: .4...
A.
JOAN.
Bright and bonny is my J can,
Sweeter than all maids that be.
She’s my darling, she's my own,
And she’s all the world to me.
Oh, she is so dainty fair!
Fairer maid was never seen;
None can with my Joan compare,
Love's delight and beauty’s queen.
.-
But my Joan is very poor,
Poor am I who love her so;
But for that, you may be sure,
We had married long ago.
. So the wise folk tell us both.
“Each must tread life’s path alone;
You must break your plighted troth,"
“No,” say I, and “No," says Joan.
.v
"‘M » ,~
If against adversity,
Little one alone can do;
'Yet, when two are one, you see,
One is just as good as two.
Hand in hand and heart in heart,
_ Love will for all ills atone:
Better then to pair than part—-
So say I, and so says Joan.
—Marshall Steele, in Black and White.
CLAUDIUS SMITH’S BOOTS.
Haunted, Folks Said, After Their
Owner Was Hanged.
Three Men ‘Vho Wore Them Killed by
Rattlesnakes—A Doctor's Explanation; ,
of a Story Told Up in the
Schunnemunk Mountains.
“N 0 one in the Schunnemunk moun-
tains will ever forget the story of
Brainard- Pierson’s haunted boots,”
said Christy Lord of that historic part
of Orange county. "The story dates
back a good ways, but it’s always new
and fresh along the old Schunnemunk.
“Brainard Pierson’s boots, so the
story goes, were the very boots that
Claudius Smith kicked off his feet just
before he was hanged at Goshen in the
revolutionary times. Claudius Smith
was the bloody Tory cowboy who, with
his following of cutthroats and robbers,
terrorized the Schunnemunk and sur-
rounding country for years. His moth-
er was a pious woman, who lived near,
the Ramapo Pass, and when she found‘
she couldn’t turn Claudius from his
evil ways, she exclaimed one day:
“ ‘Oh, my poor son! You will die with
your shoes on, like a- trooper’s horse.’
“After the patriots had at last
captured the des-perado, and he was
taken to the gallows at Goshen, he
kicked his boots off as the rope was
placed about his neck, and exclaimed:
“ ‘2va mother said I would die like a
trooper’s horse, with my shoes on. I
will make her out a liar.’
“Those were Claudius Smith’s last
words. His boots, through some man-
ner of succession, at last fell into the
possession of Brainard Pierson years
after the coway was hanged. I’ve
often heard my father say that when
folks heard that Brainard had got
Claudius Smith’s Boobs they went to
him and said:
"‘ ‘ ’iut of course you ain’t going to
wear ’em, Brainard ?’
“To which Brainard replied:
“ ‘Ain’t I? Well, but I am, though,
most surely!’
“Then, as my father used totell, folks
said to Brainard:
“ ‘Woe to you, Brainard Pierson, it
you wear those boots! Not for all the
treasure Claudius Smith buried in old
Schunnemunk would we wear those
boots! There’s blood on ’em!’
“And you must know that was saying
a good deal, for Claudius Smith hid in
the Schunnemunk mountains thousands
upon thousands of dollars‘ worth of
treasure which he and his gang stole
from the patriots, and it’s there yet.
It was put away so snug that although
the mountains have been dug over from
top to bottom and end to end, no one
has ever been able to find that treasure.
So, of course, it must be there yet.
Well, when folks warned Brainard
. q ‘
face of warning and wore them.l
folks didn’t seem to be able to see just
how it was that he wouldn’t have been
struck by the rattlesnake if he hadn’t
had Claudius Smith’s boots on, and so
the boots remained in the family.
There was no one big enough yet in the
family 'to wear boots, and so they
were put to one side. And there they
remained unused for ten years. Then
the house Was robbed one night.
Among the property stolen were the
haunted boots. There was a great
time among folks when this became
known. They declared that they ought
to ride in all directions on fleet horses
and hunt the robbers down.
“ ‘N-ot so much because he’s a rob-
ber,’ they said, ‘but to keep him from
wearing them haunted boots. We can
jail him for being a thief. 'It’ll be a
capital punishment if we let him wear
Claudius Smith’s boots.’
“If they did any riding they didn’t
overtake the robber in time to warn
him against the fatal boots. Two days
after the robbery young George Pier-
son, "Brainard’s son, was hunting on
Seven Springs mountain, and, going
over to one of the springs to get a
drink, he found a dead man lying near
it, black in the face and swollen. Near
by the body lay a big bundle. Thedead
man had on the stolen Claudius Smith’s
boot! Young Pierson pulled off the
boots. On the man’s right ankle was
a little purplish-red puncture.
“ ‘A rattlesnake had struck him, as
sure as fatel’ exclaimed young Piersou.
“The bundle contained the things
stolen from the Pierson family. George
backed them home, and brought the
boots along. Then he spread the news
about finding the robber on Seven Springs
mountain, dead from a rattlesnake’s
bite.
“ ‘And the haunted boots?’
asked.
“ ‘He had ’em on,’ said young George.
‘ “ IClaudius Smith might just as well
be living and prowling and butchering
along old Schunnemunk again,’ they
said, ‘if we’re going to keep them
haunted boots of his working for him!'
“But still the Pierson folks couldn’t.
see what Claudius Smith’s boots had to
do with rattlesnakes biting people, and
they kept the boots. No one ever knew
who the dead'robber was, and they
buried him on the mountain.
“ ‘Seems queer, too,’ olks said, ‘thut
if Claudius Smith is haunting the boots
he’d turn ’em against a robber.’
“Several years went by again before
anyone else wore the haunted boots.
Then a relation of the Pierson folks,
who lived down in the Ringwood valley,
came visiting them. He saw the boots,
and took a great fancy to ’em. He
wanted to buy ’em, although he knew
the fate 'of the only two persons who
had worn ’em in years.
“ ‘There ain’t any rattlesnakes in our
sect-ion,’ said he. ‘I‘ll risk the haunt.’
“The Pierson folks wouldn’t. sell him
the boots, but they made him a present
of ’cm. He took ’em home with"em.
Some folks say that he didn’t tell his
father-in-law the story of the boots
when he made him a present of ’em
after he got home, and some say he
did. At any rate, the father-in-law
had a good deal of property which
would go to this Pierson relation’s wife
when her father died, and her father
was in the best of health. The son-in-
law made him a present of Brainard
Pierson’s haunted boots. The father-
in-law put "em on one day and went
for a walk. Not long afterward he
came staggering back home.
“He was a dead man an hour later,
with a black swollen face and body.
On his right ankle was the mark'of a
rattlesnake hits, as there had been on
Brainard Pierson’s and on the dead rob-
bers. And there was not a rattlesnake
in all that country! The fatihcr-in-law
folks
against wearing the Tory cutthroat’s
boots, and told him there was blood on 1
’e111, he answered back, so my father
said, that he hadn’t noticed any blood
on ’em.
“ ‘And even if there is,’ Brainard said,
‘I’ll walk it oif to-morrow, for I’m
going to drive some cattle down Jersey
way. I couldn’t get a pair 0’ boots like.
these for the price 0’ the best critter
I‘ve got.” ,
“So Brainard put. on the boots and
strutted around in ’em proud as a. pea-
cock. But folks shook their heads and
said:
“ ‘Not for all that Claudius Smith hid
in old Schunnemunk would we wear
his boots.’
“Brainard Pierson laughed, and next
day started with his cattle down Jersey
way, wearing the dead Tory’s boots.
Somewhere down near the Ramapo
Pass a man coming this way met a
drove of cattle. They went on by,
and the man noticed that no drover was
behind them. He went on. He had gone
a quarter of a mile or so when he al-
most stumbled over a man lying in the
road. He noticed that the man had on
a remarkably fine pair of boots, but he
started back in terror as he saw a rat-
tlesnake lying near his feet. Discover-
ing that the serpent was dead, he ad-
vanced and was herrified tosee that the
prostrate man’s face was black and
swollen, and that he. was dead. It was
plain that the rattlesnake had bitten
the man, who had then killed the snake
before he was overcome by its venom.
“The dead man was Brainard Pier-
son. The discoverer of the tragedy
sought the nearest help, and the rattle-
snake’s victim was brought home to
Schunnemunk. The head of the snake
had been crushed by a stone, and one of
its fangs was gone. The snake had bit.
ten clear through one of the boots
Brainard wore, and a tiny puncture on
his ankle showed where the deadly
venom had entered to do its deadly
work. ,
“ ‘Claudius Smith’s boots!’ was the
first exclamation that folks made when
Brainard Pierson was brought home
dead from a rattlesnake bite. ‘Thcre’s
blood on ’em, and we told him so!’.
“For a long time nothing was talked
about all through the Schunnemunk
country but Brainard Pierson’s haunt-
ed boots, and the awful fate that Brain-
ard 'met with because he flew in the J
l
, rattlesnake wouldn’t left his fang in
1 ’em, would it? So it was Brainard
of the Pierson relation was dead before
the doctor could get there. The doc-
tor was told the story of the haunted
boots. Seizing the right boot,he slashed
it down to the ankle. with his knife.
Something white fell from it to the
floor. The doctor picked it up. He
examined it for a. moment.
“ ‘A rattlesnake’s fang,’ said he. ‘And
there’s poison enough yet in its channel
to kill another man!’
“It was the missing fang of the snake
that had bitten Brainard Bierson. It
had been pulled from its socket by the
firm hold the leather of the boot had
taken of it. Held fast thus, with its
point on the inside, contact with it had
been of sufficient force to puncture the
ankles of the persons who had since
worn the boot. The venom, though
dry, was still potent, and its work as
deadly as when it lay in its sack in the
rattlesnake’s jaw. That. was “(lat the
doctor said.
“ ‘S’posin’ he does say so?’ Schunnea
munk folks said. ‘If BrainardPierson
hadn’t worn Claudius Smith’s boots the
Pierson’s haunted boots that done it,
and that’s all there is to it!’
“And a. good many Schunnemunk
folks think so to this day.”——N. Y. Sun.
With the Minstrels.
“Say, Mose, duz yo’ fink dat when
Adam got dat irib turned into a woman
dat was de important business ob his
life ?”
“Ob co’se it was."
“Well, it wasn’t. Dat was only aside
issue.” .
“Ya, ya; but, .Bones, which side did
she come out ob, eh ?"
“De same side woman allus comes
around him on. De blind side.”
“Ya, ya; but say, it’s mighty lucky it
stop whair it did.”
“Why, Mose?”
“Bekase I know some fellers would
kep’ at it as long as dar ribs held
out, and den try to work upsome er der
backbone.” -
“Golly, yo’s right! Ketch de key an’
sing: ‘Dar’s frost on de garden gate.’ ”
—Judge. '
——The keeuest pangs the wretchlad
find are rapture to the dreary void—the
leafless desert of the mind—the waste
of feelings unemployed—Byron.
Somehow or other, though, Brainard’s . .
' the count r_v.
‘ .
Sl SCJT T'S BEAR HUNT.
One of the Toughest Yarns Yet Turned
Out from California.
“An’ you never heerd about 01’ Si
Scott’s b‘ar hunt?” inquired an old
hunter from Humboldt, evidently sur-
prised at the ignorance of Si’s experi-
ences, says the San Francisco Post.
"Why. he‘s the oldest b’ar hunter in
the state. Yell, one day he was out. on
his little jackass, a-Iookin’ fcr b’ar. au‘
not findin' any concluded ter takea
rest. lle tied the burro to a tree, laid
his 01’ muzzle-loader down on ther
grass and went down by ther bank of a
creek to feed. He was a-sittin’ there,
cuttin’ off hunks o’ jerked ven’son
when he heerd a terrible smashin’ in
the brush. He started for his gun. but
a big b’ar came a—amblin’ out of the
brush right alongside of it. He whirled
around an’ run out on the limb ofa
rotten ol’ cottonwood over the crick,
which was about forty feet to where
the rocks stuck up through the water.
“This was jest nuts for the b’ar. He
walked up to ther tree, sniffed it a time
er two, clambercd up on the limb and
commenced movin’ to‘ds Si. a-smackin’
his chops an’gruntin’ satisfied like. Si
saw he was in a pro ty bad fix, an' he
crep’ out as fur as he could, a-hopin’
ther b’ar would consider the limb shaky
an’ stop. But he didn’t. IIe kep' com-
in’. Si saw somctliin’ had to be done.
He couldn’t drOp without. killin’ hisself,
an’ he had never praticed b‘ar fightin’
on a tight rope. The only thing he
could do was to set up a terrible
squawkli’n’.
“ ‘Go back! Go back!’ he yelled. “Go
back an’ eat ther jackass, you blamed
fool. This limb’ll break and kill as
both.’
“I think that b‘ar must understood
him or concluded that Si was tougher’n
the burro, for he turn-ed aroun’ an’
used his appetite on the j ick.”
AN AFRICAN PARROT.
Eighteen Years Old and fiet Shows No
Signs of Age.
Our parrot was the present- of a
kind friend in the summer of 1877, hav- l
ing been brought from Afrieaaonly‘a
few months previously. Her-plumage
is the same in color as were her prede-
cessors. She was, when she first came,
evidently a young bird, and has grOWn
since we have had her. In spite of her
18 years-there is no sign of age about
her; she sings, dances, climbs and
whistles with all the vigor of youth,
and though perhaps smaller than the
other two birds, is quite as: noisy. In
many ways she is, however, very differ-
ent from them, being, for instance,
much more shy in the presence of stran-
gers, before whom she will§very rarely
talk at all, and is more curious in her
habits, taking great fancies to some
people and decided dislikessto others.
She has an unpleasant habit of some-
times wishing visitors good-by when
she does not approve of. them. She
also; if she cannot get. what she wants,
gives angry whacks andid‘ouble knocks
upon the tin floor of her cage. Noth-
ing-appears to delight her more than
mischief. She positively revels in it,
and to get hold of anything she ought
netto have is unmixed joy. Evidently
the bird has been at' some time very
cruelly treated; for many months she
was terrified at the sight of a man or
boy, and for years a. broomstick was an
object of horror to her. Since getting
.over this fear she has shown a decided
liking for the sweep and the coalman,
and the latter has left the house with
the bird wishing him pleasantly good-
by, and affectionately requesting him
to kiss her, which gives rise to the ques--
tion whet-her she may have had, in her-
African past, a kind negro friend. Any--
one who has ever had opportunities of
studying the parrot tribe must. have
been Struck with their extraordinary
gift of memory, so long ago observed
by Plutarch.-——Chambers’ J ourna1..
The greatest depth, writes Prof; See-
ley in his “Story of the Earth,” at which
earthquakes are known to originate is
About 30 miles. It has also been calcu-
lated that a heat sufficient to melt gran-
ite might occur at about the same
depth.
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AN HONORABLE l’RECEDENT.
31.11%. B. MARRIOTT-WATSON.
“Bill: dhn’t. you: think,” said I tolMiss
Hewitt,. “that the end justifies the
means?” She shook her head. “Oh,
no,” she said; "that’s. Jesuitical.” “Well
now. here’s an example,” I suggested.
“You are anxious. to sell the contents
of this stalk. aren’t you?’ “Oh, yes,”
responded Miss Hewitt. “And you
would be delighted if someone were to
command buy it all up? It would be
of such use to the charity.” “Certain-
ly,” said Miss Hewitt, promptly. “And
would vex Miss Chudleigh over the
way?” I. added. Miss Hewitt looked at
me with suspicion, but I’m sure I was
very:demure-.. “Oh, it would be nice, of
course, to be successful,” she assented.
“Itwould mean fifty pounds.” “May
I trouble you for another ice,” said
1,.f'ee1ing that I was bound to do some-
thi'ng‘after that... “Thank you—straw-
benry‘. Well, astas saying, if you
could finda means of getting rid of all
this, and thereby benefiting the
charity by so much, you would feel dis-
posed to take it, even if'it wasn’t
quite—well—qluite, you know.” “I
\mildn‘t do anything dishonest,” put
in: Miss Hewitt quickly. “Oh, I wasn’t
talking of anything dishonest,” I pro-
tested. “I was only thinking that
there might be other means, not dis-
honest, yoa know, but just. a little—
well, not quite conventional, you
know.”
“What sort of means?” asked Miss
Hewitt curiously. “Why now,” I said,
“you have sold very little all the day,
haven’t you?” Miss Hewitt hit her
lips, and a disconsolate look came into
her face. “While I’ve been here,” 1
said, “you have only disposed of two
pairs of stockings, one woolen com-
forter, for the hot weather, and a sort
of—a kind of—I didn’t quite see, but I
thought it looked like a—” “I know I
haven’t sold much,” broke in Miss
Hewitt hastily, and with a slight ac-
cession of color. "You have only
bought a few ices.” I looked medita-
tive. “So I have,” I said, feeling that
another call was made upon me. “I
wonder if Imight—no; perhaps better
not. I suppose you haven’t such a
thing as a baby’s perambulator, Miss
Hewitt?” Miss ilawitt was not amused;
she had only an eye to a bargain.
“No,” she said eagerly, “I’m afraid I
haven’t; but I’ve got a. very nicely-
dressed cradle, and some rattles—and
“Ah,” said I, shaking my'head,
“I’m afraid it’s not old enough for
those things.” She sighed, and
glanced across the way, where Miss
Chudleigh was engaged in a roaring
trade. “I think I might have one
more ice,” I said very bravely. It
was not so very hard, after all; the
heat was very great, and they soon
melted.
Miss Hewitt was very nice about it.
“Are you sure you ought to?” she
asked, doubtfully. “Miss Hewitt,”
said I, “you are much too scrupulous.
That is the reason of your failure.
And yet you would have sold me a
cradle and rattles with perfect equa-
nimity, knowing that I am a bachelor.
The inconsistency of your sex is a puz-
zle,” I remarked, shaking my head.
“Oh, but I didn’t think about that,”
said she, with a blush. “I only thought
you wanted—4’ "Come then,” I said,
”what would you do to get rid of all
your articles of commerce?” Miss
Hewitt’s eyes opened. “Oh, if I could
only do that!” she exclaimed. “Well,
how far would you be prepared to go
for it?” said I, insinuatingly. She
paused. “I’d—I’d give up the ball to-
night,” she exclaimed, impulsively. I
shook my head. “I have no means of
gauging the value of that renuncia-
tion,” 1 said, thoughtfully; “but possi-
bly it is greater than the one I know
which would enable you to sell your
stall.” “011, do you know a way?” she
cried, breathlessly. “Why, certainly,”
said I, still reflectively. “Mr. Randall,
tell me,” she pleaded, clasping her
hands and putting her elbows on the
stall. She looked eagerly into my
face. I really had no notion until that
moment, but somehow her action put
it into my head. “Have you ever heard
of the beautiful duchess of Devon-
shire, Miss He Witt?” I asked.
Miss Hewitt leaned, staring at me
fora moment, and then a look of in-
telligence came into her eyes, her
color started and she moved away. “I
don’t think you should make that
kinds of jests,” she remarked, disdain-
fully. “It’s not a jest,” I answered, rc-
assuringly. “Then, you’re all the hor-
rider,” she returned, feigning to be
busy with her commerce. “But,” I
said, in perplexity, “I don’t see—I only
asked you if you remembered the
duchess of Devonshire—the one what’s-
his-name painted, you know.” Miss
Hewitt was much embarrassed; her
5)
face took on many expressions. “But
you—” she began and stopped. “Do
you remember her?” I asked. “Of
course,” said Miss Hewitt, snappishly.
“Well, then,” I said, “why am I hor-
rid?” She paid me no attention, but
began shifting the things upon the
stall ina. reckless way. “Oh!” I ex-
claimed, suddenly, “I see what you
were thinking of—you thought I meant
—I see now. You thought I was ad-
vising you to sell—” Miss Hewitt got
redder than ever. “I didn’t, think any
thingiof the sort,” she exclaimed, hur-
riedly, and dusting away at nothing,
“and I wish you’d go away if yOu’re
not going to buy anything.” "I should
like another ice, please.” said I.
Miss Ilcwitt was somewhat taken
' aback, and looked as if she would like
tospeak, but she oaly frowned and
dumped another ice upon the counter.
“But now you have suggested it,” I
went on, considering, “it’s not at all a.
bad idea.” Miss Hewitt moved to the
further end ’of the stall, and sold
another pair of stockings. “It’s quite
worth thinking of,” I said, when she
was within hearing again, “I’m glad
you mentioned it.” “I never mentioned
anything,” she retorted hotly. "No,
of course, you didn’t mention it,” I
agreed, “butldon’t see why you should
. be angry because we are, discussing
—" “I’m not discussing any-
“N10”
said I. “but if he dashes; uf Devonw
’ d
calmly
shire thought it a good deed to pur-
chase what she considered the welfare
of her country by allowing-voters to
kiss her, In don’t think you should :be
offended if. fer the sake of an excellenf-
charity-J” “I am not the duchess of
Devonshire,:” said Miss Hewitt, shortly.
"I don’t suppose,” I said, “that it was
much of a kiss.” Miss Hewitt’s nostrils
curled in scorn. “Good people are al-
ways so particular,” I said, philosophic-
ally. Miss. Hewitt’s indignation
broke forth. “Do you suppose, . Mn."
Randall,” said she sarcastically, “that
one would allow anyone that wished
to—” “Oh,.I never said anyone,” I.
interruptad,. hastily. “No, certainly
not anyone.” She looked at me with .
undisguised hauteur. I glanced about
the stall. “I should like to have a. lot
of those things,” I said. “I could send
them to a children’s hospital, you.
know.” Miss Hewitt’s face relaxed
slightly. “They would be very use—
ful,” she: said. “It would be fifty
pounds, wouldn’t it?” I asked,-. as if
entering on a calculation. “Yes,”
said Miss. Hewitt with a little show of
excitement..“forty-five if anyone ; took
the lot.” I'fingercd in my pocket and
hesitated: “I’m- afraid—” said I.
“You see I. forgot I had promised to
buy a quantity of flowers for the in-
firmary,.""I- remarked, glancing at Miss
Chudleigh’s stall. Miss Hewitt’s-- face
fell, but she said nothing. I tookzout
my- pocketbook. and extracted some
notes, dividing my looks between the
two stalls in a hesitating way.. “I
think the children in the hospital
would. like the toys very much,” said
Miss Hewitt, nervously. “Yes, they
could play with the . stockings nicely,
couldn’t. they?” said~ 1., She paid. no
heed to this remark. ‘
"I wonder if Miss Chudleigh would
do what the duchess did?” 1 obseryed,
presently. “Perhaps you had better
ask her.” said Miss Hewitt, sarcastic-
ally. “Oh. no,” I said hurriedly, “I
was only wondering. For the sake of
the poor people do make sacrifices, I
suppose. ” “I don’t believe she did let
them—let them kiss her,” remarked
Miss.Hewitt,.after a pause, and con-
templating a. wooden horse. “Don’t
you?” I asked,.looking up. “What did
they do, do you think?” Miss Hewitt
examined, the toy carefully. “Oh,” she
said, indifferently, “I should think she
merely pretended.” “Pretended?” I
echoed. "Yes,.they only kissed—just
-not quite—J mean they really didn’t
touch her,” she explained,,with more
interest in the horse. I considered
this. “Butsome of them,” Iobjected,
“would not have been content to be
put off that way. They must have
really—” "Oh, if anyone liked to be
rude and. take advantage like that,”
she said, disdainfully; “she couldn’t
help it, poor thing.” “No,” I assented.
“I suppose she couldn’t, and she must
have hated it all the time. “Of course
she did,” said Miss Hewitt, now in-
,specting a doll. “But she did. it out of
asense of duty—to benefit her coun-
try,” I concluded. “A man would
never have been so unselfish,” said
Miss Hewitt. "Never,” I said, em-
phatically. “But do you think that
women are capable of such an act of
self-sacrifice in these days?” I asked.
“Of course,” said Miss Hewitt, watch‘
ing some people go by with great
interest, “if—if they only—only
pretended to.” “But if there was
an accident?” I ventured. Miss
Hewitt apparently did not hear this.
“Do you really think,” I persisted,
“that a woman—a girl, would do a
thing like that?” “She wouldn’t—she
couldn't—of course the duchess did not
let it pretend to be done—in—before
anyone else.” “Not, for example, in a
room like this,” I said, looking round
the bazar. "How then?" “Afters
wards,” murmured Miss Hewitt, bend-
ing down to pick up a pin, I suppose.
“Oh!” I said, “she would only promise,
then?” Miss ‘Ilewitt Said nothing. I
rose. "‘Well, I’m afraid I must be
really going,” I said, holding out my
hand. “I think if she were really
honest she would have to keep her
promise,” said Miss 'chitt in a. low
voice.
I looked at her, but she was not look-
ing at me. “I think you have given
me two waltzes to—night,” I observed.
"It isn’t very generous usage.” “I’m
sure it’s quite enough,” said Miss
Hetht. firmly. “Well, at any rate, let
us sit out the second,” I suggested.
Miss Hewitt looked at me in surprise.
“I thought you liked dancing,” she
said, innocently. “Oh, sometimes,”I
said. “But we might have a. talk in
the conservatory. It’s sure to be very
hot.” “Do you think it is,” said she.
“Certain.” “Oh, we’ll see,” said air-u),
nonchalantly. I turned to go. “by
the way,” said I, leaning on the stall,
confidentially, “shall I leave you the
fifty pounds now? And then you can
send the things to the hospital at once,
you know?” Miss Hewitt avoided my
eye. “I didn’t know,” she began, and
broke off. “Perhaps it would be bet-
ter,” she murmured. I offered my
hand. “To-night, then,” I said. She
did look at me at last, but it was quite
by accident—just the sort of accident
that happened in the conservatory.—
Black and White.
Sunflower Has Many Uses.
It is predicted that before many
years the sunflower will come into
general cultivation in this country.
as a plant it has no superior for vigor,
rapid growth and prolific yield of seed,
leaves and stalk, all of which can be“
utilized. The seeds are especially good
as feed for fowls, and when mixed with
grains they are relished by all farm
animals. Fifty bushels of seed to the
acre is a. fair yield, and this will pro-
duce 50 gallons of oil worth $1 a gallon.
In China a valuable fiber, used in silk
weaving, is obtained from the stalk,
and they are of service as fuel and a
source of potash. The orientals mix
their tobacco with cured sunflOWer
leaves, and make a. yellow dye from
the flowers-which are also rich in honey
and wax. The sunflower grows riot-
ously in the United States, and stands
all extremes of weather well.
The Boss Frog.
Apetrified frog found in an Elmira
(N. Y.) stone quarry in 1836 was two
feet and eight inches in length, and
wexrhcl on". 1- .1 {:2 ;;"::l pounds.
Norwalk Chronicler