University of South Carolina Libraries
' - %M ABBEVILLE PRESS & BANNER.' BY HUGH WILSON AND H. T. WARDLAW. ABBEVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1880. NO. 23. VOLUME XXV. :| . ? .* Work and Wait. A husband who for many years Hail plowed his fields aiul sown in tears, Grew weary with his doubts and lears. " I toil in vain! These rocks and sands Will yield 110 harvest to my hands; The best seeds rot in barren lands. " My drooping vine is withering; No promised grapes its blos-soms bring; No birds among its branches s!ng. " My flock is dying on the plain, The heavens are brass?they yield no rait The earth is iron?I toil in vain While yet he spake a breath 1 ad stirred His drooping vino, like wing ot bird, And Irom its leaves a voice heard: " The germs and fruits ol ltfe must be Forever hid in mystery, Yet none can toil in vain for me. "A mighter hand, more skilled than thine, Must hang the cluster on the vine, And make the fields with harvest ?hinc " Man can but work; God can create; But they who work, and watch, and wait, Have their reward though it come late. " Look up to heaven! behold and hear The clouds and thunderings in thy ear? An answer to thy donbt and fear." He looked and lo! a cloud-draped car, With trailing smoke and fames alar, Was rushing to a distant star. And every thirsty flock and plain, Was rising up to meet the rain That come to clothe the fields with grain. And on the cloud he saw again The covenant of God with men, Rewritten with his rainbow pen " Seed time and harvest shall not tail, And though the gates ol hell assail, My truth and promise shall pievail." MADGLES HERO. "So this is the end of all your romance, Madeie! this is the ' hero' you vn nftpn vnn -would rimrrr' Well, I confess I ana surprised." ' And disappointed, too?why don't you add that, Nellie?'' Mrs. Bentick said, as she led the -way to a cosy little sitting-room where a clieery fire was burning. "Sit down, dear, and drink your tea, f:nd have a little rest brfore dinner. Some day, perhaps, ycu'il have a halter opinion of Phil, and even learn to admire him?who knows?" "Hut, Madgie, he really isn't a bit handsome, hor romaniic-looking, nor poetic, nor any thine; and I did so hope and expect he would be? different." and Nellie Grahame paused for want of a word to express fully all she expected Madgie Mason's husband to be. Nejlie and Madgie had been friends at i school, and when they parted?the former to join her father in India; Madgie to take up hf;r abode with her uncle, Captain Mason, at the Woodiands?they had vowed eternal constancy and exchanged schoolgirl pledges of affection and remembrance. Scarcely six months after leaving school Madjjin was alone In the world, heiress of Woodlands and all her uncle's wealth, and with Doctor Philip Bentick for her sole guardian. Nellie was in India, and there seemed no immediate prospect of Major Grahams returnin?, and as Madgie had no other " dear friend," to Nellie she poured out all her heart on paper, dwelling at great length on uer aengntiui, solitary, romantic me at Woodlands, and her unalterable resolution to marry a real bona-fide hero or remain forever Madgie Mason. And Phii Bentick was the end of all her dreams! "He's decidtdly ugly," Nellie said, glancing at h photograph which sto->d on the chimney-piece. "I'm sure iflliad the misfortune to marry such a man, I wouldn't have his likeness in every conspicuous piace in the house. I'm surprised at Madgie,with her love of everything beautiful and her own pretty face and fortune. She surely might have done better; and yet she seems happy and contented enough, though she was such a hero worshiper." Nellie had come in accordance with a long-standing promise to pay Madge a visit. It was their first meeting since they had left school, five years before, and she had exneoted tr> tind her friend I just the same as ever?gushing, sentimental, impulsive?with dreamy,darkeyed lover husband, fond of poetry, and with a decided air of mystery about him. Nothing could be more unlike her preconceived idea than Phil Bentick, with his rough, seamed face, cheery voice, hearty laugh and burly frame? a busy, active, energetic, hard-working, practical country doctor, ten years older than Madgie if he was a moment, and, oh! so 1 ugly. And yet Phiiip Bentick had had his romance, too. He had been old Captain Mason's medical attendant, and after his death Madgie's sole counselor, 44 guide, philosopher and friend." Woodlands was a roomy, old-fashioned house, < buried in pleasant woods, five miles rom a village, thirteen from a town. ! he nearest neighbors on one side were ! nly rough and ready farmers, on the j other side poor fisher-folk who tried to wring a wretched' subsistence from the sea and barren westerly shore. But Madgie was not lonely. She loved Woodlands, loved to wander all day through the gardens with a volume of poetry or an old romance in her hand, loved the distant glimpses of the sea, i j i:4^ I.* i, ~i.~ iovea iue ureaiuy suuiuuc, wuiuu sue p-jopled with heroes and heroines of her own crc-ating?very delightful but wholly impracticable Individuals. But with all her sentiment Madgie was very charming, and it was not surprising that Dr. Bentick?despite his being her guardian, and a poor, struggling country doctor into the bargain? should fall in love with her. It was what every one expected, and Madgie herself was the only person astonished or unprepared " rhen one day, ia plain honest fashion, ne told her of his love And asked her to be his wife. It was as if Madgie had been awakened from a very pleasant dream by a rough shake During the two years she had been at Woodlands she had become accustomed to the doctor. He had always been at hand to consult, to confide in, and take all responsibility off her shoulders. She was used to hi? honest face and kindly voice, to his constant attentions and occasional lectures, and in a way she liked them; but the first idea of loving or marrying had never entered her head, for the doctor was commonplace to the last degree, and entirely devoid of all sentiment and romance, and Madgie had set her whoie heart on a hero. But Phil Bentick was not destitute of feeling; and when Madgie,more plainly than politely, declined his proposal, the look of pain and sorrow in his clear, honest gr-y eyes would have accorded with the most extravagant protestations of despair and misery. But he did not give way to them?only apologized gravely for having troubled Miss Mason, and was taking his departure in the most matter-of-fact way, when Madgie burst into impetuous explanation. " It's not that I dislike you, Phil, or like any one el?e better, and I know you're twice too eood for me; only?" " Only what, Madgie?" Down went her brown head in confusion. It was not easy to tell a man to his face that he was not a hero, and that waa the sole objection she had to Philip Bentick. "Omy what, Madgief'.he repeated, steruly. " Is it wealth I lack, or am I too old?too ugly, or have I simply th< misfortune to meet with \our genera! disapproval? Tell me what my failings ar<\ tliat I may try and mc-nd them." Madgie looked up into the grave, earnest face that bent over her, and hurst into tears. " It isn't unvof those things, Phil," she sobbed. " I'm sure you'ic handsome enough " ("just like 'Lara,'" sheadded,mentally), "and richcrough, and?oh, Phil, if you could only do something!?something great, I mean. I do so want my husband to be a hero!" " Ah. is that it? Madgie, dear,"after a long silence, ' don t you think a man may be a hero without his name being familiar in men's mouths, his fame blazoned abroad by newspapers? Must he se<-k ' the bubble reputation even at the cannon's mouth?'" "I love a hero. Phil!?a great, brave, famous man! I should like the whole world to know and respect my husband. Can't you do something?anything, Phil P" "Can't you love me just as I am, Madgie? I don't want my wife to be a heroine, only sweet, and true, and lovable , just us you are, Madgie, dear. I was not' born great,' and it is not given to every man to 'achieve greatness.' My duty seems to lie straight before me here iu this quiet little village, and I fr*7 tn Hr* it +hof r?rm?f fnr nntii. v? j vv ?v/ ?k* JU'vvm kuv*u vvuuu iv& ing, Madgie?" "Yes, yes, I know. But, Phil, I cannot marry a mere country doctor whom no one ever heard of. It you really love me, prove it. Do some brave, noble deed?even try to do something. You know how immeasurably ' high failure oversteps the bounds 01 low success.'" "You do not love me Madgie. Forgive me for having troubled you. Gcod-bye." " Phil, you know I do care about you ?a little, but I love honor more." Doctor Bentick smiled sadly at the girl's silly fancies. " It all comes of living so much alone, and reading nocsensicul romances," he mused. "Madgie's heart is all right, but her head is sadly wrong, poor child! She'll be wiser one day, perhaps." But a? the months passed by Madgie showed no signs of improvement; indeed slip hoPMnie. if noasible. mow; enn j firmed in her " heroic" ideas, avoiding I all society, and feeding her fancies with j all sorts of poetic visions. The doctor no longer visited Woodlands in the old familiar, friendiv way, lor he felt that Madgie avoided him, and, when that was impossible, treated him with constrained civility. 44 I'll go away for a time," he said one evening, the last of his cuardianship, for Madgie would be of age 011 the morrow. 44 I'll volunteer for few months' service on the Gold Coast. During my absence she may meet with her ideal :' hero,' or forget me?poor Madgie!" ' I The next day ho went up to Woodlands to corigrntulate his ward on reaching her majority and have a final inter| view with her lawyer, and mentioned incidentally hisintention of going abroad for a few months. 44Going abroad, Phil!" Madgie cried, the color rushing to her pale cheek, 44When? wliere? why?" 441 have not been feeling very bright lately, and I fancy a change may do me : good. An old college chum of mine, surgeon on the Aphrodite, has just mar- j ried, and w-j're trying, if it can be managed for us, to exchange for a few months. His ship is ordered to the gold coast and I10 can't possibly have his wite either precede, follow or accompany him there. He'd enjoy a few quiet iL onths here in Broadbay, and I should not mind having a peep at King j Koffee." "And when are you going, Phil?" " If it can be arranged in about, a fortnight. Cieracns thinks there will be no difficulty, as he has some lriends high up in the admiralty, and he has married the daugh'.er of the captain of the Aphrodite. I have no doubt it. can be managed; and if not I'll take a cruise to Ashantee on my own hook. I fancy I Wunt a holiday." "I hopp you wiil enjoy it very much, doctor," Madgie said, her ardor considerably dampened by his cool, careless way ot speaking. JUvidently lie was not | going to make a hero or a martyr ol ! himself on her account; and yet in her secret heart siie was d"lighted. An adventure was the only thing Phil required to make him perfect in her eyes; and an adventure, even if it were only a touch of yellow fever, could scarcely fail to befall him on the gold coast. " Good-bye, Madgie. I thought a few weeks ago I should be taking a longer journey; but our separation will be no ]e3S effectual though only a few miles instead of a few thousand separate us." "What do you mean, Phil? Aren't you going on the Aphrodite after alii1" and Madgie glanced despairingly at the huge chest and the numerous small par- ; ceis 6he had packed with such care for ! Phil's comfort and consoJntion on the j voyage. " You have not changed your i mind at the last moment, have you?" ! "Yes, I have, but not altogether without a reason. You know poor I)av- ! entry:1" " Yes; what has he to do with it?" "He's iil?down with the smallpox, poor fellow! He has worked like a giant night and day this lost fortnight at Mlllbay, where smallpox is rasing. Daventry's wife is down, too, an ! their only child was buried yesterday. I mu3t go over at once." "Into the very middle of infection? You shan't?you mustn't, Phii! Why, it's frightful in Milbay?every house infected!'' ' And no doctor to look after the poor creatures; think cf that, Madgie. Daventry, poor fellow, faced it all by himself?never so much as let me know the ; outbreak was serious; and it was only by the merest accident I heard of his illness. Now I must go, deir; every j moment is precious. It, may be long be- I fore we meet again, Madgie; we may 1 never meet in this world. Heaven bless j you always, dorunjr; may you be as happy as I wish you." "Phil, you musn't go! What have you to do with Millbay? Phil, Phil! com? back!" But he wa3 already far down the avenue, obeying a far more j owerful I voice than Madgie Mason's?thf voice j of duty. Millbay was a remote fishing village, about eleven mile3 from Kroadb&y, situated in a low marshy inlet of tiie sea.and surrounded by stagnant swamps. The people were poor, ignorant, ill-fed, worse-clad, a.id the low, unhealthy situation of the village, and undrained, unventilated houses, made them peculiarly liable to diseases ol all sorts. It was there Phil Bentick turned his steps unhesitatingly. With a brave heart he entered Doctor Daventry's residence,an .i took his duties on himself. For weeks the disease raged with unusual violence; whole families were carried off, young and old alike; and with want approaching famine and virulent disease, Doctor Bentick struggled alone. No hejp came from any quarter. The inhabitants of Millbay were always secluded, and the place was shunned as if plasue-stricken. Even the postman who toiled through the marshes twice a week forsook the place. Rank grass grew thickly in the middle ot the long, straggling High street; the boats dritted out with the tide unheeded; and the stealthy tread of some stricken parent or child, seeking assistance to bury their dead, was the only sound that broke the awful sultry stillness of the Ion?, scorching August days. "This is terrible!" Phil said to himself one evening as he walked wearily along the seacoast, gasping for a breath of fresh air. " Thank heaven, Daventry is nearly well, for I feel I cannot stand it much longer. Mentally and physically lam worn out, and more likely to do harm than good. It I could only shutout this frightiul picture for an hour and get one breath ot untainted air, I should feel better." - I unman ! At that moment a low moan soundec I somewhere near, and pausing he leaner i over the wall to see from whom it came Unconsciously he had reached the vil lage graveyard, a lonely spot by tin . shore, only distinguished from the sur , rounding marshes by a few rude head ' stones and rugged wooden crosses, anc iuvv ufji/ii luw ui iifw-iiittuc uj one ot them a woman was kneeling i scratching with both feeble hands at s small fresh mound of earth, while now and again a low moan burst from hei lips. She was ill, weak, emaciated, and the doctor recognized her as a woman who had suffered severely?recoverine as by a miracle, liavine: lost her husband and live children. Three days before he had seen her with an infant in her arms, the only living thing left her,; now it lay beneath the ragged cloak, the last ol all her llock. Vaulting over the low wall, the doctor approached her gently. "My good woman, what are you doing here?" he whispered, laying his hand on her shoulder. "Let me bury my dead," she cried, fiercely, pointing to her cloak. "Go away, and leave me with my people." " No, no?let me;" and taking a spade mat lay near, ue ciug a grave, ana reverently placed the tiny form,wrapped in its mother's cloak, in it; then he covered it over hurriedly, and taki-..7 the wretched mother by the arm, i her from the spot. " Heaven forever bles3 you, sir," she said, bursting into tears, as she took a last look at the little grave. "Now I am indeed alone, the hist of my name md race?father, mother, husband, children, friends, all gone," and she sank down by the open gateway, and refused to move further. " Let me die here, sir,"she cried; "here beside my j loved ones. What have I done that the I Almighty should leave meP" fii .1 of i.oort Hip tlimPfl fiWRV i Such sccncs had noi been uncommon in I Millbay ill ring the preceding month, | hut he i ad never witnessed anything iike it, and the horror of it was on his mind during the weary weeks that followed, lor he, too, was seized with the frightful illness, stricken down as with a sudden blow. For weeks he lay hovering between life and death, and when he awoke to consciousness the first far; ho saw bending over him was that of the poor mother he had seen before his illness. Day and night she had tended him with unceasing care, and seemed to forget her own il!ne3s and sorrow in ! watching over him. It was the end of August when he was taken ill, it was the" middle of October before he was able to creep feebly out of doors and sit in the sunshine. Once only had he looked in a mirror, and then the reflection of his seamed, scarred, livid face staggered him. On no one had the disease made such fearful ravages; yet not a soul who survived in tho village of Millbay but blessed every seam, and reverenced every purple scar, and found a beauty in them that might be coveted by an angel. Surely it was their prayers and blessings, their looks of love and tear3 of gratitude, that reconciled him at last to his terribly altered appearance. " If my love was hopeless before, Jf'o cr* rtfwxr " QQirl frt him-wnlf one day. " Did any one ever hear, i wonder, of a pock-mocked here? and yet it was all wisely ordained. My duly jay straight before me, however it may end for me." It wa9 Christmas before the doctor thought it perfectly safe to return to his ! cottage at Broadbay. His own had been the last case of the disease in Millbay,and all signs of infection had long since disappeared. He had recovered his strength, too, his steD was as light and free as of old, his voice as cheery, his smile as genial; but the deep discolored scars were stiil on his face, indelibly printed there, and it was only those to whom he had ministered in their sore need that saw a radiant beauty in t hem. For himself, he had almost forgotten Miem. What was a scar or two on his faco to the deep, deep, sore scars on his heartP Who would care a jot whether a poor solitary country doctor was ugly or the reverse? Such were his thoughts as he drove up to his cottage, with Mrs Norton, the p. or solitary widow, beside him. She insisted on following him aud solving him, and she was so utterly alone that he had not the heart to say her nay. A blue line of smoke curled from the chimneys, a cheery glow of firelight danced on the window-panes, the door stood hospitably open, to his unbounded surprise. "Ah! this is like coming home. What good fairy has been at work, I wonder," ho said, stepping into the light and warmth. "Madgie! oh, my darling, is it indeed you?" " Me, Phil? Wiiy ot course, who else should it be?" Then drawing closer. "Dear Phil, can you lorgive me?" "Forgive you, Madgie?" lie said, huskilv. "forgiveyou what?" 4*My folly. I'm wiser now, Phil, and I think I know the value of the treasure I once despised." 44 Come nearer to the light. Madgie, and look at me. I'm I033 like a Hero than ever!" 44Phil, I wouldn't have oue of these changed," and she laid her hand lightly on his cheek. 411 would not give one unsightly scar for the cross of the legion of honor. You are the hero of my heart now; long ago I wanted the hero of my fancy and imagination. Forgive me, Phil, and let us forget all my lolly, tor I'm heartily ashamed of it." Just then the bells of Broad by church rang out a joyous peal, and friends gathered ronnd to welcome back the doctor and wring h;.s hand heartiiy, looking the praises they could not speak. To go forth bravely in search of honor, and returu victorious, is a great tiling; to g<; xorth una brave death at the call of d aty is a good thing. And as Phil Bentick glanced round at the kindly faces about him, he felt he had his full reward. A few weeks after, Madgie and Phil were married; and when Nellie Grahamecame to pay her long-promised vifit iu the summer, and heard by degrees the whoic story, she was forced to admit lliat Mad?ie"s hero was real iiero after all, and 0112 " whose " like we do not meet with every day. Insurance for Women. There is an insurance company for women, writes a New York correspondent. Mrs. " Jennie June " (Jroly and a few other public-spirited ladies are organizing it, and great things are expected of it. The capital stock is, I believe, ?1,000,000, and considerable ol it is already taken. David Dudley Field and Governor Dorsheimer are among I he sponsors of ttie new company, and have S 10,000 worth of stock apiece. Henry Ward Beecher takes an earnest personal interest in the scheme, and a uoort deal of stock will be raised in Plymouth church. I asked one ot the ladies most interested in the company the reason for its organization. " Because," she said, "the current insurance companies will not insure women's lives if they can help it. They declare women to be undesirable risks, wb' nthe best physicians in the world dechrc that women's chances in life are better than men's." " Your company will not insure the complacent free white male citizen at all?" I asked. "Probably not. We may take somt healthy specimens, but the objects of the company will probably be promoted by making it a monopoly?confining its advantages exclusively to women." " What is the reason that existing companies will not insure women, if they are really good risks?" " Well, to tell the ex:tct truth about it, there is a good deal ol nonsense and sentimentalism ia it. Your haughty sunerior sex seem to think that it is unmanly, or something or other, for a husband to insure a wife's life for his benefit. It is absurd, and we propose to get rid of that morbid tenderness." ii I DEAD MEN RESUSCITATED. \ , What nan Been Accomplished bv Alcana of an Electric Battery, Heat and Artificial lte?plratlon -- Almoit Too j Strange For Belief. f " Do the medical men ever resusci> tate people who are apparently deadP" i This question was asked by a reporter r, of Dr. John C. Bennett at the Bellevue Hospital Medical college. I " Yes, sir; such instances have taken 1 place, but they are exceedingly rare," : was the reply. "Will you Itll me whether anything ! of the kind has been done in this col. lege?" j "Yes; I will give you all the infor mation in mv power. I do not suppose a single really dead person was ever 1 made" to live, but when there is the smallest vital spark remaining it can ' sometimes be fanned into a flamo." 1 " Please relate a few instances." "About five years aco I was called to attend a sick man in Astoria. When I readied his bedside he was sinking very rapidly, and had become so weak that there was scarcely a perceptible flutter of his heart, and his respiration was so faint that it just moved the down of a feather and that was all. Well, the man 10 an appearances aiea. iue undertaker was notified to come and lay him out, and I started for my lodging in N ew York. 1 had not walked twenty rods from the man's house when a little hoy came running after me with a message that the undertaker wanted me to return forthwith. I made all haste back, and the undertaker met me at the door, exclaiming : ' My God! Do you want me to prepare a living man for the grave!' I asked what he meant, and he told me that the supposed corpse was warm, and that in his opinion the man was not dead. I was inclined to believe that the undertaker had lost his senses; but I irr mediately examined my late patient. Sure enough, the body was slightly warm." vvnat course am you pursuer" " I sent for Doctor William Halsey, who at that time resided in Astoria and was the owner of a small but powerful : elec'.ric battery. He came, bringing his I battery with him. We applied the electricity to the corpse. It was in the winter time, and there was a hot fire In ; he parlor stove in the house. We ' called for some woolen blankets, which , were brought, and after heating them : upon the stove we wrapped them 1 about the patient. We also chafed the | patient's hands and feet. After a few : minutes we held a mirror before the 1 supposed dead man's face, when to our 1 great surprise and joy there appeared ! upon its surface a dewy moisture, which ' was caused bv a .'light respiration from 1 the patic-nt. Well, sir, to make a long 1 story short, I will tell you that wc ( worked all of that day find night, and, the next morning the undertaker was J informed that there would be no funeral, and consequently no need for his ser- ' vices." 1 ' Did the patient enjoy good health \ afterward?" " Not very good health. He was weakly for about a year, when he died, ! and this time he was so very dead that 1 we thought it would be a hopeless task 1 j to attempt to resuscitate him a second 1 : time." ' " Now, doctor, as you have given me J a history of a case where a man was ] supposed to have died a natural death and was made to live again, will you 1 tell me about criminals who have ^been ] banged and then restored to life?" "I have read of such cases, but never j had one come under my own personal 1 knowledge." j "Did the professors or students of j the HeJievue Hospital iviecucai college ever bring a liangca murderer to life?" 1 " Not within the past twenty-tive years at least. I have heard one of the ? old professors say that the body of a man named Jackson, who was) hanged at Trenton, N. J., in 1830, was brought to New York and given to the medical studentB for pxperimenting upon. The body was put into a box and taken to a room over a stable on Second avenuee where it was subjected to all the methods known to medical science for infusing life into a supposed corpse." 44 Was the man brought to lifeP" 44 Well, yes, and no." 44 How was that?" 441 will explain: When the electricity was applied it caused the muscles ol the subject to contract, aud his limbs moved. The doctors tried artificial respiration, such as is brought into use for persons who are nearly arowned. They had an idea that they made him gasp two or three times, but if they did actually bring the man to life at all, he died again right away. I believe that he skeleton of that murderer now occupies a glass case iu the anatomical museum connected with the Albany Medical college." Dr. Bennett invited the reporter to go with him to the Gilsey house, where several of his medical friends were to take dinner. The gentlemen composing the party were waiting in one of the parlors of the hotel. Dr. Bennett told the party that the reporter was in quest / r A. ! 1 A ~ .A ~ OI IQIOl'IUilLlun uuuut uc.m puupiu uciug brought to life. J One of the gentlemen, who was intro- * dueed as Dr. H. D. Sarle, s.tid: " I can ' tell you how an undertaker of my ac. quaintance was once frightened "almos out of his five senses when he though Lie had brought a corpse to life. Tht ] undertaker was called upon to prepare * the body of an old gentleman who had ] died for buiial. The poor old gentle- J man, who had suffered terribly from ] rheumatism, was bent in the form of a < I letter N. Of course it would be impos- * sible t j put the body in a coffin unless it ] could be straightened. So the under- : taker put the corpse upon a board and ? tied a bandage about the knees of the t corpse so as to draw them down to the 1 board. When the bandage was tied the < effect was somewhat startling. The old gentleman, who whs supposed to oe as i dead a- a doornail, actually sat up and < iookcu tne undertaker rignt in me race, i "Was that a case of resuscitation from l death ?" "Not exactly, but the undertaker 1 would not have been more frightened t hud the corpse actually come to lite." i Dr. .Bennett said that he had read in 1 a medical work about a man in Lanca- ? shire, England, who was kicked on the head by a horse, and, as the doctors < thought, instantly killed. The supposed < dead body was carried into a house and < laid out upon a board in a room in '> which there was no fire. The weather I was very cold. Several young men and i women, who volunteered to act as : watchers of the dead during the niglit, 1 occupied an adjoining room to that in ] which the supposed corpse had been p.aced. It was their duty to see that a 1 wet cloth, placed on the face of the man, : was changed once each hour and kept i well saturated with a solution of salt- ' peter. Nothing unusual took place until 1 along toward morning, when one of the i young women, who had entered the apartment where the body was placed to change the cloth,was heard to scream. Her associates ran in to see what was the matter. She was as pale as a ghost and terribly frightened. "What is the matter?" inquired one of the gentlemen. "The dead man has come to life,"exclaimed she, pointing to the supposed corpse. Sure enough, the man' who was thought to be dead was alive. His limbs were ail of a tremble. Doctors were at once sent for. The patient was removed to a warm room and subjected to proper medical and surgical treatment. Within a fortnight lie was able to lea re his bed. " How do you account for the sup posed dead man coming to life P" inquired th0 reporter of Dr. Bennett. " Well, in the first place the man was not really dead," was the reply. " He was in a comotose condition. The blow upon his head from the horse's foot bad deadened all action of his brain and nerves. The factttiat he was placed in a cold room undoubtedly saved his life. The freezing atmosphere, in his case, had a revivifying effect. His brain recovered from its numbness and he received a new lease of life." Another case of resuscitation that attracted considerable attention from the medical fraternity was that of a sailor in the United States navy who fello^erhnnrd.n.nd. flin?ularlv enouffll for a 8Ca faring man, was unable to swim, and was, to all appearances, drowned. He was fished out of the water, and his comrades, believing that he was u corpse, wrapped him in a blanket preparatory to the last rites for the dead at sea. The surgeon of the vessel had an electrical battery on board, and with it he gave the supposed dead man several such severe shocks that the " corpse" came to life, and the chaplain was saved the trouble of reading the funeral service.?New York Star. The Silk Industry of America. To most of the children of the present generation in Massachusetts a silk cocoonery wauld be a novel sight; but there are many older persons who remember the time when numerous farmers and several enterprising clergymen throughout the State had "a few silkworms in their houses or barns, v/hose care was sometimes intrusted to the women and children of the family. For, although at the beginning of this century the silk culture in this country had almost died out, yet strong efforts were made to revive it. Indeed, for 250 years this branch of industry has been seeking - r?4.1?A ll lUUtllUiu in a. uicl itii. I'uiuu^a <? oti ito i of periodical and enthusiastic revivals, ef.cn of which has been followed by a reactive failure. Such a revival took place some fifty years ago. It extended over all the Eastern and Middle States. Congress even wan atFected by it, and appointed a committee to report on the culture of the mulberry with reference to the silkworm. Massachusetts took fire. Its legislacure, in 1831, appropriated $000 for the publication and distribution of a manual on silk which was prepared by Jonathan H. Cobb, of Dedham, who was one of the most earnest silk culturists in the State. We are reminded of the enthusiasm of the author of the "Virginian Silk Worm," when we read i in the report of the legislative committee , that they were "satisfied beyond a doubt ' that we have power to produce and mnniifaot.nrn sillr in this commonwealth to an immense extent, and that no diffijulty is to be encountered either from soil or climate." The argument for the j cultivation of silk was enforced by the , ilarming fact that about this time, 1825, ; the export of breadstuffs was only about one-half the value of the silk imported. Silk culturo soon took the form of a feverish speculation, and grew into a surprisingly large bubble. This infla- ; tion was brought about through the purported discovery that the morus multicaulis, or many-branched mulberry, was the best of all trees for silk- ; worms. An intense rage for this tree j sprang up. The most extravagant ' prices were demanded. Dr. Brockett ;ells us, in his " Centennial History of J ;he Silk Trade," that young trees or cutlings came to be worth $*25, ?50. ?100, 8200, and even $500 a hundred. Im- t nense numbers were imported from France. But suddenly, in 1839, the j aubble burst. Not a few nursery men J arere utterly ruined, and the next spring 'multicaulis trees were offered in vain ? the neighboring farmers at a dollar a f aundred for pea brush?"" This branch )f ths industry has never recovered rom that disaster, and to-day there is \ ess silk raised in the United States than . ,here was in Georgia 120 years ago. The result of many experiments in 1 lilk culture in this country has been to )rove that as fine a quility of silk can be * aised in the United States as in any } )art of the world. But it has also as J positively proven that the silk cannot , je raised here and reeled as cheaply as " he raw silk can be imported from China ind Japan. It may be done in " ultinate America," but w'.th the present re- , ations of labor and capital it cannot ( easily be done now. Silk raising mus jreferably be confined to countries where t here is a dense population. In the feed- ] ng season it requires an immense imount of labor, which comes all at j )iice. To give wages for feeding silkvorms anything like the wages that are jiven for work in our mills, would not < >ay any more than it would to set men o feeding chickens. Wherever the exjeriment of raising silkworms on a large J icale lias been tried, it has failed. They ire too liable to get diseased. They do . )etter in isolated communities or fannies. The only way in which silk rais- : ng can be carried on without loss in this sountry is for each farmer, where the ( ilimate will permit, to raise a moderate i luantity of cocoons yearly, sending them o laree filatures, where they may be , mccessfuUy reeled. Years ago, reeling vas done in the family where the silk v;is raised. It is now, fortunately, a lepsrate branch of the business. Even n China and Japan this has come to be ;he case, the large filatures, with improved machinery, doing the work biter than it could be done at home.? 3. J. Barrows, in Allanic Monthly. Queer Facts About Animals. I begin with crabs and lobsters. If Mr. Crab or Mr. Lobster loses a, limb, md wants another in the place of it, the process is easy enough; by waiting, the oss is repaired by nature, for a new imb grows out in due time. If, on the iontrary, a man ioses a leg, the best he :an do is to get an artificial one. Sup- : josc our legs and arms hung on so ten- i ierly lis those of the lobster?a terrible 1 ;tate we should be in, unless we could ? jet new ones as easily as he does; lor | i,he report of a cannon will sometimes iismember a lobster. The starfish parts with a ray without .-egret, and feel3 the jaws of a codfish ;hewing off his legs,without a sigh; for Lie knows that kind nature will soon realace them. Now and then, on the < ijeach, you way find starfish, four ol whose legs feet have been amputated by 1 ;he eurgical cod. The loss of a finger vnnoys man more than the loss of four < legs does our astronomical friend, the ) tarfish. The eft or newt will lose its tail with- 1 )ut suffering any permanent loss; for, in iue time, out grows another. No toe | jomes in the place of a boy's toe; but < Squire Newt gets anew tail in a short ' imo Tim ann.nnpmrmp PYppprls prilhs ind Jobstera and newts altogether; for j you may cut and slice it, and every p&rt 1 becomes a brand new anemone. Chop a baby up, and you get only mince me at , The hydra?the small green slime that j lloats on the surface of stagnant poolsmay be divided and sub-divi'Jed in the 3ame way as the anemone, and with the 3!ime result. If an adult loses a tooth ! even, he has to go -ill through the pain of the dentist's chair, in order to get another, aud then only gets a make-belleve one. But here are no less than five animals that acquire new tails, legs, ; und arms, and bodies even without difficulty.?GoMcm Dnrja. Yes, He Conld. " My case is just here," said a citizen to a lawyer the other day?"the plaintiff will swear that I hit him. i will swear that I did not. Now what can you lawyers make out of that if we go to triulP" " Five dollars apieoe!" was the prompt reply, as the attorney extended his hand.?Detroit Free Press. One o: the steel works at Pittsburg, Pa., has just cast the largest anvil block ever made in this country. It is eleven .feet high and eight by ten wide, and weighs 160 tons. It took seven hours to run the metal into the mold, and it will be four months before the metal is cool enough to move. FIRM, GARDEN AND HOUSEHOLD^ About Manaelng llaw Soil. Although it is known that raw soil brought up to the surface in large quan titles is nurttui to tue crop upon it, yet to what extent, and especially with the different kinds of soil, is not so well understood. More or less immediate harm is the result. And yet to make use of this undersoil is a benefit, in that it deepens the tillable land, affording a chance for the better extension of the roots and for circulation of air, developing also new available fertility, which is so much gain, but which, in its original state, is of little use, and, when compared with the upper aerated and worked soil , is a damage, as it lessens the crop, the ' degree of which is dependent upon the , amount brought up. If the plow runs ; deep, so as to bury the upper soil, bringing up the other lo form in its place the ! seed bed, and for slight rooting plants to get their nourishment from, there wili be a failure in clay soil, or where there j is less chance for air to circulate or water to pass through?in other words, in a ( hard or dense soil, which is also, in general, a cold soil. , Where there is free ventilation and good drainage, as in sand and among ? the shales, there is little difference be- ( tween the upper and lower soils. Indeed, j we often find it the case that to plow , Hnon i a or* or! nowto rrd r? nf o Inn a fXi* fhfl UV.LJJ XO HU UU | UVU UlUUb Ivi IUV/ . reason that the undersoil is well aerated and warmed, but the fertility in such oil gradually works down, there being a lack of clay or absorbent to hold it. Hence the lower soil becomes enriched r ?sometimes richer than the upper? suggesting the remedy at orce?light and i frequent, rather than large and less fre- , quent applications of manure, which, of t course is to be kept as much as possible at the surface, every rain lowering it in n the soil, and a wet season or a few drenching rains washing it out, so that ^ only the deep-rooling plants, like the / clovers, and notably lucern, get the bene- g fit below. The small creeping blue grass, timothy, and others show the de- ? privation of nntriment by a stunted t growth and bleached appearance, simi- t lar to the effect of a drought, which, oc- v curring after the rains, speedily puts an j end to the grass^ This is well known in Bandy districts. When the rains are J ilfcUL, &.CC}J1L1? LUU SULiatU UiUlSl YVitUUUU r washing nown, the best result follows. This was the case in this section in the h summers of 1877 and 1878. With sufficient manure (at the surface) the growth e was rapid and maturity early. Raw soil, therefore, concerns us very t, little in land of a leachy character. The a ?reat care to be exercised in this respect is in all hard or densely-packed unaer- 8 soils. Such land is usually given shai- i. low culture, which excludes from sue- c cessful cultivation most of the deep- ? rooting plants, such as corn, root crops, berries of all kinds, trees and shrubs, i. the grape, and in extremely dry and wet 0 weather all the crops that the farmer t] raises. It is only by the plentiiul use of manure and care in cultivation that the g land can be made to pay, and then not r, satisfactorily. The evil?raw soil?is .1 loo near the surface. To bring up this soil is worse: to bury deeply the surface ~ joil is to spoil all for years till the elenents have had their action upon it, ? jided by the plow. Then there will n )e a decided improvement for the bet.er, and with continued deep culture a a Dermanent character will be given. The . jlowing is to be continued deep, or 1 ,he subsoil plow is to aid, to be used u whenever the land is tilled, when leither too wet nor too hard, so sis to ^ jreak in lumps, leaving hollow places, j But it is better, instead of inverting 1 large body of soil which will lie years j without benefit, to bring up a little at a j. ,ime, eacii plowing aeepening cue tinible soil till the depth wanted is reached, riiis is acknowledged the best practice, c is it admits of crops being grown right : Uong without diminution, and after the irst year or two increasing in yield. _ Hie plowing should be done in the full, so as to have the raw soil in a thin layer -r ;xposed to the frost. A coat of manure ( ihould be given so as to have the layer >f wild soil between the good ground jelow and the manure above, with the rost and the elements operating, and with the spring cultivation making a ieed bed that seldom fails to be satis ? 'actory. The next plowing buries this ? nellowiand rich surface soil, deepening | ind enlarging the root bed below, and aew soil is again brought up and treated is belore. It will readily be seen that it ;nkes only a few years to completely jliange this soil, and make quite a superior one of it. But this cannot be lone successfully in most of our clays J without first draining the land, this x-ing worth more than all the plowing, r* md it is the more necessary to its sue- " jess, as often the soil is hurt without !! t, and in some seasons it is impossible ^ o plant it on account of the wet. " But it will be a long time before j' )ur clays are drained, this important V ivork ot the farm being put off or ignored, ? ind bad made worse, for wet land (clay) zl ;an be worked only to its injury, and 7 jannot be much benefited by deepening, jj is manure has not much effect on wet ? and, and the soil, not only below but J* nore or less throughout, is of a raw na- " ,ure and cold and sour in the bargain. ? It is a pity to continue to work such land in this condition, and no other can ? oe reached without drainage. Drainage will entirely change its . character, and eminently fit it for that jj. jther change of deepening and enriching. Meanwhile, on land where the water " ine is lower the work of improvement ?' nay go on until the whole is reclaimed, [f farmers only knew what advantage ny within their reach, the work would it once be begun. There is no excuse; iny one may begin on a small scale, the a jenefit increasing the means for further ti idvancement, till the task is accom- n plished, doubling the value of the farm. E ?F. 0.. in Country Gentleman. n ii Household Hint*. Si Keep tea in a close chest or canister. ^ Keep coffee by itself, as its odor affects v ither articles. v Bread and cake should be kept in a tin p w nw nf A JVJ*\ KJL OLl'UVJ JlitL Butter that is made in September and 0 October is the best for winter use. a Si Oranges and lemons keep best wrapped r iloso in sott paper and laid in a drawer i\ Lard should be hard and white, and P ;hat which is taken from a hog over a v year old is the best. r Soft soap should be kept in a dry place n in a cellar, andi should not be used till p ;urce moniutj oiu. s To select nutmegs pick them with a ^ pin. If they are good the oij will in- ^ stantly spread around the puncture. 11 Meals of any kind should not be tl washed, but wiped with a towel to pre- b 3erve the juices and quality. c Not for Joe: Joseph was a scoffer and a " bad lot" generally. Meeting an officer of the 3' American Bible society the other day, is he chucklingiy asked: " You give out a h good many Bibles in the course of tl year?" The officer said: "Yes, very v many." "And what do you suppose a becomes ot them?" "They fall into c hands that need thera, I doubt not." C "Well," said Joseph, producing a b fcook with the look ot a man who would e say, " Now I've got you," " where do J you suppose I got that?" The man of o Bibies couldn't say. " Got it in a rum s shop. You gave it to a sailor and he u sold it tor a glass ot rum!" "Well," 3 Sitid the other, " I am glad it has fallen li into your hands, Joseph. I don't know t any one who needs it more." Joseph c doesn't know as he made much of a e point after all.?Boston Transcript. c. i: "Uneasy lies ttie head that wears a t crown;'1 but tar more uneasy sits the 1 amatucr on horseback. 1 ' / - .? 4 ' A FATAL LANDSLIP. Detailed Accounts of a Terrible Disaster at the Hill-Town of Nalnl Tat, India. A Calcutta dispatch to the London Times says: Naini Tal, a hill station in the Kumaon district, and the summer headquarters of the northwest provinces government, was, on the afternoon of the 18th, the scene of a terrible catastrophe. In order to understand the details, it is necessary to explain that the place differs in one important respect from other Himalayan sanitoria. Instead of being perched on a series of bill-tops, like Simla, Mussoorie and Darjeeling, Naini Tal lies for the most part in a atnau oasin, me greater pari oi whL:h is occupied by a lake, a mile long, and which is dominated on all sides by lofty mountains. Landslips on a small 3cale have been matters of not infrequent occurrence there, and it has been often pointed out that many of the houses were most unsafe. No serious measures, however, have ever been taken tt> prevent accidents, and up to the end of the week before last the regular inhabitants and a crowd of summer visitors lontinued to live in a fool's paradise, rhe station has the reputation of being ;he prettiest in the Himalayas. It is the snly one in which lake and mountain jcenery is combined. Naturally it is a favorite resort of visitors, and up to the noment of the accident their numbers were being daily increased by people running up from the plains to spend the lutumn holidays in the hills. Rain be;an to fall heavily at Naini Tal on the ivening of Thursday, the 16th, and sontinued almost without internission till noon on the 19th. )n Saturday morning the <1 anger nrst jecame apparent to the most careless, k small landslip occurred near the Vicoria hotel, carrying away an out-buildng and killing an ayah and child. Mr. raylo*, the magistrate in charge of the tation, with a body of police and a working party from the depot, under Captain Balderston, Twenty-fourth foot, tation staff officer, immediately retired to the spot and commenced to dear away the debris, and try to divert he source of a torrent which threatened he hotel and some other houses. The lotel was full of visitors, including Mr. rustice and Mrs. Straight. The waning in the morning gave them all time o seek safety elsewhere, but some, unortunately, sought shelter in the library -a portion of the assembly rooms milding close to the lake. About 1:30 'clock the catastrophe happened. An ye-witness thus describes it: "A noise, , vision of parting earth and moving rees, a rush of matter toward the lake, roar water and of falling material, nd then a deep brown smoke, rising in low wreaths through the gloom and iirious rain. A great wave of water, aused by the precipitation of part of the ssembly rooms and an immense mass f earth into the lake, swept across its mgth some five feet high. It dashed ver the sluice gates at the entrance of [ie gorge with such power as to sweep way several persons standing by ttiem. ir Henry Ramsay, commissioner of oimanon, was all but carried away by ie wild rush of the waters. A correspondent of the Pioneer gives a lost graphic account, which I abridge 9 lollows: At one o'clock allseeir/id rell, and the working party were busy t their task at the bottom of the precip;ous ascent which overhUDg tbe hotel. ,t about 1:30 o'clock Naini Tal was ;artled by a sudden and sullen roar, mder than the simultaneous crash of eavy guns, followed by a prolonged ambling as of distant thunder, and then y an ominous silence. Vast clouds of ust arose heavenward through the lurky atmosphere, enveloping in one ense 3hroud the track of land from the otel to Bell's shop, and onward to the ssembly rooms and the lake. The whole lace shook as though an earthquake n . \ nnnnn/4 TKrt mntniia e\f flin ltilru r an au f;ao3v;u. XiiC naicioui uno iuav jiwog I a moment far above their usual limit, ad swept in a massive wave toward the reir. Then all was still. From the ap of the lower spur, under which the rictoria hotel had stood a moment bejre, down to the edge of the cricket round, nothing was to be seen but a asfc expanse of loose earth, beneath rhich lay buried hotel and garden, road nd orderly room. It was as though ame giant had dropped half a mountain n the spot, blottiDg out in a moment very feature of the scene, tilling up the ollows and reducing to one dead slope II that laybel^w. Deep below lay the rorking party. Not a vistage of them ma tr> hn aupn nnlv Hie Innfi hillside. iient and dark. Meanwhile, the cricket nd polo grounds presented a strange ontrast to the gentle sweep above 'ow^rd the pavilion they were intact, ive for the streams of water pouring in 1 every direction, but on the other side ras simply an enormous mound of vast xtent and varying height, a tangled lass of broken walls and roofs, fallen rees and heaped up earth in horrid conlsion, with spoils of the shop ando: er.y room. Saddest of all was the pectacle of the few corpses that were isible among the ruins. Never was ttvoc more sudden, more awful, or lore complete. Without a moment's rarning, without a premonitory rumble ) awaken suspicion, down came the normous lundslide, buryiug in deadly mbrace the hotei and the working arty beliind, engulfing orderly-room nd shop, assembly rooms and library, rith almost every living soul they conlined. Of the number of people in the liop all save four, of whom three were romen, were swept away. A sadder jene I never saw. It was worse than a attlefield. The Fortunes of War. Turkey's constant wars have offered rich field to foreign soldiers of forme, whose adventures would afford laterial for many a sensation no\el. larly In the present century an Englishlan of rank picked up a homeless boy 1 the streets of Edinburg, sent him to chool, and finally apprenticed him to a unsmith in the High street. Years assed, and he had almost forgotten the rhole affair, when, while serving as a olunteer in the Russo-Turkish camaign of 1829, he was captured by some Llbanian irregulars. The latter plundred him of all he had, and seemed bout to take his life, when a tall, liandnmn vrinn hlazitipr with ripcnratinns. ushed forward and sternly ordered liem away. Then, turning to the risoner, be greeted him in broad Scotch srith, "IIoo arc ye, sirP I'm varraglad o see ye!" The astonished captive then ecognized in the magnificent comlander before him his ragged little rotege, Tommy Keith, of the High treet, now a Turkish general, with the itle of Ibrahim Aga. The Edinburg Iussuiman laughed heartily at his mazement, and adding several valuable resents to the plunder which he forced be Albanians to restore, sent back his enefactor in safety to the Russian :imp. The Japanese Islands* The area ot Japan is about 150,000 quare miles, comprising nearly 3,000 ?::inds. mostly small. Of the four large siands Yesso is mostly mountainous, hough having some extended plains rell adapted to the productiou of wheat nd rye. The island of Sagalian was eded to Russia in 1875. Yesso and Jurule islands are full of valuable tirn er. The forests of Japan are mostly vergreen. In all about one-tenth oi apan is cultivated, and only one-fourth f that adapted to cultivation?an area carcely greater than the State of Illiiois. Y?;t the population sustained is 3,000,000. Of course the population urgely depends upon iish, ot whicn here is a surprising abundance, At;riiHure has hardly made any advancenent. In three centuries the total proluct of the country hits scarccly been ncreased. The tea culture now amounts o nearly 25,000,000 pounds annually. Che vield of silk is something over ,000,000. TIMELY TOFIOS. The house of Peleg Barker, in Pembroke, Mass., is supposed to be the Oldest house i? the United States. In the spring of 1629 Mr. Barker's great-grpat great grandfather and Frederick Davis built a fort of stone and mortar, with portholes from which to defend themselves against]the Indians. The fort has been used as a dining-room by the Barker family for years. The main house ;s a two-story building, and is only ten years younger than the part that formed the fort. The house is furnished throughout with old furniture. Sir G. W. Des Vceux, governor of the Fiji islands, talked with a Chicago Twits reporter while on his way across the continent. Des Voaux is an Englishman, but for years has been one of the 2,000 whites who live among the 150,000 natives on the eighty islands forming the Fiji group. He said that until three yesrs ago the mountain region of Ovalan was occupied by ferocious cannibals numbering about i0,000, and given beyond question to man-eating in their festival ceremonies. These savages are now under effectual subjugation. The governor predicts prosperity to enlightened Fijians. The nation that may advance with liUoLiic mirunuuo agamob uau>iu u n w years hence must be prepared to count the cost. In 1872 Japan established an arsenal at Tokio, Osaka and Oji, on plans furnished by French artillery officers. Three years later, so well had the native workmen learned their duties, the Tokio arsenal turned out 93,000 caps, 41,000 ball and blank cartridges, 101,000 Snider cartridges and 20,000 rounds of artillery ammunition. Al the Osaka arsenal during the first year of its completion 200 four-pound bronze field-guns were finished, and 100 fourpound mountain howitzers, besides the wood and iron work of several field batteries, and 3,000 sets of harness and horse equipments. While a congregation of 500 persons was leaving an upper room in which the thixd mass had been concluded near Manchester, England, a short time as?o, one of the beams running from wall to wan coiiapsea. a large portion 01 me floor gave way. i recipitating eighty or a hundred persons into the schoolroom beneath, a distance of nearly twenty feet. A woman died directly after being recovered from the ruins, and twenty other persons were conveyed to the infirmary, five or six of them having fractured legs. There being only one way of egress from the room, those in that part of the church nearest the altar had to he rescued through the windows by means of ladders. Subsequent examination showed that the accident occurred through the giving way of an iron column supporting the beam. An interesting copvrieht case has just been dccided at New York. After the death of Washington Irving his nieces enjoyed the revenue from the sale of hi3 writings, and controlled their publication under the copyright. This copyright having expired a firm of booksellers prepared to issue a volume of selections from the great writer's productions, under the title of "Irving's Works." The Misses Irving and their publishers at once sought to obtaui a permanent injunction, claiming that after the expiration of his copyright an author, or his heirs, has, or have, a common lavr right to control the publiffttinn nf liia works. Thev also claim a trade-mark right in the title " Irving's Works." The suit was tried in supreme court, special term, last summer. Judge Miles Beach has decided the action in favor oi" the defendants. ?? Some one inquired the other day why peopleshake handson meeting, and why the greeting wouldn't be more expressive if they rubbed their noses together. The satro iconoclast probably writes in the One fir All on "Substitutes for Kissing." " Some rude races," he tells us, "have strange substitutes for kissing. Of a Mongol father a traveler writes: 'He smelt from time to time the head of his youngest son, a mark of paternal tenderness usual among the Mongols, instead of embracing.' In the same way, according to another traveler, ' the Burmese do not kiss ench other in the western fashion, but apply the lip and nose to the cheek and make a ( strong inhalation.' Moreover, the ramoans salute by 'juxtapositions ol , roses, accompanied not by a rub but a , hearty smell.' There is Scriptural pre- , cedent for such customs. When blind j Isaac was in doubt whether the son who . came to him was Jacob or not, ' he i J smelt, the smell of his raitnent and , blessed him.'" L The actual strength oi the Turkish , army is, owing to the impossibility of obtaining accurate information respecting its distribution, the effective of the several units, etc., extremely difficult to estimate, but according to a calculation ' made by a Prussian officer, there were , altogether from 150,000 to lfiO.OOO men under arms at the end of 1879 Aaother , Prussian officer, however, esti mates that ( at the close of the last year there were not more than 110,000 Turkish soldiers in European Turkey, and still anoiher , estimate puts the number at between " 95,000 and 100,000; but of these more , than halt may be set down as recruits. , On the Greek frontier, however, a large number of irregular troops have assemnled; but the strength of these, as well as ot the Albanian league, cannot be even approximately estimated. The men of the regular army are well-armed, but a large number of them, being recruits called to the colors during t! e past summer, are only very imperfectly trained; while, as officers, non-commissioned officers and men alike have received no pay so i o speak of for two years, the discipline of the army is greatly impaired. Almost every New England village of much prosperity now ha3 its Society for Promoting Rural Improvement, the work of which is to induce and direct tasteful architecture and gardening. Kishop Clark, of Rhode Island, in a Ledger article, emphasizes the value of these societies by describing Footbridge in 1870 and in 1880. This is Fortbridge as it was: The houses bordering the main street are all inclosed by rail fences, picket fences and dilapidated stone walls, with creaky turnstiles and gates half unhinged, and drunken posts leaning against an old stump for support; patches of unshorn grass and weedy gravel, faggots of bark and wood and brush, fragments of ancient carts, and broken plows and disabled harrows, Leaps of mortar and stones, piles of bottles, and all other conceivable forms of rubbish dumped Into the gutter. The barn9 and sheds and dwelling houses are all much of the same pattern and the same color, if they can be said to nave any color at all; cold, bare, dreary,with no piazzas or porches, or window hoods, or any other attempt at ornamentation. This is Fortbridge a3 it is now: Most of the old bouses reappear, but with broad piazzas, tasteful porches and bay windows peeping out from the vines and flowers; with altered roofs and fancy chimnevs, and rich coloring. The ugly fences are gone, tlowers bloom in front of all the houses, the streets are all reformed, the weeds and rubbish are seen there no more. Good, clean sidewalks have been laid lrom one ? nd of the village to the other, and the roadwjiy is so line and smooth that even Mr. Bonner would not hesitate to drive the marvelous Rams or any other of his swift footed steeds through the town at auy pace of which they might be capable. The barren common has been converted into a park, the duck ponds \r.-o roui.wijtic l ikes, with a swan or two sailing about. A Romance in Skeleton. A calm, delightful aufumn night? ' A moon's mysterious, golden light-A maiden a: wuaiow Height, In robea ol pure and fleecy white. The little wicket gate ajar? -> A lover tripping irom afar, With tunetul voice and light guitar, To woo hia radiant guiding star. A lute with bolt, insidiou twaagOh, how the doting lover sang! A bulldog, with remoneleea fang? -' ? /* a gnfj ? ucnuuy paug* >. r. .. A maiden lainting with affrightA lover in a sickening plight? A bulldog chuckling with delight? A wild, delirious autumn night! ?Kansas City Timts, ^ * * HUMOROUS.. ' ; . rf An upstart?^miwhroam. - g Kissing is "fne Wt preservation'of all hearts." * ;s" ? The potato masher is considered a good * home club. The barber's apprentice i?*usaally a strapping fellow.?Boitcn Tmi&fipt. . The Philadelphia BuUeiiv -"calls, a ; stolen suit of clothes a lit of abstraction.,* How to turn people's heads?Come td *1 . a concert late in a pair of squeaking boots. . An individual who boasted of'mov-* j, ing in select circles " was afterward as-. certaintd to be the clown in a circus. * Some people are so constituted as to J be unable to see anything beautiful in . this life. They cannot even see anything beautiful in a .uirror. ^ The only time a girl uoesn't see eveq[ . other fellow on the street is when she has j ast got a letter froqfciier own fipllota * and is reading it as she. goes along.?-^ Kentucky S'ate Journal.' " An elephant traveling out West drank up all the water in the tender of the locomotive, and the train was obliged to * stop. His trunk should have been checked.?New Haven Register, The man who seeks to win a renutation for prodigal generosity by publicly astonishing some poor oeggar wita tne presentation oi a .lollar, rarely surprises iris washerwoman in that way.?Otndn- " noli Saturday Night. /. When Doctor H. and'Lawyer A..were walking arm in arm, a wag said to a friend: "These two arejust equal tp one highwayman." " Why,"' askpd bis . " /riend. "Because," rejoined the wag, "It is a lawyer and a doctoj>-your. money or your life." ..' Gloomily the merchant sat. looklng over the books, and through the fe* remaining papers in the same, the morning after the junior partner had $ot away to South America with alacrity *and $42,000 ot the firm's money. A con-. soling friend says to the merohant; " Ah, well, you'll work out all right. There's no great loss without eorfe? gaio." "True," sighed the man.of trade with a bright light dawning in his face: "true, my wife went with him "?Burlington Haw key t. * * Baby's Bow Legs. These need not cause anxiety in all cases. If the child is healthy, and has good, nourishing food and pure air?the two great essentials for making good blood?it wi ll probably outgrow its bow legs naturany enougu aa na Birengm increases. Rubbing the legs with your hand in the morning may help to strengthen and straighten them, hold- * ng them straight as you rub theui. If the child is still quite young, it may be ki pt from standing on its feet for a few month?, giving nature time to straighten the crookedness while the limbs are growing stronger. A carriage and high chairs are helps toward carrying cut this plan. All the things' that have been mentioned as curative agencies may well be used as preventives. A healthy child, without wholesome food, and pure air to breathe, if kept from standing and walking, while too young and weak, will not have, bow legs. Scrofulous children are more Jikely to suffer in this way, and -those that are very fleshy. Don't talie" pride in"your fat baby. Excess of fat is really a disease instead of a sign of health. Fatten ydur pigs as much as you fancy, buf do not deliberately fatten your children/ Give them plenty of good growing food, and > they will be plump enough for symme- I try, and not too heavy for comfortable ictiVity. It is no wonder that the lit tiff legs bend under the heavy wefjftt of jome fat little toddlers. Such^fchildren should not be encouraged to stand or walk until they have grown strong enough to.do so of their own'accord, md then should not be allowed to walk too much. ' . Horse-Meat as Food. ' . The Parisian, an Eng'ish pajper pub lished in l'aris, says: Some very interesting statistics have bef-n published by the society for promoting the use of horse-flesh and the flesh of asset* ?nd mules as food, showing how steadily the consumption of these articles of diet liave been increasing in Paris and the provinces since the foundation of the society in 1866. The weight has increased from 171,300 pounds in 1866 to 1.982,020 pounds in 1879. In the princi; al cities of the provinces the consumption of horse-flesh may be considered to have fairly taken root. At Marseilles, in 1870, there were 599 horses eaten: 1,031 in 1875 and 1,533 in 1878. At Nancy, 165 in 1873, over 350 in 1876 and 705 in 1878; at Rheiras, 291 in 1874. 423 in 1876 and 384 in 1878: at Lyons 1.839 in 1873, and 1.313 in 1875. In both the latter cases some difficulties had been thrown in the way by the town authorities, as was the case recently at Chalons-surMarne, where the mayor fixed the price of horse-flesh at s higher rate than that of beef. The average price of horse- y meat is from twenty-five to thirty cents per pound. Each horse furnishes about 200 kilogrammes (400 weight) of meat, which is capable of being prepared in many by no means unappetizing ways, such as pot-aufeu boiled, roast, hashed, haricot, jugged, filet, etc: According to the Buildina News a , i piece of linen has been found at Memphis containing 540 picks to the inch, and it is recorded that one of the Pharaohs sent to the Lydian king, Croesus, a corselet made of linen and wrought with gold, each-fine thread of whicn was composed of 360 small threads twisted together! The ancient Egyptians wove a fabric called the "linen of justice," or "justification." * So beautiful and valuable w:is it that It was esteemed the most acceptable offering to the " Restorer of Life." A few hand loo?ns can still be seen at work in the Eastern bazars of Cairo, the cloth woven in which rivals in texture, color and design the finest glass screens of Munich/ An event, probably without precedent in railway annals, has happened at Proving. A passenger train leaving Paris at 5:30 p. M. and due at Provins at 8:20 p. M., arrived safeiy at its destination, but on getting down to let the passengers out of the cars the guard was astcunded to find neither passengers nor passenger cars. They had forgotten to hook the cars on in Paris. A gentlemen traveling in a railway carriage was endeavoring, with considerable earnestness, to impress some argument upon a fellow passenger who was seated opposite him, and who appeared rather dull of apprehension. At length, being slightly irritated, he exclaimed, in a louder rone: " Why,sir, it's as plwin as A B CI'' "Thatmay be," quietly repii?d tolhcr. " but I am 1) E F!" .. si