CHAPTER II.—(CoNTrsvBDl)
"I fancy I shall never marry,” said
Carriston, looking at me with his soft,
dark eyes. “You see, a boy who has
waited for years expecting to die,
doesn't grow up with exactly the same
feelings as other people. I don’t think
I shall ever meet a woman I can care
for enough to make my wife. No, I
expect my cousin will be Sir Ralph
jyet."
v I tried to laugh him out of his mor
bid ideas. “Those who live will see,”
$ said. “Only promise to ask me to
your wedding, and better still, if you
live in town, appoint me your family
doctor. It may prove the nucleus of
that West end practice which it is the
dream of- every doctor to establish.”
I have already alluded to the strange
beauty of Carriston’s dark eyes. As
soon as companionship commenced be
tween us those eyes became to me,
jfrom scientific reasons, objects of curi
osity, on account of the mysterious ex
pression-which I at times detected in
them. Often and often they wore a
look the like to which, I imagine,' is
found only in the eyes of a somnam
bulist—a look which one feels certain
fs intently fixed upon something, yet
Upon something beyond the range of
one's own vision. During the first two
or three days of our newborn intimacy
I found this eccentricity of Carriston’s
positively startling. When now and
then I turned to him, and found him
staring with all his might at nothing,
my eyes were compelled to follow the
direction in which his own were bent.
It was at first impossible to dlyest
one's-self of the belief that something
should be there to justify so fixed a
gaze. However, as the rapid growth
of our friendly intercourse soon showed
me that he was a boy of most ardent
poetic temperament—perhaps even
more a poet than an artist—I laid at
the door of the muse these absent looks
and recurring flights into vacancy.
We were at the Fairy Glen one morn
ing, sketching, to the best of our abil
ity, the"swirling stream, the gray rocks,
and the overhanging trees, the last just
growing brilliant with autumnal tints.
So beautiful was everything ’ around
that for a long time I worked, idled, or
dreamed in contented silence. Carris
ton had set up his easel at some little
distance from mine. At last I turned
to see how hi3 sketch was progressing.
He had evidently fallen into one of his
brown studies, and, apparently, a hard
er one than usual. His brush had
fallen from his fingers, his features
were immovable, and his strange dark
eyes were absolutely riveted upon a
large rock in front of him, at which he
gazed as intently as if his hope of
heaven depended upon seeing through
it.
He seemed for the while oblivious to
things mundane. A party of laughing,
chattering tourist girls scrambled down
the rugged steps, and one by one passed
in front of him. Neither their pres
ence nor the inquisitive glances they
cast on his statuesque face roused him
from his fit of abstraction. For a
moment I wondered if the boy took
opium or some other narcotic on the
sly. Full of the thought I rose, crossed
over to him, and laid my hand upon
his shoulder. As he felt my touch he
came to himself, and looked up at me
in a dazed, inquiring way.
“Really, Carriston,” 1 said, laughing
ly, “you must reserve your dreaming
fits until we are in places where tour
ists do not congregate, or you will be
thought a madman, or a least a poet.”
Ho made no reply. He turned away
from me impatiently, even rudely;
then, picking up his brush, went on
with his sketch. After a while he
seemed to recover from his pettishness,
and we Bpent the remainder of the day
as pleasantly as nsual.
As we trudged home in the twilight,
he said to me in an apologetic, almost
penitent way:
“I hope I was not rude to you Just
now?*’
"When do you mean?” I asked, hav
ing almost forgotten the trivial inci
dent.
“When you woke me from what you
called my dreaming?”
"Oh, dear no. You were not
rude. If you had been, it waa hiii tfL'
penalty due to my piea'jjpptton.
flights of genius attbitfdbe respected*
not check$M0^j*aterial hand.”
' T^ai^jKJhsense; I am not a gen
tpafSadyou must forgive me for my
wfenecs,” said Carriston simply.
After walking some distance in
silence, he spoke again. “I wish when
you are with me you would try and
stop me front getting into that state.
It does me no good.”
- Seeing he was in earnest, I promised
to;do my best, and Was curious enough
to ask him whither his thoughts wan
dered during those abstracted mo
ments.
”1 can scarcely tell you,” he said.
Presently he asked, speaking with
hesitation, “I suppose you never feel
that under certain circumstances—cir
cumstances which you cannot explain
—you might be able to see things
which are invisible to others?”
“To see things. What things?”
k “Things, as I said, which no one eloe
®o see* You must know there are
>ple who possess this power,” ,•
know that certain people have as
d they possess what they call sec
ohd-,?ght; but the assertion is too ab
surd \ waste time in refuting."
“YfejpL said Carriston dreamily, “I
teWaTthat if I did not strive to avoid
it so tie such power would come to me.”
“Ybu are too ridiculous, Carriston,” i
I said,, "Some people see what others |
■ • v - \
don’t, because they have longer sight.
You may, of course, imagine anything.
But your eyes—handsome eyes they are,
too—contain certain properties, known
a<3 humors and lenses, therefore In
order to see-”
“Yes, yes,” Interrupted Carriston; “I
know exactly all you are going to 3ay.
You, a man of science, ridicule every
thing which breaks what you are
pleased to call the law of nature. Yet
take all the unaccountable tales told.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine you ex
pose to scorn or throw grave doubts
upon, yet the thousandth rests on evi
dence which can not be upset or dis
puted. The possibility of that one
proves the possibility of all.”
“Not at all; but enough for your
argument,” I said, amused at the boy’s
wild talk.
"You doctors,” he continued with that
delicious air of superiority so often
assumed by laymen when they are in
good health, “put too much to the credit
of diseased imagination."
“No doubt; it’s a convenient shelf
on which to put a difficulty. But go
on.”
“The body is your province, yet you.
can’t explain why a cataleptic patient
should hear a watch tick when it is
placed against his foot.”
“Nor you; nor any one. But perhaps
it may aid you to get rid of your rub
bishing theories if I tell you that cata
lepsy, as you understand it, is a disease
not known to us; in fact, it does not
exist.”
He seemed crestfallen at hearing this.
“But what do you want to prove?” I
asked. “What have you yourself
seen?”
“Nothing, I tell you. And I pray I
may never see anything.”
After this he seemed inclined to shirk
the subject, but I pinned him to it. I
was really anxious to get at the true
state of his mind. In answer to the lead
ing questions with which I plied him,
Carriston revealed an amount of super
stition -which seemed utterly childish
and out of place beside the intellectual
faculties which he undoubtedly pos
sessed.
Yet I was not altogether amused by
his talk. His yild arguments and
wilder beliefs made me fancy there
must be a weak spot somewhere in his
brain—even made me fear lest his end
might be madness. The thought made
me sad; for, with the exception of the
eccentricities which I have mentioned,
I reckoned Carriston the pleasantest
friend I had ever made. His amiable
nature, hie good looks, and perfect
breeding had endeared the young man
to me; so much so that I resolved, dur
ing the remainder of the time we
should spend together, to do all I could
toward taking the nonsense out of him.
My efforts were unavailing. I kept
a sharp lookout upon him, and let him
fall into no more mysterious reveries;
but the curious idea that he possessed,
or could possess, some gift above
human nature, was too firmly rooted
to be displaced. On all other subjects
he argued fairly and was open to rea
son. On this one point he was im
movable. When I could get him to
notice my attacks at all, his answer
was:
“You doctors, clever as you are with
the body, know as little of psychology
as you did three thousand years ago.”
When the time came to fold-up my
easel and return to the drudgery of life,
I parted from Carriston with much re
gret. One of those solemn, but often
broken, promises to join together next
year in another sketching tour passed
between us. Then I went back to Lon
don, and during the subsequent
months, although i saw nothing of him,
I often thought of my friend of the
autitmn.
III.
N THE spring of
1865 I went down
to Bournemouth to
see, for the last
time, an old friend
who was dying of
consumption. Dur
ing a great part of
the journey down I
had for a traveling
companion a well
dressed gentleman
of about forty years of age.
re alone in the compartment,
Iter interchanging some small
-s, such as the barter of news
glided into conversation. My
raveler seemed to be an tntel
iectfcatjlman, and well posted up in the
the day. He talked fluently
ly on various topics, and, judg
his talk, must have moved in
iety. Although I fancied his
bore traces of hard living,
and tll||ipation, he was not unprepos
sess igjin appearance. The greatest
fauii | 1$ his face were the remarkable
thin iisi of the lips, and his eyes being
a sh ilek'loser together than one cares
to s $ With a casual acquaintance
such peculiarities are of little moment,
but f l* ijpy part I should not choose for
a frf< idjone who possessed them, with
out i Je trial and searching proof.
time the English public were
At
much (interested in an important will
case ' vf
reverkm
ph was then being tried. The
to a vast sum of money de
pendci||ipon the testator's sanity
insan ty.
duly I*
from to:
panloi i
He as fcet
questif
ous
Like most other people, we
ussed the matter. I suppose,
ae of my remarks, my com
ulerstood that I was a doctor,
me a good many technical
and I described several curi
of mania' which had come
under my notice. He seemed greatly
interested in the subject.
"Yon must sometimes find it hard to
say where sanity ends, and insanity
begins.” he said, thoughtfully.
“Yes. The boundary line is, in some
instances, hard to detine. To give, in
such a dubious case, an opinion which
would satisfy myself, I would want to
have known the patient at the time he
was considered quite sane.”
"To mark the difference?”
j “Exactly. And to know the bent of
i the character. For instance, there is a
[ freind of mine. He was perfectly sane
when last I saw him, but, for all I
know, he may have made great prog
ress the other way in the intervnl.”
Then, without mentioning names,
dates or places, I described Carrlston's
peculiar disposition to my intelligent
listener. He heard me with rapt in
terest. v.
"You predict he will go mad?” he
said.
! "Certainly not. Unless something
[ unforeseen arises he will probably live
I and die as sane as you or I.”
“Why do you fear him, then?” *
“For this reason. I think that any
sudden emotion—violent gflhf, for in
stance—any unexpected anw crushing
blow—might at once disturb the bal
ance of his mind. Let his life run on
in an even groove, and all will be well
with him.”
My companion was silent for a few
moments.
“Did you mention your friend's
name?" he asked.
I laughed. “Doctors never give names
when they quote cases.”
At the. next station my companion
left the train. He bade me a polite
adieu, and thanked me for the pleasure
my conversation had given him. After
wondering what station iii life he oc
cupied 1 dismissed him from my mind.
as one wno nan crossed iny pain :or a
short time and would probably never
dross it again.
short time and would probably never
Although I did not see Charles Car
riston I received several letters from
him during the course of the year. He
had not forgotten our undertaking to
pass my next holiday together. Early
in the autumn, just as I was beginning
to long with a passionate longing for
open air and blue skies, a letter came
from Carriston. He was now, he said,
roughing it in the Western Highlands.
He reminded me of last year’s promise.
Could X get away from work now?
Would I join him? If I did not care to
visit Scotland, would I suggest some
other place where he could Join me?
Still, the scenery by which he was now
surrounded was superb, and the accom
modation he had secured, if not luxuri
ous, fairly comfortable. He thought we
could do no better. A postscript to his
letter asked me to address him as Cecil
Carr, not Charles Carriston. He had a
reason for changing his name—a fool
ish reason I should no doubt call It.
When we met he would let me know it.
This letter at once decided me to
accept his invitation. In a week’s time
my arrangements for leave of absence
were complete, and I was speeding
northward in the highest spirits, and
well equipped with everything neces
sary for my favorite holiday pursuit.
I looked forward with the greatest
pleasure to again meeting Carriston.
I found him at Callendar waiting for
me. The coach did not follow the route
we were obliged to take in order to
reach the somewhat unfrequented part
of the country in which our tent was
pitched, so my friend had secured the
services of a primitive vehicle and a
strong shaggy pony to bear us the re«
mainder of the journey. •
:to»( coxTixuau.t
A College Student u Blnekamltli.
At Cornell all the mechanical engi
neering students have to learn seven
trades. One of these trades, that of
blacksmith, is very distasteful to some
of the students, but it has to be learned
all the same. One young fellow, who
was unusually averse to soiling his
hands, begged hard to be exempted
from wearing the leather apron, but
the profesor took special care that there
was nothing lacking in thoroughness of
his training at the forge. Last fall the
student went to the professor and
thanked him for being compelled to
learn blacksmithlng. “You see," he
said, “I am now superintendent of a
mine away back in Colorado. Last
summer our main shaft broke and
there was no one in the mine but my
self who could weld it. I didn’t like
the Job, but took off my coat and weld
ed that shaft. It wasn’t a pretty job,
but she's running now. If I couldn't
have done it I'd have had to pack that
shaft on mule back and sent it 300
miles over the mountains to be fixed,
and the mine would have had to shut
down till It got back. My ability to
mend that shaft raised me in the eyes
of every man in the mine and the<boss
raised my salary.”—Pittsburg Dis
patch.
A- Rural Hnniorlat.
“My friend," said the traveler, “hare
you a knife about you?”
“Naw; but you’ll find a fork in the
road yander.”
“You’re bright, ain’t you?"
“Naw, I’m Brown.”—Atlanta Consti
tution.
Strength of a Web of Spider 811k.
Size for size, a thread of spider silk
is decidedly tougher than a bar of steel. j
An ordinary thread will bear a weight
of three grains. This is Just about i
fifty per cent stronger than a steel I
thread of the same thickness. . ^
Patents.
To have an invention protected all
over the world It is necessary ta take
out sixty-four patents in as many dif- |
fcrent countries, the estimated cost of!
which is about 12,500.
DA1EY AND POULTRY..
h’AKM.
INTERESTING CHAPTERS FOR
OUR RURAL READERS..
How SnrrM*r«l Former* Operate Thin
Ur pur I mi'll I of the Farm—A Few
Hluta mh to tlie Care of Live Stock
ami Poultry.
M. BRANDT, pres
ident of the Kan
sas State Dairy As
sociation, says: “I
took particular
pains to inquire lnr
to the affairs, as
much as consistent
with reason, of pat
rons of creameries,
In Iowa particular
ly, asklngthem what
to month, and per
pound for butter fat, or per hundred
weight for milk, and was usually an
swered that they had forgotten, or
they believed it was so and so, or the
other, leaving the impression that it
was their business to see that their
cows were doing all that it was. possi
ble in the quantity and quality of milk,
and the prices or returns would be all
right when the time came to draw
their pay; in other words, it was not a
question of price so much as what they
could make the cows do per month or
year In weight of milk or butter sold.
Kansas has some superior advantages
for dairying. We can manufacture as
fine a butter, or at least it sells for as
much per pound, a« any sister state
can boast; we have a ready market for
all and more than we can supply of line
goods; there have been large quanti
ties of poor butter made in creameries
as well as on farms—too much entirely.
it costa more to make a poor article
than a good one, and It brings less
than half as much money, and I have
not seen the day, in the nine years that
I have been engaged in the manufac
ture of butter by the separator process,
that I bad not sale tor more than I had
to offer. This cannot be said of farm
made butter; It is, on the other hand,
a continual drug on the markets of the
world, selling at less than cost. Why
not take the same raw material, sell it
to a good and well-regulated creamery,
and get twice the money for It, and
have ready sale? Now, why all this
difference? We say there are numer
ous causes, the principal one being lack
of facilities for the making of butter
on the average Kansas farm, and the
large percentage of foreign matter that
is in milk that cannot be strained out,
all of which is removed by the separat
or. The creamery makes a uniform
grade; raises the standard of quality
very materially; has an output that
will enable it to establish a trade that
will stay by it If the goods are kept up
in grade, and at a price very much
above farm or ladle butter. There is
not a farmer In Kansas, or elsewhere,
if he knows what could be done with a
good cow, but what would be a dairy
man. There is not a more honorable
way of making a comfortable living.
Show me a farmer who has insisted on
raising grain for the past six or seven
years exclusively, keeping very little
dairy stock, if any, who has made any
money, and kept his grocery bills and
incidental expenses paid up without
going in debt, and I will show you two
who, with ten of fifteen cows, have,
aside from raising a wheat crop, raised
enough of corn, oats and. other feed
crops and fed them to cows that paid
off mortgages on their homes, paid llv- I
ing expenses on half the acreage, were
happy, and had money In the bank.
We have here In central Kansas, with
in a radius of seventy-five miles, some
thirty creameries, paying to the farm
ers monthly from <35,000 to <40,000;
the number of red barns, painted
houses, smiling faces and happy fami
lies is growing monthly in proportion
to the increase in amount paid out.
Ten years ago the same community re
ceived less than <2,000 per month from
the Bame source. Other branches of
i farming have lost pace; we need to
remedy this by a different system; we
have com* to the place and stage where
we must do it if we would keep abreast
with our neighbors; the dairy and the
cow must figure conspicuously at this
stage. She will do it if we give her
half a chance, and it is for those to say
who are striving to own pleasant homes
and have comfortable surroundings
whether or not she can have recogni
tion in our midst.
Canadian Poultry for England.
A Canadian paper says: Last year some
big profits were made on shipping Ca
nadian dead poultry to England, and
those who expect to duplicate their
good fortune this year have been buy
ing heavily In Ontario, and paying
pretty good prices owing to the com
petition between buyers in securing
the very choicest stock. Last Christ
mas in Manchester and Liverpool and
London, says the Trade Bulletin, Ca
nadian turkeys, weighing from 15 to
20 pounds each, sold at prices which
netted shippers a clear profit of $1.00
to $1.50 each bird. Of course less prof
its were made on smaller birds; but
it Is a well-known fact that turkeys
chickens ;nd geese shipped from Can
ada last year made exceptionally good
prices on the Christmas markets. It
is feared by some that,the purchases
on this side may be overdone this year
and the large shipments be too much
for the demand. American buyers, it
seems, have been competing with Ca
nadian buyers in the Belleville and
Brockville sections, and as high as 10c
to 10^c per pound has been paid for
choice turkeys, 6c to 7c per pound for
choice chickens, 6c for geese, and 7c
to 8c for ducks. But of course these
prices were for selected stock, prepared
specially for the American and Eng
lish markets. For the English mar
kets the birds are not plucked; but
their feathers remain on after being
killed. This is preferred, as the leath
ers keep the birds clean, so that when
they are picked on the other side, they
have a nice, fresh appearanee. One
Montreal firm is shipping about six
cars of dead poultry to the English
markets, and several other firmB ere
sending forward round lots, and we
hope they will do as well as they did
last year. Western Arms are also ship*
lng largely.
Matins tor Broiler*.
It is not necessary to keep a lot of
roosters in the flocks. They are not
only useless and expensive, but also
quarrelsome, says Farm and Fireside.
It has been demonstrated that hens will
lay as many eggs if no males are with
them as when they are present. One
effect of having the roosters with all
the bens is that the farmer is less care
ful selecting eggB for hatching, being
inclined to use eggs collected from the
whole flock. This should not be the
case. What should be done, in ordei
to secure strong ami healthy chicks, it
to select about a dozen of the best hern
and mato them with a choice male, us
ing only eggs from the selected flock.
As the hatching season with Incubators
is nearly here, for producing broilers,
the farmers will, by the adoption ol
this method, know what kind of chicks
to expect, and what they should be
when ready for market, but if he does
not mate a flock for the purpose, using!
the eggs from all of the hens on the
farm, his chicks will be of all kinds,
sizes and colors, with no uniformity,
and will be but a lot of mongrels of
which he knows nothing and cannot
expect good results therefrom.
Brotlora.
It has long since been proved that
exclusive broiler plants are never long
lived. Of course there are exceptions
to that rule, but the exception comes
only where the broiler plant has some
good reliable egg farmer raise the eggs
for him, says an exchange. But to
gather up eggs here and there, no mat
ter how the fowls are fed and
kept, nor to what variety they belong,
Is a risky piece of business. When
common eggs are used, the broiler
raiser has all sorts of blood to handle.
He finds all sizes and weights at the
end of three months and very often la
compelled to feed one-half of the lot
another month in order to get them
up to the desired weight But when
the man uses his own eggs, or, In oth
er words, when he uses the eggs from
one breed, or one cross and feeds and
cares for the stock for fertility, he is
sure to have a uniform lot and meet
with better success.
Spotty Butter.—Sometimes impurity
in the salt will make the butter spotty
—this disfiguring being the effect of
lime in the salt, and this is a common
Impurity In the cheap kinds of salt.
The lime In salt of course will exist
mostly as a chloride, and this will have
the very worst effect on thf butter,
bleaching it In patches or streams, and
giving a soapy texture or flavor to
it. Sometimes there is gypsum in the
salt, and this has. as 1 have found, the
effect of making round spots in the
mass of butter wherever there is a
speck of this sulphate of lime. There
cannot be too great care taken to pro
cure the purest kind of salt for dairy
use; and It should be ground as fine
as flour, so that if any impurity does
exist in it, It may be evenly spread
through the butter, and thus the color
escape Injury. Hard water, too, is not
fit for washing the butter, on account
of the impurities In it being mostly
lime or gypsum, both of which, as said,
are injurious to the butter color.—Ex.
Effect of Light on Butter—Light haa
an effect on the butte? color. The dairy
in which the butter is kept while mak
ing, or resting and for the final working
should be darkened by shades, so as to
avoid this effect. Or the butter should
be protected by a cover Impregnable to
the light. The light has a bleaching
effect, and this is especially marked
when the butter is put away in a
gashed or flaky condition, by which one
side of the flakes is exposed to light
and the other side Is in the shade. My
practice has always been to cover the
butter In the bowl with a doubled tow
el, to protect it from the light, how
ever dull it may be.—Ex.
Transporting Eggs.—The cost of
bringing eggs great distances is less
than one would think. The large ship*
ments reduce the cost of freight. It
costs about % cent per dozen more to
ship eggs from Ohio to New York city
than from the vicinity of New York,
and only 1% cents a dozen more to ship
from Iowa. It is generally the supply
of eggs from the western states which
fixes the price in the eastern markets.
The western shippers are very active in
their shipments through the months of
March, April and May. During these
months eggs pour into New York at
the rate of 4,000,000 to 5,000,000 per day.
Fall Cows.—The amount of butter
per cow for the year is said to be
greatest for the cow which calves in
September or October, and she brings
the added advantage of producing the
greatest milk flow at a time of the year
when it is worth the most money. As
a rule the farmer then has more time
to give to the details of butter making,
and properly stored food is Just as
cheap as summer provender.—Ex.
Swedish Method cf Raising Cream.
—By the Swedish method no time Js
lait; no labor i> iS.iuired by the dilu
tion process o 1 ration, and all the
treafa is save A, 'as soon as the milk is
fiiixed with cold water the separa
tion goes on naturally while the farm
er is attending to other duties.—Ex.
Do not purchase trees of irresponsi
ble parties. Be sure that the trees you
buy are of first quality, and from a
reputable nsmery.
Tight bans save feed,
EVOLUTION OF THE UMBRELLA
From the Old-Time Whalebone Spread**
to the Bow. Channel Steel.
Forty yoara or so ago umbrellas wera
made with stretchers or bows of whale
bone. These bows were rather bulky
In themselves, and they were apt to get
a little permanent bend from long use
so that they bulged when the umbrelln
was rolled up; making the big, baggy
umbrella, familiar, to. middle-aged and
older people, and occasionally still
seen, though on the stage oftener than
In real life. With the introduction ot
petroleum oil,into general use as an
11 lumlnatlng oil,.. and. the consequent
very general abandonment of the use of
whale oil came the decline of the whal
ing industry. Fewer and fewer Teasels
I went after whales, because there was
less and less demand for the olL Of
course, the supply, of whalebone de
creased with the supply of oil, but the
price did not,. nor. did the demand.
There are still some uses for which,
whalebone Is considered most desira
ble, and with constant demand and de
creasing supply the price of whalebone
steadily advanced*, aa It has continued
to do. Whalebone soon became toe
oostly to permit of its further use for
umbrella Btnetchera.. At first a slender,
round, tempered steel rod. With these
slenderer bows the umbrella could be
more snugly rolled and the old baggy
umbrella began ho disappear, and the
modern, tight roller to take Ita place.
Then came umbrella bows of light steel
rolled in V shape, and then, in the
quest for a still tighter roller, umbrella
handles' were made of metal. The first
tubing handles were made of brass.
Steel would have been cheaper, but
there had bean discovered no satisfac
tory method of bracing steel tubes such
as are used In umbrella handles. There
Is such a method now, however, and
umbrella handles of steel tnblng are
now made In great numbers.- And
nowadays many spreaders are made of
steel, rolled channel-shaped. In croaa ’
section this spreader la shaped some
thing like a capital letter E without *
tongue, and the riba of the umbrella—
the steel rods that run from the slid
ing ferrule, or runner, aa It is called,
on the handle of the umbrella, by
means of which the umbrella la spread ;
—are so attacned and adjusted to tho
spreaders that they shut into the chan
nels when the umbrella is closed.
ITS LATTER-DAY DEGENERACY..
Tli* IlMbnllt b No Longer • Portly*
Bee pec table Instrument*
Ttie real old family umbrella haa
gone out. Coll that Bllm, stuck-up, hf- i
fected, attenuated thing a family um
brella? Go away, says a writer In Lon-'
don Queen. I remember the genuine
family umbrella; it was kept in readi
ness behind every front door; It waa n
large, portly, heavy instrument. As an
emblem of respectability it was highly
esteemed In middle-class society; it waa
serviceable as a tent in rainy weather;.
It could be used as a weapon of offense
and defense on occasion. I have seen a
picture of an elderly gentleman keep
ing off a footpad by means of this lethal
umbrella. He made as it he would
spear or prod the villain. Why, one
prod would alone make a hole of six
Inches diameter in that murderous car
case. The nurse used to carry it, with,
difficulty managing the baby and the '
umbrella; it went out to tea with the
young ladies; the maid who "fetched’"
them home took the umbrella with her.'
It succeeded the lantern and the club
formerly carried by the 'prentice wheat
he escorted his mistress to the card,
party after dark. I remember it, I say.
There were three brothers who came Is
the same school where I waa but a
tiny little boy. They lived at some diey.
tance and had to pass on their way to
school through a stratum of inferior
respectability. Every morning brought
to these three brothers the delight and
excitement of battle with the boys be
longing to that Inferior respectability.
To the eldest brother, who carried the
really important weapon, the umbrella
was exactly what his battle-ax was to
the Lion Heart So he.raised it; so
be wielded it; so he swung it; so he
laid his enemies low to right and left
of him, before him and behind him;
while the other two, relying on the
books tightly strapped, brought them
to bear, with shrewd knocks and
thwacks and poundings, on heads and
shoulders and riba i.
'Twas a famous family umbrella—.
green, too, if I remember aright.
Ufa In tha Ueorfli Moan tain*.
From the Ellljan Mountain SentineL
—Mr. Henry Shepard waa in town
Monday, and showed us the head of a
squirrel which his little boy killed that
a as quite a curiosity. It had only one
ear, and its lower teeth had grown .
upward into its upper-jaw and the up
per teeth grown downward through its
tongue into the lower jaw. It is a
mystery how it lived, as it was impos
sible for it to have opened its mouth.
Cripple Creek’s Output.
The total output of the Cripple Creek
district from 1892 to 1895, inclusive,
was 813,700,000. It is expected that
this year’s output will reach 810,000,000,
making a total of 823,700,000. It is
claimed that of this year’s output $3,
500,000 will be net profit to tho owners.
Market for Iiailroad Tie*.
It takes each year 200,000 acres of
forest to supply crossties for the rail
roads of the United States. It takes :
15,000,000 ties to supply the demand, for
which the contractors get on an aver
age 35 cents apiece, making in the ag
gregate 85,250,000.
Tho Apparel Question*
Little girl: “Do children keep oft
growing after they get to heaven,
mamma?”
Mamma: “Yes, I suppose so.”
’ Then where do they get thotk
I clothes?”—New York WoxML
