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 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