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ALONG THE ROAD TO PRUS.
How bright the srene anl fair— What îuerry music played — Tli» re's neither grief cor care. r weary ioot; rints made; Liu s ««Totest rose« grow. And all the skies r.re blue. And all the rivers pleasant flow Along the road b> 1'rue. My heart is gay and glad. My fret how swiftly light: There are no fountain* sad To murmur through the night, No nightingales to sigh. No avenues of rue. No grewsome tarns to wander hy Along the road to 1'rue. Love rules the heart aloue. Nor is it swayed in vain. A hope that se ul doth own That cannot think of pain. And joy and peace and mirth Are dreams "Utblosomed true; 'Ti« all of fc.-ncen and naught of earth Along tie i i i to True. And when the journey's o'er I see her like the light That gi v..- at evening's door To beautify the night. And in her presence 1 My golden dreams renew . And bless the h . r that bade mo fly Along the road to i'rue. •THE HEAR IN." A stone's throw out of Para lise grew the only tree in Devil's Basin. As Devil's ilr sin comprised a stretch of country some twenty miles broad by a hunt!re I long, the reader will readily undersf'.nd what an object of pride and veneration tills tree must have been to the rugged hearts of Paradise. It was so horribly yearning, so grimly menacing—tlint noose—that I have shivered many a time as I passed it and looked around fearfully over my shoulderliki l am O'Shanter chased by the Kirk Alioway crew. A thing that heightened my wonder was this: Whenever I asked an in habitant of Paradise why that noose was there, his mouth would shut up like a steel trap and a peppery look would settle over his face hut never a word would he utter. One day I begged Jim Littel to go riding with me and Jim, who was al ways ready for anything not too sug gestive o manual labor, immediately placed himself at my command. When we had driven a short distance from town. 1 produced a bottle of brown fluid much used In cases of snake-bite (as well as other cases) and invited my friond to take a lift ;:t the National liebt —which he did. net only once but many times. When J considered him sufficiently voluble I halted directly be .ide the old cotton wood so that the black noose hung above us. ■ Jim." said I, interrupting a flow of war reminiscences which were start ling, to say the least; "Jim, I want you to teil me about that noose. Como, now. What is it there for?" He looked up at the rope very earn estly for a moment then deliberately mounted the carriage-seat and kissed it Getting down again, he murmured, "It's the honor of Paradise,—I beg yer pardon, " and ho lifted the bottle to his lips. •■But I want to know all about It." I persisted. "It's gallin', very gullin'fur to say anythin 'bout it. It's waitin' for the deakin, y' knew, which samo deaktn of I had 'int hore I'd hang up higher'n a kite, you can bet on that!" ••Who was tho deacon? What did he do?" Jim l.ittel took the bottle from his lips, drew a deep sigh, wiped away tile moisture with his coat-sleeve and looked at me pensively. "Him? Do? I'll tell yo. Ho was a long, slim, parson kind of a chap an' he looked so holy when he first came to Paradise that Bill Waller— him as runs the Cowboy's Best—sez •that hain't no common tenderfoot, Jim Littel. that hain't, sez he—an' that same Bill was os clever a reader of human natur' as any one I ever see, an' I've seen a good many of 'em. For instance, old Zonas Blinder. •• Well, Waller,' he sez, -That hain't no common tenderfoot, Jim Littel. He's good, he don't lie or steal, er drink, er play cards, er en joy himself in any way howsumever— mark them words. Le's call 'im tho deakin,' which we did an' I must say he proved to bo a model chap. Good, powerful good, infernal good, alto gether to dern good. I beg your par don." ••Well, what did this abnormally excellent person do? " ••That's it," said Jim Littel bring ing the bottle down on his knee with a thump, • • what did he do? What did he do! I'll tell you what he done. He moved around in Paradise so soft an' did so many nice things with them lit tle white hands of his'n that he got our confidence, which is to say, tho confidence of Paradise, singularly and collectionably, which is to say of every one from Hon able Jezebel Jim son—d'you know 'im? No? Uster be in congress. Jimson did; powerful, bright, pow-er-ful! You've heard how Wesh n'tou was the father of our country? Well, Jimson he's the fathur of Paradise, ho is, made it, sir." "You were speaking of the dea con," 1 ventured, in the endeavor to dravsnay voluble friend back into tho rut: "what did lie say?" • T beg yer pavdon. Well, this here noose is waitin' fer that good man an' he'll fill it some day. see if he don't. It's been bangin' there waitin' fur him fur these five years an' the honor of Paradise, which is to say of me an' Jimson. an' all the rest is wrapped up in that piece o' rope doin' it's duty." As he hesitated here and seemed to be fixing himself to ask my pardon again. 1 laid a restraining hand on his arm and commanded him to tell me faithfully, what the deacon bad done. "Td be sure. Y'see we was boldin' high at the Cow Boys Rest one night, playiu' carda an drinkin' un whoopin' 'er up generally when, all to once, the door opened an' in come the deakin. S'prised? Well f should say we was. Waller's j'int was a place thv deakin fought mighty shy of an' wo couldn't say a word for a minute er two. Thea I so', •come up an' Have one with me. dekin?' an' Buster Blue nose—t »rnation good feller. Know 'im? No? Well Buster made room for 'im at the poker table an' invited 'ini to take- a hand, but the deakin se no. He sez •! didn't come here to night fur to drink au' to gamble, hea ven knows. I come here to-night, ' sez he—the deakin — un a errand of mercy to my feller-men'—an' them was his very words, 'a errand of mercy to my feller-men. Tho stage was held up this side of Commonwealth.' sez he, -an' they was a feller as got shot an' dragged 'imself to my shack over there on tho Blackfoot trail, jest riddled with bullets, an' he's dead now—peace to his ashes'—sez he, the deakin, mind ye. which the same deakin sez further, 'an' that ain't the worst of it. They's a little gal with 'im—a little chick of a thing with yellcr hair an' big blue eyes— she's near gut a fit'—them's tho (leakin'* own words- 'she's near got a fit. Oh. boys,' sez he. il'you know how that little gal with yellow hair reminds me of— of ono I lost a long time ergo.' She reminds me of Flos sie—my own little daughter as would climb up onto my knee an'--' jest then the deakin caught hold of the bar an' saved 'iiuself a fall. He took a drink to brace 'ini. -That's the first in years,' sez he, 'but it's done me good.' Wo was all affected an' biowiu' our noses, an' coughin' an' lookin' at somethin' else pertendin' not ter be. Then tho deakin breaks out ug'in, chipper like, 'Now. boys, I come down hero to see if wo couldn't among us chip in a sight fur that Ut ile yeller haired gal?' He passed Ground 'is hat an' wo tilled 'er up. He thanked us with big tears in his eyes for our liberoolality an' lit out- Then we-er-un—I beg yer pardon." • What became of the little girl?" I asked. He kicked the dashboard savagely. ••Won't none. Wan't no robbery, no shootin'. no man (lyin' up to his shack, no nothin'. He jest corno it over u*' that's what ho done an' we'ro y -t waitin' to come it over him. that's what we'ro doin an' you can bet, Mr. Wlint's-yer-nume, that we'll play square with that oncry limb if it takes a hundred years. All Paradise is in terested. I bog vor pardon." Alter this, as the liquor was out and ho had no more pardons to beg, 1 could get no more out of him so wo drove slowly and pensively back to Paradise.—Detroit Free Press. REVERSED. Thus It Now Keadc <#o to the 8lii";nrd, Thou Ant. There was a certain woman that was a sluggard. Mho performed not tho duties of her household as a virtuous housewife should; she rose not with the lnrk, neither with the hen. nor with tho early bird that cateheth tho worm. And she toilod not day by day, but worked when it pleased her; and when it pleasoi her not, she loafed. And she laid up no treasure of corn, wine and oil, nor of scarlet and fine linen; she neither span nor wove; baked nor browed. But she sat still a-drenming and set traps for sunbeams and lay in wait for bright-wingod thoughts and spent her breath in words, mere words, albeit some were written down. Then came the ant and built her house near by, that the sluggard might como to her as was commanded, and consider her ways and be wise. Now, the ant was very numerous. She built her houso and stored it with food and laid myriad eggs and tended thorn, and her eyes stood out with virtue. Also, she knew it and marveled that the sluggard came not to consider her ways and be wise. But the sluggard stayed at home anti minded her own business. Then arose the ant, armed with a strong sense of duty—for she could wait no longer, knowing the exceed ing sluggishness of the sluggard. And. truly, the ant was far more numerous than tho sluggard, but not so big. And tho ant wont into the house of the sluggard and exhibited her ways that the sluggard might consider them perforce and be wise. And, verily, the sluggard did con sider the ways of the ant—how sho rail up and down, continually doing tho same thing; how sho took a hun dred to consult over ono crumb; how sho had no soul above her victuals and her indistinguishable eggs, which were no improvement on their indis tinguishable mothers, and how she abounded in the meal and the flour and the sugar and the molasses. And tho sluggard arose and gave thanks for the wisdom that had come of considering tho ways of the ant And she took of insect powder one talent and laid it broadcast-in the ways of the ant as she considered them, and the ant went from the house of the sluggard in a dust-pan__Wasp. No Bacilli About It. A distinguished foreign physicianl paying a visit to the Berlin Medica. institute, found Professor Brioger bus ily at work in the laboratory, sur rounded by a most formidable array of chemical and bacteriological utensils. The professor's sole attention and care, however, appeared concentrated on one particular vessel, which was en veloped by smoko and steam. • Guess what I am boiling here," said the pro fessor to the visitor. The latter be , gan to enumerate the entire scale of micro-organisms. • 'Micrococci?" • 'No." •Gonococci?" "No." "Spirochetse?" "No." "What then?" "Hot sausages," replied Brieger.—Argonaut. THE FARM AM) HOME. CONCERNING THE BREED OF SWINE TO RAISE. What lire oil or smile to IlaDe. ! This has been a problem with bo | ginners in swine husbandry, as well a* some older and more experienced S farmers, writes John M. Stonebrnker , in the Practical Farmer, who have been unsuccessful in t'.ie business. To I hear one man extol a special breed of his fancy, and so oil un(il we have , the \ .ole catalogue of ill ■ different breeds culogi. ed to tho highest point of perfection, one would indeed bo in I a dilemma, and ea h of these it may , bo ace acting in good faith, although it is often (lone with a selfish motive and to accomplish personal ends, and with the intention to deceive and mis : ioad. Is it any wonder the inquiry goes out—what breed of swine shall I ; raise? We look around us and see a ; very successful orender of Po'.and-Chi nas. another of Berkshire* Chester Whites. Duroe Jerseys, and many oth ! er distinctive breeds, which might lead ono to think that any of the i breeds are good enough. We should cast our eyes a litllo further and count up or observe tho failuies of many breeders who try to raise certain specific breeds, and inquire into the causes of their failures. I allures in swine breeding is no ex ception to the general rule of other stockmen who breed other classes of ! stock. It is not every horse-breeder I that can make a success ip breeding i trotters or roadsters, or draft horses : and other different breeds. It seems j each man has a peculiarity or natural : gift who makes a success of his j breeding stud, and it is undoubtedly , none the less true with swine breed ers. YV e must first find out our abil ity to handle certain breeds, and to know if the climate, soil, and all other requirements are congenial to the breed we have undertaken to raise: if not our time and expense are lost and disappointment will re sult You go into some of the hilly Eastern states and you find the Ches ter Whites predominate, and in other sections tho Berkshire» prevail, and tho Poland-Chinas have a still wider range, and no dsubt they are more largely bred to-day than any other distinct breed, and receive less criti cism; but tho fact remains that they do not fill the place in every domain of this wide world: they are not thero, nnd are found wanting. But where climate and other influences are con genial they are a profitable hog. The Duroe Jerseys are becoming popular, and their friends claim they are the most productive and the best suited to a wider range of climatic in fluences. and will thrivo under less favorable circumstances than others; but, notwithstanding all these facts, the breeder, to be successful, must be wide awake and love his calling suf ficiently well to prosper. To keep abreast or the times it might be neces sary to be schooled as un expert in the score card craze or hobby, and again it might be well to guard against all fanaticism. It is the well bal | anced mind that is tho most successful in his profession, be it as a breeder of stock or any other occupation. What ! breed of swine to raise is a difficult ! question to answer. The fancy of tho breeder, together with the locality or I climate, all would go to help decide the question. About Citant.«. Your correspondent, B. W. H., writes H. Stewart to the Country Gen tleman. will find tho wooden churn tho best under all circumstances if he will only use it rightly. I have used the wooden churns for thirty-live years and never found any trouble such as he complains of. They are made ol per fectly seasoned wood, quite free from all woody flavor, and when properly used they never shrink or swell, as II. says his does, or become sour. Tho churn I now have in use is nearly ten years old, and as sound as when new. It is on the care of a churn that its durabil ity and perfeet condition depend. Perhaps your correspondent does not know how a wooden churn should be kept in use; his remark about sunning seems to indicate this at least. I would suggest the following way to him: First, procure n churn of the best make—I know of none of metal, nor would I recommend one of that ma terial—wood is the best and entirely free from objections when properly cared for. Before it is lined let it bo well rinsed with boiling water and dialned. then rinsed with cold water und immediately drained. It is then roudy for the cream. After churning, it is thoroughly drenched with cold water until it is quito free from milk; the crevices should be cleansed of all remains of the cream, and after a thorough cleunsing. boiling water is poured in and tho churn rotated sev eral times quite briskly to reach every part with the water. It is then drained dry and left in an airy place, in tho shade, to air. YY'hen dry. it is put away in the dairy and covered with a clean cloth. A churn should never be exposed to tho sun. There is no necessity for it It is injurious and quite unnecessary. The sunshine does no good; it is rath er injurious than otherwise. It cheeks the wood, and instead of protecting the churn from injurious germ* it en courages these by tho exposure of tho churn to the air, which is always charged with them. Metal churns have been used, but always with more or less objection, as they are subject to rust and the acid of the cream pro duces poisonous compounds with the metaL There is no reason why a churn should ever smell sour. If it is thought advisable to take any precau tions to prevent it. the churn may be ! given n coat of shellac varnish, nod this will prevent any absorption o'. milk. Wooden churns are used in the creameries without any objection and with perfect satisfaction. Cook.-d I I lor >urine. The question for cooked or uncooked food of swine is one that cannot be decided by any narrow series of ox ! périment*, • and the fact that farmers are ab >ut equally divide 1 regarding J the question, show that there is merit and demerit in th - results. Reasoning from our own natures, wo would un hesitatingly say that cooked food would make not only the most but the best pork. Nearly everything which wo eat is digested and assimilated better when it is cooked. Nature in preparing her food for man and ani mals generally surrounds it by tough, fibrous substances, which can only be masticated with difficulty, and then di gested at a great expense of energy. Cooking often soft,-ns and moistens these coverings, so that the stomach is greatly helped in its work. Fork is laid on the body of swine only according to the quantity of food \v*hirh is digested and assimilated, and not according to the quantity that is eaten. Many pigs are great feeders, but they do not get fat. it is a com mon symptom of dyspepsia and indi gestion to have a ravenous appetite, but this does not make the per-on fat. Oil tho contrary, all of the food is taken into the stomach to help over load it, and no good results follow. The majority of tho experiments have shown that cooked food thu- ben efits swine, and that they improve faster and fatten better when fed with cooked food than when kept sololy on raw. But another point mu-t be con sidered. Cooked food by aiding tho digestion also makes it possible to j produco better pork, and the swino I that have been properly kept in other ways will have sweeter and jucier and tenderer pork for having had their food cooked. Tho only question that remains is, does this extra quality and quantity of pork pay for the time and trouble spent in cooking food? As suredly it does in many cases, but each farmer must decide that for him self. It is not such a difficult matter I to cook the food when the arrange ments are made for it on a large scale.—American Cultivator. Feeding. Economy in feeding is not true econ omy if it is done by attempting to re duce the allowance nt the expense of j production. Something cannot be had : from nothing, and animals will not be ! productive if they are deprived of the j necessary materials pertaining to the objects for which they are intended. I Feed liberally, but without waste. Farm Note*. Sunflower seed ground is fully equal to linseed oiliueal as a feed for sto-k. YVith the exception of poultry drop pings, sheep manure is the richest on the farm. Stunted auimals of any class do not : make as good use of tho feed given them I as do the more thrifty ones, even under ! the same conditions. i The proportion of the different nutrient* i needed hy an animal, varies with the age und the purpose for which it is kept, and the class to which it belongs. I Any animal that does not make a good ! gain in proportion to the amount of food ' supplied should be considered scrub, j whether native or imported. It is often the case that a variety of i I wheat removed from a distance requires j 1 one or more years to become sufficiently I acclimated to do well. Of course it is not j always the case. j If corn stalks can lie run through a feed cutter they would make a good bedding. Otherwise they make fresh manure very | inconvenient to handle, and they are not • 1 a good absorbent. j ! In feeding,,even with hogs, it ia possi- j Ide t» over-feed, and they will not do as I well as when fed just enough. At no time should animals lie fed more than they will ^eat up clean at each meal. I The enrlier in an animal's age full feed ing cun be resorted to tho better, in order to secure a rapid growth. This will near ly always be found the case whether the auimals are raised for market or for breeding. DoiueAtic Dot'«. A howl of quicklime kept in the cup board will quickly absorb the moisture, if there be any. Ordinary rublior ink erasers, it is said, will quickly remove rust from polished cutlery without injury. In bottling catsup or pickles boil the corks, and while hot you can press them into the liottles, and when cold they are j tightly sealed. 1 so the tin foil from com pressed yeast to cover the corks In some new table cutlery the handles of tho knives are of Dresden china to mutch the table service. »Salad spoons and forks are of wood, with cut glass ' handles, and the glass handle carving knife and fork accompanies these very frail-looking implements. To allay itching in some cutaneous af fections a very pleasant application con sists of tho freely expressed juice of a lemon diluted with four or five" limes its bulk of water, to which a few drops of cologne have been added or the sumo quauntity of rose water. This is very cooling. The walle- plato is a great addition to the tableware. It may lie had in plain c hina or handsomely decorated; the for mer cost 81, the latter Si to S3. The per foration^ in the top admit the escape of steam, to that the cakes may he kept warm, yet free from moisture. The deep bowl gives ample space for the half-dozen circles of do'.icioug brownuess. Flavoring butter with tho odor of fresh flowers is one of the arts of the French peasantry. The process is very simple and consists of putting the little prints! which have first iieen wrapped in a thin cloth, into a tight porcelain dish on a bed of roses or whatever blossoms are chosen. Among tho flower* which give the most desirable results are clover and nastur tiums. Elderberry wine is said to possess great medicinal qualities, and it is particularly lieueficial where the system is reduced from long sickness. To make it, gather ripe elderberries, press out the juice, al low one measure of sugar and water each to every measure of juice, put in au open vessel and skim every morning until clean ■ j bottle and set aside for threo month fore using. ABOUT MY L VOV'S FUKS. WHENCE THEY COME AND HOW THEY ARE DRESSED. Vh.s T.i Everybody knows th; the As tor fortune. E not have known '.hat ve pennies have been turn in the great fur mai t. of them. Ni ni Novg >r a no, one daring trader market on Persian lan t far founded erybody may y many pretty by traders At the chief d. not so Ion" cornered the buying the hie: at -omething like liiteen :ie -kin. Within a year astrak * the rage, and tho speculator : at a! out 0 tier cent profit ■ take* it name from tile I'rov f Astrakhan, in which huge f cui ly sheep are kept wholly e of their s tins. Those of loves die young of birth. Their ale- to tho weird hem tnat tho n.rrie -in ti t >en minutes ■ ins ■ onie in huge bale* •astern city that is the la * .t o:i . arth for such uns ■handlse. 1 or there you go', too liter, the rare blue an Siberian wolf not to mei pat sir ns. for rug*. 1 wo animals are bred h ro u g ho u t M an t elioori a. hing i am lvnx. •r .lion dog and nth the last extensively Indeed, dog industry. A r: Ma.tchoo belle's dowry is so many dogs and bales of their skins. Next to this source of supply comes the Hudson Bay Company, says tho N. Y. Recorder. Afterward tho agen cies scattered over the western and northern United States. Though fur bearing animals are plenty enough in the south, their hair is not close and fine enough to give the skills commer cial value. American furs come chiefly from the bear, otter, lynx, mink, beaver, skunk and muskrat. Opossum and coon skins are likewise native, but hardly worth mention among lead ing sorts. If America furnishes the raw ma terial you must go to London for the trimmings. Tho fresh skins, packed in salt, all go there for finishing. Whether owing to trade secrets jeal ously guarded or some peculiar qual ity of Thames water no man can say, tint the fact remains that sealskin London dyed is unapproachable for softness, gloss, good color and wear ing quality. To secure ail theso is a work of time and patience. The short vel vety pile is over-grown sparsely with long gray-white hairs. They are plucked out one by one with tweezers. Then the prepared skin is stretched, fur side up. on a cloth board, and dye applied with a brush evenly over its surface. Great care is necessary to keep the coloring matter from reach ing the skin—it would rot and ruin it. Three coats are needed to give tho rich lone known ai "seal brown," which is as unlike as possible to tho natural lightish brown gray. After the last coat is dry the skin passes to an especially skilled worker, who looks it all over; if there are bad spots, ho cuts them out and deftlv sets in a good bit in place of them, and finally decides what manner of garment will best come out of it; also from what sections shall be cut par • ; I i j t ; I - i ; ! i I ! I I j tieular parts. The matching fur, ns it is called, is a nice operation. In all animals there is a wide difference both of growth, thickness and color between the middle part, which covers the backbone, and the edges, lienee the wrong side of any fur garment looks pretty much like a war map, or the plot of a now suburban town. The right must match to a hair, and only thus can that result bo brought about Nearly all sorts of skins go through tho samo process. Presumably they eomo into the dressers' hands dry and | hard. Tho first thing is to soak them in warmish water till they are as soft as the day they left their original oc cupant.8. Then they are carefully ile.-ihed with a blunt knife, tho edges i tr.mmed, and put by dozens into a big drum that steam keeps revolving at a lively rata Sawdust is packed thickly over and through them as they go in. For common furs oak or pine will do. Fine ones get sawdust from cedar, mahogany, rosewood, walnut, or box wood. I ho last is so high-priced that ! it is reserved for sable and ermine. For ten hours or more t he wheols go merrily round, skins nnd sawdust churning about inside. Next, as they eomo out each pelt is rubbed liberally on the hair side with rancid butter— the stronger the better. After that it is palled many times diagonally over a blunt knife fixed above the work man s head. This is to secure pliancy and an even grain. Tho final curing process is packing them in other re volving drum* with tiour, instead of sawdust, for another ten-hour dance. Hera too, sable .and ermine assert their aristocratic supremacy. They are given a bath of corn starch. lirmino edged the knight's robe, bordered the king's mantle and the queen's robes of state. For such pur poses it was spotted with small black tails skillfully sewn in. Their num ber, us well as the width of band al low able, was strictly a matter for court regulation. rr, , , , The wherefore of this flour bath ia to remove superfluous grease. The free n1 d ,. Sk D 1 S ' U ' 0 9hakun or beaten free of l and go on to those who cut and sow them. , ., ™ilnn d ■ * n woU ' nald occu - fnrmh'o nnl r H 1S " nu £ ht >' uncon » im iff it ,- 0'' summer is the sea ', a . nd th ' nk of sowing seal (apes and bear boas with tho ther mom oter at 90. The wo.-k requires a Uve h d *For e i° f 8k '' 1 " nd falrl >' ,ucra - wholly T \ " aS , reC " , ' dcd as wholly tho province of tho hand worker, but the ingenuity of Inventors lould not rest till it had produced a »««** * for sewing gloves, by help nt' - ono girl may do tho work of th Iiore, as in most other Z the; o is room at tho top pj work of any sort is more thu? paid. Designers indeed ,, . n that compare more than b f„ **** with more pretentious c;iiij n , of them nre of foreign bidh J1 °* fur cape, madam, was -?' 00 grown and dressed and ei in these United States. ' vas m°«t like!, L>ul "nä se*,* HE WOULD STARS "1 nt , '' r " ,1,< ' ' "'B » «enteil It. ^ A comely young women, ivssotl, with a verv •■«fljA » Pl'fitt V fj* * fully rounded figure, Brooklyn Bridf York Advertiser, ma '•iteiail] , ... ecompunied bv well-bu.lt, muscular youn«« apparently her husba MH , n,! - She was woman upon whom no man couldtL: but with admiration ----- l09 ) nul she attract*) ' Pair *4* D-s and finally loo)., universal att through the « together. Opposite them middle-aged man, evident! the world in comfortab! stances, who at once t'jna upon tho face of the hub tinned to stare at h • «eat*; vvoll-dr^ I ' a Ka n II ÇU'cu®. 1 his ' and coo.* sr with such an«.. • !" tont * 0,,utln >' 1,1 attract attend from every one m the vi.-bbtv tu IMr — Ï .dare, and was evidently confined ; embarras- ed at its continuance, pi true that tho middle-aged mau Oidaffl make any sign or offer any iidvanav or betray any of those attempts at fJ miliaritv that are practiced by o»W He simply looked and kept 'lookhV not turning his face away once, and making but brief answers to remark I by a young man who was with him. Meanwhile the husband of the ladt had been gradually worked up to a i Pitch of great indignation nt the j action of the unwarrantable starer, The lady spoke to him quietly anl' t "'a* evidently desirous of avoiding j scene, and made a little start to re. strain him as he roso from his seat The husband, however, was now ir furiate J, for, in spite of the lady's dis. eomfituro and the husband's ire. U? cold unimpassioned, but persister; -taro was continued. The passerait became interested, and it was obvims ; that something exciting would soot I occur. Tho husband got up. white with indignation, and stepped across - the aisle and put his hand on the i shoulder of the middle-aged man. acd in a straightforward, manly way said this: ; "Sir, you have been staring at that ! lady long enough. Y'uu have not i taken your eyes from her face since, I sho entered this car. Your staring!! not only an impertinence, but it is in sulting and you must stop it" Of course tho other pa-sengers ex ported a row at once. The lady wash evident trepidation, and it was evident ! that for her sake, if not for the sake ot decency, the young husband would I have plenty of help should he need it I to deal with the offender. But there j was a sudden and indeed dramatic re vulsion of foeling when the middle aged man, instead of showing fight,said this: ••Really, I beg your pardon, sir. 1 had no intention of air oyiug the lady. I assure you I did no; know what I was doing. I could not see her, tor I ABRAHAM LINCOLN. am totall y blind, as this young maa who has charge of me will tell you. Artists Tried In Vain to Produce a f®M trait of the Man. Tho question of looks depended iti Lincoln's ease very much upon hit moods. The large framework of hi* features was greatly moditfed by til emotions that controlled them. Tbi most delicate touch of the paint* often wholly changes the expretiioo | of a portrait; his inability to find that one needed master touch cause« th« ever-recurring wreck of an artet'.* fondest hopes. In a countenance of strong line* and rugged masses like i Lincoln's, the lift of an eyebrow, the urve of a lip, tho flash of an eye, the movements of prominent muscle! created a much wider facial play thin in rounded immobile countcnane* Lincoln's features wore tho despair * every artist who undertook his trait The writer saw nearly ad" ! ono after the other, soon after th# nomination to the presidon-y, attwa the task. Thoy put into their pkj tures the largo rugged features, strong, prominent lines; / made measurements to o®*" exact proportions; they - -pe'.rlJsC somo single look, but the picW ______ _____ renmined hard and cold. Even before these paintings were finished it *» plain to soo that thoy were unsstis!» 1 '' tory to the artists themselves a® 4 much more so to tho intimate friends of the eye and curve of tho lip. long gamut of expression from S 1 * to gay, und back again from the licking jollity of laughter to rioua, far-away look that with P phetic intuitions beheld the awful p*« oi-ama ol war, and heard the cry ^ oppression and suffering. ' lhere . f *£ many pictures of Lincoln: there I* UUILU UIUIU BU LU IUU --- of the man: this was not he who*®"*" spoke, laughed, charmed. Ttie ? " ture was to tho man as the gr#j® sand to the mountain, b? the the living. Graphic art was po**v less before a face that moved thro-iS a thousand delicate gradations o> and contour, light and shade, g P ar ^ 4 many pictures ui ........ portrait of him. In his case th* , such a difforonco between the , literal shell of the physical ui»a the fine ideal fiber, temper >' nd ^ ration of hig spiri t; the extreme* » i » 0 f ar anart t h a t no photograph ® painting of the former could *** , even an approximate representation the latter.-Century, __!___ ' a sea gull—An unsuspecting. i sailor in the hands of land-sharks-