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A FQEM OF POVERTY,
If I had more a year, love, If I had inore a year, I'd take you to the opera, ,Which jiow would look quite queer On carriages and Jacqueminots I'd make it disappear Candy, ice-creunt—whate'«r you chose, If I had mbro a year. If I had more a year, love, I uhould my love confess, I'd give you every kind of chance I To«9ftly murmur. "Yes." "y You hdghfcneeept me then, I think, We'll settle down next year— The other men could take to drink, If I had more a year. If I had more a year, love, 'Twould very soon be shown If 'tis (or not) a pleasant thing To live for one alone. You'resomethinglike your mother, now You'll grow more like, I fear. Perhaps 'tis better, anyhow, I haven't more a year. —Life. MY WIFE LUCIE. To begin with—she was very pretty. I don't know where to show you an other just like her. She was straight and round in figure, with a fair face, go-ldenhair and soft, white hands. She had brown eyes, regular features and mobile red lips. On a rainy day cer tain fine tresses of her shining hair would escape from the remainder and curl about her temples in little gold teudril rings. Her voice was quiet and melodious, and she wore violet dress es. This is as well as I can describe her. And I am afraid that this is about all I knew of her when we were mar ried. We met first out west. I was alone in a strange country. She, also was alone. She was a music teacher living in a boarding-house. She was gentle and sad. I made her acquaint ance. I loved her. I promised to make her happy and we were married. My^vestern tour being ended, wo came back east and settled at a romantic little place called Daphne Dell. We had been married just a year when my story commences. I was young, just starting in life,and very much engrossed in my business. Neither was I a particularly demon strative man, and, as Lucie was very quiet and composed in mien. I think we hardly appeared like newly-married people. I had all confidence in my wife. It was kor neatness, frugality and good judgment that won me, together with her beauty. All home affairs—the em ployment of a servant, and bills—Ileft entirely to her management. It was a great rest to leave my count ingroom and return homeward, for I was sure to find everything right. If Lucie had any annoyances she never confessed them, and I never took home my busi- J1«^ trouble. As ISiiA-i we had been married a year, when one eveiiV.v? ame home as us ual. It had been a day, but, as I left the cars a great drop olnu'n splash ed on my nose. I had tail miiint^s' walk before me and commenced the task rather briskly. Daphne Dell was within half an hour's ride of the city. I had thought it better for our health to live out of town, and then to me, at least it was infinitely pleasanter. Lucie, too, had seemed to like the place. She came and examined it before I made the purchase—said it was pretty and would do very well. The rain came doAvn smartly as I reached my garden gate. As I entered the sitting-room I found Lucie hurried ly putting away some papers. "The rain is blowing up from the west. You had better shut the parlor windows, Lucie," I said, as I went to the closet to hang up my coat, and get my dressing gown. "Yes, Will," she said absently, rum maging in a drawer. The storm struck savagely against the pane. She went and shut the parlor windows and then came back to the drawer. When shelooked the drawer through sh®*tooked over the table, and finally went to the escretoire. "What are you hunting for, Lucie?" said I. "Never mind," she said, carelessly "I guess it will come. Supper is ready. Will." We went to the dining room. She poured out my tea, and chatted of her garden and the incidents of the day. She had planted mignonette under the windows that its fragrance might come to her while she was sew ing, she said. The Misses Granger had called, aud the man had been to graft the pear trees. Pleasant, ordinary chat thatsuggestednothingof the mys tery to come. The rain continued all night, but the m'orningVas clear. I felt myself a very happy man as I stepped from my door into the balmy spring air. The tulips were in blossom, and the cro cusses filled the whole garden with their fragrance. I walked leisurely alone the path, unlatched the gate and went out. A f«*w steps distant, under the or chard wall, lay a sheet of paper. It looked like something that should not have been there, and I went and pick edit up. It was a single square sheet of un rqledpaper, and the nandwriting upon it was my wife's. As I looked at it a word here and there caught my eye. With arrested attention, Icommenced a careful examination of the sheet. With some difficulty I read as follows: "My Dearest Percy.—Your entreaties and my own heart will not longer ah low me to remain silent. My beloved, I am so miserable! These clandestine tetters of yours which I receive are my only comfort in the world. I feed on them. They are the only brightness which illuminates my dark way. My life is almost insupportable: You know that I do not love my husband that I never loved him. You, only, know the whole army of circumstances under whioh I married him. Well, he is my husband and I try to be a good wife, but this existence is like some dreadful nightmare dream, Per cy. It does not seem as if it could be me who lives and breathes and an swers to my name. I am so desolate and oppressed—so despairing! I have the feeling, sometimes, that I am under a spell, that my faculties are paralyz ing and that I shall lose my mind in this dull, void living. Only when your letters come I am alive. I feel that you love me, and I live and feel and am exquisitely happy and miserable, both together. "My husband—as long as I perform my daily duties he is contented. He knows nothing of my feelings. He con siders me a machine for his comfort. Sometimes I loathe him. Usually I am indifferent to him. "But, to-night it seems almost as if I dared escape to you. Freedom, love, happiness—may they still be mine? Before long I will grant you an inter view. I will promise "you nothing more than that now. Percy, my only love, God bless and keep you until we meet. "One word more. Praybeeautious. If my husband should discover this correspondence I cannot answer for the consequences. Though he has nev er ill-treated me I know him to be a hard man. Let me hear from you soon. Yours." The name was illegible, for the sheet was much discolored and blotted by the rain. But it was Lucie's fine, del icate chirography, and I leit as if a thunder-bolt had broken around me. After a moment's blank wonderment and strange, bewildering pain, I put the sheet in my pocket and quietly continued my way. Such a flood of emotion was stirred within that I summoned a superficial calmness from an instinct of self-preservation. I was conscious of one predominant feeling as I went to the city—hatred against my wife for lier duplicity. I must have looked wretchedly when I reached the office, but my partner was too much excited to notice it. "Knowles," he exclaimed, "there was a terrible fire in Philadelphia last night, and our branch house is burned to the ground. Here is a dispatch lrom Weiss. He wants you to come on im mediately." In twohOurs I was on my way to Philadelphia. There was much to do to restore our interests, aud I lent myself to the work with all my energies. It was the best thing that could have happened to me. It gave me no more time to think of Lucie. I wrote her once, telling her very briellv that I should not be at home for a month. It was six weeks before I again arrived at Daphne Dell. The maid was washing the hall. "How do you do, Dorcas? How is Mrs. Knowles?" "Very comfortable. I think she is sleeping now, sir." Somewhat bewildered by this reply I went into the sitting-room. No sign of Lucie or of her work. I mounted to the chamber and quietly opened the door. The room was darkened. Lucie was sitting up in bed nursing the infant. Sweetly and calmly she extended her hand to me. I went to her—I put my arms about her—I kissed her. Icould not help it, for I felt that the child up on her bosom was my own. The nurse came in, took the infant from her, and bade her lie down to rest. She was very weak. I cannot ex press my contending feelings as I watched her fragile face upon the pil low. Slowly she gained strength. It was midsummer before she was about the house again. The little one had been prematurely born, but it throve, and the mother's health was finally re stored. I was rejoiced at this. I should have been perfectly happy but for the letter. The memory of it was like an ugly devil that mocked me. One day as Lucie sat tending her child in a low chair by "the window I laid the sheet before her. I had fixed my eyes upon her face, and saw a slow surprise dawn upon it. "Where did you find this, Will? I lost it months ago." "Under the orchard wall. What does it mean, Lucie?" "Well," a slight blush, "you have found me out. It's a story I was writing." "And Percy— "Was the hero. The sheet must have blown out the window that rainy night last spring. You see, dear, I didn't like to tell you, because I thought you wouldn't like to have a literary wife, but I had been accustomed to writing stories some times, and when I knew baby was coming thought I would earn the mon ey myself for the embroidered flannel and cambric dresses. I knew you needed every.cent in your business. I had to rewrite this letter for my ro mance," she continued, "and I didn't get it quite the same," examining the sheet. I looked at her sweet face for a mo ment and then fell down on my knees beside her. I confessed all. Slow amazement dawned in her counte nance. At length her soft eyes filled with tears. She drew my face down to her bosom where the little baby was slumbering. "Another lover?" she murmured. "Why, Will, nobody but you ever lov ed me in all my life!" Then, again, I knew that she was once more mv Lucie! The Dude iu Married Life. Charles Shayler, of 98th street, says the New York Telegram, was a prison er in the Harlem police court. His wife stood beside him. She looked confidently at the court. Charles looked despondent. "You don't look like a fighting cou ple," sajd his honor "but this police man says that it was because of your belligerent attitude toward each other last night that he was compelled to arrest you." "Youah honah, I beg youah indul gence," said Charies, meekly. "In stead of being in any mannah antago nistic to my wife it was my gweat af fection for her that caused the trou ble. Indeed, yonah honah, I assuah you I'm quite incaple of showing any antipathy to her or doing her any harm." "He is telleng you the truth, judge," said Mary, his wife, who is short, bright, and stout. "It was I who created the disturbance." "Why did you do so?" queried his honor. "Because I could in no other way bring him to his senses," said she. "Oh fie, my darling!" said Cha-les. "That expression, your honor, is a sample of what led to the trouble. We have been married six months, and I thought it about time to settle down to a common-sense life three or four months ago. Instead of that he wants to be continually kissing, read ing me love poems, even when friends are visiting us. Despite my warning he did it last night, and I—I—well, I spanked him and he howled that's all." While Charles blushed she shook with laughter. The court advised him that he prob ably had a good, sensible wife, and he had good reason to try and be a real sensible man. There has been an attempt to create another grasshopper scare in the Northwest, which might easily be ac complished if the grasshoppers should materialize. At present, however, there is no reason for alarm. Luxuriant Summer Homes. Newport Correspondence of the ltastou Journal.! Very few people can realize the ex tent and beauty as well W course, as the cost of maintenanceW some ol the summer residences in this city that are tho homes of the wealthy, who leave their town life only because the heat compels them, and the object of many of whom in coming here is to recuperate their strength and be in readiness for the coming winter season's excitement and gayety. The incomes of some of these people must be enormous, or they couldn't stand it. Take, for instance, Mr. Pierre, Lorillard, of New York. His place here, is estimated to be worth in the neighborhood, of $800,000. At eight per cent, that means $24,000 a year, and for a ten weeks' occuxinncy that is $'2,400 a week. There is, in addition to this, the cost of stabling, servants, grounds and green-houses, which in some cases is enormous. The grounds of some are made the special hobby. Particularly is this the case with Mrs. Gardner Brewer, a well known society lady of Boston and this city, who, with her daughter, Miss Brewer, who is one of the most popu lar society ladies here, entertain very elegantly, and maintain the reputa tion of their city home for generous hospitality. In 1877 Mrs. Brewer and Miss Brewer gave a fete champetre in aid of the Old South Church of Boston, a full account of which was given in the Journal at the time, The band of the U.S. Artillery dis coursed fine music, which is always attractive, but the great attraction to the hundreds of fashionable and wealthy people who flocked to Finis terre, the name of the lovely summer home of the Brewers, was not the charming sounds that might chance to be heard from the instruments of expert musicians, but the lovely— grand, in fact—displav of flowers and tropical plants, which were the pride of that place. But if they were grand then, how much more grand and costly and beau tiful is the collection that can be seen there to-day. Both Mrs. Brewer and Miss Brewer have excellent tastes in the selection of plants and bulbs which they desire to raise, so that with the assistance of an expert gardener they are able to outdistance many of their social rivals in the cultivation of horti culture. In and around the dwelling house are to be seen some very costly and rare orchids and cacti, the latter being especially of great value. Deli cate ferns and rare palms and other tropical plants are to be seen in all directions, some of the ferns being finer in texture and weight than lace itself. But it is in the greenhouses that the most valuable plants are to be found. Mrs. Brewer's floral possessions are worth scores upon scores of thousands of dollars, and it is stated that she has in Europe and Central America friends who are constantly on the alert to seize upon anything in the way of flowers that is new or novel. Of the catleya orchids Mrs. Brewer is undoubtedly the happy possessor of the most valuable plants in Newport or Boston and it is believed that in the number and extent of variety of the catleya, there is but one person of wealth whose possessions of this kind surpass hers, and that is Mr. Erastus Corning. In his magnificent green-houses at Albany he has' no less than twelve hundred catleyas, the market value of which would surprise even the most dubious ones. At this lime Mrs. Brewer has in bloom a large number of cacti, the hues of which are as beautiful and varied as they are delicate. These plants, or at least a majority of them, have been raised within the green houses of Finisterre. Mrs. Brewer im ports from Europe a large number of bulbs, varying in cost from one pound to ten and fifteen pounds sterling. The lawn surrounding the Brewer mansion is very extensive and is kept in excel lent condition. Some of the flower beds are very prettily arranged, the de vices being unique and striking. With all these lovely surroundings and cost ly horticultural belongings the ladies of this beautiful place are not unmind ful of their duty to the world. It is sufficient to say that many a poor person can tell a tale of their bounty. The Story of Floyd Ireson. Bv Rev. G. Q. Shinn. We have all read Whit tier's story of Skipper Ireson, who is represented as deserting a ship-wrecked crew, and being tarred and feathered and then driven through the streets of Marble head for his inhumanity.'The facts are, that as Ireson's schooner, the Betty, was on her way home from the fishing banks in the storm, she passed the schooner Active of! Cape Cod in a sinking condition. Ireson called his crew together and consulted with them as to what should be done. They all declared that it was madness to risk their own lives in an attempt to res cue the crew* of the Active. Ireson then wanted them to lie by the wreck for the night, and then try to save them, but the crew demurred, and compelled him to make all sail for home. When they reached Marble-| head, fearing the indignation of their brave neighbors, .they agreed to place all the blame upon the skipper, and the story was believed. Ireson, however, after he had been tarred and feathered and ridden through the town and back again, said to the men and boys, "You will live to regret all this," and they did— for the true story came out later, and it is a pity the poet Whittier did not know what the true story was ere his graceful pen put in shape the wicked lie as it was told by the cowardly crew of the Betty. How to Eat 'Possum. Bimebyyer comes home fumde day's hard work to yer supper. You're mi ty worn out, for yer been wukinginde fiel hard all day. Yer sets down out sidedecabin do' an' tekes yer pipe an' smokes. 'Fore long Sam says: "Dad dy, supper reddy." But yer des set dar yer doan go in. Yer waittwelde ole 'oman an'de chillun git fru eatin' an' de chillun go off ter bed. Den yer knooks der ashes out yerpipean'goes in. Yer moves de lettle squar' table front de fire an' puts yer cha'r close up dar by it. Den yer goes to der cup board and gits de 'possum andtaters. Yer puts 'em on de table. Yer tells de ole 'oman ter go out an' locks de do.' Den dar yer is. You an' de possum all by yerself together. Yer frows de ole hat on de flo', takes yer seat in dat cha'r by de table and gibs yer sole ter yer God'—Talbotton, Ga., Era. THE GAMBLER'S WIFE. Scenes In the Summer Capital Which Ite citll lliuleu-liitdeu. Long Branch Correspondence of tho Phila. delphia Press. The hotel-keepers are inquiring whether this steady increase in the number of gaming establishments, which flourish under the name of club houses, is not injuring Long Branch and incidentally hurting their business. There was no particular objection made to Phil Daly's gorgeous gaming place. In fact, it was rather regarded as an attraction for men of wealth. But Daly's prosperity has induced other disciples of chance toset up their own temples. There are six of these places now dotting the shore from the East to the West end. No attempt is made to disguise their purpose. Driv ing past, the voice of the dealer or the clerk of the roulette wheel is heard through the open windows. Perhaps the commissioners would be disposed to take some action in the matter but that the owners of the houses prudent ly decline to allov "natives" to risk any money in them. Thehouses are traps for visitors ait)gether. All sorts of visitors, too, ire taken in, from wealthy bankers down to the keepers of little shops. Now and again some unfortunate, ha.'ing been cleaned out, attempts to pu an end to his ex istence, but nobody minds that. There is this jo be said about the gamblers, they are spending more money here this year than any other class of men, and their wives are the most elegantly dressed women of the resort. No oiler class, hotel men say, can afford to li'e so expensively. Let us walk down the corridor of a leading hotel after dinner, while the band is playinj, and the ladies have taken possession of thesofas and chairs to show themsdves and their toilets. There in the ful glare of the light you observe a finely tiolded, stately blonde. Her hair indeet, is so wondrous yel low that it loo^s like fine threads of gold. Her toilet is superb, and the laces on her en broidered dress are of the finest texture. Diamonds sparkle on her fingers find in her hair, and a splendid necklace of gems makes a cir cle of flashing fire round her beautiful neck. She fans herself leisurely, sur veying a procession of elegantly dressed women passing slowly up and down. She sits alone, and nebody bows to her, but every 'ye casts upon her a look of adniirat on. She is the wife of a New York ganbler, the owner of a superb furnishel palace of hazard in East Fifty-nintl street. Further on ycur glance is caught by the splendid attire of a vulgar little woman whose judgy fingers must feel the weight of the big diamonds which they bear. She has none of the well bred grace of rhe woman with the golden hair. Her little eyes follow every form that passes, taking note of each toilet, het mind comparing it, doubtless, with iier own garish and in harmoniousoutiit. She, too, is alone, and no one speaks to her. Her hus band is the ownerof one ofthe smaller "club" houses. The thousands that have served to bedeck her uugraceful person have come from the pockets of small merchants and giddy clerks, whose lov.e of lucre or adventure leads them intp a fateful bout with the tiger. Quite aij the end of the coifidor three showily dressed' youths chat with a young woman of rare beauty. Two of them are sons of a wealthy New York banker tho third has an income of $20,000 a year that was left him by his late father, an iron man whose name was known throughout the United States. The woman is charm ingly dressed and quite simply. Her voice is much better attuned than the voices of American women usually are, her air and carriage are perfect, and there is that something in her style which shows she has had a trail ing in deportment in a school abroad. She chats and laughs gayly, and her quick replies show that she is cleverer than any of the three gilded goslings who are fluttering around her. Now and again other young men in the stream flowing past bow to her, or step out to say a word but no wom en recognize her in any way. She is the wife of an accomplished and push ing young gambler, a man who is mak ing his way by devoting to that busi ness the thought and energy that us ually bring success in honest vocations. He owns one of the most elegant hells in New York, and is growing rich rap idly. No small part of his property is due to his beautiful and cultivated wife. She, they say, is the brilliant beacon that lures many a golden-laden human bark upon the rock-bound loast where her husband is wrecker, While the dangerous beauty is still chatting with her suitors, a child's cry is heard and presently, a little thing, all enveloped in laces, comes running and sobbing down the corridor. She I throws herself violently into the arms of the woman with the golden hair, whom we first saw, while her bosom heaves and tears well over from her great blue eyes. "Mamma." mamma," she cries, "it's—it's happened again. And oh! I don't see what I have done. What I have done." "What has happened again, my child?" I "I was in the parlor, and wanted to I dance ever so much, and I just made up the set. But a lady came over and took her little, girl away. And after awhile the little girl came back and said that her mamma told her she must never play with me. Then the other girls wouldn't play with me either. And what have I done, mam ma, and why is some one always tell ing me that she is not allowed to play with me?" "Never mind, child. Play with your doll. It won't object." "There's the lady now, who wouldn't let her little girl play with me," cried the child, as a splendidly dressed wom an, leading a girl by the hand, came by, "and that's the little girl, too." 1 The women exchanged glances as they passed. No words could have said so much. The children, too, eyed each other angrily for an instant. "I hate you," cried one. "I hate you." "Bah!" returned the other. "Gam bler, gambler." I "Take Rosalie away," said the worn an with the golden hair to a nurse who had come up. "And Rosalie—in lower tones—you must learn to keep your temper. Nowgood-night." The other mother and child of fash ion had already left the corridor and were out of sight. The band in the parlor burst into melody, and the woman with the golden hair, her jew els flashing with her every movement, again fanned herself leisurely. How quickly the women at a resort like this come to know each other. 1 fancy their husbands and brothers look out for them a good deal. Hus bands and brothers are great hypo crites sometimes. They may be civil enough to a gambler's wife or daugh ter, but a word in the ear of their own feminine relations 's not to be forge ten on that account. And a word is enough. What more could be neces sary where women have nothing to do but to discuss the characters of one another all day long? And why is it that women whom tho code of the world will not permit to mingle with the respectable element of their sex go into great hotels where the breath of life is vanity? In the midst ofathrong they are always alone, for, curiously enough, they seem never to associate with each other. They perhaps find a vindictive satisfaction in out-dress ing the woman who will not speak to them. Woman is always a singular study, and the gambler's wife is th* strangest of all. PAGANINI OUTDONE. Some Rare Feats Upon Violin By a Play er Without a How. The piece on the programme which entertained me the most was a per formance on the violin. It had just begun as I entered the room. Tin performer was a handsome young fel low, dressed in a grotesque suit of many colors, and he was talking away to the audience as I came in in a very animated manner. It seemed, as nearly as Icould understand him,that he had lost his violin bow, and unless he could find some substitute for it he could not do his part in the concert Did any of his audience happen to have a violin bow with them? No! Well, that was too bad! What should he do? Would anything else answer instead of abow? Couldn't somebody lend him something? etc. Of course this was all made up. The object of the violinist was to get hold of some nondescript object with which he could play on his violin instead of a bow and so show his skill, and all his talk was simply to enter tain his audience so much more. Pres ently somebody handed him up a visiting card—a common, plain visit ing card. The violinist took it, look ing at it a moment inquiringly, tried its edge with his finger, and then ap plied the edge to the strings of his in strument. It answered the purpose very well, and he played quite a nice tune. At the end there was a burst of applause. Then he called for some thing else—to see, he said, if he could not do a little better. An officer of the army, who was sit ting near the stage, passed up his sword and with the sword for a bow the clever young violinist, after a mo mentor two's experimenting, played another nice .ne, over which there was more applause, louder than be fore. Then lie handed the sword back to the officer and asked for something else. A lady handed him up an um brella. An umbrella! How could any one play on the violin with an umbrel la! But this man did. He opened the umbrella and, finding a smooth place a few inches in length on the handle, 1 went to work with ease and succeeded surprisingly well. The applause when lie finished was.heartier than ever and what had been before a scene of mere amusement on the part of the audi ence seemed to rise into something like admiration. And now the violinist good natured ly offered to try once more. And what do you think was handed up to him 1 this time? A shoe and a old shoe! Surely he would have to give it up now. For a moment he looked as if he would. After examining the shoe with care for a moment, the violinist found aplaceontlieinnerside, between the heel and the toe, where the project ing sole furnished a short, sharp edge. When he had found that and felt it with his fingers, he looked up with a pleased expression, as if to say, I guess that will do. And do it did for with the shoe for a violin bow he went on and played a tripping tune that set everybody's feet a going, and when he had finished filled the room with a, deafening round of applause. With a low bow and pleasant smile, in a mo ment he was gone.—Correspondence San Francisco Call. Squelched at Last. "Young man," said a stern-looking lady passenger on the Niagara express to the newsmonger who had just toss ed a novel in her lap, "didn' I tell you I wanted none of this stuff?" "Yes," retorted the news man with a grin, "they all say that." "I'll fix him," said the lady in a fierce whisper, as he passed on, and opening the window she sat back in wait for the common nuisanse. This time he came around with an armful of caramels. He laid a half-pound package in the lady's lap, and was passing on when the latter seized the box and coolly tossed it out ofthe window. "What d'ye mean?" asked the nui sance. "I'm throwing your goods out of the window, and I'll do the same to everything you give me," replied the irate passenger. "You'll jjay for it," said the man savagely. "Go ahead and collect," retorted the other. The news and candy vendor looked at her a moment, and then realizing that he was beaten moved on, at last crushed.—New York Post. How Miss Cleveland Signs Her Name. Harper's Bazar. Miss Rose Elizabeth Cleveland, the present lady of the White House at Washington, seals her notes with wax on which is only the letter in plain text. The seal is quite a small one, only about the size of a silver three cent piece. She uses plain colored wax, but not red. She writes a very pretty and easily expressed note, brief and to the point, yet courteous, and signs it "Elizabeth Cleveland." She is very businesslike in her methods, and, large as is her correspondence, always replies promptly to any letter requir ing an immediate answer, writing per sonally, not making use of one of the President's clerks or secretaries to an swer her letters, as has been the case with some other ladies in the same po sition she now holds. The eldest daughter of the Secretary of State, Miss Bayard, uses the coat of arms of her family on the wax with which she seals notes. Orange Growing in Florida. Correspondence of tho New York Sun. "How long does it \take an orange grove .to come into\bearing?" The question was asked by a northern man in an earnest, deliberate way, that was intended to eVoke a candid reply from the orange grVwer to whom it was put. "How long is a piece o^ string?" re turned th#orange grower attempt If he had been disposed an answer he might have fully that an oronge grove into bearing" in from six months to 15 or 20 years from the time fli start, ing it, and that whether the interval, is half a year or a fifth of a century depends almost wholly upon tho wish of the owner. lid truth toll "come There is a colored man in this town who has in his grove a number of trees whose topmost leaf is less* than 18 inches above the ground, and whose ti ny branches are iiow weighed down by young fruit. Their trunks are^ about half an inch in diameter. Kneeling down over one of these miniature trees, so as to have his subject well in hand, he said:— "This tree is a sweet bud on a na tive stem. The sour stem was set out here a year ago last spring. It was a sprout one or two years old when I took it from the nursery. I don't know which. The bud was put in last September. In March the tree was so full of bloom that it looked likeabou quet. The life of a tree is counted from the time it was put in the ground —whether as a seed or a sprout—if it is a sweet tree, and from the time of putting in the buds if a sour tree. So you see here a tree that was in bloom, or 'in bearing,' when it was six months old." Within half a mile of this colored man's grove is a grove in which are 50 or 60 sweet seedling trees that are 13 years old. The largest of them are about 15 feet tall, with tops lOfeet in diameter and trunks 16 inches in circumference. Only one of them has ever borne a blossom, and that one now has four oranges on it—its first crop. This grove has never been properly tended, and has had no fer tilizer worth mentioning put on it. An orange grower of considerable ex perience said: "A sweet bud cut from a bearing tree may have within itself 'the germ and potency' of twigs that will straightway bear blossoms, or it may not be such a bud. In the former case the twigs and the blossoms are bound to come out if the bud can be kept alive. If it could be kept alive inserted in the cork of a bottle I don't know but it would be possible to show a beer bottle bearing a full crop of young oranges within six months after it left the breweiy. Now, if the routs of the sour tree are sufficient to sup ply nutriment in the necessary quan tity to the youngbudthelittle oranges may stay on and ripen, otherwise they will fall off. If the oranges on the col ored man's six months' old bud don't drop off pretty soon the tree itself will drop off. The probabilities are that that tree, if allowed to have its own way, will drop its fruit for three or four years, and will then begin to ripen half a dozen oranges a year, growing less new wqod each year, and finally standing still a stunted shrub that will bear maybe 50 or 60 oranges at a crop. —"X-ow-iiiiout iliii big, sweet- seedlings that have not begun to bear," the or ange man went on. "They are an ex treme case, as much as "the colorod man's half-year-old bearing grove is. They have been growing under the temporary disadvantage of almost en tire neglect. Fortunately the soil had enough in it to keep them alive and making healthy wood, though slowly. Maybe next year, and maybe not till three or four years later they will show bloom. The first crop ought to be, perhaps 100 oranges to the tree, the second close to 500, and the third fully 1,000. If the colored'man had planted a sweet seed at the same time he put the bud in his sour stem that is now 'in bearing,' as they say, the probability is that he would have got a profitable tree from the seed as soon as from the bud, in casethe bud didn't begin bearing so early as to prevent it ever making a valuable tree. "How soon would I expect to havea grove that would pay for taking care of itself and return a satisfactory profit on the investment if I began making it now? Well, in 10 years—provided oranges brought the same price then as they bring now." The matter of fertilizing has a good deal to do with the growing of orange trees in all except the few favored spots where the soil does not require such re enforcement. The colored orange grower mentioned in the foregoing was unable tobuy fertilizers so he fertilized with fish caught in the St. John's river with a seine and drawn up on his mule cart. He conducted this work after the manner of an independent and original investigator. "This yer tree, said he fondly patting the smooth yellow trunk of a fine seed ling, "is seven years old from the seed, and was raised on shad. Not a bit of fertilizer but fish, and'not a fish but shad has ever been put on it. I al ways boil up the fish. Then I care fully dig away the earth, bury the boiled meat on the fine roots and cov er it with earth. The liquid I use for watering the roots. This shad tree has 2,000 young oranges on it. Over there is a mullet tree. You see it has three trunks separating about eight inches from the ground. They were three little trees, standing several inch es apart, and I drew the bodies to gether with my finger and put a wire around them. You can just see a seam in the bark where it has^ joined. The trunk must be about nine inches through at the bottom, I reckon. Just beyond is a three-year-old bud I am raising on catfish, and those little nur sery trees are fed on chowder made of all kinds—shad, mullet, catfish, bass, 1 erch, shiners, trout, and everything. don't guess the kind of fish has any thing to do with the flavor of the fruit. No the shad tree's fruit don't have any of the flavor of a shaddock." The spring cultivation of asparagus consists of deep plowing between the rows, turning in plenty of manure. A dressing of 600pounds per acre, equal to 4 pounds per square rod, is useful. In the garden the ground should be I raked off, all the rubbish carried away, and the middles between the rows spaded or forked- The menure, which should be spread every year should be turned under. Through the summer the ground should be kept free from weeds, and in the fall the stalks should be cut off and the ground liberally topdressed with manure. LADY OPERATORS. A Prediction that Tliey will Soon Handle the Key to tlie Kxvlumoii ofthe Men. The telegraphic profession will, we predict, says the current number of the Telegraphers' Advocate, in the course of a few years, be composed of female members entirely. In every large office in tho United States, the proportion of male and female em ployes is undergoing a slow but posi tive change. Ten years ago the ratio was about 30 males to one female operator five years ago the ratio was reduced to about 15 'males to 1 female, while to-day it is less than 6 to 1. At this same rate of growth,in thefuture, but ten years will he required to bal ance the scales. Fifteen years from to day will find the female members in the majority, and twenty years hence it will be difficult for male operators to pro cure work at the key, at any price. The days of male operators are numbered. The talk that lady operators are physU cally unequal to tlia task of working heavy circuits, incompetent to receive press, etc., is mere bosh. They can be, and are rapidly being educated to meet the requirements of the profession. They are reliable, which at once gives them an advantage over the male members. The Western Union's heaviest circuits in the main office for years have been handled by women. Gradually the handful of Women con fined to a few city wires in a remote corner of the great operating room has grown to an army, spreading its use fulness to every section and de partment of the company. Five years ago 90 women were employed at 195, today there arft over 275. In the city of New York, the Western Union force, five years ago, consisted of about 650 men and 100 women to-day, not withstanding the natural increase of business, it stands about 500men and 350 women. While the force has been increased to the extent of lOO operat ors, the male portion thereof has de creased to the extent of about 150. These figures also apply to other sec tions to a greater or less degree. For instance, the heavy New York circuits in Albany are now in the hands of women, who receive $30 and $40 a month less than the men whose places they so recently filled. Of course the saving to the Western Unioncompany is sufficient recompense for any incon venience to which they may be sul jected, while Uiey persistently dwell upon the reliability of the women as compared with the men. as a reason for making the changes. A Royal Pedestrian. The empress of Austria is noted for her love of outdoor exercise, to which she doubtless owes much of her beau ty and her superb health. Robert P. Porter, writing from Holland, tells of her pedestrian feats in that country, which she has recently visited: "Ymuiden, a village of 1,500, built within the last few years on reclaimed land, was all agog on account of a re cent visit made by that eccentric wom an, the empress of Austria. One day she took it into her head to inspect the sea walls at Ymuiden. She bought a pair of wooden shoes, and, with a dress that was short enough to reveal considerable of a beautiful pair of legs, she walked along the beach from a town seven miles from Ymuiden. It was not until she threw away the shoes and gave the boatman who row ed her across the harbor two thalers that it dawned upon the Ymuiden mind what an important personage had honored the village by a visit. Said one tall, thin inhabitant of the place, who might have been a western farmer, so far as looks go, "I would have given twenty florins for those shoes." And then added: "She was a fine-looking woman. She tripped along the sands as lightly as a girl of 18, and she didn't look older than that if you had walked behind her. Such a waist she had. Tall and graceful, with a leg and foot any wom an might be proud of. The only thing I didn't like about her* was her nose that is a little red, and her face is sun burned." Such was the tall Ymuiden man's description of the emperor of Anstria's wife. Level-Headed People. Youth's Companion. The custom of using the head as a pack-horse is common among the Chi nese of California and the negroes of the South. On the streets of San Francisco the Chinese washerman is met, stumping along on his thick-soled shoes, as if on little stilts, with a huge basket of clean linen poised on his head. He swings his arms carelessly, his fingers almost hidden from sight by the long square cut sleeves of his queer loosely-fittingcoat. The burden seems to cause neither trouble nor fear. Across streets, through mud, among carriages, he picks his way as uncon cernedly as if walking in a deserted street. Occasionally, if jostled in the crowd, one hand rises suddenly to the basket, steadies that, and then re sumes its easy swing. Many of the negroes in the South use their heads with even greater free dom than Chinese. On their wooly pates a pail, tub, basket, or bundle seems to rest as airily as a swan on the bosom of a lake. Without endangering the head-load, they have learned to loiter along the way to tell a story, or crack a joke with a friend. One day in Richmond, Va., a gentleman met one of these sa ble burden-bearers, and said to him: "Look out, Sam, or you'll let that basket fall!" "Not dis chije, sail! Nebber fear, sah, nebber fear," was the grinning re ply. "Yo' don' cotch dis chile, let'tin' er fall. Dis head's lebel, sah it's leb el." And he danced a double-shuffle with his feet, beating time with hands, while the basket kept time with the swaying body. It swung as jauntily on his head as if attached there by a ball-and-sock et joint. Alluding to the late Chicago news paper, "Enterprise," the Philadelphia Bulletin says that "it is true that American journalism is developing the most dangerous kind of 'enterprise that its calling is being degraded and that the papers thrive as common carriers for vicious gossip. But the Elame. atrons of such^tuff are primarily to While so ma^y of our reform ers are busy pursuing the press, it is high time that some one should try hand at purifying the public."