The Forrest City times. [volume], November 06, 1896, Image 1

About The Forrest City times. [volume] (Forrest City, Ark.) 1871-1919

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tESTABLISHED 1871. ^ _
___ - ■— __ Fear God, Tell the Ti*uth and Make Money.” By LANDVOIGT & VADAKIN
V< 11 ' XX\L FORREST CITY, ARK., FRIDAY AFTERNCX)N, NOVEMBER 8,1896. NO. 6.
PROFESSIONAL CARDS.
^C. C. WHITE,
Physician and sdrgegn,
OfEct over Wintlirnp’i Old Drug Store.
W. H. j*lle;y7~
Physician an<* Surgeon,
FORREST CITY, ARK.
Dr. WM. CRUTCHER,
Physician : and : Surgeon
Office in Rollwafte Block,
FORREST CITY, - ARKANSAS.
I. W. JtORTOJI. J M PREWKTT.
Norton & Prewett,
Attorneys at Law.
Will practice In the Firm and Second Judicial
Circuits, and in the Federal and
Supreme Courts.
Offlc> Id KollHxf. UutldlDir. lorrr.t lItj. Irk.
It. J. IZARD,
Attorney at Law,
Forrest City, Ark.
f -- —————
The Ten Year Test.
This Is attraotlnir considerable attention
iwiiibt fence buyers. They realize that all
Wire tenees are nice when Amt put up. but
that very lew are presentable alter two or
three yeaia. Alter ten > ears service there la
but one Hble to Hnswer roll rail—
The I’age Woven Wire Fence.
Sold br H. P. DOOLF.V. A (rent,
Forrest City. Ark.
r n
AND ALL POINTS
North, South,
East & West
-take the
Little Rock & Memphis R. R.
Hates the low-cat. Time the quickest
Connections the best
Through Tickets In all Directions on sale.
For any or all Information, call on m
sddtea* J. H. BARI), Agent.
Forrest City, Ark.
Or n. VT. MORRISOX, OP* T. A.
Little Hock. Aik.
IK MOUNTAIN ROUTE
-—The—
Where Connections are Made for all Points
north, east, west
Through Pullman Buffet Sleeping
Cars Between
Memphis & St. Louis
3* DAILY TRAINS *3
♦ ♦ BETWEEN ♦ ♦
ST. LOUS AND THE SOUTHWEST.
H.C. TOWNSEND,
Gen. Pass, and Ticket Agt..
ST. LOUIS. MO.
The best located House in the City.
METROPOLITAN HOTEL.
R. D. PARTEE, Prop.
European Plan.
Corner Main and Markham Streets,
LITTLE ROCK, ARK.
Rooms 50 and T5 cents per day. Special' rates
to permanent guests.
•leetrie Cara convenient w ad Parte of City.
A FALL DAY.
A sullen mist la hanging low.
Athwart the earth's dejected face.
And all the light of after glow,
Alas! has fled through boundless space.
The visions which were bright are sear,
t 1 ■* merriment h h s ceased its voice)
’Mong all this sadness now appear
No cheerful sounds, none to rejoice.
The summer flowers now are dead,
Arc' dj Ing leaves fall to the ground;
No m< re is n- ai d the Joyous tread
Of happy children playing 'round.
'Tls thus In life's allotted share.
Some sorrow Is its dest'ned fate
All days cannot he bright and fair.
Or hearts be ever free from weight.
There Is no day. however dr-ar.
Hut what /nay come some cheery rays;
The sunny gleams, which disappear
Will cuiue and brighten other day’s.
—George Sands Johnson.
SISTER CALL1NE’S CHILDREN
HE train ran into a
little station in the
heart of the pine
woods, and the
conductor sprang
to the platform.
“Hurry up,
there."- he called, running forward to
the negro coach.
The steps were overflow ing with pick
aninnies, so black that at first sight
their small features would have been
indistinguishable hut for the wide
crease on each face, filled with even
rows of teeth, startlingly white in cod
irai-t with their sooty environment.
A fat. good-looking Degress, holding
ar. oval bundle, wrapped in an old
shawl close to her breast, seemed to l»e
t*»e center of the crowd, and un old, old
negro uian, grizzled and wrinkled, was
j hanging around its margin.
"Is you got um all, Sister Cal line?"
he asked, anxiously.
( lar if 1 knows,” said the woman,
running her eye over the company.
Tears Ink dere'soueon um missin’l"
"All aboard!” shouted the conductor,
and the train moved.
* Ha^r, mistah!" shrieked Sister Cal
line, “you'se ca'in’ off one o' my chil’nl”
The conductor laughed good na
turedly. and was gone.
“Oh."’ moaned the woman. "He’s
clone ea’ed off one on um, suah!”
The station agent sauntered near. He
wore mat intensely bored expression
only possible to a man who spends his
life in a piney woods clearing, seeing
four tmins a day go in and out aud
playing checkers on a barrel head in the
I intervals.
‘ Orter have tied ’em along a rope so’s
they couldn’t get away,” he said.
Sister ( alline turned her black velvet
. orbs in his direction.
"You call dat train back, 1 say," she
cried. "He's done ca’ed off one o’ my
| ehil’en.”
"S'pose 1 can call the train back,”
said the man, contemptuously. "If
you’re sure one of ’em is missin’ you'll
have to set down and wait here till the
Triin comes buck. They’ll bring it, 1
reckon.”
"Ob, my pore lil chile!”
Tears began to stream down the black
face.
i he wrinkled old uncle looked deeply
distressed.
"Is yu pint blank suah one on urn’s
missin'. Sister ( alline?” he asked, sym
pathetically.
Her eyes wandered vague and
troubled, o\ er the dusky, shifting crowd
of laces.
"Cse unis' puttickly suah,” she said.
"Tetter eouut ’em," suggested the
agent. "How many are there, any
how ?’’
"Here's t,u Roxy Adeline, LucyaUer—”
"i’se here, mammy!” interrupted a
long-limbed girl of 14.
"I told you to eouut ’em," said the
agent, impatiently.
"I eayn’t conn’, mas’r! I's bnwn
afore de wah. But, anyhow, dey say
dere's leben ob um.”
‘•Sister Calline," said thp old man,
tenderly, “le’s we set right down hynr
an' I'll eoun’ um fer ye. I’s a scholar.”
"You sholy is kind, mistah," said
Sister Calline, gratefully, sitting down
on the i dge ot' the platform.
The agent laughed shortly and tuined
away.
The grizzled old uncle took a red and
yellow handkerchief front his pocket
und caarcfully dusted the end of the
planks before he took his seat.
He wore a threadbare black suit
which had undoubtedly once moved >n
high society.
Sister Calline looked at him w ith in
terest.
“1 reckon dat you inus’ be a preaohei,
snh,'’ she said, deferentially.
“Madam. I is. I’s been preachin’ de
Word dese nine year,eber sence my pore
old lady died. I was a powerful sinner
ufore dot.”
Sister Calline looked awed.
“I was, suali!" said the old man,
retrospectively. “But I’s come nter
de kingdom now. sunh. ’miff, bress de
Lord. Is you got a husband, Sister Cal
line?”
“I’se a pore wudder, mistah, wid all i
dese chil’en to scuffle fer. un' tie bawd
knows what I’s gw ine ter do.”
Uncle glanced at the bundle in her
arms. It had begun to move and w him
per.
“I>at your baby, chile?” asked uncle,
innocently.
“Bis my baby,” replied Sister Calline,
looking down at the sooty mite in her
arms with maternal pride.
“My po' ole man ueber see dis baby.
tie vtas bio wed up by de biler bustin' j
in de mui where he vurked. Fie was
dun killed when dey brung him borne.
De doctors tried un’ tried to pump some
life inter him but he never spoke no
mo’.’’
"For de lau^i sake!” ejaculated the
old man. *
Compassion was written nil over his
kind old face. He had been a good i
darky from his youth up, and liis sin- 1
ful past was purely fictitious.
“What de mattah wid you ole lady you i
done Ins’?” asked Sister Calline.
"Consuinpshun!" replied the old man. !
solemnly. "It runs in our family. Ole
Cunnel Kent’s ma died ob it. an’ de < un- j
r.el’s first wife died of it. an’ lil’ m'Slis
died, too. It’s a terrible disease.”
“Dat sltoly is so!” coincided Sister ’
Calline. "’Souse my insurance nxin j
you, tnistah. Does you git you’ libin’ ’
preachin’?”
“De folks pays me some, an’ den l’se [
got a nice piece o' land an* a lil house. •
-My ole mas’r give um ter me,” said the
old man. with modest pride.
"Sho! Ain’t you toe old towuk?"
“I wuks some, an’ de ars helps me.
Fse de onliest ob de ole sarven’s lef'.
X’se 95 year ole.”
“Sho, now” said Sister Calline, much
impressed.
“How ole you is. Sister Calline?—hop
in'you'll 'souse me fer axin’.”
“I dunno V.ackly,” said Calline, study
ing a little. "I ’specs I'se sixty—gwine
on fifty."
They had become so interested in
their humble annals that the picka
ninnies had been lost sight of. They
were scattered along the railroad line,
gamboling like a menagerie turned
loose.
“Does you wan’ me to coun' you
chiton, Sister Cailine?”
“Co’se I does, llyar! You all! Come
hyar."
The children paid no attention.
“Dey needs disserplainiu’, Sister Cal
line.”
He rose. “Chil’en, chillen!" he called,
in a voice of authoirity.
“Now you-all stan’ still ontwell dis
genelman conn’s you,” commanded the
mother. “Lu Roxy, min’ yersef. Abe
Linkuin, stan’ up. Don’ scourge so!
How he gwine coun’ you ef you dodges
t'oun’ dat way?”
A mild degree of order at last pre
\ailed and the old man began.
“One, two, thee. fo\ fibe, six, seben,
nine, eight, ten! Dare ain’t only ten.”
"Dawter be leben, suah,” said Sister
Cailine. “One, what I gwine ter do?”
“I’ll coun’ urn ober agin,” said the old
man, kindly.
Sister Cailine wiped away’ her tears.
“You am so kind, mistah! I knowed
you was a good man when Hrer .Martin
tole me to keep long er you on der
train.”
“An’ I knowed you was a good wom
an when Hrer Martin tole me: ‘Y'ou
take good ca’ o’ Sister Cailine,’ says he.
Now I’ll coun' ’um agin.”
“One, two, thee,” and so on. They
went over and over this, but by no
ledgerdemain of counting could ten be
made eleven.
Sister Cailine grew more and more
distressed, and was just breaking into
hysterical sobs when the train whistled
at the next station below.
They both sprang up and Cailine
screamed to the children, who came fly
ing across the track like a tiock of
blackbirds.
When the train drew up and the con
ductor stepped off, there was Cailine to
meet him.
“Please, mistah, has you brung back
my chile?” she tearfully pleaded.
He looked at her.
“Donner and Blixen! What do you
mean, woman?”
“1’se got ’leben chil’en.” groaned Sis
ter Cailine, “an’ dis genelman has
•'I RECKON YOU MUST REA
PREACHER.”
counded uni ober and ober, un‘ dere
ain't only ten.”
The conductor ran his eye over the
group.
A score of heads were thrust out of
the coach and a murmur of amused sym
pathy stirred along the line.
•Tl-rn!”
He pulled forth his book hurriedly,
and turned over the pages.
“Pass Calliue Jackson and 11 chil
dren.”
He glanced over the huddle of black,
bobbiug heads, and hack at the woman
His eyes fell on the bundle in her
arms.
“What’s the matter with the baby
making 11?”
There were roars of laughter, and
much waving of huts and handker
chiefs as the train moved out.
“iou done counded urn wrong, mi»
tnh.” said Nistcr Cnlline. looking up re
proachfully at the old man.
“is dey all hyar?” he asked with dig
nity.
“Co'se (lev’s all hyar.”
“Den don’t dat pintedly show dat I
counded urn right?”
Sister Calline’s dark countenance
wore a troubled expression, but n« they
went along the piny woods road toward
Kentville, it gradually cleared up. and
vidien they came in front of Kent hall
it was beaming.
“Dere's de runnel!” said 1’nele, point
ing to a gentleman dressed in a white
duck suit, who sat comfortably in a
big nrmchair on the gallery.
“He’s one o' de nrs. You jes wait
here a sjh-11 ontill 1 go an’ tell him.”
“Well?” said Col. Kent, good natured
!v. laying down his newspaper. “What
is it. Uncle Dick ?”
“Use jes’ com ter tell you, runnel, dat
T’s fouii’ a good woman dat I like the
bes’ in the world, an’ we’se fixed our
min's dat we’ll marry ’fore long. We
reckons ter night is de lies’time.”
“Marry!” said the colonel, aston
ished. “Such an old fellow as you
ore!”
“I is ole for a fnc’, mns’r. lint T’se lived
alone nine years an’ It’s mighty line
some—”
“That's so.” said the colonel, kindly.
“An’ ’pears like I can’t stan’ it no
longer. An’ Sister .Taekson needs a
^E=TCL_'' II
"WHAT IS IT, UNCLE DICK?”
luisband ter help her raise herchil’en.
Dere’s leben chil’en an’ none of ’em
missin’, counten’ um right.”
"Eleven! How in the name of Gen,
Jackson are you going to take care
of 11 children?”
“Dey’s gwine take ea’ o’ me, mas’r,”
said the old man, eagerly. “Dey’s
mighty peart chil’en, mighty peart,
and dey c’n pick a heap ob cotton an’
hoe eo’n an’ taters an’ weed in de gyar
den an’ do a power of oder turns.”
The curiously wizened old face
shone as if he had just come into a for
tune.
“An’, eunnel,” he went on, I’se git
tin’ too ole ter wuk much, an’ I tinks
my meetin’ up wid Sister Calline is a
special providence. I wants ter git
de oration roun’ soon dat dere’s gwine
ter be a weddin’ down ter my lil house
ter night.”
“Go ahead, then,” laughed the col
onel. “The missis will have a cake
baked for you, and, by George, it’ll have
to be a big one to go round.”
The cake was baked in the big iron
bake kettle of ante-bellum associations,
and there was a festival in the cabin
down by the creek, which lasted into
the small hotirs.—N. Y. Tribune.
The Hunt for the Precious Card.
Howard Paul tells a good story of
Artemus Ward. He and Artemus vis
jred al a house one day, where they bad
to wait for some time in a drawing
room. Artemus discovered the card
tray, and observed that bis hosft ss had
been fortunate to obtain the card of a
noble lord, which she carefully dis
played on the top of the pack. He put
it beneath the carpet unobserved. When
he next paid a visit to the house the ea id
was back in its place, nicely scraped
and cleaned. He next hid it on the top
of the curtains. It was found again.
Then he tried behind the piano and be
neath a flower pot, but the precious
card was always got. At last he hid it
in the family Bible, and that did them.
The house went into mourning.—Week
ly Telegraph.
II ow Sli*» ( runlieil Him.
“Isn’t Willie nibbles perfectly horrid
since he came home on leave from tne
naval academy?” asked ihc linen-waist
girl. “The airs lie puts on talking about
foremasts, backstays, jibs and all that
sort of thing are simply horrid.”
“He didn’t Inst long with me,” sai l
the bloomer girl. “I found he knew
nothing about golf, so I just over
whelmed him with all those awful
Scotch words I could think of.”—In
dianapolis Journal.
\ xiWn\ IkU Atimlrn' Ion.
Hoy—Any hickory nuts in these
woods?
Farmer—Yes, lots of ’em,and I’ve got
u dog that eat a calf yisterday.
“All right, then I guess he won’t be
hungry to-day. Don’t let anybody
know how you scared me.”
(After being left alone)—“By gum 1 I
wisht I was startin’ in life agin ami had
that boy’s chance!”—Cleveland Leader.
—The Roman naval crown was
given to the admiral triumphant at sea.
It was of gold, and Ita decorations went
the pruw» of ship*
OVERHEARD IN A RESTAURANT.
bli» Wni Capable of Taking tare of
Herself.
“Come on, Johnnie. This is the table
to sit at,” fell upon my ears the other
day as I was hastily swallowing uiy
midday meal, and looking up I saw u
middle-aged woman pushing her way [
toward the table at which I \\ as sitting,
dragging a man some ten years her
senior with her.
“I beg your pnrdon, Matilda,” remon
strated the man in a meek voire, "but
the air from that pesky electric fan
j makes me cough.”
“No, it don't." returned Matilda.“this
is the sent for you, Johnnie; sit down,"
and “Johnnie” sat down without fur
ther remark.
“IT! order you some pork and beans,"
continued Matilda, taking up the hill
of fnr<* and glancing it over carefully.
“I tldnk I would like some sausage,
Matilda,” Johnnie suggested, drawing
a trembling hand over his mouth and
glancing longingly at the plate of a
neighbor where reposed the coveted
sausage.
“No. you don’t. I don’t like sausage.
It’s too greasy. Pork and beans are the
best thing for you,” and Matilda began
to give her order to the waiter, while
the old man twisted his paper napkin.
However, when he heard her order a
glass of milk for him the worm turned
and he said with more energy than he
had displayed before:
“I'll he blamed if I’ll stand milk.
W hut I want is n good hot cup of coffee.
Can’t I have it?" coaxiugly.
“No, you can’t,” wns the decided an
swer; “and to think that you, a pro
fessing member, too, should use such
words as yon do,” and Matilda slipped
a piece of sugar from the bowl and
hid it in her handkerchief.
Poor Johnnie said nothing, but a
look of rebellion lingered on his face,
as he silenth gulped down the milk
and shoveled in the pork nnd benns,
although it was evident that his indig
nation was waxing stronger with every j
mouthful. In the meantime Matilda
eagerly ate a plate of pancakes and en
joyed n piece of apple pie, although she
would not allow Johnnie to have any, -
and all the while she was slyly slipping
lumps of sugar from the bowl and con
cealing them in her handkerchief. At
last she managed to empty her plate
and the sugar bowl and was ready to
leave. Turning to her husband, who
had not yet finished his lunch, she said,
sha rply:
“Ain’t you ever going to get through?”
The old man raised his head and
turned suddenly:
"I do wish you wotildn’t be so bossy,
Matilda."
“I have to be,” was her sharp retort,
ou haven’t any sense. I’m the one
who has to do everything, and, thank
goodness, I can take care of myself.”
As she spoke, Matilda gave her head a
toss and rising to her feet started for
the door, entirely forgetting her hand
kerchief of sugar. This article of fem
inine attire, thus neglected, fell to the
floor, and half a pound or more of
sugar fell in every direction, attracting
the attention of the head waiter, who
hurried to the scene. He was not gentle
in his remarks, and Matilda became
very much scared. When he threatened
to call in a policeman and hnve her
taken to the station her fortitude utter
ly forsook her and she began to crv.
Suddenly she dried her tears and said,
with dignity:
ou sha’n't insult me in this wny.
Mv husband will protect me. Won't
you, Johnnie?" turning to Johnnie.
A wicked gleam came Into Johnnie’s
eyes as she made her appeal and a sar
castic smile flickered on his withered
lips:
“No. it’s not necessary," he said, qui
etly, moving away from her detaining
hand. “You can take care of yourself."
—Chicago Daily News.
Tli*> New Blarb Velvet Capes.
Some of the new black velvet capes
are very pretty. One of these has
straps'of magenta mirror velvet slop
ing from the shoulders to the waist be
hind, edged with jet on either side,
and ending in u fringe of black and iri
descent beads. On either side of these
straps the black velvet hangs in pointed
tabs, edged with fringe overlapping i
each other. Pointed tabs of the magen- J
ta velvet hang over the full black vel- j
vet sleeve pieces, and there is a frill of
magenta velvet down either front, and
high frillings of magenta inside the big 1
collar behind. Another black velvet
enpe lias huge revere of chinchilla and
straps of white corded silk showing be
hind, a garnet passementerie in front.
The high collar is cut into tabs and
faced with chinchilla.—London Fashion
Letter.
A New Test € loth.
A round tea cloth lately made has a
center of tine pale-blue linen, and a
wide border of white linen. The center
| is applied to the white cloth, a tinecoid .
is sewed around its edges, ami oxer this ,
cord it is button-holed in white silk. :
' Sprays of bachelor buttons begin on the ;
blue center, but branch over on the j
white border. The white border has :
its edges worked with xvhite silk used ;
to buttonhole the artistic scallops that i
finish it. A pretty cloth that is similar
to the one described has its center of :
jale green, the embroidery of maiden- !
; hair ferns, and the edge of the white
border, which is cut like turrets, worked
in green, in a long and short button
hole stitch. Under the turreted edge
of the cloth a heavy white lace is laid
j with a little fullness.—Y, Post.
NO LONGER CULTIVATED.
The Motile Art of I'nlng One's Fist* ScleB
tUleallf.
We wonder if there is at this moment
an officer in the British army or navy
who would care to pull off coat, waist
coat and shirt and to fnoe a stall, art
bruiser w ith ''nature’s weapons,” espe
cially if his antagonist were far heavier
and bigger than hin^elf. It is not that
modern young me* of rank are less
plucky than their predecessors; but
that boxing l.us, unhappily, become an
obsolete.
A more recent instance may be noted
of a not dissimilar encounter, the hero
of which was a British naval officer.
Not long after the outbreak of tlie
American civil war the English ship on
board of which the present mntquis of
Queeusberry wus serving us u midship
man chanced to put in at .New Orleans,
which hud just been taken and occupied
by the fedcrals after a rather feeble
defense on the part of the confederate
garrison. In 1«»>2 the animosity be
tween the two belligerents w as at fever
hent, and the officers and crews of
r.ugnsn vessels wnicn toucneu at mat
greut southern port were accused, not
always justly, of sympathizing warm
ly with the confederates. The natural
result was that when officers of the
navy met officers of the American navy
ut the hotels and barrooms, of which
New Orleans''.}* full, the materials of a
very pretty quurrel between them we re
easily kindled, so as to burst quickly
and spontaneously into a Hume.
Admiral Hnn. Augustus Hobart, who
afterward passed into the Turkish
naval service and became Hobart
l’uslia, relates that he was present one
evening in May, IStiU, at a scene which
lie avowed made him proud of the blood
flowing iu his veins. His young com
patriot, Lord (jueensberry, then in tns
18th yeur, got into an angry con
troversy at a burrooin in New Orleans
with an American nuvul officer, much
older and bigger than himself, on the
subject of the rights and wrongs of the
dispute which hud set the two sections
of the American republic by the ears.
Straightway the two excited disputants
betook themselves to the street outside
with the intention ot settling their dif
ferences with nature’s weapons—the
fists. Admiral then captain—Hobart
watched the fight, if so one-aided un
affair can be dignified with that name,
vvitli intense anxiety, which, however,
was not of long durutiou. After tbrea
rounds the American officer, though far
heavier than tiis boy antagonist, let it
be clearly perceived that he had had
enough, and the young English middy
stood triumphant over his vanquished
foe. “This come*,” remarked Cupt.
Hobart, “of knowing how to use your
fists: an accomplishment of which no
officer, either in the army ot navy,
ought to be ignorant.”
In like manner, we are told, in an ar
ticle which has just appeared in
Haily’s Magazine, that Mr. John Ciully,
formerly member of parliament for
Pontefract, told a young friend of Ilia
that, if fie could have Ids way, no Eng
lish boy. w'halever bis rank, should be
allow ed to go forth into th<* world with
out having ucquired ut least a rudimen
tary knowledge of the art of boxing. It
is impossible for any young man to pass
througii 11* years of his life, especially
if lie visits foreign countries, without
being confronted with einergeuciea
when he is compelled to show what
mettle, or, as the Americans say. “grit,”
he has iu his composition. If as a boy
he has been i aught even the elements of
what used to be termed “the noble art
of self-defense,” he wilt know how to
comport himself with calmness, manli
ness and self-reliance when suddenly
called tipon to meet a challenge or re
sent an insult. If. on the other hund,
he is totully ignorant of boxing, his po
sition will lie neither dignified nor
enviable should he find himseif face to
face with a seemingly resolute and
skillful boxer.— London Telegraph.
The Canton “Window Miracle.“
What was the Huai outcome of the
Canton “Window Miracle?” Headers
of the Republic remember that ubout
four years ago the Catholics of Minne
sota and Iowa, and, in fact, of the whole
United Slutes, were more or less ex
cited over the alleged miracle. It aj>
pears that ut Canton, a little town in
southern Minnesota, a picture was dis
covered in a pane of glass in the Catho
lic church. The faithful claim to lie
able to see two of tile shadowy images,
one of a woman and the other of a child,
which appeared to them to re
semble the Virgin and the child. The
freak caused much excitement for
awhile, but the interest finally waned
without the wonder being explained,
us far as w e know.—St. Louis Republic.
It Would Attract Attention.
“What would you advise me to wear
this w inter to attract attention ?” asked
an elderly spinster w hose cheeks car
ried an extra quantity of rouge.
“Well," sa d her dressmaker, "you
might try the sign: ‘Fresh Paint.’” —
Harlem Life.
rrunce'i* Wheat % ield.
The yield of wheat in Prance,owmg
to tlio earful cultivation of the soil and
the large quantities of guana and other
fertilizers employed, is 17 bushels per
acre.—Chicago Tribune.
I’erliuent.
Anarchist The land should be as
free as the water.
(ioldby— Perhaps; but would you use
it anv more Uluu you do the water?—
N. Y. Truth.