Helena weekly herald. [volume], May 31, 1888, Image 1

About Helena weekly herald. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1867-1900

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Volume XX2.
Helena, Montana, Thursday, May 31, 1888.
No. 27
#\t itlcchlji ^(jcralil.
R. E. FISK D. W. FISK. ». J. FISK
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-o
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FISK BROS., Publishers,
Helena, Montana.
THE HAUNTED GUITAR.
1 It rir.ps no more in roundelays,
t And blithe ballades of other days;
Its voice is hushed that once could lure
i The love of maid and troubadour!
The slender hands that soft did stray
I Across its strings are dust today,
And dust the heart that throbbed to hear
The chanson of the cavaber!
Of old. In fair Provence, where song
Is sweet, and life and love are long.
The mystic music in these strings
ODCe thrilled with heart imaginings.
A woman, from her casement wide,
Soft clad and slender, starry eyed.
Leaned out, with parted lips, to hear
The love song of the cavalier.
A sob I that stifled the sweet song.
A cry ! the river sped along.
Fleet flooted, bearing on its way
A mantle, crimson dyed, a gray
And upturned face whose lips would frame
The soft words of a woman's name.
While o'er the waters echoed long
I A fragment of that broken song.
This the story, this recalls ' , *
The old guitar upon my walls.
And in the dusk I sometimes hear
The fingers of the cavalier
Stirring among the strings and keys
Strange horror haunted harmonies;
And through the gloom there glides along
The ghost of that unfinished songl
—Ernest De Lancey Pierson in The Curio.
FORTUNE'S FLOWER.
A h. Norah. yet the grass is wet—'tis early timet
you're out!
.ltd, sure, the sun and you, my pet, should light
us turn about.
The buds uncurl, the swallows whirl, you lead the
year astray;
And what's the happy news, my pearl, that warms
your heart to-day ?
Ah, can't 1 trace the darling face I've loved for
twenty years?
Au-l don't I know the April grace where smiles
just touch the tears?
There's store galore your basket fills of blossoms
golden gay.
But more, ashore, than daffodills you're bringing
home to-day !
A fotir leaved shamrock ! happy hour ! that prom
ise must come true;
And lucky flower that owns the power to bring
good luck to you !
At other's tread it hides its head, and crouched
away in fear,
And pushed its four leaves forth instead the mo
ment you drew near.
And what's the boon the omen brings? for wealth
you'd never seek ;
And health and bloom were mocking things to
such a Mayday cheek ;
A secret's cheap those eyes would keep!—I know
the happy lad —
But, Oh! oue lover's rapture deep will leave a
county sad.
—Cassell's Magazine,
BARGAINS.
B«* pr**st a ruby on her lips, whose burning blood
shone through;
Twin sapphires bound above her eyes, to match
their fiery blue;
And, where her hair was parted back, an opal
gem he set—
Type of her changing countenance, where all
delights were met.
"Will you surrender now," he said, ''the ancient
grudge you keep
l'ntinng nud unuttered, like murder in the deep?"
•'1 thank you for the word," she said; "your gems
are fair of form
But when did jewels bind the depths, or splendors
still the storm?
There is no diamond in the mine, nor pearl be
neath the wave,
There is no fretted coronet that soothes a princely
grave,
There is D(T fate nor empire in the wide infinity,
Can stand in grace and virtue with the gift you
had from me.''
LOVE'S' IMAGINING.
tear love, I sometimes think how it would he _
If t In vu abouldst love me; if, ou such a day.
O day of wunder! thou shouldst come aud say,
I love thee; or but let me guess thy plea—
If once thine eyes should brighten suddenly;
If once thy step should hasten or delay _
Because of me; if once thy hand should stay
A needless instant in my own! Ah. me!
From such imaginings I wake and start.
And dull aii l worthless life's endeavors seem
Before the tender beauty of my dream—
And then 1 whisper my impatient heart,
"Be still, be comforted, O heart of mine;
Thou art not all bereft; the dream is thine."*
lli'liestill Goodwin in The Century.
A < 'lirions Negro Superstition.
There is an old "darky" superstition
which still holds a place in the minds of a
great many of our colored population.
"When the first thunder storm of the year
comes the superstitious negro makes a
beeline fur the nearest river or cret^. He
may be seen watching the rolling waters
for some time, till at last he spies a dark
object on its surface. He grabs it as it
Heats near the bank. With one exulting
exclamation he binds the object around
bis w rist and goes his way in peace, se
cure, as lie thinks, from the rheumatism
«nd kindred ailments. What was the
object? The skin of a water snake. Snakes
R ro said to shed their skins when lightning
first appears, and the negro believes that
winding a snake skin around his wrist at
this time exerts a counteracting influence
on nearly all diseases.—Charlotte (N. C.)
Chronicle.
A Natural Inquiry*
••vrwii we put up for congress this year?"
ftfked one local statesman of another.
''General Dashern. He's bound to be
elected."
"Can he command votesP
ou bet he can; more than any other man
In this district."
"How much is he worthP-Merchant Trav
eler.
OPORTO'S RUBY WINE.
CURIOUS AND INTERESTING FACTS
ABOUT ITS MANUFACTURE.
Among tlie Vineyards of a Band Where
Toil Is Made Picturesque and Musical.
Treading Out the Blood of the Grape.
Testing the Juice.
The Alto Douro district in Portugal,
whence the wine comes, comprises
series of steep acclivities and narrow
ravines extending some thirty miles along
the River Douro (Golden river) and vary
ing in breadth from five to ten miles. It
Is situated both in the provinces of Traz
os-Montes and Beira, the first named con
taining by far the larger portion. The
area of the vineyards is estimated at
about 8G,000 acres. In order to prevent
the loose and flaky soil in which the vines
are planted upon the steep sides of the
hills from being washed away by heavy
rains, the ground is cut away in terraces,
forming a succession of steps, their sides
banked up with walls of masonry. These
rows of terraces line the sides of mountain
after mountain, like cyclopean staircases,
and on some slopes as many as 150 may
be counted, rising one above another.
The population of the wine district is
small, and as a considerable amount of
labor is needed for the cultivation of the
vine there is ample employment for vint
agers, male and female, who flock thither
at the proper season from remote regions,
many coming from the province of Galicia
in the north of Spain. The vintage in
September of course attracts the largest
influx. Dancing and singing on their way
to the vineyards come bands of peasants
to the gathering. Women with red and
yellow kerchiefs tied over unkempt
tresses, and with bare legs, may be seen
aud heard—for their singing, more or less
melodious, is an invariable accompani
ment of the work—all over the hill sides
culling the bunches of fruit with small
hooked knives. As the berries are thus
detached and the unripe and unsound
fruit removed, they are thrown into
baskets borne on the arm of the vintager.
These are emptied into large baskets,
holding nearly a hundred weight, which,
when filled, men, with sheepskins to pro
tect their shoulders and plaited straw
knots on their heads, hoist on their backs,
and, moving off in Indian file, bear them
along the rugged winding paths and up
and down the steep flights of steps to the
press house.
TOURS OF INSPECTION.
At the principal quintas agents of the
port wine shippers take up their quarters.
Thence they sally forth on daily tours of
inspection, for the purpose of ascertain
ing that the wines their houses have con
tracted for are fairly and honestly made,
that uo unripe or unsound fruit gets into
the lagares, and that the conditions under
which the pressing and fermentation take
place are favorable. Bullock carts go up
and down the dried up stream gullies,
over rough bowlders, jolted violently and
discordantly creaking; droves of nimble
little donkeys, with pig skins full of wine
dangling on either side from a strap across
their backs, or bringing bread for the
vintagers, wend their way along zigzag
bridle paths, and farmers witli wine sam
ples and peddlers with their packs on
mules equipped with jangling bells, jog
leisurely over the mountain roads.
Twenty or more varieties of grapes are
used to make port wine. For the most
part they are black, thick skinned and
pulpy, yielding an ample flow of saccha
rine must. Arrived at the press house
they are at once shot into the lagares—im
mense receptacles constructed of solid ma
6onry, with sides about three feet high,
and holding enough grapes to produce
from ten to thirty pipes of wine. When
the lagare is filled the grapes are leveled
with a hoe, and a gang of men is told off
to tread them.
The wearisome operation of treading is
begun by men, who step into the lagares
with their white pants rolled up to the
thigh, and their arms resting on each
other's shoulders. With measured steps
they advance and retire across the lagare,
raising and lowering their feet alternately
at the word of command, "right," "left,"
as though at squad drill. As the juice
flows, and the fruit is reduced to a pulp,
a livelier movement follows. A fiddler
seated on the edge of the lagare saws
away at some merry tune, while some of
the treaders join in with fife, drum aud
guitar, playing and treading simultane
ously. »Songs and shouts swell the up
roar. It is a difficult task, despite these
ebullitions of enthusiasm, and frequent
nips of brandy are served out by the over
seers to keep the lazier and weaker at the
task, which is wearisome in the extreme.
Women looking in at the windows ex
change jokes and laughter with the men.
THE FIRST TREADING.
The "sovar o vinho," or first treading,
is kept up with occasional halts and re
lays of fresh men for about eighteen
hours. After a long interval the treading
is resumed. The fiddle strikes up anew,
the drum rattles, the fife squeaks, the
guitar twangs, the overseers drowsily up
braid. By this time the grapes are pretty
•well trodden, and the men, being nearly
worn out, listlessly lift one purple dyed
leg after another far into the watches of
the night. In testing the quality of the
mash a large white convex saucer is used.
One of the treaders balancing himself on
one brawny leg and holding up the other
allows the liquid to drip from off his heel
into the saucer. This is tasted and the
amount of sugar determined by the Saccha
rometer. This instrument also indicates,
after the treading is completed and the
juice is left to ferment, when the hatter
process has gone far enough. The
stalks and skins of the grapes
form a thick crust on the top of
the must, which is then drawn off
into large tonels holding from ten to
thirty pipes each; the superincumbent
mass of stalks and skins is heaped up in
the center of the lagare, and the juice re
maining in them is squeezed oiit by the
leverage of a huge beam of wood, usually
the trunk of a tree weighted with a large
stone The wine thus obtained is sepa
ratehr tasked and kept by itself, as its
quality is not up to the arerage mark.
Until the end of December the wine re
mains undisturbed. By that time it has
cleared and has a deep purpie
then drawn off its lees into other tonels,
when some pure grape brandy 18
it. Empty pipes are sent up from OpOTto
in the ensuing spring to the Q^tas,
where the wine is duly racked under the
eyes of the shipper's agents. These pipes
are transported by bullock car ' _ rrv
Douro, where flat bottomed crafts carrv
them down the stream, which is swift
and difficult of navigation, and rendered
still more dangerous by numerous rapids.
Their destination is the wine shipper's
lodges or stores at Villa Nova de Gaia, a
transpontine suburb of Oporto.—New
York Press.
STORIES THAT MIGHT BE TRUE.
Tins DISCOMFTITED CAPITALIST.
There was once an alderman who was ap
proached by a capitalist on the subject of
municipal economy. Said the capitalist tc
the alderman:
"I have in my pocket an ordinance which
I am sure would greatly benefit the public
in this city were it passed. I have also $500
in my pocket which I intend, seeing that you
are a worthy man, to present you with."
"Sir," replied the alderman, "I have goods
enough to content my modest wants, and do
not care for your money. As for the ordi
nance, I will look on that at the proper time.
And now, as I am already late for prayer
meeting, I trust that you will excuse ma"
TUB MAX AND HIS UMBRELLA.
Once upon a time there was a man who
had no umbrella, although it chanced to be
raining very hard. He stepped into the
office of a friend and said to him:
"I would like to borrow your umbrella. I
will return it in an hour."
"Certainly, with pleasure," was the reply.
It was then 2 o'clock in the afternoon. At
one minute of 3 the man appeared in his
friend's office and returned the umbrella.—
Merchant Traveler.
She Got Tired.
Her husband was a writing editor. H«
wrote the serious editorials. His wife did not
read them. She had sense, too. She and her
husband used to hold long discussions on
serious and important public questions, in
which, of course, he did all the talking. But
it flattered her that he should think enough
of her intellect to discuss such subjects with
her, and she was happy. One day she had
nothing to da It was raining, she could not
go out, and she had no interesting noveL So
she picked up the paper, and her eye fell on
an editorial. It sounded familiar somehow,
and as she read on she found in it a whole
lot of ideas that her husband had laid down
in a very simple, affectionate kind of a way
in one of those discussions. It dawned upon
her, the whole schema She said nothing;
but very soon after the husband began work
ing the conversation round to some abstruse
subject. She gave him free way for a while»
Then she rose up:
"Now, John," she said, "if you want to try
your editorials on a dog, get somebody else
to be the dog."—San Francisco Chrouicla
DR. R. S. STORRS.
A Minister Appointed Member of a Park
Commission.
Rev. R. S. Storrs, who was appointed
to fill a vacancy in the Brooklyn Board of
Park commissioners, is one of the leading
ministers in the Congregational church,
though now he is one of the oldest. He
is a large, florid, handsome man. with a
very musical voice, which adds greatly to
the charm of his delivery in the pulpit or
on the rostrum. His church is the Church
of the Pilgrims. Here he preaches every
Sunday to an intelligent and refined con
gregation, whom he holds by his scholar
ship, his experience and his earnestness.
He has a great ad
vantage over
most of the cloth
Ln being able to
speak extempora
neously. and thus
from the heart.
At the time of
the celebrated
Beecher trial, Dr.
Storrs, who had
been an Intimate
friend of Mr.
Beecher, was un
derstood to lean
toward the views
of Mr. Beecher's enemies, and has nevei
since been looked upon with favor by
those friends of Mr. Beecher who contin
ued steadfast in hi3 support. Both were
Congregationalists. both eminent men;
indeed, while Mr. Beecher lived they were
the two most prominent Congregational
clergymen. Both were members of the
Congregational society. As soon as the
charges against Mr. Beecher were formu
lated Dr. Storrs left that association and
started another, which was disbanded
only a few months ago. Dr. Storrs never
appeared upon any public platform, either
for church or other purposes, with Mr.
Beecher after the Tilton charges were
made publia After Mr. Beecher's death,
however, he spoke very kindly from his
pulpit of the dead preacher.
Dr. Storrs has at times appeared upon
the lecture field, and has been one of the
most prominent of the old school lecturers
who held possession of the lecture field
before it was given over to sensationalists.
He bas published both some of his ser
mons and his lectures. At the opening of
the Brooklyn bridge Dr. Storrs was the
orator of t&e day.
DR. K. 8 STORRS.
He Could Understand It.
"You have studied the Russian language?"
"No, but I think I can understand it."
"If you haven't studied it yon certainly
cannot understand it."
"I believe I can, though."
"What makes you think that?"
"I am constantly reading letters which are
written by typewriter operators." — Ne
braska State Journal.
What We May Expect.
Collector (some years hence)—Twenty-five
dollars, pleasa
Widow—Why, what for!
"Was not your husband struck by light
ning last week?"
"Yes, he was."
"I am collector for the American Electric
trust. Twenty-five dollars, pleasa"—Omaha
World. _
A Conscientious Child.
The Minister—And what kind of man,
Flossie, do you think you will many when
you grow upt
Clara—Why don't you answer, Flossie?
Flossie—I hardly know, sir; I don't think
it's right for me to think about marriage
until Sister Clara is out of the way.—Life»
Gentleman—I suppose you make as many
trips up as down during the day, don't you,
sonny?
New Elevator Boy—Yes, sir; in the morn
ings when the people are going to work all
the trips is up, and when they close up in
the afternoons all the tripe is down.—Judge»
BROOKLYN BRIDGE.
TWO HUNDRED TICKETS PER MIN
UTE DURING "RUSH HOURS."
A Steady Stream of Shop Girls, Working
women and Men, Morning and Evening.
Patrons of the Footpath—Startling Sta
tistics—Cost and Profits.
The day on the bridge begins early. At
G o'clock in the morning the cars begin to
run under a minute and a half headway.
The crowds pour in and what is known as
the "rush hours" begin. These are hours
of hard work for every one, from the
superintendent of the road down to the
humblest brakeman. The little dummy
engines that run the three car trains from
the station out to the point where the
cable connects with the grip rush back
ward and forward, puffing and snorting
and making a tremendous amount of
noise.
This is at 7:30 on the Brooklyn side.
About 75,000 New York business men and
workmen, who use Brooklyn as a bed
room, are getting ready to launch them
Belves into New York. At 7:45 the stream
is at high tide. At two glass covered
boxes within the spot where three men
are laboring with frantic energy to give
out tickets and make change, two stal
wart men stand to see that every passen
ger deposits a ticket. These men need to
be alert and quick eyed, for 200 persons
per minute are passing by these two glass
ticket boxes. It may seem easy work to
watch 12,000 tickets per hour dropped in
to a glass box, but the guards say it has
the effect of giving one the vertigo.
From 7 o'clock until 8:30 the stream of
humbly clad shop girls and working
women and men is kept steadily up, and
some twenty odd thousand passengers are
carried over the river. Three cars start
each minute and a half, but in the sec
onds that they are at a standstill each of
the cars is amply packed with ten tons of
humanity. This rush is kept up until
9:30 o'clock, after which there is a lull,
the number of passengers passing the
ticket offices falling gradually from 12,000
to 6,000 per hour. Approaching noon it
is even less on the Brooklyn side, but
after this hour on the New York side the
thousands that thronged to New York
are hurrying back again, and after 4
o'clock Brooklyn begins to regain its
population at the rate of from 200 to 300
per minute.
PATRONS OF THE FOOTWAY.
Of course these figures deal simply with
the railway. The footpath is less patron
ized now than formerly. There were
354,304 less persons who used it last year
than the year before,. I -«pite the fact that
any one who wishes to buy tickets by the
bunch may walk over the bridge and get
the finest views imaginable for the not
astounding sum of one-fifth of a cent.
The footway is popular only on very mild
days, when it is the resort favored of good
looking nurses with distracting French
caps, who wheel baby carriages and ad
mire the big policemen. The receipts of
the footway last year amounted to some
thing over $ 16,000, which would scarcely
pay its expenses, and it has l»een proposed
to make it free. This will scarcely be
done, for making it free would be throw
ing it open to tramps or worse charac
ters, and making an increase of police
necessary.
The bridge railroad hast year carried
27,940,313 persons, an increase of 3,911,
046 over the year before, and the receipts
in money from it were $768,768.79. The
fare is three cents per passage or ten
tickets for twenty-five cents. The general
average of passengers upon the bridge
road is about 90,000 per day, but upon
foggy days, when the ferries are ob
structed, the figures sometimes reach 125,
000. In other words enough people pass
over the Brooklyn bridge every day in the
cars to populate three or four towns out
west, elect a few congressmen, build
several railroads, get up corners in wheat
and pork and bring out a presidential can
didate.
SOME MORE STATISTICS.
But there are some more statistics with
which not one person in a hundred even
of those who cross the bridge uaily are ac
quainted and familiar. One million forty
seven thousand nine hundred and sixty
eight vehicles crossed the bridge during
last year. Each vehicle is estimated to
carry three passengers. This estimate is
taken by reason of the number of funerals
that daily pass on their way to Green
wood, the great "City of the Dead." The
receipts from vehicles were $65,743.20.
The total receipts were $850,724.23. It
may be interesting to know, too, that the
cars during the last year made 2,171,484
single trips and traveled 2,442,470 miles.
In other words, had the tracks of the
bridge continued right around the world
the bridge cars would have girded the
world pretty nearly 100 times.
The bridge cost $15,000,000. It is
worth it, but it has not yet paid it back.
Its sources of revenue are various. The
stone arches under its approaches have been
walled up and are rented as ware houses.
It charges the telephone and telegraph
companies for laying wires on the bridge.
The total income for the bridge from all
sources for the year was $938,281.21 and
the net profits were $323.864.56. Ii has
been necessary to lay out most of this
sum, however, in rolling stock and in pay
ments for real estate. Exactly 2,070,600
lives of humanity were conveyed across
the East river in 1887 without a single
life being lost. That is true enough to
be startling, and startling enough to be
untrue. However, it is true! When you
consider that for a part of the day trains
are running but a minute and a half
apart, and carrying 12.000 passengers per
hour, and that even at the dullest part
of the day they are but a couple of min
utes apart, this record is simply amaz
ing.—New York Mail and Express.
. Fruits of Experience.
Life Insurance Superintendent — Great
Caesar! Another $100,000 gone on Mr.
ßtrongman; dead at 40.
Secretary—Yes, sir, and the president of
the Thirty Mile a Day association is very
low. We've got $50,000 risked on him, and
then there's Bullyboy, the champion sprinter,
just buried, $20,000 gone on him, and we had
$500,000 risked on stroke oars, pedestrians,
pugilists, eta, all dead within a week.
"There isn't a moment to loosa Telegraph
all the agents to insure the sick and dying.
If we don't get more invalids and fewer
athletes we ll be swamped."—Omaha World.
Applause at the opera is cheap—to be
obtained for a song.
GATHERING A CITY CROWD.
Experience of a Waggish Club Man at a
New York Drinking Fountain.
I have a friend of the clubs—as mad a
wag as ever lived when the humor of his
before dinner absinthe is upon him. We
were crossing a public square, one balmy
evening last spring; 6 o'clock had just been
screeched at us by every factory whistle
withing hearing, and the sidewalks were
a swarm.
"I'll lay you the dinners," said my
farceur, "that I can create a riot here in
side of five minutes."
He stopped at the public drinking foun
tain and took up the tin cup that was
chained to it. The passers by stared a little
to see so elegant a gentleman stop to drink
at a common fount of cheap refreshment.
Several halted, after goinir on a few
paces, to look back. He filled the cup
deliberately. The waiting several had
become a score. He raised the cup slowly
toward his lips. The score grew to fifty.
Suddenly he dashed the water into the
basin and filled the cup again, only to
again empty it untouched. By this time
we were encircled by so many people that
they could not be counted, and I could
hear such observations and inquiries all
around us, as:
"He'll drink it this time."
"Bet you the drinks he don't."
"Must be dirty."
"What is it?"
"May be the cup leaks."
"He must be some crank."
"What ails him, anyhow?"
"May be common water isn't good
enough for him."
There was also addressed to him,
through this running fire of comment,
many more or less friendly and disinter
ested suggestions and instructions, like:
"Wrench the cup out" from a motherly
fat woman, poking her umbrella at him.
"Have a stick in it," by a man with a
shiny black hat and a shiny red nose.
"Tell the waiter to open another
bottle." »
This sally, which proceeded from a
young man in crossed barred trousers,
with a very large and massive cane, which
he carried like a yard stick, was hailed
with such applause that a park police
man found himself called upon to inter
fere; whereupon my friend hurled the
cup into the basin with an expression of
the face indicative of great disgust and
loathing, and shoved his way out of the
crowd as quickly as he could. We could
hear the roar of voices and the sharp
rapping of the policeman's club when we
turned into the restaurant, a block and
more away; and I learned by the papers,
next day, that the shiny red nose and the
shiny black hat slept in a station house
cell on a general charge of disorderly con
duct and the utterance of murderous
threats against some person or persons
unknown.
It is the same crowd that inspects the
sewer hole into which a shiny man de
scends, the cellar excavation where the
men are not working because it is wet
weather, the house Mrs. Langtry lives in,
or the man at the fountain. This same
crowd will invest a shop window where a
pasteboard cobbler is stitching at a paper
shoe under the propuLsion of the heat
from a gas jet, or rather under a three ton
safe that is being hoisted up to a tenth
story window by a rope that may be rot
ten and machinery that may be on the
point of giving way, for all the thought
they give to it, or p^ck a street where
some roofers have left a tar pot boiling
while they have sat down or. a doorstep to
eat their dinner. The qnal ty and quan
tity of amusement an average New York
street idler can extract from an hour's
stare at an untended tar pot will, no
doubt, ever remain a mystery to you and
me. But such as it is, he extracts it, and
is, to all appearances, quite satisfied with
his bargain.—Alfred Trumble in The
Argonaut.
Hair Spring of a Watch.
The making of the hair spring is really
the most delicate operation about the
manufacture of the watch. The wire is
received in spools, and is nothing more
than a round thread. This is run between
hardened steel rollers and flattened, and,
being wound on the roll, is then drawn
lietween diamond dies, which give the re
quired thickness and width. The spring
must be of exactly the same width and
thickness, and before being used is tested
on a register which marks down to one
two hundred aud fifty thousandths of an
inch.
To show to what fineness this meas
ures, a hair placed between the jaws
marked 400 5 , and moved forward half
an inch registered 365 0 .
Of course, every one knqws that a hair
varies in thickness, but that it should be
so exactly measured is a surprise; and
when it is remembered that the hair
spring of a watch cannot vary even so
much as the variance in a hair from the
human head, the delicacy of the operation
will be emphasized in the imagination.
The wire is received in lengths of 1,500
yards, and in this entire length must not
vary 3°, or one-thirtieth of what a hair
varies in half an inch. The spring is then
cut into lengths of twelve inches, and
these are wound, four at a time, and very
quickly, the tool resembling a large pen
holder, and turning from the end, into
the shape of a spring and of seventeen
coils. The wire is hardened, but winds
very easily, and is removed from the
winder in copper boxes.—Globe-Demo
crat.
A Iiunstetl Planet's Slivers.
Between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter,
at a distance of about 250.000,000 miles
from the sun, there revolves some 265
little bodies whose diameters vary from
8 or 10 miles to 200. Whether they are,
as Professor Young once described them,
parts "of a planet spoiled in the making"
or not is unknown, and perhaps may never
be solved. But certain it is that there are
almost numberless little celestial bodies
of this character, whose revolutions
around the sun are performed as uner
ringly as those of the larger planets. They
are called planetoids, from two Greek
words, which mean resembling a planet
or wanderer.—Public Opinion.
Plant* and Babies.
Doctor—I'm afraid you don't tako the baby
out doors often enough.
Mother—Nonsense. She catches cold every
time she goes out. I'm sick of this air bath
foolishness»
"But, my dear madam, you know flowers
can't get along without sunshine"
"Well, flowers can't get along without wet
feet, either."—Omaha World.
THEATRE AUDIENCES.
HOW THEY DIFFER IN CHARACTER
ON CERTAIN NIGHTS.
Boston's Sit Distinct Classes of Theatre
Patrons—Some Observations of an Ex
perienced Manager—Saturday Night the
Best of the Week.
Probably few theatre goers of this city
realize, as do the theatrical managers,
that there are in Boston six distinct
audiences of amusement seekers, and that
they have special nights upon which they
attend the theatres. So marked are the
audiences on different nights of the week
that one manager in this city has a name
for each night, which he has given to it
mainly on account of the character of the
audience which he expects on that day
to see in his house. For instance, Mon
day is lithograph night; Tuesday, de
ciding night, or assistant critics' night;
Wednesday, train night; Thursday,
"night out" night; Friday, society
night; Saturday, everybody's night.
Asked to give his reasons for thus naming
the nights, he said: "On Monday, unless
there has been a large advance stile or the
indications are that there will be a good
sized audience drawn by the special merit
of the performances, we give out what
are known as lithograph tickets. These
entitle the holder to admission to the the
atre in return for the privilege he has
given us of hanging in his shop window
or in his store our lithographs and small
bills, or, perhaps, are for the use of a
bill board in a good location.
ON MONDAY EVENING.
"It is on Monday evening, usually, that
the theatres change their bills, and so
the opposition on that night is generally
felt more than on any other, and if there
is room it is desirable to pay off the lith
ograph or advertising debts on that night
in preference to any other. There are more
of these tickets issued than managers
would care to acknowledge, and they are
generally well represented on Monday
night, and so I call that night 'lithograph
night.' Of course, on Monday we get the
regular critios and the first nighters, who
are always on hand to pass judgment on
every new actor or play, but the dead
head is plentiful on that night, and I
recognize him in my nomenclature.
"On Tuesday night we can generally
tell from the receipts how the business is
going to be for the week. If the house is
larger in money than it was on Monday,
we assume that the performance has
pleased the public, and has been well
spoken of, anil that the receipts will in
crease nightly for the rest of the week.
Therefore 1 call it 'deciding night,' as it
generally decides the business. On that
night, too. we get those who never attend
the theatre until they have lead their
favorite daily paper, and learned the opin
ion of the newspaper critic concerning the
play and players. These are the assist
ant critics, and they are influential as a
class. Wednesday night is 'train night,'
because on that night the late trains
especially designed for theatre parties
were run and brought into the city theatres
crowds of persons living in the surround
ing towns. This name is not so perti
nent as it used to be, as now on nearly
all the roads out of the city there are
trains run late enough to permit of out
of town people visiting the theatre, and
reaching home at a fairly reasonable
hour.
TITE "NIGIIT OUT" NIGHT.
"Why do I call Thursday night out
night? Well,I do not want to disparage
Thursday night, for we get a strangely
mixed audience on that niiçht, but we are
always certain to have a large contingent
of servants on that evening, as that, by
some unwritten law, seems to be the even
ing when the 'help' have their night out.
The upper tiers are always well filled on
Thursday evening by stout, healthy look
ing young girls, accompanied by their
sweethearts, and I tell you they make a
spendid audience for the ordinary attrac
tion, as the illusions of the stage are to
them realities. An actress who cannot
make them cry or a comedian who cannot
make them laugh should speedily retire
from the business. On Friday we expect
to see the more fashionable personages, as
on that day, for superstitious reasons or
for other reasons, there are are fewer wed
ding receptions, balls and social events
than on any other night of the week. On
Friday night we also expect to see a great
many of our Hebrew patrons, more than
on any other night of the week, although
they are great theatre goers, and are
found in goodly numbers on every night.
"Saturday night is the best night of the
week for many reasons, and the audience
is more mixed on that evening than on
any other of the week. The gallery is full
of working people who have been paid
their week's wages and are seeking en
joyment; the clerks and shopkeepers are
there with their sweethearts and wives,
knowing that they can rest on Sunday,
and the front rows are full of Harvard
students, more especially if there are
heathen goddesses on the stage. The
nearer the representatives of the heathen
goddesses approach the originals in form
and raiment, the nearer the students get
to the staee. You mustn't ask me why
this is. I only state facts. An experi
enced theatrical man, acquainted with the
city, could tell you what night of the
week it was by just looking at the audi
ence, if he had no other means of know
ing."—Boston Herald.
The Best Window Dressers.
The other day one of these masters of
his art was asked: "Who make the best
window dressers—women or men?"
"Men, by long odds. Women are a
failure at it, in fact. Strange, too, isn't
it, with the average American women's
exquisite taste in combining colors she
cannot fit up a window with the resources
of a store at her command? I'll tell you
why. She cannot execute a general de
sign, and, not to appear ungallant,
neither can she appreciate it. Stand with
a crowd of women in front of a window
which is worked into one grand design,
and you will find nine out of ten of them
have discovered each some particular
piece of stuff that she likes, and doesn't
see anything else in the window."—Chi
cago Tribune.
He Wouldn't Tell Her.
Wife (anxiously)—I would like to know,
Robert, what pleasure you find in smok
ing cigars.
Robert—I won't tell you, deary, foi
you would want to learn to smoke your
self. See?—Texas Siftings.
STORIES ABOUT MEN.
A Telegraph Operator Relate« an A Dee
dot* About Conkling.
"Years ago I was employed by the Philv
delphia, VYilmington and Baltimore railroad
at the junction, a few miles out of Balti
more," said a telegraph operator. "One af
ternoon an unusually handsome and athletic
man entered the little station. 'Does the
limited express for Washington 6top here F
he inquired. 'No, sir,' 1 replied. 'Can you
stop it?* 'Not without orders from the main
office.' *1 will explain my situation to you,'
said the stranger, 'in the hope you will do all
in your power to aid ma 1 came from
Washington to intercept at Baltimore a
gentleman who is on his way from New York
to the capital. He is on the limited express.
It is of the greatest importance 1 should see
him before he reaches Washington. A rail
way conductor directed me to the Union sta
tion, where, he s;ud, the limited would 6top,
but I lost my way, and wandered here after
a long trama'
"Telling him I would see what I could do
for him, I telegraphed to Philadelphia for
permission to stop the express» 'You might
use my name if yon think it would be of any
use,' said the gentleman. 'And your name
is'-said I. 'Conkling—Roscoe Conkling,'
replied the gentleman. I flashed over the
wire; 'Senator Conkling wants me to stop
the limited express for him to get aboard.'
The answer came back: 'How do you know
it is Conkling? 1 Turning to him, 1 6aid,
'Philadelphia wants identification.' 'Will
this ùoV he asked, displaying a handsome
gold watch with the initials 'R. C.' engraved
on the casa At the same time, either by de
sign or chance, he removed his hat, Grasp
ing the key I ticked these words to Philadel
phia: 'Letters R. C. on gentleman's watch,
but 1 know he's Conkling by his flat ling
red beard and the Hyperion curl of Nast's
cartoons.' Straightway the sounder rapped:
'Stop train by order H F Kenney genera)
superintendent'
"Conkling was profuse in his thanks As
the express shot around the curve with him
safely on board he made a courteous gesture
of farewell to ma" —Cincinnati Enquirer.
Two Stories of Congressman Pettigrew.
I heard two good stories today of Petti
grew, of South Carolina, the great lawyer
and Unionist, which 1 had never heard be
fora He was practicing at one time before
a judge who was a Presbyterian of the
straightest sect and a very hard working
officer. It came to be Maunday Thursday,
and Pettigrew and the Episcopalians and
Roman Catholics thought they would like an
adjournment of court over Good Friday.
Pettigrew was selected to make the motion.
"Your honor," he said, "I desire to move
that the court adjourn over to-morrow."
"15 hy should the court adjourn over to
morrow, when the docket is so crowded 1"
asked the judga "Because," said Pettigrew,
"to-morrow is Good Friday, and some of us
would like to go to church." "No," said the
judge decidedly, after a moment's thought,
"the court will sit to-morrow as usual."
"Very well, your honor," replied Pettigrew,
adding, as he turned away, "I know there is
a precedent, for Pontius Pilate held court on
the first Good Friday."
The same judge was a great stickler for
etiquette, and when one hot July day Petti
grew came into the court room in a black
coat and yellow nankeen trousers the judge
took him sternly to task, asking him whether
he did not know that the rules of that court
required its counselors to appear in "black
coat and trou -ers." "Well, your honor," said
Pettigrew, innocently, "I submit that I am
within the rule, for I have on a black coat
and trousers." "But they're not black
trousers," insisted the judge; black coat and
trousers means that both shall be black."
"Then," said Pettigrew, "I call your honor's
attention to the fact that the sheriff of this
court is in contempt of its rules, for they re
quire him to attend upon its sessions in a
cocked hat and sword, and while his hat
seems to be cocked his sword certainly is
not." The judge said no more about the
trousers.—Philadelphia Record.
now IV. J. Florence Was Saved.
Florence says the first practical joke that
was ever played on him was the means of
getting him out of a scrape, and he has felt
kindly toward that form of wit ever sinca
It was when he was a lad, playing minor
comedy parts in a Broadway theatre at $10 a
week. He thought he was madly in love with
a young actress at work for the same stipend.
During the play one night ho invited her to
take some oysters after the performance.
Then he rushed to his lodgings, changed his
clothes, met her and took her to an oyster
housa His bill there was $1.90, but un
fortunately he found he had left all his
money in ljis other clothes» The waiter and
the proprietor both said his story was too
diaphanous, and made him give up his watch
and his father's ring that he wora Just
then a white haired, benevolent looking old
gentleman came out of one of the private
dining compartments they used to have in
those days, and thundered at the proprietor:
4 live that youth back his watch and chain
and ling. Let me pay his bilL You ought
to be ashamed, sir. Any one can see this is
an honest youth and his companion is a per
fect lady. [The lady was iu tears.] I will
pay the bill and never set foot in your place
again."
Out in the street Florence was overcome
with gratituda
"Give me your address, sir," said he to the
kindly old gentleman. "1 will return you
the money to-morrow. "
"Oh, never mind," said the philanthropist;
"that was a counterfeit $20' bill 1 handed to
that old fool It was worth nothing, and be
gave me $13.10 change for it That's the way
I make my living. Good night"—New York
Sun.
What They Were There For.
YYhen Thomas T. Crittenden was to be in
augurated as govern or ot Missouri, the sen
ate chamber was, ot course, crowded with
people Mr. Brokmcyer was in the chair.
As the hour for the ceremony drew near,
expectation among the spectators was at its
height Just as the hands of the clock indi
cated the hour, the doors of the senate cham
ber swung open and a pompous doorkeeper,
In a deep voice, announced:
"Mr. President, the governor of Missouri
approaches I"
Lieutenant Governor Brokmeyer looked up
lazily from the piece of paper on which ha
had been scribbling»
"Veil, let him come right along," said ba.
"Dat's what we're here for."
The roan, of laughter that greeted this an
nouncement somewhat interfered with tha
solemnity of the occasion.—New York Trib
una
No Plac* for Style.
There is no place where style counts so l"t
tle as in the lining of a pocketbook.—Daas
villa Breeze.