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i ' McHENRY, Wtgf|laiudc»Ier VAN 8LYKE, Editor and PublliMfc ILLtWOia. PREMONITIONS. Jh» turn Bontb wind Mows soft and swe#^} ©HnoWTig swfft thi> snowy sheet. Beyond the cliffs of Labrador j" f The northern whirlwinds rhafe and ro*J*; s ; ' Death's lu'nclmian. Winter, calla his tnin| Attd flees lieyouil the polar niaiu. Scared by k bluebird on the , "J £ Cerulean" shaft of SjuiDg. Along thp Southland's farthest rinr Ootid cups are filling to the brim. iJ':.: While frewn life's grottoes underground Conies rit-ar. but frtint, ft welcome sound; !! I : T h e g r n n d o l d e a r t h a r o u n d l : a a t » . t TTto meet the all-rejoicing sun. '« » V* Sing, happy voices, joyons sin^ ^ ~ Life's greetings to sweet I Joyful ,V;\> On snnnv slopes the grass is (froon, And springing crocus tips are seen; The timid violet, in surp ise. Peers at the sun with half-shut eyes; Listens to catch the hopeful words From cheerful, reassuring birds, Come showers, come flowers, wing; Come full-clad, charming Spring I Already in the fanner's eyes. The teeming golden harvests rise-- Replenished are the empty racks - And thick the clover-spiced stacks; Where the black furrowe lie forlorn, Km bat tied stand dark ranks of corn. The stains which to the ploughshare cling He cleans; quoth he: "'tis Spring!" Along the path where roses blow And fragrant, banded lillies grow. The matron walks find counts the haWS - betwixt her and her darling flowersj ; „ Hums a soft t une, and curious, look®,.' A g a i n s t h e r s e n s e , i n - s h e l t e r e d n o o k s . - "My heart is longing." hear her ring, For my sweet pearls of Spring.' ; Oft on the border lands of death Comes, softly blown, a quickening breath; Through the thick mist oft darts a gleam Of Sprmg-clad pales beyond tho stream, Where, bathed in floods of light divine, Flowers incomparable shine. Thus, hint s of life eternal cling To every pulse of Spring. --Vick's Magazine. PAUL OSBORNE S LOVE. :HWJ life IW. -Ifc si? ' f f / l h/'-' M V f> 3iw^'y.yj. Squire Burt stood with his back to ihe blazing fire readiug a letter, which seemed to have an unwonted effect upon his feelings, inasmuch as he brushed away two tear-drops from eyes unused to such intruders. The cause was these words written by an unsteady hand: "DEAK BURT: I am dying. Forgive, for the sake of our happy boyhood days, ; the one wrong I unwillingly did you. I leave with you, as a keepsake from Mary, my dear, dead wife (and your loved one), my daughter. As you value the blessing of one who will soon be no more, be a father to my chili, who will come to you when I am gone. 'Uncle Burt' is a name she has been taught to love. Dear friend, God bless you! EDMUXD." "Ahem! Mrs. Rogers," said the Squire, clearing his voice and calling his house-keeper, who was passing the open door, "You remember Edmund Allen?" "Indeed 1 do, sir; and there wasn't a finer gentleman eveJ visited the house "Well, well," hasmyiatensj} t ed the Squire, "he is dying; andaft&r his death, his child, a girl, will come here to re-ide with me as my own daughter. That is ail at present, Mrs. Rogers." And Squire Burt turned from the as­ tonished old lady, seated himself in an easy chair, and let Memory have her ; sway. The Squire and his friend, Edmund, ' had been boys together, and each sum­ mer vacation had been spent by the Jfttter at Burt Farm. The years passed on, and one summer "Edmund came to the farm to find Will (the present Squire) engaged to a lovely girl, the daughter of his mother's dear­ est friend, and who was then visiting her. It wee a happy summer for all three; then Will was called away by ' business to the West Indies. The vessel in which he sailed was re­ ported lost, and, as no tidings came from the absent one, he was mourned for as dead. A vear passed. Edmund, from sym­ pathizing with his friend's betrothed, 4>egan loving her; and she, feeling that Will was lost to her forever, returned it, Vo they married. Two years afterward Will returned, accounting for his absence and expect- ; ing to claim his bride. The world ac­ quitted Edmund of all blame; still he . felt he had blasted his friend's happi­ ness forever. For years the former friends held no Intercourse or correspondence. , Will, now Squire Burt, never mapy ried, but preferred living in>-the"6ld homestead with his tried servants, now that his parents were dead. He was alone, save indeed, when his only nephew, Paul Osborne, spent the itnonth of June with him. • • • • * * A month later and the shy violets be- vpn to show their pretty heads among the green surroundings on the lawn on Burt Farm. The Squire sat in the veranda, the balmy spring air soothing his senses to . such an extent that he began nodding in a very sleepy manner and did not <bear the sound of carriage wheels as they roiled up the graveled avenue. A pair of arms around his neck and a sweet voice crying "Dear Uncle Burt" ; The Squire awoke to behold in Ed­ mund's daughter and his ward the im­ age of her whom he once expected to call "wife." He bade the young girl welcome in such loving and beafcty tones that grate­ ful tears filled the orphan's eyes. "I have brought another claimant for your love and hospitality," said the young Maiy, pointing to a noble New­ foundland dog, whom the Squire had JQot noticed. v "Be was such a favorite of dear papa's "that I could not part with him. I tell him all my troubles and he really seems to understand me. May he stay?" For answer Squire Burt patted the animals head, then wound his arm rouud Mary's waist, and led her into the sitting-room, where Mrs. Rogers re­ ceived her with an almost terrified ex­ clamation. "I could not help" it, sir"--turning apologetically to the Squire; "she looks so like the other Mary." •"Take Miss Mary to her room, Mrs. Rogers, and I will send up the trunks;" --and the good man hurriedly left the room to hide the emotion which the sight of his ward's fresh young face Jbad brought up, for it was like--ah! so like hers. | sailor son, "who was such a comfort, j Miss, until he would go to sea, 'to seek my fortune, mother dear; then I'll come back and we'U live together in the cosiest of houses.'" "He never told you a falsehood, did he?" Mary would inquire. " ' "No, Miss, he never did." "Then he will come, of course, and you are a naughty woman if you don't believe it Come "Rover P And away she would bound for a race with her favorite over the lawn. Mrs. Rogers would wipe her eyes Mid say: "What a comfort she is!" And the Squire--bless you! how he was "led," to be sure! Yes, even to forgiving that miscreant young boy on his farm. It was--"Now, dear old uncle, only this once. It is my birth­ day, you know, 17 (venerable old wo­ man), so you can't refuse me." "Well, you spoiled child, you shall have your own way on your*birthday; so go and carry the pardon to Jim." And the Squire was repaid with half a dozen kisses and the exclamations of Best old uncle that ever lived!" He sighed when she had gone. "What a sunbeam she is! I wonder if she will be leaving me for a husband I one of these days. Phew! She is a child yet, in thought and action, and I dare say never thinks of such a thing; so I won't trouble myself about it" Not so fast, sage Squire. Mary is 17, full of spirits to be sure, and not troubled with uncomfortable, prim ladyisms, but she is a woman in thought and feelings sometimes, and when she visits the person* she calls "her poor" her gentle manner and helping hands are not childish. And when the so­ ciety of the place called upon her she Was dignified and ladylike, although it must be confessed that after the latter trying ordeal she did have a good romp with Rover. Mary, Mary!" called Squire Burt, who was at the foot of the stairs with a letter, just received, in his hand. Yes, uncle, coming," answered Mary, and a moment afterwards she came run­ ning lightly down-stairs (you couldn't get her to walk down), and putting her arm through that of the Squire, led him out into the veranda--for the morn­ ing was a warm one, and the veranda seemed cooler than the library. "Paul is coming, puss, and will be here this afternoon. He says he is com­ ing for his 'annual holiday.' * "How old is he. Uncle Burt?" "Twenty-eight" "Humph? Don't like ladies'society, does he?* "What makes you think so, puss?" "Because he never married." "To tell you the truth, Mary, he is not very partial to ladies' society, or, at least, was not a few years ago; he is so thoroughly devoted to his profession (that of law) that it seems to answer as wife to him." "Then his cross lordship can dis­ pense with my company, as I am a lady --eh, uncle mine? I know I shail not like him." "We'll see, puss." "Well, you teasing uncle, kiss me; then Rove and I will go down to my 'grotto,' and I will translate that hard German lesson you gave me this morn­ ing; then we will hold an indignation meeting about this grave old lawyer-- won't we Rove?" As Rover barked an assent, they started for the grotto, Mary's favorite studying place. "He is here, Rove. Put on your best manner," said Mary, when she returned an hour afterwards, and saw through the open window a form taller and broader than Uncle Burtf^ "Mary, my nephew, Paul Osborne-- Paul, my ward. Mary." "My nephew Paul" held out a large but well-shaped hand, and Mary put her little white one in it in such a de­ mure way that 'Squire Burt smiled quietly, but so knowingly, then a deep, rich voice said, "I should be happy to claim a cousinship if Miss Mary will al­ low it" Miss Mary" bowed her curly head in token of assent, and then went upstairs to dress for dinner, glad to escape those black eyes of "Cousin Paul's." "He thinks lam nothing bat a child," soliloquized Mary when she reached her room; "but who cares ? He shall have his quiet time, too, for 'Cousin Mary' won't disturb him. What splen­ did eyes he has, and such a pale, thoughtful face, a real sweet voice, and --pshaw! Mary, you are a goose. Go on dressing your hair, and don't think of 'Cousin Paul.' £ wonder if he thinks I will call bim 'cousin!'" • At dinner, the uxjele and nephew being engaged in conversation, Mary thought it a good opportunity to in­ spect Mr. Paul's features, but Paul's eyes caught her'o as they wandered over his face. An amused smile around Paul's mouth made Mary blush very charm­ ingly, as she mentally exclaimed, "He must think his 'cousin' possesses good manners!" The evening passed quickly. Mary bad a sweet soprano voice, and it was so odd that Paul should have just the right kind of voice to fit hers, as she expressed it Squire Burt meanwhile enjoying bis meerschaum in the veran­ da, and keeping time with the music that floated through the open parlor windows by patting the arm of his chair with his forefinger in a very satisfac­ tory way to himself. The next morning early Mary was in the garden picking strawberries and singing right merrily when she was joined by Paul. ' "Good morning, Cousin Mary. You are an early bird. I see you are em­ ploying those dainty fingers usefully." "They were made for use, were they not, Mr. Paul?" asked she ingeneously. "True enough, little one," answered ^ Paul, and mentally exclaiming, "Don't I like flattery- sensible girl !--unlike* so many I have met in this respect." Then "I knew your father, cousin, when I was a boy; and the memory of his kind­ ness to me is very pleasant" Ah! he had touched the right chord at last, for Mary's tongue was loosed as she spoke of her dear father; indeed, the time passed so quickly that, had not Cousin Paui's nimble fingers gone to the rescue. Uncle Burt would have been minus his favorite supply of fruit for breakfast Paul Osborne's antipathy to the cousinly manner had led him to doubt whether his affection was returned. "If you don't come down before next summer, Paul, I suppose you will find Mary the wife of one of our well-to-lo farmers; eh, puss?" » "You teaming unole! Just to repay you, please understand that I am to stay here always aud be your torment Neither your farmer nor anyone else shall havo your puss--there!" Then "puss" and Rover had a confi­ dential chat, in which Mary declared that Paul "wasn't such a tiresome fel­ low, ,after all; but we won't let him know that we are 'very sorry that he is going away, will we. Rove!" The last week of Paul's stay Mary was so retiring and shy in her manner that Uncle Burt noticed it; but, like a wise man, said nothing. The Sabbath dawned clear and bright after the thunder Bhower of the previous evening, so the Squire s family walked to church. Mr. Worthy's text was, "Love one an­ other." It was so strange that Mary j should blush when her eyes met Paul's, | accidentally, when the text was re­ peated. The trio were silent on their way home, and after dinner Uncle Burt took his usual nap, while Paul wandered down to Mary's grotto, where he knew; she had gone. He came upoo her so softly that she started when Paul's voice said: "Do you remember the text of this morning, Marv ?" "I do, Paul. What of it?"--Very softly. "Then let us obey the command, dar­ ling. I love you very, very dearly, and cannot go away nntil you consent to be my wife." "But--but--I thought you disliked women so much; besides, I have prom­ ised to stay with uncle, and " "We'll talk of that afterwards, dear­ est; only say, 'I love you, Paul.'" "I--I like you, Paul!" ' "Love you. Paul!" said her tormentor. "Well, then, love you." And Mary's crimson face hid itself on her lover's shoulder. Her happy face told the "news" to Uncle Burt, who very magnanimously gave up his "old maid" that was to have been, only stipulating that Mary should spend each summer with him at the homestead, which good Mr9. Rogers de­ clares " will be lost without her pretty face." What a deal cH sunshine Mary Allen • that respect. brought to the f a r m - S q u i r e B u r t ' s j So thl first three weeks loving glance and bright smile would happilv tail, as he watched her putting his | Paul (library "to ,ights"-a duty which she and she, in refcurnV played "and s~ang7or claimed as ber own "particular pleas- him when the i * u. The Wizard's Latest. ^homas A. Edison, the famous elec­ trician and inventor, is preparing to as­ tonish the world, by the exhibit he will make at the World's Fair in 1893. "I shall have two or three things to show," said he recently, "which I think will both surprise aud please the visitors to the electrical department of the Expo­ sition, which by the way, I am fully convinced, will be a great success. Two of these inventions are,not yet ready to be described, or even characterized. The third, however, is so nearly per­ fected, that I do not hesitate to say something about it I hope to be able by the invention to throw upon a canvas a perfect picture of anybody, and reproduce his words*. Thus, should Patti be singing some­ where, this invention will put her full length picture upon the canvas so per­ fectly as to enable one to distinguish every feature and expression of her faqa, see all her actions and listen to the entrancing melody of her peerless voice. The invention will do for the eye what the phonograph has done for the voice, and reproduce the voice as well, in fact, more clearly. I have al­ ready perfected the invention so far as to be able to picture a prize fight--the two men, the ring, |the intensely in­ terested faces of those surrounding it-- and you can hear the sound of the blows, the cheers of encouragement and the yells of disappointment And when this invention shall have been per­ fected," said Mr. Edison with the trace of enthusiasm's glow in his face, "a man will be able to sit in his library at home, and, having electrical connection with the theater, see reproduced on his wall or a piece of canvas the actors, and heat anything they say. I can place one so it will command a street corner, and after letting it register the passing sights for a time, J cau have it cast them on a canvas so that every feature and motion of the passers, even to the twitching of the face, can be seen, and if a friend passed during the time, you may know it. This invention will be called the 'Kinetograph.' The first half of the word signifies 'motion,' and the last 'write,' an<| both together mean the portrayal of motion. The inven­ tion combines photography and phonog­ raphy. " Mr. Edison occupied nearly an acre with his exhibit at the Paris Exposition. As he wishes to show at Chicago all that he exhibited at Paris, and numer­ ous other things besides, he is desirous of being accorded a greater space in 1893. The electrical exhibit is ex­ pected to be the wonder of the Ex­ position. Meanness of Meisnioner. Imperious, domineering, capricious, Meissonier was the spoiled child of the artists and of the Government; his great age and his great fame enabled him to stamp and rage and often to have his own way. This was shown on several occasions in 1889, when he was President of the jury of the exhibition, and again in 1890. when he led the dis­ sidents and founded the Solon of the Champ de Mars. Often, however, his caprices aud colossal egoism were not exempt from indelfcacy. One day, be­ ing a guest at Ferrieres, Meissonie confided to the Baron Alphonso de Rothschild that he was hard up, and the Baron gave him a check for $20, 000. Shortly afterward Meissonier asked the Baron if he could pay his debt by a picture, and the offer was ac­ cepted. Later, Alphonso de Rothschild was a candidate at the Institute and Meissonier made a tremendous fuss in the newspapapers and in private, doing all in hi>« power to cause the candida­ ture of "the dirty Jew" to fail. Mean­ while he had not paid "the Jew" the $20,000 he borrowed and which he had compounded by means -of a picture. Paris letter. Such Uood Taste. It was in the cars, where sooner or later he who listens can hear every thing from declarations of passion to „ -- the quarrels of hate, the weightiest af- ladies seemed to vanish in Mary's pres-' fairs of the nation to the lightest gossip sence, although the dear girl did not ^ of the frivolous. Two women were chatting together of a funeral which they had been out pf town to attend. imagine she had changed his feelings in passed very Paul helped Mary with her German rr »hHeKo,.rfof»edhi,mi.tre3. from the table to the book-case and them nearer Heaven back again, with the gravest look im- j "I must leave vou next Monday," agwable on his canine features said Paul, addressing his uncle, bnt The young girl soon won all hearts looking at Mary, whose sorrowfu face With her sunny ways. seemed to please Mr. Paul wonderfully, ^ow^hehstetied with tears in her for during thoae^hree weeks he h.S ***• 10 ^ account of her 1 learned to love Mary dearly, but her m-k' • • . . . v . . . ' - "Yes," one of them remarked, don't know when I've been to such a sweet funeral." "No," the other responded, "nor I "Did you think that was a beautiful selection from Scripture?" "Yes; beautiful." "And those two hymns; weren't Ibfj appropriate." a "Yes; there couldn't bare been any thing more appropriate." "Well, the corpse ahose all."-- Boston Courier. Xto Os<H) H»u*eke«p«rs it to a Necessity In Cooking. ^Tliere are very few people who hare abundance of cream to use who make proper use of the advantage. All good housekeepers know, nowadays, that a cup of the best made coffee in the world is stale, flat and unprofitable without •sreain, unless indeed it be drank after Huuer perfectly clear and strong. It is ^ barbarism that only a few of our ;heaper restaurants are now guilty of, io offer coffee with milk. On the con­ trary it seems to us that tea gains noth­ ing, but rather loses some of its deli- Jacy of flavor when served with cream, gaining a body that is inconsistent with its nature. There are none of the breakfast cereals that are not doubly deiicious served with cream. A pasty, half cooked dish of oatmeal served with thin milk is quite a different dish from the same grain when each kernal of the mush is swollen out to full distinct per­ fection, and it is served hot with ice- cold cream. There is something par­ ticularly delicious in whipped cream served with any kind of s *eet fruit. Preserves of all kinds are excellent with whippet! cream, yet what a com- paritiveiy rare thing it is to see them served in this way, except in families where there is a French chef. The use of cream in sorfps and meat dishes is only beginning to be understood iu this country. There are few of the thick white soups that do not owe their perfection to the cup of hot cream added just before serving. Creamed chicken, or chicken served in a fricas­ see in which the yolks of eggs are freely Used with cream, is especially deli­ cious. There are few dishes of fried fis-S that may not be appropriately served a la creme, or in cream sauce. Often a cream sauce is made of milk, and it is very nice made ini that way, but by way of variety, make use of genuine cream and see how excellent the change is. Croquettes and many other dainty entrees of meat owe their supreme excellence to the use of cream. Thus far we have not touched upon the almost innumerable delightful deserts when once the art of beating cream is acquired. This can be done with an ordinary egg whip, but most persons can succeed better with a cream churn. The ordinary little churn of tin, a cylinder but two inches across, is of no practical value, and therefore a delusion and a snare. To be of use a churn should be a cylinder at least three and a half inches across, and about ten inches long. Cream can be rapidly beaten in such a ohurn. As the froth rises it is skimmed off on a sieve, which is placed over a pan to drip. Theie is always some cream in a quart that will not beat to/ froth, and this will drain into tke and should be used for ^eolfee or some other purpose. It is not neccessary to beat cream to a froth in making ice cream, or in making deserts in which cream is used. Bavarian creams and all varities of mousses call for beaten cream. The grand triumph of the French chefs art, a gateau St. Honore, is made with a combination of puff paste and the boiled paste used for eclairs and cream cakes. Whipped cream properly flavored and sweetened and a suitable decoration of candied fruit completes the dish. An iced or cold rice pudding made with a mixture of whipped cream and boiled rice prop­ erly flavored is one of the best deserts we have.--New York Tribune. We tell it to show how abort and steep is the road downward for the woman who, whether thoughtlessly or deliberately, enters upon it To conceal Bnch dangers from young girls is as false kindness as to send in­ nocent children to walk over the hot, thin crust of $ crater without warning that death lies below.--Toulh'9 Com­ panion. A Western OacL "A fight, a fight!" The interior of a gambling hetl In a small mining town in Montana, five years ago. In the foreground pi the picture stand two men who have just risen from their chairs and are) facing each other, their pistols half-drawn ana an insane glare darting from their eyes. A pack of cards is scattered over the floor where an angry blow has thrown them. At the cry of "Fight," all the occupants of the plaoe gather around the combatants--all but the faro-dealer, who sits like a stone and never moves, save to toy aimlessly with the Bilver box before him. "Fair play," ones a hoarse voice; "if you're goin' to fight, fellers, do it on the square. "He says dimuns an' draw." I discarded the ace o* showed 'er up arter the Kutnetl* The oorridoarw of the station-house were lined with benches,, on which sat a few burly policemen in their blue and gilt uniform. In the inner rooms were congregated old bloated drunkards, hardened women charged with crime, a terrified young girl, and one or two children. A small man, with a keen, steady eye, also in uniform, answered the inquiries of visitors. Yes, we see strange things here," he Baid. "But one gets hardened, looking constantly at the black side of human nature. "I've seen sights here, though, that would wring any man's heart There was a woman one night sat on that bench yonder that was brought in for petty larceny. She was a pretty, gay little body, who had tried to keep her place in fashionable life with littl^ money, but when she was pushed hard, stole a vel­ vet dress. ^ "She wouldn't give hen name, and cried pitifully, begging /to be let go. But when one of the officers brought in her old father, Bhe grew still as death. '1 will never disgraoe you again,' she said, and turned her face to the walL When they went to take her tout to the prison van, she was dead. The action of her heart was weak, the doctors said, and shame and misery bore on it too hard. "There was no use prosecuting a dead woman. Her father took her away, and the matter was kept out of the papers. Bpt a thing happened one night that seemed to me more terrible than that About midnight two or three car­ nages drove up, and A party of ladies and gentlemen came in, wrapped in their furs and opera cloaks. They had be n at the theater, and had come down out of curiosity because one of their companions had promised them 'a glimpse of real tragedy, more dramatic an anything they woiild find ou the stage.' "So in their gay dresses and dia­ monds, some laughing, some ready to cry, but all pleased with the new ex­ citement, they peered in at the poor wretches. "Among the prisoners was an old hag, who was near to death with long faith­ fulness to vice and drink. She held out her filthy hand, begging. "One of the ladies came up close, and looked at her long and curiously. I heard her name, and knew it Sbe be­ longed to a good family in the city, and was famous for her beauty and reck­ lessness. She had been married but a year, and was already divorced. But there was about her an odd, affectionate sincerity which, people said, endeared her even to those who blamed her. "She stood still, looking at this bleared old woman, her face growing white. Then she dropped a gold coin in the outstretched hand, " 'I wonder," she said, 'who will give me a gold-piece when I sit where you do now!' "Her friends dragged ier away, laughing. I smelled champagne on her breath, as she passed me. But it .was a terrible thing, for I knew she had foreseen what would happen to her. It would have been better if she had looked on her own dead body. * "Only we policemen know how many fast, cbampagne-drinking fashionable women end here at last." The policeman's BtOry was true in every detail. "You did." "It's a lief V ' The strong arms twitch nervously and a silence falls upon the crowd. "Here, Jerry, if you fellers mean business, go at this thing in a business­ like way," speaks the hoarse voice again. Git over to that end of the room, Ike. Jerry, you stand there. That's right Now. fire w'en I give the word. I'll shoot the feller that fires 'fore I say to •--understand?" The two men face each other with pistols aimed and murder in their eyes. Such a scene is no novelty in that town, but every time a duel like that occurs an awesome stillness comes over all be­ holders. Every face is drawn with anxiety--every face except the faro dealer's, whose lips wear their habitual snake-like smile. "One!" A perceptible movement of the muscles as the combatants rferve them­ selves for the ordeal. "Two!" Fingers creep along the trigger guards and rest firmly on the triggers. "Three." A simultaneous movement of the in­ dex fingers--a short, sharp report--two harsh groans that rise as one, and the two duelists fall upon the riokeiy floor with a united weight that shakes the flimsy building from foundation to roof. Both are dead, and everyone, for a moment; is awed with the tragedy, save the faro dealer. He smiles as before, and raps his silver box: "Game, gentlemen!"--Free Press. .Removing the Epidermis. A few days since, says the Boston Herald, at the Massachusetts general hospital, a little instrument, invented by Dr. Mixter, wonderful in its sim­ plicity, constructed so as to separate qttiVe large portions of epidermis from the subcutaneous tissue, was used for the first time. The patient had been etherized, and had undergone operations for the re­ moval of a cancerous growth from the left breast, and the wound thus made was quite an extensive one. The instru­ ment was applied to the anterior-portion of the right thigh, and three strips, about an inch wide by six inches long, were taken off and transplanted to the exposed surface of the breast. The oper­ ation of removing the skin and trans­ planting it to its new quarters did not occupy more than about six minutes. A very few days sufficed to restore the denuded surface of the thigh to its normal condition, leaving few traces of the reparative process to which it ligs contributed, and, other things being equal, the surface from which the can­ cerous tumor had been excised will heal over by first intention, thus saving the patient from a prolonged and painful period of convalescence. Of eourse, every precaution is taken,, by the uisjje of sterilizing processes and anticeptie so­ lutions, to render the operation thor­ oughly aseptic, so that the chances of inflammatory disturbances from bacte­ rial sources are reduced to the lowest minimum. The thickness of these delicate hu­ man plasters probably does not exceed one-sixtieth of an inch, and the result­ ing hemorrhage is not more than what one sees on a slight abrasion of the skin, or it may be compared to the sanguin­ eous oozing one gets from too earn­ est tonsorial attention. The advantages of the new over the old method of epi­ dermic detachment-are obvious. It is expeditious, the sections of shaved cuti­ cle are much larger and of more uni­ form thickness than can be obtained by the most dexterous manipulator, and the chances of successful grafting are enhanced by the fact that the skin is transplanted while the cellular ele­ ments are in their full vital activity. Music and the Bllnrt. Music will ever be the blind .man's ruling passion, but that it may pe a blessing to him and not a curse he must be taught to know, to master and to love only that of the purest and best kind. What he does he must be able to do well or the gift will be fatal, says the Edinburgh Revieio. He must learn not merely to scrape a fiddle in a more or less exasperating fashion or blow into a cornet with painful success, so as to gain admission into the school band, but to do far more and far better, or within a year of his leaving school-- away in the country village or alone in the London garret--the cunning of his hand will fail him and his music be worse than useless. People will say: "It is very clever for a blind man," but there it ends, and such words will not even provide bread and cheese for a day. His descent into the streets, is not far off, and unless he has learned to make a basket or a mat he will soon become one of the forlorn minstrels who, says May hey, "behind a string and a dog haunt the curbstone and fill the ears of the sorrqwful with strains of still greater sorrow." The higher sense of true music is gone from him, and the want of this sense is to melody what t,he loss of fragrance and color would be to flowers or of color to the sunset sky. Aud of all this loss he is at last unconscious. Gas as Fuel. Scientists say the chemist will domi­ nate coming inventions. All our fuel will presently be furnished in the form of gas. In a quarter of a century more we shall wonder why man was ever such a fool as to carry coa into the house and burn it AN agricultural editor says that the best article he ever saw on milk was cream. Some city people think thai it is not widely copied. Petttag. The majority of women love to be petted, but not one in fifty is the happy recipient of petting, nevertheless. I was much interested in a group of young women at Block Island one sum­ mer. I boarded at the same h#tel with them and we were on quite friehdly terms be­ fore the season was over. One young married woman was brimful of self-help. When her handsome husband came up from the city on Saturdays I took par­ ticular pains to watch them. It was as I had expected. He seldom waited upon her; she seemed always to prefer helping herself. If he brought a shawl she im­ mediately took it from him and vigor­ ously swung it about her shoulders. If sbe wanted a chair she rushed and pro­ cured one. She would not give the man an opportunity to show the gal­ lantry that I feel sure he possessed. "Little goose," thought I, "God helps those who help themselves," but men don't Strange to say, I learned after­ wards that no woman loved petting more than this same little wife, but for some unaccountable reason she could not resist the everlusting impulse to take care of herself. A sweet girl, tall, slender and blue- ej ed, was continually being waited .upon. Over the rocks she was Invariably helped by Bome kindly hand. Had she not been sure of the hand I am cer­ tain she would not have gone over the rocks. If her handkerchief fluttered to the ground the young gen­ tlemen present were in danger of bump­ ing heads in their mad desire to restore it to its fair owner, and I declare, in the absence of escorts, the ladies would stoop and lift it from the sand as a mat­ ter of course. „Out fishing, the very sea dogs themselves vied with each other for the sweet opportunity of baiting her hook. All her life she had uncon­ sciously demanded petting and devo­ tion. She was a lovely character, gentle, refined and sensible, but you could not be with her five minutes without feeling she was born to be waited upon. She has been married three years. Her husband is still her lover, and pets her to her heart's content Those w»imen who complain cf a lack of devotion on the part of their hus­ bands did not commence right. ; They should have trained their lovers. Young ladies, my advice to you is-- be not only willing to accept the help­ ing hand, but quietly demand it, A little appealing helplessness goes a great way with a man. It really doesn't pay to be too smart --New York Mercury. It 1)°S4 Mot a Beer-Garden. They had graduated from the Uni­ versity of Pennsylvania only a month before, says the Philadelphia Press, and were seeing Europe with well-lined' purses. *ondon and Paris had been Been, and now on their arrival at Berlin, they decided to sally forth immediately dinner should be finished to behold those much-spoken-of German, beer- gardens. They did not stop to ask from the interpreter where the best were to be found, but felt sure they would meet with one before many streets should be passed. So on they went for a few squares until they came upon a brilliantly lighted place, filled with trees and plants, nooks and oorners. Officers were moving ab mt with gayly dressed ladies, music playing, dear little round tables every here and there. It was charming--just what they had ex­ pected. "Shall we go in and have a glass of beer ?" said one to the others. "By all means." Large gates stood wide. Servants in lovs bowed them in. The interior was more fascinating than the glimpse through the trees had promised. Sev­ eral men in uniform stared at them. They leisurely seated themselves at a small round table and one tapped with his cane One of the men who had been standing at the door, after a hasty consultation with the others, ap­ proached them. He wore many deco­ rations. "What a swell waiter," said one. The man in question demanded, "What do you want here?" of course in German. "Two beers," answered a student, holding up two fingers to make himself better understood. "Thunder weather!" exclaimed the man in uniform, and in two seoonds time they found themselves heavily landed on the sidewalk and there left with numberless German words whioh they had not learned at the University. They afterward found that the bril­ liantly lighted "garden" was a private one, and that they had assisted for a brief space at a fete given to the Em­ peror. Going- to Meeting In a Storm. The story goes that once a fearful storm beset the valley of South Lewis- ton at Garcelon's Ferry. It snowed and snowed and Friday passed and Satur­ day came only to Bee whirling snow- flakes and Sunday came And lo 1 the sun and its rays fell upon a trackless earth, with no fences and no roads. James Joslyn was a church-goer. He was essentially such, and besides being a Christian, he, like Enoch, walked with God in daily life. On Sundays he rarely if ever was absent from churoh. This Sunday he decided to go to church as usual. They told him that the feat was impossible. Nobody could get there, and it would be useless to try. He did not listen to the expostulations, but hitobed his horse and drove away. They watched him over the hill, bat­ tling the drifts, and decided finally that perhaps he might get there. It was close to night when he re­ turned, having been gone all day. "Did you get there?" was askeld. His reply was in the affirmative. "What about it? How was it? Did you have a meeting?" "We had a blessed meeting," said he, "we had a blessed meeting." "And who was there?" was asked. "Only Deacon Davis and I," was his answer, "but we had a blessed meet­ ing." And that high-baoked sleigh in the barn is the sleigh that took him to his "blessed meeting" that required an en­ tire day and that but one attendant be­ sides himself.--Lewiston (Me.) Jour­ nal. ' tie Was Saved. A Michigan man t tumbled into a hole four feet deep one evening, and suppos­ ing himself at the bottom of a mine- shaft forty feet deep, he put in the night praying and halloing. When morning came he climbed out and gave a teamster a dollar to boot him for forty rods down the road. • 1 1 " 1 1 ^ MAMMA--You naughty girl I You ve eaten every cooky there was on the plate. I told you you might have three. Little Editli--Yes, but you didn't tell me which three. So to be sure I'd get the right ones I cleaned the deck. THE BffOtteO. K°t fcjr Aajr Means Despicable--0r«<f *t Endurance There is no horse superior to the bronco for endurance; few are his equafe He came by it naturally from the Spall- fan stock of Moorish descent, the in­ dividuals of which race, abandoned in the sixteenth century, were his im-: mediate ancestors; and his hardy life has, by survival of the fittest, increased this endurance tentiold. He is not handsome. His middle piece is dis» tended by grass food; it is loosely jointed to his quarters, and his hip is very short. He has a hammer head and the pr<K nounced ewe-neck which all plains o* steppes horses seem^to aconire. His legs are naturally perfect;* but they finally give way at the knees from sharp stopping with a gag bit, for an Indian will turn on a ten-cent piece. OQQ form of racing is to place two long r>ar- alled strips of buffalo hide on the ground! at an interval of but a few feet, and, starting from a distance, to ride up to these Btrips, cross the first turn be­ tween the two, and gallop back to the starting-point Another is to ride up to a log hung horizontally and just higlt enough to allow the pony to get undei^ but not the rider, touch it and return. If the pony ig stopped too soon, the In­ dian loses time in touching the log; if too late, he gets scraped off. The sud­ den jerking of the pony on its haunchM is apt both to Btart curbs and break his knees. The toughness and strength of the pony can scarcely be exaggerated. He will live through a winter that will kill the hardiest cattle. He worries through the long months when the snow hsis covered up the bunch-grass on a diet of cotton-wood boughs, which the Indian cuts down for him; and in the spring it takes but a few weeks for him to scour out into splendid condition. He can go unheard-of distances. Col. R. L Dodge records an instance coming under his observation where a pony earned the mail 300 miles in three consecutive nights, and back over the same road the next week, and kept this up for months without loss of condition. He can carry any weight. Mr. Park mat! speaks of a chief, known as Le Cochott* on account of his 300 pounds' avoirdu­ pois, who nevertheless rode his ponies as bravely as a man of half the bulk. He as often carries two people as one. There is simply no end to this wonder­ ful product of the prairies. He works many years. So }ong as he- will fat in the spring, his age is immaterial. The absence of erest in the pony sug­ gests the curious query of what (has be- come of the proud arching neck of his ancestor the Barb, There are two ways of accounting for this. The' Indian's gag bit, invariably applied with a jerk, throws up the pony's head instead of bringing it down, as the slow light ap­ plication of the school curb will do, and this tends to develop the ewe-neck. Or a more sufficient reason may be found in the fact that the starvation which the- pony annually undergoes in the winter months tends to deplete him of evetfjf superfluous ounce of flesh. The crest in the horse is mostly meat, and its an­ nual depletion has finally brought down the pony's neck nearer to the outline of the skeleton; It was with much ado that the pony held on to life during the winter; he could not find enough food & flesh up a merely ornamental append­ age like a zrest. The Moors and Arabs prize the beauty of the high arched neck, and breed for it, and their steeds are well fed. The Indian cares for his pony only for what he can do for hi at, and once lost, the crest would not bs .apt to be regained, for few Indians have- any conception of breeding. The' bronco's mean crest is distressing, but it is in inverse ratio to his endurance and usefulness. Well fed and cared for, he will regain his erest to a marked ' extent-- Col. T. A. Dodge, in.Harper*! Magazine. ^ Wftere Oo Thpy all C!ome From? The number of tall women to be seen on Broadway is remarkable. Where do they all come from? It is the fashion to be tall and straight and slender and willowy, because it i3 a style well adapted to the best display, of the latest things in Parisian mil* linery and dress goods. But' have- women the power to suddenly grow taller in order to meet a prevailing fashion half way, as they might blondine their hair? It certainly looks like it. For there never was a time when so many tall women could be seen. They run all the way from five feet six to six feet two. You can meet Bix feet v women in couples by the dozen on Broadway any afternoon. By the side of the ordinary run of men these women look six feet six. There are two theories for the- sud­ den excess of tall women--one that some mechanical process has been dis­ covered and is being secretly practiced by which stout women are' drawn out into lone and slender females; the other, that thtfse women have always existed and are now suddenly brought forth from their retirement by the inex* ' orable deoree of fashion. The latter would seem to be the most reasonable explanation. When it was the fashion for women to be embonpoint the tall and- slender woman hid herself away from public gaze as much a3 possible. She shrunk into her boots and walked stoop-shouldered when she was to be seen in public places. Now that she has her inning she is making good use of it She is everywhere. She walketb erect at noonday--also in the evening. Wheu she has a beau she chooses. one she can look down upon. It accentu­ ates her giraffic style. Her clinging, drooping, Bernhardt draperies still further lead forward and upward. It &t a comparatively easy thing for a woman of five feet six to add four inches tdhelt apparent height if she be not fat *att The very word seems horrible to the sex just now. The fat woman suggest* the 10-cent museum. Let her await her turn ?ind grow fatter in anticipa-' tionof bfcr coming triumph.--New York Letter. Hope for Him. How often do we hear a parent say of a mischievous boy: "I would nop; mind so much if I could only believe / him. Whatever his other traits, truth is essentially the touchstone of a boyls character. The following ca-e in point appears in the Christian Leader: "I don't know that you will lxj able t$ do much with him," said a father to the principal of a school, to whom he had brought his son as a pupil, "he is so full of mischief." "Does he always tell the truth?* asked the principal. "Can I always de* pend upon his word?" "Oh. yes," said the father, "he It honest, he will tell the truth, even wheii it is against himself; you may depend < upon that" "Then we can manage him," said thif principal. "He will make a reliable^ manly man." FOLLOWING the races Is nra tuiK fetch a lean after a while. 4% ' 1 " " ^ *