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.