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Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, July 03, 1890, Image 2

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HORSES AND HORSES.
TYPES OF EVERY DEGREE CAN RE •
FOUND AMONG THEM.
Beauty and Brains 011 Hoof* Character In
Equities Illustrated and Described—The
Racine Season—Scenes on the Track—
Tlie Gentleman Horse, the Terrier
Horse, and Other Prominent Types—
Racing Scenes Depicted from Lir.
fHE sea so n is
season I mean
that period of
the year that con
denses within its I
limits the hours
and days prized
by horsemen;
men" I do not
mean "lurrsey"
men, turf - gam
blers, "book-makers,*' and fellows of
that ilk, but honest men who love
horses as honest horses love true men
ahd women.
Of course, as there are men and
TYPES OF HORSEs!' *
men, so tuere are norses and norses,
and types of every degree of meanness
Can be found among both the two and
the four legged beasts, as well as tlioso
perfect creations, human and animal,
endowed with every mental and phys
tpal grace and virtue constituting per
fection.
The head and face of a horse are as
Indicative of the character and disposi
tion of the animal as are the skull forma
tion and physiognomy of a man, and the
skilled can as easily read both, can
trace a resemblance between the two,
and quickly note similarity of expres
sion.
In cut No. 1, here given, is a brute,
J*
BEFORE THE RACE.
all vicious and clangorous, without a
redeeming feature; No. 2is of almost
equally vile disposition; No. 3, a sly,
tricky beast; No. 4, a dull, plodding,
lazy animal; No. 5, a lively, intelli
gent nag, requiring steady' control;
and No. (3, an honest, knowing, earn
est horse.
But of horses, as of men, one cares
only to think or write of the best, and
of the best only will I write. I would
sing the praises of the war horse, so
dear to the trooper. Hear how the old
cavalrv-man puts it in homely verse to
the love of his heart, "Black Bess:"
Old girl, that has carried me far and fast,
On pawing hoofs that were never loath,
Our gallop to-day may bo our lust
For me, or for thee, or porchaneo for both.
AB I tighten your girth, do you nothing daunt?
When you catch a glimpse of the forming lino,
And now the artillery move to the front,
Hast thou never a qualm, Black Boss of uiiuo?
It is daiuty to see you sidle and start,
As WO move to the battle's cloudy marge,
And to foel the swell of your wakening heart,
When our sonorous bugles sound the charge.
At the scream of shells and roll of drums.
You feign to bo frightened, with roguish glance,
But up the green slopes, where the bullet hums,
C'oquettishly, darliug, 1 know you'll dauco.
Your skin Is satin, your nostrils red,
Your eyes like a bird's, or a loving girl's ;
And, from delicate fetlock to knowing head,
A throbbing vein-cordago about you curls,
oui joy o. my urorv. n yuu vnev may.
It s little for triumph or rout 1 caro,
For there isn't, in all tho world to-day,
Such a dear little bridle-wise love of a maro.
But war, let us be tnankful, is over
for us, and it is to "the turf" we go
to-day for beauty and brains on hoofs J
Washington Bark Track and tho
West Side Course are now attracting
tli© thousands who love noble horses.
The season is open, and weeks of pure
enjoyment are before humans and ani-'
mals alike. Our illustrations tell their'
own storv; no need to write a line in
explanation.
To explain, however, how a real man
GOING TO THE RAPES.
cares for a true horse, I want the
reader to visit, on paper, the home of
the M Queen of the Turf," MaudS., and
the daily life of the beauty, and the
reader never lias and never will come
into moro honest companionship.
Her ladyship lives on West Fifty
fifth street, in New York City, in a
stately brick building with white stone
trimmings, a mansard roof and a front
age of fifty feet. The interior of her
dwelling is perfection. She is "sweet
sixteen" and a Kentucky high-born
beauty from the crown of her dainty
head to tho tip of her flowing tail. She
has the majestic grace of a queen, tho
.gentleness of a tender gird, tho intelli:
gence of a wise human, the health 01
an athlete, and a record without an
equal. Her "quarters" are one and a
half inches higher than her withers,
which gives her the greyhound sweep,
speed and grace. No piece of satin de
Lyon ever compared with the lustrous
gloss of her dress. In a half-light it
is merely brown, line and shining, but
in the splendor of sunlight it is cop
pery, with the warm, reddish tints of
ochre and gold brought out in repousse
work. She is peerless.
No belle of the fashionable world
receives more or better attention.
Fancy hand massage for a horse I
Thars what Miss Maud gets every
morning after her bath to quicken the
circulation, and just before going to
bed to make her sleep. It is not an
all-round-rub-any-way movement, but
a careful circuitous motion along her
legs and down her tapering ankles.
Across her body it is "with the grain,"
stroke after stroke of the palm of the
hand, until every pore of her beautiful
skin is excited to action and her nut
brown coat shines with nature's lubri
cating polish.
Maud S. is up at 6 a. m. every dav.
and asleep at y p. m. every night in
the year. So soon as she wakes tip
she must have her drink of fresh wa
ter. If it is not coming instanter there
is trouble, for she will not be neglect
ed. Next slio is rubbed down with a
soft cotton cloth, a dry wash; then
comes her breakfast—two quarts of
oats, sifted and weighed to a grain.
Forty minutes is given to dispose of
this. At seven o'clock her grooming
begins, and for an hour she is rubbed
and bathed, her mouth and legs
sponged with warm water, her feet
washed out, her mane and tail care
fully combed, and after being brushed
she is soft-clothed and massaged. Her
toilet completed, a clean linen coat is
buttoned on her, and over this a fine
blanket, the weather regulating its
weight. Then follows half an hour's
rest, and, if sunny and dx - y outside,
she is taken around the ring surround
ing the stable. This she does not en
joy; it is too "slow-going" for her.
Next she goes back to her newly
cleaned stable, to stand in two feet of
fresh straw; the blanket is removed,
she is rubbed off again, her ankles
bandaged, a muzzle put on to keep her
THE WINNER—AFTER THE RU B.
Irom eating the straw, and then she is
left to herself, for a nap or reverie.
At noon the bandages are taken
off, and she gets a drink of water,
never cold. At one o'clock comes
a dinner of two quarts of oats,
and at 2, another walk in the ring.
Lunch is at 4:30, and consists of two
pounds of hay, clean of every hint of
refuse. Supper is at 8 p. m., a warm
mash of a quart of boiltd oats and two
quarts of bran. While the mash is
cooling the beauty's beautiful feet are
filled with oiled meal and bran, beaten
with a little salt to the consistency of
putty; tms is starred into tne bottoms
of the hoofs, not to soften them, but to
cool them and supply tlio moisture
they would secure if she were allowed
to tramp in the wet pasture like a no
time-at-all sort of a mare.
If bad weather has kept her indoors
some time, the feet are put in wet
swabs to keep off fever, for moisture is
absolutely necessary. Her feet in or
der, a slight massage, and Miss Maud
goes down on her fore-knees, stretches
her beautiful form out at full length,
blinks her blno-brown eyes, yawns,
and is off to liorse-hcaven. Tom Mo-
Keon, her groom, says that she talks
in her sleep and occasionally has a
touch of nightmare, then lie comforts
her with caresses, rearranges hex
blankets and rubs her breast until she
drops into quiet slumber. After a
drive tho lady is blanketed and taken
around the ring to cool off, her back
is then rubbed down with a quart of
rum, her legs are washed, but not one
drop of water goes on her shoulders or
back ; her ankles are bandaged and
she lies down for a snooze.
If the brown beauty is not in perfect
| trim, she is dosed, allopathic ally. She
is given six drams of aloes to reduce
fat; the drug is put in the center of a
I ball, size of a marble, mado of ginger,
| to warn* aud prevent gripes, and oiled
meal. Her head is hung by the sur
geon, who, mounted on a stepladder,
takes her tongue in his lingers and
moves it to one side. The bolus is
dropped to the root of the tongue, fin
gers removed, and down it goes. Oc
casionally a tablespoonful of bicar
bonate of soda and charcoal is put in
her mash to help digestion; this is her
spring medicine. She is never seen
without her blankets, unless on the
track. In the ring and in her stall she
is as carefully covered as a baby, and
she has as many wraps as a society
bslle has toilets.
Her front shoes weigh twelve and
one-half ounces, the hind ones seven
ounces, of steel, fastened with four
nails on the outside and three on the
inside, instead of the nine or ten nails
generally used. She is driven with
the "sharp-bar" bit —the "snaffle" sets
her wild to go.
Lady Maud hasn't a trick or the
first trace of viciousness in her whole
make-up. She has her whims, will not
be neglected or slighted, is as imperial i
8s imperious, and wants all the atten- |
tions and luxuries of life; she kicks if j
Sermeals are delayed, will never touch
food unless the manger is first cleaned,
and would die of thirst rather than
STEEPLE CITABINO SOMETHING WILL TUMBLE.
drink water another horse had left.
She has never, so far as known, felt
the lash of a whip. The day she
broke the record and beat the world
driver lashed the shafts of the
sulky to urge her, but her flesh or hair
Svas never touched. She would break
her heart if struck in anger, and prob
ably break the bones and life of the
man who struck her—and serve him
right.
When Maud S. travels it is in a spe
cial car, coupled to a passenger traiu,
and two men go to attend her. A trip
that .costs a human passenger 40 cents
Afteh s eitfcze
IT ALOHI
MORNING WORK AT THE TRACK.
is $25 for her ladyship's transportation.
Maud S. cost Mr. Bobert Bonner
$40,000. He has boon offered SIOO,OOO
for her; he would as soon think of sell
ing one of his sons. No money can
buy her.
'this is an exceptional case, of an
exceptional horse, with an exceptional
SOMETHING I>l I> TUMBLE.
j man, but it serves to illustrate the love
(that can exist and the care that can he
lavished bv the true horseman upon
I the true Horse. — Alex. JJu/ce JJatlie, in
Ch icag oJ. rdg er.
How <i J'oeni WHS Written.
At the age of twenty-one years Will
iam Cullen Bryant was licensed to
practice law in the courts of Massa
chusetts. It was not the calling for
which he was fitted; his nature was
too shy and sensitive for the life of con
flict by which lawyers win fame and
fortune; but law seemed to him the
readiest means of earning his Iread,
while literature, to which he A'ould
gladly have devoted himself, offered
him the scantiest support.
While he and liis father and the
other members of the family were dis
cussing where he should nail up the
sign of "William C. Bryant, Attorney
at Law," he walked over the hills to
Plainfield, a small village four or five
miles distant from Cummington, where
his father resided. The motive for the
journey was to see what inducements
tho village offered for the practice ol
his profession.
He felt "very forlorn and desolate,"
for the world seemed dark and his fu
ture uncertain. The sun lmd set in a
sea of chrysolite and opal, and he
stopped to contemplate the brilliant j
sky. Suddenly ho saw a solitary wa- j
terfowl winging its way along the ho- ]
ri/.on, and watched it until it was lost
in the distance.
Tho contemplation gave him such a
stimulus that he went on with new
strength and courage, and when he
reached the house where he was to
stay for the night, he sat down and
wrote the lines, "To a Waterfowl,"
the concluding verse of which expresses
tho hope imparted to him by the flight
of the lone wanderer:
Ho who, from zone to zone,
CluirfcH through tho boundless Hky thy certain
flight
In the long way that I must tread alono,
Will lead my steps aright.
Mr. Bigelow's "Life of Bryant," to
which we are indebted for the story of
♦ho poem's origin,, ulso tells anjinec
dote illustrative of the admiration it
excited in England.
Once, when the late Matthew Arnold
was in this country, he was visiting at
a home where Mr. Parke Godwin, Mr.
Bryant's son-in-law, happened to spend
an evening. In the course of the com
versation Mr. Arnold took up a vol
ume of Mr. Bryant's poem from the
table, and, turning to Mr. Godwin,
said:
,M Xhis is the American poet." And,
after a pause, he continued: "When I
first heard of him. Hartley Coleridge
—we were both lads then—came into
my father's house one afternoon con
siderably excited, and exclaimed,
'Matt, do you want to hear the best
short poem in the English language ?'
, " 'Faith, Hartley, I do,' was my re
fc>ly.
'He then read a poem, ' To a Water
fowl,' in his best manner, and he was
ja good reader. As soon as he had done
he asked, 'What do you think of that?'
[ "T am not sure but what you are
Iright, Hartley. Is that your father's ? '
Vas my reply.
" ' No,' he rejoined; ' father has writ
ten nothing like that.' Some days
(after he might be heard muttering to
himself:
"The desert ami illimitable air
Lone wandering, but not lost."
Yet this poem, which many persons
deem the best the poet ever wrote,
( slept for three years in the author's
portfolio, neither read, seen, nor even
Jieard of by any other living soul.—
Youth's Companion..
Compensation.
News came that a baby had been
born in the Nelson household, a dear
little girl, with blue eyes, but, alas!
with a misshapen foot that would cause
her to limp all her life. When grand
ma read the message she went to her
own room without a word, and the
young aunts busied themselves with
j their work, looking suspiciously moist
j about the eyes. That night, however,
J Edith Lee came limping in with her
| two crutches, and was told all about
. it, because she was the dear family
I friend and knew all the homo secrets.
J "And you feel dreadfully about it,
I don't you ?" asked she, patting one of
; grandma's withered hands.
J "Yes, my dear, we do: how could we
' kelp it ?"
"She will suffer so!" "It will be so
hard for her when she grows up!" said
the aunts, mournfully.
"Now, my dears, just listen to me,"
said cheerful Kdith. "She will be sor
ry, and sometimes mortified when she
remembers she's not like other people,
but she will have a great many com
pensations.
"Hook at me! I've stumped through
life on helpless limbs, and tho conse
quence is that I trust tho world and
love it. Other people get blue, and
say they can't believe in people. I re
ceive so much kindness every day I
| know that the world is full of warm,
j loving hearts. When I make a jour-
I ney, 1 find the merest strangers willing
| to carry my bundles, check my bag
| gage, help me into tho cars, and give
j me the best places,
j "I've heard some of you complain of
the railway men who have 110 hesitation
in running you down with a baggage
truck. Those same men push the
truck up to me, and ask if I won't get
on and ride to the car or carriage.
Teamsters pull up their horses to let
me cross the street. Waiters in hotels
give me a seat near the door, so that I
need not walk further than is absolute
ly necessary, and in the summer, when
we are in the country, not a farmer
passes me without begging me to ride.
"Now, all this is because I am lame.
Tho very sight of my misfortune ap
peals to every heart, and the conse
quence is that, as I have told you, I
believe in the world and the warmth of
its sympathies. That baby will have
the same experience. The' wind will
be tempered to her in precisely the
same way, and when she is thirty, as I
am, she will say, 'Why, it's a beautiful
world!'"
"Bless you, dear," said grandma,
warmly, "I shouldn't wonder a mite if
she (lid!"
And they were comforted, remember
iing the mercy of God in making merci
ful people.— Youth's Companion,
Not Kvon Standing-Koont.
Friend—What luck did you have
with your show last night ?
Thespian—AVhy, we had to turn lots
of people away. They couldn't even
get standing-room in the house.
F.—Yon don't say? You feel flat
tered, donbtless, over such success?
T.—Not exactly. You see, tho owner
of the hall wouldn't open the doors
without being paid in advance, so
heithor the company nor the audience
could get in.
A SAILOU camo to a minister to be
married, but when asked if ho would
take tho woman to be his wife, looked
blank and said, "I would like to know
'first what you are going to say to she."
WE love characters in proportion as
they are impulsive and spontaneous.
The less a man thinks or knows about
bis virtues the better wo liko him.
THE GALENA STATUE OF GRANT.
Herewith is given a copy of the stat
ue to be erected in Galena, 111., by H.
H. Kohlsaat of Chicago. It is to be
cast in bron/.e, about eight feet high,
the pedestal to be ten feet high. The
city of Galena has decided to purchase
two blocks of land in the center of the
city, tear down the buildings upor
them, and make a pleasure resort oi
about six acres, which is to be known
as Grant Park. The sculptor is Jo- ;
hannes Gelert of Chicago. The statue 1
will be unveiled next April or May, and
Mrs. Grant, who has seen the model
and approved it, has promised to be in
Galena at that time. Some orator ol
national fame will deliver the address,
and the President and his Cabinet will
be asked to become the guests oi
Galena.
Do Right for Right's Sake.
We are in receipt of a letter asking
us, "What make. 1 } people do right?"
How under the sun does the writer
of this epistle suppose we know what
causes influence people in doing right?
—if, indeed, anybody does do right,
which we might be seriously inclined
to doubt if we "took stock" in the uni
versal cry about the wickedness of this
day and generation.
We have asked some people of our
acquaintance the question, aud find
that most of them do right because
they expect to be rewarded for it. At
least they have quoted to us innumer
able texts of Scripture bearing on that
point, and all pointing toward the re
wards of the just.
Now, it strikes us that this is an in
finitely selfish way of doing things. If
you feed Mrs. A., who is starving, be
cause you expect, either in this world
or the next, to be rewarded for it, you
are only selling your good deeds for a
price. You are not pitiful of her suffer
ings, you are not charitable toward her
because it is your duty, but simply
because you expect that you will real
ize benefit from your benevolence.
Is this true charity ? Is this love
toward your neighbor? Is this the
spirit of the Divine Master, who taught
us to do unto others as we would they
should do unto us?
It seems to us that the only true way
of doing right is for right's sake. With
out an eye to the rewards, or to the
punishments, which may await us, to
deal justly and mercifully with every
living thing, to do no act of malice, to
wound the feelings of no one intention
ally, to let no selfish love of ease, or
pleasure, deter us from what we deem
is right. Yes, that is our idea of the
way to do right.
We may be in error, but it strikes us
that it is rather a little soul which is
continually looking out for rewards, or
dreading the punishments.
It is like making a bargain, and say
ing, if I will be good you will reward
mo, thus and so; and if I am bad, then
I must look out for chastisement.
We do not like that kind of doctrine.
We want to do right, not because it is
respectable; not because we shall faro
better for sodoiug in this world; not
because we shall be happier hereafter
for it; not because people will talk
about us if we do not; not because we
belong to the church, and our minister
preacheß it, but because it is right to
do right, and because God has com
manded us to do it.
And to the man properly constituted
there is no happiness like that which
comes from right actions, guided by
right motives. And whatever may be
that man's theology, he is on the right
road if he does right for right's sake.—
Kate Thorn, in New York Weekly.
Ny Ten Yards.
A danger escaped often alarms far
more than one endured. "If I'd ha'
knowd how hard 'twould be to live
through 'em," said an old lady, in re
counting her troubles, "I never should
ha' lived." "Among the Selkiik
Glaciers" contains the description of a
narrow escape in their icy fastnesses :
As we descended the glacier, we
stopped, when we had accomplished
live hundred feet, to take a reading of
(the thermometer, and found that the
(temperature was eight degrees lower
.than at the summit of the pass.
:Further down it felt still colder. Our
tracks were quite visible till we came
jto a steep part of the glacier, where
'the snow was blown off the ice, and
numerous crevasses stood wide open.
Finally we reached a natural gateway
'in the cliff, and quitted the glacier.
Then came the descent along the top
of the moraine, and down to its lower
termination.
The ice of the main glacier had been
broken down the moraine, and some
crevasses formed regular ice caves,
easy of access. Not wishing to get our
clothes wet, as we had no way of dry
ing them, and needing them to sleep in
at night, wo proposed sleeping in one
iof these ice caves, and giving the
weather a chance to clear.
Wo were, of course, aware of tho
danger of stones falling from the ice
above, so 110 doubt the idea was totally
lacking in that prudence with which
tho traveler be equipped.
However, we got our lesson.
Wo had just diverged from our
track, and were making our way over
some debris to get to the cave, when
crash! came down ten tons of rocks and
ice from the glacier above, right across
its mouth.
If we had been ten yards 'further!
This thought flashed through our
minds simultaneously, and was ex
pressed in our faces as our eve met,
LETTERS FROM THE CORNERS.
Mr*. ISoggti and Iler " Fate " Go Walking
NECK OR NOTHIN' HAI.L, I
KILKENNY CORNERS, F
maj beieave,
B^ie finely kim down
Bap Pin8 ap P in an lier
hare up in curl
"Me an Mr. Cruck-
air a goin out
walkin this arf
ternoon," ses she;
"lie wunts to see the city, an he ses
mebby lie'l sturt a dancin class; land
sakes! I wush he wood, an then I cud
lam to dance," ses she, a eatin anuther
gem fur her brekfus. "I've alw'ys jest
pined fur to lam how to dance."
"Yes, you'd cut a purty figger," ses
Willam Henery; "ef you'd lam to
dance, why I'd think Burnim's big
elephant cood," an he dodged as she
threw a muttun rib at him, but it hit
him on to the year, an he hopped
aroun an hollered.
"Youch! youve busted my year pan
for shore. I kaint here a mite outin
thet year! I'll hev you sude for dam
midge, I swow I will."
"Youd make a good dancin techer,"
ses Sally, "youre HO lively."
But he wus kindy huffed an went off
down to the store.
"O, Bhody, wunt you let me hev
Tommy's dog to go long with me when
Mr. Cruckshin an me goes out a walk
in ?" ses Sally, purty quick.
"I've herd o' folks thet wanted a dog
to keep the boys away," ses Bhody,
"but 1 don't see why you shud nead
one when Cruckshin is along."
"O, you don't understand; ets fur
stile. I wunt liim to no thet Ino what
stile is," ses she.
"Well, I don't no es I keer, but
Tommie ull raise Cain ef enny one elts
fetches his purp, an he's so wild I dun
no es you kin do ennytliing with him,
no how," ses Bhody, es she went out
in the kitching to make some pise.
An so Sally she hunted Tommy up
an baiged an pled with him till he
finely agreed to let her take him, pur
vidiu she cood ketch him, if she'd give
him 10 sents.
So she got a peace o' rope frum the
calf's halter an called, "yer Twist, yer
Twist," thet was the dog's name; but
he woodnt kim fur her, so she run him
under the porch an crawled partway
in after him; she cot him by the tale
an hind laig au pulled him out, but he
yalped awful. She got the roap onto
him arftor a while an tide him up to a
post into the back yard an give him
sum cole vittles, but he woodnt eat a
bite.
Directly arfter dinner Mister Cruck
shin cum; he looked uglier, aud slim
mer au grayer then ever. Mis Boggs
was a settin in the parlor a waitin fur
him, an every littl bit the dog in the
buck yard ud giv a yowl.
"See hear, Mis Boggs," ses Tommy,
a pokin his hed in to the dore, wliare
Sallv an her bow wus a settin, "ef you
hurt my dorg you'll hev to gimme
anuthern." Purty soon they started,
Sally a lioldin on to his arm with one
lian an a pullin the dog along with
tothern, an she wus a talkin fit to kill.
The dog woodn't walk a paig, but
every little bit she'd give him a jerk
an he'd yowl, an then stan still until
all the slack in the rope wus gone,
then she'd jerk 'im agin: finely the dog
got mad an he made a grab fur Cruck
shin's laig, an pinched him sum, an he
jumped an hollered an grabbed the caf
o' his laig, an the dog snapped at
Sally'B lieals, an she let go him to
climb a dry goods box, an ho tucked
his tale an run fur home, an Sally kim
down an thay went a limpin off aroun
tho corner. Bhody an me thot
it had disabled him fur dancin, but it
hedn't, fur when thay kim home Sally
coodn't talk about notliin else but
Crucksliin's dancin class. Muchly
yourn, HESTER ANN SCOOPKR.
Cornfield Philosophy.
Tlio longest way round may be the
easiest way found, but it is not always
the quickest way to reach your destina
tion.
Green apples do not give the small
boy any trouble unless he eats them.
Do not bank too heavily on the man
who wears a clean shirt. Possibly he
did not pay the washer-woman for
making it clean.
It is well that the world is neither
so had as some folks think it nor so
good as some folks would like to
have it.
The man who pavH his debts is not
so commendable as the man who does
not make any.
The saying that poets are horn, not
made, is shoving considerable respon
sibility off on Nature.
Dead men tell no tales, hut they are
able to trouble the living very fre
quently. Conscience is the great liver
regulator.
Lots of rain will make corn grow,
hut it makes weeds grow also.
If an honest man is the noblest work
of God. what can he said of the oue
who is dishonest?
The hank robber is not in favor of a
higher tax for a better police force.
The vine will climb a crooked pole
as quickly as it will one that is
straight.
The industrious hen does not require
a patent nest to induce her to lay eggs.
\Vlilte anil OeaL
Mr. Harrinon Weir, President of the
National Cat Club, England, ways in
his book, "Our Cats," that a white cat
of the long or short haired breed is
likely to be deaf. Should it have blue
eyes, the fancy color, it is almost cer
tain to be deaf.
Mr. Weir, at a cat show, purchased
a white cat, a beauty, loving and gen
tie, for the low price of two guineas,
When he got it home the cat proved tc
be "Btone deaf."
Then the trouble began. If shut out
of the dining-room, its cry for admis
sion could be heard all over the house,
for, being deaf, it did not know the
noise it made, though its owner often
wished that it could hear its own cry.
When it called out as it on his lap.
it called with ten-cat power, and its
commanding voice caused it to be
named the "Colonel."
One day a friend saw the "beauty,''
and admired it so much as to accept it
as a gift, even after being told that il
was "stone deaf." A few days aftei
Mr. Weir received a letter from the
friend, offering to return the loud
voiced cat.
"Give it to any one you please, but
don't return it to us," was the reply.
The "Colonel" was given to u deal
old lady, and both were liappy.
THE consciousness of duty performed
gives us music at midnight.
CORKER TAKES A PLUNGE BATH.
figL EER Mr. Editer:
The flood gates are
. "l pi opened and the rain
A-IT V'-jl I|descendth in tor
ents and our tater
.■■'To.. patch is a float.
For 6 months it
Vk has ra ' n6| l more or
Qjk^ ess —in many eases
X more, in others
\ ■ I*~ -7 jfe-' less but in all
ijn* cases we cry
* If enough —O, yes!
enough! Ever
sinoe last fall it has rained and been
muddy almost incessantly and unin
terruptedly. Corn is just being
planted; oats are drownin, but still
monopolies are flurshing. Wheat 80
cents at the st ation, n butter 10, n eggs
10, while on the other hand coffe is *25
and sugar is still cornered. Some
tliin's got to be done, or bust. Farmers'
alliance to the rescue!! Alliances are
forming all over the State n Miller
I'urvis is organizin em right n left.
Farmers are wakin up, n it's high time.
I went to hear Purvis the other night.
On my way over I had to cross a ragiu
streem on a log. On this particular
evening the streem was howlin. The
water came up to the log almost. I
got down n crawld carefully out over
the roaring cataract. Presperation
streamed from every pore in millions
of tiny jetts. A slip and I was lost.
I aliped. Ker-chugg I went head furst
into the roaring oataract. My ears
' 7/^
seemed like a railroad train; water
rored in my mouth, my eyes and nose.
I gurgled and spurted and strangled,
but to no purpose. It seemed a young
eternitey before I come to the top, but
fl come up finally and
struck out bravely
for the shore.
With Herculaneean
efforts I grabbed a
root and pulled my
self on laud more
alive than dead, but
the adventure had
dampened my spirits
for the night, and
as I wended my
weary way home my
reflections were to
the effect that there
is "many a slip a
'twixt the cup and
the lip." But when I got on dry clothes
1 felt better.
Now you must —;
excuso this short
letter, for it had
quit raining ana v
I must go and let /V*J
off the water from
my corn ground.
Excuse haste and
a bad pen. Yours
affectsliionatl •,
FIZZINOTON CORKER.
N. 13.—We are all well and hope
these few lines may find you all enjoy
ing the same blessing. F. C.
Indian KOKIIIIOHH.
It is vain to Bujq>ose that uncivilized
races will get good from our teaching,
and ignore the evil involved in our ex
ample. Bishop Whipple, who gives in
the North American Review an ac
count of his experience among Minne
sota Indians, says that the Dacotalis
once held a scalp-dance near the mis
sion house. The Bishop was indignant.
He went to Wabasha, the chief, and
said:
"Wabasha, you asked me for a mis
sionary and teaolier. I gave them to
you. I visit you, and the first sight is
this brutal scalp dance. I knew the
Chippewa whom your young man have
murdered. His wife is orying for her
husband, his children are asking for
their father. Wabasha, the Great
Spirit hears his children cry. He is
angry. Some day he will ask Wa
basha, 'Where is your red brother?'"
The old chief smiled, drew his pipe
from his mouth, and said :
"White man go to war with his own
brother in the same country; kill more
men than Wabasha can count in all his.
life. Great Spirit smiles; says, * Good
white man! He has my book. I love
liirn very much. I have a good place
for him by and by.' The Indian is a
wild man. He has no Great Spirit
book. He kills one man ; lias a scalp
dance. Great Spirit is mad and says,
'Bad Indian! I put him in a bad place
by and by.' Wabasha don't believe it."
The Indian has a keen sense of
humor, and never fails to see the weak
points in his adversary's armor.
Old Shali-bah-skong, the head chief
of Mille Lac, brought all his warriors
to defeud Fort Biplev, in 1802. For
this act ho was promised the special
protection of Government, and told that
his people should never be removed. A
few years later, an agent was sent from
Washington to ask the Ojibways to
cede their land, move north and settle
on a worthless strip of ground.
This man called a council of Indiaus,
and said to them, "My red brothers,
vour great father has heard how you
have been wronged. He said, 'I will
send them an honest man.' He looked
in the North, the South, the East, and
the West. When he saw me he said,
'This is the honest man whom I will
send to my red children.' Brothers,
look at me. The wiuds of fifty-five
years have blown over my head", and
silvered it with gray, and in all that
time I have never done wrong to any
man. As your friend, I ask you to sign
this treaty."
Old Shah-bah-skong sprang to his
feet and said, contemptuously :
"My friends, look at me! The winds
of more than fifty winters have blown
over my head and silvered it with gray,
but they have not blown my brains
away!"
The council was ended.
IT is the old man who has shunned
work all his life who is continually say
iug: "That boy ought to be set to work
aud kept at it."
Two PROBLEMS of tiie luture—What
shall we do with the manly young
(woman and with the effeminate young
'man?

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