3
WEST
7Ì
>4^
M’MINNVILLE, OREGON, JUNE 22, 188(5
WEST SIDE TELEPHONE.
MY MOTHER.
A simple parRonHge—plain and brown—
Where ivies rumbled up and down
With sweet brier roses.
A place the earliest sunbeams klst,
Nor left, 'till shadowed by the mist
The Night uncloses.
.—Issued----
EVERY TUESDAY AND FRIDAY
—is -
Garrisoos Building, McMinnville. Oregon,
Twas here she wrought with patient cure
A life whose Incense tilled the air
With Kindness only.
Here heurd her call to enter rest,
Ami left the home, a broken nest.
Bereft and lonely.
— BY —
Talmnge X ’Turner,
Publishers and Proprietors.
SUBSCRIPTION RATES:
One year..................................................................*7 !?-’
Three months........................................................
To
children’s hearts, and hearts grown
strong
With anguish, ’t s a lesson long,
And sad the learn.ng.
That prayers nor tears can e’er restore
The loved ones drifted to that shore
Beyond returning.
»5
Entered in the Postortlce at McMinnville, Or.,
as second-class matter.
A
HORSE
TRADE.
How tlie Professionals of Texas Manage
Questionable Transactions.
G. W. Bulger is one of the best horse
traders in Western Texas. Not long
since he offered for salo a large bay
horse to Colonel Witherspoon, who
thinks he knows all that is to be known
about a horse. Colonel Witherspoon
bought the horse at a very low price.
Gilhooly, who happened to be present
when the trade was made, took the pur
chaser aside and said to him;
“Colonel Witherspoon, how did you
come to let yourself be taken in on that
horse? Don’t you see that he is lame in
his left hind leg?”
Colonel Witherspoon winked and
whispered to Gilhooly.
“1 am not fooled a blame bit in that
torse. I know he is lame, but his lame
ness comes from a nail in his hoof. I’ll
just have that nail pulled out, and then
the horse will not limp and will be worth
twice what I gave for him. It’s a big
bargain and don’t you give it away.”
Gilhooly whistled and remarked:
“Well, you are a shrewd one after all.”
“It will be a cold day when I get left
on a horse trade,” replied Witherspoon,
as he led off his limping purchase.
Next day Gilhooly met G. W. Bulger.
“Bulger, you are not as smart at a
horse trade as I thought you were. You
let Witherspoon have that horse for half
what he is worth.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Certainly I am. That lameness
comes from a nail in his hoof. Wither
spoon will pull the nail out, cure up the
sore place, and the horse will be worth
twice what he paid you.”
i
“I don’t think so,” replied Bulger. “I I
know all about that nail in the horse’s
hoof. I drove it in myself.”
“You did?”
“Yes. You see I wanted people to be
lieve that it ,zas the nail that made him
limp, but he was lame before. He w.ll
keep on being lame after that nail is out.
He always wul be lame. Do you see
now?”
“Well, yes, I think I do. I’m glad
you told me. When I want to buy a
horse I_know who not to buy from.’’—
HORSE
TALK.
Commonly Practiced Abuses Which Should
Be Discontinued«
The horse comes into the world with
his five senses in full vigor. His ears
are so arranged that they can be turned
to catch a sound from any direction.
His nose is large and he can scent his
friend or enemy a great way off. His
mouth is so made that he can tell what
he is eating better than you or I can.
His feeling is as delicate as the touch
of a blind man, and his eyes are so
fflaced in his head that he may have a
arge field of vision. And yet his mas
ter, a mail, wtio docs not like to be
deprived of any of his senses, shows a
bulk of even horse sense when he puts
blinds on him and drives him. Why
should not a horse see any thing ap
proaching in the rear as well as from
the front? Why not put blinds on him
when you ride him or turn him out to
graze? Why not hinder the proper
exercise of bis hearing, smell or taste?
The horse is the only animal save
the mule that is blinded. Per
haps his (the mule’s) heels might be
leathered with more propriety. Blinds
cover the most handsome features of
the horse. What is prettier than the
full hazel eye of the horse.
Can a horse reason? We say yes.
Then can not he come to a better con
clusion when his eyes are not ob
structed? The horse should see the
whip in the driver’s hand and know
when all the members of the family are
seated. If he can’t see the whip he
soon learns to hear the driver pull it
from the whip socket. More horses
run away because they can not see, but
hear the ghost, than if they could see
and hear it, too, as seeing often dispels
all fear.
Nature put a handsome suit of hair
on the horse, and yet some men use the
elippers. And what for? The man
who would do so ought to be stripped
of all clothing and made to stand in
the cold till—well, till he could prac
tice the "Golden Rule.” All horses
when warm should be well blanketed,
and in fly time well netted, as stamp
ing at tho flies will stiffen the joints
and worry the animal. It was a
humane act to cease the practice of
nicking and docking the tail. The
horse is one of man's most useful ani
mals, and we ought to treat him
kindiv. Don't let 11s make him “go it
blind’’ any more.— Ohio Farmer.
—Don't prune Forsythias, Japan
quinces, lilacs, viburnums, thorns.
Judas trees, weigolas. etc., in the win
ter «r spring, unless you would deprive
yourself of just so many flower« as the
wood cut off would bear. As we have
often advised onr readers such shruos
should be pruned, if at all, as soon as
thev have bloomed. —
~~
We've learned farewell oft through these
years,
She—welcome—where there are no tears,
But joys supernal.
And closely folds earth's loos'ningbands
Within the lioiiRe not made with hands,
Secure, eternal.
0 Mother, with the soft brown eyes!
In thy fair home beyond the skies,
Am 1 expected'!'
(Vin’x/ thou not tell me that s.t last.
When 'cross that threshold all have passed,
1 shall not be rejected?
—Amanda L. Hat thdi>iiw.u\ in Current.
A ('LOSE FAMILY.
One Generous Member Proves a
Savior.
Old Jacob Miller was a close man.
He had bought a stony hillside farm,
anil the soil yielded him such a grudg
ing living that bis penurious habits
grew upon him. Exposed to the bleak
north wind, his fruit, did not ripen well,
and his sheep and cattle, wandering
about among the rocks and briars,
always had a hungry look. Still, he
managed to lay by money’. Year after
year he added to his land, and year
after year he went on living in the same
old house half frame, half logs. He
kept a sharp eye on the wood and flour
and meal, and never parted with a dol
lar without a bitter struggle. His wife,
a broken-down woman, finally gave up
tea he grumbled so milch about it.
“Tea was the only comfort I had,”
she used to think sometimes, with a
sigh; “it chirked me up wonderfully.”
Her hands were brow n and rough and
her form was bent. She never knew
what it was to have a mother’s peace
or happiness until her second was born.
The oldest was like his father. She
used to think sometimes, when he or
dered her around or snatched a piece
of bread from her hand at the table,
that he would never be any comfort to
her. But when her second son opened
his eyes, and smiled at her, instead of
setting up a scream as his brother had
done, the world no longer seemed so
dark. She drew the little bundle
closer, but the baby snuggled down
into a peaceful, satisfied, contented
way, as though he had made up his
mind to make the best of things and be
a friend to his mother. From that day
she used to say, with something be
tween a tear and a trembling smile:
“He has never made me a mite of
trouble. His temper was a good trial
to his father, but he was always good
to me. Even when he was a baby he
would wave his spoon at me and try to
talk, and he was never satisfied until
he had given me part, of his bread and
milk. He would sit and watch me w ith
his big eyes until I had eaten it, and
then lie would laugh and eat his
own. Sometimes when lie was very
hungry 1 would try him by giving him
only a little milk in a cup, but it was
always the same -he would insist on
dividing it, and would never drink a
drop until I had drank mine. Ami he
would work like a little beaver. He
used to drag in sticks of wood as soon
as he could walk, and when lie got
older his father said he never saw any
one that would go ahead so. Edward
was free-hearted and quick-tempered
and his father was close. They had
high words sometimes, and Edward
would come home w ith his eyes Hash
ing tire and his lips shut tight, and he
would go upstairs to his room. I used
to follow him sometimes, and I always
found him thrown down with his face
hidden. After a while he would get
over it and laugh, though I know he
had been crying, and then he would
always be better to me than ever, for
fear he had worried me.
“But one night there was a dreadful
scene. His father struck me, and Ed
ward flew at him like a young tiger.
His father knocked him down, and
when he got up he went to his room
without a word. I did not dare to fol
low him; but before day light the next
morning he came to me in the. kitchen,
with a little bundle in his hand, and
said he was going away. I clung to
him and begged him not to go; but he
unfastened my hands gently and said:
“ ‘Mother, listen. This house isn't
large enough for me and father. I hate
him!'
“The dark red flush that I knew so
well swept over his cheeks, and the
flashing light burned in his eyes; and
then he broke down and cried, and put
his arm around me as he had so often
done before ill his trouble, and said:
“ ‘Forgive me. mother, and let mo
<ro. It will be best for us. You don't
I know how I fee! when father is so cruel
and mean.’
“He was getting excited again and I
held him close and felt as if I couldn't
let him go; but I had to do it. I put
oft' my crying til) after he waa gone,
and went upstair’ and brought down
the stocking’ I had darned for him and
his white shirts. Then I hunted up the
dollar bill I had kept laid away so
long and tried to make him take it, but
he shook his head and triad to laugh,
and kept bis bands behind him. He
wouliln t touch it, though 1 Knew he
hadn’t a cent.
“I watched him go awav in the early
dawn with his bundle. When he got
to the top of the hill he stopped anil
kissed his hand to me, and then I went
into the kitchen and threw my apron
over my head and cried till I had no
more tears to shed. It seemed as though
all the world was dead. Would I never
hear him bounding down the stairs
again, whistling nr singing, or see him
steal into the lion- ■ to help me with my
work when 1 was sick or had a bead-
ache?
“1 went upstairs ami looked
shoes ar 1 thought how he had
cried or fretted when he was a
and how he always laughed and waved
his hand at me; and I wished we had
both died when he was born.
••I never heard any thing from him
for ten long years. 1 know he wrote,
but his father would not let me see the
letters. 1 felt bad, terribly bad aliout
it. And then we had other troubles,
too. The barns burned and a good
many of the cattle died; ami then John
married, and that was the worst trial
of all. His father felt satisfied, for
.John's wife was a spry, managing
woman; but I never took to her. She
was too close, and she came into the
family at a time when I felt as if any
more closeness would be the death of
me. John's father had had a lawsuit
and lost it, and finally, to save the farm,
he had deeded ii to John, John agree
ing that he should have the control of
it as long as he lived.
“We got along somehow for a year
or two; but John took such good care
of the money, and his wife took such
good care of every thing else, that it
kind of broke us down.
“ 'If I could get any place to work,'
John's father said to me one night, ‘I'd
go. I don’t get enough to eat here.’
“He wasn't what lie used to be 1
could see. His shoulders stooped and he
looked downhearted and out of spirits;
and he wasn't as close as he hail been,
though perhaps that was because he
hadn't any thing to be close with. He
had been a hard man to us all, but 1
began to kind o' pity him. He couldn't
walk in his orchard and pick up an ap
ple without John's wife following him
close and calling:
“ ‘Father, father! don't pick the mar
ket apples.’ And as they were all mar
ket apples according to her tell, lie
never dared touch one. Finally things
got so bad that we didn’t have any
thing but corn-meal mush to eat.
Though corn-meal mush is nourishing
and good for a change, 1 can't say as I
like it for a steady tiling. But we had
to eat it. And father some way 1 had
got to calling him father said it made
him sick to even see corn growing.
“One night when he couldn’t sleep
for thinking of it, he asked me if I sup
posed they had mush all the time at the
poor-house. I told him’twantno ways
likely that they had it more than half
or three-quarters of the time, and then
he said we’d go. And though I had a
little pride, or did have once, I felt as
though even the poor-house wouid be a
relief, and the next morning I set about
getting our things ready to go.
“But ve never went, for that night
God sent my boy home. Oh! how glad
we were to see him. I cried, ami his
father cried. Father was completely
broken dow n; but w hen Edward said lie
was going to take us back to the West
with him. his face brightened, and he
asked Edward in a whisper if he lived
on a farm.
“ ‘No,’ said Edward, laughing, ‘I am
a lawyer!’ ‘I am glad ol that,’ said
father; ‘1 am glad of that. If I was to
see any more corn I don’t know but 1
should go clean out of ray mind.’
“ ‘I live in town,' said Edward, put
ting his arm around me in the old way,
‘and 1 am going to have one of the
handsomest and best housekeepers you
ever saw.’
“I asked him who the woman was
with a sinking heart, for I had a kind
of dread of daughters-in-law, and lie
answered, ‘My mother.’ ”—AT. K
World.
Amusements tor Children.
There is a knack in providing amuse
!LS in every thing
ments for children as
else. Do not be satisfied with keeping
them busy. Never allow them to con
ceive the notion that they are being Put
aside, or have to amuse themselves, or,
with the perversity of childhood, they
will be at your heels in a moment. '1 he
impression that they have to keep out
of your way sometimes rouses a spirit
of rebellion if it does not make the chil
dren unhappy and cross. Many a sensi
tive child grows morose and secretive
by a system of injudicious management
that gives it an idea that all 'children
are “endured nuisances.” No one,
grown or small, cares to be looked upon
as “a necessary evil.” Do n t allow
any work to keep you long from the
children's room. A loving pat, a kiss,
a smile, only take a moment here and
there, and moments so spent, even on
busiest days, are always well employed.
—babyhood.
------- e ----------
—A sad young man perocived one
morning that the milk he was pouring
into his coffee was of an inferior qual
ity, and said to his hostess, in a melan
choly tone: “Ilav’n’t von any milk
that is more cheerfui than this?”
"What do you moan by that?" asknd
the L ,stess. “Why, this milk seems
to have the blues,” responded the sad
young man-— N. Y. Ledger.
— A water tunnel 3,000 feet in length
was completed recently at Riverside,
Cal. The work was such a skillful
piece of engineering that when the two
orces working from opposite ends of
the tunnel met there was not one-
fourth of an inch difference in the two
division«.
• •
TEXAN
INVENTIVE
HERDERS.
Tl»e Life Led by a Hard-Worked
Poorly-Paid Class of People.
and
We will suppose, by way of illustra
tion, that a practical herder has been
engaged to run a flock, and in ths early
morning, as the first gray streaks of
dawn appear in the eastern sky, he
sallies forth to take charge of his wooly
flock, who are just beginning to awake
and leave their bedding-place. If he
is a Mexican he looks extremely pict
uresque in liis bright blue jacket, with
its double row of silver buttons, which,
by the way, are not for use but solely
for ornament, for a Mexican never
buttons his jacket, else he would hide
his gaudy calico shirt. On his nether
limbs are leggings of leather or buck
skin to protect his legs from the sharp
thorns through which he will be forced
to march. These are kept in place by
a crimson, orange or blue sash, over
which is buckled a broad sash full of
cartridges. On his head is the inevi
table sombrero, with its ornamentation
of gold and silver lace, if he is a
sensible man, his scrape will be tied
over one shoulder and under the oppo
site arm he will carry a Winchester
rifle and a sharp butcher knife. As the
sheep begin to move off he saunters
slowly along behind them, keeping
a sharp lookout for stragglers. Sheep
do not travel fast, but they keep mov
ing. At about meridian they will be
gin to feed back toward the bedding
place. There the herder will eat his
humble dinner of tortillas and chili,
washed down by a draught of water, if
he is fortunate enough to be in the
vicinity of a spring or water-hole.
About sundown the sheep will reach
their camp and begin to select beds for
the night. The herder has a rude
shelter near by. He builds himself a
fire and cooks his tortillas. Possiblv
he may have killed a quail or a jack
rabbit during the day. If so, he makes
¡ a savory soup. Then he smokes his
cigaro and walks around the flock to
see that none are missing. If all is
well he returns to his camp and, roll
ing himself in his serape, lies down.
He may have a good night’s sleep and
he may not. A careful herder will be
aroused if a single sheep moves and
will immediately rise up to see what
is the matter. If a bear or cougar or
tiger-cat is lurking about he will hunt
for the varmint and either kill him or
frig|iten him away. Above all tilings
lie must guard against a stampede, for
if the timid sheep once get started
there is no stopping them—the herd
would become scattered, many would
be lost and the herder would be charged
up with the missing sheep. Long be
fore daylight he is up, and by the time
the sheep begin to move he has cooked
and eaten his breakfast and is ready to
take up the march again. Imagine
what a picnic a man must have who
performs this dreary routine for three
hundred and sixty-five days in the year!
Sheffp-herding admits of no holidays.
— Cor. Detroit Free Press.
IN
MOURNING.
A Colored Gentleman Who Is Determined
to Dress Fashionably.
“Guinea Nigger Dave,” who works
on the Caggleton plantation, came to
town the other day, wearing a crape
on his »at.
“Sorry to see you are in mourning,
Dave,” said a merchant. “Who has
dii.l at your house?”
“Wall, sab, nobody.”
“Sonic of your kinspeople, 1 sup
pose.”
“Yas, mer gran'foder.”
“Why, your grandfather? I had no
idea that lie was living.
“He ain’t libin' sah. Ef he wuz. I I
wouldn't be in mournin' fur him case
be wuz. dead.”
“1 mean that I didn't know he was
living until recently.”
“He wan’t. De ole pusson
'fore 1 wuz. bornd, sah.”
“Died before your were born?”
"Dal's whut I jaekerlated.”
“Then why do you mourn for him
now.”
“Wall, boss, < f I haster tell ver, w'y
I haster. Er little while back Jar
dar Conn
eome
er powerful sprinklin’ o’ sickness in
niv neighborhood an’ it tuck de nigger
oil' mighty fas’, an' after while nearly
all de niggers wuz w'arin mournin' on
der hats. It kep' er gettin' wus till I
wuz. erbout de only pusson whut wuz
lef out. Den 1 thought ter merse’f.
‘Lookheah, dis ain't gwinter do. Woan
do fur er' specktable pusson ez. yerse’f
is ter 1» lef in dis sorter lurch,’ so jes'
den, ez luck would hub it, I happened
ter recolleck dat mer gran'foder wuz,
dead, dat de ole pusson wnn't no mo'
so I got me er black rag an' tied it on
mer hat. Oh, when it conies ter state
questions o’ disso't,boss, I se pufleckly
at home. De niggers o' de community
whar I libs needn t try ter beat me fur
it kaint be did." Arkansaw Traveler
A Titled Hangman.
The office of executioner is one which
we can hardly imagine any man of or
dinary human feeling’ would voluntary
assume. But this is just what an En
glish baronet is saitl to have done recent
ly. The story is that he assisted the
hangman in inflicting the death penalty
upon three burglars who killed a police
officer after a celebrated robls-ry in
England a few months ago. He ex
plained his conduct by say ing that he
desired the experience in case h<
should be called upon in the future, a-
sheriff of his county , to superintend i<
hanging. It strikes us that this b
rather an insufficient reason for a man
to voluntqer to • t the part of hang
man.— N. K Ledger.
CRANKS.
A Patent Lawyer Telia of Some Finnic
Bxperiences with His CllentH.
PRODUCE MARKET,
Portland.
FLOUR—Per bbi. standard brands,
$4.00; others. »2.25643.25.
WHEAT—PercU. valley, $1.174(31.184.
Walla Walla. 81.07 JtglJBf.
HARLEY —Whole, C cental,$1.07ifc>1.10;
ground, V ton, $22.506x24.
OATS—Choice milling, 37Jfc38<i; choice
feed :'2'<635 c .
RYE -Per ctl, $1.00(31.10.
BUCKWHEAT FLOUR—Per ctl. $3.75.
CORN MEAL—Per ctl, yellow, $2.5Ufc
2.75; white. $2.50fc3.75.
CRACKED WHEAT—Per ctl. $2.75
HOMINY—Perctl, $4.00.
OATMEAL—Per lb. 3.50.
PEARL BARLEY—No. 1,5c; No. 2,4Jc;
No. 3, 4c.
SPLIT PEAS-Per tt>, 5c.
PEARL TAPIOCA—In boxes, ftAc.
SAGO Per lb, (Sc.
VERMICELLf—Per lb, No. 1, $1.25; No.
2, IIOc.
BRAN—Per ton, $13.50.
SHORTS—1’er toil. $lli.
MIDDLINGS—Per ton, $20fc25.
CHOP—Per ton, $25.00.
HAY—Per ton. baled, $7fc8.
OIL CAKE MEAL—Per ton, $80® 32.50.
HOPS—Per lb, Oregon, nominal; Wash.
Ter., do.
EGGS—Per doz, 124c.
BUTTER—Per lb.tancy roll, 16:; inftAw.r
grade. 12; pickled, lOfclZc.
CHEESE—Per lb, Oregon, 0®l lc; Cali
fornia, 1 Ofc 104c.
DRIED FRUITS—Per tt>, apples, quar-
lers, sacks and boxes, 34; do sliced, in
sacks and boxes. 3j(a4J: apricots. 17c;
blackberries, 13®15c; nectarines, 10yfcl7c-
peaches, naives unpeeted, 7Jfc8c; pears,
quartered, 7®8;
pitted cherries, 10c;
pitted plums, Calitornia, SfclOc; do Or
egon, 5<g7c; currants, 8fc0; dates, 6fc
7c; tigs, Smyrna, 17®18; California. 0fc7;
prunes. Calitornia, 5fc0; Freneh. 10fcl24;
Turkish. (J®7; raisins. Califoria Lon
don lay ers. 82.15fc2.2(J (r box; loose Mus
catels, $2(®2.1U; Seedless, tl* lb, 12c; Sul
tana, 124c.
RICE —China. No. 1, $5.80; do No. 2,
$5.25; Sandwich Islands, No. 1, $5.25.
BEANS — Per lb, pea, 24c;
small
whites, 24c; bayo, 2fc; lima, 3c; pink, 24c.
V EGET ABLES—Beets. iPtb.llc; cabbage,
4# lb, 2:: carrots,t> ack,_$1.25; cauliflower,li>
doz, $1.25; sweet potatoes, V lb.,—-fc—;
onions, lj(a2c; turnips, n>. He; spinach.
$ sack, 40®50c; celery,
doz, $1; green
peas, fc* IL, 3fc4c; lettuce, doz, 20c.
POTATOES—Patotoes, new, ljfc2c; per
sack, old, 50® 70c.
POULTRY—Chickens.
doz, spring,
$— - (©2.50: old, $—fc3.5U; ducks, $3.UU
fcB.iO; geese, $4.00fco; turkeys, b' lb,
nominal, H)fcl2c.
HAMS—Per lb, Eastern, —fc—c; 0
egon, OJfclOc.
BACON—Per lb, Oregon sides, 6®7c; do
shoulders, 5fc 0.
LARD—Per lb, Oregon, 6fc7j; Eastern,
74fc#c.
PICKLES—Per 5-gal keg, 00c; bbls, |j>
gal., 224c.
SUGARS—Quote bbls: Cube, Gjc; dry
granulated, 6|o; Hue crushed, Bjc; gold»1 •
U, 54o.
CANNED GOODS—Salmon. 1-lti ti
doz, $1.35; oysters, 2-Ib tins, f dor
1-Ib
tins, $1.40 b» doz;
1-tb tins, b' doz, $1.00; clauis, 2
doz, $1.00®2J 5; mackerel, 5-11
$8.75(gV.UO; fruits, bf doz till'
jams and jellies, t? doz. $1.7. (' P I’
tables, b' doz, $1.10®l.U0.
’ . II. Il,
llONEY-Extracted. 0
COb FEE—Per tb. Gut
Rica, I2(al2.yc; Old Gov imi-iii
20c; Rio, 114® 12c; A III1 IM.
Mocha. 224®25; Koi’
TEAS -Young H f-
20®55c; Oolong. Ii
Imperial, BofcOdc.
SYRUP—Cali’
at 30c. in bblj EMPLOYED,
tins 35®45.
FRESH FT n the Buaincss part
t? box,7acfc<$
Lemons. Ca ' inc • >ty.
b» box, «86
“Do I run across many cranks?” said
a well-known patent lawyer in answei
to a reporter’s question. “Well, young
man, all cranks are not inventors, and
possibly all inventors are not crank’,
but a good many of them are badly hit. I
Now there is a German who lives on tin
South Side, one of the most intelligent
tnen I ever met, with no sign of cranki
ness about him except in one thing. 11<
wants to patent a process for making
gold. For over a year he has been
dropping into my office and trying to
get me to get his papers for him. ‘All
right,’ I’ll say, ‘explain me your process
and 1’11 make out your application.’
“ ‘Oh, no,’ he says, ‘no one shall ever
know that but myself. They will never
know that in the Patent Office even.'
And he will go away. I have asked
him whv he didn't make some gold him
self. ‘Oh no,’ he always replies; ‘the
secret is too valuable. I dare not until
I get it protected,’ and that is all he will
tell me. One of the great peculiarities
of inventors is their suspicious natures.
Whether 1 look like a rascal or not 1
can’t say positively, but about half the
people who eome to me seem to think
that I am. They seem to carry the idea
that I sit up here like a spider in a web,
just waiting to steal some one’s idea
and patent it.
“About a week ago a tall, thin-faced
young man craned his neck in through
the door, and looked all around the
room to see if I was alone. Then he
walked ovel, looked under the drawing
table and behind the safe, and tried the
door to the next room. He was evi
dently satisfied that every thing was
safe, for he came up to me and almost
whispered: ‘I’ve got something that
will make ten thousand dollars a
month.’
“ ‘You have?’ said I.
" ‘Yes. Do you want to take an in
terest in it?’
“ ‘No,’ said I, ‘I never invest in pat
ents, but if you have a good thing you'll
have no trouble in getting capital.
What have you got?’
“Again he looked furtively around the
room, and then pulled out an envelope.
Along the crease, where the flap turns
over, he had pasted a string, the ends
of which stuck out about an eighth ol
an inch after the envelop was sealed.
The purpose was to take hold of one
end of the string when von wanted to
open a letter, and by pulling it, open the
envelop in the same way that it would
be opened by a knife. The scheme is
as old as the Patent Office, and in one
year there were one hundred and thirty-
live applications for a patent 011 the
same thing.
“ ‘My friend’ said I, ‘do you really
think there is ten thousand dollars a
month in this?’
“ ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘I have figured
it out, and it will only cost fifty dollars
a month to make and sell ten ~ housand
dollars worth.’
“ ‘But,’ said I, ‘do you know that
there are at least one thousand, six hun
dred models of the same plan in the
patent office now?'
“ ‘It's a lie,’ said he getting excited,
‘and let me tell you, mister, I’m onto
your little game. I didn’t have much
confidence in you when I came in here,
an’ I’ve got less now. I’ll telegraph to
the Commissioner of Patents before an
hour, an' just shut off your getting out
any patent on this. That’s ivhat 1’11
<lo,’ and out he went, and I have seen I
SAL°
nothing of him since. A good many of
them will bring models here which
won’t work, because they don’t want to
show the whole plan. They want a clover
patent, but want to keep their process rye gr<
NUT*
The Only-
secret.
20c: Bra
“It is surprising how many applica
tions there are upon old inventions.
Here a gentleman came in a few days peaimts, b
ago with a model of a glass tombstone 14c; Ualilon.
'< itv.
which he wanted to patent. He was llo.
WOOL—Has. ' • e i ' ii ; i
very much surprised and crestfallen
®10e t? lb; fui> I the lowest i
when I showed him that there were a e«on,
spring clip,'’days and FridiiJ
number of patents covering the whole 12<<al4c.
business. Another man came to me a i HIDES -Dry, l-fjW or Hand.
month or two ago with the working
•RISON & CO.
model of a rotary churn, upou which he
Han tf.
wanted a patent.
FLOUR -Extra, $4.
“ ‘See here,’ said I, ‘that looks very tine, $2.75<'«-3.50.
much like a machine patented about
WHEAT—No. 1 sh
six years ago, as a washing-machine.’
f ell; No. 2, $1.25'41.27»; Mill!
1.37.
“ ‘Oh, yes,’ he replied. ‘It was pat
BARLEY-No. lfeod, $l.«fcl -L
ented as a washing-machine, but I want
to patent it as a churn and then put it No. 2, $1.324; brewing, $L42»fcl.;
OATS
—Milling and Surprise. ,
on sale out among the farmers to be 1.374 r ctl;
Feed, No. 1. <1.31^.1.35; .
used for both, don't you see.’
$1.22Jfc1.274.
“ ‘Well,’ said I. ‘you'd better take
HAY—Clover, $8fc 11.00 I? ton; alia.
that home and remodel it so that it can $llfcl3; wheat. flfc.Utki'. 10.00.
UNIONS—Fer ctl. $5.Oufctl.OO
be used as a child’s crib also, and then
patent it. I’d just as soon have my but
CORN -Small yellow $1.174fcl.Äi A cli;
ter made in a crib as a wash-tub. and large yellow. $1.10441.15; large white $1.10
there is no more reason why the baby (tfl.16; small white, fl.UOfc 1.10.
RYE-$1.374 I? cU.
shouldn't be put to sleep ip a churn
HOPS- 5fc7c If lb.
than there is that the family linen
STRAW- (KefcOOc f bale.
shouldn’t be washed in it.’ I didn't
BEANS—Small wait' . fl.t'Afc!.* 1") V
take his ease, and can't say whether he pea, $l.fl5fcl.75; pink. <1. "'m1.10; ru’
got his patent or not”-— Pittsburgh Dis fcl.00; bayos, $1.00fcl.25; butter, $1.
1.50; linius.82.25'<z2.5u.
patch.
BUTTER—Store. 12'tf sr good to f,
“Xxr^il'i' f.fiimiR. Pro.
“‘^ilSKO MARKET!
Class
—An illicit distillery near Gainesville,
Ga.< which for six years has escaped
detection, has been discovered and
raided. The proprietor had dammed a
small creek, ostensibly to make a fish
pond, and under the dam he placed his
distillery, with tunnels for ingross and
egress. The smoke was conveyed to
his house, and passed out through the
kitchen chim. ey. — Chicago Tim'...
Market
18fc.B»c; California firk.n 17fc 10c; II.- ■
10fc42ic.
CHEESE—California. HtfcKlc K it».
POTATOES—Early rose, 65<o,7i)c
reds, 40fc45c; »weeta. SOcfcfl.
During the excitement of discussion this
paper might have said something to wound
the feelings of Mr. Gladstone. If so, now
that the crisis has come, we earnestly lieg
the old statesman's pardon. We have never
—There are five million Indians in lost sight of the fact that Mr. Gladstone had
a
tiresome contract on his hands. Managing
Mexico, making thirty-five per cent, of
the entire population. They speak a plantation stock« I with steers is a pretty
thirty-five idioms and sixty-nine dia serious matter, hut it is mere play compared
lects. They are nearly all ignorant, with managing an empire of bulls.
and live by themselves a wild, half
Cowanllce Then and Now.
savage life in the country districts.
[Uf..]
Governor Jose Maria Ramirez, of Chia
The Roman. .Denied long hair in men a
pas, w.ll ask the President to appropri i ign
of co eardice. But in tbeM days of
ate one million dollars to educate these marital
unpleaeaulue« it L> considered quit«
Indians.— Washinaton Post.
the reverse.