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WATERTOWN, WIB. * WEDNESDAY, JUNE 22, 1881. MY JUNE 30Y. BT CHRISTINE CHAVLIN BRUSH. Sweet as the pink wi and roses wake. And freshness from their petals shake, So from his head to his small feet He wakes, all flushed and dewy sweet. His eyelids like white clouds of morning flee, And clear the heavenly blue for me, for me! The wonder of the baby’s eyes I Forget-me-nots and morning skies. And all things blue that lie between; I named ye blue ere they were seen I Ho, violet, by the reedy rim Of pools, where lights and shadows swim, Seeing your soft reflections there. Ye know what things can best compare; Though in his eyes are depths of mystery Which never yet were seen, sweet flowers, in thee. O rose-bud, rose-bud of the South, Say, can you match the baby’s mouth ? And when your petals softly part, Is there a white pearl in your heart ? And tell me—if you can tell—who Has ever heard a rose-bud coo ? And can you bud aud bloom, O rose-bud, say. And bloom and bud, a hundred times a day ? A dimple is an angel’s kiss: Were dimples ever placed amiss ? 0 apple blossoms do not speak. To sav you’re like the baby’s cheek, All white and pink, and fragrant through and through. Have apple blossoms little dimples too ? The sunshine’s fairest, finest thread Graces aud crowns his princely head. Sometimes it gleams a halo faint. And turns him to a baby saint. Lo, should I gird him with a little fleece, The infant SI. John of the Veronese ! 1 give the palm to his sweet chin; Yet oft his little feet will win— Sandaled with rose leaves, his pink toes Buds stolen from some careless rose. I count his beauties, as the nun Couuteth her beads o’er, one by one. So many ways my fond heart finds him fair. It makes each breath a grateful little prayer. He sweetly breathes in baby rest On the dear comfort of my breast. For love, for love, I cannot speak: A tear ft Us on the baby’s cheek. What, stir at such a grief as this— A tear warmed by thy mother’s kiss ! Do roses sigh at drops of dew ? Will soft winds vex the lilies too? Again in perfect rest he lies. White eyelids drooped on bluest eyes. So violets'and snowdrops nod together, .And sleep in night-times of the sweet spring weather. What shall a happy mother bring, Who hath no costly offering ? No spices from beyond the sea. No white dove even, owneth she, No lamb unblemished, nor a stem Of Mary’s lilies. On the hem Of the Lord’s garment just a touch Of faith brought blessings overmuch. There may she lay a mother’s kiss, So white with love he will not miss Spice?, nor fragrant lilies, nor the glow Of costly gems, nor doves as white as snow. — Harper's Magazine. [From London Truth.] THE LADY BLANCHE LIFEBOAT. He was drunk as usual on his watch, though there was a big gale blowing out at sea, with gathering signs ot a storm overhead; and it might be that the life boat would have some work to do before morning. But what did Peter Pencorrow care about the lifeboat, except for the salary of £1 a week which he drew as its cus todian ? Nobody in the village of Pol loot had looked with kindly eye on the arrival of this foolish boat—as they called it—which was to take the “ har vesting ” out of their mouths. For the population were wreckers to a man and woman, and they termed it “ harvest ing” when some well-freighted ship was driven on to the great Needle rock off their coast and went to pieces. Such accidents happened too rarely for them—once a year or thereabouts, and the booty was often miserably small. But there had been years within the memory of some of the inhabitants, who were not yet old, when a dozen ves sels of all sizes had foundered in a sin gle winter, and when the luck of the wreckers had been large. It was in a winter of this kind that old Peter Pen corrow had made his fortune. He was young then, and it was said that he had picked up a package of diamonds from the Brazil as his share of the spoils. Anyhow, he disappeared from Polloot, and went to live in London, like a gen tleman, as s._me supposed; though others affirmed that he ran through his money pretty fast, and went through a multitude of queer adventures after wards. Twenty-five years after his de parture he returned to the village with a boy of sixteen and a girl one year young er; and soon afterwards he was appointed custodian of the lifeboat Lady Blanche, which had been presented to Polloot by the rich and good Cornish earl, and christened after his favorite daughter. Peter Pencorrow was not liked at Pol loot. It was said that he had “blown the gaff.” He was accused of having, while steward on board an ocean steam er, told a number of ugly stories to the Earl and Lady Blanche, who were re turning home from a tour in America; insomuch that my lord and his daughter had made a vow to dedicate a lifeboat at once to the salvation of human life. There was some talk of blasting the Needle Bock, and erecting a lighthouse on that dangerous part of the coast. Engineers had come to take soundings and their operations had been watched with sullen wrath, Harold Trecorpe, the biggest, most scowling fisherman in the village— a fellow whose face looked murder, and whose mouth never opened without a curse—had sworn that if he hanged for it Pencorrow should never live to see a life saved by his boat, nor a vessel warned off danger by the beacon of a lighthouse. Before long, however, Peter Pencorrow ceased to be so much hated. He was a worthless scamp, al ways drunk, and his chosen companion came to be Harold Trecorpe, who had several times threatened his life. Drunken men are not dangerous, except to themselves, at least such is the popu lar idea, and Harold used to laugh an odd, mocking laugh when anybody talk ed of what things the Lady Blanche would do with her signals, her rockets, and all her costly and complete apparatus for salvage the first time that a vessel stood in peril of touching on that dan gerous Needle. Three years passed, and the lifeboat did nothing. They, happened to be ex ceptionally disastrous years from the Pollooters’ point of view, for though wreck,? enough took place on other parte of the coast, no craft of any consequence foundered on the Needle. By this time Harold Trecorpe was captain of the life- boat’s crew. He and seven other men received twelve pounds a year apiece from the earl to go out practicing some times with the boat, and to hold them selves in readiness at any time when their services might be wanted. If they saved lives, they were to have each a bounty of one pound on every human head rescued. Nay, they were to have fifteen shillings, too, tor every dead human body they brought to shore. Thus had the earl and his daughter tried to enlist the cupidity of these men on the side of humanity, hoping, may be, that some higher agencies would work too for the reclaiming of a population as bar barous and debased as any in these isles. Peter Pencorrow lived in a pretty house which his patron had built for him near the large white shed where the lifeboat was kept. There was a phar macy in the place, with two rooms hold ing three beds each, which were to be reserved for half-drowned men and women who might be drawn out of the sea; and there were a great number of useful appliances for restoring lives that might be just flickering out. Sometimes the Earl and Lady Blanche would drive to the village to see if everything was in good order; but since their carriage could be seen five miles off as it wound down the steep road on the rock side, leading to Polloot, Peter and his daughter Meg always had about an hour’s notice to see things tidy. Peter now lived alone with his daughter Margaret. His son had left him in distrust to enlist, and Meg only remained with him because there was nothing else for her her to do. She had been cursed at and cudgelled by him all through her childhood; she bad been bis drudge, his scapegoat in every one of those drunken fits of his which re curred daily, and her body bore brutal marks of kicks he had given her when a little thing, with limbs still tender and weak. But now she had grown up to be a strong girl, with a tanned face and a determined look, so that Peter was afraid of her. He used to hide his money from her, as a bad boy does from his mother, and if she wanted anything for house keeping expenses she had to search his pockets when he was dead drunk. How ever, more than £3O out of £52 a year used to melt in drink, and Margaret had to eke out a subsistence for herself and him by making nets and shrimping. Sometimes Lady Blanche used to give her a sovereign, and this too, helped the household along. Margaret had a wild, dogged sort of attractiveness in her appearance. She never wore shoes or stockings, and her black hair fell down her back in one thickly-plaited tress. A **ed handker chief formed her head-covering and was tied under her chin; her rough, brown arms were always bare to the elbow. Harold Trecorpe had cast his eyes upon the girl from the time when she was seventeen, but she hated him. The first time he tried some rough piece of gallantry on her she caught up the stump of a broken oar to protect herself and merely glared at him, without say ing a word. On another occasion, when he came behind her unawares and took her under the chin, she lifted a heavy fishing-net, all bronzed with age and salt, and dashed it in his face with such violence that he was knocked down on the shingle. “Curse ye’, girl,” he swore as he picked himself up. “Yo’ wouldn’t have done that to Mark Brathwaite; but let him look to himself if he crosses me.” “If yo’ lay a finger on Mark Brath waite yo’ll have to look to yo’self,” an swered Margaret, contemptuously; and Harold contented himself with scowling at her from that time. Mark Brathwaite was Margaret’s sec ond lover —a fair-haired boy, about her own age, whom she had saved from drowning one windy day, when he had been dashed out of his fishing boat by a flap of a loosed sail, which had |hit him on the head and stunned him. Mar garet had swam a couple of furlongs and Mark Brath w aite had loved her from the moment when he opened his eyes and found her bending over him and breath ing life into his body vigorously from her own lungs. Margaret, however, treated him like a younger brother. He was the only human being who could draw a smile from her, but he was not the man to teach her what love was, though he tried hard and made himself pretty wretched in the attempt. Sometimes Peter Pencorrow’s daugh ter, sitting outside her father’s house on fine afternoons to make nets, would drop her hands mto her lap and look out with a dull, wistful expression over the sea, so broad, so blue and mysterious. Her finely-shaped head mi ght have been a storehouse of knowledge and great thoughts, but it was empty. She could neither read nor write; she knew nothing of the world except In its most sordid aspects of dire poverty, drunkenness and brutality. She had never set foot in a church, and had no idea of a God save that she had heard and believed that there was something above those skies which were now so golden with sunlight, now so black with thunder. Occasional ly such natural impulses of good as were in the girl’s heart would well up in short scraps of advice which she gave to Mark Brathwaite; “Mark, yo’ll not get drunk like father. There’s no good in drink;” or, “Mark, if I were a mon, I’d learn summut and become a scholard.’* This is what Margaret Pencorrow was at eighteen, and on the night alluded to in the first line of this story, when her worthless father stood, drunk as usual, on his w r atch, and unlieedful of the storm that was gathering. ♦ * v * ♦ The storm broke presently with fright ful fury. Long streaks of lightning rent the skies and the waves were dash ed upon the shore with a roaring as loud as thunder. In spite of the deluge of rain, the crew of the lifeboat came to the shed to get all in readiness, and a great many other fishermen and their wives trooped out of the cottages; but this was only because sleep on such a night was impossible. Most of the eyes that look ed seawards with expectant glances were rather hoping for a profitable wreck than eager for a chance to save fife. Margaret stood in the shed with Mark Brathwaite beside her, Harold Trecorpe being on the other side of the boat. The occasional glow of the pipe he was smok ing lit up his rugged face and made it look fiendish as he cursed the ill-luck that had fallen upon Polloot, and he ex pressed his conviction that the lifeboat had “witched”the place, driving wrecks off it. “Dong yo’,” he cried, striking his fist on the boat’s side. “Yo’done us harm from the day yo’ coom here! Yo’ hav’.” Suddenly there was a cry from every one under the shed: “A light; a blue light. Look, there’s another!” Far oft’ in the offing there was a ship in distress sending up blue lights. They rose swift and pale, then burst into a bright gleam and vanished. Harold Trecorpe ultered a shout of exultation. “It’s a big ship,” cried he. “Here, gie us the blue rockets, girl.” “What for the blue rockets?” asked Margaret, who was standing near a box of fire signals. “Ye must burn three red lights first to warn ’em the coast’s dangerous. Then three blu ’uns to say the lifeboat’s coming. That’s what my lord told me.” “ Cuss your lord and yo’ too,” blurted out Harold, savagely, as he ran around to the other side of the boat. “Here, lads, bear a hand and heave this girl out.” “Harold, I’ll fire a light in yo’r face if yo’ come near me. Mark, keep that man oft',” cried Margaret, panting, and seiz ing the lantern from Peter Pencorrow’s drunken hands, she held a rocket at Har old’s face as if it were a pistol. But there wore others besides Harold who wanted the ship to be wrecked, and several of the lifeboat’s crew were among them. They were willing enough to go out with the boat by-and-by, but they wanted the vessel to be wrecked first. These scoundrels drove Margaret and Mark Brathwaite back, and it was re solved among them that no lights should be burned at all for the present.i In her energetic language unadorned Margaret Pencorrow hurled anathemas at them, but the only laughed, and suddenly the girl vanished through the crowd with Mark Brathwaite. Where had they gone ? For several moments their disappearance was not noticed, but suddenly a broad sheet of lightning, that lit up the whole coast, showed the girl and the boy running as hard as they could down the shore in the direction of the Needle Bock. The tide was coming in fast, but it was evi dently Meg’s object to get near the rock before it. Why ? They learned pres ently. A loud hiss, a blaze of red light, and up went a red rocket; then another; then a third. Three danger signals rose lapidly, one after another, under the eyes of the enraged wreckers. Then all became blackness again. The storm rumbled away, and no more blue lights were burned out at sea. Margaret had rushed off with the red rockets, which had probably warned the distressed ship to keep clear of the treacherous coast. Anyhow, the ship was not wrecked nor heard of again. Nor was Margaret Pencorrow ever seen again or heard of. Mark Brath- w r aite, returning pale, exhausted and half crazed at daybreak, announced that she had suddenly been swept away by a wave, but whither he knew not, though he bad swam, and dived, and sought for hours, risking his life twenty times. “God knows wliere she went,” he cried, sobbing. And doubtless God did know’. * * * ♦ * * * At present there is no more Needle Rock off Polloot. Lady Blanche had it blasted, and a tine lighthouse has been erected where it stood, to w’am vessels of the other dangerous rocks in the vicin ity, It is called the “Margaret light house,” and Mark Brathwaite is the keeper of it. Perpetual Motion. Samuel Elliot, a convict in the state prison at Jeffersonville, Kentucky, has invented a perpetual motion machine which is described as follows: “It con sists of two spirals, seven balls and four hollow arms, and depends upon gravita tion for its motive power. The machine is about two feet high, and the outside spiral sixteen or eighteen inches in diameter. Inside of the larger spiral is a smaller one, to which is attached four hollow arms, all about an inch and a quarter in diameter, and which are con nected at the outer ends by an arrange ment which holds the outside spiral in its place, and at the same time works over it and around it. The balls are put in at the toil, and running out the arms to the larger spiral, begin to descend the circular machine, and at the same time carry the connected arms, one at the top and the other below, around with them. On reaching the bottom the balls fall into the lower arms and are carried through them slantingly to the inside spiral which is kept turning like an angle by the motion of the arms. They are then forced up this by balls con stantly rolling down the outer spiral un til they reach the top, when they again fall into the arms, roll out into the larger spiral, descend, reach the bot tom, roll to the inside and are again car ried up as before. The secret of power in this contrivance lies in the force of the balls as they roll down the outer spiral, and by this pressure keep the smaller spiral turning. The overplus of force thus attained is entirely sufficient to force the balls up the inside, and by their own momentum they perform the other part whith scarcely any diminution of the force of gravitation which causes them to descend.” This action is not very clear, but doubtless the theory of the invention is that the balls descend ing in the outer spiral will exert a sur plus of power over those ascending in the inner spiral because their weight acts at the end of a longer leverage. Eli Perkins at it Again. [Letter to the Chicago Tribune.] In Illinois you generally hang your murderers and imprison your tiiieves. But Texas has a cheaper plan than that. It costs a good deal of money to prose cute a criminal in Texas; so the state authorities collect tlie names and de scription of every murderer and thief in the state. These names they print in a big book, and then they offer a reward for them, dead or alive. I saw this book in Austin. It contains over 1,000 names. The result is, all these criminals, as soon as the reward is offered, flee the country. They go to New Mexico, the Indian nation, and over the Shreveport, La. ■ A Texas murderer would be a very fair citizen in Shreveport. If the Texas authorities should go to Shreve port, I believe they would find 900 of their 1,000 murderers preaching or teaching school. No man is consider ed A1 in Shreveport who has not killed his man. Texas is a paradise of virtue compared with Shreveport. CULINARY GEMS. TOO COOK SPINACH. When cooking spinach, substitute a little piece of bacon for the salt pork usually cooked with it to season it. The nicest way to serve it is to put it in individual vegetable dishes, and put a bit of the bacon in each dish. Hard boiled eggs, sliced when cold, are also liked with the greens. LENTIL SOUP. Wash a quantity of large lentils in cold water. Put them into a saucepan with plenty of cold water, two onions stuck with cloves, and a blade of mace and a bay leaf tied together. Let them boil until done, adding at intervals small quantities of cold water. Strain off the water and pass the lentils through a sieve. Dilute them with vegetable stock or with the liquid in which they were boiled to the consistency of a puree. Make it quite hot, add a pat of fresh butter and the yolks of two eggs, beaten up with a little water and strained. Serve with sippets of bread fried in butter. MINCED SPINACH. Boil the spinach in salt and water un til tender. Drain in the colander, and chop fine in the tray. Season well with pepper and salt. For each quart of the chopped spinach, put two tablespoon fuls of butter and one of flour in a fry ing-pan. When this has cooked smooth and before it has become browned, add the spinach. Stir for five minutes; then add half a cupful of cream or milk, and stir three minutes longer. Arrange in a mound on a hot dish. Garnish with a wreath of slices of hard-boiled eggs at the base, and finish the top with another wreath. Serve hot. Lettuce can be cooked and served in the same manner. It must be boiled about twenty minutes to be tender. GREEN GOOSEBERRIES FOR TARTS. Fill very clean, dry, wide-necked bot tles, with gooseberries picked the same day, in dry weather, and just before they have attained their full size. Wrap a little hay round each bottle, and set them up to their necks in a boiler of cold water, which should be brought very gradually to a boil; a little hay must be put in the bottom of the boiler, and the bottles fixed firmly. Let the fruit simmer gently until it appears shrunken and perfectly scalded, then take out the bottles and fill up as many as yon can quite full with some of the cooked goosebenies—it is generally necessary to sacrifice one of the bottles in doing this, taking care not to break the fruit. Directly the bottles are full of gooseberries, pour boiling water into the bottles up to the brims, else they will mildew. Tie bladder over the tops immediately, and keep the bottles in a dry cool place. When the gooseberries are used, pour off the greater part of the water, and add the same sugar as for fresh fruit, of which they ought to have the same flavor and appearance. Prepared in this way, gooseberries are perfectly wholesome, and w T ill keep un til the fruit comes in again. SPRING LAMB AND PEAS. There are some combinations of food that are accepted as right and proper, such as “ roast goose and apple sauce,” “pork and beans,” etc. “ Spring lamb and green peas ” are offered at nearly all seasons at the restaurants; one who orders it will be served with a piece of roast lamb and a dish of peas. Our idea of “lamb and peas ” is quite different from this, and this is the way it is pre pared. If the lamb is to be bought, get the neck-piece, as it is the cheapest. If produced upon the farm take the neck because it is the best. Let us say by way of disgression, that the faults of American cookery are largely due to not looking far enough ahead. There is probably not a family which the Ameri can Agriculturist visits that would not be benefited by making a bill of fare for the week. Benefit not only in having a greater variety but in the arrangement of the meals, so that one will have reference to the other. Lamb and peas should be thought of the day before it is served. Have the neck-piece properly chipped, or cut into chops. If for Wednesday’s dinner, begin with on Tuesday. Put the lamb-chops of the neck into w’ater to w ell cover them and allow them to stew —simmer, not boil, for at least tw 7 o hours, adding water, if needed, to keep the meat covered. Hav ing stewed the lamb for two hours, or until tender, put it aside until the next day. An hour before dinner remove every particle of fat that has gathered and hardened over the stewed lamb. Then having the needed quantity of shelled peas, put them in a sauce-pan and pour over the liquid from the lamb, and cook gently until the peas are done; then put in the already cooked lamb, when this is well heated, serve. This, properly cooked, will be found to be most acceptable, as the lamb-broth flavors the peas, and is within the reach of every one. Oil Region Terrors. The return of the season of thunder storms always brings with it a feeling of great uneasiness in the oil regions. Scat tered about the petroleum producing Held there are probably 1,000 iron tanks, in each one of which are stored from 10,000 to 40,000 barrels of crude oil. Most of them are situated in the midst of populous towns and cities. It is not in the fact that the tanks are made of iron that the danger of lightning strokes arises. Evaporation of oil contained in them produces a vapor that arises and hovers above them, and becomes a per petual attrection to the electric fluid. The protection of tanks against lightning is a problem that scientific men have been for years laboring to solve. A for tune awaits the man who shall devise a plan to prevent or lessen the damage that is annually caused by lightning in the oil regions. The United Pipe Line Company, which owns nearly all the iron tanks in the oil country, is attaching to a number of its tanks an appliance by which chemical action may be instantly brought to bear on the cloud of smoke which forms between the surface of the cil and the root of a tank when it is set on fire. This, it is claimed, will render the presence of flame impossible, and will lessen the number of oil fires. No demonstration of the value of the extin guisher has been made, but if its action is satisfactory, it will be a God-send to the oil country. Last season, during the great oil fire at Titusville, when tank after tank was belching its volumes of flame, a spectator suggested that by firing a cannon ball through the bottom, before the oil boiled over the top, the oil might be drawn out and the spr#id of the conflagration stop ped. A piece of ordnance was at once procured and the experiment tried. It was successful. Several tanks were drawn off in this way, and the destruction of a great part of Titusville was pre vented. Now the Pipe Line Company has a large cannon ready for use at an instant’s notice, fixed in position at all tanks where a fire would jeopardize con tiguous property. The experiment of placing lightning rods above the tanks is being tried this year. One hundred and fifty men have; been putting up rods, seventy feet above the tanks. THE HOME DOCTOR. A STYE. A poultice of fresh tea leaves moist ened with water, will cure a stye on the eyelid. BUNIONS. To cure bunions, use pulverized salt peter and sweet oil, Obtain at a drug gists five or six cents worth of saltpeter; put into a bottle with sufficient olive oil to dissolve it, shake up well, and rub the inflamed joints night and morning, and more frequently if painful. SICK STOMACH. The following drink for relieving sick ness of the stomach is said to be very palatable and agreeable: Beat up one egg very well, say for twenty minutes, then add fresh milk one pint, water one pint, sugar to make it palatable; boil, and g&t it cool; drink when cold. If it becomes curds and whey it is useless. THE ITCH. Bays the Journal of Chemistry: The following is used by Dr. Rigaut, in Paris, in itching from all causes, in lichen, ec zema, prurigo, etc., and with very gen eral success wherever the irritation is nervous rather than mechanical: Acidi carbolici, ten scruples; glycerinse, one drachm; aquam, add one drachm; M. To be used in at atomizer, five minutes at a time, several times. HAY FEVER. The melancholy days of hay fever have come, and to the afflicted we submit for trial the following remedy recommended by a sufferer of long standing: Into a four-ounce wide-mouth bottle half filled with cotton, and having a close stopper, put the following mixture: 2$ drachms carbolic acid; 3 drachms aqua ammonise (specific gravity 0.960.); 5 drachms dis tilled water; drachms alcohol, inhale through the nostrils; this mixture, be ing of a volatile nature, must be kept as much as possible from exposure, in order to preserve its strength and prevent too deep discoloration. FOR HOARSENESS. According to La France Medicate borax has been been employed with ad vantage in cases of hoarseness and apho nia occurring suddenly from the action of cold. The remedy is recommended to singers and orators whose voices sud denly become lost, but which by these means can be recovered instantly. A little piece of borax the size of a pea is to be slowly dissolved in the mouth ten minutes before singing or speaking. The remedy provokes an abundant secre tion of saliva, which moistens the mouth and throat. This local action of the borax should be aided by an equal dose of nitrate of potassium, taken in warm solution before going to bed. TO PREVENT DIPHTHERIA. To prevent diphtheria, and finally ex terminate it, every man, woman and child throughout the world should be brought to obey the laws of life and health. Parents should regularly feed, properly clothe and duly restrain all children, before they come to the years of understanding and accountability. This alone would do much. A late prominent physician of Pails estimated that 3,000 children had died in that city, during the thirty years of his practice there, from short sleeves, short pants, and other kindred imprudence in the dressing of children. And I am fully convinced that so large a sacrifice, in towns at least, in this country, from the same cause—all for a wicked fashion. And from careful observations, in this country and abroad, I am confident that at least as many more are carried off by improper food and irregularity of taking it, together with poisonous candies and other unwholesome and indigestible trash, that no child or other person should eat.— Dr. Edwin E. Maxson t in the Sanitarium. The Rags of the Unites States. A Chicago rag dealer estimates that each of the 50,000,000 people of the United States discards an average of five pounds of clothing yearly, which makes 250,000,000 pounds for the whole. Then, he says, there are the tailoring establish ments, big and little, whose cuttings are not much less in quantity in the aggre gate, than the cast-off clothes of the nation at large, while their quality as rags is greatly superior. Then there are carpets and bedding, and curtains, and other domestic articles of cloth of some kind, which make up a goodly bulk in the course of a year. These different articles combined makeup another 250,- 000,000 pounds of cloth material, which has been discarded from use, and which eventually finds its way into the rag man’s bale. His estimate is that 100 car loads of rags enter and leave Chicago daily. A New Way to Kill Stage Robbers. [From Texus Siftings.] As there is no reason to suppose the stage robbers intend to retire voluntarily to the shades of private life very soon, and as there is not much danger of their being compelled to do so, we, ourselves, have determined tr put a stop to the business. We have written to persons in western Texas whom we suspect of designing to send us original poetry, to forward the manuscript in a registered package by stage. The stage robbers are in the habit of opening and examin ing registered packages. After this, when a stage is robbed and any of our original poetry is stolen, all the authori ties will have to do will be to send out a wagon to the scene of the robbery, and bring in the bodies of the highwaymen who have been bored to death. They deserve all they get. A girl employed in one of the Dalton, Mass., paper mills found SSO in some rags last week. GUESS. I see two lilies, white as snow, That mother loves and kisses so; Dearer they are than cold or lands; Guess mo the lilies— baby's hatu>s! I know a rosebud fairer far Than any buds of sorrow are; Sweeter than sweet winds of the south; Guess me the rose-bud— baby's mouth! I’ve found a place where shines the sun; Yes, long, long after day is done; Oh, how it loves to linger there ! Guess me the sunshine— baby's hair! There are two windows where I see My own glad face peep out at me; These windows beam like June’s own skies; Guess me the riddle— baby's eyes ! —Christian at Work. SPICE AND ALLSPICE. If two detectives can be put on a scent, how many can be placed on a dollar? “112 3 cent stamps,” is what the young lady said when she came up to the stamp window.— Puck. One way to make money is to take a half-pound trout, fill it up with shot and then bet it weighs a pound and a half.— Poston Post. A gentleman who is staying at Hot Springs, Ark., writes his wife that the place is so much like home. It’s so easy to got into hot water, — Glasgow Times. A rainbow is the emblem of hope, and the Scotch lassie said her beau was her hope; because, you see, it was her “ ain” beau. “Please send me two pairs of chilled steel pants and a boder-iron shirt at once. I am thinking of taking a drive next week.”— The Czar. “John,” said Dean Eamsay, “I’m sure ye ken that a rollin’ stone gathers nae morse?” “Ay,” rejoined John, “that’s true, but can ye tell me what guide the morse does to the stone ?” “Whatis the moon good for?” asked Professor Miller, “ what are its princi pal uses?’ And the smart bad boy looked up from the foot of the class and said: “To rest the gas companies.” “Tigkerosis” is said to be the name invented by a physician for nervous prostration caused by close attention to exciting fluctuations of the stock mar ket. We do not advise any fellow to be bom in June if he can help it. Fellows bom in June never make any money. Such at least has been our experience.— Nycum Advertiser. “ I hear you have broken ground for your new house,” said Stilphin; “ is that so?” “No,” replied Fenderson rueful ly. “It is 1 who am broken, not the ground. I shan’t build any houses just at present. ” “This is the leafy month of June,” murmured the little moth, and then she dropped 500 eggs on the back of the foliage, adding, sarcastically: “I should caterpillar!”— Louisville Courier-Jour nal. A Texas man was stung by a hornet twenty years ago, and the same instant struck dumb. A few days ago his speech was restored, and his first words were oaths. Texas men must have good mem ories.—Boston Post. “They do not die on the premises,’’ is the recommendation given for a patent rat poison. It makes the rats feel so bad that they go away and die at the house of a neighbor. There is nothing like it.— N. O. Picayune. A New York doctor says that “ten dishes of clam chow T der ought to kill the strongest man living.” Ten drinks of cheap whisky ought to have the same effect, but unfortunately it doesn’t.— Norristown Herald. Capt. Bogardes’ feat of breaking 500 glass balls in twenty-five minutes and fifteen seconds has been excelled by a Philadelphia man, who was carrying a basket of glass balls to a shooting range and stepped on a banana peel.—Phila delphia News. “ What’s your favorite hymn ?” whis pered the priest to the culprit, as the sheriff was fixing the noose around his neck. “It wasn’t no him that brought me to this,” sadly remarked the con demned; “it was a her.” — Brooklyn Eagle. A good-looking old German, with long hair, sat down, or rather up, on the barber’s chair, and was asked whether he would have his hair shingled. He replied: “Mein Gott, no! I vant some hair koot off. Yy woot you put zum shingles on it pecause ?” Mumble-jumble : Visitor—“ls Mrs. Browm at home?” Plumbs, the new footman, who speaks rather indistinctly “Yes, sir, but she’s dining.” Visitor —“Dying! Why, what’s she dying of?” Plumbs—“ Boiled mutton and caper sauce, sir. ” — London Judy. Artful.— She: “I had such a horrid dream last night, dearest. Whatever do you think it was?” He: “Don’t know, my love, I’m sure.” She: “Why, dearest, I dreamt that you were not go ing to take me to the beat race this year. Just fancy.”— Judy. A nurse in the Luxembourg garden the other day carried a pair of twins on each arm. “ That must fatigue you,” remarked a compassionate bystander. “ Oh, no ! monsieur,” replied the good nurse, “whenl am a little tired I change the children from one arm to the other.” A journeyman file-maker in Hoboken died recently, and on examination it was found that his lungs were coated with iron filings. Almost simultaneously a newspaper man out west died, and at the post mortem an entire newspaper was found in his left lung. It was said to have been remarkably well edited too — all stealings. There is a good deal of true nobility in children, after all. “Jo” had acci dentally pounded anew bump on the head of “Bert” with a baseball bat. “I’ll tell you what, Bert,” said he, “I’m going to have a show in my woodshed Saturday, and you can come in free. The other fellers will have to pay three pins.” You’ve no idea how that reduced the swelling.— New Haven Register. Musical — “Are you fond of Wagner’s works?” asked Mr. Sharpe. “Fond of them!” exclaimed Miss Posigush, “I think they are just splendid! So easy and comfortable, you know. Why, I rode in one from Boston to Chicago and I wasn’t one bit tired when I got there.” Mr. Sharpe sighed a sorrowful sigh, but he managed to call up a sickly smile and say that he didn’t refer to car tunes.— Boston Transcript.