Newspaper Page Text
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Innocent Twain.
Virginia (Ncv.) Ciironlcle.
hen Mark Twain lived in Virginia
he roonv-d with Dan DeQuille. All the
miseries whicn De Quille evtr endureJ,
and all the bad characters he ever got,
date from that time. They lived at
several different lcdging-houses and
were turned out of them all, one after
the other, all on account of Dan, who
soon acquired a bad reputation, second
to none in Virginia. No respectable
family would harbor Dan, who knew
anything about hlm,and the very men
tion of his name would cause a land
lady to hold up her hands in virtuous
horror. One morning Mark woke up
and heard the landlady's cat mewing
about the door, v. hich was half open.
Dan was fast asleep, and Mark, grab
bing one of his heavy boots, threw it
with fatal precision at the intruder.
The cat limped off with a broken leg
(the boot weighed five pounds), and
the landlady secured the missile and
waited for its owner to appear. Mark
got up, dressed, and went out with
both boots on. The landlady greeted
him with a pleasant smile, when Dan
got up and was walking about in Lis
stocking feet hunting for his left boot,
he received a scathing dressing down
from his landlady, who,without allow
ing him to explain, ordered him to
leave the house. Mark condoled him
in his troubles, and said, "I'll stick to
ye, Dan." The next house they mov
ed into had a pantry close to the room
consigned them. Every night Mark
would steal two or three mince pies
and eat them entire without giving
Dan a sight of them. In the morning
the landlady would be brushing about
near the door, and Dan would be asleep
aud Mark would open out in a loud
voice, as follows: "Dan, this business
won't do. Those pies don't belong to
you. In the first place it's petty lar
ceny, and in the next place it gets
crumbs in the bed. We'l get notice to
quic pretty soon. 'Taint the square
thing on the landlady. I don't won
der ou've nothing to say. Now this
is the last time I propose to speak
about this" The landlady, who took
in every word, would give poor Dan
notice to quit, and never hear a word
of explanation. "When you go I go
Dan," Mark would say, and his broth
erly fidelity would touch Dan to the
very core. The next place was an in
tensely respectable private family.
When Mark expected to be out all
night he would slip up to the room
and strew a few hair-pins round pro
miscuously, and scatter a few down in
the toot ot the bed where they would
be found when the landlady was mak
ing it up. It would all be laid to Dan
of course. "I've got a family here
and I want to bring my daughters up
respectable," would be the landlady's
remark, as she ordered Dan to pack up.
"When they fire you out,Dan,it means
me, too," Mark would say in tones of
brotherly affection that melted Dan's
inner mature and caused him to think
there were some true men in the world
after all. and he used often to remark
in speaking of Twain, "A man who
never shakes a friend in adversity is
the noblest work of God."
The Ground-Hog Excuse.
From the Detroit Free Tress.
"Adam Crane, why did you get
drunk yesterday blandly inquired
the Court of the first man out.
His Honor's kind look gave Adam
new courage, and he explained
'It was ground-hog day yourHonor.''
"So it was but what has ground
hog to do with whisky
"Our family has always celebrated
the day, Judge. If it is a cloudy day
we have baked goose for dinner and
congratulate each other on an early
spring. If it is a sunny day we al
ways get drunk and smash windows.
That's why I got drunk. It has been
a regular custom for years and years,
and I hope you won't hop on to me
with a big sentence."
"I can't help about it's being a cus
tom, Adam Crane," sottly replied the
Court, "nor can the people of the
State of Michigan make it cloudy or
sunny for the ground-hog. Our folks
here found you driven into a pile of
rubbish np to your shoulders, pulled
you out and brought you here, and it
is now my painful duty to give you
the cold grip for thirty days."
"Blast, the ground-hog," muttered
the prisoner.
"No swearing, unless you raise your
right hand, replied the Court. "The
fact is, Mr. Crane, there is too much
fooling with the weather, and there
are too many signs and too many
prophets. One day the goose-bone pre
dicts a regnlar old silver-plated nor'
easter, and next day Gen. Meyers
brings on a thaw. This having to use
a wheelbarrow in the morning and a
hand-sled at night has disgusted me."
"1 don't control the weather,"
growled Adam."
"Can't help that you will have to
take your little ground-hog under your
arm and go up."
Retrenchment and reform aie the
watchwords in the Nebraska legisla
ture. The Omaha Bee thus illustrates
the prevailing spirit: "In one of the
committee rooms six gas jets were
burning. Says Mr, Creighton to the
attendant: 'Bring in a lamp and put
out that gas. The state can't stand
this expense.* The order was obeyed.
Says Van Wyck: 'Here bring in a can
dle, this lamp is too expensive. State
can't stand it.' Creighton, who was
bound to be ahead in the matter of re
form and economy, saw Van Wyck and
went him one better.' Looking out of
the window, he said: 'Blow out that
candle. The moon is bright enough
for us!" Van Wyck caved.
iHAM A.V-,
New Milch Cows In The Fall.
I have noticed many articles, lately,
discussing the advantages of having
cows come in during the fall, and
many favoring dairying in the cold
season rather than in the warm.
Having had some experience in this
direction, I give you the result I am
now accomplishing, and the compari-.
son. My operations, to be sure, are
not on a small scale, but they are
satisfactory to me and sufficient for
my present purpose.
am making butter from two cows—
one a pure Ayrshire, and one a native.
They supply the family table with
milk and cream, and yield 1G pounds
of butter a week. Now, comparing
the cost of this yield now with the ex
pense of the summer yield, and the
prices obtained for both, the account
would stand thus.
WEEKLY W1NTERPRODUCT.
16 lbs. of butter at 43. per lb 6 72
WEEKLY COST.
Corn fodder(21c. daily) fl 41
Meal (Corn, oats, and bran) 46—1 93
Net profit $4 79
The summer account would be:
WEEKLY SUMMER PRODUCT.
16 lbs. ol butter at 28c. per lb 4 48
EXPENSE.
One week's pasture 75
Net profit $3 73
Excess profit of winter over summer.... 1 06
This is nearly 7c. greater profit per
pound in favor of the winter produc
tion. The estimate, I think, is a fair
one, favoring the summer, if either.
Labor is not considered in this, but
that would add largely to the advan
tage of the winter side of the account,
being much cheaper. In fact, farm
ers who have little to do in winter
may savethe whole labor account with
the aid of the "boys." The prices are
those we get here in Middlesex Co., N.
J.
A great advantage in fall dairying is
the safety with which butter may be
held for the best prices, while, in the
warm season, this is always. attended
with considerable risk. Then, too,
the butter of fall and winter is easily
made of uniform grades, and the max
imum yield is easily maintained, while
in the warm months, housewives, hav
ing but few of the appliances of a Com
plete dairy,are at the mercy of the ther
mometer and my experience proves a
decrease in quantity, and quite fre
quently a sad falling away from ex
cellence in quality.
I have seen it stated that fall calves
do not weigh as much or bring as good
prices as those of spring. I sold a calf
on Dec. 19, four weeks old, weighing
150 lbs., for 8c. a pound, or $12.08,and
a neighbor got the same price for one
five weeks old, weighing 152 lbs. This
is certainly satisfactory,
I consider also that chosing this sea
son for coming in, increases a cow's
yield annually. I have just dried off
a cow that has been milked fifteen
months. Her yield in milk in Septem
ber. 1875 averaged 12 quarts daily. In
May, 1876, it had fallen to 9 1-2 quarts
in July, grass brought it up to 11 qts.
in September it was 10 1-2 quarts and
when I stopped milking her, in the
middle of December, 1876, it was 9
quarts daily. The effect of the sum
mer change of food rallied the secre
tion handsomely and gave me a yield
which, had there been no change,
would have constantly fallen off until
the cow was dry. This increase, com
ing eight or ten months after the cow
had calved, is richer in butter and
cream than a larger flow at first would
have been, and the yield is so much
the better.
Of course this yield cannot be se
cured unless the cows are comfortably
sheltered and protected from storm
and cold. But they should have this
any way, if they are to be good for
auything in Spring and the increased
care in thus protecting and feeding
them is paid for in the increased
value of the manure alone. The ma
nure saved from cows fed with meal
and kept in extra condition is worth
far more than that collected from ani
mals simply having the run of the
straw stack.
As to the inconveniee of milking in
cold weather, it may be said that it is
more comfortable milking in a stable,
where the animal heat keeps the tem
perature above the freezing point,
than in the hot summer months and
worry of fly-time. My experience in
all these particulars perfectly satisfies
me that farm dairying is best carried
on in fall and winter,
Fodder-Corn.
Perhaps your readers will be. inter
ested in the plans followed here in
sowing, harvesting, and curing this
crop, as they differ in some respects
from those pursued and recommended
by other practical farmers.
The ground is prepared the last
week in May by plowing, and a suf
ficient number of harrowings and roll
ing to bring it into good tilth. The
corn is sowed the first week in June
with a buckeye wheat drill—all the
hoes down and working—at a rate of
two bushels per acre. Nothing more
can be done to the crop till the latter
part of August or first of September,
when it is ready for harvesting.
This is done with a Champion table
rake reaper, rigged as for cutting
wheat. The reaper is driven around
the field as in cutting wheat, and de
livers the fodder in gavels at the side.
Eight men follow the machine, arrang
ing in four pairs, each pair having, of
course, one fourth of the circuit of the
field for a "station," and a light two
legged corn "horse," like those in
common use for shocking corn. Each
pair, after taking its station, carries
its "horse" past two gavels, sets down
the "horse," stands four gavels into
the four angles formed by the "horse"
and its cross-pin, brings the top of the
shock neatly together, and ties them
with wool twine, draws out the cross
pin, and is ready for another shock.
For the eight followers, the team,driv
ers, and machine, eight acres is a fair
day's work. The stalks themselves
may be used for tying the tops, but
twine is found to be sufficiently more
expeditious to compensate for the cost,
After standing ten to fifteen days, till
the fodder is nearly cured, and is in a
tough state, the shocks are taken
down, and each tied into four or five
sheaves or bundles, the stalks them
selves, in this condition, making ex
cellent bands, and twelve or more
bundles made into a large shock, the
tops being secured either with fodder
bands, or with the twine used in the
first instance. The shocks stand in
the field till they are wanted for use.
Just here comes in the most serious
objection to the feeding of fodder
corn. There are times in the winter
weather and roads are bad, when a
deeply-plowed corn-field is anything
but an agreeable road-bed for the
hauling of heavy loads when the fod
der itself is wet.or covered with sleet,
ice, or snow, or its lower end perhaps
tightly glued to the ground by frost.
But the fodder is so charged with sac
charine matter however dry it may be,
there is danger that if stored in bulk
in a mow, or even in stacks,, it will
ferment heat and spoil. At such times
it is well to have other feed under cover
to depend upon.
An experience covering three years,
and the growth of over 700 tons of
fodder, seems to warrant the following
conclusions:
1. The fodder grows from five to
twelve feet in height, and averages
from seven to nine feet, depending on
soils and seasons.
2. Fodder grown on land of good
average fertility stands better, and
makes better feed than on soil too
rich,where the growth is too tall.rank,
and coarse.
3. The proper time for cutting is
before frost, of course, and when the
lower six or eight inches of the stalk
assumes*a yellowish tinge. It is then
ripe. If cut sooner, there is danger
of its moulding in the shock if later,
the fibre is more woody, and 'there is
risk of frost.
4. It is vastly less dependent upon
the weather for its curing than hay.
The idea that fine weather is absolute
ly necessary for its curing, and the
fear that a little rain would spoil all,
was expressed by others, and felt by
myself at first, but turned out to be a
"bug-aboo." During the cutting and
curing of the two largest crops, very
rainy weather was encountered yet
not one-fifth of 1 per cent of the fodder
that stood in the shock, and was kept
from lying on the ground, molded.
After it is well secured in the small
shocks, neither rain nor frost seems to
damage it as indeed they do not us
ually do the large fodder that has ma
tured corn.
5. A ton of bright fodder-corn is
worth more than three tons of corn
fodder that has matured grain, and as
much as an equal weight of good hay.
6. An average crop of fodder-corn
on good land is six tons per acre.
7. It may be grown at a cost,—not
including interest on price of land/nor
expense of carrying from the field to
the barn,—including expense of pre
paring the ground, seed, sowing, cut
ting, binding, and shocking, of about
$1.30 per tou.
Excessof Knowledge:
Burlington Hawkeye.
"What is a "cold deck" and a bob
tail flush'?" a young lady, the light of
a South-hill home, asked the other
evening, looking up from a newspaper
she was reading. "Why," said her
brother, "acold deck ," and it was
worth fifteen cents for a student of
human nature to note how suddenly
he checked himself, and what a va-i
riety of conflicting emotions played
over his face as he bent over his book,
and pretended not to perceive the
sharp glance of, suspicious inquiry
which his father shot at him over his
spectacles, while the silence was so
profound and awful that the other
members of the family looked up and
gazed around in dumb amazement. An
excess of knowledge is oftentimes a
burden. What does a man want to
make himself a walking encyclopedia
for?
1 Wagner and Vanderbllt.
Did you ever hear how Wagner got
his cars on Vanderbilt's road asked
one gentleman of another the other
day, as they were being whirled along
in one of those luxurious coaches over
the Hudson River Railroad.
"No."
"Well, as stories about the dead
Commodore are in order, I will tell
you. Long before Wagner ever dream
ed of being State Senator he was sta
tion agent at Palatine Bridge. While
thus employed he had the happv
thought of building these cars. In
ducing three others to join.him, he
formed a company and altered an old
car over to a 'sleeper.' Each of the
partners paid in one-half of his sub
scription to the capital stock, and,
as Wagner was not a rich man at that
time, it took about all he was worth.
"Well, after the car was built, the
next thing was to get permission to
run it on the Commodore's road. Mr.
Wagner went to New York. He first
called on William H. Vanderbilt, who
at that time did not have so much to
say about the management of the
roads as he has had for the last four
or five years. He listened to Wagner's
description of his new car, and was
taken with the idea but he told him it
was no use for him to see the Commo
dore, as he was satisfied the old man
would have nothing to do with it. He
told him, however, to go ahead and fit
up his car, put it on the road, and wait
until the old gentleman saw it, assur
ing him that he would soon hear from
him when he did.
"Wagner acted on the hint, the car
was put on, and made several trips be
fore the Commodore espied it. When
he did, he gave it a critical examina
tion, and then asked whose' it was, and
how it came there He was told that
it belonged to Mr. Wagner, and was
being run as an experiment. Wagner
was sent for immediately. When he
came, he found the old Commodore in
a towering passion. 'What business
have you to put a car on my road
without permission?' was his first sal
utation. Wagner explained the ar
rangement he had made with William
H., but this did not seem to mollify
the Commodore. 'Take your car off
the road immediately,' he said I'll
show you that I am boss of this road.'
"This was a hard blow for Wagner,
as he had invested all he had in this
experiment, and he turned away with
a heavy heart. As he was leaving the
Commodore spoke, saying: "How
many cars have you got like this?"
Wagner explained that he had two or
three more on the works that it was
a joint stock company and that they
would be ruined if they could not
make an arrangement to run their cars
on the road. 'Well,' said the Commo
dore, 'you can tell the other parties
that I will take their stock off their
hands for what they have paid on it.
The sooner you attend to this the bet
ter it will be for you. So, hurry up
now.'
"Wagner saw the point, and in a
short time he had bought all the rest
of the stock and taken it to the Com
modore. 'Let's see,' said he 'how
much did you say the capital stock of
your company is Wagner told him.
'Well, I guess we'll multiply it by four,
you can keep one-fourth, and I'll take
the balance, and we'll build some more
of them cars right away."
And that was the beginning of Wag
ner's prosperity. To-day he is a rich
man. The old Commodore saw what a
necessity these cars were destined to
become, and took his own way to get
control of them. For every dollar
Wagner has made out of them, the
Commodore made three.
Snrprisers Surprised.
From the Baltimore Gazette.
As Charles Mules and his wife were
in their home, 118 North Pine street,
Tuesday evening, the door was opened
in answer to a knock, when in rushed
twenty masqueraders in the most
grotesque and horrible costumes pos
sible to imagine. Mrs. Mules was
seated with a child upon her lap. The
little one becoming frightened scream
ed, and the mother who recognized
among the masqueraders many of her
most intimate friends,male and female,
vainly endeavored to quiet it. Mr.
Mules owns an enormous Newfound
land dog, which at once bounded up
stairs and made an attack upon the in
truders. There is no record of any
former panic where the means of
egress were taken advantage ef more
quickly than on this occasion. In two
and three-quarter seconds the house
was clear, and Pine street for two
blocks either way was filled with fly
ing figures of every description. A
devil slipped on the ice as a hailequin
ran ovei him, followed by a clown. A
negro crawled on his hands and!
knees under the steps of an adjoining
house, and other characters scattered
in every direction. Mules says that if
they ever get that party together again
he will be glad to see them, and will
chain up the "purp."
Norwich Bulletin: At one of the
churches the other day, the clergy
man was preaching to the children on
the unspeakable gift, and finally askea
them if they knew what it was, and a
little boy on the back seat jumped up
and promptly replied, "a squirrel."
MlfT I
A L1TTLK SCHOOLHVAJf,
Melinda Jane, and Kate and Nell,
It's time you learned to re^1 and spell.
Come, now, and nay your A, B, C, •$&
Hold up your heads nd look at me,
r.Vv,. j, you never a to read.
Fo
What stupid dolls you'll be, indeed I
All ready now A, and C,—
hat is the matter O, dear me I
oaiin hear one word \ou say 1
Why, Katy, dear don't turn away
Sit up again and listen,—there!
She's last asleep, 1 do declare
Well, never mind where's grandpa's cane
Now, look at me, Melinda Jane
You needn't think that this is play,
For I sha.l keep you here all day,
And make you read before you go
I know what's good lor dollies—so I
Now say A, B—look this way, Nell,
Youftpeakso low 1 can't just te 1.
Melinda Jane, why dou't you try
0 dear! I'm tirej enough to cry 1
1 think I'll stop and go to play,
And try again some other day.
"Which For Who?"
New York Sun.
A dozen men—journalists, hunters
Indian-fighters, and miners—sat
around a camp-fire on the trail to
Deadwood. Soft flakes of snow sailed
in eccentric couise through the night
air, and finally settled down into the
spluttering fire or upon the cold earth.
There were other men on the trail
before and behind. Men rush wher
ever the precious metal is discovered.
There were broken wagons, dead
horses, and human skeletons along
every mile of the trail, and fierce-eyed
Indians looked out from every ravine
and down upon the travelers from
every hill.
The dozen gathered closer as dark
ness shut down and the snow flakes
came faster, and by and by an old man
with grizzly locks and piercing eye
said, as if speaking to himself:
"Custer went in to kill. It was an
awful thing to do—to rush three hun
dred men down upon five thousand
reds, but he did it, and meant to win.
No other man will ever take such
chances."
And yet one was near by who meant
to take greater chances. So catlike
was his step that he had almost enter
ed camp before the sentinels saw him.
He was a giant in size, and as he halt
ed where the light of the fire shone
full in his face, three or four men ut
tered exclamations of surprise and
horror. There was blood on the stran
ger's face—blood on his great rough
hands—blood over his clothing clear
down to his boots. It was a terrible
sight, and, yet, as if something
further was needed, the stranger turn
ed his back to the men, and they saw
that an attempt had been made to scalp
him.
"Water—food!" he whispered as he
looked from face to face.
Both were given him, and after
drinking a full quart of water,he grasp
ed a loaf of bread and a hunk of meat,
and tore them with his teeth as a wolf
would have done. By and by, when
his hunger had been somewhat ap
peased, he said.
"It happened off this way, nigh to
twenty miles. I lost the trail some
how, and the red devils swooped down
at noon on me to-day. The old woman
and five children were in the wagon
There were forty or fifty reds, and it
wasn't three minutes before the hull
family was dead-all but me!"
His eyes blazed with fury he
seemed to grow in height, and casting
the remnants of food into the fire, he
fiercely shouted
"Think of the old woman having
her brains beaten out by the fiends
Think of the children being hauled
out'n the wagon and scalped and
stabbed and their throats cut from
ear to ear! Come on—come with
me!"
He leaped over the fire and bounded
away into the darkness, bnt presently
returned and said in a calmer voice:
"I fit, of course. It was which for
who, but they were fifty to one. I
drove 'em from the corpses. I clubbed
'em off with my rifle, but they were
too many. They shot and stabbed me
they run me to the hills they even
hunted me all the afternoon."
The giant trembled like a leaf, and
the fresh blood ran from his wounds
and trickled down in red paths over
hi* neck and cheeks and clothing. The
leader of the party tried to soothe
him, promising aid as soon as daylight
came, but the stranger waved his arms
and cried out:
"What can you do! The wolves are
feeding on my wife and children to
night their scalps are back in the
hills with the Indian devils Can you
bring life back to them Give me a
gun and an axe."
No one moved for two or three sec
onds, being spellbound by his wild
looks and words, and the stranger
pieked up a cavalry carbine and its
box of cartridges, seized the light axe
used about the camp fire, and in
another minute was lost sight of in
the darkness, calling back, as his step
was lost to hearing:
"It is which for who
Next day about mid-afternoon, the
party came upon two dead Indian po
nies, lying between the trail and the
foot of the hills, to the right. A few
yards further on was a great stain of
blood on the two inches of snow cov
ering the grass, A warrior had fallen
here and been carried off by his com
rades. There was the trail of a white
man on foot, heading for the foot
hills, but moving slowly, and there
were plain traces that the man had
halted every few rods to use his weap
ons: All along the trail were hoof
tracks of ponies, and an old hunter
shook his head and said:
"It is the man who left our camp
last night. Backthar is whar the reds
fust sighted him, and he stood in his
tracks and killed two ponies and one
injun. There was a gang of forty or
fifty reds, and the white man moved
to get among the hills and have fair
play. Jist look thar!"
Fifteen or twenty rods ahead were
three dead ponies lying close together.
The,band of redskins had made a charge
upon the lone man at this point, and
be had met them bravely. The snow
told everything. Standing in his tracks
and not lifting a foot except to turn
around, he had whipped the whole
gang! There were three dead ponies
within a hundred feet of the white
man's position, and again the snow
was crimsoned with two great patch
es of blood where the warriors had
fallen.
-Great God! but how he fit!"
whispered the old hunter, as he saw
how the snow had been trampled
HAO-TI.
"But they wounded him
here."
cw they had. He had retreated slow
ly, seeming to have no fear, and along
his trail was a track of Wood. The
first hills were a mile away, and
straight for the hills ran the' bloody
path through the snow. There were
no sounds of conflict—no red demons
insight. "Which for who" had met
early in the morning.and the tragedy
had been played before the sun was
two hours old. Again, between the
three dead ponies and the first hill the
white man had been charged by the
full baud. They had circled around
him and then charged at a common
center. One lone man, armed with a
carbine and an ax, was that center.
Thirty, forty, perhaps fifty to one, and
yet he had not weakened in the least.
On the right was a dead pony, on the
left two crimson spots in the snow.
Ahead toward the hill a horse had
fallen and struggled up, and half a
dozen trails of blood could be counted.
The Indians had given way, and at a
slow pace the white man had resumed
his journey.
"You will see a sight to make your
flesh crawl, over in the hills whis
pered the hunter,and the party slowly
advanced.
The lone man had not hurried his
pace. The yelling, howling,whooping
redskins galloping around him, firing
upon him and sure of his scalp, had
not shaken his nerve. Over the hill,
across a little valley, up a ravine, and
there was the end. The white man
could go no further,and there he stood
at bay.
"May the Lord have mercy on him,"
gasped a miner, as the little band
looked over the field of battle. There
were dead and wounded ponies there
were blood patches on the snow, and
four Indians stark and stiff,were lying
to one side, the survivors not having
horses enough to carry off all their
dead.
At the head of the ravine the snow
had scarcely a color except red. The
redskins had charged in a body, and
dropping his carbine when the last
cartridge wras gone, the lone man had
used his axe with awful effect. They
had shot him and struck him with
their tomahawks, and when life went
out he had more wounds than could
be counted. There he lay, the axe
still clutched with giant's grip, his
eyes wide open, his body covered with
wounds, and before him was a record
to prove a more terrible fight than
Custer's. He had fought fifty men
single-handed. He had driven them
back again and again, and a dozen
lives had been taken for his one.
"Which for who," he had said, and
"who" had won, but it was not a vic
tory for the red men to boast over.
When they rode out of the valley
every horse had a double burden of
living and dead, and yet some had to
be left behind.
The party could not dig up the froz
en ground to give the brave man bur
ial. Fifty miles away the gaunt
wolves were tearing at the bodies of
wife and children. As the party
turned away from the horrible sight,
gaunt wolves crept down to strip these
bones also. They rushed from corpse
to corpse, gnashing their yellow fangs,
and before the sun went down another
record of the plains and hills were
hidden from sight of the traveler.
il'k French Beggar.
A rather good story is circulating at
the present moment concerning an ex
cellent gentleman, well known for his
unostentatious benevolonce,and whom,
not to wound his susceptibilities, we
may term the Marquis Though
the Marquis can be generous and even
munificent on occasions, yet, like many
of his countrymen, he is for himself
of a frugal turn of mind, and a beggar
was by no means surprised the other
day to see hin# issuing forth from a
small liquor store, where he had evi
dently been buying some cigars, ono
of which he had just lit. The mendi
cant indeed lost no time in turning the
meeting to profit. "Monsieur," he
said, "won't you give me just ten
sous?" "And why ten?" quoth the
(French) Marquis. "Just to buy my
self a little packet of tobacco. You.
monsieur, are yourself a smoker—you
must understand my feelings." "Be
it so," replied, the gentleman, and
stepped again into the shop to buy the
coveted narcotic. Butthe beggar, em
boldened, laid a hand on his sleeve.
"If you please, monsieur, I think I
would rather have the money half in.
tobacco and half in absinthe." This
was too.much for "monsieur," who-
No Detroit woman is considered of a
literary turn of mind until she ha*
casually given in company her opinion
of "John Stuart MillOnthe Floss.'l
