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T ft, STITBLY & SOB. LIBBBTY ST, WESTMINSTER, MD. Having associated with me in business my son Oliver, the business will now be run under the name and firm of J. Q. Stitely & Son, where you will constantly find on hand a full and select assortment of Agricultural Implements and Ma chinery of All Kinds. The Champion Cord Binders, Reapers and Mowers, Oliver Chilled Plows, _ Lebanon Wrought Share Plows, Heneh Cultivators, SPRING-TOOTH HARROWS Both riding and walking; Evans Check Row Corn Planters, the Wyard Hand Planters, Cora SheUers, Peed Cutters and Mas ticators, Thomas Hay Rake, The BuUard -Hay Feeder, Empire Engines, Separators And Cloyer Hullers, The Empire and Bick ford k Huffman GRAIN AND GUANO WHEAT DRILLS, Wheat Fans, Single and Double Shovel Plows, Single Trees. Also a PULL LINE OP REPAIRS. The Buckeye Iron Pump Cucumber Pumps and Tubing Of all kinds. We now call your special at tention to the celebrated Emerson k Fisher BUGGIES AND PHiETONS. Have just received a fresh carload of them, and are now ready to accommodate our many friends and customers with the best Baggies in the State for the money. ggfAN UNRIVALLED COMBINATION Of cheapness, durability and style. Extra ordinary success! OVER 100,000 CARRIAGES SOLD And perfect satisfaction given. Come and see the newest styles, with latest improve ments, and select a Buggy, Phton, Family Carriage, Cart or Spring Wagon, made by the Emerson k Fisher Company expressly for our trade. J. Q. STITELY k SON, Liberty Street, opposite Depot, feb 16 84:tf Westminster, Md. GOODS By Mail on Express. BLACK AND COLORED SILKS, BRO CADES, SATINS AND VELVETS, BLACK AND FANCY DRESS GOODS OF EVERY DESCRIPTION. White Goods, Linens, Domestics, Lace Cur tains, Shawls, Wraps, Ham burgs and Swiss EMBROIDERIES, Laces and Dress Trimmings, Parasols and Sun Umbrellas. One Price Dry Goods House. JB*aT Samples Sent Free “©a Upon application, by stating as near as possi ble quality and style of goods desired. Strangers Visiting Baltimore are especially INVITED TO INSPECT OUR STOCK. S. ROSENTHAL & CO. 68 Lexington Street, near Charles, ju2o2m BALTIMORE, MD. EVERYBODY KNOWS WE ARE THE LEADING HOUSE FOR FOOT AND HEAD WEAR, Including all the Fashionable Styles. Newest Goods! Neatest Patterns! and Latest Novelties in Ladies 1 , Gents’ Misses’ and Children’s w- SHOES AND HATS, “©a Our new Summer Styles are in, and Prices Lower than ever. We are emphatically head quarters for Shoes and Hats for the summer trade. GREAT BARGAINS IN FOOTWEAR! A complete assortment. No fancy prices. Only first-class goods. h h a TTTrrr ssSo H H AA T a h HHHH A A T B SSS s HHAA T o 2 U II A A T 55 We would call especial attention to our new and nobby styles of Stiff and Soft Hats, for summer wear. A full line of Straw Hats now ready. Trunks, Valises & Umbrellas, in large varieties. Sole agents for Wm. H. Bixler’s Button, Lace and Congress Home- Made Shoes for men. Also sole agents for Slisinger’s Hand- Made Tender-Feet Shoes for Indies. Respectfully, U. L. REAVER & CO., First National Bank Building, R. R. Depot, WESTMINSTER, MD. July 4 WES TMINSTER FLOURING MILLS. W. S. MYER & BRO. Proprietors. Manufacture and have on hand and for sale Flour, Feed; also, Seeds, Salt, Kainit, S. C. Rock, Plaster, and all kinds of Standard Brands of Fertilizers at manufacturers' prices. Highest Cash Prices Paid for Grain. Grain of all kind taken on storage. mr2l,tf Ormornitic Ai)oratr. gTILL IN THE FIELD. THE Old, Reliable and Popular Brands: SMITH’S RAW BONE PHOSPHATE, SMITH’S SOLUBLE PHOSPHATE, SMITH’S DISSOLVED BONE. This year we offer to the trade the above well-known brands of Fertilizers, the merits of which are attested by some of the most prominent farmers in this and other States. We can buy materials cheaper, and have better facilities for manufacturing than ever before, and therefore can place upon the market first-class goods at a very low price. We guarantee these brands to be of the past good standard. Owing to the low price of wheat and the depression of business gener ally, we have made a liberal reduction in our prices, in,order to place our Fertilizers within the reach of every farmer, feeling that in creased .sales will fully repayus for the re ! Auction in price. We will deliver to any station on W. M. R. R. our “Smith’s Raw Bone Phosphate” at $33 per ton, crop time; our “Smith s Soluble Phosphate” at $24 per ton, crop time; and our “Smith’s Dissolved Bone” at $35 per ton, crop time. Remember, we pay the freight on these goods at these prices. S&* A liberal discount made for cash. See our cir culars with testimonials. Send us your order. With thanks for past favors, and an earnest solicitation for a fair share of your patronage in the future, we remain, very respectfully, J. J. SMITH k SON, july2s,lot New Windsor, Md. WESTERN MARYLAND COL LEGE. FOR STUDENTS of BOTH SEXES IX V&- SEPARATE DEPARTMENTS. Organized under the auspices of the Methodist Protestant Church, 1567, BSP Incorporated hy Act of Assemldy, IS6S. Occupies one of the most beautiful and healthful sites in the State. Receives annual appropriation from the Legislature for the Free Board of one student from each Sena torial District. Provides a comfortable room for each two students. Has a full corps of competent instructors. Course of study ample and thorough both in the Preparatory and Collegiate Departments. Discipline strict, but kind. Terms very moderate. A Schol arship for Three Years Tuition for SIOO, and (to students having such Scholarship) Board, Boom, Washing, Fuel and Light at the rate of $166.67 per year. Has been in successful operation for 16 years. The Thirty-Sixth Annual Session begins September Ist, 1885, and ends January 30th, 1886. For Catalogue, and further informa tion, address J. T. WARD, D. D., President, June 20 Westminster, Md. J?OR SALE BY A. N. STEPHAN. The finest stock of Spring Goods ever of fered in this market, such as Hames, jTRACE CHAINS OF ALL GRADES,; Tongue, Breast, Stay, Halter, BfcT LOG AND FIFTH CHAINS, “©a Forks, Shovels, Hoes, Rakes, Spades, SAWS of every description, Grindstones and Hang ers, Vises, Anvils, Bellows and Blowers. STEEL SHOVEL BLADES, of all sizes. To any one needing such goods it will be to their advantage to call and see my stock. Also HARDWARE, Iron, Steel, Coach Goods, Wheels, Leather, Glass, Oils, Paints, etc. CUCUMBER PUMPS, The Celebrated Excelsior COOK STOVES, LONDON HORSE ami CATTLE FOOD, V&- READY-MIXED HOUSE PAINT, Barb Fence Wire. A. N. STEPHAN, feb 17-tf Near Depot, Westminster, Md. Re-opening OF New Windsor Machine Shops and Foundry. S. A. SMITH, Successor to Engel, Smith k Co. I take pleasure in informing the public that I have re-opened the Machine Shops and Foundry at New Windsor, Md., and am pre pared to manufacture Agricultural Implements and Ma chinery in General, such as Triple Geared Horse Powers, different sizes, Threshers, Hominy Mills, Mill Work, Plows, Plow Irons, Horse Rakes, 4c. Special attention given to all kinds of repairs Having secured a large assortment of Pat terns from different Foundries, I am prepared to cast almost anything in the market. In the variety of our patterns we can compete with any Foundry in the State. I still continue to manufacture the cele brated “Star” Farm Bells, Wash Kettles, Scoops, &c., also four sizes of Tenplate 1 Stoves. Agent for Buckeye Binders and Repairs, Steam Threshing Machinery and Rakes. By good work and strict attention to busi ' ness, I hope to receive a liberal share of your patronage. \ ery Respectfully^ S. A. SMITH, may 23:3m New Windsor, Md. THIRTY YEARS BAUGH & SONS a Manufacturers of the Original Raw Bone Super-Phosphate And other Standard Bone Manures, Also, HIGH GRADE CHEMICALS. We make a specialty of Baugh’s Pure Raw Bone Meal And Pure Dissolved Raw Bones. Buyers will be surprised to find how low they can buy WARRANTED PURE BONE from ns. Write for Baugh’s Phosphate Guide. Address, BAUGH k SONS, Philadelphia, Pa. Baltimore, Md. f Or Norfolk, Va. my3ots!9* WESTMINSTER, MD, SATURDAY, AUGUST 22,1885. Original foctrg. For the Democratic Advocate. ALICE HAWKES. Do you know that lovely widow, Alice Hawkes? Ever lively, gay and brilliant. How she talks! In her movements to and fro, Smiling sweetly docs she go, Never noisy, never heedless, never rude; Tripping here and laughing there, Blithe and graceful as she's fair, She is always blithe and happy, and she's good. Did you see her move so sprightly Down the street ? How she looked so very handsome And so sweet With her dainty gloves and dress. That you envied the caress Of the wanton winds that kissed her lips and cheek; And you thought it would be bliss, If you, like the winds, could kiss, That sweet face of hers, with bright eyes looking meek? Do you love enchanting music ? Hear her sing With voice sweet as song-bird’s warbles In the spring! Her bewitching langh so gay Soon charms ev’ry,earc away, She believes thatheiug.jny.ms is no sin. She’s a treasure and a prize, He will lucky be and wise Who this fascinating lady's heart doth win. . Circleville, Ohio, Avgust, ISSS. Select £torg. THE JUDGE’S ADVICE. “Well, Jameson,” remarked the Judge to his young friend, “have you been giving the selection of a profession any more thought since we discussed the matter last week?” “Yes, sir,” responded the youth, “but I can come to no conclusion. You have con vinced me that I am unsuited for journal ism and politics.” , “Not so fast,” interrupted the Judge. * “I have merely shown you some of the dark sides of the glowing picture you made in your mind. I merely materialized . your ideals.” “I should like to be rich,” continued | the young man after a few minutes' re- I flection. “Why do you wish that?” ( ; “Oh, it must be a pleasure to have count less wealth at your disposal. If I were as rich as Vanderbilt I could go where I pleased, do as I pleased, and nothing in the world would be impossible for me to per form. I would lead a life of luxurious * ease. Every burden would be removed from my mind, and I would enjoy myself the remainder of my life.” I “So that is what you picture the posses- I sion of unlimited wealth, is it?” observed ! the Judge, as the young man stopped to ( take breath. f “Yes, sir. That is what I would do if > I were rich.” I “Do you see that man walking along ' the street!” asked the Judge, j “What man ?” replied the youth. “Do you mean that old man with the side s whiskers and the high hat ?” * “Yes; let us follow him.” “All right; but who is he ?” ’ “I will leave you to discover that after we get to his store.” It was about 11 o’clock in the morning. Broadway was thronged with pedestrians. The streets were crowded with vehicles. Through the thickest of the crowd the old j gentleman led bis two followers down the j busy thoroughfare to the doors of a large j wholesale establishment. The front part I of the room was filled with young gentle i men who sat around on dry goods boxes, l apparently having very little to do and a great deal of time to do it in. As the three entered the door several of the young gentlemen rose to their feet and walked idly up and down the aisles which led be tween the rows of boxes. As soon as the old gentleman had passed to the other end I of the store and the glass door of the little office had closed behind him, they at once resumed their attitude of ease and took up the thread of conversation where they had left it off. Inside the office were | gathered half a dozen clerks and book keepers hard at work over as many pond erous linen covered volumes. In a revolv ing chair, which stood before a desk, sat a handsome, well-dressed man of middle age, whose round face bore evident traces of good living. “Good morning,” remarked the old gen tleman as he removed his hat and coat and j sat down at a small desk in a dark corner of the room. “Good morning, sir,” remarked the round faced man. “Is there anything new to-day?” inquir ed the old gentleman. “Nothing particular.” “Send me the hank book.” * The book was brought to him and he eagerly scanned its pages. “Has that Brown bill been paid yet ?” he asked. “No, sir.” “We’ll sue him. We can’t run this bus | i iuess for fun.” I “It was due last week,” remarked the j round-faced man, “and he said he would j pay it by the first of the month.” “Yes; promises are cheap. Attach his stock and get our money; we can't afford t to wait. Is there anything else import -1 ant.” s “I think not. By the way, Mr. Bond, . I want to ask a favor of you.” I “Well,” replied the old gentleman, as - he wheeled around in his chair. “What 1 is it?” “I should like a vacation of a fort , night.” : “A vacation ?” “Yes, sir. My health has not been very ' good for the past few months, and I am afraid this spring weather will injure my r lungs.” “Well, Jones, you have been working pretty hard this winter and I guess a rest will do you good. When do you want to > start?” “Next week. I think it would be as good a time as any. I should think a rest wouldn’t hurt you any,” added Mr. Jones. “You don’t seem to be quite as strong as I should like to see you, sir.” “True, Jones, true,” replied Mr. Bond. “My wife has been telling me that for the past year, and my doctor says it is neces sary, but bless your life I can t afford it. Such luxuries are only for you and men of your means. A vacation would be too ex pensive for me.” “Why, I should think you could spare a few weeks from business if you —” “You think so, do you?” interrupted the old gentleman. There is where you are mistaken. If I were away who would look after the bank ? Who would attend to the store? Who would see that the railroad is properly managed ? Who would see that my rents are promptly collected ? My interest paid in when it was due, and * that my stocks are not held longer than J they ought to be? No, Jones, I can’t afford to rest. Besides, I couldn’t enjoy it if I did. The last vacation I took was . about ten years ago. I was taken sick with brain fever. The physician said I must have a rest. So I went out to Long Island to my son’s summer place. This was in the summer. I left Wilson in charge. Poor fellow, he killed himself with work a few years ago. The first day I managed to spend very comfortably. I rode with my family over the country roads and I must confess that it did seem pleasant to be out of doors and away from : the din of the city once more. I was i brought up on a farm, you know. The second day I worried because my letters did not come promptly. I inquired and found that according to my doctor’s in structions no mail was to be sent to me. The next day I was back in the city. That ' ended my vacation. No, you can rest, but I can’t. lam too rich.” “Why don’t you retire from business then?” asked Mr. Jones. “That seems like an easy way to get rid of care.” “Retire from business. Why, my dear boy, I can’t afford it. Where would I in vest my money so as to bring me in as much interest ? I have over SIOO,OOO now that is drawing little or no interest, and I have $500,000 more out at three per cent. If I retire from active business I should be beggared. No, I must keep in the har ness,” continued the old gentleman with a sigh, “I suppose until I am too old to work any more. Well, I must go down to the bank now, I have several important meet ings to attend to, and I may not return before three o’clock.” “Well, Jameson,” remarked the Judge, as they left the office and joined the crowd on the pavement, “what do you think of him?” “I think he is very foolish. If I were as rich as he is I would do differently.” “You think you would, but you would not. The cares of wealth are omnipresent. They cannot be shaken off. The golden chain binds more closely than any iron one that was ever forged. Suppose you were rich and inclined to be philanthropic, do you suppose you would have an easy time? Well, you wouldn’t. You would be kept busy answering letters of appeal from all parts of the world. You would be over run with beggars. Your steps would be i dogged. Those you helped would curse i themselves because they did not ask you for more, and those you refuse would curse you. Your time would be so taken up that you could not even call a moment your • own. Then you would not know whom to trust. There would be so many flatter ers at your side that you would not recog nize the truth when you heard it. You, too, would become suspicious. You would fear, and not without reason, that you were being loved for your money and not for yourself. You would not know who was your friend or who your enemy. You would be afraid to leave so much money in charge of other people while you rested, traveled and enjoyed yourself. They might rob you. They might invest it badly- These fears would haunt you, however generous you might be. Of course if you attempted to mangage some wealth yourself you might as well bid farewell to comfort from that second forever after. How : many vacations does Jay Gould take in the course of a year, and he is worth SIOO,- | 000,000 ? Does Vanderbilt ever leave New York for a year at a time and go into the country for the comfort of his health, and he has nearly $50,000,000 invested in Government bonds, and has practically re tired from business ? No, wealth—great wealth —has its cares, and, my boy, they greatly overbalance its joys.” Several days after this conversation the Judge and his protege met in Delmonico’s for an after-theatre Juncbeoq. In one part of the room sat two young men, richly dressed and hilariously jolly. They were extracting all the pleasure there was in sight and discounting the future. At an other table sat a severely dressed old gen tleman who was morosely drinking a glass of wine. From his appearance he looked : as if had heard bad news. “Do you know who those young men are?” asked the Judge. “No,” replied the youth. “They are clerks at $2,500 a year salary, and do you know who that old gentleman is?” “No.” “He is their employer.” “Why, he is poorer dressed than they are and appears to be in worse circum stances,” exclaimed the youth. “He is, Jameson,” replied the Judge, “in much worse circumstances. He is worth over $50,000,000.” How to Spoil Children. Scone in a library; gentleman writing; child enters — “Father, give me a penny.” “Haven’t any; don’t bother me.” “But, father, I want it. Something particular.” i “I tell you I haven’t got one about me.” “You must have one; you promised me j , one.” “I did no such thing. I won’t give i you any more pennies; you spend too many. j I won’t give it to you, so go away.' Child begins to whimper. “I think you I might give me one.” “No—go away —I won tdo it, so there s ; an end to it.” Child cries, teases, coaxes —father gets out of patience, puts his hand in his pocket, , takes out a penny, and throws it at the child. “There, take it, and don't come back again to-day.” Child smiles, looks shy, goes out con queror—-determines to renew the struggle j in the afternoon, with the certainty of like results. Scene in the street; two boys playing; mother opens the door; calls one ol them. > her own son— “ Joe, come into the house instantly. Joe pays no attention. “Joe, do you hear me? If you don't come I’ll give you a good beating. Joe smiles and continues his play. His companion is alarmed for him and advises . him to obey. ! “You’ll catch it if you don’t go, Joe. ’ , “Oh, no I won’t; she always says so, but never does. I ain’t afraid. I Mother goes hack into the house greatly put out, and thinking herself a martyr to bad children. That’s the way, parents. Show your children by your example that you are weak, undecided, untruthful, and they . learn aptly enough to despise your author ity, and regard your word as nothing. They soon graduate liars and mockers, and r the reaping of your own sowing will not fail. i A traveler describes a natural bridge, almost as interesting as the Virginia curi l osity, spanning a canon about twenty miles north of the point where the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad crosses the boundary be -1 tween New Mexico and Arizona. This i bridge is sixty-five feet long and fifteen 1 wide at the narrowest point. It consists of ’ tough grit rock, underneath which the softer sandstones have been worn away to a depth of twenty-five to forty feet beneath : the arch. Near by is a petrified forest. r The stone tree trunks lie just beneath the i soil, or half exposed, fallen in all directions. : This point had never before been visited by [ a white man. ©ur ©lio. THE NEWS GATHERER. American Journalist. Among all the classes that make up the down town life of a city there is no class so interesting to me as that of the news gatherers. I speak of them just as they occur to me, hoping to interest none but those who are more or lass strangers to them. Here is a class of collectors and writers of news, a class that has sprung up within half a century, and to-day in our own country numbers five thousand men. How little does the great world, which they each day epitomize, know of them. “The local reporter” —how contemptuously the rich man speaks of him as he sits at the breakfast table and glances over the crowded columns of the great daily. And yet the wonderful product that lies before him is the work of the same despised being. Not alone the news of his own city is given him by the “local reporter;” not alone the details of the market and trade; but all night long the mails, the telegraph wires and cable have been burdened with the work of the “local reporter.” Debates of'vsenates, movements oL armies, ravages : of earthquake, desolation by pestilence and flood —kings plotting together in palaces, 1 peoples gathering turbulent and rebellious in their streets —a panorama of the world, j as wonderful as the Spaniard’s downward j glance into all life arrested and motionless for inspection—and this is the work of “local reporters.” It was a wonderful or ganization that impressed Webster as he sat upon one of the great guns at Quebec j and looked at the rising sun, that power whose drum beat as he wrote: “Rising with the sun and keeping pace with the hours, encircled the earth with the contin uous and unbroken strains of the military music of England.” But a greater power than that has been brought into puissant being since that time. Under the direc tion of combined capital an army of men actually covers the known world, and the far-flashing of their written words outstrips the sun in its course and distances, the lagging hours in their flight. This army is made up of “local reporters.” It is not difficult to see romance and power in this class, taking them in their relations with the daily life of the world and with the great organizations which are bound into the alliances for the exchange of news. But the stranger, thinking of them individually, might find the air of romance-gone. The average reporter is to all appearances a very commonplace indi vidual. He has generally a rather anxious face and wears shabby clothes. His com plexion is sallow and tobacco and long hours have taken the brightness from his eye. As a rule he is not a handsome man. In respect to age he is anywhere from twenty to thirty-five years old. His hair is streaked with gray, but that does not in dicate his age. It indicates his work and experiences. He is usually an even-tem pered individual who cares too little for j the run of people to be often angered, and : knows too much of the world to give per- 1 sonal offense. He is seldom in blues, rarely in love, sometimes in drink, and generally in debt. That is the “local reporter.” The majority of news gatherers are sin gle men. Doubtless most of them feel that their salaries will not support a family. Perhaps they are wrong in this, for as a : class they are better paid than most young men. Moreover, a considerable number of reporters do support families, and very com fortably, on their salaries. Some of the best reporters are married men. But whether it is from the lack of the econo mizing quality in the reporter, or from the | meagreness of his salary, it has grown to | be a recognized tenet of the business that I a reporter can’t afford to have a family. | So he lives in his down-town boarding- j house or hotel, accustoms himself to the society of those he meets within a do*en blocks of his office and draws every week his salary with which he pays his board and washing, receiving possibly enough to keep him in the luxuries of life through the week. His salary varies according to his ability and location. If he is in St. Louis it runs from sls to S3O a week; in Chicago he | will be paid about the same; in Cleveland it will hardly run above S2O; in Buffalo, ! Albany or Boston rarely above sls, and | in New York there are good newspaper men who are working for $lO and sl2 a week. Undoubtedly he is fortunate if he has a permanent situation in Chicago or St. Louis, although his living expenses may he heavier than they would be in the East ern cities. On most of the papers the new man is put down on the pay roll for some thing like $lO a week, but this is soon raised to sls or S2O, and there are few, if any, reporters working in the city now for less than 815. If it is borne in mind that the facts I am giving are not intended for those fa miliar with newspaper life of a great city, but that they are written for people who know comparatively little about it, I may be excused for going into detail. The re porter on a morning paper, who is perhaps . a more over worked man than his brother on the evening paper, appears on duty early in the afternoon and is given an afternoon assignment. He is expected to show up early iu the evening with his work written out and be ready to take an evening assign ment. With this he returns as soon as he can gather the necessary facts, takes his desk and writes out his article. That fin ished he remains on duty until time for leaving in the morning. This time varies in different offices, as the time of going to press varies. In St. Louis, reporters are | seldom kept after 2 A. M., although a watch is put on who remains three or four hours after to give the alarm if anything occurs of enough consequence to warrant an extra edition. The work of a late watch was shown in the Globe-Democrat office the ■ other morning. The Golden Eagle fire occurred at 3.45, and although the paper had already gone to press, Tom Gallagher, who was on duty, brought in the facts for another edition. In Cleveland, Cincinnati and some of the Eastern cities, notably Boston, a full force of reporters are kept on duty till about 4 o’clock. So the morning paper reporters have hours ranging from twelve to fourteen a day. There are some of them who are on duty full fourteen hours a day, and still get time for considerable reading and outside writing. The hours for the evening paper men are considerably shorter. Work with them commences about eight o'clock in the morning, and the last edition generally goes down about four o'clock in the afternoon. It is probable that, taking them altogether, they do not average half as many hours on duty as the men on a morning paper. It is the exception when they have evening work to do, these papers, as a rule, con densing the news of the night before their issue, from the morning papers. One might suppose that a reporter on an evening paper had a “pic-nic,” but in this supposition he would be wrong. The work of an evening paper is hurried, nervous work. During the four or five hours in the middle of the day in which news can be gathered for an evening paper, the force is pushed to its utmost capacity. The men are feverishly hurried from one part of the city to another, compelled to write up facts that they haven’t had time to examine, driven to make com plete articles about transactions which are still incomplete, moved to “anticipate ’ hap penings, the occurrence of which is still veiled in doubt; they are hampered by in structions about matter that must be in time for the first or second editions, dis tressed by finding that their manuscript is too late for publication, and in every way made miserable and unhappy. Between the long hours of the morning paper and the fretful haste of the evening paper, the reporter finds himself environed by a veri table Scylla and Charybdis. This is the life of the news gatherer. Not altogether a cheerful and luxurious one, not altogether an enviable one, and yet a life which thousands arc following, and countless thousands are seeking to follow; for undesirable as the life may be for every one who is filling a position as reporter there are at least three who are seeking such positions. It Is a profession or semi profession to which the bars are always down, and “whoever will may come.” The pasture is not of the greenest, the babbling brook that winds its way among its mounds and hillocks is not the purest. Its banks arc strewn with many wrecks and skeletons, but the gates BCtmU ahrays open, rile bars are always down. None arc kept out ex cept by the crowd that throngs the entrance, pushing and jostling, and pressing forward. The only requisite one needs is strength enough to force his way into the crowd and push along into the pasture. Once inside he is apt to stay, for, unlike Ayernus, both the exit and entrance are most difficult. There are those, however, who have come out through great tribulation aud washed their robes. Indeed, there are many whose names are dear in the memories of men and high in the records of states, who served among the reporters. The literary world has a number of familiar names that at times could have been seen on a reporters’ pay roll. Charles Dickens was a reporter, and in that wonderful mirage of family life, “Da vid Copperfield,” he gives glances of his reportorial impressions. W. D. Howells, the greatest of America’s novelists, was a reporter, and is still, for that matter. His novels are nothing more than the careful and painstaking representations of an accu rate observer. While he has shown his newspaper experience through his work in its attention to detail and dependence upon narrative and description, in “Modern In stance,” he has distinctly set forth his newspaper views. He deliberately starts his hero, Bartley Campbell, in the news paper business; he shows him what kind of writing is valuable, what kind is worthless; he brings him through the various stages !of newspaper experience, and makes a trained journalist of him, showing the reader at every step just how it is done. However little respect the reader may have for Bartley Campbell’s character, he cannot help but have a very lively respect for bis newspaper work. There have been embryo poets, many of them, among the reporters. Hood is said I to have been a writer for the press, and to have conceived the plan of that— “ One more unfortunate Weary of breath,” while writing up the suicide of a notorious woman. Edgar Allen Poe was a reporter, although a very poor one. An amusing i story regarding Poe’s newspaper experience was related to me some time ago by a Philadelphia gentleman. Poe had been for some time on the New York Tribune, and was, after a fashion, a protege of Hor -1 ace Greeley’s. This old nobleman’s sym pathies were often touched by Poe’s finan cial straits, and several times he generously helped him out, One day Poe came to him requesting a loan of one hundred dol lars. He offered his note, and Mr. Greeley accepted it, giving him the money. That same day Poe left for another city, and that was the last Mr. Greeley saw or heard of him or the money. Some years after, when Poe’s poetry had become famous, a Philadelphia lady who was, as she said, a ! “passionate and devoted admirer of the poet’s genius,” wrote to Mr. Greeley ask ing if he had Poe’s signature, and if he had how much money it would take to buy j it. Greeley wrote back : “I have his sig | nature, madam, and it will take just one hundred dollars to buy it.” The lady sent 1 on her check for one hundred dollars, and ; by return mail Mr. Greeley sent her Poe’s note, the signature being underlined with a blue pencil. Virtuosity from an Engineer’s Point of View. Jim Nelson, “one of the oldest locomo tive engineers running into New Orleans,” gives the following account in the Times- Dcmocrat of how he heard a French per former play a piano solo : As soon as he sat down on the stool I knew by the way he handled himself that he understood the machine he was running. He tapped the keys away up one end, just as if they were guages and he wanted to see if he had water enough. Then he looked up as if he wanted to know how much steam he , was carrying, and the next moment he pulled open the throttle and sailed out on the main line as if he was a half hour late. Y'ou could hear her thunder over culverts and bridges, and getting faster and faster, until the fellow rocked about in his seat like a cradle. Somehow I thought it was old ‘thirty-six’ pulling a passenger train and getting out of the way of a ‘special.’ The fellow worked his keys on the middle division like lightning, and then he flew along the north end of the line until the drivers went around like a buzz-saw, and I got excited. About the time I was fixing to tell him to cut her off a little, he kicked the dampers under the machine wide open, pulled the throttle away back in the ten der. and, Jerusalem jumpers! how he did run ! I couldn’t stand it any longer, and yelled to him that she was ‘pounding’ on the left side, and if he wasn’t careful he’d drop his ashpan. “But he didn’t hear me. No one heard me. Everything was flying and whizzing. Telegraph poles on the side of the track looked like a row of cornstalks, the trees appeared to be a mud bank, aud all the time the exhaust of the old machine sounded like the hum of a bumblebee. I tried to yell out, but my tongue wouldn’t move. He went around the curved like a bullet, slipped an eccentric, blew out his soft plug, went down grades fifty feet to the mile, and not a confounded brake set. She went hy the meeting point at a mile and a half a minute and called for more steam. My hair stood up like a cat’s tail, because 1 knew the game was up. “Sure enough, dead ahead of us was the head-light of the ‘special.’ In a daze I heard the crash as they struck, and I saw cars shivered into atoms, people mashed and mangled, and bleeding, and gasping for water. I heard another crash as the French professor struck the deep keys away down on the lower end of the south ern division, and then I came to my senses. There he was, at a dead standstill, with the door of the fire-box of the machine open, wiping the perspiration off his face, and bowing at the people before him. If I live to be a thousand years old I’ll never forget the ride that Frenchman gave me on a piano,” b Some Colossal Statues. From St. Louis Globe-Democrat. 1 Even among the rudest nations efforts at . statuary are and always have been common, the attempt at this sort of art being appar ently first directed toward depicting some 1 representation of the god held nu>st in reverence by the sculptors. As skill in -1 creased the talent of the artists was em ployed in portraying the features of their greatest military and civil leaders, and as the living memory of these faded and their glory brightened in the legends remember ed and invented of them, so the effort to I represent their forms and features in stat uary became also idealized. In Persia the heroic and gigantic statues of the kings were very numerous, but none of them remain entire enough to afford more than the dimmest idea of their size. There are large fragments, evidently once belonging to gigantic statuary, in the ruins of Susa and other Persian cities, but the malice of I state enemies, together with the decaying | hand of time, has made identification an impossibility. Numbers of cities in Hin dustan have legends of gigantic images of their idols, and in some cases fragments of these statues remain, but quite frequently the Hindoo idok were eousn'ucted of other and more perishable materials than stone, and so, for the most part these statues are 1 but legendary. The Aztecs of Mexico and Central America and the Peruvians have left many evidences of their skill in stone cutting, but comparatively few statues arc found, and these are evidently conventional. In the mountain districts of Peru there are many of these odd, half statue, half monu ment figures, from six to twenty feet high, carved from a single block, but whether j they were designed as objects of worship, as statues of the Aztec rulers, or as orna ments for palaces, cannot now be ascer ’ tainod. : Some of the most notable stone statues of ancient times are those of the Egyptian kings. Rameses 11., or the Great, appears to have been fond of having himself repre i sented in this manner, and the statues he 1 i left are, some of them, almost as perfect as 1 | when they came from the sculptor’s hands. I A peculiar thing about the Egyptian stat i j ues and monuments is the fact that every one is cut from a single solid block, not a ! sign of a patch or seam being anywhere ob -1 | servable. This is the case, not only with the statues, but with the obelisks also, some 1 of which are nearly 100 feet high, but each of a single block. The engineering skill | required to move those enormous masses of stone must have been very considerable, but in the catacombs of Egypt there remain pictures which show many details of the work. In one picture a huge statue is be ing drawn on beams by long lines of men, ‘ over 500 in each line, who are pulling on ropes, being guided in their efforts by a leader standing on the base of the statue and motioning to a man by his side, who clashes a pair of cymbals as a signal to pull. Others rearrange the beams as the statue . passes along, while others, with jars, empty oil on the wood to diminish the friction. The sphinx is not often thought of in | connection with statuary, but it is one of the most wonderful statues in the world, j whether considered with regard to its size, ; the workmanship displayed, or the skill required in moving so immense a mass of ■ stone. It is believed to be contemporary I with the pyramids, but for ages the pur ; pose of its erection has been lost. The shifting sands of the desert have buried it almost to the chin, but several attempts at great labor and expense have been made to uncover enough of it to make accurate measurements. None of these have been entirely successful, since the desert winds i blow back the sand almost as fast as it is . | taken out; hut enough has been done to approximate the dimensions of this enor mous statue. The head is twenty-eight i feet and six inches from the top to the 1 chin, while from the top of the head to the pedestal on which the body rests is ninety 1 feet. The body is that of a crouching lion, and is 14G feet long, while the paws pro- ject in front of the head nearly 50 feet. The . breadth of the shoulders is thirty-six feet, ; and, so far as has yet been discerned, the r entire statue is of one block. An enter . prising investigator bored an experimental . hole in one of the shoulders to a depht of - i twenty-seven feet, but found solid stone I without a seam. How the mass was ever ; carved, or being carved, how it was moved and placed in position will never be known. The celebrated Colossus of Rhodes, was 1 of bronze, and is commonly cited as one of j the wonders of the world. It was the work of Chares, a noted sculptor, who spent twelve years in making it. It stood only - sixty-six years, and was overthrown by an ' earthquake B. C. 224. Its height was 105 feet, without pedestal. Its thumb meas . ured a fathom round. The statue was v | hollow, and the cavity was filled with stones. • j After the earthquake the Colossus helped ; the Rhodians out with a swindle as gigan > tic as itself, which they perpetrated on the ; rest of the Greeks, subscriptions for replac -1 ing the statue being collected to more than 1 five times the value of the work needed, > and then the money being diverted to other : uses. The statue lay on the ground for i 894 years, when, the island being con quered by the Saracens, the fallen Colos ; 1 gus was sold for old brass to a Hebrew , junk-dealer of those days, who cut it up, ; loaded 900 camels with the brass, and s made a fortune out of his speculation, i | Allowing 800 pounds for each camel-load, ’ the total weight of the bronze was 720,- ; 000 pounds, and this after the statue had • been subjected to the rust and waste from ; the theft of nine centuries. The pedestal [ | was triangular, and there was a staircase to r ascend to the top, Rhodes was famous I for its statues, however, as Pliny mentions . a hundred other colossuses, notjso large, in - the various quarters of the city. 1 Modern gigantic statues have been com -1 mon enough, quite a number of sculptors i having excelled in executing them. Among 1 the noblest the “Moses and David” of Michael Angelo may be mentioned, but the 1 modern world has few colossal statues to boast of. The “Bavaria” at Munich is one : of the most notable, its height being forty - 5 nine feet and two inches; while at Puy the ; French, in honor of their share in the ; Crimean war, erected in 1850 a bronze [ statue of the Virgin, its height being fifty ; two feet and four inches. It was cast from i the metal of 246 cannon taken at Sebasto > pol, and was deemed a triumph of the i founder’s skill. The famous statue of St. . Charles Barromeo is seventy-two feet in : height, and is notable from the fact that s the style of its construction is very similar , to that of the Liberty, being made of cop per plates fastened to a framework, this > joined to a central column. The great liberty statue to be set up in New York harbor is the largest ever known. The [ statue is 151 feet 2 inches in height with out the pedestal, but including the pedes i tal, the base and the foundation, the statue ; towers 905.11 feet above the low-water mark. It is of sheets of copper, 2} milli meters thick, beaten into place and fitted to i the framework of the statue, which is jjpp ported by a heavy iron column in the cen ! tre, which bears most of the weight. Some idea of the size of the statue may be gained • from the fact that the fore-finger is 2.85 s metres (over six feet) long, and a yard and a half in circumference at the second joint. VOL. XX.-NO. 41. The head is over seventeen feet from top to chin; the eye is nearly three-quarters of t a yard wide, while the nose is a yard and a quarter long. Over forty persons can ’ occupy the head at one time, while in the gallery that surrounds the torch twelve can ' stand. The American people can thus boast that among the other great things of this country the United States has the greatest statue of ancient or modern times, and among the men whose names are cer ’ tainly assured a place on the pages of his tory as long as it shall be written is the ( sculptor Bartholdi. Persian Bill of Pare. ! From the St. James Gazette. 1 The food of the Persians is very varied. 1 As a rule, the very poor do not get meat more than once a week, while villagers and i the nomadic tribes see it very rarely and i only on great occasions, as at marriage feasts. The ordinary diet of a laboring > man is bread and cheese in winter, bread and fruit in summer. But even the laborers ; manage to obtain an occasional bowl of strong soup; and they vary their diet with conserves, dried fruits, basins of curds and hard boiled eggs. The actual weight of bread that a muleteer or laborer can con > sume, and does consume daily, is very - great, seven pounds not being an extraor -1 dinary allowance. In the south of Persia, 1 dates are the staple food. They are very cheap and satisfying. During the summer ' lettuces, grapes, apricots, onions and cu • cumbers form the dainties of the villager; ! and these, with bread, cheese and curds, are their only food. In every large town > cook shops abound. Sheep are roasted whole in ovens, and sold hot by the slice. i The sheep’s heads and feet are boiled sep arately, and their preparation and sale is a trade in itself. But the edible most in favor among all classes in Persia is the 1 kabab. ■ There are two varieties of kabab. 1 One is made from minced mutton, which is ’ chopped with a few onions into a paste fine as sausage meat, carefully moulded over a 1 skewer, toasted over a tierce charcoal fire, ’ and sold and eaten hot. This is the kabab of the bazaar, the delicacy of the lower classes. At the dinner hour (sunset) and | at the breakfast hour ( noon) crowds sur ■ round the shops of the kabab sellers. Each man carries his bread, which is usually a flexible loaf two feet long, one foot wide, ! and one-half an inch thick. The customer wraps his kababs, hot from the fire, in his , j bread, and either sits down and eats it then ! and there, or takes the meal home to his i | family. In any case, a hot dinner of roast 1 meat can be obtained for from Id. to 3d. a j head; for the price of a single skewer of the steaming delicacy is but Id. Jars contain ing about half a pint of hot, strong and savory meat soup are sold for Id. These ’ form the invariable meal of the Persian 1 soldier, if be can afford it. The meat is I pounded and served with the soup or eaten afterwards as a separate plate. But in Persia, as in the rest of the East, bread, rice or dates are the real food —the meat merely the sauce or bonne bouche. Per sians of all ages are very fond of confec tionery, and are constantly devouring sweets. These are generally pure and good, but there is little variety in color, . most of them being white, and nearly all are flavored with lemon juice. How to Get Trade in Summer. Entering the store of a prosperous mer chant the other day, a gentleman, a stran ger in town, expressed surprise at the busy scene that greeted him. He inquired of : the proprietor how it was that he was get ting more than his share of business in these dull, mid-summer days. The merchant re- I I plied: “I attribute the excellent business I do every summer to just two things: First, ;! I advertise bargains and keep my store be : fore the public; second, when the public s calls I satisfy it by keeping my advertised ■ promise. It cost me $6,000 to learn this , lesson, and it has paid me at least $25,000. • During three successive summers during • the hard years that followed 1873 I ran , behind in this store on an average $2,000 • every year. I made up my mind that ■ there was business to do, and that I would 1J do it. In the middle of the worst and f | dullest year that we had, when clerks were ; absent on their vacations, and half of the ■ force in the store was idle, I started in and I spent $1,200 in advertising midsummer . | bargains, remnants, old stock and so on. i i Within a week my store was so full of f business that I had to send for every clerk ; who was away, and I added two extra II clerks. That year, instead of a loss of r j $2,000 in the summer, I made $2,500, be i j sides what I paid for advertising. I have i kept it up ever since. That was the most ! expensive lesson I ever learned, but it was i | the most instructive and the most remu . 1 nerative. If I had to start in business 1 ; again as poor as I was when I started, I ; would make it a rule to spend at least one ! ! half of what my rent cost in advertising in ■ | home papers. I would not waste it in i cheap methods, but I would spend it judic , j iously in the best and high-priced depart • | ment and in the largest and best papers,” Preserving the Dead. ■ M. J. Kergovatz, a chemist of Brest, , has discovered a mode of disposing of the I j mortal remains of humanity which he con . siders preferable in every way both to in . humation and cremation. His system is . | an antiseptic one, of a simpler character I and much less expensive than the old pror i cess of embalmment. All that is necessary 1 is to rub the body over with a solution of > plumbagine and then plunge it into a cop s per bath. But copper being rather an ex j pensive material, zinc may be substituted i j for it in the case of the poor. On the other hand, persons of luxurious tastes . may use silver or gold if they please, the i effect being the same. The discoverer has r tried his system eleven times on the human f subject and on a hundred dead animals, > and he has never known it to fail. Among , the manifold advantages which would re i suit from the adoption of this system, M. . Kergovatz mentions one which, if gener > ally availed of, will strike a death blow at t one of the fine arts. By simply prolonging > the duration of the bath the body is ren . dered as hard and as indestructible ns i granite, and thus the country is provided . with -ready-made statues of its great men,” ; and the State and the communes' will bo saved in future the considerable expense , which our present dependence on the stat ; uary art for memorial purposes imposes on • them. French clocks are said to represent the highest perfection in the way of decorative clock cases. Knglish clock-makers claim and deserve the reputation of producing the mast accurate time-keepers, while to the American manufacturers belong the credit of making the best time-keepers at the least possible cost. Mr. Smiley; “Better let me carry the poodle, my dear, and you can carry the baby.” Mrs. Smiley: “No, no; you carry the baby. I cannot trust you with Gyp, you might drop him.” The mantle of charity is often cut from a very small piece of cloth.