II. Ml
'
VOL. II.
Notice to Subscribers.
ExnniTioxs.
th Mlt and cheapest Means of notl
frlnir suscriterB of the date of their expira
tion we will mark this notice with a blue or
red pncil.oB the date at which their auhsorip
t)a expires. We will tend the papeT two
weeks after expiration. If not renewed by
Uat tin K will be discontinued.
POETRY.
For Thk Alli acb, by Mrs. J. T. Kcllie.
Lament of the G. O. P.
Tune, Vacant (hair.
fjp In congress now forever
Will be many a vacant chair
Doreey. Harlan, Conned never
h ever more will you go th re.
Tour spotless n corrts now are hidden
lient ath your half developea wings.
From nertal ev- forever hidden,
Aad broken all our party rings.
Chorus.
Up In congress now forever
Will be many a vacant chair;
Doreey, Harlan, onuell never
Never more will you be there.
True they tell us stolen boodle
' Ever more will keep y u well:
But the banns and railroad's anguish
Is too ceep for words to tell,
hen y u lately ca&. from congresB
Confidence was in jou eye;
Tou litt.e thought it would be trouble
Hog's and pauper's votes to buy.
But the farmers knew the money
60 freely offered without fear
Was the very same oid money
We stole on corn the . r ieed last year.
Then the bankers sought to scare men
Who to them much inone; owtd;
But they said that to the poor house
It was but a shorter road. J
Thea we paid some railroad judges
Five hundred dollars for a night
To tell, when nt too boozy, to the people
Foul lies which wer their soul's delight.
Then we told our party papers
That with thee lies they must agree;
To lose their souls would not much matter
If we could save the O. O P.
Still the people would not heed us;
They knew our object but too well;
Replied " If rascals still must serve us
Yet Harlan. Dorsey, fare you well."
All the world now knows the story,
How we suffered sad defeat;
By 'paupers, "hogs "and"rag-tag hayseeds'
'J he bank's and railroad's pets were beat.
A National Independent Movement
In x8ga.
Holdrege, Neb. Oct. 13, 1890.
Editok Alliance: As the campaign
rrowsupon us it becomes more evident
that opposition to labor is not confined
to politiical parties, nor different sec
lions of the country, but to capital.
The two great opposing forces, one
now mustering lor the coullict that is
inevitable, vipon the one side Capital,
with all her power and might, gathered
in many years, by which she buries a
nation or brings one into existence, as
he is diepostd'to do.
On the other side Labor, humble and
peacefully inclined; the very bone aud
sinew of a republican form of govern
ment; the life giving and health produc
ing element oj any government. j
It is a matter of history that when a
nation became divided into classes of
aristocrai-y and peasantry, aud the
wealth passed into the hands of the aris
tocracy, that nation tottered and fell.
And our government will be no excep
tion to the rule.
We must take sides upon the burning
questions of the day. The laws of pre
ceding generations are unlit for to day,
as it is a divine law and an unwritten
civil law that each generation should
make its own laws. We see this law
fulfilled by the various reforms that suc
ceed each other about a generation
apart. Hence it is time, and high time
too, that ihe long roll le sounded and a
fjrand adyanee ue made along the entire
ine, and no halt made until the White
House is reached.
Let a million voices of the sturdy yeo
manry shout their determination to
press on to national victory in "92."
E. P. Montgomery,
i
National Banks a Scource of Contraction.
Editor Alliance: There is one
phase of the money question not yet
noticed to which I would like to call at
tention. That is the failure of National
banks to issue the amount of currency
to which they are entitled under the
law. By far the majority of them have
the smallest amount of currency entitl
ing them to the reputation of being na
tional banks. Out of 160 banks doing
business in Kansas, eighty have a capi
tal of $50,000, and a circulation $11,500,
one-fourth of what they are entitled,
while some of the larger banks have
scarcely one-tenth. The facts given
above are from the last report of the
tomptroller of the currency.
According to this then the 160 banks
cf Kansas have a tirculaat'on of less
than fci.OOO.OOO. when they have it in
their power to supply the people of
Kansas wnh over $7,000,000 of circulat
ing medium.
Now if any one thinks that the same
policy of contracting currency is not in
vogue with Nebraska bankers just let
him step in his nearest bank and he will
find that money w very close just now
If this does not settle it, the per cent
of interest charged will.' Hasten the
day when the people can get money at
II . . .1 ' . 1?
. reason a uie insujau. ui ruinous rates oi
interest. Dyer
Starving for Ten Years.
Mrs. S. Andrews, S street, 1850, Lin
coin, has nearly starved during the last
ten years, in consequence ot baa teeth
She has tried over seven times to get
artificial teeth that she could use. A
tooth carpeuter at Fairbury tried four
times and failed. Another in the same
city tried his skill three times and failed
A third from Illinois tried his skill in
rain. None of the seven sets would stay
in place, some made canker sore mouth,
some cracked, some gagged her so that
he could not wear them. fcne sunereci
from dyspepsia in consequence of iuabil
ity to masticate meat or fruits. She has
been trying to get teeth for the past ten
years and spent over forty dollars with
out success. Last week she was advised
to try Dr. Bumfs, 1208 O street, where
she got a set the next day that is all she
can i.esire She can ei.t anything that
she could with her natural teeth. xes
fcerHay she bid farewell to hash, mush
and slops. The doctor has well earned
the title of the boss d&ntist. Iw23.
A Grfevona Complaint.
It Kurd on fellow, I d! declarer
Bsiid Tommy one day- with a oout:
ln every one of the suite I wear
The poo Vets are 'most worn out.
Tbey 're 'bou t a big as the ear of a mole.
.aim I never have more than tlire ;
A nl t hero 'a al ways comlnsr a mean little hole
aimt loses my kuife for me.
I ean't make 'em hold but a few little things
Some cookies, an annle or two.
A knife and pencil and bunch of ftrings.
Some nails and mat be a screw.
And miirbU-8. of court-e. and a top and ball,
And shells and nebbles and such.
And some odds and ends yes, honest, that
all!
Tou can see for yourself 't is n't much.
I 'd like a suit of some patent kind.
With po- kets made w ide aud lonsr:
Above and below and before and behind.
Sewed extra heavy and sirouar.
I 'd want about a dozen or so.
AM cusy and quick to sr. t at;
And I should be perfectly happy, I know.
mui a nunuyrig like that.
Eudora S. Bumstend, in St. Nicholas.
THE BEAUTIFUL CLAUDINL
Along the dusty highway, still
brilliant with the setting sun. the eve
ning mail man passed in a jolting rum
ble of wheels from his ancient carriole,
and a ringing of hoofs from his meagre
mure. J'lien it was that Claudine, the
beautiful Claudine," as the villagers
called her, showed herself at the sill of
the little white cottage, her hand above
her eyes, her elbow elevated. She
stood there silent and motionless, like
a picture in ngnter unts against me
darker back ground of the chamber,
but with a joyous expectancy dawning
in her eyes.
Faraway over the peaks, the sun
was sinking to rest, its last rays climb
ing slowlyfrom horn to horn of the
wooded hills, lighting up the sombre
verdure of the oaks with points of
brilliancy, quivering like flame against
the blue horizon and enveloping, as
with a parting caress, the rounded
summit of a naked hill, whose long
slopes ended at the- turning of the road
that stretched into the shadow, a strip
of dull greyness, soft as a ribbon.
From among this chain of hills, ex
tending a far "as the eye could reach
in the gathering eaeniug light, rose the
dee'p and sonorous cry of the carters,
urging on their beasts, engaged in haul
ing the stone from the quarries which
gnawed out the heart of these same
peaks, still touched at the crest by the
dvingsun. It was here that Claudine's
thoughts were roving in search of her
man.
In her mind she saw him plainly,
this toiling quarryman, young and
handsome as herself, perched aloft on
a frail scaffolding and working at the
quarry's roof in the tremulous light of
lanterns like twinkling stars, the
monotonous clink, clink of the ham
mers repeated by the drip, drip of the
subterranean waters. But now, since
f e evening postman had gone by,
Claudine knew that the day's work
wsis ended, her man descending with
others and arranging his tools quick-'
ly. too. thinking of Per and impatient
for her kisses.
Jn fact, some of the men, in gaudy
belts and with coats thrown over their
shoulders, had begun to appear,
climbing briskly the steep white road.
their voices mounting higher and
higher, like the waves of suulight, and
rough aud rude as the country. All at
once, even whilst she searched with her
gaze the fast crowding pathway a
cloud of dirt and debris leaped high in
the air, followed instantly through the
valley by a crash like thunder. The
quarry had blown up. And Claudine
ay senseless on the ground.
'
Under the gutted earth, covered
with crumbled houses, cracked and
crushed as by a monstrous hammer,
deep ih the black and inaccessible
depths of the buried galleries, fiftj' ot
more of the quarrymuu were buried
also, despairing, hopeless of rescue.
dying perhaps, if not already dead.
At" the point where the engineer?
worked with heart aud soul to pierce
an entombed gallery, Claudine knelt
beside them, eager, heart-sick, refusing
o stir a step and still awaiting her
Man.
For eight days she had remained
ihere. unable to believe in the disaster,
luable to be consoled, her burning
eyes stubbornly riveted upon the open-
ng, little by little growing larger.
But these efforts provoked new crumb-
lings the waters flooded the passages,
the work had to be stopped. Then and
not till then did she ciimb the hill to
'.he place where the men who had es-
aped the disaster strained at the
pumps.
But soon tne pumps, too. gave out,
hoked, doubtless, with the rubbish
tfiat refused to flow. The rescuers.
white,' haggard, helpless, sorrowfully
disbanded and turned away. Claud"-
1 1 I .1
ine remained aione Dy vne ravageu
earth, the abortive, abandoned work,
crushed, inert, feeling in her anguished
mil but a single desire to be herself
t rest.
'Claudine!'' murmured a roice at
her ear.
She raised her eyes. It was a quarry-
man by the name or nerre. wnom sne
had noticed toiliDg with the others.
She saw his blistered hands, the soil on
his clothes, and suddenly, without a
word, before the pitving sorrow of his
eaze burst into a storm of tears.
As for i'lerre, he. too. iounci no worn.
to sa3. but sitting beside her allowed
her to cry on, stroking her hand ten
derly at every sob. an answering &rief
dimming his own eyes, uradnaliy as
she grew calmer Claudine knew that
Pierre was talked to her of things
whose sense still escaped her, but
whose soft, soothing monotone quieted
her to the docilitv of a child.
She listlessly permitted him to draw
her with him. "scarcely couscious of
what he did whilst he with a gentle,
solicitous care that one shows to a
sick mind and fancv coaxed and per
suaded her homeward, as from time to
time she stopped with long sighs and
renewed tears.
Tne longdays passed; the imprisoned
men were lost, unfiiidable. dead, they
declared, crushed bv the falling rocks
or thrown out bv tliH enormous force
of the air from the crumbled caverns.
To hear this was a relief to Claud
lue s strained nerves and senses; they
were not tortured, and in the long un
occupied hours when they talked am
speculated thus she listened sadly and
In silence, but finding a certain
LINCOLN,
pleasure In this envelopment of neigh
borly pity.
She seemed to herself to be awaken
ing from a long sleep, to be returning
from a distant journey; at the same
time, though unconscious of it at first,
the exigencies of the present and of the
coming life began to present them
selves to her mind. She had her life
to take up again and. perhaps with a
progressive growing of a slow fear to
take it up with want and solitude
added.
She began to feel more interest in
the things about her; in the success,
above all, of the .subscriptions to be
raised to alleviate the disaster, and
she felt a great peace, almost a joy, the
day when Pierre returned from the ad
jacent city to tell her that the widows
were truly to be cared for that she
was down lor six hundred francs.
Then without occupation and in the
patient waiting for the relief to come
she every day returned to the quarrj.
Frequently Pierre accompanied her,
always with his gentle courtesy, and
there they talked together in lowered
tones as" if respecting a tomb. In
these visits to the cemetery, through
the melancholy of the thick woods to
the eternal stirring of the same
thoughts, the tears of Claudine by de
grees ceased to flow.
They arrived soon at talking freely,
then "at reveries, walking slowly,
picturing, perhaps, the awakening of
new possibilities. The weight seemed
to lift from the breast of the young
woman, the horizon so long closed
about her to widen and open, and in
the trembling dawn of the rising future
there was a new. an indefinable charm,
growing and deepening in these mutual
silences. Sorrow had run itself out and
an the spring sap mount3 in the fibres
of the tree trunks, a new love of
which as yet they did not speak out of
deference to this tomb before' which
they wandered aud which had brought
them together grew with the passing
moments.
'Claudine," said Pierre atlast, "why
should we not marry each other?'
It is not two months yet," she an
swered, suddenly saddened.
"I know that, but I would not
hurry you. I poke to be in titoe.
What say you, Claudine? Yes or no?"
Yes," sighed she, "later on."
It was c'ose to evening; Claudine and
Pierre as usual rambled among the
9tones of the quarry.
All at once a singular sound arrested
their footsteps. It was the Soil beneath
them, the scratching or moving of
some beast, dountless. at the end of his
lole. lhey bent above the crevasse.
v which they stood; there the sound-
was plainer, more distinct, like the de
pairing struggle or something in a
narrow place, the rattling volley of
rolling debris.
A strange, sndden terror.nailed them
motioulcss, then at the" same moment
the same thought came to both; tSe
quarrvmen inclosed in their living
tomb were not all dean; some one was
niining through tho mountain.
And from the depths now came a
eeble call, faint, smothered, scarcely
more than a gasping sigh.
It is it is he!'" breathed Claudine,
ler knees knocking together.
Pierre leaped to his feet, livid also.
Ie! The dead, already so far away.
already lost in the gulf of irremediable
lungs! lhis return was for him.
Pierre, a shattered love, a broken
uture, that smiling broken future over
which the six hundred francs of his
Claudine spread a radiance like the
sparkle of a fortune!
What right had he to return, this
der.d man. whose face no longer an
peare'd to him irradiated with friendli
ness una grateiui memories, but as a
menacing spectre erecting itself from
a crumbled dream?
Meanwhile a new call came from the
depths, ill which one plainly read tho
torture of that imprisoned wretch.
trapped under the earth for two long
mouths, supporting life on roots and
water, grovelling in blackest night.
but stimulated, urged to the battle for
existence by the perfume of the sunny
woods that, doubtless reached him
through the crevices of the crevasse.
Pierre uttered a responsive cry and
threw himself backward, the prey of a
poiguant struggle, lint the ca 1 came
ga;n lamentable, sinister, pleading;
he could bear it no longer; a wave bi
pity uootled his soul.
Wait! he cried; "wait but a little; 1
ill run; I will return at once with a
cord; the hole is just big enough; wait.
wait!'
And Pierre, without a single word or
glance at Claudine did he fear that
his purpose would fail him? took the
hill at a mad run.
Left alone with him Claudine's
eyes clung as if glued to a heavy
boulder that overhung the edge of the
crevasse; yes, the very edge, poised like
a bird ready to spriug. She trembled
convulsivelv; a breath almost would
detach that stone, would send it crash
ing to the bottom of that flume whence
came that wailing moan; the cry of 8
man for succor.
God in heaven her man!
Swiftly as Pierre had leaped she.
Claudine, uow leaped; but how she
staggered, how her legs bent undei
ner as lr sue were drunk! lint no
matter; she must reach that boulder;
she had reached it it stirred, turned.
engulfed itself in the hole. There was
a thud, a strangled cry, then silence;
blank, dead siieuce. soundless as the
quarried stone.
Silence and solitude both, for Pierre
had not had time to return from his
errand of mercy, and Claudine with
clasped hand and eagerlv listen
ears Claudine was now in truth
aloue.
Bacteria.
The nature of bacteria was for a Ion
time doubtful, but it has receutly been
determined that they are vegetable
rather than animal, occurring in four
forms spheroidal, ovoidal.rod-shaped.
and spiral. So minute are they that
l.oOO of them placed end to end would
on iy cover a spac equivalent to one-
quarter the head of jn pin. They are
ti.m jjueti oi a granuiar waterv mass
surrounded by" thickened walls. A
drop of water is the ocean in which
they live. Among their various func
tions is included a marvelous power of
reproduction; in twenty-four, hour
one bacterium will produce over 16,-
NEB., SATURDAY, NOV. 15, 1800.
STORY OF A TYPEWRITER.
.How a Girl in Boy'n Clth Imposed on t
TVin "nmHr tT-nftwriter has becomn
a feature in the business life which can
not be ignored or lightly treated. She
is here to stay and in her own sweet
way knows she is a power in the land.
Lawyers, doctors, merchants, real-
estate dealers, brokers, and business
men generally are under lief geutle
8wav. Thev may not acknowledge its
ndeed. mav hardly realize it, but they
can not get along without her. In her
demure eves is seen
no evidence that
she does all the
she knows this, but
same.
A certain real-estate broker, who
lives with his wife at a certain fashion
able hotel on the South side, knows it.
too, and knows it so hard one can al
most hear him think about "it. Re
cently he decided to be in the business
swim" and was thoughtless enough to
tell his wife all about it. That man.
a Chicago real-estate dealer and pre
sumably one of the smartest men iti
the world, actually told his wife that
he wanted to employ a pretty type
writer.
Did Mrs. Real-Estate Broker cotton
to the idea, and meekly say that he
knew what was best? Hardly. She is
the wife of a Chicago broker, and
naturally knows a thing or two when
she can(tliuk of it. She thought ot
one of 'em when he spoke about the
girl typewriter. To herself she said:
lso, you dou t; not if , I can stop it
and I rather think I. cau."
Parenthetically it mav be observed
that if she hadn't tried to stop it the
subsequent adventures would never
have happened. Id her husband she
said: "Wouldn't it' bo better to em
ploy the elevator boy? He's a bright,
handsome fellow, very smart, and
would soon learn. Tie asked me only
a few days ago if I knew of a position
he could fill.' He could run errands.
and a girl couldn't, -ou know."
low, this particular boy ran the
ladies' elevator at that particular hotel
md was the pet of all tho ladies.
The real-estate broker knew his -wife.
He knew it would not be wise to hire a
;irl under the circumstances, and so s
tew days afterward Harry, the elevator-
boy, was struggling wit h a tvpewntei
and running erramls at his ollice.
A few tlavs later the olhce-boy hap
pened to draw out his trousers to button
his shoe ami the gentleman was sur
prised by a vision of silk-clocked stock
ings, gay with brilliant stripes, and a
mi b very shapely for a half-grown
boy. mo real-estate man oniu t sav
auvthing, but he was rather surprised
for a real-estato man. Not long
afterward Harry" returned from a
hurried errand all out of breath? "Who
ever saw a messenger or an ollice boy
out of breath?
"Harry wrote'mahy letters during the
J- .
days which followed, aud everybody
knows that "valuers ' are werv
dangerous. A lew days ago he was
very busy writing a letter, when the
broker intentionally interrupted him
bv sending him upon an errand. Be
tween the sheets or blot ling-paper up
on "Harry s " desk was found a most
erotic note.
An hour later Harrv" was in tears,
confessed her sex, and left.
There's a nice position in that office
for a pretty typewriter. Chicago
limes.
Some Warm "Weather.
It will perhaps assuage tho discom
forts of the summer to read some past
experiences with heat, compiled by a
German statistician. In the "year 627
the springs dried up and men fainted
with the heat. In Hy it was impossi
ble to work in tho open fields. In the
vear 35)3 the nuts on the trees were
roasted" as if in a baker's oven! In
1000 the rivers in France dried up,
and the stench from the dead fish and
other matter brought pestilence into
the land. The heat in tho year 1014
dried up the rivers and the brooks in
Alsaee-Loraine. Tho Rhino was dried
up in the year 1132. In the year 1152
the heat was so great that eggs could
be cooked in the sand. In 1227 it is
recorded that many men and animals
came bv their death through the in
tense heat. In the vear 1303 the
waters of the lihine and Han n be were
partially dried up, and the people
passed over on foot. Ihe crops were
burned up in the ear 13U1, and in
1528 the Seine and the Loire were as
dry land. In 1556 a great drought
swept through Europe. In 1614 in
r ranee, and even in Switzerland, the
brooks and the ditches were dried up.
Not less hot were the ears 1646, 1,679
and 101. In the year 171o from the
month of March till October not a drop
of rain fell: the temperature rose to 33
degrees Ream nr. and in favored places
the fruit trees blossomed a second
time. Extraordinarily hot were the
vears 1724, 1746. 1756 and 1811. Tho
summer ot lolo was so not that the
places of amusement had to be closed.
The Cost of Newspapers.
irom a suggestive article on news
papers, by ti.igene ju. uuip, in tho
Century, we quote as follows: "What is
the total annual cost to the wholesalo
purchases of news namely, the pub
lishers of tho entire news-product of
the United States? An answer to this
question would he of interest, but it
has never been answered. Jbor several
years ! have been gathering informa
tion uoon which to base an estimate.
Publishers have uniformly extended
me every courtesy; nevertheless I lind
it au exceedingly difficult quantity to
arrive at. and ior my figures I do not
claim absolute accuracy. Publishers
in this country annually expend some
thing near tho following sums for
uews:
"For press despatches. .
specini "
" local news
....... 20.000
?.0,(0
12, St I v uo
l.t:,rrti,(X)0
"Tho business of the Associated
Tress, a mutual coucern which pavs
nothing for its uews. ami which serves
its patrons at approximate cost.
amounts to $ 1.250.000 per anuum; and
ina. or me united rress, a stock cor
poration, is $450,000 per annum. Tiio
former aims to provide news about all
important events, in which work $120.
000 in telegraph tolls is expended;
while the latter endeavors, above
all else, to provide accounts of events
occurring in the viciuiiv of the re
spective papers served."
HOW TO THROW A BASDALL,
tUm Niktal and Aqti-d Method
Mfihert-Arm Thrnwio Considered
tbo Best.
Vnw & fw wnrH rfitrarninsr the oh-
jects to be aimed at in general practice.
First, as regards throwing. .Lvery one
has what may be called a natural way
of throwing the ball, but this so-called
natural way usually means a per
verted method acquired through care
lessness, or attempts to throw too hard
before the arm is sufficient! y accustomed
to the work. As a result of this, there
are few bovs or college men who may
. i .i. . ... .
not learn a yreat ueai in tne matter oi i
throwing by careful attention for a few
weeks to one or two points, ine nrst
man to whom attention should be called
is the man who takes a hop. skip, and
jump before he lets the ball go. No
man can run fast enough to beat a
thrown ball and, consequently, it takes
longer to carry the ball part way and
throw it the rest, than it does to throw
it all the way. Therefore, the
tirst thing for the roan who has ac-
. . ! . a 1 i ! I I
quired tins tries to uo, is to stauu sun
when he gets the ball, and then throw
it. The opposite fault to this, is that
of leaning away when throwing. A man
gets a sharp grounder, and throws the
ball before he has recovered ' his
balance, and the force of his throw is
thereby greatly diminished. While
this is not nearly so common as the
other fault, it is quite as diitjcult to cor
rect. The happy medium between the
two is the man who receives the ball
and, quickly straighteuing himself,
drives it while leaning forward; and. as
it leaves the hand, takes his single step
in the directiou of his throw.
So much for the feet and body, now
for the arm, hand,-and wrist.
The best and most accurate throw
ers are those who continually practice
what is culled a "short-arm" throw.
To get an idea of tho first steps toward
the acquisition of this method, let the
player take the ball in his hand, and
bringing it back just level with his ear.
planting both feet firmly, attempt to
throw the ball without using the legs
or body. At first the throw is awkward
and feeble, but constant practice speed
ily results in , moderate speed and
p collar accuracy.. After steady
practice at this until quite a pace is ac
quired, the man may be allowed to use
his legs and body to increase the speed.
still, however, sticking to the straight,
forward motion of the hand, wrist, and
the arm. Tho secret of the throw is,
of course, keeping the hand in a line
with the arm and not swinging it out
to the side and away from the head.
where much of the accuracy aad soma
of the quickness is lost. Certain
catchers have brought this style of
throw to such a pitch of perfection as
to get the ball away toward second al
most on the instant it strikes the hands.
They aid the throwing by a slight twist
of the body. -
ihe quickness of this method of
throwing is. of course, due to the fact
that there is no delay caused by draw
ing back the arm past the head or by
turning the body around, which lose so
much valuable time. Its accuracy is
due to the fact that it is easier to aim
at an object with the hand in front of
the eyes than when it is out beyond
the shoulder. One can easily ascer
tain this by comparing the ease of
pointing the index linger at any object
when the hand is in front of the face.
with the dilliculty of doing so when the
arm is extended out sideways from the
bodv. Still further, in the almost
round-arm throwing, which many play
ers use, the hand describes an arc.
and the ball must be let go at the
proper point in the swing, the throw is
certain to be wild. In the other method,
that of straight-arm throwing, any
variation is far more likely to be a
variation in height onl', and in that re
spect the variation may be greater
without serious error. A straight-
arm throw sends a ball much easier to
handle than the side-arm style. The
latter is likely to curve, bound irregu
larly, and be more inconvenient for the
baseman, in the held throwing should
be on a line, as much as possible, and
there are few distances to be covered
there that require any up and over"
throwing. It getting a ball in from a
deep out-field, the distance is some
times so great that none but profess
ionals or exceptionally strong throw
ers can drive the ball in except by giv
ing it quite an upward direction; even
then, however, one should be careful
to keep the ball fairly well down, as it
is far better to have it reach the catcher
on the bound than to go sailing over
his head. "Keep it down" is a card
inal rule when fielding at the home
plate for the field. If a low ball be
thrown. itis easier for the catcher to
touch the runuer. who in a tight place
will invariably slide as close to the
ground as possible. A high throw
gives the catcher almost no chance to
recover and put the ball on the man,
whereas a low throw brings his hands
in the most advantageous position for
touching the runner. The same is, of
course, true in the case of the catcher's
throws to the second or the other bases,
to put out the runner.
The position of the fingers when
throwing a ball is a point upon which
there are individual differences of
opinion; but the majority of the best
throwers in the country use principally
the fore-finger and middlr-tiuger in
giving direction to the balL Waller
(Jump, in St. Nicholas.
The Number Tbree.
There is much superstitious regard
for the number three in the popular
mind, aud the third repetition of any
thing is generally looked upon as "a
crisis. Thus, an article may twice be
lost and recovered, but the "third time
that it is lost it is gone for good. Twice
a man may pass through some great
danger in safety, but the third time he
loses his life. If. however, the mystic
third can be successfully passed, all is
well. Three was ealleti by Pythagoras
the perfect number, and we frequently
find its use symbolical of Deity; thus,
we might mention the trident of Nep
tune, the three-forked lightning of
Jove, and the three-headed dog of
Pluto. The idea of trinity is not con
fined to Christianity, but occurs in
several religions.
Iu myth logy also we find three
Fates, three Furies and tbree Graces;
and comiug nearer to our times.
Shakspeare introduces his three
witches. I public faottso signs three
seem to play an important part, for
we frequently meet with "Three Cups,"
Three Jolly Sailors." "Three Bells,"
Three Tuns." -Three Feathers" in
fact, that number of almost anything
of which a fertile imagination can con
ceive a trio. In nursery rhymes and
tales this number is not unknown; and
if we look back to the days of our
childhood most of us will call to mind
the three wise men of Gotham, who
took a sea voyage in a bowl, not to
mention the three blind mice that had
their tails cut off by the farmer's wife.
Perhaps there is some occult power in
I., .. i l ,li
me numoer wincn governn me ui vision
of novels into tUeo volumes and in
duces doctors to order their medicine
to be taken thrice daily. It is said that
some tiibes of savages cannot count be
yond three; but although they have no
words to express higher numbers per
haps we should be scarcely justified in
assuming that they are incapable of
appreciating the value of the latter.
MAKING A SPEECH.
Ik Usually Involve a Vry Serloo Physi
cal Strain.
It may look like a very easy thing
for a member, having his speech writ
ten, to deliver it during the course of
an hour in the House, but it is not such
an easy thing as it looks. The average
speaker gets a deal of athletic exercise
in the course of an hour's 'speech.
There are some members in the House
who can stand and read a speech with
out lifting a hand except to turn the
pages, and almost without changing
posidou; and there are others who can
talk all day without getting tired; but
the average speaker perspires as if he
were sawing wood. An off-hand speech
of ten minutes does not count, but the
man who throws his arms in the air
as if whirling Indian clubs, hammers
his desk like a blacksmith, and dances
all around the place for an hour or
more, is taking very violent exercise.
Experience has taught some of them
that it is not safe' to make such a
speech without taking extra precautions
against cooling off too quickly af ter
. wards.
I know several members who take
extraordinary precautions. They do
not speak often, lhey know for we ks
beforehand that they are to speak, and
after all preparations aro made for the
speech itself, and the day comes for
the effort, they have a servant bring a
complete change of linen and under
wear aud a heavy overcoat to the Cap
itol, and wait with these things at,
hand until the speech is ended. Then
the speaker, with the perspiration pour
ing off him, rushes to the cloak-room,
where the servant stands with the coat
ready, and throws it over his shoulders
as soon as he comes within reach.
Next, the member, with tho collar of
his overcoat turned up high, tucks his
dry underclothing under, his aim and
makes for the bath-rooms. Thero he
enters the waiting-room, where the
temperature is high and there can bo
no draught, being under ground, and
waits to cool off a little preparatory to
a bath. There is no more work for
him in the House that day. When he
has got his bath, he makes for his lodg
ings as fast as he can, aud stays there
until thoroughly rested. Cor. Phila
delphia Telegraph.
Newspapers.
From Topic of the Time" In the
Century on "Journalists and News
papers." we quote as follows: "No
doubt the present tendency towards'
trivialities aud personalities wi.ll con
tinue until private rights and public
morals are better protected by the
laws, and until the acme of size and
. is
!rout in newspapers lias oeen readied,
.n tho race for expansion and power,
the leader who has adopted the read
iest means has often imposed his meth
ods upou men who would choose thi
best means. The fault of a lower tone,
here and there, is not chargeable to
the great body of workers, for in the
profession will be found to-day a high
average of ability, and conscientious
performance of duty; and never be
fore our time have newspapers been
able to command the trained intelli
gence and taste to euable them to do
all they are now doing for the develop
ment of art and literature; all that the
newspapers of to day are doing, for
every good cause, and notably at this
moment for that of good government.
Capital and financial success are of
course essential for the production of
a great modern newspaper; out tne
public hits a right to demand that
those who bear the highest re
sponsibilities of the profession should
issue newspapers which they, as private
individuals, would be willing to in
dorse, in every part, as men ,f char
acter, refinement, and self-respect"
TVaatcd Eloquence.
"Matilda," the young man said, nerv
ously, "what I am going to say may sur
prise you, but my feelings are leading ma
ou. Encournged by your kindness. In
toxicatej by your benuty, and rendered
desperate by the conviction that tho
hours are fleeing away and that the
future can hold nothing worse than the
sunpense under which I now labor. I
have resolved to risk my fate on the cast
of the die."
Ue loosened his collar, coughed and
went ahead.
"Oiher young men, Matilda, m"re
butterflies of fashion, may dunce atten
dance upon you and fl itter you. Listen
not to them. Listen to the voice of sin
cere devotion. Other young men.
talented, nay, perchance, young men
possessed of wealth in abuodancc, may
aeek'your hand. I am not talented,
Matilda, I am not handsome. I have
not those delicate little arts that win the
affection of women. I am not rich "
"No, Mr. D 'iiuis.snid the young benu
ty, with a yawn, and rising to her feet,
"and I regret to say also, ihut you are
noi in it."
Mr. Dennis withdrew from the com
petition at once.
A Handy Cigar.
An English officer in India was seiz
ed by a tiger while smoking a cigar.
As the beast was carrying him off he
touched his lighted cigar to his side,
and presto, change! he was dropped
like a hot potato, and got up and re
turned to his friends.
Dyed In the fiftieth year of its age,
of scarlet fever, Palti's hair.
NO. 22
MEERSCHAUM IN CHUNKS.
ft Co
From Turkey, aad
Ved for Pipes.
U CliUSf
The meerschaum comes from Turkey
In boxes. A box holds about fifty
pounds, and is worth from $20 to $300i
according to t he size and quality ot the
pieces. It looks like plaster of paria
smoothed off and rounded. The ambef
looks like beeswax or large pieces ol
resin. It comes iu pieces, and is worth
from $2 to $20 a pound. Meerschaum
to make a five-dollar pipe costs about
$2.50. The amber tips raw costs about
one-quarter or one-half as much. -"
Wheu an order comes for a pipe the
proprietor goes through the stock ot
meerschaum to get a piece out of
which the pipe can be cut with as little
loss as possible. Four-fifths of the
meerschaum is wasted, though the
chips re often saved and made into
imitation meerschaum pipes.
The meerschaum is first cut on a cir
cular saw into a piece a little larger
than the pipe. If the cutting shows
holes or cracks, the piece Is cast aside.
Then it is soaked in water for fifteen
miuutes and cut tho rough shape with
a knife. Then a hole is drilled through
it, and it is turned with a half motion.
After the turning the stem is inserted.
It is smoothed off when dry, boiled la
wax and polished, then it is ready to
be sold.
The amber is worked with a chisel,
and turning wheel. . The chisel is
sharp and razor-like. A clumsy
operator would cut his fingers off wkh
it. An oTd operator takes the piece ot
amber in his hand and rounds it with
the chisel, the forefinger of the left
hand serving as a guide for the ch sel
to play. When it is rounded it is held
against the face of a roughened wheel
until it is turned to approximately the
required size. Then it is put in the
same turning wheel and a hole is bored
through it.
This is for the more common and
cheaper amber stems the same kind
that are put in brierwood pipes, which
sell for 50 and 75 cents, it does not
take more than a quarter or a half-hcur
to finish one of these stems. A stem
for a more costly pipe will take a day.
The shortest time in which a good
meerschaum pipo can be iide is three
days. That is for a plain pipe. If the
pipe is to be carved that time has to be
added. Workmen have spent months
on carviug one pipe.
The dust and chips from the ambei
and meerschaum are saved.' The amber
dust is melted and made into amberiua.
The meerschaum dust is chopped
and worked into a paste, from whic
ich
the imitation meerschaum pipes are
made. It is a common idea that real
meerschaum can be told from imitation
meerschaum by the fact that real meer
schaum floats ou water, but imitation
meerschaum floats also. Imitation
meerschaum can be made to color better
than real meerschaum though it docs
not last so long aud the color is likely
to come in streaks. It is hard for
man who is not in the business to tell a
real from an imitation meerschaum.
The best quality of meerschaum fre
quently has air-holes and cracks in it,
TIow Many Word a In English?
An interesting question suggested
by an ancient waif of a book is the
number of English words now existing.
Considerable difference of opinion
exists on this point. Mr, George P.
Marsh, an American author of repute,
in his "Lectures on the English Lan
guage," estimates that the number (io
1861) "probably does not fall short of
100,000;" and large addit ons. especial
ly in art and science, have come into
use since , that date. Other writers,
however, come to a different conclu
sion, and think that 40.000 would in
clude the whole. It depends a good
deal on how calculations are made. If
all the subsidiary words participles
and the like are to be taken into ac
count, it will swell the sum total very
considerably.
Taking the first three words that oc
cur at random, we find that from
"demonstrate." in one of our modern
dictionaries, there are thirteen deriva
tives; from the word "bright" there are
twelve, and from "deplore" there are
ten. There is also redundance in other
forms. In one of Todd's editions of
Dr. Johnson there are upward of eigh
ty words with the prolix "all" all-coiu-plying,
all-divining, ail-drowsy, and so
on a very notable instance of diction
ary padding. In ways like these the
vocabulary may be indefinitely in
creased. Probably, if we take leading
words and all their derivatives, tht
number at the present time will ex
ceed Mr. Marslv estimate. An ap
proximate verification of this mar be
found by mulliplving the number of
Eages in any good modern dictionary
y the average number of words in
page.
Shakspeare' s works, it is believed. In
clude about 15,000 separate words, and
Milton's about 8.000; but from these
figures we have no criterion of the ex
tent of the actual English vocabulary.
It may be mentioned here that while
Cockeram has only about 7,000 or 8,
000 words. there are in Bailey's Diction
ary approximately about SG.O00, aud in
Johnson's not more than that. In
some of the larger modern works,
again, the figures, as has been sid,
reach to upward of 100,000. Chamber's
Journal.
Which Is Your Right Hand?
An anatomist told me the other day
that I could not tell him which was my
right hand. I immediately held out
mj right hand, but he objected. He
said that he did not say that I should
not show or extend my right hand, but
that I conid tell him which was mv
right hand that is, that I could not
describe it in words so that one who
had never heard of the distinction we
make between the right and left hands
would be able to find it. I thought that
would be easy enough also until I took:
time to think' the matter over, then I
gave it up. for on the outside of the
human body there is nothing to dis
tinquish the right hand from the left.
No one can describe it in words so
that an ignorant persou (one not know.
Ing the distinctions we make) can find
and locate it. at. Louis Jltpublic
The table upon which Oliver Crom
well signed the death warrant of
Charles I. was sold recently to a Loa
dob antiquary for $710.
V
A
2l
v
I " . - vv '
