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mm ai set Volume XX2. Helena, Montana, Thursday, May 31, 1888. No. 27 #\t itlcchlji ^(jcralil. R. E. FISK D. W. FISK. ». J. FISK Pullishers and Proprietors. Largest Circulation of any Paper in Montana -o Rates ot Subscription. WEEK LY °HEKALD : On«* Ye«r. (in ««Ivance).............................S3 00 Hlx Months, (In advance)............................... 1 75 Three Months, (in advance)........................... 1 00 When not paid for in advance the ra»e will be Four Dollars per yeaii Postage, in all cases. Prepaid. DAILY HERALD: City Subscribers,deli vered by carrier 81.00a month One Year, by mail, (in advance)................. 80 00 Hx Month*, by mail, (in advance)............... 5 00 Three Months, by mail, (in advance)........... 2 50 If not paid in advance, 812 per annum. 'Entered at the Postoßice at Helena as second Claes matter.] ♦WAil communications should be addressed t-o 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.