St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 19, Number 49, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 23 June 1894 — Page 2

e et e eeete eo e WOMAN'S WILES, A eallor landed on a cannibal isle, In the far-off. Southern sea, And he F%id to himself, with a snicker and a smile, “I'm glad that the Boweree Was where I was born and where 1 was raised. For these niggers are u}) to snuff, And they won't eat me, either boiled or braised, For they know that I'm too tough.” 80 up the shore, with a confident air, He weont, those foilk to meet, And they sized him up right then and there, As much too tough to eat. Then the old King's daughter, up spake she. In the tongue of her native land. And said. ‘‘Dear pa, you'd better let me Take this tough young man in hand.” So around Jack’s neck her arms she flung | And cooed like a springtime dove, 4nd the sailorman who, though tough, was young. Boon found himself mueh in love. O, alack and alas for woman's wiles, For he saw not her aim, And under ihe influence of her smiles, Quite tender he became. Bo they cookel him up in the highast art Down there on the sea-washed shoro, And under the influence of her smiles. Quite tender he became. Bo they cooked him up in the highest art, Down there on the sea-washed shore, And the maiden, of course, received the heart, Which the same he had given her before. ~lndianapolis Journal.

] AT RITOQAR GOTINAT BRUGES. Mr. Portman Dibbs was a prosper ’ ous, elderly gentleman, of quiet | ways and fixed habit. A small cir- | of rmiliar friends suppiied all ; mer months, Lut in the early spring. In 18—, when March came round, ! he made the usual preparations for | his yearly tour in his customary 5 way. On the evening before his de- | parture, an old city friend, Mr. Gold- | smith, dined with him at his house in Harley street. When about to leave, Goldsmith drew a small case from his pocket. i o] brought this with me, on the chance that you were going U 0 | Lucerne. You w.lldoc me a great favor by giving it into my brother's bhands there. It contains a brilliant | of such rare value that I could intrust it to few—there is no risk, as | no one will know you have such a thing with you.” j “‘Anything to oblige a friend,” said Dibbs, lightly. ¢I would take | she Koh-i-noor as a traveling-com- | panion under the same circumstan- | ces.” ; The two men were standing at the study window, the blind of which happened to be up. While in the ' act of placing the case in his pocket, | Dibbs' eyes wandered to the st eet At that moment the light from a lamp in front of the door struck on the face of a man standing there”— a peculiar, dark face, with straight = black whiskers | The man moved on; Dibbs drew

back hastily. 1 «'None of your people knew that you were giving me this commission? | he inquired of Goldsmith. ‘ : “Not a soul, my deer fellow; the l matter is entirely between you and I 1 me. My head clerk alone knows cf | the existence of the brilliant.” : «*What is he like?” : “Like you-—like me. Respectabil- | ity itself! What are you thing- |1 ing of?” 1 *Has he black whiskers?” “Grey as a badger's—white, even. || But. bless my soul, what is the mat- | ter? What do you mean? Have ! you seen anyone:" P «sA man was standing there by the | lamp-post as you handed me the jewel case. He was apparently look- | . ing at us, and migbt have heard what w2s said.” | «*Then he must be in the street atill.” said Goldsmith, throwing up the window and putting his head out; Dibbs did the same. The night was bright. Nou a soul was to be seen anywhere—the street was quite deserted. “'A neighbor or a neighbor’s butler. He has gone into some house.” Gold- | smith withdrew f{rom the window. | ‘Jdn any case no one could have heard, | nor, I should think, have seen ny” Portman Dibbs set out next morn- fi ing for Lucerne via Brussels and the | Rhine, staying a few days at ()stend | on the way. He took his place in the l undeniable comfort of a first-class carriuge in the express to Brusse's with a mind as free from care and e carriage. He was ’ thinking of the parliamentary debate | he had been reading, and not at all | of his fellow traveiers, when, on a | gudden, his eye caught that of the | man opposite curiously fixed on him. | Each becoming aware of the other’s | glance, withdrew his at once, not, | however, before Dibbs' attention had been engaged. Was tke man a com- | plete stranger, as he had supposed? | Had he not seen the face hefore? | And when? Where? The face was | peculiar, with straight, black whiskers. With the suddeness of a flash | Dibbs’ memory was illum nated. The | man opposite was the same who had | stood in the lamp-light outside the | window in Harley street. There was , no doubt of it; no mistaking the un- | usual face and remarkable whiskers. | On a sudden impulse, Dibbs put his { hand to feel the jewel-case in his | breast-pocket; as he did so, his eyes | met those of the stranger fixed on ' him with a peculiar expression. 1 By a chain of reasoning, of whi h he felt half ashamed, Dibbs, before | reaching Brussels, decided on chang- | ing his usual hotel, the Bellevue, for l the less-known Nassau. ~ Setting out | for the latter, he lost sivHt of his | fellow-traveler on the crowded r’atform of the station.

RR A R e——— Fixity of habit as a creed cannoh! be lightly renounced. Dibbs was | miserable at the Nassau, simply be-’ | cause it was not the nccust,omed, | Bellevve. Discontent. with himself | | and everything else was the result. | | “What an ass I have made of my-' | self about that man who came in at Bruges!” was ¢the burthen of his | thoughts while smoking his after- | dinner cigar. ‘*‘His being in the train was a mere coincidence. He probably has never cast a thought about me. I must walk this nonsense out of my brain.” ' As Dibbs left the room he passed, l at the door, a late guest being | ushered into a solitary dipner. With | a certain revision of feeling he rec- f ognized his fellow-trayveler. The ob- ' ject ot his thoughts! g The earliest train for Cologne next, ‘ morning saw Dibbs’ departure from | Brussels—an alteration in his usual | program, which always included a day or two in that bright capital. | The closest scruting of the train aid , not discover his bugbear: there was ; no sign of him at Cologne. ) l A vranquil night in his accus- |

E)(z)lxllz)fixdcehmellt rgstorcd Dibbs’ mental ! Salie Lin efirgnw to his usual | the l{"hine' U< lladyvay by. baaé wp | Mayence ihel fpelll] e orrxe axn s | She le, the so owmx:r ound him at,’ | Lhree Kings in Basle, his last | | halting-place before Lucerne. < 1n the pleasant coolness of a moon- | " The shock was tremendous; its suddenness was too much for him, E | All the clear reasoning by which he y ' had convin ed himself of the ground- | lessness and folly of his alarmat | i Brussels was pow overthrown and | | swept out of sight. Tle was shad'owed by the man below! That was bevond a doubt. Whoever he was, | ' the secret of the diamond was known | 'lo him. Either chance or design had | . made him acquainted with it on that ' night in Harley street. ; | The success «f his manwuvre in | | leaving Brussels made him repeat it, | | and besides, he wasin a perfect fever | ; to get to the end of his journey and | ' rid himself of the charge of the dia- ' mond. His spirits rose cons derably | | as the bour of the train's departure - drew near without any apoearaunce of | the ‘shadower” in the station. | | Dibbs remained on the patform un- | til the last moment, then, with a | fervent sigh of relief, he entered the ' railway carriage. The train was just 'moving off, when the door was sud- . denly opened, and a breathless porter | dashed in a hand-bag and a parcel of | ! rugs, followed by a still more breath- | ' less traveler. The door was shut, | the engine shrieked the last depart ing signal, the train moved from Basle station. In one corner of the | carriage sat Dibbs; in another—the tarthest on the opposite side—sat the

man with the bLIAacK WHISKeErs. A long journey lay before them, | and Dibbs was unarmed. At this re- ! view of the situation his heart sank; he drew back instinctively into the corner. His eyes saddenly met those of the other man; a deep flush suffused his face, which seemed to find a reflection in the other's. Dibbs hastily took up Baedeker and affected | to read; the man opposite simultaneously did the same. The tension was terrible: to remain inactive, almost impossible. Dibbs had an inspiration, as a man in extremity sometimes has Though he was not armed, he would pretend to be. That might do something; produce hesitation or delay, at least Accordingly he deliberately assumed a bold, even threatening demeanor. Casting a truculent glance across the carriage, he plunged his hand into his po: ket, aflecting to grasp an imaginary revolver. To his intense delight the ruse took smmediate effect. The man opposite gave an unmistakable start, and shrank back into his corner. So far, so good. But how to keep up the pretense? What to |do next? At this erisis the whist- | ling of thaenginesuddenly distracted | Dibbs. Good heavens! He had for- | gotten the long tunnel! They were ' coming to it now! His eyes, with a | quick, involuntary movement, sought | the lamp. Jt was not lighted! l Entrapped! Doomed! The wildest | thoughts rushed confusedly to his | brain. With a shriek the train | plunged noisily into the tununel, into L d . o T.ghastly de11Is. Absolute panic .seized upon ; him; hardly knowing what he was | dokng. he tried softly to opezn tie | door. 1t was lorked, however. His | movements must have been heard; | there was a stir at the other end of | the carriage. The fatal moment ; had come; the assassin was advancing |to the attack. In the extremily of his terror, Dibbs sank swiftly on the Ixoo‘r and crawled under his seat. | For what length of time he | crouched there, half stifled and scarcely daring to breathe, Dibbs kuew not. Agony cannot measure time. A sudden and extraordinary | rush of air made his heart first stand | still, and then sent the blood cours- ' ing wildly through his veins. The | far door was swinging open! Somei thzng had' happened! And what? [ His straining ears had detected no ' sound but the outside rattle and roar ‘of the train through the tunnel; | within all was silent. He remained [llstem’ng in intense excitement and ! amazement until the hope which had hardly dare to stir in his breast gew into vigorous life. He was alone in the carrfage! He was saved! Deliv. erance had come miraculously—why i and how, he knew not! . The tunnel was coming to an end; light began to stream intu the carriage. Cautiously and slowly Dibbs

?peeped from unde'theseat. Tle was l ' quite alone. Tn¢ wae had disap- | peared. . | At the gtatloijust outside the | | tunnel, Dibbs—alighting almost be- l | fore the train had stopped—changed | ‘his place for ome in a crowded | | second-class compartment. A few | | hours later the brilliant was safely | | tranferred trom his charge into that | of Goldsmith’s brother at Lucerne. | 3l * * * * * ! } Dibb’s adventure made quite a sea- | | sation on his return to Lordon He | was the hero of the hour in hisetrele. | ‘ Whether or not he related the gire | cumstances exactly as here set, forth, | ' need not be n entioned. Hlis friend | | Bodkin, among othegs, gave a dinner | | party in his honor. {Dibbs, with his | ' usual punctuality, was the first of | the guests to arrive. f ' *‘By the way,” Bodkin said, chaffingly, to him, 28 §he two stood - chatting together on §he hearthrug, . *you must look to yojur laurels tonight, Dibbs Do yoli know Leroy, you neighbor in Harley street?” ' , “Never saw the mag in my life - What's the joke?” ~ “A rival adventuref] In Switzerland, too, and culminaging ina tun‘nel—not sure that i wasn't the Olten one, also!” ' “‘Dear me! What anfextraordinary coincidence!" o 3 “In his case it WS ¥Aslngic, not a obbcr. He ‘;* “gg m;r 0 Ehe atiedt = bl B ne's dinof the teeth Leroy Hilß MT™ car. presence of mind to OPEE™ “Sr rogaid and pretend to get OUGEE " ‘ver. A crawling under the seat} gl lamp, ruse saved his life. MBI darkness that he fainted in thestighy the skin when he was next conscit® suflicient had left Olten and he the door carriage, from which all® h reality lunatic had disappeared.’® Fead. The Bodkin was s® eng. 0886 fiupp(m‘s the sto y, he did not reis alr, for ous and startling eflech(: Uthe tra n Just then the doer ‘“ gpein the open, and the footmans=, iy!s of the “Mr. Leroy.” ;", 1 Bodkin, spring ng fors )?Wllins: effusion to greet the news &ig cyri. him gushingly up to Dibl 2;}"@}!)8. “You two must know ¢ Ssghrown he said. ’ - lounced And they did. The #9414 was instantaneous om 1 ¥ with With a gasp, Dibbs stared g e, led less wonder on the man z; :-::( black whiskers, while Lercg wither,” back aghast on crh‘Ollfll“"{ ;(,‘ Ll - 3 gaze of the lunatic!~=X flnk‘fi: vanition Names of Children® %‘}gfi:‘ Down to the early part ol NS the ent century it was usual 1o > mdxrted child afrer the saint on wb&:?," the he happened to be born. AMcGrAgde, ro Notes and Queries in !Qfi'mfi"‘ that he had recently baptize mesrx 4 Ly the nawme Os }irniamhz‘:fim

Jude. On his exp essing SOmel - prise at this somewhat slogul . ' junction of names, he was Ilngas® ed that the birth had taken pISES " the festival of SS. Simon ands _'f and that it was always coosd =, very unlucky to take the day fd ! child. § o .~ The custom of naming chf d:z: after any particular saint haNFge .. into general disuse, except il g countries wher2 the g:;ulfl hman composed almost entirely of I i Catholics. The giving of 8 DaESe ¢ baptism s really no essential DB 46 the rite, but is merely a CUstoRSS. 4 rived apparently from the Jewsg bewhich through long ‘1!’1.!(‘“03 h 35 the come an important element I ceremony. - fn Many instances might be fll :&3 ot children who have inndv;,egis. received wrong names. THER . . ters in Warminster Church Cf - the following entries: ¢+]l79o, Jan. 17, Charles, da&iz}i‘thfik of John and Betty Haloes .stenec child ought to have been (hnfistake Charlotte, but, S’ng to a mmed 1 of the sponsors, it was wrong na i 1791, July 31, Willlam; dafight}? | of William and Sarah Weiddigh* 'ld' | B.—lt was intended that thiS!iCl;]l o being a girl, should have been. © r;{s~ | tened Maria, but through a Kf%{;u? | of the godfather it was named , iam.”—The Westmioster Re »ew- | The Compliment Chillef L | There is an awfully bright #“’ ) % - " R btes upon her. So far as LFCP | sonal atiractions go he neve=44elves | them a thought, but she deliy |§B in | giving him credit for being the most | conceited mortal on the face of the | earth. The other night she took . two fiiends to the theatre—a mother . and daugbter—the former of whom | has a great admiration for the hus. | band in question. Business prevent- ' ed his accompanying the trio, but he ‘ip_roposed to get to the theatre in | time to escort the ladies home. The { old lady looked around the house ep- | deavoring to discover the Young | man, as the performance drew tof wur'q‘u close, but her search was un- | availing. | ““No,” she said, when she gave iy | up, ‘‘he is not here, and 1 haven’t | seen a man as good-looking as he is | here, either.” | This delighted the wife, and when | she reached home she told her hysg. § band, when he arrived a few minutes | later. | ‘ ‘““Tbat was very kind,” he Te ‘ imarked, on hearing of the compli. ment: and he added, *“Did Mrg B——'s daughter say the sanie, thing?" “Oh, no,” returned his spouse quickly, ‘she is younger than hep | mother, and has better eyesight.” | THERE is but one letter in egq. tism's alphabet. |

B A B Y B B e AGRICULTURAL NEWS A FEW SUGGESTIONS FOR OUR RURAL READERS. Reports of the Best Methods with Corn in l Indiana—Good Road Qualities Now De- [ sirable in Horses — Plant the Garden | Early. [ The Best Indiana Methods with Corn. i Bulletin No. 50 from the Indiana | Experiment Station says: In com- ! paling early and late corn planting, | i the best average yieids have been se- ; cured from planting on May, at the i l State Experiment Station at Lafay- | ' ette, Tippecandse County, Western | ' Indiana, latitude 40}. Corn planted | Iln 1893 on May 6, matured in 122 | ' days, while that planted June 14 to ' 16, matured 105 days. Where the | stalks were 10} inches apart in the | drill, a larger average y.eld per acre | | for eight years was secured, than at | - wider distances, although there was | slight difference in yield in plantings | | ranging from 10§ to 13§ inchesapart. | " Plowing at depths ranging from 4 to 12 inches, the test y.elds of cora | were obtalned trom plowing 38 ’inchga l i o ne ‘nrgoe i gieeelg wn{,nflnf.‘.‘.lfla‘.a&lnufin ‘uverage of ‘ 2i= swars, at a depth of one inch. '" In comparing crop rotation with | successive cropping an average gain ‘of 44 bushels per acre was secured by Mtnuon. this covering a period of six vears The rotation consisted of corn, oats, wheat, clover, and tim- ' othy. Comparing cropping from ‘ land manured acd unmanured, an average of 11 years' exjerimentation shows a gain of 10} bushels per acre in favor of the use of manure. About 23 tons of fresh horse manure was applied per acre in 1833 and again in 'B4, no other manure being used, before or since. Where corn was grown in alternation with wheat, and manure or fertilizer used, by far the largest number of bushels of grain were secured by using fresh horse manure. When corn was grown con- | tinucusly, with and without fertilization, a marked ifncrease in yield is sbown in the use of fertilizers or . Ironuies v Go ! Road Qualities Desirabdle. ' . Farmers have one adrantage over | the regular breeder, they can produce | - good road horses Trotting horses bave engaged the attention of the Jarge b eceders until they know but ' little about any other class of animals But buyers know too well that A breeding farm devoted wholly to ! - producing horses with a low track record, are the poorest places in the - world to look for good road stock. - Buyers in these times want good shapely horses, fast and well broken pgrive The track education of a | S jares him for usc on the By the roadside ana™nrrnstamnedate ‘be watched every minute. He knows that it pays to Jog some of the time and so s always ready to respond to & recuest for extra exertion. The ; track-educated colt wants to spurt and soon tires hhself out by o.erexertion or frets h.mself out with nervousness ‘ Farmers will find in this a good ' fileld ‘or their efforts . Good roadsters, stylish and safe for women and i children, are in active demand and + will Le sought for this season more {than ever lefore. Itis probable, too, " that tha demand will increase yearly ' because more and more people are buying horses tor moderate load use. | Given a more with good speed blood and a stallion with some style and | spirit farmers should be able to raise desirable horses year after year and find a ready sale at remunerative | prices. How to Irrigate Fruit Trees, - The old Mexican method is to set ' the trees in a ditch and runin water ' until the land is water-logzed. Then ' the sun pours down its rays and bakes ' the soil into an adobe brick. A few days later the ground ojens iu wide cracks, through whi h the mo'sture | evaperates trom the roots, which are ) | then scorched by the sun. I‘urther- ' | more, the trunk of the vree will usually be found to be sun-scalded just |as high as the water reached. Now | a totally ditferent plan is pursued by \ aut geientific neighbors in California "\gt the New Mexico‘Eifg‘é'r"A‘fuéJs‘f}lfffl. y,-2%¢ at Las Cruces. — l i This method is to open a furrow on . | each side of the tree and as near to it ,a3 the horses can go without injury - to the branches. In the case of quite - | young trees this will be about two cht from the trunks, and in the case .| of three years o!d four or five feet | from the trunks. Cross furrows are also made so that the trees are sur- | rounded by a water furrow on all | four sides. With older trees two or more furrows are also run between the rows. A small head of water ils then run on slowly, so that it has time to sink down to the roots. Ry this method the ground around the tree is left dry and pl. ble at the top ana 1s easily kept free of weeds. As soon as the land is dry enough a cultiva. tor is run letween and across the TOwWS ;m.d the entire surface left in a flne tilth until {he next irrication. | The rc;ult: of thissystem is that less water is needed and less often, and in the event ot a scarcity of water the trees will stand a longer spell of darouth than by the old method of flooding. —Farm and Orchard, ; To Feed Breeding Stock. % | If better atteation was given to the feeding of towls during late winter and early spring, eggs would | hatch better. One great cause of

O S O B B RT ,legg sterility is too much rich, soft food where fowls are confinped. In | smaull inclosures poultry are unable | ‘to get the proper exercise aud this together with too much soft, rich | i food is one great cause of infertile | ‘ eggs. 1 would caution any one not | to feed too much cayenne pepper; a i little is good but too much is the - worst thing to feed breeding stock. Chopped onions, a little ginger or all- ! spice with a small quantity of salt, | -are the most suitable for seasoning | soft food. The grain should be of the very best wheat is one of the very | ' best when fed whole. Oats buck- . wheat and screenings do nicely tor a ' change, and it the fowls are confined “or if the weather iscold, feed in such . away that they will have to earn by 'hard work every grain they get. | Shavings and chafl piaced in the i bottom of the pens and the grain - scattered in this will accomplish the . desired end ot making them work for ' what they get. Fowls are sub_ect to Indigestion just the same as a person, .so keep them busy. If corn is fed at night, when the weather is cold it should be warmed, but feed sparingly of corn in the spr:ng to breeuing fowls, it is too fattening and over-fat fowls will give infertile eggs —F. ‘i Boombower. -- - Harrowing FPlanted Corn. ‘ One ot the greatest economies in | corn growling is the way in which the - flrst crop of weeds is disposed of by a thorough harrowing once and even twice before the curn reaches the surface. [lf there are no loose sods or stones left on the surface to be dragged through the soil not a grain of corn will be injured. The harrow teeth loosen the surface soil and allow more air and warmth to come in. The work is espec ally beneficial after a ra n has packed the surface. There is also great improvement in the tilth of the harrowed soil all through the season from the extra harrowing at this time. This can be plainly seen when the cultivator

is run through the rows the fl.st | time. The harrowing is continued . by some farmers until the corn is five . or six Inches high, but if the surface | has been harrowed until corn is up s#hie after work can be done quite as ! well with the cultivator, though at a much slower rate. One man with | two borses will harrow three time as large a fleld as a mao and horse can {cult,i\'ate, taking etie row ata time. The harrow reaches where the cxmlvator cannot, but it occasionally covers a plant so that its growth is checked. % é Flanting the (§qnlen Early. j ' As to making garden. as early as possible in thespring, Walde F. Brown writes to the ‘‘Country Gentleman:” - “Notwithstanding this year of disas_ter, 1 shall continde to plant just as { 1 have done in the' past, ' for nine | yearsout of ten I am from one to l b “ e » pelgrhbors ' should te cut to remov!" Llp ';ul.l..'iJ ' ends, which stop its growth. : i WanrM dishes tor the table by im- , merslog them in hot water, not by . standing them on a8 hot stove. | Mix stove blacking with spirits of turpentine. It will take off the rust, polish easier, and stay glossy longer than when water is used. WHEN you are In a hurry and a postage stamp wen't stick, moisten}it - and rub it on the tlap of an envelope, and then quickly put it in its place. ‘f'o POLISH brass kettles that are much tarnished, first rub with a solution of o:alic acid, then dry and dolish with rotten stone or the tinest emery. | THERE is one sure preventive of ~ moths, and one which I have never i seen mentioned, says a writer. It is | tansy. Sprinkle the leaves freely { about your woolens and furs and the . moths will never get into them. ; OiL cloth may be improved in ap- | peararce by rubbing it with a mix- , | ture of a half cunce of beeswax in a - saucerful of turpentine. set this in » a warm place until they can be thor- | cuginly mixed. Apply with a flannel » . cloth, and then rub with a .dry - | flannel. - T» MAKE flaxseed tea, put a table- . spoonful of tlaxseed into a pitcher '+ and pour over it a quart c¢f boiling '+ water; cover it and set it in a warm | place to steep for an hour. Then add | | the juice of a large lemon and a few "¢ Strips of the peel cut thin with a : ‘.“thmknue;gaggpeben with white sugar |to the taste. Drink a tumblerful on : ‘ going to bed for a cold. | EVERYBODY loves mignonette. , Some people have trouble to make it . grow. This is because the soil does . Dot contain sufticlent lime. Send - and get yourslacked lime this month. | Spread it thickly over the earth where you propose sowing your mighonette seed. The rain will wash it in or you can dig it in about an inch deep. Do this on a mild day. Then, in Aprll, which is the time for sow. Ing the seed, your soil will be ready. _ A BUNION may be cured by bathlng the affected part in hot water to ; Which a reaspoonful of salt, a tablespoonful of starch and a few drops of . arnica have been added. then wipe dry with a soft linen towel and apply iodine with a camel’s hair brush. - Wear a loose shoe all the time, or one which has the leather covering the bunion cut out. Bunions are caused by undue pressare. A good plan, if you have to be out a good ;‘ dcal. is to have the shoemaker cut a | biece from your shoe where it presses | uron the bunion and replace it with ‘ ad invisible pasch. 3T is never safe to tell a newly mlnyrned man a secret; he’ll tell his . wife ;

————————— | SUPPED ON STAGE RAIN. Che Meal Cookeda on Thunder, Lightning : | and Snow Furnishing the Fire. : ~ “'Perhaps one of vhe n ost peculiarly ~srepared luncheons ever laid before aungry people was oue which we had when we were snowed upin the theater of a small Western town,’’ said a theatrical man to a writer for the Pittsburgh Dispatch. *‘*Upon this night, in the brief interval after the people left the theater, while we were dressing to go to our hotel, a terrific | snowstorm, such as you can only find in the West, came up. The snow drifted against our doors and all about the streets, so that we bhad to remain all night in the theater. Os cou.se we got hungry, as actors will sometimes do, and we began a search for something eatable. We prowied ; around the property-room and were about to give up in disgust when one of the company struck a box of beans, which were used to imitate the sound of rain. By shaking the tox a stage ' rainstorm could be produced. We ' took vhis ‘rain,’ as the profession is = pleased to call it, but saw no way of | zooking it. Some one suggested that ’ the ‘thunder’ miW | to cook it upon, i othing | better. The ‘thunde.” was a sheet !of tin or iron which was shaken to 1 wake the roar of heavern’s artillery. s We bent the ‘thunder' so that it 3y would hold the beans, but were at a 1 loss for means of producing heat. » Our property man suggested that we 3 use ‘lightning,’ a powder of lycopo- » dium used for making tiashes upon the stage, for the tiree We found juite a lot of this, and with the adlition of some ‘snow’—little bits of paper used to represent the beautiful —we started ¢uite a fire and susceeded in cooking the beans, which we ate with a relish. Kesolving it ‘nto stage parlance, we had used ‘thunder,” ‘lightning,’ and ‘snow’ to cook a lunch that consisted of ‘rain.’”

How to Produce Potatoes. The Grape Belt,of Broektoa N. Y., ousies itself,outside the grape season [s hanting up ways and means for farmers to add to their crop returns in any other legitimate ways, and -his is what it says about potatoes: ‘‘Jn the United States, the average vield of potatoes per acre is less than 30 busheis. Over against this we ‘aave many reports of premium yields ranging from 600 to 800 bushels We claim that a yield of 300 bushels is perfectly feasible and can be secured year 1n and year out. As toseed, use 'whole potatoes of fair eating size. The largest may be cut into two pieces, but the one eye or two eye system bhas proven a failure. We plant in rows exactly 36 inches apart, and drop one potato in a hill, 130 inches apart. Put on a dressing >f stable manure,cultivate it in,then plow in narrow furrows, thean furrow ||g|.’mi ii“li for the seed. Berumw phosphate, potato fertilizer or hard LlTbugs w3~ +ha drill and mix with can be seen, cultivate, an@ ouce « - week thereafter for six weeks. Hill moderately after the last cultivation. : To recapitulate, use whole seed of fa‘r sized potatoes. Add to stable - mapure potato fertilizer at the rate of 1,000 pounds per acre, then cuitivate six times , In varieties, Beauty of Hebron, Crown Jewel, Vick’s Perfection are good and yield well. Rural Na 2 ylelds weli but is only of second quality.” Great Men in Small Places. “I have been reading biographies lately,” said D. E. Dean to the corridor man at the Southern. *‘and it is very noticeable that the men who at. tain prominence are usually from small places or trom the country. The cities naturally absorb the greatest talents in the professions,in commerce, in art, in music, and in the drama, and yet a roster of the men prominent in publiclife will show that four-fifths of them are from country places. Consequently it is evident that out greatest menp are never heard of and take no part in public lifee My explanation of this coundition of affairs is that in the country vhe man of brains is marked by reason of the contrasts he presents when compared with his tellow-men, while in the city he is on an equality . with hundreds, and even thousands, of others and there is no contrast to ‘bring him out. It is rare to even | find a Cqures.smag living in the larg. | est. town in his district, and ~there | are only four or five Governors whose \homes are in the metropolis of the ' States which they govern. It is a fact that I have never seen men. tioned and that I never thought of until accident led me to investigata 1% —St. Louis Exchange. -—TTTT——————— Sincere Praise. A well-known French composer was in his youth a member of a rhe. torical class. The professor gave as the sub ect of an essay ‘‘The Praise of Idleness.” On the day appointed the themes were handed in by all the pupils excep. Maillard. “Sr,” said the professor, ‘‘l have had nothing from you yet.” ‘‘tlere it is,’ replied the young rhetorician, as he placed a roll of paper on the master’s desk and returned to h's seat. The professor turned over the sheets one by one. Nothing but blank pages met his eye. Turning to the pupil, he exclaimed, angrily; “Trying to make a fool of me, eh?™ *'‘No, sin” quietly remarked Aime Maillard; *‘l only thought that the bighest tribute you could pay to idlee uess was simply to do nothing.” Wit tickles with a sting