The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on January 30, 1895 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, January 30, 1895
Page 3
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-' UPPJR Bj!8 MOINES: AMK3&A IOWA WEDNESDAY JANTUKV BO,, 18SS. INCE 1 was com* pelled to make the trip to Turin by the way of Corsica. So I took the steamer at Nice for Bastid, As soon as" we were Under way I began to look Urottnd and observe my felloW- passengers. I no« ticed a modest- 1 bolting . young woman sitting oh deck alone and apparently a ft/-in per. I immediately said to my- M;if, ."There is my traveling Cdmpan- 1o:i,'' so I placed myself where 1 could wdlch the graceful contour of her head and shoulders, the exquisite coloring- of her richly tinted cheeks, and the dreamy look of her dark eyes g-itzing 1 far out to sea. I noted the •fine lines of. her hands, a little too larpe and strong, but white and beautifully shaped, the delicate shell like ears which always indicate good blood bqttor than a certificate of birth, .sometimes contestible. Without seeming to notice my scrutiny she settled herself comfortably in her chair, opened her, satchel and took out a newspaper. I rubbed my hands exultincrly and said: "Now, let me see what she roads and I will tell you her character and thoughts." I gave the paper a quick glance and to; my surprise „ saw it was a Parisian journal. She began at the first page with a dainty, satisfied ma.nner; read on and on, sometimes a smile on her lips, but always a look of interested , attention. . . . • I drew my scat nearer to her, took out a volume of poems I had bought just before starting 1 , and pretended to, be equally interested. A good many passengers walked up and down, but she appeared to think of nothing- but her paper. Finally she seemed to havo finished and laid it down on a seat between us. I immediately bowed and said: ''Will uiadame permit mo to glance over her paper?" "Certainly, monsieur, with the greatest pleasure." "In the meantime allow me to •offer this volume of poetry; it may interest you." "Thank you; is it amusing?" This rather disconcerted mo, when •one offers a volume of love songs to a woman he does not expect to be asked, "I§ it amusing;" nevertheless; 1 I answered, " more than amusing —it is charming^—delicious." She opened the book and began -to yun through it, with a little be wild- gred air, as if she was not in the habit of reading poetry. Suddenly I asked: "Don't you like it?" , "Yes, but I am not at all sentimental. I like something gay—very gay." With that she closed the book -and we began to talk. . I learned she was the wife of an •officer at Ajaccio, She was going to rejoin her husband. She added she c had,, been dragged from one little town to another, and now she was going to be buried in that lugubrious' isle of Corsica. In some way I fancied she did not Jove her husband—loved him, perhaps M<U,? J 1 SOPTI-T LAID MY IJAHD ON HRBS, jwith that cool reserve a woman gives to a man who is not congenial to her, She' said she preferred living in Lyns, She knew everyone in Lyons — it I -was her native place, • A4 we spoke of residences and places she preferred, I asked; "How -do yon like Paris?" "Oh, monsieur; do I like Paris? Is it possible for anyone to ask such a •question?" And she began to talk of Paris with eueh ardor- such enthusiasm— I said to myself ; "This is the string to pull," Then she began to question me with almost breathless eagerness; she wanted to know everything at pnoe, She ran on for about an hour, then ler questions began to be exhausted , ;»od it was wy time to talk, I related ' the, stories «f the fashionable. d J C9Wld think of. J g^ve. her a; i$tifwl idea of the grand dawes of ris, l^tisttecl hqr curiosity Jo tlje js.t fantastic manner, t<?ld wonder * itadfur^ °f the gay elty. She ^ <VKtfh all her ears and all her ^THen I mocked wivh cruel r«ay »U those ppor wpmen who were ' to "husbands who 1 did n°t ap» te,. them, and 'co»ld not «nder» tbeir deW in great steanjev; '' >J5y,- . »a §taiwd with the pawopy of drops of was up t kiie>ttr she mtrfet take thfe night dil* sAde' IrWn feftslia tts AjadcTo^tfie* « fla other way -to 6foss the mourn tains — so t laid my plans to meet my Mir SompaBion agaliii Kext tttornihg as soon as we landed in Baslia I hired the entire diligence for myself, engaged every seat. The Shades of night were falling when I Snte'red the old vehicle fof Ajaccio. The criver came to me and humbly asked: ''Would I yield any of the seats to a lady?" .. "Whatlady?' 1 ! brusquely demanded. "The wife ot an offlcar going to Ajaccio to join her husband." "Certainly. Tell the lady I gladly offer her a seat." My traveling companion soon ap- peai'ed, laughingly said she had been asleep all the after noon preparing for her nig-ht trip across the • motm* tains, thanked ing for my kindness, and entered the ; carriage, This old vehicle \vas like a hermetically closed box — no openings, except a door On each side, with little glass windows above. We were sitting face to face, opposite each other, and away We started, the horses going on a quick trot until we reached the mountains. < 'Again I began to talk of Paris^-i bright, beautiful, bewildering Paris. She listened with keen attention. By now the night had grown so dark I could scarcely distinguish the face of my companion. It appeared like a whitish spot in the surrounding gloom. The horses were slowly walking up tlia steep ascent — the carriage lanterns the. only light to show the road. My companion had been very quiet! for some time, breathing softly, with now and then a gentle sigh. Tho' darkness and silence emboldened me. I cautiously advanced my feet and touched hers, • She did not move or change her position. Then me talk became more insinuating — vo'iled words with 'hidden meaning. She was still silent. Then I softly laid my hand on hers. It was not withdrawn. Growing still bolder I went. on whispering- a lot of sentimental rubbish; talked of "love at first sipfht," "Kindred spirits," etc., with my lips very near her ear— in truth dangerously near her mouth. She was still silent. I fancied I could hear the beatings of her heart, mingled with her gentle siffhs. At last I softly placed my lips upon 'her cheeks. She started as if just aroused from sleep — but such a start! It hurled me to the far side of the carriage. Then, before I had time to comprehend, consider or even think, I received five or six frightful slaps full in the face, then a perfect hail of fisticuffs, hard and sharp, falling everywhere on my. head, my face, my i,neck, quick and fast as summer rain. . In the thick darkness that surrounded us I vainly tried to parry the blows, to seize her hands — impossible; so I turned around and presented my back to her furious attacks and hid hay head in the corner of the vehicle. She seemed to comprehend, by the sound of the blows, no doubt, this movement of despair, anil suddenly ceased to beat me, and throwing herself back in the corner of the carriage, she burst into a wild paroxysm of sobs and tears, which continued for an hour or so, I shrinking back in my corner distressed and very much ashamed. I wanted to spsak, but what .could I say? — "Excuse me?" that would have ; been tama and absurd. What would you have said? Nothing— just as I did. Finally she grew calm. We both remained in our separate cprners, mute and motionless, 'the diligence moving steadily on, only stoppuig now and then for a relay of horseSrV 'The day begins to break; as' th\ first pale rays of dawn begin to glid 1 ? into the carriage I look at my neighbor. She seems fast asleep. The Sun coming up from behind the .mountains discloses an immense blue gulf, streaked with gold, and surrounded by enormous peaks of gran- :ite, On the 1 far side of this gulf a white city, steeped in the shading light of the early morning, appears. My neighbor starts up as if just aroused from sleep, and opens her ; eyes. They are very red. She yawns as if she had slept a long time, i blushes, hesitates a moment, 'then stammers; "Will we be there soon?"' "Yes, madam, in less than an hour." "Oh, I wish we were there." I could well understand that wish. Her vpice was a little tremulous, her manner a little confused; otherwise she seemed to have forgotten everything, Ia about an hour we arrived at Ajaccio, A great dragoon — a kind o| Hercules-— was standing at the office door, waving his handkerchief as the diligence appeared. The driver had scarcely brought his .horses to a standstill before my neighbor leaped into his arms with a bound, embracing him again and .again: "Oh, I am so glad to see you, How I longed to be with you again." , • My trunk had been taken down from the imperial, I was about to j»t>re discreetly when she called out: "Oh, monsie\»r,you are not going with- jp0g bidding me adieu-" " j stammered; "I leave you to yonr happiness, madame." fphen, she turned to her husband, saying: ''My dear, you must thank monsieur for his kindness to me. He has been charming-! even offering me a seat in the diligence, which he en» gaged entirely for himself. It is de* Hf htf»l to m?et With such »ft agree,able traveling companion," ^he. feuebaad warmly clasped -n»y jkajid. and we with the gre^t- esj effusion. His wife .standing by us with a malicious, wooU- smile, wl»i}e very fgpjishj jt aj • fire,a^ hQftr is hi¥s J felt looked il^lC' *fe& DAIRY AND Ifcf ERtsStiftQ CHA^f feRS KdR OUR RURAL Ho* Succcpfifnl Fnfmers Operate *lils Department of the JtfcttaMtcad—ttlnts Ad to the Cai-e of Llt-o Stock tttid Assist Not Frntul. »t. D. Smith writes as follows ia Hoard's Dairyman: I desire to commend the article of C. H. fiverett in a recent issue of your journal, condemning the practice of some farmers ia selling their skim milk at 1 2 and 16 cents per hundred pounds to be mami* factured into filled cheese. It would seem impossible in this, day of dairy information) to find any dairymen who could be so short sighted. In the first place, as Mr. Everett says, the milk is worth at least 26 cents per hundred pounds , to feed to growing hogs. If fed to thrifty young pigs, I believe it worth even more than this. There is another profit to be made out of skim milk that many lose sight of. I met a small dairy farmer recently who carefully looks after details, who said to me that he believed the manure his hogs manufactured was worth as much to him as the pork. With proper facilities for making manure, 1 believe this is not a wild estimate. Certainly, then, here is a big leak in the purse of the dairyman who sells his skim milk at 13 to 15 cents per hundred pounds. Back of this is a still greater leak. Every pound of this miserable^ fraud cheese which the farmer furnishes the material to manufacture robs him of the opportunity of selling a quantity of whole milk sufficient to make ten pounds of cheese. Now this may seem like ah astonishing, statement, but I have taken pains, to inform myself, and I am confident it is true. I have introduced the subject in dairy meetings, have talked with hundreds of individuals, and have obtained figures from dealers, and I say, without hesitation, that there is not one pound of cheese consumed by our people where there should, and would, be ten, only for those abominations, filled and skim cheese. We ought to be, and would be, a cheese consuming people, if we could buy a pure unadulterated article of cheese when we call for it. Mr. Everett utters a burning truth when he says: "The consumer buysit for full cream cheese, and pays just as much for it as he would for good cheese, and when he attempts to eat it he becomes disgusted, declares he can get no good cheese, and he declines to buy." This sums up the whole matter. I have been imposed upon more times in buying "cheese than any other article of food. I can remember when my mother used to make home made or dairy cheese, and what a delicious article it was. Two or three nice large ones were always made and sufficiently cured for use in haying, and then others made with special reference to long keeping for winter usp. It fairly makes my mouth water now to think of them. Fellow dairymen of Wisconsin and elsewhere, why not apply a little common sense to this business? If my statement is true, and I am borne ; out in it by such a multitude of .witnesses— I do not see how it can be doubted— then, for every dollar received for skim milk, or milk sold to manufacture skim cheese, there is a loss of $10 to the dairymen of the country. I know scores of farmers will read this and ; say "Oh! bosh"— but how many more years will it take; with oleo flooding our markets, and filled and skim cheese on^ sale everywhere, while honest dairy butter 'is begging a sale, before farmers will open their eyes to their own "bosh?" Why, with the light receipts of butter which have prevailed all the fall, do we hear such -complaints ot dull markets and slow sales? Simply because honest goods are being driven out of the market, I have repeatedly paid as high as 16 cents per pound for cheese that I bought for full cream, that was nothing but half of three quarters skim; in three days after cutting it would be as dry as a chip.' My experience is that of every,dne; we are constantly being imposed upon until, as I hava said, w« do not consume .one pound of cheese where we would ten , and I believe it may be placed even higher than .that. Do away with filled and skim cheese and let our people l$now they can get a genuine -Article when they call for it, and at once the dairy industry will receive a powerful impetus all over this country, ^ _ 11 -- * Weight ««4 i'leia of Eggs, A correspondent of the Kansas Farmer furnishes the following: Geese, 4 to the pound; ?0 per annum. * Polish, 9 to the pound; }§o per annum- , , , Bantams, 16 to the pound; 60 per annum. Houdans, 8 to the pound; 160 'per annum. : La Fleche, 7 to the pound; 130 per annum, Hambnrgs, 0 to the pound; §00 per annum- Turkeys, 5 to the pound; 30, to 60 per annum. Ga»e fowl, 9 to the pound; 130 per annum. Leghorns, 9 to the pound; 150 per annum; > • Black Spanish, 7 to the |>6ujid/ 150 - • ' peranriufn. annum, ,cfcs, 8 to th,e pp , , , ' , .8.tothepou.njij , . ; . fths, $ to the pound; 130 p^P'ft "' ''*' •!••>! ••'-,.*' fey mafiy. Some of thetfi' should b6 redeived with & f 6»ct dgftl bi hesitation, the LeghbfnS ftfld £lj>* nWuth ftottks appear to be far tot> 16tv. -^•Farmers' Revifcw.] SIZE OP FLOCKS. -As to the size of flocks a writer in the Poultry rfdufnal suggests that it is a great mistake in' keeping too large flocks together.) There is no profit, he says, In keeping iOO liens in a place hardly large enough for 50. Jn fact, I doubt very much if 100 hens should ever be kept in one flock.. 1 con* sider fifty an outside number, They will lay more eggs in the winter in the same place than loo. To illustrate: For several winters I kept from twenty- five to thirty birds in a pen 14x10 feet, and got very few eggs. Of late win* ters 1 kept only half the number and got more than twice as many eggs. If you are keeping fifty hens, you should raise twenty-five early ptillets each year to replace - the twenty-five 2- year-old liens which should be killed in the fall, as soon as they begin to moult. They will be in good condition then. In this way you will always have birds that, with proper care,must prove profitable, Remember that besides small flocks your birds must have plenty of room. They can not have too much.^—Ex. Cirr.ttniE ON THE FARM.—Why finish our houses with white coat, when the rough brown coat will keep out the cold? Why paint the inside of our homes, with so much expenditure of treasure and labor? Why put large costly windows in our houses, and then cover them almost entirely with two sets of curtains? Why put stripes and figures in our carpets when it costs money to put them there? Why have carpets at all, if the floors and walls be tight? Why keep a musical instrument in the house when we play so poorly? Why get up at night and build fires to save a few house plants from freezing, when we can buy ten times the amount with the money expended for extra fuel? All these questions may be answered by a close observation of the difference between a cultured and an uncultured youth. We are largely what our environments make us.—Mo, Report. DUCK FARMING.—It is worthy ol note that the Chinese very, very long ago hatched out their ducks by artificial heat, and the incubators that seem so wonderful to us at the poultry shows and country fairs were an old story in the east long before our great- grandfathers were born. It is likely that we got the domesticated duck from China so long ago that we know not when, and the writers on natural history content themselves with telling us that it is derived from the mallard, mixed in some cases with the musk-duck and the gad wall, and perhaps the black duck. The domestication of the duck has had an effect the opposite of that usually produced by civilization on man, for the mallard is strictly monogamous. Waterton the • naturalist assures us, indeed, that the wild'duck is a most faithful husband and remains paired for life, while the domestic drako is most notoriously polygamous.—Harper's Weekly. A MISTAKE IN DAIRY FIGURES.— Tht following item is going the rounds of the agricultural press: "Capt. W, J. Wallace, living a few miles south of the city," says the Indiana Farmer, "kept account for one year of the amount of butter sold from his sixty Jersey cows, two of them with first" calf, and found that it footed up 8,154 pounds, for which he received 30 cenls a pound or $640.20, This was in addition to the cream and butter consumed by the family, and shows what may be done with good stock and good feed. He feeds liberally with bran, cotton seed, clover, etc., and 'keeps the machine going' in all kinds of weather," —[There is a mistake in these figures, as a yearly yield of thirty -five pounds of, butter per cow is nothing to brag of. — Farmers' Eeview.] WVANDOTTKS.— There are three standard varieties of Wyandottes — the silver, golden and white. There is also a, black variety, which, however, is not yet recognized as an established standard breed. There is no difference in the varieties except color; but the silver Wyandotte is the original from which the others were taken; hence it is an older breed and more vigorous, as wel\ as being considered hardier than the others, It is not a large breed, but is larger than the Leghorn. Its rose comb is an advantage against the frost in winter, and its skin and legs are reddish yellow. As layers the hens are considered equal to any of the breeds, and the chicks are plump and attractive in appearance, EMPTV THE CANS.— One of the arguments of ten advanced against disposing of the whey at the factory is that the cans will be harder to clean, by the milk drying and sticking to the sides of the c^ns, than if the sour whey is carried home. This can be overcome qwite eftsily by having the milk drawer put in a gallon or tw0 of water before leaving the factory, It is also claimed that this sour whey m&kes the cans easier to clean by loosening wnatevei milk may have adhered to the sides of the cans. The Ut$e good that this mav do is more than counterbalanced by the bad effect of the acid of the whey on, the tin of the ea,n. Otlfi BOYS AND (HfflM, OJ.P Miks OAJS8,^pion 1 t use pjd battered rusty tin milk can?, f n^tic^fl a SOBjmeut PO t>h}s B,ubje9t }n ft 0»iry p4pe r not iQng agQ in which/ jfc wf$ etitf d' that wife which has , keea • gpn- 'YeyjwJ jn a ?BetycaH Wfts ajjaly^d ftftd . to . CntaJft con^ifl 1-aJge - ? H§ the tftity that ttirhcd font little firopa of tfn^er fefco Sparkling Sntii* Crystals— Uttle t-Attl's Plchirfc Boole— On Second Thought, With the 'Oil, oh I" exclaimed Maude, as she opchfed her big blue eyes, and looked out of the Window. Then her chubby h&Uds-j-little pink hands all covered with dimples— Went "clipity-clap- clap-clap," and, in less time than it takes to tell it, Something very like a ball of tangled curls had tumbled out of bed, and two bare feet \vere pat* tering across the bedroom floor. They went straight to the window, and, after their little mistress had taken one look at the beautiful^pict^ lire outside, with a hop, skip and a jump, they took her across the hall.' Two minutes later the whole family, baby and all, had been awakened to see What had happened to the greeh world outside. It was no longer a green world, for the first thing Maude had seen when she opened her eyes was the snow. A great, smooth, white carpet of it was spread over the brown earth. The trees, covered with ice, while, floating softly down, came the snow- Jlttkes, great big ones, and lit upon the window sill, as if stopping to say "good morning" to the little girl, who clapped her hands to sec them fall. No wonder Maude exclaimed "Oh, oh!" and jumped out of bed. It was the first snowstorm of the season. Only last winter Santa Claus had brought her a now sled with "Mocloc" painted in bright letters across the top; a pair of red mittens, too, had come from the Christmas stocking, and, best of all, a soft, white collar, that she declared was "grandpa's hair."' Besides, last night, when she had truged upstairs to bed, she had looked out upon the gray trees, that had lost their pretty gowns, and were shivering with the cold as they looked down upon the faded leaves that lay upon the ground. Only thou the whole world seemed drossod in gray and brown, but now, oh, joy! some magic touch had changed it into a real, true fairy land, with diamonds glistening on the trees, and little fairy folk, all dressed in white, flyintr everywhere. As soon as breakfast 'was over Maude, wrapped in her winter coat with hood to match, with the red mittens on her hands, and the white fur collar tied closely around her neck, led "Modoc" out into the snow for a frolic. '. A All day long they played together. When baby at the window, waved his hands and laug-hed to see the fun Maude tried to toll him all about the snow, for he had never seen it until that morning 1 , and his wise brown eyes seemed full of baby questions. "It comes from hoaven," Maude explained, "and is made of—of—feathers I guess, though I's not sure, for no one ever said to me the leastest thing about it. And, oh, perhaps they're little fairy folks! "Look!" she called,. as the snow,flakes, great big fellows, fell upon her mittens. "They look like little stars! One's like the tin thing mamma cuts cookies with, and this one, just lighted on my thumb, is pointed like the daisies on my summer hat! See, quick, this one on th'e other hahd is like a wheel that's lost its outside piece! "I'll bring some in to you," she called, while baby danced with joy. Then, pulling oft' her mittens, she held up both her hands to catch the snowtlakes as they felL ; Up the steps she ran, but when she reached the door there was .nothing in her hands but a few drops of water. "Oh, where have the pretty creat- : ures gone?" she cried, looking all about. "Have I losted them?" She tried again to catch them, and this time, when the snowflakes left her as before, the big tears filled her eyes, and, rolling 1 down her rosy cheeks, tumbled off xipoq the collar of "grandpa's hair," "I'm afraid the fairies doa't love me," she sobbed, "I wouldn't hurt a single one, not for anything." Just then she saw her father turn the corner, and starting down the steps she van toward him, holding out her hands and calling: "The snowflakes won't stay in my hands! Toll me, quick, are snowflakes really fairy folks, or are they only feathers'? Why won't they let me catch them when I love them, oh, so very much?" Two kind eyes looked down into the tear-stained face, and the next minute Maude was being carried up the steps and into the house. That night after supper her father called her to him. saying: "There js just time for a story before my little girl goes to bed." "Oh, g09dvl" said » happy voice, for Maud, like many other girls and boys, was always ready for ft story, "Jnet the other day," her father began, "out on the lake, the very Jake where last summer you gathered sand along the shore, four w,ater* drops .were floating, A sunbeam came aVoojjf \yitb his gpWQn olwriot. He Mftscl those, drpps out of tbg lake up into the »lr. The» with his lairy \Ytwji t-he sunbeam c!jaugecUh.o drops M*te a Wind g| watey, feat* HUe that ycm see com,i».£ lv»^ tlje teakeJWe, Pp..,l}p \vej}t thsuohjiWj, )oa4e}l >vtth \Y»tey dusfc £b,e MWe pai'tieles, oj \vate^'lu^t,b.e|rfta ,|Q ebtygr, Th,«y, lQJ ( ol''.| i Ogr^th.«U('! »ftd $hey $6 itigmneA & .... . sudden feuafige-,w8fU tht tinyAflfr"] tt¥es thai they 1 b'egfth tb 'fly ftfH1r$ > <$0f'- rtm Itef-e attd th l fere f attd shivlH? fft %TO ^ cdid. ' ' ' - •' '" "But, tisten! As ilia air" tfWMf, coldef'they bould heat iairy* * _*':'_"'. calling to the*, tfhey were faieei of crystal faifies, hundreds -of thefify', little sparkling creature^ All dailifij? / to the particles Of wate? dWsfe TliSft the water dust turned white*, Asltis bell-like voices of the crystal latfielS called the tiHy creatures,' no*' frhlte like feathers, cafne together^ taking 1 stars attd ferii-liko pointed shapes, that Sparkled in the SUttliglit'. "The little stars cbtitd fdel them* selves growing heavy. *Phey wefs falling, fallihg, down, down -to the earth. When at last they -lit tipott the window sill they saw a little girl behind the glass, clapping her hands and calling: 'Oh, see the great big snowflakes fait! 1 " By this'time Maud was sitting up straight, looking into her father's face. There were a score of questions in her eyes. • ''Yes," her father said, for he knew oi what she was,thinking, "that little girl was you. Those showflakes, k made by crystal fairies, themselves almost like fairy creatures, were Once water drops. This morning they came from thoir new home in Cloud* land, where Old Winter lives, with all his cold, cold breezes. When you took them into your warm hands the cold that made them snowflakes was gone, and they turned to water drops again." "Is it ail true? Then that's the bestest story you ever told," said Maud, jumping down from her father's knee,. and running to -the window to take another look at the ' snowflakes on the sill. "Cuckoo, cuckoo," said the clock in , the corner. Eight times it called. "Do you know what that means?" "Yes, bedtime." A half :hour, later Maud was in dreamland. There she saw the sunbeam at work making the water drops into water dust. There, too, wore the 'fairies with their magic wands" changing it again into little crystals, that glistened in the light, and looked just like the snowflakes you see here in the picture.—-Chicago* Inter-Ocean. ITnn AMth 1'onnuts, A peanut hunt is lots of fun for an evening party. The hostess hides peanuts in all sorts of „ queer places about the room, sometimes putting two or three nuts in the same place. Then she provides each of her guests with a little basket tied with gay ribbons, and then the "hunt" begins, After a certain time the finds are compared. .The one who has the largest number wins the first prize, while the "booby" prize is fittingly awarded to the one having the fewest. Some other trials that are great sport are often introduced. One is to see who can carry the most peanuts in one hand from one table to .another. A boy ought to win this. Forty-two is a good number. Of course, the winner is to be rewarded, while the "booby,'" too, must have a simple something.—New York Journal. , '_ Ringing for Prayers. A very pretty story about a confiding child is told of the 4-year-old son of a member of the Georgia legislature. Having left the boy in a room of one ot the big-hotels of the metropolis, with the command to cro to bod immediately, he went down to seek • his congenial friends in the office. The bell-boy^ were soon thrown into consternation by the many and various calls from the room in which the little fellow had been left, and quite a number of them were soon collected there. But it was not ice water,nor fire, nor a "bands," that the child wanted. He astonished the boys with this unusual request: "Please, sirs, send someone to me to hear me say my prayers."—Harper's Magazine. Little I'nul's I'lcture-I$ook. In little Paul's "Instructive Illustrated Picture-Book' 1 There are scene? In foret ;n countries, showing bow the people look. There's a "Scene ambn? the Africans," In colors i?»y and bri lit Asceneonlled "ChinesePeople"— An interesting sight. There's a picture named "Amon? tUe Turlts," Where turbaned men BO by; And some "Italian Natives" Beneath an azure sHy. But, strange tq s»y, when Paul walks out and sees about the town , , Turks, colored men, Italians, top, with skios ' of olive-brown, And even placid Chinamen—these people never look l As they do In his "Instructive Illustrated Pip. " lure-Book." <-St, Nicholas, *— - • 'i We Saw tUe Fireflies, ' Harold »U his short life had to go to • bod very early, One evening, how»' I ever, he was' allowed tP set up, ^od'" then for the first tin\e h§ savr the t flrefles, "Mamma," he cried, running 1 over to her in the greatest excite? inent, "Mamma, look—'the dark is e*U . cracking 1 open!" < x ' Ljttle Mary, repeating hey ,.„..*„,„ „. after her mother, paused at "<J}Ye."ij*!^ this day onr daily breads" wearily! "Oh, what's the HJM> a§i mamma? You knpw we get all bread fvom the Vi«e r— 4 *--'--'— OH BJK Wttie ^ed-HBon't, t a lp 'f Jight, Mftmma^-J \Yani y<?VJ to go-'to, eie,ep 'without ft" Jigbt^ '• I Bleep m the a, ™* then, wait a, wji ' m IfeW':" 1 -*

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