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1 ; ??????mmmmmm ???' ABBEVILLE PRESS AND BANNER!1 BY HUGH WILSON AND H. T. WAKDLAW. ABBEVILLE, S. C.. WEDNESDAY, MAY 31, 1882. NO. 52. VOLUME XXVI. I | | - mi llll I _ _ IBILUB.1 LI L LI II _U I I ? ?1 T - ????? "The Eternal Goodness." "Olt, flics da, with whom my feet have trod The quiet aisles of prayer, (i!ad witness ! > your zeal_for God, And love of men I bear. "I trace voflr lines of argumen', Your logic, linked and strong, I weigh as one who dreads dissent, And fears a doubt as wrong. 'But still my human hands are weak To hold your iron creeds; Against tho words ye bid me speak My heart within me pleads. "Who fathoms tho Eternal Thought? Who talks of scheme or plan? TV,n ia Hrtrl t Tf? nMwln+li nnf The poor device of man. "I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground Ye tread with boldness eliod, * I dare not fix with meto and bound The love and power of God. ' Ye praise bis justice; even such His pitying love I deem; Ye seek a king; I fain would toncli The robe that hath no seam. " Ye see the curso which overbroods A world of pain and loss; I hear our Lord's beatitudes And prayer upon tho cross. "More than your school-men teach, within Myself, aas, I know I Too dark ye cannot paint the tin, Too small the merit show. ' I bow my forehead in the dust. I veil mine eyes for shamo, And urge, with trembling self-distriwt A prayer without a claim. 4< I see the wrong that round me lies, I feel the guilt within; 1 hear with groan the travail cries, The world confess its sin. "Yet in the maddening; maze of things, And tossed by storm and flood, To one fixed stake my spirit clings; I know that God is good ! "Not mine to look when cherubim And seraphs may not see, But nothing can be good in Him Which evii is in me. "The wrong that pains my soul below, I dare not throne above ; I know not of this hate?I bnow Hi* coodness aud His love ! "I dimly guess from blessings known, Of greater out of eight; And with tlie chastening Psalmist own His judgments, to>, are right. "I long for household voices gone, For vanished smiles I long, But God had led my dear ones on, And he can do no wrong. " I know not what the future hath Of marvel or surprise, Assured a'one that life and death His mercy underlies. "And if my heart and llenh are weak To bear an untried pain, The bruised reed Ho will not break, But strengthen and sustain. "No offering of my own I hive, No works by faith to prove; I can bnt give tho gifts He gave, And plead and love, for love. "And so, beside the Silent Sea, I wait the muffled oar; No harm from Him can come to me On ocoan or on shore. * " I know not where His islands lift Their frondeA palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and c^re. "Oh, brothers; if my faith is vain, If hopes like these betray, Fray for me that my feet may gain n JL JUU QU1C oiiu duioi naj. " And Thou, oh Lord! by whom are seen Thy creatures as they be, Forgive me if too close I lean My human heart on Thee." ?J. G. Whitiier. ELISE. i. She stooi among the summer meadows. dreamilv watchiDcr the clouds float toward the far hills. Her bright hair | fell loosely over her shoulders and i caught the glinting sunbeams in its ! meshes. Her hands were carelessly j folded, and round her waist she had | bound a wreath of flowers. Anon a butterfly would light at her feet, then j rise and clumsily flutter off to a safer 1 distance. She heard the hushed sigh 1 of the wind through the clover; and j from afar there came the bleating of sheep. Soon it grew nearer, and at the ' head of the flock strodo their master, j his towering form sharp cut against the glowing sky. He beckoned her away; but she itood there, idly wondering. Again ho beckoned her. ??T ?i -i? -V n i \L am not uirtuu ui juur bueup, she said; "you may lead them past me." "Not that," he answered ; "but they [ fear you." "I would not harm them," she re-1 pb'ed, and walked slowly toward tbe : flock. But they stared at her timidly, when she spoke to them they fled, and j "Why do they fear me?" she asked. "Becausethey do not know you." I should like to know them," she' said, lifting her dark blue eyes till she i met his gaze. "Then come to-morrow ^to yonder! hillside." He drew a flute from his pocket, fitted ! the pieces together, and strode past her. I Then putting it to his lips he played a ' weird, sad melody, till the cheep hud- j died around him, when he led them away. On the morrow Victor, tbe shepherd, sat beneath the birches, waiting. At j his side a streamlet babbled, singing its 1 way through mossed banks down to the flowery valley. He was reading; but 3 11 1... ...U i:/l U2? now anu men no wjuiu mi ma eyes < from the page and look away toward j the hills with a sad, gloomy longing in j his face. Presently the eound of approaching footsteps fell upon hi? ear. The branches parted, and Elise stood before him. "Ah, is it you ?" he exclaimed. '{, " Yes," answered she, laughing "it ' is I, Elise; and who may you be, Mister Shepherd?" "Victor De Montfort," he replied, T- while a hot flush overspread his face. "De Montfort r" 6he asked, in astonishment. " Yes. That was my father's name." She would have asked him more, but his stern look frightened her, and she was silent. " And you would know my sheep ?" he questioned. " Yes 1" answered she, timidly. He took his little flute and played nnftlv. till Elise almost fancied that he had caught the liquid notes from the brooklet at his side ond turned them into music. Slowly the Bheep approached, but, seeing Elise, remained stationary at a short distance. Then one bolder than the rest came forward, and Victor called j it by name. Bat when Elise put forth her hand to touch its head it turned and fled. "It fears you still," said Victor;" you must come again to-morrow I" Elise noticed the book whioh he had i laid aside on her approach. It was a oopy of Homer. And as she sat there on the rock beside him, while the soft wind whispered in the leaves overhead, 1+*% It A? 4U A /\ C (( A aViiIIao' Ilio Irviu UCI uua dlvxj u 1 Wrath" andtho " woes unnumbered" that sprang from it, till his strong frame quivered with excitement and his dark eyes kindled fiercely. Eliue sat listening and wondering, crushing with her dainty foot a violet that bloomed close up against the stohe on which she was sitting. She wondered at tbe stories that h* told her, and at the fierce eloquence ol the words in which he clothed them, She wondered how he, a simple shep herd, had come to know so much; and. last of all, she wondered why hedidnoi praise her beauty, as the young men iz the great city were wont to do. j Rut when he had finished he caught sight of the trampled flower at her feet, and cried: I " Ah ! Yon have crushed it!" I 1 r" It is only a violet," she answered, with a laugh. j "Only a violet!" he muttered, fiercely, j as she sped down the hillside. " Only j a violet, and what am I ?" | He took his flute and sounded a j sharp, shrill strain that echoed wildly among the glens and copses. But as j tho sheep gathered round him and I rubbed their heads against his knees, j the music sank into a subdued, plainj tive tone, and the shepherd, snatching ! his book, led his flock rapidly home! ward. j The months of tho summer rolled j peacefully onward. Tho green fields i mellowed into gold, and the reapers garnered the heavy grain. The days grew shorter, and at night white fogs hung over the valley. Every day the shepherd tended his flock upon the hillside, and every day Elise?tho laughing, wayward Elise? came to him to read to her, or tell her the strange stories he had learned. And Elise, too, changed with the changing months. This strange, strong man had thrown a subtle spell about her. She pondered over his words and dwelt upon his thoughts till she caught their fiery energy, and hungered to hear him speak them again. She did not laugh so often now, and when the dusk came she did not care to : romp with tho village girls on the green, Knt Trrmlrl tfonl nu-ov fn Vior rlinmVittrarnl -4W " %?v% sit at lier open casement, watching the st irs and the moonlit hills, while a sense of nameless longing filled her 6onl. Sbe did not ask herself what these things meant., bnt, without a question, yielded to the current that was closing round her, letting it bear her whither it might. One day they had been reading Henei together, and the sad spirit of the poems kept them silent after the book had been laid aside. Elise spoke at last. <1 T ron of loarra rnn cr\r\r\ Vinfrvi* " JL UUOV ilU'U J VU OUV/Uj ? 1VVVA* "Leave me I" he cried, starting to his feet, with a flushed face and a fierce, passionate look in his eyes. Then he grew pale, aud sat down again in silence. " Yes," she said, with a light, forced laugh. " You silly Victor, I must leave you I My father is coming here tomorrow, and I am to go back with him to the city." But he answered her nothing. All through the afternoon the heavy clouds had been looming up against the West. Now they had spread themselves over the sky in thick masses, and the air was hushed into an ominous silence. As Elise spoke a heavy wind rushed through the pines on the hilltop, and the rumble of distant thunder fell upon "I must hasten home," she said "before the sto?m comes." "No," answered he, pointing to an j eddy in the brooklet, where the henvy i drops were already plashing, " the | storm is here now. See. tho eheep! Lave sought shelter, and you must stay i in yonder hill hut with me till it j passes." Elise looked up at the angry sky and | trembled. Above her towered a mass- j ive rock crowned with a smgle pine that pointed weirdly toward the frowning heavens. The willows shivered on the banks; the brook leaped over the rocks with a harsh, hissing sound. Suddenly the air was filled with a sheet of blue flame that shot out forked tongues in every direction. There was a terrific crash. The earth shook and the pi*>e above them was pplintered to its rootd. Elise cast uooir Victor a look of speechless terror. Then she stretched out her hands toward him, and faltered, ' Oh, Victor, save me 1" and tottered and was falling to the earth; bnt with a glad cry he canght her in his arms, kissed her passionately and rushed with her to the hut. Then she opened her eyes. "Is it you, Victor?" "Yes, my darling!" he answered, almost fiercely. Then she "wound her arms about his i neck, and clinging to him convulsively burst inco tears. And Victor sat there holding his priceless burden, while the wild storm raged over the valley, and the frightened sheep huddled closer together under the shedf. IX. When Victor met the father of Elise nn tKo fnlIntelnct nvonincr nrul Viim the story of bis love, the latter fttared | ab him in mute astonishment. "What!'' he exclaimed, at last. "You have dared to love my Elise?" ' Yes," answered the shepherd, with ! great, unconscious dignity. "You low-born villain!" shrieked the ! old man. " Leave me at once, and 1 never again let my eyes rest on your j ureed face!" And Victor left him?left him with- j out speaking a word, and with a dull, i heavy pain crushing his soul into sense- j lessness. But the nightsmiled peacefully down j upon him as he walked along, and be hiud him the lights of the mansion ! glimmered throuph the gloom. Was that her form among the trees? | His heart gave a wild leap, and then , stood still in his breast. " Victor!" she whispered. <:Oh, my darling!" he groaned, taking her coid hands in his. Then he told her all?told her of the | glad light which she had shed upon his ; desolate life ; told her of the wide gulf j that must forever yawn between them j now; told her of the coming years, with i their rounds of hopeless, heartless work, j and that she, Elise?his own Elise? must be his own no longer. And Elise listened timidly to this great, passionate man as he laid bare to her the struggles and the weakness of i his heart; but when he had finished i she said, 6oftlv : "You must hope, Victor, you must hope.' "What!" he exclaimed, helplessly, as j some stunned child trying to recall itb consciousness. She looked at him long and tear- i fully. Then, throwing her arms about j him, she sobbed: "I will wait for you, Victor. Work and hope for me." There are times in the lives of men when even the strongest feel weaktimes when a gentle, timid woman may become a tower of strength, and with her faithfnl, trusting love minister Gods sweetest consolations to the crushed and bleeding spirit. Elise made Victor strong again. Once he had looked upon ht r as a frivolous girl; she had grovn to be a woman j now?a woman who c;imo to him as an | angel from the upper heavens, and by I her gracious, loving words sweetened and sanctified his whole li'e. Long ho held her in his arms until the lights in the mansion disappeared. "You will trust me, Victor?" she murmured, at length. " I will trust you," he said, solemnly; and iu a moment ho was gone. He strode down the avenue wi'hfi^m, I elastic step. He saw the stirs reposing I r>r> fVio npnppfnl hnsnm of the nieht. ar.d | a calm and r^tful hope entered his eonl. The moon glittered on tho distant j hilltops, und ho thought of tho mad ! bustling world beyond tho valley, into which he must plunge now and win a j name and a foitune for his Eliso. A week later and he had sold liis flocks, and with his email capital had 1 embarked for strange land.". His destination was the western coast of Africa. Thero fortunes were rapidly made, if ono conld but stand the cli? > mate. But Victor was strong as tho i young oaks on the hillside, and no dismal apprehensions of fever and sick> nesa threw their pall upon his hope*, f Why dwell upon his life in this for. eign land? For four long years he toiled with unflinching vigor, strug, gling, hoping, waiting for the day when & he might claim Elise for his bride, i The laboring seasons toiled along in their monotonous course. The suns ol ; summer parched- the ground, and the ! winter's rains covered it again with ! flowers. The fever smote the little town and many perished. Ships from strange lands glided slowly into the ' harbor, and new faces appeared on tho i streets. i But Victor worked, scarcely heeding the changes that were going on around him. His face became bronzed, and the firm lines deepened themselves in his brow and around his mouth. Ho spoke but little, and tho men who met ! him daily shrugged their shoulders as he passed and called him " the man of mystery " But his wealth grew, and he cared for little else. At last his unceasing toil was rewardpd and hp st.nnd nnnn t.lifi rlpnlr nf i the vessel that was to carry him to his | native land. His chest was filled with [ notes ana gold and a strange, new joy crept into his heart and shono from his dark eyes. "Do you think she will stand the voyage?" asked a landsman. A sorry-looking craft she is !" added another. But the captain laughed. " Time enough to think about these things, lads, when the storm comes!" The sails were hoisted. A diminutive monkey that had been gamboling in 1 the rigging fell into the sea and was seized by sharks. Its mother sent up a 1 pitiful wail, slowly crept up to Victor's | feet and eyed him lugubriously; but he ' heeded her not. 1 m? l _ .a I u t l.:, ?: n,1 -L WUUtjr Utt^a UIUU^UU lillU WllUiU eight of home?a blue, misty ridge on the lar horizon?and they said that ho Bhould soon see the summits of his native hills. It is trae that thj captain had told him that morning that the vessel was leaking Bomewhat, but lie had other thoughts to occupy his mind. He fell into a pleasant reverie. The sailors bustled round him executing the captain's orders, but he seemed not to be aware of their presence. He was thinking of Elise. Was she still the same truBtful Elise, and was she still waiting for him? He felt blissfully certain that she was, and his face lit up with smiles. His pet monkey leapt t upon the bulwarks, and startled him e with a dismal cry. t " Be still, you brute!" he said, t savagely. ' 5 Then his eye fell upon the sailors, <3 who were gathered around the boats. t "What is the matter?" he asked, ap- ? proaching them. F Suddenly one rushed up tho hatch- t way, and shouted to the captain : fo " She is sinking, sir, she cannot float ^ five minutes I" ^ 11 Lower away?'' cried the captain. c The boats fell into the water. d "In with you, lads, quick! for your s lives! In with you, sir!" said he, ad- u dressing Victor, who was staring help- & lessly at the sailors. t, He obeyed mechanically, but a sudden thought flashed across his mind?a a maddening thought, full of untold hor- P ror. c It TT71 _1 L 1 - J3 % , " wnere is my uuobi/ uh urieu. * "No time for your chest I" shrieked 9 the captain, shoving him downward, i< "See, she is settling already P' a " Oh, heaven I" he groaned; and they a dragged him into the boat. c In a moment they were ofl. ti "There 6he goes!" said the captain, a touching him and pointing to the sink- 1 ing ship. 1< Tho monkey was sitting upon the ? bulwarks, grinning at the receding boats. But as the waves floated over *1 the deck she rushed to the masthead, a: shrieking?a shriek that floated over ^ tho water.- like the wail of a lost upirib ^ and made the stout hearts of the sailors g quake with fear. Then .she sank]into a' the hollow, gurgling sea,' never to rise Victor buried his face his hand. r< His joy, his hope, all the brightness of his life was gone, and the pitiless fu- A ture closed around him with relentless I j.1 power. w At night he found himself in the n streets of a strange city. Aimlessly ne P walked through the busy thorough- 1' fares, seeking rest and finding none. ti His brain throbbed wildly, and at his ri heart the insatiate pain was gnawing, e He pressed his hands to his forehead g and peered into the faces of the crowd, il They stared at him coldly and passed A on. He was a stranger, and they cared n not for him. It was after midnight. The hum of If traffic had ceased, and the streets were a silent. The click of the watchman's b footsteps on the pavement or a snatch of ribald song shouted by some noisy t! reveler out into the sweet night were 1 the only sounds that disturbed the c tranquil air. e Suddenly there was a cry of'' Fire!" d ?a dreadful, shuddering cry, that o throbbed and rang through the startled t] air, till the faces of sleepers grew pale, a and they awoke trembling. It was t] cancht un bv watchmen on the corners I and echoed by watchers on the house- g tops. It called forth the life of the city, c Out poured the crowd from gloomy b marble mansions, from gaudy saloons, e from foul basements and reeking alleys. 1* The flames grew fiercer at every moment. with a roar as of an increasing li tempest. Dense masses of fiery smoke ti rolled upward and spread themselves e above the doomed building. The crbwd ii was suddenly hushed into silence. At t! an upper window they caught sight of t! a blanched, terror-stricken face, and p through the roar of tho llames they * heard a voice of plaintivo pleadinjr. ii They cilled for ladders, but they b called in vain. They stood upon each other's shoulders, and sought to reach her, but fell down baffled. They tried the doors, but they were locked and . hnlfo<l -r WW"VM' JL " Make way!''cried the crowd, as a. D gigantic form rushed up tho marble ?( steps. He flung his massive sfciength a against the doors and they cracked, n snapped, but refused to open. Once ^ more ho rushed against them impetu- ^ ously and they yielded. v The crowd cheered, and the tears j( rolled down many a hardened face. Tho t( thick smoke rushed through the open ^ doorway and hid him from their sight. jJ Bat he found her at last, ^wrapped her _ in bis heavy coat, and staggered back ^ through tho flames. He could not 6ee. , He felt his way to the staircase, and the f fire burned the garments from his arms c and scorched his flesh. Blindly, madly, c he rushed downward. They saw him ^ at last, and sent up a wild hurrah. But t he did not hear it. They took tbe bur- j den from his arms; he reeled, staggered j and fell to the earth. Thoy lifted his hat and looked into g his face. It was Victor. He had risked ^ his life for one he knew not. And they , 1 . i, Al ? J 1 raisea mm genuy in xueir arms auu r bore him away. j When he awoke to consciousness it j was bright morning. Tbe sunlight streamed into the room in which he lay, ^ and the birds twittered merrily in the ^ garden without. He looked vaguely at ^ ! tbe ceiling above him and wondered , I where he was. Slowly the memory of , tho lire returned, and with it the mem! ory of tho terrible apjony that had ^ 1 prompted him to hazard his life; and | ! he wished that he had perished in the flames. Who had brought him here, j and who was it that he had rescued ? He looked around the room. The walls ! were hung with paintings, and by his bed stood a vase of flowers. A canary was singing in a gilded cage. He turned to watch it, and saw that some one was sitting at the window. Had he not seen that form somewhere ? He tried to remember. j A sucklen weakness seizea mm, ana | he could not think. Ho raised himself ! on his elbow, and looked lcng and i steadily at her. j That shapely head, with its rippling ! golden hair?sorely it could belong to ; none other than Elise ! He rubbed his ! eyes and looked again. j "Elise !" he whimpered, and fell back ! exhausted. She rose and knelt down beside him. Again he opened his eyes and whis! pered "Elise I" With a great, glad sob, she cried : " Oh, Victor, do you know me ?" " It is you, Elise, isn't it ?" he asked, faintly. She pressed her lips to hiB and broke into sobbing. The sweet, passionate l tear.3 of joy gave her relief at last, and j ! she answered : I "Yes, Victor, it is your own Elise." lie lay for a long time silent. "I am very weak, Elise." " Yon have been ill- for a longtime, dear, but you will get better now." He felt that he should get well, but a sudden thought crossed his mind. " Where is your father, my darling?" he asked. She stroked his hand very tenderly? the dear, scarred hand that meant so much to her?and the tears gathered in her eyes as she answered: " He is dead, Victor ; and I should diod, too, if you had not come to save me!' "Did I save you, Elise?" he muttered, dreamily. He closed his eyes. A flood of golden sunlight burst into the room, ana aancea merrny on wans ana carped From afar there came the hum of the great, noisy city. The canary in tho window heard it, and trilled his gladdest song. And Elise sat there holding her Victor's hand, while her heart was filled with sweetest music. Electric Lamps. If we examine one of the electric lamps in the streets we shall find it consists of two rods, one pointing upward from the bottom of the lamp the other hanging downward. The rods 3eem to touch, and the brilliant flame is exactly where they seem to meet. Once a day a man comes around with a bag of the rods. He takes out the old rods that were burned the nicrlit before ind places a new set in each lamp. \fter he has gone about, as if he were putting new wicks into the lamps, and ;ach is ready for its night's work, all ;he lamps are lighted in broad day, :o see that every one is in aroper trim, They are allowed to burn intil the men have walked about in the itreets and looked at each lamp. If all ire burning well, they are put out till t begins to grow dark. If one fails to jurn properly a man goes to that lamp o see what is the matter. The rods are nade of a curious black substance, like iharcoal, that is called carbon. When he lamp is out the two rods touch iach otlier. In order to light the lamp hey are pulled apart, and if you look at he flame through a smoked glass ou will see that the rods do not ; [uite touch. There is a small space letwcen their points, and this space is tiled with fire. Look at the other >arts of the rods or the copper wires hat extend along the streets. They lave no light, no heat, no sonnd. The . rires are cold, dark and silent. If we j rere to push the two rods in the lamp . lose together the light and heat would J lisappear, and the curious hissing j rr?an i /I TTTIitt in 9 T.nf UUUU VYUUIU CJUUp. ITUJ 10 I/IAAO i .UCb j :s go into the woods near some brook, , nd it may be that we can understand ] his matter. , Here is the brook, flowing quietly , long, smooth, deep and without a rip j Je. We walk beside the stream and ] ome to a place where there are high ( ocks and steep, stony banks. Here the , hannel is very narrow, and the water < 3 no longer smooth and silent. It boils nd foams between the rocks. There ( re eddies and whirlpools, and at last we | ome to the narrowest part of all. Here, , lie cnce dark and silent water roara nd foams in white, stormy rapids. ] 'here are sounds and furious , japing and rushing water and clouds j f spray, wnat is tne matter t >vny , i the smooth, dark water so white with | ige, bo impetuous, so full of sounds | ad turmoil ? The rocks are the cause. | 'he way is narrow and steep. The f 'aters are hemmed in, and there is a , rand display of flashing white foam } ad roaring waterfalls, as the waters ? truggle together to get past the nar- j 5W place. 1 It is the same with the electricity j owing through the large copper wires, j t passes down one wire into the other, j irough the lamp in silence and dark- ( ess, so loiig as the rods touoh and the ath is clear. When tho rods in the imp are pulled apart there is a space 3 be got over, an obstruction, like E ocks in the bed of the brook. The ? lectricity, like the water, struggles to j et over the hindrance in its path, and ; grows white-hot with anger, and ames and hisses as it leaps across the ? arrow space between the rods. There is another kind of electrio * imD nsed in houses< it has a smaller nd softer light, steady, white and very eautiful. In these lamps, also, we have somebing like the narrow place in the brook, 'hey are made with slender loops of arbon, inclosed in glass globes. The lectricity, flowing gently through a ark wiro, enters the lamp, and finds nly a narrow thread on which it can ravel to reach the home-going wire, nd, in its struggle to get paBt, it heats bo tiny thread of carbon to whiteness, jiko a live coal, this slender thread ives us mild, soft light, as long as the nrrent flows. It seems calm and still, ut it is enduring the same fury of the lectricity that is shown in the larger imps. This is the main idea on which these imps are made: A stream of olecricity is set flowing from a dynamo- , lectric machine through a wire until . i meets a narrow place or a break in ' he wire. Then it seeks to get past be obstrr.-iiion, and there is a grand I utting forth cf energy, and in this ] ray the elevtric force although itself | avisible, is made known to our eyes y a beautifnl light.?St. Nicholas. The Old Mississippi. 1 The first vessel built upon the banks ' f tho Mississippi was in 1542. When 1 )e Soto crossed the Mississippi he ' iade an exploration of tlie west Fide ' or some distance, but finding no gold nd suffering from want andthe loss of len and animals, he returned to tho ] auks of the river and determined to ] mild a fleet of vessels and attempt the 1 oyage to Mexico. He chose tho vil ige of Akamse (Arkansas) as the place ] d build his vessels. Soon after he was ' aben sick and died, and his companions] inclosed his body in the trunk of a I ;reen oak tree and sunk it in the mid- < ;le of the river in eighteen fathoms of i --1r> _/ l. ~ smer. x>eiuru 1110 ucmu ut> up- i >oiuted Louis de Moscoe his sue- I essor, win soon after De Soto's death 1 ommenced the building of bngan- i ines. This was certainly a wonderful ] indertaking in such a wilderness, but i )e Moecoe was equal to the emergency. 1 lo commanded all his officers to gather 1 ill the chains together which every loldier had to lead the captive Indian , vith, also to gather all the iron in , :amp, and to set up a forge to make lails with, also to have lumber cut. A Portuguese who was with the expedition iad learned to saw timber with along law ho had carried with him, and ho anglit the Spaniards how to use it. A jrenoesee, also one of the party, knew ;ho art of ship building, and iVHU XUUr UJtUttVUU UttipULlbUID) svho hewed the planks and timbers, jonstructed the brigantines, the calking being done by eome Sardinians with tow made from a plant resembling hemp. A cooper made for every brigantino two half hogsheads to carry the drinking water. Tho sails were made from old blankets and clothing they had preserved; tho ropeR were made of rawhides and the bark of trees. The stores for the voyage consisted of the. dried flesh of their horses, killed for the nnrnose. Indian com, dried bears' meat and other wild animals given them by the Indians. They departed from Akamse tho second day of July, 1543, with seven brigantinos, all well built except a3 to the planks, which were thin because of the nails being short. They had no decks to keep the water out. The current being strong and with the help of cars they descended the river swiftly. Each vessel towed a canoe at tho stern for foraging purposes. After a sixteen days' sail they reached tho uiouth of the river, and in sixty-two days reached tho river Panuco, in Mexico, with 311 men, 309 less than they landed with in Florida before starling on their journey to the Mississippi river or Iiio Grande as they called it. In several English provincial towns, bitohers who have only American berf sell all that they can procure. THE rARtt AM) HOUSEHOLD. Experiment* In Buttcr-itlnkHnsr. A series ef experiments continuing through an entire ye;ir have been made under the auspices of the Danish government to determine the relative merits of the centrifuge, ice method and common shallow-pan systams of setting milk. In three experiments equal ! quantities of milk'of the same quality were employed. The results of this investigation make apparent the superiority of the centrifuge over both the ice and pan systems, especially during the months of October, November and December, while it falls below the ice method during July, August and September. The ice method proved superior to the shallow-pan system throughout the 3 ear's trial, except in October, November and a portion of December ; its greatest superiority was made ipnoMnt in Tnlw Anmiof- anrl Sonf.AmVlPP. while in October and November the pan system came ont ahead. Fertilizers. Mr. Leander Wetherell speaks of the quality of mangel-warzel and othor root crops as affected by the soil. He related an instance which came unde his own observation, where a good crop of rye wag produced for six or seven successive years on a soil of fair quality but not rich, with only tho ap plication of three bushels of salt per acre. A peach tree on his father's place, standing on high ground among ledges, bore fruit for a generation. Dr. Fisher, who is so successful in raising grapes, has found mineral fertilizers preferable to animal. A gentleman at Worcester raised a fine crop of wheat straw with the refuse of a comb factory as. a fertilizer, which supplied nitrogen but no other ingredient, and there was not a single grain of wheat. As a ferfr.il iota* 4r\+ frormrci finn affor nronarafinn there is nothing equal to stable manure. The question of the economy of using chemical fertilizers is yet unsettled. Professor Johnson, of New Haven, expressed a doubt whether they conld be used profitably. Care should be taken not to use so much nitrogen as to gain in quantity at the expense of coarse and inferior quality. He did not state the facts in regard to salt, supposing that any one would regard it as a fertilizer; its action was on the other substances in the soil. Resnlnrltr. There is no kind of stock which appreciates the merits of regularity and system m tne management and leeamg more than poultry, and those who practice it with their fowls are snre to find that it pays to do so, and handsomtely, too. Habit has been trnly said to be second nature, and all kinds of animal life appreciate the :fact. Certain houre 3hould be set apart for feeding fowls, ?ay 7 a. m. and 6 p. m., for the Full-grown birds, and it will not be long before they will gather together Dn the approach of the feeding hour ind eagerly look for their regular rations. Regular feeding is beneficial like for those in confinement, in runs md yards, anl for those which have their full liberty, unrestricted by "conao" af o nn if in/ln/too v cutiuuiuikico ul a kuuvv} iui iu iuuuwoo tbo latter to return home at a certain ; bour, and thus prevents much loss ! which would otherwise occur. On the [arm, where the poultry is eldom if 2ver confined except at the fattening ;im3, regular daily feed, especially in ;he evening, should bo adhered to, and ;hia is with turkies an absolute necessity, as otherwise their predatory habits wonld lead them so far away that they would soon got in the habit of staying iway unless they had the very forcible inducement of their evening food at lome to cause them to return on time. Ducks and geese, too, being disposed ;o wander, need the same persuasive nducements to bring them homo each jve.?Poultry Monthly. Pal in find (inrdcn Notes. Do sot allow horses that have been iharp shod to play in a yard with other inimals. A kick from a playful horse night oause serious damage. In planting new orchards for profit select such varieties as are in demand, >r if for family use such as will give a jood succession from early summer to late winter. Earth or leaven make the best beds for jnrinn Sfrrnw hodn and onnomnllv rlirfTj jnes, will cause irritation of the skin, jncourago parasites and eventually remit in skin diseases. The general opinion is that ants are enemies to fruit trees, but it has long since been proved that they destroy larvse and chrysalides, and that they do aot destroy the fresh fruit. The general effect of lime is to render available the plant food already in the soil without supplying any insigaiticaut amount. Liming cannot there be successfully repeated except at conjiderablo intervale. A veterinary writer condemns high mangers for horses, claiming that they irritate the throat and create t; tendency bo heaves. He says the manger should be on the level with the feet, as that is in accordance with nature. Never set a hen in a box above tho ground or floor of the chicken-house if possible to do otherwise, as the egc;s dry too fast and lose their vitality, j Mnch better success may be expected if j the nests are made on the ground. A New Jersey farmer reports that a dressing of eight bushels per acre of salt to land badly infested with white grubs enabled him to raise good crops of corn for three years past, which was im- \ possible previous to this application. Tho most successful frait growers bave decided that there is no better remedy for the codling moth than to pasture hogs in the orchard to eat the wormy apples and the worms therein, [f tho orchards are too largo for the nnmhr.r nf hntrn lrpnfr slippn ar? tnrrmrl in. It 13 not best to breed from tiukeys the firat year. Persons commencing with a pair of young birds cannot well avoid this, but if yon are going to make i purchase do not take birds less than two years old. Some breeds attain maturity a(: two years, but bronze turkeys not till they are three years old. If possible select those for breeders that ire not only two years of age, but those that have been bred from well-matured birds. One of the best dairymen in Vermont: Bays: I have come to the conclusion, after seven years' experience in the feeding of meal every day to such of i my cowh as -were giving milk, that in i future I would feed more meal instead of less. I believe that when the cows have been properly selected, and are of j a breed that are reliable as to butter qualities, it amounts to a certainty that! all wo feed them above what is re- J quired to sustain their bodies will be j eturne d to us in butter, with a large rrotit on the investment. At tho same time care should bo exercised not to overfeed. Gilt-edge butter cannot bo made from cows thin in flesh or poorly fed. Rfl'lDFIIi Mashed Turnips.?Pare, quarter and j cook tenderly in boiling water, a little salt. Mash and press in a heated colander; work in butter, pepper and salt; heap smoothly in a deep dish and pepper ou top. Sliced Sweet-Potato Fie.?Steam tho potatoes till tender, not soft; then cut in thin slices. Make an upper crust for tho pie; season with ginger and spice tho eamo as you do a squash pie. If you prefer you may mash the potato and cook with milk and eggs, and then you will have a mock squash pie. Jam Rolly Pudding.?Prepare a pud ding paste with a pound of flour, roll down to a fourth of an inch thick and iD an oblong shape, cover with a thin layer of some kind of fruit marmalade; roll the paste on itself to about three inches in diameter, then roll again in a buttered at.d floured napkin, fasten firmly on both ends and tie it also every two or three inches; plunge in boiling water and boil continually for an hour and a half, drain, remove the napkin, ont traversely in half-inoh thick slices and serve] with granulated sugar in a bowl. Pound Cake?One pound of flour one pound of butter, one pound of sugar (pounded), eight eggs, one pound of sultanas or currant*, a few drops of ratafia ; beat tho butter to a cream, and stir in the sngar and raisins ; whisk the eggs for twenty minutes, yolks and whites together, then stir them and the flour, a little of each at a time, into tho other ingredients; add the flavoring last of all. By leaving out two yolks of the eggs, and whisking the remaining yolks and whites separately, this cake becomes excessively light and spongy at the top when baked, and the ; r.iu xuA iruiu juijd tu tuo uubtuui, uu np|/caiuiiut; which is admired by some people. Ilonnehold Hints The reason why cabbage emits such a disagreeable smell when boiling is because the process dissolves the es- ; sential oil. The water shonld be : changed when the cabbage is half ; boiled, and it will thns acqnire a greater sweetness. j To clean a hair brnsh take a basin of cold snds, add a spoonfnl of spirits of ^ ammonia, pnt in the brnsh, and draw a , coarse comb throngh the bristles as 1 many times as necessary; a cloth, too, may be nsed to help the cleansing. ( Finally rinse in clear water. An excellent way to warm a roast of ] beef is to pnt it in a kettle, fjid cover . the meat with very thin slices of onion. Scatter pepper and salt over them, pnt in a lnmp of bntter, and jnst enongh water to keep the meat frombnrning; $ let it warm slowly on the baok part of the stove, and then move it forward c and l?:t. the onions cook. j To oure ingrowing toe nails one authority says: Pat a small piece of tallow j in a spoon, heat it until it becomes very hot, and poar on the granulations. ? Pain and tenderness are relieved at once, and in a few days the granulations are all gone, the diseased parts J dry, and grow destitute of all feeling, * and the edge of the nail exposed so as * to admit of being pared away without any inconvenience. <3 Sometimes after beating the yolks of c the eggs as nsual, the cook is annoyed ' to find that they are not smooth and light yellow, but are " stringy" and v have little lumps; if for custard they e spoil its good looks, but by straining i: through a very fine wire sieve this c trouble Trill be obviated, and only a very little of the egg be waited -not so i vtnrtl* ?%* ?n if A Ia f nlrn if _ 1X1 uivJ-l, IU iOLiUf uo 11 cuc unco uu vaag iu y out with a fork or spoon. s " E A Cattle Ranch. Many pens have essayed the task of e describing a cattle rauch in the far t WeBt; yet the writer must confess to a fc total and radical misapprehension of the s snbject, corrected only when he himself t crossed the plains and saw with his own a eyes. The idea is a difficult one for the Eastern mind to fnlly grasp. It is ^ required that all preconceived notions of what should constitute a woll-regu- * lated stock farm must be abandoned and ^ a totally new set feubstituted. Fences, green pastures, stables, the whistling ^ boy driving home the cows from the meadow when the sun is casting long n shadows, the stone mansion embowered in stately trees upon tho overlooking hill?this picture of rural beauty that graces ten thousand canvases throughout our land must be laid aside and c forgotten if we would contemplate a I Western cattle ranch. He who would li successfully follow the business of cattle- I raising upon the plains must keep ever a on the frontier, pushing farther on into I the wilderness as civilization follows in 1 his wuke. If he is pressed too closely, I he must strike into a new country "to ii find a range." His judgment must be 1 exercised with regard to several partic- c ulars. The country he eelects must be i lairly covered with tbe natural grasses, ti with here and there patches of greasewood, white sage or other browse to serve as food in case the grass is covered by a fall of snow. He must further 1 assure himself as to the perennial I character of the stream or water-holes e upon the range, upon which the cattle f; are to depend for one essential element d And, lastly, he should also see to it that h the country affords good shelter from r: the winter winds and storms, secured ? by clumps of trees, bluffs or other e features of a broken country, witn u feed, water and shelter assured, he feels r that a suitable range has been found, r and returns to drive thither his herd, u Into a heavy freight wagon is loaded g the whole ranch equipment, including t tent, bedding, cooking utensils, and L provisions to last perhaps a year. The g mounted herders drive the cattle with f many a whoop and halloo, and the ? procession strikes out for the new c country. Over the rolling plain, making a a wagon road as they go, fording un- t known streams, finding a way across t deep ravines, often suffering for water, fc and making many a dry camp, riding h all day long under the scorching sun, with alkali dust, stirred up by ten t thousand hoofs, blown into mouth and t nostrils, riding all night long around I the prostrate herd, and sometimes gal- j loping away in the darkness to check, t if possible, the wild stampede?thus for t months, it may be, the procession moves s on until the selected range is reached. I Here the cattle are turned loose to i explore their new home, to eat, drink, a wander and rest at will, to forget the t hardships of the long drive and to a grow fat upon the nutritions grass, e Meautime the site for the. ranch-house t is selected, a few trees aro felled and e logs cat, and a low, dirt-roofed log 1 cabin ia quickly thrown together, t Several small fenced inclosures or \ corrals, and a branding chute aro soon s completed, and the ranch may be t considered a3 established, No title to t the land is secured; none is desired, c The sovereign American citizen simply 1 takes possession, fully persuaded that i it is his privilege to dedicate to useful i purposes the waste places of our great t country.?Lipviiicott. j c Feet Wiped by an Emperor. c At the Etofburg, the principal palace c 01 tlie Austrian emperor, a ceremony a took place recently which has probably no parallel throughout all the 1: states of Europe. It was the old and a familiar event known as the ''Green t Thursday feet washing," It took place, I as usual, in the splendid "Hull of r Ceremonies." On each side of the f hall was a table, each of twelve covers, I one for the old men the other for the t old women. Tho palace was filled with t dignitarieB, including the ministers, the L corps diplomatic and the various court d officials. At half-past 10 o'clock the old cl people, having received tho sacrament t in tho court chapel, were brought to s their seats at the table. They were c all dressed in the old German cos- 1 tumo, tho dresses being present- t ed by the emperor. At 11 o'clock the clergymen conducting the ceremony appeared. They were followed by tho emperor, the empress, t the crown prince and crown princess, t and the archdakes and archduchc3ses. c The emperor served tho old men, who ^ fV?rk nffrtr fVia norflmnnv. I wliilo tlxo empress and the Crown Prin- 1 cess Stephanie and the archduchesses | ? served the old women at the teveral c tables. Tho characteristic part of the * ceremony was tho taking off a shoe and 1 stocking from one foot of each of the I old people, after which tho emperor 1 and empress wiped the feet of the aged < people with towels moistened from tho I golden ewer. After this their majesties < hung purse containing thirty silver I pieces around the neck of each of the i old people. At. tho conclusion of tho ] eeremonv the latter were sent home in court carriages, each with a basket of 1 provisions.?London Standard. A silver dollar with a bit of conoavo mirror set in one bide is by gamblers < called a " shiner." By laying it among hid pile of coin and dealing over it the operator can know what every player holds for that deal, tho card* beiug reflected in miniature. A member of the Mining club of Leadvillo has been caught using a "shiner." By means of it he won S'2,500 in a night at poker. Care for what you say, or what you f?ay will make you care. " ' SUNDAY HEADING. Abidctli Forever. When the great traveler, Baron Humboldt, was journeying in South America, there came one day a Budden stillness in the air, which seemed like a hush over all nature. Bat that was followed by a fearful convulbion of the earth, which made all hearts quake. And Humboldt tells us that the earthquake within his soul was as great as that in the world without. All his old views of the eafety of the earth were destroyed in a moment. Should he fly to the hills for help? The mountains were reeling lib o drunken men. The houses were no refuge, for they were crumbling and falling, and the trees were overthrown. I hen his thoughts turned to the sea ; but lo! it had fled. Ships which just before were floating securely on its surface, were now left rocking in the sands. Being thus at his wit's end, he tells us be "looked up, and observed that the beavens alone were calm and unshaken." How grateful to the fearful and trembling heart it is to know that "through the mountains be removed ind carried into the midst of the sea," ;here are some things which cannot be moved. These are some of the things ivhich cannot be shaken: "Even from everlasting to everlasting Thou art 3od." "Thy kingdom is an everiastng kingdom." "The mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting. ? The Watchword. IleJIsflonn Notts and Notes, The Baptists have a total memberihip of 2,336,022 in the United States. Of the 160 Southern Presbyterian shurches in Texas seventy-five have no jastors. The Kecoleta churoh, one of the urgent in Peru and one of the earliest irected, has been totally destroyed by ire. St. Paul's Evangelical Lutheran ihurcb, Indianapolis, Ind., one of the argest German churches in the city, 1 .1 _ _A J 1 .?5 las Deen destroyed uy are. The general conference of the Metho list Episcopal church, South, the sec>nd largest Methodist body in the rorld, met in Nashville, Tenn., May 3. The American Baptist Missionary mion have declined the offer of Bobrt Arthington of ?35,000 for establishing a mission in Soadan because of the onditions attached. The London City mission employs 47 missionaries, who paid 3,143,801 isits last year, and Induced 5,746 perons to attend worship. The lord aayor presided at the annual meeting. There are in the forty-five leading vangelical theological seminaries in his country ninety-eight students who iave decided to enter the foreign mision field, and one hundred and fortyhreewho will become home Missionries. The overture giving oongragations he right to use instrumental musio in mblic worship has received the favorhl? rrsfpfl nf ministers and elders ' i forty-eight Presbyteries in the Jnited Presbyterian church. The con- j rary vote is 502. It is a curious fact bat tho negative vote is largely made ' p of elders, there being 238 to 181 linistera. Of the affirmative vote 290 re ministers and 163 elders. According to the new Canadian ( ensus the Roman Catholics in the 'rovince of Qaebec have gained in the | ist ten years 150,868, the Church of England 6,358, the Presbyterians 4,122 nd the Methodists 4,958. In the 'rovince of Nova Scotia the Catholios 5,486 and the Baptists 10,330. In the 'rovince of New Brunswick the Cathoic gains were 13,075 and the Baptists ? 0,495. In Manitoba the Catholics ocapy the third place, the Church of Ingland standing first and the Presbysrians second. Fi*ht for Life With a Bear. A recent issue of the Troy (N. Y.) "ivies eays: E. R. Derby, of Saranac jake, was the hero of a very exciting xploit Friday afternoon. While driving rom the Prospect house to Blooming- , ale, in passing through the woods, he | earct cries lor nejp proceeding irom a avine a few rods distant from the road, ipringing from bis carriage and ranting hastily to the edge of the ravine, Ir. Derby saw an infuri ted bear anging around the trunk < a small naple, eagerly trying to disl.dge Gard:er Maloney, a well knowu Saranao juide, who had taken refuse in the tranches of the tree. With genuine leroism Mr. Derby drew hi.-> revolver, a Imith & Wesson seven-shooter, fortyour caliber, and rushed to the rescue. Skilled in woodoraft, he was enabled to reep unobserved by the bear to within , short range, when he opened fire upou he bruto. The first fire took effect in he shoulder, and was quickly followed >ya second which lodged in the bear's iead. Tho only effect of these was to distract he attention and increase the fury of he bear, who abandoned the siege of klaloney and directed his attention to tlr. Derby. He charged furiously upon hat gentleman, who coolly discharged i i ?fit. j? WO more suois wna wuuuenui jjfuuiion at the head of the approaching irute, and turning, beat a hasty retreat n the direction of the road. The peed told rapidly upon Mr. Derby, ?Uo turns the scales at 230 pounds. Not , moment was to he lost The quick ye of Mr. Derby discovered a tree near )y. Springing into its lower br^uchs, ho reached a point of safety lalf dead from exhaustion. The >ear, bleeding profusely from many pounds, was undaunted and aggresive, and did not leave his enemy long o arrango a new campaign, but began ho ascent of tho tree. Mr. Derby Irew a sheath knife, and with that in lis teeth prepared for a desperate enounter. Discharging the three remainng shots of his revolver at the head of he bear, he seized the knife, and holdng by a limb with his left hand, struck lesperately at the fore feet of the Jimber, nearly severing one claw, and mtting enormous gashes in the animal's boulders and head. While struggling for his life tho limb >y which Mr. Derby was holding broke ,nd ho was precipitated to the ground en feet, eustaining severe bruises and a >adly sprained shoulder. In his eager 1 - l>io fna flirt Vinar tnmhlod loan tu icata uio a\j\j uuv ... ? rom the tree also and rushed at Mr. )erby, who had recovered his feet, and, mable to retreat, was awaiting the at- , ack, his sheath knife in hand. The (ear arose on his haunches, and by a lexterous thrnst Mr. Derby's knife was Iriven straight through his heart and he animal succumbed. Mr. Derby uffered severe scratches and loss of onsiderable blood. His clothing was iterally into strings by the claws of ho bear. A St, Petersbnrg Incident. A St. Petersburg correspondent tells his story: As I was sauntering along ho Catharine canal the other day with >ne of the late czir's aid-dc-camps, I witnessed a spectacle wholly novel for no. A poor devil of a moujik?old, bearded and haggard, drcszed in a dirty scarlet shirt?had stopped before tho ihapel ere;ted upon tho spot whero Mexander IT. died. As ho stopped he inelt down and bent his forehead to the jround three times. Then he advanced :o tho threshold of the little gothic mlioro fiftv p.iindlna are fllwnvs kept burning, and lifting up the hem 3f his red shirt ho rummaged in liis pocket long and clumsily, *nd at last drew from his pocket a tiny little piece of silver coin ?all that the usurers had left him, and dropped it into the silver money box placed thcrj for tho maintenance of tho commemorative chapel. Immediately tho two military sentinels on guard at either sido cf tho entrance, presented arms. Tho moujik prostrated himRslf three times again, and went his way. All Russia was painted in that simple trait of character. Volumes upon volumes of travels in the land of Peter tho Great,, however anxiously perused Tiith a view to self-instruction, could not have taught me as much about it. A Dublin (Ga.) girl, only fourteen J years old, weighs two hundred pounds. 1 FOR THE LADIES. Arab Women. Most Arab women tattoo; the old * women dye their hair a dull red color ? and frizzle and pull it down over their i faces. Nothing can be more hideously { ugly than an old Arab woman; but I c cannot imagine anything more beautiful than a young Arab girl, say from thir- t teen to sixteen years of age, and who c has been brought up in the same house, t They have beautifal forms, small feet v and hands, large black eyes, round chin, f small rosy lips, white teeth and very smooth, good complexion. They wear { their hair plaited and thrown back to D hang down over their shoulders and a back. They soon fade, however, and 6 become as ugly as they were before a beautiful. In towns the women cover 8 their faces when on the street in the sight of men, but they like to have Christians 6ee them, and will uncover their faces if no Mussulman is looking. . Grpnndlno Drenwii. 0 c Two kinds of grenadine are combined in stylish black dresses, and the newest ^ trimming for these is French lace in thread patterns, thongh the Spanish lace is used when the grenadine is bro- * caded in Spanish lace designs to repre- " sent detached roses, great peonies, fruit, * leaves, etc. Another trimming for gre- 11 nadines is sealskin fringe of chenillo in 11 very much Bmaller and finer sleek 7' strands than that used during the win- P ter, but massed together to resemble P a ruche. Satin-striped armure grena- tT dine is much used in combination gren- c< adine dresses for plaitings edged a! with French lace to form flounces, u and also on the apron front of deep round overskirts. The t< stripes in these plaitings rnn around, p not down the plaits, and lengthwise e: stripes are used to form three or four ai soft puffs that corer the lower skirt as 1? far as the flounces at the foot; the b basqne and deep apron over-skirt are of a/1 ami) a 4 ?a i rv Ol ui ULUUUU gicuauiuuj aiiu tuo Dtiipou tMi plaiting trims this apron. Piain sewing- fi silk grenadine combines handsomely si with the Spanish lace grenadines, the tl plain fabric being used for the basque, tl while the skirt has ita satin surah w foundation veiled with peony grenadine. with all its lower edges hidden, the sides caught up in fan-plaitings, the top of the back very bouffant, and the lower part left open, and trimmed up each side with Spanish lace fa frills. A box-plaiting of satin covers the foot, and a lace flounce coming out ^ from beneath the turned up edges of the grenadine falls on the satin. Another , fancy is what eeems to be a princesse dress of black armure grenadine with a panier sash and long black diapery of striped grenadine. This sash is sewed around the lower part of a closely-fitted e^ cuirass or jersey waist, and forms two e: great loops of a bow in the back, which fall over striped drapery that is attached p] to the back widths of a plaited armure rt grenadine skirt. Bias bauds of satin jB three inches wide, or straight b nds of Btripes, or else smooth rows of -ace or al embroidery put on the skirt before it is ^ plaited, are the most effective trim- ^ mmgs ior piauea sains 01 piain grena- ^ dine. PnMhlon Note*. ' & Little girls wear white neckties. ^ Colored grenadines will be worn again. Ll Fans have kitten's heads painted on them. 8Colored silk rivals satin for bride's u dresses. ^ London beauties color their hair Ti- st tian red. Panier draperies modernize last year's le dresses. b] Derby felt hats are worn by eques- ai triennes. m Gentlemen's folded soarfa are worn 11 by ladies. 01 Kate Greenaway dresses for girls are very quaint. Dresden china brooches are used on el K1??W I as UlttUH OlJpiJCiO. OK Flowers are superseding feathers on 11 spring bonnets. *j White wool dresses are made in S( aesthetic styles. j. Black stockings are now more stylish Ci than colored ones. p The christening robes of babies of a fashion this spring are of pale pink silk, p ptjfasely trimmed with white Valen- tl ciennes. ti Ivcry white Breton and Moresque n laces are combined with the heavy ecru C1 ficelle or Medici laces in forming neck ai lingerie. . ?. Dressmakers exercise their ingenuity a this season in the creation of all sorts ^ of trimmings for the bottom of the jj skirts of dresses. g Garden or tea aprons of satin are i much vorn in LondoD. The favorite ^ f/-i* T10A i a f KA TT rt I A {~X rAQTI _ |iaiitcxu iui buio uoo xo uuu uam vj*.uuu ^ away border or group. . a Diamond or paste buckles are much ji worn on all parts of evening toilets? tl in the hair, on the shoes, and fastening J o the bjws and draperi ,?8. i tl The long plain ekirt of some rich, ! tl heavy stuff, with a box-plaited ruche j at the bottom, worn with a panier bo- is dice, gains ground every day. o Sumatra straw is a new braid which ^ has the appearaDce of hravy canvas, and * is of a soft shade of beige or buff.' This new fiber is quite as popular as Manila or Belgian str?.w. All dressy todices for young ladies | are laced at the back; they open in a i ' square or heart6hape in front, and are j usually bordered with laco, embroidex-y j fj or beaded applique bands. Raw silk in JRoman plaid^d designs ! u showing artistic combinations of color ! ^ are much used for children's and young j jt misses' spring costumes. Some of the I handsomest of those are made up in : 8j conjunction with dark myrtle green j 8( velvet. I jr Stylish traveling oo3tumes are exhib- n ited, made of Vigogne ot a dark ol almond color, a neutral shade of beige, w or pale silver gray, with waistcoat, n< pelerine cufl's, and bias band for the h tunic, made of plush of a contrasting fc color. ti Snmmer silks of light texture are ei now shown with groundworks of olive, a] clarct, moss green, marino blue and s< golden brown, with handsomely executcd designs of birds and flowers el printed in natural colors upon their surface. American rosmge stamps. ei The portrait of Benjamin Franklin p on tho one-cent stamp, in imperial b ultramarine blue, is after a profile bust p of Hubricht. The head of Andrew e Jackson on tho two-cent stamp, in vor- ri milion, is from a bust by Hiram Powers, ti Tho Washington head on tho green t] three-cent stamp is after Hondon's cele- s brnted bust. Tho head on tho five-cent; tl bine stamp is that of Zachary Taylor. | a The Lincoln profile, in red, on tho six-; t cent stamp, is after a bust by Volk. 1 Tho seven-cent stamp, in vermilion, j q gives the head of Stanton after a photo- c graph. Tho head of Jefferson, 011 the s ten-cent stamp in chocolate, is drawn t' from a life sizo statue by liirain fi Power?. The portrait of Henry s Clay, in neutral purple, on the a twelve-cent htamp, is after a bti'-t by fi Hart. The head of "Webster on tho p fifteen-cent stamp, in orange, is after 11! the Clcvinrjer bust. The portruit of ! e lieiieral acott on ino nvemj-ium urn i stamp, in purple, is after a bust by i p Coffee. The head of Hamilton oa the 1 cl thirty-con' stamp, in black, is after the | s Carrachi bust;; and tie portrait of i t Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry, in r carmine, on tbo ninety-cent stamp, is : I after Wolcott's statue. The stylo in j i wbich the-e adhesive stamps are printed, ' x and the clearness of outline of tbe sev- j I oral portraits, as well as the artistic ex- j a cellcnco cf the engraving, reflect credit on tho head of tho postofiico depart-; ( mcut, Mr. Crcswell, under whose f authority they were executed. The i seven, twelve and twenty-foui-cent! a stamps liavo been retired from uso. 11 Tho now five cent stamp will bo a por-11 trait of Garfield, from the photograph ; r of which the queen had a copy, and t which was approved by Mrs. Garfield ? ; s Boston Transcript. i 1 SCIENTIFIC NOTES. Different opium alkaloids do not act ilike on men and animals. As an example, man is specially sensitive to norphine, while animals are only afected by it wbe?i administered in large loses. Gold is far more wildly distributed han was formerly supposed. Many lays contain it in appreciable quantiies. In a Virginia gold mine $160,000 rorth of pure gold was recently taken rom a space of three square feet. Mr. Harting, of the University of Jtrecht, made, some years ago, mesaerie experiments on fowls, pigeons nd rabbits. If the experiments were everal times repeated on the same nimal its nervou3 system was much haken. From an examination of statistics ompiled by Dr. Andrews, cf Chicago; nd Dr. Richardson, of London, tether * " a# rt *1 nrv nf a!ina Anlo i Uj lar lino :aicou \jl aucQsvucvivo) vm^ ne death occurring from it in the onrsu of 23,204 administrations. Bihloride of methylene causes death once i 5,000 instances of its use. From the bones collected by M. Broea nd those contained in the Masenm of ie Anthropological society of Paris, it 'ould seem that early man had to bear inch the same osseous lesions a^ lodern man in infancy and advance^F ears. But what strikes one with surriae are the nnmerous instances of treanning and of well consolidated fracire, showing that oar very remote anastors were not so ignorant of surgery xt- _ - J. a i. _ 3 some or inetr aesceuuauuj uiajr uui> nreasonably have supposed. A new method of preserving meat is ) cause the heart of the animal to amp boracio acid into the tiesnea. For sample, a sheep is stunned by a blow, ad blood being withdrawn from the )ft jugular vein, a strong solution of oracic acid, kept at blood heat, ia intcted. The heart of the still living aimal quickly pumps the antiseptio aid into all parts of the body, and the leep is then killed by the butcher in le usual way. The cost is slight, and le meat thus treated will keep several ee^s in the heat of summer. WISE WORDS. Erperience is the extract of suffering. A mind once cultivated will not lie illowfor half an hour. Memory records services with a pen, ijurious with a graver. Think wrongly if you please, but in [1 cases think for yourself. ? * 9 1.3 * 'l'ne puoiic mina is eancatea qmcsij y events?slowly by arguments. There is no strength in exaggeration; ren the truth is weakened by being (pressed too strong. Excess generally causes reaction, and roduses a change in the opposite diction, whether it be in the reasons, or i individuals, or in governments. If all were as willing to be pleasant id as anxious to please in their own omes as they are in the company of leir neighbors, they would have appy homes. Every year of outlives we grow more >nvinced that it is the wisest and best > fix our attention on thebeautifal and le good, and dwell as little as possible q the evil and the false. He that basks in the sunlight of a reat man's favor by arts best known > craft and servility, may enjoy tho n worthy profit for a time, but retribuon will soon o'ertake and set its dark >al upon his servile soul. Hugging sorrow is not the way to issen it, though like the needle, troule stings less when it .is firmly grasped id not feared. Frequent disappointments teach us to mistrust our own lolinations and shrink even from vows ill ucaib uinj ^ivuipu* The Olive Tree. 'L'he olive tree is one of the moet eelbrated and useful of plants. Therein )mething peculiarly mild and graceful i the appearance of the tree, even part from its associations. It is uaully a small tree with leaves that bear ame resemblance to those of the wil>w, only they are more soft and deliite. The ripe fruit has a very fleshy ericarp, which yields, when pressed, fixed oil called olive oil.- This valuable roduct is used for dietetical purposes in ie arts and in medicine. The olive ree has been known and cultivated for mny ages, and from very ancient astom the olive branch has been used s an emblem of peace. It is a native f the south of Europe and the north of .frica. It is suppo8ea to nave Deen arried from Egypt into Attica about 556 B. 0. It was first planted in Italy l the thirteenth year of the reign of ervins Tullns, the sixth king of Rome, 'wo glass jars of olives and olive oil ave been dug out of the ruins of Pomeii, both of which were fit for use. In acient times the olive was a tree held l the greatest veneration; for then lie oil was employed in pouring nt libatioDs to the gods, while .* ie branches formed the wreaths of ae victors at the Olympio games. Even in the sacred history tho olive i invested with more honor than any ther tree. The veneration for the live, and also the great duration of the ee, appears from the history of one in le Acropolis ac Athens. Dr. Clark has lis passage in his travels, in speaking f the temple of Pandrosus: " Within lis building, so late as the second sntnry, was preserved the olive tree lentioned by Apoltodorns, which was lid to be as old as tho foundation of le citadel. Stuart supposed it to avo stood in the portico of the >mple of Pandrosus, from the cir<-if tV?n air npr>f?Rna.rv for L4UIOIRUUU Vi VMM M?o 8 support which oould here be admit>d between the caryatides; but in.ances of trees that have been pre:rved to a very great age within the iterior of an edifice incloeed by waUs lay be adduced." The wood of the live is much employed for cabinet ork, being remarkable for its hardess. The leaves and bark have been ighly extolled by some medical writers >r their tonic and febrifagal properes. The olive trees that formerly covred the Mount of Olives, in Jerusalem, id gave it its name, are now reprejnted by a few trees and clumps of ees which ages of desolation have not radicated. Accounting for the Sea Serpent. Sir Charles Lyell made some inter~L~ -li ?I ? it>A/IA |V?A Cfll oar. 9llllg UUlfllipiQ tU biauo uuo uuj UV* ent to well known animals. He showed y careful drawings the appearance of orpoises in line in n heavy sea?the fleet npon the eye of their continued iee and fall. He dwelt upon the moions of a large shark observed passing lirough Torres strait at a high rate of peed, the dorsal and caudal fins, with lie swell, being reproduced so qnickly nd repeatedly on the retina as to give he impression of a series of humps, 'he elevated head in the air, so freuentlv noticed, he explained by optial illusion, or that the animal was a eal, or one of the monster Phocidiw, birty feet long, that might have strayed rom the north or south. The basking hark, or hockmar, of Norway, which ttains a length of from thirty to fifty set, was. however, considered in all his belief was strengthened by an normons one that was cast ashore on lie Orkney islands. The flesh was artly destroyed, and the enormous lorsal fringed into fragments. The hark was described as a sea serpent, he jagged dorsal as hair, and a most emarkable story concocted, which f-till lolds its own in tho old priuts. The ilea suggested tho Koch sea serpent, phich was made of fossil whale verte>rso from Georgia, arranged in a row, ,nd exhibited to the Boptonians as the 'sea serpent." Tapo lilies of the genera xymnetrus and Regalicns have been ound thirty and sixty feet long, acoordng to Lord Norbury, and it has been nggested that they may have been aken for the sea oerpent; but, though ong, they are remarkably slender, and lot snail-like, and Jnv* n literal motion hat could not be contorted to correpond with any of the acoounts given,? rJppincott, *