pounds of butter a week on cold water will make seven pounds if the water is warmed.” As milk is from 80 to 90 per cent, water, it is well to look after the quantity, quality and temperature of the water consumed. A few years since, a Mr. Dancel communicated to the French Academy of Sciences an experiment to show the increase of milk by the increase of water consumed. He found when the game amount, of food was liberally moistened, it produced more milk than when fed dry, and the milk was adjudged to be of as good quality. Again, Mr. Dancel asserts that the yield of milk from cows is in direct proportion, to the quantity of water taken. He also says that cows which habitually drink less than twenty-seven quarts of water per day are necessarily poor cows. Such cows will give from five to seven quarts of milk daily, while cows that drirk fifty qurats prove to be excellent milkers. This *■ xperiment was tried in the summer. This subject is fraught with much importance to larmers, and it should receive due consideration. Here is an open field for some inventive genius to devise some apparatus for the wanning of water for stock which shall combine four qualities, cheapness, durability, practicability, and safety. There are a few devices for that purpose already before the public which no doubt have merits. CABBAGES FOB FEEDING COWS. The Farming World, of Edinburg, Scotland, discusses at some length the value of cabbages in feed ing cows. The editor asserts of knowledge that this vegetable may be fed liberally to cows wirhoutgivingany taint or iH-flavor to the milk or butter. This is on the assumption, of coursa, that the cabbages are fresh and in sound condition, for rotton cabbages would be certain to effect the milk. The. editor then jtoes bages are not far more extensively grown as a field crop. They are as easy to grow as turnips, and at least twice as val nah le when grown. For dairy cows in winter and spring, and also for ewea

,tnd lambe, there is no feed to equal them One of the hindrances to a more extended cultivation of cabbages, is the mistaken idea that they can not be preserved against frost, except in a bam or other building specially prepared for them. The crop is one which can be perfectly secured in the field or elsewhere without much trouble or expense. Taking them up and replanting them in a sloping manner, and covering them with straw, pitting them; hanging them up in a barn; turning them bead downward, and covering them with eanh, leaving the,roots sticking up in the airare among the methods of storing we have seen praeticed. But every one of these plans is attended with great labor, aud some of them forbid the bone of being able to preserve any considerable quantity. , The most successful plan in this: TTirow up a 8orfol"ff®^?"" the plow, and make it pretty s hard on top. Upon this land lay some straw. Then take the cabbages, turn them up-side-down, and after taking ofi any decayed leaves, place them, about six abreast upon the straw. Then cover them, not very thickly with straw or leaves raked up in the woods, throwing here and there a spadeful of earth on the top, to keep the covering from being blown off by the wind. Only put on enough of stra'W oi leaves o hide all the green, leaving the cabbage roots sticking up through the covering. Stored in this way cabbages of all sort? will be found i<> keep well through the winter. Abd not only do they keep better in this than in any other way, but they are at ail times ready for use. They are never locked up by frost, as often happens with those pitted in the earth; and they are never found rotting, as is often the case with those stored with their heads upward and their roots in the ground. Ordinarily no reliance is placed upon cabbages for use ae a cattle food later than the month of December. The bulk of this crop is so large that storing in buildings of any sort is not to be thought of. Besides, the cabbages so put together in large masses would heat and quickly rot. In some gardens, indeed, cabbages are put into houses, where they are hung up by the roots; but they wither in this state or soon putrify. By adopting the mode of storing recommended above, however, all these inconveniences are avoided. Any quantity may be stored, in the field or elsew here, at a very trifling expense compared with the bulk of the crop. . - ■ ■ '■ BOPP AMONG FOWTJB. To the correspondent wrifng to us for directions for the cure of roup, we commend the following remarks of the Poultry World: “Misfortunes never come singi".” This is especially true of the roup, for very seldom is it, either b<-cause the disease is contagious_or be-., cause the same operates to produce this eflect upon quite a number of the fowls, that the roup attacks a single fowl. Generally several are affected at once, and the breeder has plenty oi trouble on hand without borro r imr any. Vigorous measures are strictly in order, but after the removal of the affected fowl or fowls, the first thing to be done is to seek for the cause of the disease, and when found to remove it. Roqp may generally be traced to want of cleanliness, improper ventilation or undue exposure; and the poultryman who has provided against these causes is reasonably safe against the roup. But it sometimes happens that the cause is obscure and difficult to find. In such cases the wants of the fowls should be carefully looked after, and a little tonic given in the food, with a few drops of aconite in the water. The diseased fowls, separated from the rert, should be given comfortable quarters and be properly treated. Perhaps as sensible treatment as any would be first of all to cause them to inhale the flumes of cresoline; then to open the bowels with a good dose of castor oil; after which keep the, eyes and nostrils washed out with chlorinated soda diluted in water, an 1 administer German roup pills according to directions. A few drops of aconite may be added to the drink. If a fowl is treated in this way it will recover from the roup if the case is curable. But no medicine and no system of treating can cure every case of roup. Some will die, do whatever you may. MANAGEMEMT O» HORSKB. A professional horse trainer in conversation with a New Orleans reporter said: “The two principal indications of a horse’s actions are the eye and the ear. If he is inclined to become sulky the muscles will be rigid and the ears motionless till he makes up his mind what- he is going to do, then they ears will begin to work. If a horse is mad there is a glassy look to the eye and the white will turn red. “Horses are naturally averse to the control of man. They know nothing of the various ways by which the are taught, only when they are shown. The horse is easily encouraged in the right direction when fed and petted at the proper time. Kindness cannot be got along without, bnt must not be administered at the wrong time. If a horse bites or kiexs at you and you pat him, he If caught right in the act and cuffed, made to straighten up and behave himself, then he learns that he is well treated when he does behave and punished whST

“I do not think that high broading has anything to do with high intelligence. Take, for instance, a thcroughbred horse he will take as naturally to cunning as a bulldog to wst< king. A. bulldog <ill take to watching readily, but it is hard to teach him tricks. “My ex;>eiience has been that horses that are bred for no particular purpose take to; all kinds of feats and most readily;/ Horses oi different dispositions are taught diflerent classes of tricks. “Professor, did you ever ut-e any drugs in the management of VQqr horses? ’ , “A good many years ago I tried ‘Oil of RhodiunP and ‘Oil of Onmmin,’ but I never AMJUId discover that any benefit was derived from either. I would rather have apples twice over than any drug that has over been advertised. Drugs have as vicious effects upon aniI have tried morphine Hypodermically on some vicious horses with excellent eflect, while on others it has acied in precisely an opposite wav. You can never tell how it will operate until you. have experimented, which makes' it dangerous.”

DRAWBA UGH’S LATEST.

An Invention That Discoveiw the Movement of Bodies Miles Away. Additional details of the invention of Daniel Drawbaugh, of Harrisburg, Pa., by which the presence of large bodies of men on laud or of ships on the ocean can be detected, have been made public by the inventor. The instruments consist of what Drawbaugh calls a microphone itnd a registering dial. The microphone, an extremely sensitive combination of wire, is placed in a hollow iron, tube, hermetically sealed. The micropnone, when used on land, is attached to an iron screw with a very wide thread by means of which it is sunk firmly into the earth. An insulated wire, which may be buried or run ovet tree topiq connects with a galvanic battery and the registering dial, which may be placed miles away. The registering dial is surmounted by a needle which works from a zero point. Underneath the dial in a small, circular brass box is another needle in the form of a walking beam on side wheel 6teamboa‘s. When the vibrations of sound, either by the medium of earth, water, or air, the waves affect the sensitive microphone,and the needle beneath the dial is at once caused to dip. The dipping puts one end of the steel into a diminutive pot of mercury, and a new local current of electricity is started which moves the needle on the face of the dial and serves to give the alarm. The practical workirig of the instrument is inteuded’to do away almost entirely with the picket lines of an army. The instant the air or earth vibrations, caused by the tramp of feet or sound of voices, affect the microphone, that instant the effect is shown on the face of the dial by the turning of the needle from the zero point. - -• -1

Men or Many Millions.

Armour the packing king is worth 450,060,000. Mackay and Fair are said to be worth 450,000,000 each. Editor Abell is said to have made $5,000,000 out of the Baltimore Sun. The revenue Claus Spreckels derives from sugar has been as high as SIB,OOM a day. I Lucky Baldwin’s wealth is estimated] $30,000,000 and his income at a milliot a year. Weightman, the Philadelphia chemis owns $20,00,090, made mostly out o quinine and mortgages. Carnegie, of Pittsburg, is worth S2O, 000,000 and pays his foreman a salar equal to that of the President of th* United States. • Leland Stanford once thought he waif doing well when’he made $1,500 out <i lawyer’s fees. Now he is worth fror t 450,000,000 to 4100,000,000. Isaiah Williamson, of Philadelphia the richest bachelor in the Unite States, has made $20,000,000 out of dry goods, and has an income « of annually to dispose of. Rockefeller, the coal oil baron, worth $70,000,000 and as it is pool ? standard oil stock which doesn’t palyC more than 10 per cent, his income mu-» be half a million a month at least. 1 J

A Story of Nellie Arthur.

A very remarkable story is told In boarding school circles about Miss Nelli Arthur, the daughter of the late ex President. She was at Mrs. Lockwood’ I school, and had been there a year,wher one day she was missed by her litth, chums, who crowded around the prinei pal after the opening exercises to as! where she had gone. “Where’s Nell?” they said. “Why. don’t you know?’’ said th lady. “Her father, General Arthui died last night.” “Was her father General Arthur? all asked as with one voice; “was sb the President’s daughter? * Miss Nellie bad never hinted at wjha most girls would have told before any' thing else. .

The Little Ones.

A little boy’s definition of ankle: Th place where my leg stops going dowi and turns to go straight out toward th place I ana walking to. Grandma (in the country)—“l fear m cows have gone away.” Georgie rut out to the lot, finds the cows lying dow and comes back saying: “No, gran’mi they are not gone; they are sitting dow —-