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DEVOTED TO NEWS, LITERATURE, AND THE BEST INTERESTS OF ORECON.
VOL. 111.
OREGON CITY, OREGON, THURSDAY, JANUARY 24, 1878.
f
NO. 14.
7Vo
if
w AJ As J Jk
II -
4
THE ENTERPRISE.
A LOCAL NEWSPAPER
FOB THE
''"" ltulueM Mkii anil lutiilly Circle
ISSUED EVERY THURSDAY.
mOPRIKTOK AND PL'BXJSHKn.
Official Paper for Clackamas County.
llice: lu Kuterprloe Ituilili;r,
Ono door South of Masonic Building. Main Street.
Tenon of Ku tM-ril Jon t
Siuxle Cij)jr, one year, in ail vane-
Single Copy, six mouths, in advance
i l 50
1 Oil
"' Tfrnin or Al t rrilaiag' :
Traubli tit advertisements. Including all legal
notices, per square of twelve huts, one
week S
For each subsequent insertion 1 00
Oue Column, one year ljo 00
Half Column, one year 00 00
Quarter Column, one year 40 no
Business Card, one square, cue year 12 uu
SOCIETY NOTICES.
OREGON LODGE, No. 3, I. O. O. F.
Meets every Thursday Evening. t.
.hi o'clock, in Odd rellows' Hall,
Main Street. Members of the Order;
are invited to attend.
, By order of x. G.
REBECCA DEGREE LODGE, No. 2,
b " ?F- ue Second and i. r
1 ourth Tuesday Evenings of each mouth I - V I
at lit o'clock, in the Odd Fellows' Hall' J I i"
Members of the Degree are invited to'"Bi,
attend.
FALLS ENCAMPMENT, No. 4,
" - meets at Odd Fellows' Hall on
the First and Third Tuesday of each month.
Patriarchs in good standing are iuvited to
attt-nd.
MULTNOMAH LODGE, No. I,
A. F. 4: A. M.. hol.la it.. i.. .. .....
- " - - . u i ivilliuuui'
cations on the First and Third Saturdays
in each mnnth . r ...t.i. i ,.r.
K
- - . . . i. irum iub .join
of September to the 20th of March - and :
7 y6 O'clock frnt, oo.l. tr . . .
- ----- - - " kcu lo me ;
?nVif i f el!t,ub,er' "tren in Koh1 stundini are
lUVftUtt til fttttfn.l 14.- , 1.
. A-'J "1UIT Ul . JVl.
BUSINESS CAKDS.
WARREN N. DAVIS, M. D.,
lliyiiiun and Siiron,
Uraduatof the ruiversityof lVnusylvania.
Ofuck at Clikf Hoi-bk.
CHARLES KNIGHT,
CAXBY. OREGON.
lli.ysiian anI rn(rist.
"Pre.-riition8 carefully filled at short notice
ja7-tf
PAUL BOYCE, M. D.,
lliysiciau and Silicon.
New Eka. Clackamas Countv,
Chronic Diseases and Diseases of AVomen and
Children a specialty.
Office Hours day and nlyht; ahvavs ready when
duty calls. ,U!?.2r,;.7ti.tr
DR. JOHN WELCH,
OFFICE IN OREOON CITY OREGON.
Highest cash price jiaid for County Orders.
E. L. EASTMAN,
A 'I ' T OBX I : Y-AT-L A Y ,
OltF.aoN CITY. OREGON'.
Special attention given to business in the I" S
Land Office.
office in Myr's lirick.
JOHNSON & McCOWN,
5 ATTORNEYS and COUNSELORS AT LAW
OREGON CI IT. OREGON.
Will vi rant toe in all the Courts of the State.
Sgocial attention given to cases in the fnited
SUU-s Land Office at Oregon Oity. Oapr'72-tf
J. P. WAlirt, GKi'JRUK a. IIARDINU.
WARD fc HARDING,
ists
KEEP CONSTANTLY ON HAND A GENERAL
assortment of
Drug and die micals,
"" l(rtili-M.
O rr Nuinrl,
Hhuulilrr llrnrrn I'xnrr ami
Artlrlem
ALSO
HrmiifarUII. I.nia 4 lilM...-, ..
iim. Fuliv. I'alnu, Vai.
tarul.hr a nil MtullV.
PUBE WINES AND LIQUORS FOR
MEDICINAL PURPOSES.
PATENT MEDICINES, ETC., ETC.
Puysicians' Prescriptions carefully
UJUmleJ. mil .11 nnlu . .
CO III-
v.wv,o luoriii; dHwtreu.
- Open at all hours of the night
fcA. AH accounts must be paid monthly
Uovl.lsritf WARD & HARDING.
W. H. HICHFIELD,
KHtnbllHhcd since lt.
One door North of Pope's Ilall,
MAI JUT.. (HIHJIO t lTV, OKK(it.
a "rtment of Watches, Jewelry, and I
etb thomas' WeiKht Cloeka. all of which W
"1 .rrut,'a to be as represented . tBlJlk
tosTnnarC D : .nathtSkltt
'mn!i fata lor oimty Orden.
JOHN M. BACON,
ulallk IJI rmE1
PICTI BE FR.VMES. MOULDINGS AND MISCEL
s LANEOU3 GOODS.
FKAMEN MADE TO OltDllt.
Oaioos Crrr, Obkgox.
WAI the Post Office, Main Street, e st side.
novl. "S-tf
A. C. WALLINC'S
XIoiieer lSook Bindery
Pittoek's Buildlns, cor. of Stark and Front Sts..
POKTLAXI), ORIIUUX.
BLANK BOOKS RULED AND BOUND TO ANY
desired pattern. Music Bocks. Magazines,
JiwIaprs. etc., bound in every Tariety of style
known to the trade. Orders from the country
promptly attended to. novl, "75-tf
ORECON CITY BREWERY.
HUHIIIKI & MADPElt.
Having purchased ths above Brewerr, ,VV?V
uishos to Inform the public that thev areKw&j3j
aow iiraparad to manufacture No. 1 U -"TTHi
quality
OF LAGER BEER,
Aa good as can b obtalnad anywhere In the State.
Orders solicited and promptly nlleSL'
mm
Aplfiecaries
T1IK SPRIXii.
IRASSLATKD FBOM VICTOB HUGO.
The spring was falling from the rock.
Drop by drop to the awful sea.
The ocean, grave of the pilot, called,
"Weeper, what doth thou wish of me?
' I am the tempest and the dread ;
I tinish where the heavens commence;
Dost thou think I have need of tbee,
1 who am the immense?"
I give thee, without praise or fame,"
Answered the spring to the troubled brink.
That which thou lackest, O vast sua I
A drop of water that one could drink ! "
TWO SXUS.
O.t THE 11KLDOE.
The sunset dyes the river
And glorifies the hill.
The sound of leaves that quiver
Comes thro' the evening ttill.
I lean the bridge-rail over.
To watch the stream run by;
The current bubbles cover;
They glitter radiantly.
Thy make and break each minute;
KiKht onward runs the stream,
I read a lesson in it.
Time halts not for a dream.
O.V XHK SHORE.
At last the weary journey o'er,
I hear the breakers splash and roar
From the unknown, unfathomed sea
Upon whose waves I soon must be.
Hast thou, O sea, no other strand
Save that on which I doubting stand ?
Hast, thou, O sea, no other shore
Save that on which thy billows roar?
In vain 1 in vain ! 'No answer make
The surges that rise and break,
A mist of doubt falls o'er the sea
I come, resistless waves to thee.
Boston Ti-aeeUtr.
THE JEALOUS GHOST.
BY D. K.
No one is exjjected to believe this
story, for the simple reason that every
thing startling and improbable is at
once voted impossible as soon as it is
presented to the reading public in the
form of what is called fiction. And yet
we all know that the most improbable
and apparently impossible things are
happening every day all around us.
This will be a plain, unvarnished tale,
and those who read it can choose for
themselves in regard to giving it credit.
Laura Mallony lay on her luxurious
couch, dying; and Henry Mallony, her
husband, hung over her in des2iair for
although she had done much by he
causeless jealousy and uncertain, temper
to" render him miserable during their
short life together, and kad succeeded
in almost wearing out his loye for her,
the old warmth and enthusiasm of his
feelings had revived at the certain pros
pect of a speedy separation for all time
from the fair creature he had once pas
sionately idolized.
"You aro not glad to be rid of your
poor foolish Laura, Harry ?" the dying
woman had asked more than once.
"Your poor Laura, whoso worst faiilt
was loving you too well."
"My darling," returned her husband,
in a low, heartbroken tone, while his
tearj rained down on the pallid face,
"how can you fancy anything so cruel?
Oil, don't think such things of me,
Laura, iu these last hours that we have
to be together."
"And you will not marry again, Har
ry you will never marry again, for an
other woman to take my place iu your
heart and home? Promise me prom
ise me!'' exclaimed tho poor jealous
creature again and again, unable even
in death's jaws to release her hold on
the man she so deeply loved.
Mallony clasxed the tender form to bin
breast, and pressed kisses, warm and
fervent, on the poor lips already cold
with the chill of death.
"No one can ever take your place in
my heart, my own?" ho whispered, and
meant it too. "No one! Never never!
My Laura, do not say such things do
not think them!"
And for a time his words consoled and
quieted the jealous heart; but from time
to time tho thought would return, and
must have utterance; and just at the last,
when every vestige of life's color had
faded from the beautiful pale face, and
Death had seemed already to have set
his signet there, Laura's eyes opened
wide and grew deep and luminous; she
raised herself in bed for a moment, and
a laint crimson Hushed her cheek and
lip, while in a clear, piercing voice she
cried out:
"You must not marry another wife,
Harry ! You shall not, for I will eoino
back from the grave to part 3-011."
The effort carried away tho last breath
of life, and Laura Mallony fell back on
her pillows, dead.
Henry Mallony mourned long and
truly for his young wife, and tried as
much as possible to put away from him
all thought of the unpleasant hours he
had spent with her, and to remember
her only as she had been in the first
swoetdaysof their honeymoon; but that
happy time had been brief, for Laura's
jealous temper had developed rapidly;
and as months grew slowly into years,
Mallony, although he had by no meanu
forgotten his wife, found that it was un
likely he should pass all his life, being
yet but a joung man, living upon a
memory which was day by day growing
more dim and distant.
It was about this time that he first
met Elsie Mavne a shv. 1
girl, in every way a contrast to his dead
Laura, and so totally unlike her both
in person anJ character that she at
tracted him tho more speedily because
she uever recalled the memory of his
lost wife.
Elsie Mayne was equally attracted to
Harry Malloney, the handsomest, most
attractive, and most interesting person
whom she had ever known; and it did
not take them long to discover their mu
tual regard. Elsie was soon wrapt in
her first love dream, and Mallony expe
rienced a deeper and more tender pas
sion for this gentle girl than had been
inspired by his first love. They were
soon betrothed, and the expectant bride
groom urged on the wedding prepara
tions, while the bride consented, and
looked more lovely in her seet confu
sion. One day Elsie, surrounded by dress
makers, had been trying on, one after
another, the pretty dresses preparing
for her trousseau, and having robed her
self in a lovely dove-colored silk, in
tended for her traveling suit, stepped
into her room to get a f ulldength view
of herself in the long glass that reached
from floor to ceiling. She was a fair
picture, and she knew it, as she lingered
a moment before the glass, admiring
the long sweeps of her train, the per
fect fit of the bodice enclosing the slight
and graceful form, the rippling golden
hair flowing unbound about tier shoul
ders, and reaching to the waist; and
fairest of all the flower-like face that
seemed made up of roses and lilies, and
blue forget-me-not eyes. She was just
about to turn away with half a sigh of
satisfaction in her own appearance when
a strange chill passed over her, as though
a cold wind had blown on her, and in
the same moment she was aware of some
thing white and mist-like, resembling a
cloud of vapor, that seemed to form
alongside of her.
This curious phenomenon she noted
in the glass, and was too absorbed in
astonishment and contemplation of it to
withdraw her eyes. Slowly it assumed
shape, and became a woman, shrouded
from head to foot in ghostly garments;
and then from the misty cloud, a dark,
brilliantly beautiful face, but of death
like pallor, grew into distinct form, and
the dark, luminous eyes looked out from
the glass, meeting the amazed, terrified
gazo of Elsie with a glance that seemed
to scorch her like fire.
Elsie continued to gaze back at the
ghostly apparition, terrified, yet fasci
nated; but at last with a great effort she
dragged her gaze from the reflection in
the glass, and turned to where the orig
inal of it should have been, standing
beside her. There was nothing there;
bat again sho felt the same chill as of a
"frozen wind pass over her, and she heard
distinctly, although the voice that sjioke
seemed to come from a great distance.
"You shall never be Henry Mallony's
wife never never never!"
Elsie Mayne turned, and would have
fled from the room, but the full horror
of what she had seen and heard sudden
ly came upon her, and with a low,
strangled cry she felJ fainting to tho
floor.
Edith's swoon was long and danger
ous: and when she was at last recovered
from it her brain had received some
shock for she raved for hours of tho
ghostly apparition, and its dark, lumin
ous eyes, which had so strangely, hor
ribly stared into hers.
AYhen Mallony eanio thai evening, as
usual, to spend a few happy hours with
his betrothed, he was shocked to find
her lying helpless on a couch, white as
a snowdrift, and looking as if she had
passed through some long and danger
ous illness. Of course Elsie told her
lover far more minutely than she had
told any one else the cause of her faint
ing fit, and described the dark, brilliant
face, and repeated the ominous words
which she had hoard so distinctly al
though sounding from such a far dis
tance. Her strange story recalled to
Mallony's memory tho words spoken
by Laura at the moment of her death;
and although ho had not thought of
them since, the remembrance now struck
a chill to his heart, and he could not
sufficiently control hi9 face, but Elsie's
quick eyes saw that ho was impressed
by what sho had told him far more than
he was willing to admit.
"What does it mean, dearest? Tell
me, tell me!" tho trembling girl implor
ed. "Is it wrong for me to marry you ?
Has any ono the right to forbid it ?" she
asked, with feverish eagerness, and Mal
lony gravely and 6eriosly enough as
sured her that no living being had tho
right or power to place any obstacle in
tho way of their union. He did not
think it necessary to repeat Laura's
wild and frenzied dying words. Elsio
knew, and had known from her first ac
quaintance with him, that Mallony was
a widower; and strangely enough it had
not occurred to her that the apparition
forbidding her marriage with Mallony
might have been that of his dead wife
all her thoughts were of some living
rival, who was in some inexplicable man
ner trying to work on her fears or feel
ings. Mallony affected to make light of
Elsie's story, and finally succeeded in
persuading her that the whole thing had
been merely the effect of an over
wrought imagination; but all his reason
ing could not persuade him that it was
so, and when he found himself alone in
his own room that night a great terror
and dread fell upon him for he felt
that he was going to be parted from
Elsie; and not till then did he realize
how unspeakably dear the gentle girl
had become to him.
Tho wedding-day rapidly approached,
and Mallony began to hope once mora
that his fears had been unreal; for Elsie
referred no more to tho apparition, al
though she was now haunted by it, for
every day, either in her sleeping or
waking hours it came to her, and each
time its chill breath blew upon her, and
ts icy, far-away voice whispered the
same words in her ear. But all tho
spirit of this gentle girl was now roused
to oppose it, since Mallony had assured
her that no living creature possessed
the right to come between them.
Harry could not fail to see that his
young bride grew paler and more ethe
real day by day, and although she never
uttered a word of repining, he som
iometimes
suspected tho truth, and in his heart he
began to hate and execrete the memory
of his dead wife. He spent every min
ute of his time that he could spare by
the side of Elsie Mavne; and gave her
no opportunity to pine in loneliness,
and at last it was the day before the
wedding, and Elsie went with her lover
to inspect the beautiful home he pre
pared for her.
She was in raptures with everything;
and with the confidence of a privileged
being, so soon to be mistress of every
thing, she opened all manner of doors,
peered into countless closets, examined
desks, bookcases, private drawers
everything, in short, that attracted her
fancy.
At last, in turn ing over the contents
of a drawer, she suddenly came upon
a pretty, old fashioned, oval case
COURTESY
of velvet, ornamented with a profusion
of seed pearls. Before Harry could
prevent her for he would have done
so Elsie had pressed the spring, and
the lid flew up, disclosing the picture
the face of a young and brilliantly beau
tiful brunette, with a profusion of dark,
showering curls all about the neck and
shoulders, and luminous, black eyes
smiling at her from beneath their jettv
lashes and brows. The gaze no longer
glared at hfir as it looked, but Elsie
knew the dark, handsome face and
luminous eyes all too well, and every
vestige of color fled from the face as
she gazed. She asked, in a hoarse whis
per:
"Harry, who is this lady ?"
Mallony, as pale as herself, answered
in the same tone: ,
"She was my wife, Laura Mallony.'
The picture fell from Elsie's hand to
the floor, and, as it lay there, looking
back at her, she fancied the laughing
eyes already fixed a fiery, scorching
glare upon her tho look she knew so
well, and which had already burned to
her very soul.
Then Elsie Mayne, with a breaking
heart, and with hot tears, told tho man
she loved more than life, that they must
part forever. Sho could never marry
him; for now she knew that his dead
wives had come back from the grave to
forbid it. It was in vain that Mallony
entreated and reasoned. Elsie was
firm. A nameless terror, too great for
reason, too great for even her love, had
overwhelmed her; and nothing could
overcome her resolution. Sho resisted
her lover's tears: after that nothing
could move her.
Elsie had a long aud dangerous ill
ness, and when she was well enough her
friends carried her away to far coun
tries. But the heart of Henry Mallony
went with her, and the jealous ghost sho
had vainly sacrificed herself for, follow
ed her. The Mayne family remained a
long time; but Elsie faded day by day.
One night Henry Mallony waked with
a start, and in tho pale moonlight he
saw the ghost of Laura looking at him
with sad, reproachful eyes.
"You willl see her no more, Harry,
till you come to me," she said. "And
you will not love again she was my
last rival, l arewell.
And then Mallony knew that Elsie
Mayne was dead knew it as certainly
as when a few hours later, he read tho
cable dispatch which told him tho sad
and bitter truth.
Top of the Brooklyn Bridge.
Before wo set across tho river, stp
for a little quiet enjoyment of the mar
velous picture spread out beneath our
view mis pieasant summer aiternoon.
If you have ever doubted the correct
ness of the birds-eye view of cities and
the like, so common in the print shops,
here at least is an assurance that such
things are possible. Brooklyn lies dis
played at our feet, with its fringe of
warehouses, docks and slips, perpen
dicularly under us. How diiierent is
tho comparative newness and regularity
of the sister city, and how marked a
contrast offered by its bushy greenery
marking out tho streets like colored
lines on a plain, as compared with the
densely-packed, dark, imposing mass of
architecture over the river! The bay,
sparkling silver and golden in the sun
light and dotted with its many islands.
is visible clear beyond the Narrows and
down to Sandy Hook. Far eastward
we can almost pick out tho sand-hills of
Bockaway and Coney Island, with the
blue sea lino beyond, and to the west,
under tno sinking sun, tne picturo is
framed in with the purple haze of tho
Highlands, Nevieink aud tho Jersey
Hills. Look at that ferry boat just
starting from the r ulton street slip.
packed with heads (all we can see), and
notice the odd effect of the dots of white
faces turned up to watch us, interesting
as we are, not by our individuality, but
by our position. Ye can fancy them
repeating Pope's lines on the fly in sum
mer :
"Not that tho thing itself irf rich or rare
The wonder is, how tho d 1 it got there?"
As for ourselves proud of our momen
tary elevation and drunk with the keen.
sweet, salt air, and the gorgeous pros
pect, one is reminded of the man who,
on the ladder ready to be hanged, when
a mad bull caused dire confusion in the
crowd below, said, in thoughtless exul
tation to his companion rogue, "How
luckv it is that we're up here!"
And now down the steep slope of the
aiver span, digging our heels well into
the slats, and checking our momentum
by the side ropes till we stand where a
few years ago, no mortal probably ever
exnocted to "stand two hundred feet
over tho channel of the East ltiver,
-with all its varied traffic flowing beneath
us. Hurry! just here I want to get
plumb over the Bristol as she sails ma
jestically un stream, and enjoy the
small vanity of doing what no one but
the ship-builders ever did lefore look
snnarelv down her smoke-stack into her
-fir-lmT. Notice her exnuisito. fiah-like
lines seen thus in plan, and the way in
wl.iVh narrow hull is marked off
from the guards by the timber work of
the cabins. I'hew! what a racket!
Bristol. Massachusetts, btonington
if boats, all as they pass under the bridge
S salute us witn a wnine, wmio "" V"
f. "boats, tugs, and all the small try, saiute
hem. till the whole air is vocal wuu
one great treble of demoniac howl and
screech, set off by the deep bass hum
of toil and traffic, the grand diapson of
K labor
supplied by the two great cities.
As the noble steamers pass on up me
-river, notice the beautiful, divergent
Mines of wave from their paddles like the
double tail of a comet! You remember
the same effect, only mora distant,
feathery and fairy-like, as we looked
lown in the early morning from the
Tiiffi-ton on the drrk polished surface of
I -tVi T,Va nf the Four Cantons. Apple-
Ion's Joiir nail 'or January.
The Georgia darkey who planted
i nnelon seeds iu Octoboa to get a crop of
Christmas melons is still looking for
sprouts.
OF BANCROFT LIBRARY,
The Horse and His Rider.
TRAINING AND
RIDING IN THE
EXPERIENCES OF
CIRCUS
AN EX-
RING THE
PERT.
Bobert Sticknev. the circus rider, has
been telling the New York Suh some
thing about bare-back riding. He said:
1 have been in the business ever since I
can remember. Yes, even before I can
remember, for when I was only a voar
old the great Edwin Forrest carried me
on the stage when he was playing "Bol
la." My father, S. P. Sticknev, was the
first man in the world who ever set foot
over four horses in the ring; so you sea
I came of ridiner stock.
"My appearance in 'Rolla' can hard
ly be said to be the commencement of
my career as a rider, but I date that
from the time when, in my eighth year,
in me old theatre at Eighth and Wal
nut streets, Philadelphia. I made debut
before the public in the character of
the 'Courier of St. Petersburg.' In
those days I rode with a pad did until
I was ten years old, when I began to do
bare-back acts, and ever since I have
always discarded the pad."
ls there much difference between
pad riding and bare-back riding, that is,
as to its difficulty?"
Any bare-back rider can ride with
the pad, but not every pad-rider can
ride bare-back. I began bare-back rid
ing early, but I had the advantage of
my father s advice and of watching him
ride. Pretty soon I began bare-back
riding, and while I was yet a mere boy
I began two-horse acts, and finally was
able to ride the four horses with as lit
tle effort as one. Of course I have been
all through the various branches of
tumbling, as a part of my riding educa
tion, for if I couldn t tumble and turn
somersaults well on the ground I
couldn't do it on the horse. As to the
ordinary jumping through the banners
and all that sort of work, that's the plain
sailing of the rider. Jumping through
the banners while in the act of evolving
or revolving a somersault does not add
to the difficulty of the task, though peo
ple think so. One of the difficult things
about it is that you must regulate the
velocity of your somersault by the speed
of your horse, and that is why an even,
steady-going horse is a treasure to any
rider.
"You ask if I can take ainr horse and
teach him his part of the riding busi-
Certainly, for horses aro exceed
ingly intelligent, more so than many
men, as nny old calvary or artillery of
ficer will tell you. Of course some
horses are moro easily taught than
others, and the pnrer a horse's blood is,
as a general rule, the easier ho is to
teach. But a horse that shies is worth
less to us. "When we make a flip-flop
we must find the horse under us, and
we must know where our feet aro going
to when we come down. I was serious
ly hurt once. Just as I was in mid air,
while throwing a somersault, a cannon
was fired near the building. The horse
was taken by surprise, shied off invol
untarily, and when I ought to havo
come right side up with care, there was
no horse there. I fell flat on my back
on the tan, and hurt myself a good deal.
les, the horso is very intelligent, and
if ho can only understand what you
want him to do, ho will generally try to
do it to the best of his ability.
"About slipping;' les, one has to
look out for this. You know, of course,
that we resin our slippers thoroughly,
but did you know that the. horse's back
is liberally resined, too? If that wasn't
dono tho horse s perspiration would
very soon make tho bit of resin on the
slippers useless, and, even as it is, wh.en
the night is warm and the horse per
spires freely, digging tho toes in for a
grip will bunch up the hair into little
balls, making tho hold uneven, or the
hair coming out will make the horse's
back 60 slippery that it becomes very
difficult to hold on. Down South the
darkies think there is a loadstone put on
a horse's back.
"As to riding more than four horses
at a time, unless ono is very tall anil
has a pair of India rubber legs, I think
it would be impossible as it is now for
very short legged man to ride four.
There is a limit to the compass proper
ties of the human leg.
"Tho horse has to learn his part as
well as the rider, to become as much a
part of his rider when he is on his back
as the ancients labiea centaur. no
must learn to keep his gait even and
steady, and to obey even the pressure
of the foot in certain ways. Tho rider
must not put his foot down on any and
every part of the horse's back or he will
strov tho milium equilibrium. xi a
horse feel your foot two or three
inches out of tho way, and in a different
place from where he expects it when
. ,1 t "i" L X 1'
you light on mm, n is api 10 uiscom
poso him. As to what kind of treat
ment I give my horses, 1 can only say
that I have a horso that knows my voic
before he sees me, and whinnies with
delight. I have always an apple, or
bit of carrot, or a lump 01 sugar about
me when I go near where he is, and we
are on. the best terms. Don't I some
times have to conquer a horso if he gets
a stubborn or sulky fit on ? Certainly,
and if I don't do it it will render the
horso worthless. The cruelty is only
apparent, however. A little temporary
severity is real Kiminess 10 tno noise.
Some of the trick horses are very dan
gerous and vicious, especially the pie
bald ones. This mostly comes of teas
ing them during their training to make
them bright and lively, but it is not
really necessary, and some tricks horses
are as gentle as iambs. A horse gets to
know his business and to like it, the
same as a rider does. An expert in his
profession, be it acting, variety or cir
cus performing, seldom quits it."
"We would like to know why it is that
a young man can sit down, heave a sigh
or two about the size of a cider barrel
and then dash off a dozen pages to some
angel of about seventeen vears plumage.
dui wuen ne begins to write to his
mother, he can scratch himself bald-
neauea ana men not get over a pare
I and a half. Ulmgoic J nuts.
F
Use of Salt for Cattle.
As a lotion for bruises.'whetlier caus
ed by the harness, by blows, kicks, or
otherwise, the saturated solution of salt
applied two or three times a day leaves
little to bo desired. Sprains of the mus
cles, tendons or joints may be success
fully treated in the same manner, or,
when practicable, a cloth wet with the
solution may be kept constantly ap
plied. It may also be uied incases of
lymphangitis, infiltrations, dropsical
swellings, and many skin diseases.
A weaker solution consisting of
a teaspoonf ul of salt to a glass of water,
has been found exceedingly useful in
superficial inflammation of the eye.
Internally its local, stimulating effect
may be turned to advantage in irregu
lar and poor appetite, in colic from in
digestion in tL w.rse, iicuri nic indi
gestion of cattle . idid "ii thos' cases of
depraved appetite in which animals eat
earth, lick walls, etc. The dose for
such purposes may be one or two
ounces for horses, two or four ounces
for cattle, one-fourth, to one-half ounce
for sheep, givn either dry or dissolved
in a small quantity of water. In cases
of torpidity of the large intestines of
the horse, of constipation, of stetcoral
pellets, or of colic arising from these
causes, as well as in diseases of the ner
vous centers in which a revulsive effect
is desired, a solution of salt may bo in
jected into the bowels, or twohandsful
of salt placed as far forward as the arm
will reach in. those organs. In a few
hours the irritative action of the salt
will generally cause contraction of the
intestines and expulsion of their con
tents. Salt is also believed to prevent
the production of intestinal worms and
in some cases to remove them.
It has also been used with good ef
fects, in about the doses already men
tioned, in anthrax (black tongue, black
quarter, etc.), in blood ioisoning frora
putrid absorption, in gangrene, bron
chitis, distemper of horses and rot in
sheep. It is also a favorite remedy for
founder with many horsemen, but it is
greatly inferior to aloes, sulphate of
soia, or nitrate of potassa.
Finally, as a purgative for ruminating
animals, salt is believed to be tho most
valuable agent at our command. It is
mora promjit and jower."ul than the
other saline purgatives; it produces in
tense thirst, causing tho animal to drink
Harge quantities, and this is of the great
est benefit in many of the diseases of
these animals, particularly in impac
tion of tho stomachs, constipation, etc.
Bland liquids, such as decoction of car
rots, whitened with flour, are prefera
ble to water alone, but when these are
not at hand water slightly warmed and
whitened with flour answers every pur
pose. Under no circumstances must
the animal be deprived of drink after
receiving a inirgative dose of salt; for
aside from the cruelty of such'privation
it would probably produce unfavorable
results. The dose of salt when given
as purgative is from one-half to one and
a half pounds for cattle, and from one
to three ounces for sheep. Instead of
using salt alone as a purgative, it is ad
visablo to combine it with other purga
tive and laxativo agents. Thus a serv
iceablo purgative for a cow may be made
i by dissolving three-fourtts of a pound
eacu 01 salt ana i-jpsom or ixiauoer
salts in three quarts of warm water, to
which two ounces of ginger and a pint
of molasses have been added, .bacua
dose will generally act in about fifteen
hours.
vcr xsad habit. e sit aiono in a
good mood, thinking of the evil wrought
by gossinping tongues; thinking how
much nobler it is to shield than blame
an erring neighbor; how the habit of
evil speaking mars and warps our life
and nature. We finally resolve to never
gossij) again; to let the curtain fall over
our neighbors' affairs, and keep silence
when we can find no good to mention
This is when we are alone. Eet some
woman come in for a few moments and
our good resolutions are forgotten, anil
many, many times when again left with
our conscience, that inexorable judge
looks over the conversation and picking
up some sharp criticism upon another s
conduct, asks "Why did you cast that
stone?" Certainly not because we were
blameless, and bowing, self-condemned
over our weakness, wo can only f.cho
the question.
iHany a social, nouie-minded woman
has been obliged to withdraw herself
from a neighborhood intimacy, which
would have been pleasant otherwise, be
cause her remarks were returned by
some idle tale barer, so perverted as to
make her doubt the existence of genu
ine friendship, and accept loneliness for
the sake of tho safety it brought. You
say we must talk "about something."
Yes, and through that very fact we see
a remedy for the evil, to so thoroughly
interest ourselves in other and better
things that wo find no space to spare
for our neighbors' affairs. Let us talk
of our work, our homes, our house
plants, our books or our babies. Let us
teach our eyes to find beauty every
where, whilo we blind them by constant
watchfulness to blemish.
Within herself rests the power to ex
ert a boundless influence for good. If
she chooses some fair ideal by which t
mould her womanhood, if she strive t
reach some standard set above the aver
age, lot her remember that the half of
her task is done when she has broken
up the habit of gossiping.
Potatoes a la Maitre DTIotel.
Cut cold boiled potatoes into irregular
slices, not large, and beat in a saucepan
with a little milk and butter, pepper,
salt and some chopped parsley. Place
it over a hot fire, stirring all the time
until ready to serve. To make a French
dish of this, stir in half the juice of a
lemon, or a teaspoonf ul of sharp vine
gar. There is danger in all sorts of flags
but the white flag. You are liable to
bo wounded under the battle flag, sold
under the red flag, meet death under
the black flag, and catch the small-pox
under the yellow.
A Barbarous Country.
My Scotch friend, McNaughton, is
an ardent sportsman, and is also pas
sionately fond of a "wee drap o goot
wisky." I have friends living jihout
forty miles from Chicago, in a looality
where wild geese and ducks are plenti
ful in the fall of the year, and a few
weeks ago I gave Mac a lelter of intro
duction, and he started off with his gun
and dog for a few days' sport. The
"women crusaders" had been particu
larly successful in that vicinity, and
nearly every souLhad donned the red
ribbon and espoused the .cause of tem
perance; but I had not henrd -of it at
the time Mac started. I hadn't seen
him since, till last week I met him on
Fifth Avenue, and said:
"Hullo, Mac; where have you kept
'yourself? Did yo . gc oa that shoo:ng
excursion?" - '
Mac didn't appear to be in his usual
jovial humor, as he replied:
"Yes, I went oot there; but it's a
barbarous coontry oot there mou; a
barbarous coontry."
"Why, I felt quite certain the folks
would treat you well, Mac, or I would
not have sent you. Did unybody, of
fend you?"
"Oh, no, mon; they're clever folks -goot
people treated me liko a king
but its a barbarous coontry oot there,
mon; a barbarous coontry. "
Game was scarce there this fall, I
suppose?"
"No, mon; there was plenty gooses,
and plenty dooks; plenty o' work for
goon and doggy; but, aye, mon, its a
barbarous coontry oot there a barbar
ous coontry."
"Now, Mac, what under the sun is
the matter with the country?" I asked,
irr itated with his evasive replies.
Mac's face flushed with indignation,
and he cleared up the mystery at once
by answering vehemently:
"Hoot, mon, ye ceuldna git a horn o
wisky within twinty miles o there!"
Chicago Ledger.
The Monotony of Lift.
The general character of life is t n
of monotony. hether we regard 1 1
life of man or the life of 'beasts we are
struck by the same remarkable fact that
lfe, to all outward appearance, is a
monotonous succession of scenes and
movements but all incidental. We
wonder how the interest is kept up.
Jut we never tiro of going to bd at
night, and wo are very sorry when we
tire of getting up in the morning; we
never weary, except with regret, of
breakfasting, dining and supping; aud
yet these actions are repeated inces
santly 30T times in tne year, with re
newed excitement on every succeeaing
occasion. We take off our clothes once
every day, and, put them on once every
day. Yv e do this at nearly the same
hour, m daily succession; and, when
health is good, the pleasure derived
from so doing is not marred by the rep
etition of the act; for the ebbing and
the flowing of our bodily sensations
prepare us, without any effort on our
part, for all the vicissitudes of our ex-
. . -w -a r m
istence. When hungry; 100.1 is agree
able; when weary, sleep or rest is a
treat; when warm, cool air is refreshing;
when cold, the pleasure derived from a
cheerful fire is delicious. The excite
ment is kept up by contrasts; and wm
purchase the enjoyment of one feeling
by encouraging the reverse. lth
health and youth, and prosperity we
should never be weary. It is ago, and
weakness, and poverty that prepare us
for death; and even that conies easy
upon most men, at last, like, a sleep,
and the heaviness of the heart gives
even the last fileep a welcome. Chicaj
Ledger.
A Son's Appeal for Pocket Mater.
An ornament for the American bar i.s
receiving tho final touches of legal vaz-
nish at the Lebanon (Tenn.) Liw
School. Having only one dollar in his
pocket, and being reduced to extremi
ties, he made this ingenious and philo
sophical appeal to his father in Mem
phis: "I hate money anyhow. It causes
more trouble than any one thing earth
ly. The strife for it" makes man very
callous and selfish. The possession of it
maks him proud and stingy. The
strong desire in the human heart to ob
tain it tends to crush his higher aspira
tions, and subdues his nobler impulses.
It renders him cunning and tricky:
causes him to measure his fellow-man's
character by his own. And still, not
withstanding my thorough hatred for
it, and its blackening influences on
mankind,! feel much more comfortable.
and far more independent, with a few
dimes about my old clothes than when
on touching my pockets no musical
chink is given back. It is a 'kinder'
lonesome feeling, and a little empty,
so rest assured that before long no 'mu
sical chink' will be wafted to my expect
ant ear, and I'll be homesick, and tho
lonesome feeling will come over me,
and I'll suffer. So please avoid all these
unpleasant consequences by granting
an auspicious ear to my melancholy
but earnest appeal."
What a talent he will have for wring
ing verdicts from the sympathies of the
jury-box, and drawing fees from the
pockets of his clientsl
When the late Oaneral Forrest was a
slave-dealer in Memphis, it is said that
ho was always kind to the human be
ings he sold; ho never separated mem
bers of a family, and always told his
slaves to go out into the city and choose
their own masters. Not one ever took
advantage of the permission to run
away. Forrest taught them that it was
to their own interest not to abuse their
the privilege, and he also taught them
to fear him greatly. To some men, who
had the reputation of being cruel mas
ters, he would never sell a slave.
Is many parts of Germany taxes now
amount to from seventeen to twenty per
cent, of the ascertained income.
Victor Hugo refused to receive a vis"
it from General Grant, because the later
affilliated with the Monarchists in Paris.
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UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA,
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