A LITTLE IRISH GIRL.
Sty “The Itarhrn,"
CHATTER XU -Contim ed.
“Mr. Eyre? I'm nut thinking ol
him.-’ ,
• or who then. diu'lln"?"
"Sir Huljih.’’ faintly.
“Arrah, noi>sont.e! sure you know
lie'll river hear of it!" any* nurso, who,
afier all, in spite of her many good
qtuilities, it frail.
• He will know; ho shall know!” say*
her young mistreat, springing to her
feet.
“Eli?” Mrs. Driscoll regards her
with npj Yeheuslun; what duet she
moun no»P ".Sit down; you’re tired,
Mira l'ulcie, dear." tuys she. with all
the i»ir of ono trying to cajole un
angry child.
“1 shull tell him!’’ says Dulelo with
determination.
“Faix. yon won’t,” says Mrs Dris
coll. "’Tismad ye are just now, but
when moruin’ comes, an’ i vo a talk at
’•ye agin, >e'|l know where yer right
yrpaii lies. "
•'Oh, to-morrow,’ says Duloio with
n groan.; "do you know ho is coining
to dinner , to-morrow? Father asked
him anfl-;but perhaps he will get out
of It how. He hutos mo; I know that;
I’ve reasons for knowing it.”
•'Kaytont!" There isn't n rayson in
ye." says Mrs. Driscoll, with supreme
contempt. “As if any one, with an
oye that wasn't yours, couldn’t see
that ha just delights in tho sight o’ yo.
tVhy ’twits only yestorduy I overheard
yer ftther sayin ,
••Oil. father!” irppatiently. “Father
wants roc to think us you do. By-the
bye, . Bridget,” turning ft frightened
face to her nurse, “what of father?
t\ here i* hoP what did be say ?. wns
he Asking for meP is ho very angry?’’
“U isLa, me dear, he kuows nothin'
' “iVoUu'nf?” : } j I, "
“Ne'er a lia’porth. Uv nil the luck
o the world Micky Flynn took to
flghtln again this evenin’ shortly
afther you—wint for ver walk—und
I 'h0 <Uvii’» own thrade he made of it.
,|t nppenre that he Ha' Danny Murphy
yjfc wint i t it tooth an’ nail, down in the
.ylllage feolow. ait about nothin’ but
that ould ancient goose as Dunn v sould
to Mrs. JFJj nn for a aliillin’ (ini’ falx,
, between ouraelves, Miss, it wus
Onld). an* Miolcey let into his skin
lilce mad. an’ Danny is now lyin’kilt
bhlow In his cabin, Wld hU wife
fbreechln’ over him like a burn’t
oat.’ ■
t‘J<ot dead!” horror-stricken.
"Oh. no. me dear! just a rib or two;
hut twss a most inaroiful 'occurrence,
ion see, they slot for the mnsther at
onee.un down he wint to Dan's house,
«" niver a worn has lie heard of vnur
bein’ in or out.’*. rV», r
"Oh!' says Dulcluea, with a ‘long
sigh of intense relief. So much will
be spared her. at all events.
*Tve had a grudge against Flynn
lor ten year.’’ says Mrs. Driscoll.
• ■ or;C® promised to marry my sis
ter s cousin’s nephew by marriage, an’
he mver got ns far as the alther: but
J forgive him now. Hc’a done a good
lob for ve this night. And now, dar
unt, won t ye lot me iindhrosa ye. an’
put ye to bed? You’ro worn out. I
can see it. An’ a poached egg an’ a
cup o tay. that’ll be tho revivin’ of
ye. I ll bring it up to ye whin yer un
dressed. le’il sloep aisy afther it.’’
i .. CHAPTKR XIIL
, **'< ”1* there no piece5 f:: -1 i
l^ert for repentance,none tor pardon left!”
* * * « •
“My life's a load.”
Rut in spite of tho poached egg and
the ten, Dulcinea hardly slopt at ail. '
1 here was half an hour here and there
of broken slumber, in which uncom
fortable drealns had full sway, to tho
greater destroying of her peaoe when
awakening from them; but beyond
that she lay all night wlth> open eyes,
thinking unhappy things, and crying
in wardly, with great longings for the
day. *
And at fast it comos. reluctantly, as
all winter mornings come, having no ■=
light of life to warm them. The sun
lor them lies dead, tie may be there,
f somewhere, but his glory is denied
them. A dull, cloudy, gray, taciturn
day makes clear the window panes to
Dulcinea—so silent,so devoid of sound
is it, indeed, that one might almost
think cl nature as lying in hershrofui.
A shroud typical! Outside, all the
world is swathed in a white sheet—the
garb of death. During the night the
soft Make* had fallen, sijontlv, stead
il.y, i.nd now brancb.and leal are laden
wuh them. There had been snow be
fore hut nothing illte this. ’ And still
it falls.
-i nrc jp c tae luislied air the whitening
shower deseends. i t
At first, thin, wavering, till at last the
eases
.Fall hroau and while . and fast, dimmiutt
Jlhjf/
&
With a «'nttr.)Urtl'fldw." r
lhileinca's first thought on snein<»
the day is that Anketqll will not be
atble to eome over to dinner. This
should have caused1 her relief; hut to
her surprise it causes her ouly a deep
ening of the depression that is weigh
ing her down. Oh, he must conte!
He must! How can she live with this
burden on her mind? She will confess I
all to fcbr, will loll him everything; !
will open to him the way to rid him- I
self honorably of her—to put an end to '
his bated engagement.
Alt day she wanders aimlessly from
room to room, longing for, whilst
dreading, the hour that sha'l tell her
If he is or is not coming. Toward five
o'clock she finds herself- in the school
room once again, and sinking into a
chair reels her elbow* on her knew
and lets her lovely, disc.ons date face
fall into her little chilly palms.
Five! If coming, he will be here in
three-quarters of an hour. The snow
is still falling, heavily, steadily. Xo
one Co id go out on such a night un
less compelled: and ha—why.no doubt
i e w*U be glad of the excuse to keep
away’.*' And yet something within her
whispers be will oorne.
Three-quarters of an hour! It must
be a great deal less than that jtow.
liaising her eyes to the clock, she is
astonished to lind it is only three min
utes less. What on earth is the mat
ter-with that old clock? She taps it—
listens: no. it is going as methodically
' a* ever. Will a quarter to six ever
..■r-:
*“ J. if. .
EBSr* ^ T** *R*“*""" •
>■■€•■■■ ’If s. asar:-r?.*wran-.-n-v-*-man.-.*.
[ come? Ho Is sure to nrrlvo then. The
MeDermot dining always at six sharp,
and being seriously annoyed if a guest
is not on the spot some time before
hand. How often slje and Rn—Sir
Ralph had iaughod over that little ec
centricity of his.
A sound In the Brolit room behind
I her makes her spring to her feet Oh
no! not yet! Not until she has grasped
the back of the chair and has learned
that the incomer is Andy, does she
know that she is trembling from head
to foot and that her lips navo grown
so cold—so horridly cold.
"My word! you’re crowing active iu
your old age.” says Mr. McDormot,ad
vancing cheerfully to the fire and
pok ng it Into a glorious blaze. “As
a.traveling acrobat you'd make your
fortune. Whst makes you bounce out
O’ your olmir like thatP Guilty con
science, oil?” with n grin, “And I say!
What a swell you are! Put on all that
toggery to fascinate Anketell over
again? 1 declare, Dulcio, you’re the
biggest flirt 1 over mot. You are
hardly off with the now lover before
you want to bo on with the old.”
"1 don’t wiint fo be on wl b any
body," says Duloiiipa,crimsoning with
shame and indignation, "ft’s a hor
rid old gown,and you kn >w it. You’ve
seen it fifty times if once, if you’ve
come hero only to torment me— only to
—to—make a fool of yourself, I hops
you'll go away again.”
"I ineroly”(puUing up his coat and
preparing to warm himself properly a*
the lire) “made the remark,that you
were distinctly good to look at. Now
anyone who can manage to look well
in a gown lifty tunes old must be f,
lovely giid indeed. See? It was a
compliment, my dear girl; why, then, I
this ungrateful virulonee?”
'•Stuff!” says his cousin, with in
creasing ingratitude. The fact is, she
had had something on tier mind when
dressing, something that led to a de
sire to look her best beforo Sir Ralph
on this—last even ng. For that it
would bo ilia last as her tianee seems
undoubted to her. It was an old gown
she dounod, a shabby little b ack
gown; but the square in front showod
n lovely neck that gleamed whiter and
more lovely than the snow outside,
and the soft, bare arms that fell at her
side as she gazed at herself in the
glass worked wonders with the ancieat
costume.
Mr. MeDermot, unmoved .by her Inst
remark, drops leisurely on to the feu
••I say. Dulcie. how did you and. he
•jot on last evening?’^
"About as badly as you can imag
ine."
“Imagination is not my strong
point,” says Mr. McDerraot, modestly,
speaking the truth for pnee in his life.
••About ho* badly, now?”
• Well, I hate kno < n him for twelve
long month'), and never, never in all
Lliat. time was he so—so abominable to
mo!”
“Abominable!" — angrily — "If I
Lhougut-"
“Oh, no!” shaking her charming
liead so that the firelight flicker)
from her long lashes, to thu .little soft
natural fluff of hair that blows across
iier forehead. "Not aborn nab’e in
mat way. Ho wa < quite polite—bate
'ully polite; never speaking a word or
smiling— or ”
"How the douce could you know
whether ho was smill )g or not—the
tight was as black as soot?”
■"At lirst! Not after! I saw well
mough. And besides, his voice would
■oil you he wasn’t smiling.”
“I dare say it was you who wasn't
i tailing."
“Oh! of course you are sure to put
ne in the wrong, whether or no.” A
,-ery pretty quarrel is hero spoiled by
me of the combatants giving in.
“Never mind that,” says he. "Do
tou mean to tell me he—was—well—
wasn’t like what a fellow engaged to
rou should be?” *
"Oh no; (indeed he wasn’t!” (em
ihntleally). "He was downright
jrusque. He—he quite ordered me to
lut my hands under the rug!”
“And you obeyed?”
“VVoll—er—yes. I"— (shamefaced
y) “I—he was so cross, I thought
perhaps 1 had belter.”
“I can’t understand it," says Andy,
wrinkling up his brows (these are so
ow that it doesn’t take a second to do
.t), “Dulcie!” (turning to her in a
•ather tragic way), “do you think
>ou were right after all- that
no was there, I mean? that he saw you
mid—and that other fellow?"
"No” (dejectedly). "Oh no"
(hanging her prettyl head so low that
even a Parneilite might feel sore for
her). “The fact is, Andy, that ho
hates me.”
“What?"
rising strength thnt is strong through
its grief. ‘'That’s all.''
•'And enough, too.” says Mr. Me
Derraot. “Only,” drawing himself
up, “I don't believe it” ' *'
"It’s true for all that” (forlornly).
I've known it for a long time. After
all,” meditating, “why shouldn'Hie?”
‘•Why should he?” say* Andy vigor
ously. “Why. look here; you’re as
nine a girl as 1 know anyway! Oh, go
to the deuce!” says Mr. Mrbermot, as
if addressing some imaginary person,
at the end of the room. “D'ye think
I can’t see? 1 tell you this," Dulcie.
he’ll tind it hard to get as good as
you.”
“Ah. Andy! what a dear you are!”
says his cousin, and bursts out crying.
“But l tell you it’s true • for all that.”
says site, sobbing. “He hntes me—he
does really, and when he comes to
night f shall tell him all about it, and
set him free,”
■•Free!”
“Free from his engagement with
me. You can’t see as clearly us I do.
Andv:aud I know he will be delighted
to get a chance of saying good-by to
me forever.”
“You mean to say that you are go
ing to tell him?” Mr. McDermot Is
gazing at her with distended eyes.
•*Yes,just that. I can’t live with this
I secret on my mind. And it is dishon
orable loo. Andy; you must see that.
‘If he knew that I—that 1—once even,
j once thought of—Oh!,’’ miserably “it
! i* verv hard to say it. But you know,
i don’t you?” '
“Yes. I Know.”
[to be coxtiupeo.]
It is often a nobler work to conquer
a doubt than a redoubt.
j
THE FARM AND HOME.
BEST METHODS OF CULTI
VATING STRAWBERRIES.
rile Great Value of Water—The Source
of Color In Milk—Apple Tree Ath
—Sowing JVheat — Farm
Notes, Home Hint*.
Strawberries—Soil and Culture.
Mr. J. L. Farmer’s paper on“Straw
berries—Culture and Results” con
tains many valuable points, writes O.
W. Blackball to the Country Gentle
man. 2'he recommendation to use
potato fertilizer is a good one. The
potato fertilizer should bo rich in
potash, which is just what the straw
berry needs. In fact I find that on
most soils it is much harder to get
enough potash than phosphoric acid,
which is considered so essential to
successful strawberry growing. As
for ammonia, though of course essen
tial for the best results, it is danger
ous in ignorant hands. I have
seen more than one promising
crop converted into vines alone by
the injudicious use of highly am
moniated manuros. Yet if applied in
broken doses, at intervals of several
months, considerable ammonia is
good and even necessary if well
backed up by liberal quantities of
potash and phosphoric acid. I have
used to advantage 150 pounds nitrate
soda per acre, in three applications;
one in June as soon as the fields
were picked and worked out; another,
late in September when the excess of
rooted runners is thinned out, the
object being to make those retained
stocky; the third in oarly spring just
before the plants awake from their
long winter sleep. At each applica
tion the nitrate of soda was thorough
ly mixed with a sufficiency of potash
and phosphorus in its cheapest and
most available form. What this form
will be depends altogether on one’s
location. It may be kainit or ashes
or muriate of potash for the potash;
and either bone dust or acid phosphate
for the phosphorus.
Aina uiuuoui leriiuzers ui
intervals Mr. Farmer has also recom
mendod. But I should, after the
June application, scatter it over a
wider space than he does. In fall
and spring I scatter it broadcast over
the beds. If a little falls in the mid
dle no harm is done. Strawberry
roots run much farther than is sup
posed, and for big results every root
let, no matter where it goes, must
find all the food it can appropriate.
The chief advantage of the fall appli
cation is that the fertilizing proper
ties, thoroughly carried into the soil
by winter rains, will be at hand when
the plants need them in spring.
In general, the great desideratum
for the strawberry at bearing time is
water, water, still more water, for
about 95 per cent of the berry is
water pure and simple. A drouth in
picking time cuts off the crop in pro
portion to its severity, from 25 to 75
per cent. To provide against this it
is necessary to select the moistest
soil to be had. Of course soggy,
“drowned” land will not bring any
thing except marsh grass and bull
frogs. But the farther you come
South the less of this you find, except
in the low-lying swampy districts.
Neither do I consider underdraining
of nearly as much importance here as
farther North.
With us, one acre of low, black,
moist land will, year by year, make
more berries, better berries and
earlier berries than one that is the
least inclined to be thirsty. My profit
is on an average three times as great
from the former. I also find any dis
turbances of the roots in the spring,
such as come from deep plowing or
working to be harmful. The tax on
heavily laden plants is so great that
every rgot should be kept intact, to
bring in all possible nutriment and
moisture.
I am eighteen years old in straw,
berry culture, and for eight years I
hate done nothing else. My crop
ranges from twelve to twenty acres.
My average yield up to date is some
thing over 3,000 quarts per acre. My
largest yield was about 13,000 quarts
from a scant acre and a quarter,
which, after picking and soilin''' ex
penses were paid, brought moidll.
All the berries were Shipped to New
York. The cost of cultivation was,
as near as I could calculate.about $100
per acre. This field was tilled with
light cultivator till the last of July.
After that no horse or plow was put
in till after the crop was gathered
the next year. What grass and
weeds came were scraped out
with weeding hoes. The fall and
spring application of fertilizer was
lightly chopped in by forked potato
hoes, which penetrated not over one
and one-half inches deep. This crop
was made on land just bought the
year before, and from which the own
er had been getting twenty bushels
of corn per acre. As may be sup
posed, the season of my big crop was
exceedingly favorable. Yet I have
done nearly as well on choice spots
under favorable conditions. I will
add that the field referred to hud long
I been considered too wet tor good
I crops of any kind, and that all my
neighbors were loud in their predic
tions of failure when 1 paid $22o for
it to plant in strawberries. The high
price was owing to its being in the
village.
In all my experience with straw
berries I have seen only one season—
that of 1888->-in which the low, moist
field failed to do a great deal better
than the others^ During that pick
ing season of four weeks it rained in
, torrents a large part of nearly every
day or night. The fields stood in
water. On several days we picked in
a driving rain, and on some days the
downpour was so great that no pick
ing could be done at all. The aver
age was the largest of my life—
»•/ v b'jXX
slightly over 6,500 quarts per acre.
As the weather was cool, berries car
ried well to-New York, despite the
wet condition in which they were
unavoidably picked and shipped.
And while most of my neighbors gave
up the battle with the rain, and left
their berries to rot in the miry fields,
I held on, picked the last one I had,
and netted fair prices for ail.
That year proved the strawberry
to be such a heavy drinker that I
have never been afraid of rain or wet
since. Nor did the low) moist lots
seem to suffer a whit more from the.
rain than the others. As far as I
could see, they were neither better
nor worse. .
The Source of Color In Milk.
Some people say it is this feed, and
some that, which we think may be
true to a certain extent. Others say
that it is a characteristic of certain
breeds, which we know is true of the
Guernseys in a marked degree, and
also true of certain cows of all breeds.
But of one fact we are convinced, be
yond all others that belong to the con
ditions that surround the cow, and
that is, that sunlight has a great deal
to do with the color in milk. All cows
as a rule, give lighter colored butter
in winter. Why? Well, for one rea
son, that they are shut up a large
proportion of the time in dark
stables. When it is desired to make
veal of the fashionable white nue the
calves are fattened in the dark. No
doubt the hay and other roughage
fed to cows in winter contains much
less chlorophyl than does the green
succulent grass of June. But it
should be remembered that the con
dition of both the grass and the sun
light are in the height of perfection
and efficiency in June. In winter both
of these conditions are at the lowest
ebb of efficiency. The farmor can do
two things if he will, that will aid
greatly in maintaining the yellow
color of his butter in winter, even
with common cows. That is to cut
his hay early, so as to preserve as
much of its greenness as possible.
Next, put a liberal number of windows
into his cow stable. If possible give
the stable an eastern and southern
exposure, but make it as light as pos
sible. One can easily guard against
the cold by the use of double windows.
But little real earnest thinking has
been expended on this question. Too
many farmers think they are book
notions. Everything is a book notion
that they do not know. Some of these
men will, wake up one of these days.
Indeed there is a lot of .them that are
waking up to the idea that they can
get right valuable knowledge on the
cow question from thinkers and ob
servers who record their thoughts
and observations in dairy papers and
books. But we hope they will lighten
up the dingy, dark, unhealthy old
cow stable, whatever else they do.—■
Hoard’s Dairyman;
Farm Notes.
Personal experience in feeding, if
carefully done, rates at par all of the
time.
Stock food must be nutritious as
well as abundant to secure tbe best
results.
_ One point in good farming is to so
direct the animal products as to make
them pay.
Stiff clay soils are often benefited
by late fall plowing, the freezing and
thawing helping to make it more fri
able.
There is nothing to lose and every
thing to gain by managing the ma
nure so as to save it in the best con
dition.
Careful feeding produces a good
growth and a healthy condition, and
therein lies one seeret of profitable
farming.
What may be termed the normal
condition of all animals is more or
less affected by changes in the tem
perature.
With care in the management,near
ly or quite all farm products are worth
more to feed out to stock on the farm
than to sell.
Do not feed fattening rations to
growing stock, or foods adapted to
the growth of bone and muscle to
fattening stock.
Home Hints.
Cheap ornament is discarded in
handsome bedroom sets for perfection
of material.
A wall that is inclined to be damp
may be made impervious to moisture
by applying a varni3h of one part
shellac to two of naptha. The dis
agreeable odor soon departs and it is
ready to be papered as soon as dry.
| A handful of fine sand placed on a
board to rub your flatiron on when
ironing; also a piece of paper satur
ated with kerosene and the irons run
over that after it has undergone the
sand treatment, will make the process
of ironing easier.
Dr. Hutchison recommends for the
treatment of bleeding at the nose the
plunging of the feet and hands of the
patient in water as hot as can be
bpme. He says that the most rebel
lious cases have never resisted this
mode of treatment
irons which have been heated
steadily on the fire for a great length
of time are of little use to the expert
ironer, as they will not retain the
heat. The temper is gone. For this
reason, as soon as one Is through
with her flatirons, they should be j
taken off the stove and put away in j
some part of the closet set apart to
keep them in.
Rubbing a tin teakettle with a
cloth saturated with coal oil will
make it bright as new. To mend
china take a very thick solution of
gum arabic and water and stir into
plaster of paris until the mixture be
comes a thick paste. Apply with a
brush to the fractured edges and
stick them together. This Is a
strong cement and tha whiteness of it
renders it doubly valuable.
HOW A MOOSE WAS MILKED.
The Story of a Guide Who Supplied
Four New York Nlmroda In a Sad
Hour.
Did you eyer milk a moose9 Of
course you never did. That’s right.
But this is the way it was done up in
Maine once, according to the Lewie
ton Journal. Four New York sports
men were in camp near Chamberlain
Lake, and there was no milk in the
outfit.
It was forty miles to the nearest
bousft. Here was a pred'cament.
The guide had seen a cow moose near
by that day, and he didn’t share the
general dismay. That night lie went
out to a creek, and there he waited.
Presently he saw the same moose
make for a pool in the stream.
The animal sniffed the air a few
times as she passed within a dozen
paces of the hunter, but otherwise did
not show signs of alarm. She was
soon in the water. While the moose
was disporting herself the guide left
his position behind the bush and
walked a few steps toward her and
whenever she turned he would stand
perfectly motionlesB.
By repeating this operation several
times he managed to reach the edge of
the lake without alarming the moose.
As soon as the animal showed any
signs of leaving the water the guide re
treated a few steps. Once or twice
did the moose raise her head and look
at him, only, however, to resume her
clumsy frolics. Presently the moose
made toward the shore, and the guide
concealed himself behind the bush
again. At the edge of the lake the
animal turned to take a last look and
shake the spray from her nose. Then
she advanced slowly up the sloping
bank. When opposite the guide she
sniffed something, stopped, and looked
around.
In an instant he was by her side.
Then he bent over and milked her as
a man milks a cow. She stood quiet
until he had finished his' work. The
next mornipg the camp had milk and
from that time until to-day the guide
is known as “the milkman.’’ •
BURIED IN A MINE.
An Escaped Miner Tell3 His Thrill
Ins Experience.
“I was working very quietly, away
back from the shaft of the mine, and
all alone. My labors were interrupt
ed by a dull, smothered roar that was
followed by falling earth, and then I
realized that I was penned in; that
the mine was wrecked and that my
life was worth very little. The noise
soon died away and things were much
as they were before. But a little dis
tance from my position the earth
had fallen and blocked the path. I
was at first overcome witli fear. I
imagined that I could hear my brains
grinding in a tnnnel. There I lost all
consciousness. When I awoke again
I was somewhat more calm and be
gan to move about. I crawled along
over great banks of earth that had
fallen for a distance of fully 100 feet,
then I heard groans and 1 knew that
1 was near some injured miner. But
here my progress stopped, and I had
to quit. A few hours later my light
burned out and then my misery was
complete.
“For eight days 1 remained quite
near that one spot, hoping '-ainst
hope for deliverance. It cann event
ually. I heard the sound of picks,
and soon the glimmer of miners’
lamps shone through the various
crevices. When an opening was made
I crawled out, and I assure you that
I gave thanks. Yes, that’s why peo
ple say I look old now, when I am on
ly 35, and that is why my hair is
gray. But I assure you that an aged
expression and gray hair are endurr
able, but to starve to death in a
mine is the awfulest and deadliest
way to beat out a man’s existence in
this world that I can conceive of.”—
St. Louis Post Dispatch.
WAITING FOR JIM ALLISON.
The Virginia Mountaineer Still
Retains Some of His Old-Fashion
ed Piety.
Down In the mountnin regions of
Virginia,” said a commercial traveler
to an Indianapolis Journal man, “there
still exists a good deal of the old
fashioned piety which prevailed in the
days when it was customary to run a
dagger into an obnoxious person's
gizzard and then pray for the repose
of his soul. I was traveling on horse
back, of course, through that region
last summer, when 1 came across an
old fellow half-hidden in the under
brush by the side of the road. He was
sitting so quiet, and his weather
beaten clothes so well matched the
prevailing tints of the locality that I
should have probably passed without
seeing him if my horse hudn't shied.
When he saw that he was discovered
he stood up and looked at me for a
moment or two without speaking. As
he had a rifle that looked at that in
stant to be near seven feet long
thrown across his arm I felt It my duty
to be sociable. I said:
“Hunting?”
“No,” said he. “I hnlB't. I’m a-wait
ln* fer Jim Allison to come this way,
au’ if the Lord is willin' I 'low to blow
the top of his-head off.”
Use of Trained Falcons,
A Russian army officer has mad
some very successful experiments ii
the training of falcons to carry dia
patches, and general attention hai
been called to the possibilities of thi
use of this bird for messenger purpos
es in time of war. The falcons si
trained carried messages ft om one gai
rison to another with very gratifvin
-- if the use of the birds '
rison
success. If ui me birds
found to bs really generally practici
bie 1 hey will have many point* of but
eriority over pigeons for messenc
purposes, llujy are much strongo
mid some of those so far tried ca
ued a weight of four Russian poum
without hindrance to speed A no
unimportant consideration is the
they are not likelv to siiff.i. f" 111
>'“k* o!»«»'» VorfgJ
EV
* COSTLYBim^
An *«»»•»«,
Thoawn* D
' ’ Po.t.1 T,w
St. Loujg, March J._jt
but the campaign for th.
toohottoaUo^ny of tw’
to yield to the
Some idea of the
in the campaign n,#ybe^J
statement of a mannfscfoi?4
dates* buttons, who says^ £
ready made nearly amil&_
orders, and that he exoLu**M
orders as soon astheT! ^
made. A million canS
means a cost to the «SgP]
thing more than 850,000.
by the wholesale cannot be hl
less than five cents apiece, nj
to the manufacturers is about?
in St. Louis by local earn,
enamclers. 5 ^
; Neither of the political con.
nest month will be held in S
tlon Building. The party ^
hare made efforts to get it, a
not President Cleveland
ated in the larger of the two l
13S8, and the politicians t J
place a sort of mascot, hat the
men in control of the bnUdis
decided that hereafter they**
the halls and naves entirely
legitimate use. It would be’,
too much trouble, too, for the
tors getting ready for the hi
move the elaborate displays
Vices which they are already
ing, and which they would
trust to the curiosity of the c
attendance on a political gal
Some of the devices, dep>^
electricity for their effects. |
the men who have prepared
attract people to view their e
thousands of dollars and a,
touch might be extremely costly
. Postmaster Harlow is now
the plans to connect the main
with the new Union depot, whid
be opened to traffic this year, hi
matic tubes. He will establish)
station at the depot, and by the
matic service make it possible h
lated business man to drop his®
the box at the central station hu
ntes before the train for which it
tended starts, with the certain!
it will go without miscarriage,
large cities the time is consumed
postal business by the delay sat
the transmission of mail. Alloi
must be made for accidents to
wagons and stoppages by street
dies. The pneumatic tubes 4
with all that, and the caloulatia
be made entirely on the time t
handling the mail, as the bum
matter are shot a mile thrott
tubes in a minute. The monej
by dispensing with thewagoosi
clerks and the drivers about the
be spent in equipping three no
stations for the rapidly growii
urbs.
WEISSERT APPOINTS AH
The Commander-In-Chief «f tlif I
Announce)* HU SUIT.
Milwaukee, Wis., March i
mander-in-Chicf Weissert of the
Army of the Republic ycsteii.
pointed the following aidvik-ol
his staff:
California—William T. Sii
Calistoga.
Illinois—E. H. Mead, Huntstilli
Kansas—D. C. Miller, Manta!
Louisiana and Mississippi
Lewis, New Orleans.
Massachusetts—A. Lnce, Ba'i
O. D. Soule, Portland; Xoah L
riah, Sanford; Josiali F. Day.»
Anson Crocker, Machias; Isa
Spaulding1, Richmond; James K
gle, Lnbec; John W. Caldwell,
man Mills; George G. Downing,!
Massachusetts — George 11
Lynn; Allison M. Sticltney, *
Minnesota—Joel Brigham. St.
Missouri—Herman Puncke. St
Nebraska—John W. Bowen. J
New*- Hampshire—Alvin S.
Alst^dd ^
New Jersey—John S. Shields,
ington (vice II. L. Hartshorn, t
department commander.)
Pennsylvania—Henry h.
Philadelphia. , ,
Potomac—J. II. Jcnks an
Johnson, Washington, D. <-’•
Rhode Island—William *•
rheodore E. Perry, Henry
Providence. ... „k
Wisconsin—E. F. Long,
Falls.
TALMAGE Dtn^
Ha* Ho Intention of
lyn Tabernacle In *"? (
, New 'Iokk, March 4 1 • j
that Dr. Talmage is about 1
from »he- Brooklyn Tabernar
nied emphatically by the a*
self last night. He said that
ferred Brooklyn to any other1,
place of residence, and did
to leave it. The Tabem*1
threatened by a most serious
but he hoped and believed
would be triumphantly oven
Carter
Chicago, 111., March- ^
rison was yesterday noun”®
democrats for mayor of ,
ing a signal victory over
opponent, Washington
convention was called to1
in Central Music hall
ail’
A ballot was taken- t'ie(” wilt
Carter II. Harrison.
-,;t I:
per. 91; Hesing.
Han
then declared the c
era tic party.
hoice i
Frenchmen Flffbt
Paf.is. March 1.---Icon
Boulangist deputy f1,1111
raent of Aisne, fought a
day with M. Prosper Olivk1
ual'st
1 D»fl
1)1!
till
lint':
tlie well-known jour'
had experience before
both
i SCl'O1
n*t'
and in imprisonment on ^
utterances. Dumonteil ***
in the side.
4,^*1
