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ABBEVILLE PRESS AND BANNER;! BY HUGH WILSON AND H. T. WARDLAW. ABBEVILLE, S. C.. WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 1882. NO. 15. VOLUME XXVII. jIB The Tryst. There was not a cloud in the deep bine sky, Nor a foaming crest on the sea : The winds were asleep, in the arms of the deep, And their breath came noiselessly. The soft sweet rays of the harvest moon, The heaving waters kissed. And the li?ht was shed on the Abbey head, And the tombstones that watch the quiet dead. And in calm I kept our tryst. The blank black sky. and the blank black sea, Blent in the angry night: The wild winds met, where the waters fret, In a belt of luminous light. They thundered along the hollow strand, Where the rain like a python hissed : And near and far. from rock and scar, Rang the mighty challenge of Nature's war, And in storm I kept our tryst. White, weird and ghastly crept the fog, Over river, and moor, and coast; Each fast-moored boat, on the harbor afloat. Loomed like a threatening ghost. The sea lay muttering sullenly, Under the veiling mist: And the buoy-bell ring, with its ominous tongue, , Where the tide on the'lip of the rock was flung. And in gloom I kept our tryst. i For while holy grief and loving trust, With me kept watch together, I reckon not, I, of sea or sky: Our hearts hold tranquil weather. So I know, in the royal right of love, I may claim you, and 1 list: So my hand may reach, in its silent speech, To the spirit greeting where each meets each. In faith I kept our tryst. ?All the Year Jiouml. A WOOING BY PROXY. She is leaning back in a deep crimson chair, with a white dress sweeping in long shining folds about her. She ' is talking to two <>r three men with that rather weary grace lie lias grown accustomed to see in her, and which is so different from the joyous smiles of! the Jeanne de lleaujen whom he had ; - loved so long ago. lie is watching her ! from the opposite side of the salon as lie stands beside his hostess, and he i tells himself it is for the last time. lie * X * 11- 1 1-.- 1 ..... i is going to ner presenuv aim ne kuom> just how coldly she wili raise the dark I eyes that once never met his without ' confessing that she loved him. lie knows just what he will say and what she will answer, and there is no need of haste in this hist scene of his tragedy.; "A man should know when he is beaten," he is thinking, while he smiles I vaguely in reply to Madame I)eJoule's | commonplaces. "There is more stupidity than courage in not accepting a defeat while there is yet time to retreat with some dignity. For six weeks I , have shown her, with a directness that ; has, I dare say, been amusing to our ! mutual friends, that after ten years' j absence my only object in returning to ' Paris is her society. She cannot avoid meeting me in public, but she has j steadily refused to receive me when I ! call upon her or to permit me a word ; with her alone. I have been a fool to j forget that all these years in which I have regretted her she has naturally I despised me, but at least it is not just of her to refuse me a hearing." The moment ne nas uei'ii waning u>i come. The little court about her disperses until there is but one man be-' side her, and she glances around with a look of nJld appeal against the con-! tinaance of his society. Be Palissier has escaped from his hostess in an instant, and the next he ! is murmuring, with the faintest suspicion of a tremor in his voice, " "Will; Madame De Miramon permit me a ; dance?" " Thanks, M. De Palissier, but I am not dancing this evening," she replies, with exactly the fiance and tone he expects. " Will madame give me a few mo- i ments serious conversation?" and this time the tremor is distinct, for even the nineteenth century horror of melodrama cannot keep a man's nerves quite steady when he is asking a question on which his whole future depends. . "One does not come to balls for serious conversation?" she begins, lightly. ""Where may I come, then?" ho in! terrupts, eagerly. "Nowhere. There is no need for serious conversation between us, M. I)e Palissier," she replies, haughtily, and rising she takes the arm of the much il fllint'U geilLieiiUUl uraui; nt-i ami uiim trs away. It is all as lie has prophesied to himself, and yet for a moment the lights swim dizzily before him and the passionate sweetness of that Strauss waltz the band is playing stabs his heart like a knife. For a moment he does not realize that he is standing quite motionless, gazing, with despair in his eyes, after Madame De Miramon's slender white-clad figure, and that two or three people, who have seen and heard, are looking at him with that amused pity which sentimental catastrophes always inspire in the spectators. Some one touches his arm presently with her fan, and with a start he comes to himself and recognizes Lucille De Beaujen, the young sister of Madame De Miramon, whom he remembers years ago as a child, and with whom he has danced several times this winter. "And our waltz, monsieurV" she asks, gayly. " Do not tell me you have forgotten it. That is evident enough, but you should not admit it." " Mille pardons, mademoiselle," lie mutters, hurriedly. " I am very good to-night," she says, putting her hand on his mechanically extended arm. "Though the waltz is half over, there is still time for you to get me an ice." So they make their way through the salon, she talking lightly and without pausing for a reply, while he, vaguely grateful to her for extricating him from an awkward position, wonders also that she should care to he so kind to a man whom her sister has treated with such marked dislike. The refreshment-room is almost empty, and she seats herself and motions him to a chair beside her when he has brought her an ice. " Do you think, M. le Marquis, that it was only to eat ices with you that I have forced my society so resolutely upon you?" she asks, with a look of earnestness very rare on her bright, coquettish face. " I think you an angel of compassion to an old friend of your childhood, Mademoiselle Lucille?" "It was compassion, but more for my sister than for you," she says, gravely. " Your sister!" he echoes, bitterly. " It has not occurred to me that Madame I)e Miramon is in need of commission, and yours is too sweet to be wasted?" " Chut, monsieur," she interrupted. " Forget that 1 am as fond of pretty speeches as most young women and I think of me only as Jeannie I)e Miramon's sister, who believes that much jus she loves her, you love her even more?" For the second time this evening I)t Palissier forgets possible observer? and clasps both the girl's slender hand? in his, as he murmurs, unsteadily, "(bid bless you!" "You forget that we have an audience, monsieur," she says, withdrawing her hands quickly, but with ;i smile of frank comradeship. "I havt a story to tell you, and not much tiim to tell it in. Years ago, wheif .Jeanne left her convent on becoming fiancet to Jl. De Miramon, she met you at hei first ball, and you loved each other. 11 was very foolish, for you were a cadel of your house unci only a sous-lieuten ant, and Jeanne had not a sou, so botl the families were furious; but al would have ended as well as a fain tale if you had been reasonable. Jeanni v- v. .. v.y^-v met you time after tinn* in scent, ant promised any amount of patience, lull she wiiiiM not run away ami niarr\ you in defiance of her parents so you tormented her witli d< >ul its and shamed lier witli suspicions until she dreaded those secret meetings almost as much as slit It m get I for them. At last, after making a more violent quarrel than usual, you exchanged from your regiment at Versailles to one in Algiers, and left her no refuge from the reproaches of our father and unit her hut to marry M. tie Minimum. lie might have refused to marry her after hearing her confess, as she did. that she had ?;iven her heart to you. ami that only your desertion had induced her to consent to tln-ir marriage. But he did not: lie had a better revenge than that. He married her. and tor eight years lie tortured her in every way that a jealous and cruel man can torture a proud pure woman, lie opened all her letters. he made spies ol'her servants, and not a day passed that lie did not make some mention of your name. Our parents died within a few months of the marriage, and 1 was at my convent. There was nothing to lie done with her misery hut endure it. knowing that she owed it all to your impatience. Can you wonder that she is unforgiving?" He is leaning on the small tahle between them with folded arms and down-bent eyes, and he is very pale, even through the bronze of ten African summers. ' 1 loved her always?" he says, almost inaildibly; then pauses; nor does he linish his sentence, though she waits for him to do so. "You loved her? Von could not have wrecked her life more utterly if you had hated her. Can you wonder that she has jrrown to fear the thought of love that lias been so ertiel to her as yours and her husband's? Monsieur my brother-in-law died two years ago ?(Joil is so good!" continues Lucille, fiercely. "Since then Jeanne has been at peace, and she shrinks with absolute terror from disturbing the calm which has come to her alter such storms. She fears you, she avoids you, because? shall i tell you why?" She can see his lips quiver even under the heavy mustache, but he neither speaks nor raises his eyes. "She loves you," murmurs Lucille, just aloud. lie lifts his eyes now and looks at her dumbly for an instant, then, rising abruptly, walks away. "Hades beaux veux, mon I)ieu!" she thinks, with a thrill of wonder that Jeanne should have had the courage to refuse liitn anything in the days when they were young together. He comes back presently. "Mychijd," he says, very gently, "do*ot try to make me believe that, unless you are very sure, for if 1 once believe it again. I?I?" " 1 am as sure as that I live that Jeanne has never ceased to love you, and that you can force her to confess it a you win maKe jove 10 me. "I? You? You are laughing at me!" with a rush of color into his dark face. "Do you think so ill of Jeanne's sister?" she asks, softly. "Pardon. I am scarcely myself, and I cannot imagine how?" "Jeanne will not receive you hecause she knows her heart and is afraid of it. She fears that you will destroy the hard-won peace she values so highly. But you are wealthy, distinguished, the head of your name?a very different person from what you were ten years ago, and she can find no reason for refusing you as my suitor if I consent, and as my chaperon she must he present at all our meetings. You hegin to understand? Make her see that your lov e is not all jealousy; make her remember?make her regret." | " But, forgive me, when one has loved a woman for ten years," with a ! faint smile, "there is no room in one's heart for even a pretense at loving an; other." "If there w'ere, monsieur, I should never have proposed my plot," she replies, with dignity. " It is because I ' have watched you all these weeks, and know that your low? is worthy of my j sister, that I trust you. But it is not : wiiii one s neari mat one preterms. Eiifin, it is with you to consent or de1 cline." "Decline!" he echoes, with a pasi sion none the less intense for its quiet! ness. " Does a ?lying man decline his ! last chance of life, however desperate ; it may be'?" i The next week is full of bitter j surprises to the proud and patient woman, whose pathetic cling: ing to her new-found peace Lucille so I well understands. Though it is long I since she has permitted herself to remember anything of the lover of her | youth except his jealousy, she has beJ lieved in his faithfulness as utterly as she dreaded it, and when she receives i De Palissier',s note iisking the consent of his old friend to his love for her sister, the pain she feels bewilders and dismays her. With a smile whose cynicism is as much for herself as for him, she gives the note to Lucille, expecting an instant rejection of the man whose motive in pursuing them tliev ; had both so misunderstood. But witli j a gay laugh, "Then my sympathy has I been without cause," the girl cries, j " JJyall means let himcome, my Jeanne, It cannot wound you, who have lonsj afo ceased to resrret him : but he i> I -0 - " o- - ? the best parti in Paris, and trts bei ho>nme for his age." I It is quite true there ran he no ob jeetion to the wealthy and distinguished Marquis de I'alissicr if Lucille is willing?none hut the pain at her heart j which she is ashamed even to confes? to herself. So a note is written lixinp ; an hour for his first visit, and Madam; I)e Miranion prepares herself to meet the man whom she last saw alone ii all the passionate anguish of a lover'; quarrel. Is this wild 11 utter in hei ' throat a sign of the peace she has re ! solved to possess? Thank (Hod! sh< can at least promise herself that what 1 ever she may sutler, neither lie iioi Lucille shall guess it. There is a sound of wheels in tin courtyard, and she rises, with a hasti (rl-irw<i Iw.r f:iir ri'lti'ft inn ill : i mirror. "His old friend!" she murmurs , scornfully. " 1 dare say I look an oh woman beside Lucille." i Then she turns with a look of grace , fill welcome, for the door is tlirowi i open, and a servant announces: "M. le Marquis de Palissier." "Nothing could give me greatc j pleasure than to receive as my sister* suitor the old friend of whom th ! world tells me such noble things." Sh utters her little speech as naturally a though she had not rehearsed it adozei times, and holds out her pretty ham . to him. i To her surprise he does not take it Now should she guess that he dare not trust himself to touch calmly th hand he would have risked his life t kiss any time these ten years V 11 "\ou arc too good, niadame, li i replies, very low ; and she reflects th;i ? lie is of course a little eniharrassec [( " I am afraid you had much to forgiv : in those days so long ago, hut time, ! trust, has changed me." "It would he sad indeed if time di i not give us wisdom and coldness i exchange for all it takes from us," sli ; i says, with a quick thrill of pain thi lie should speak of ten years as if | were an eternity. -j " Not coldness," he exclaimed, con t; ing nearer, : nd looking at her wit t j eyes that make her feel a girl agaii - i " If you could see my heart, you?" 1 "May I enter, my sister?" asks tl 1 gay voice of Lucille, as she appeal ; from behind the portiere at so fo 3 i tunate a moment for the success of h< I pint that it is to l>t> feared she had j ; been eavesdropping. De l'alissier turns at unce and | : presses her hand to his lips, i! "Mademoiselle," he says, tenderly,! i . " I am at your feet." j Then begins a charming little comedy of love-making, in which Lucille plays [ j her role with pretty coquetry, and lie i j with infinite zeal. And the chaperon bends over her lace-work and hears the caressing tones she thought she had forgotten, and sees the tender glances she imagined she had ceased to regret?all given to her young sister in her unrej garded presence. Dear Ciod! how is i s!ie to keep the peace she so prays for. if her future is to be haunted by this j gin?t from her past ? She is very patient and used to suffering, but at leuh she can endure no lonircr, and j not daring to leave the room she ; moves away to a distant writing-table, when* she is at least beyond hearing There is an instant pause between j the conspirators, and while l)e Palis-j sier's eyes wistfully follow Madame De j Miramon. Lucille seizes her opportu-j ; nity with a promptness that would have done credit to a Richelieu or a J Talleyrand, or any other prince of schemers. "Courage, monsieur!" she mur-i liuirs. "She has been cold to me ever since your note came. You would make a charming Jeuitt; premier at the l'rancais, only when you say anything very tender, do re-; member to look at me instead of! Jeanne." And she breaks into a laugh j so utterly amused that lie presently laughs too, and the sound of their mirth causes an odd blot in the poor chaperon's writing. A month has dragged by, wretched-1 ly enough both to the conspirators and their victim, and. like all things earthly, j has come to an end at last. Even Lucille's energy could not keep J)e Palis- j sier to his role if he did?not believe j that in surrendering it he must give . up the bitter-sweet of Jeanne's daily presence, which, even in its supreme i indifference, has become the one charm of life to him. Madame l)e Miramon and her sister are spending a week at her j villa near Paris, and De Palissier, who is to accompany them on a riding party, has arrived a little late, and finds both sisters already in the courtyard,1 with some horses and grooms, when he ' enters. Lucille conies to him at once } as he dismounts, with a look of alarm j llisieau di jut usual 104111*11?. " Do not let Jeanne ride Etoile," slie ! says, anxiously. "She lias thrown Guillaunie this morning." Madame I)e Miramon is standing! lieside an old groom, who is holding the horse in question, and she does not I look at her sister or De Palissier as they approach. "Let me ride Ktoile and take my horse to-day, madame," l)e Palissier says, eagerly. " I should like to master a horse who has thrown so excellent a groom as Guillaume." "So should I," she says, with a hard little laugh, and she stepson the block. "Jeanne!" cries Lucille. " 1 entreat you for your sister's sake. She will he terribly alarmed," I)e Palissier says, hurriedly. " Then you must console her. The greater her alarm, the greater your delightful task, monsieur," and she looks at him with a defiant pain in her eyes like a stag's at haw " 1 shall ride : Ktoile." " Then I say that you shall not," he I answers, putting his arm across the j saddle, and meeting her eyes with a | sudden blaze of command in his. For an instant they gaze at each I -ii _ ?_ ? f . | oilier in uuer lorgeiuuurcws ui ?un j other presence than their own, then I she springs from the block anil comes I close to him. "I hate you!" she gasps, and turn; ng, gathers up her habit in one hand i and runs into the house, swiftly foli lowed by I)e Palissier. In the salon j she faces him, with a gesture of pasi sionate pride. " Leave me!" she says. " I forbid j you to speak to me." lie is very pale, but the light of triJ uinph is in his eyes, and like most men, i being triumphant, lie is cruel. | " Why do you hate me?" he asks, : imperiously. "I beg your pardon," she stammers, ! dropping the eyes which she knows are betraying her. " I should have said?" " You should have said, 'I love you,'" he murmurs, coining close to her and holding out his arms. "Does it hurt > you that I should know it at last, 1 who ' have loved you all these years?" ."15ut Lucille," she falters, moving away from liini, but with eyes that shine and lips that quiver with bewildered joy. i "Never mind Lucille," cries that young lady, very cheerfully, from the doorway. " It lias been all a plot for your happiness, my Jeanne, which . would never have succeeded if you had i known your sister as well as she knew .. rn- il.s-l. f 1.1 i ? i you. iinuiv uiiu 1 would ih: run, tent "with the wreck of any man's heart! ?Ji dour! When my day comes, "' Like Alexander, I will reiyn, , And I will reign alone.'" ?Ifar/nrti Weekly. The Howling Monkey. We will begin with the howling | monkeys, which are the largest found 11 in America, and are celebrated for the ' | loud voice of the males. Often in the ' great forests of the Amazon or Ori; noeo a tremendous noise is heard in the night or early morning, as if a great assemblage of wild beasts were all roaring and screaming together. The noise ' may be heard for miles, and it is louder and more piercing than that of any other animal, yet it is all produced by ' I a single male howler sitting on the * branches of a lofty tree. They are ' enabled to make tliis extraordinary noise by means ol' an organ that is " possessed by no other animal. The ' : lower jaw is unusually deep, and this ] j makes room for a hollow bonv vessel about the size of a large walnut, situ" j ated under the root of the tongue, and | having an opening into the windpipe, " j bv wliieh the animal can force air into r j it. This increases the power of its j voice, acting something like the hollow I case (il a violin, and producing those ' ! marvelous rolling and reverberating 1 sounds which caused the celebrated traveler, Waterton, to declare that j they were such as might have had tlieir origin in the infernal regions. The howlers are large and stout-bodied " j monkeys with bearded faces, and very 1 strong and powerful grasping tails. They inhabit the wildest forests; they are very shy and are seldom taken capr tive, though they are less active than s j many other American monkeys.?P<>p! u'nr Srii-iicc Monthly. s a | Happy Chil dhond. il How beautiful are the innocent and j health-imparting sports of happy t. childhood. How the middle-aged or s still older heart responds to tender e | memories of jocund youth as the bovs o j are seen absorbed in "their merry j games! " Out on first!" " Xo 'tisn't e either!" "1 tell you 'tis ; you just I 4 ..T 41...+ I*' II W..11 ' n i:tJim* urn ??i ui.it . m <u, >?mi 1. me out if you can !" "You bet I just e can, though!" "You're a liar!" I " You're a liar!" " You're another I" Smash,' crack, bang! haired pulled, d j garments rolled in mud, blows, mutn j terings, and what Victor Hugo would ie i call a "formidable breathing," with it j gruntings and snortings as the coinit batants struggle. Finally: "There, have you had enough?" " Ye-e-s, let up, will you?" "Were you out or h not?" and, after some mutterings, a grumbling assent. These are the sounds tliat come from the vacant lots ie of the city of an afternoon, as the rs boys play the merry bat and ball, r- Again, let us remark: "Happy, ?r happy childhood I"?Boston Journal" FOR THE LADIES. Fancy Human Hair. There is at present, says the New York Suv, a scarcity of fancy human hair in the market. The scarcest hair is pure white, and its value is constantly increasing, and if it is unusually long, that is, from four to live feet, the dealer can get almost his own price, while if it is of ordinary length it is worth from $75 to $100 an ounce. The fact that pure white hair is the court coiffure in Europe keeps the demand for it very high. Moreover, it is much prized hv American women whose own hair is white, and who desire to enrich its folds, for white, hair is held to give a certain distinction to the wearer. There is no fancy market for gray hair. It is too common. It is used to work into wigs of persons who are growing old. What is der> p serihed as golden hair is either a washed-out pale red or ;i dull Monde. The gold color so much valued has no relation to red hair, except in the vividness of its coloring. The demand for the virgin gold color is great in the capitals of Europe. A woman who j gets a coiffure of it is considered lor-1 tunate. A young Brooklyn lady of much beauty possesses a splendid wig, i winch she chanced to find in a shop m ; Nice. She was a blonde, hut had a ! scanty supply of dull hair. It did not; take Itt-r an instant to decide to have] her hair cut short and to wear the wig. There are four type-colors of hair? white, Monde, black and brown?and each of these has been subdivided into sixteen different shades. The commonest types are black and brown, and these are cheap, (lolden brown is much in favor, as is pure black, or what i is called blue black, or whose natural j hair, streaked with gray, shows in con-1 trast with the false covering. Xext to ! pure white hair the demand is for hair i of the color of virgin gold. There are | many braids made of hair colored to! meet the demand with certain prepara- j tions, but they prove unsatisfactory, j Many foolish women have sought to j change the color of their own tresses, but they have uniformly repented the attempt. A line suit of hair of the purest blonde type will sell for from $ '100 to $500. It is said that the Empress Eugenie paid 1,000 francs an ounce for a braid of golden hair that exactly matched her own. The largest supply of hair comes j from France, Switzerland and Germany. The country fairs are attended bv agents of merchants in London, Paris and Vienna, who ingratiate themselves into the favor of young girls and persuade them to sell their tresses for glass ornaments or other gewgaws. Only at intervals is a prize like a perfect suit of golden hair obtained, and it is said that there are orders ahead in the shops of Paris and London for all the golden hair that can be obtained in the next seven years. When a stock of hair is collected by traveling agents it is assorted, washed and cleaned. Then each hair -is drawn through the eye of a needle and polished. When the stock is ready for the market, in Europe, the nobility is permitted to make the lirst choke. Fn?bion Note*. The new Frunch coiffure is formed of Hat bandeaux. A scarf arranged as a pelerine is a favorite drapery for the shoulders. Skirts of evening dresses are covered with four flounces of embroidered tulle. Nearly all shoulder capes have a thick ruche of lace material around the neck. The newest bodices are glove-fitting, with large and full paniers around the hips. Freshly gathered flowers are used to trim the hats and corsages of country toilets. Bonnet-strings are made of very wide ribbon, tied in a butterfly bow under the chin. * Race and coaching toilets arc; made of the gayest, brightest and richest materials. White straw pokes, trimmed with white lace only, are much worn by young girls. The corsages of some very handsome costumes are laced up in front instead of buttoning. Xone but home-made dresses, and very ugly ones at that, are inflated with crinoline. There is an effort to revive wreaths of flowers as headdresses and low clusters behind the ears. A Paris fashion is to carry very large fans in the carriage for sunshades, instead of parasols. Flowers are worn to excess not only on all festival occasions, hut also in the morning, at home, in the street, and for carriage toilet. The shirred or gauged Ileligolanda or Mother llubhard garden hat of bright printed or pale tinted satiue is worn by young girls of ten and upward. Ulack and terra-cotta an* the colors most useful for silk stockings, as they can now be worn with almost any dress of the stylish shades without being too striking. Among splendid novelties sent over from Paris are embroideries of metallic bullion and imitation jewels, incrustations in relief upon velvets, brocades, damasses and satins. Flowers have almost driven feathers out of favor for trimming hats. A ! full wreath of roses, without green leaves, is tied by long ribbons around a i - v *.. i. i * i :i . tJie crowii ui wmc-iirjiiim;-u ionium hats. Coaching parasols arc made gay with embroideries or paintings of hunting, sporting, equestrian and pastoral scenes, (lowers, birds and immense gilt monograms or coats of arms or emblematic devices. Among other fancies is that of fastening the corsage with tiny, bulletshaped buttons, set on less than an inch apart. The buttonholes are made by machinery. Sometimes there is a double row of buttons. Satin ribbon three inches wide is worn tied around the waist in preference to stilf belts. Pointed belts outlining the lower part of the corsage are more stylish than those that pass | straight around the waist. liiacK iallies, saims, popnus, waiereti silk, and also thinner materials, such as j grenadines, silk pauses and (idle are all ! in high fashion. I Mack silk skirls covered with grenadine plisscs and bouil| lonnes, and accompanied hv silk ??r satin casaqucs or jaccpiettes trimmed with hlaek Spanish lace and jet, make thoroughly elegant toilets, enabling the ! wearer to vary them l>y eolored trim! niings and floral garniture if desired. The Forget-me-not. There is a favorite legend in Cer i many of a luck tlower which admits i its fortunate Under into the recess of a : mountain or castle, where untold riches I invite his grasp. Dazzled with sc ; much Wealth, with which he lills his j pockets and hat, the favored mortal j leaves behind him the Mower to which : he owes his fortune, and, as he leave? | the enchanted ground the words, "ForI get not the best of all" reproach him for his ingratitude, and the suddenly | closing door either descends on one ci j his heels and lames him for life 01 I u??ntMO/mu 11 * 11 fivrfiVnr II' , i-,.-.,; ....... r. ...... ..... .... .. ...... is right, this is 1 ho origin of the word forget-me-not, and not the last word o! the lover drowning in the Danube, a? he throws his lady-love the Uowcr slu craved of liim. The tradition that tl < luck llower or key llower was blue, i> inconsistent with the fact that tin primrose is the Schleusselblume (kej flower). Coronations. The present caar of Russia, afte? 1 having announced that his coronation | would take place with great pomp at 1 Moscow, in the middle of August, sudj denly postponed the ceremony to an indefinite period. Several reasons were alleged fur this singular decision. It I was said that the health of the czarina ! was such as to make it necessary to I postpone it. It was declared that the ; czar was unwilling to mark the occasion with concessions as to Russian land, which the peasants expected and demanded. Finally it was gravely ' whispered that the czar feared to he crowned, lest such an event would give I the Nihilists an opportunity to attempt his life. The latter surmise is a very likely one. Jt is known that the authoritiesof Moscow haveplainly told theczar j that if lie was crowned in that city they could not answer for the pfreser! vat ion of order or for his personal safety. Preparations to attempt the I czar's life have been detected in the I ancient capital of Muscovy ; and more than one plot to murder him on the i {'ay of coronation lias been unearthed, j it may he that the Czar Alexander 111. will never he crowned. Rut this is merely the omission of a traditional, I?ut after all. an empty ceremony. It does not add at all to a monarch's authority to rule to he crowned. It is merely a matter of historic pomp and pageantry; it confers no new right or w 1. prerogative. *uiiin mix i-n-iynn uii\ ireigned through long periods and have died uncrowned. Coronation is, indeed, a very ancient as well as a very imposing rite. It is known, fur instance, that Solomon was crowned with great display; and it is probable that the Assyrian ;ind Egyptian kings were all crowned. Coronation. too, in almost yverv country and period has been a sacred as well as a political ceremony. The head of the sovereign lias been anointed with oil, which signifies his consecration to the service of Cod as well as of the state. The old Saxon kings of England were wont to lie crowned, not at LonI don, but. in the ancient and august cathedral of Winchester, or in that j lovely riverside town, Kingston-onThames. Since the time of the Norj man kings, however, the sovereigns of | England have always been crowned in j Westminster Abbey ; ;ind since the j time of Edward the First each sov| ereign has been crowned on the same throne, beneath which rests the "Stone of Destiny" brought from Scotland by | the great Edward. It was formerly the custom in Eng[ land to date the reign of a king from the day, not of his accession, but of his coronation. I Between the^e two events the sovereign i was called "Lord of England," not king, which title he only assumed after lie had been duly crowned. This was the case both with Richard the Lion Hearted and his brother John. Various reasons have served to cause from time to time the omission of the ceremony of coronation. It is said that Napoleon III. never dared to he crowned, for fear of some catastrophe similar to that which the present czar is now threatened. Napoleon I. had no such fear, and was crowned with great magnificence at Notre Dame. The ceremony of coronation is still kept up with much state and grandeur in > nearly every monarchy in Christendom; ! hut a king is just as much a king with! out it as with it It is the oath which j every sovereign takes at the moment of his accession which endows him with the right and the responsibility of ruling over his subjects.?Youth's Companion. Treeless Regions, The steppes of Asia are the grand! est of all in extent and perhaps the j most varied in character; for not only are the vast areas of that nearly level j and treeless country which lie along l the northern and northwestern side of all the great central elevated mass of 'that continent usually designated as steppe, hut a large part of that central region itself is described under that name by recent eminent geographical authorities, so that we may include in j the various forms of steppe existing in | Russia and Central Asia the grasscovered plains of the lower regions, and the almost entirely barren valleys lying between the various mountain ranges which are pileil up over so large a portion of high Asia. Absence of trees is the essential feature in both j the "steppe" and the "high steppe," as these regions have been and may ! perhaps with propriety be designated, I but the lower regions are in large part ! well covered with grass, and suitable for occupation by a pastoral people, dependent ehielly for the means of sustenance on their flocks and herds, while the higher valleys are almost I uninhabitable, very sparsely covered j with a scrubby vegetation, and both too cold and too dry to offer any atI fractions except to the adventurous | geographical explorer, who has still j much to accomplish on the great j plateau of high Asia before its topog: raphy and natural history will have | b -en anything like satisfactorily made | out, even in meir most general ica(iires. The vastncss of tin* area wliieli I may lie designated as a steppe on the ; Asiatic continent is almost overwhclm5 ing. Nearly half of tins 18,000,000 ! square miles which Asia covers is esj sentially a treeless region, and perhaps a half of that half belongs to the highsteppe division, in which cold and i dryness are the predominant character! isties. From the fact that the steppes ! of Russian Asia have been longer ; known and more written about j than any others in the | world, the term steppe has been j most ordinnrily applied to similar i areas in other countries. This is esj pecially the case because such a use of {the word has been s.ictioned by llum; boldt, who was the lit to draw popu: lar attention to this variety surface I as a feature of importance in physical j geography. In .North America, where j the treeless regions occupy so large an I area, and where many of the physical ! conditions so closely resemble, those prevailing on the Asiatic continent, the use of tin- term steppe lias never been i inf r/\i ln/**nl ihn tu>nnln I T nr/? in v" I" I * fact, the character of the surface and distribution of vegetation over it. as | well as its climatological peculiarities, ! have all been more satisfactorily and fully made out than in Asia, in spite of ! the fact that the latter country lias been so much longer an object of sei; cntilic study. How the Chinese Make Dwarf Trees. We have all known from childhood how the Chinese cramp their women's ! l'ect and so manage to make them keepers-at-home;* but how they grow miniature pines and oaks in llowerIiiits for half a century has always been much of a secret. They aim first and last at the seat of vigorous j growth, endeavoring to weaken it as much as may be consistent with the , nrescrvation of life. Take, a vounir plant?say a seedling or cutting of ? cedar?when only two or three inches > higli, cut nIT its tap-root, as soon as it has other rootlets to live upon, and replant it in an earthen pot or pan. The i; end of the tap-root is generally made i to rest on a stone within it. Alluvial i! clay is then put into the pot, much of r it in hits the size of heans, and just enough in kind and quantity to furnish a scanty nourishment to the plant, i Water enough is given to keep it in 11 growth, hut not enough to excite a i vigorous habit. So, likewise, in the j application of light and heat. As the j Chinese pride themselves on the shape of their miniature trees, they use i strings, wires and pegs and various other mechanical contrivances to promote symmetry of habit or to fashion their pets into odd, fancy figures. A PRINCESS OF ROMANCE. i Tlie Story of the YTidnwof the Ln.it Klcrtor of IIcNMr. The London Tcleyraph says: Of ! the strance life stories that may he I gleaned from that portion of the " Al1 manach de Got ha" dealing with dvnsisi tic and personal facts, few are more romantic than that which has just been ! concfuded hy the demise of Gertrude | von Ilanau, the widow of the last elector of llesse. Her titular description, taken from the German civilstandsregister, or oilicial obituary record, is in its?'lf tlif skeleton of a three-volume novel. It runs as follows: "Gertrude, Princess of Ilanau, Countess of .Schaumburg, nee Falkenstein, divorcee Lehman." This interesting personage, who died a sliort time ago at Prague, in her sev! enty-seventh year, was the daughter of ! a well-to-do wine merchant established at Bonn about the commencement of the present century. Endowed bv nature with extraordinary personal attractions, she had several offers of marriage while still in her teens, and ; bestowed her hand, some lifty ! eight years ago, upon a young Prussian paymaster called Lehlnann, then serving in the Seventh lancers, a regiment quartered at Marienwerder, in West Prussia. Shortly after her union to this person she paid a visit to her parents in her native town, and during her stay with them made the acquaintance of Frederick William, electoral prince of Hesse and a captain of Prussian cavalry in garrison at iJonn. The young officer, who had quitted his lather's court in consequence of a quarrel with the reigning elector's "friend," Countess lleichenbach, and was, oddly enough, notorious for his disapproval of princely peccadilloes, fell desperately in love with "Mrs. Captain Lehmann," and soon proposed to make practical recantation of his high principles in her favor, by carrying her off from her husband. The fair Gertrude, however, promptly gave him to understand that her views were exclusively matrimonial. She was, indeed. already a wife, but suggested to his serene highness that her husband, Lelnnann, was a sensible and manageable fellow, open to reasons of a certain sort, and that in all probability a little judicious persuasion would convince him of the expediency of parting with his handsome spouse? for a consideration. Negotiations were opened between the husbands in esse and in posse, resulting in a hard c;usli transaction, whereby Lehmann became the happy possessor of $7000. Having pocketed this comfortable little com pcnsation lie proceeded to institute a divorce suit against his wife upon the plea of "incompatibility of temperament," and as soon as the degree of scheidung had been pronounced, Gertrude Falkenstein, ex-Lehiuann, was led to the altar by her " all-serenest" suitor, who a few months later conferred upon her the title of Countess von Schaumburg. The wedding took place in the autumn of 1831, the year in which popular discontent with the elector William's regime in Hesse compelled that singularly dissolute potentate to nominate his son co-regent?a step which practically amounted to his abdication in favor of Frederick "William. Frau von Schaumburg, therefore?at that time in the zenith of her beauty?had not long to wait for the position and power to which she had aspired when she resolved to part from the husband of her girlhood's choice, who, by the way, had been compelled to throw up his commission in the Prussian service by his brother officers, and vanished into dishonorable obscurity with the price of his infamy. "When she took up her abode, however, in the Hessian capital her new mother-in-law, tin electress?an aunt of the present German emperor? refused to sit in the same box with her at the court theatre, whereupon Frederick William gave orders that Jiis mother should thenceforth not he admitted to that l?lace of entertainment. Toward the end of the year the aged electress, ignoring her son's prohibition, paid i visit to the theatre one evening, and was enthusiastically cheered by the audience upon her appearance in a private box. This demonstration wa.< continued in the streets when she left the house, and led to the populacc being charged by the elector's bod} guard, with drawn sabers, at his serene highness* express command. The Hessians never forgave their electoi for giving this barbarous order. H\ causing Ids subjects to be ridden and cut down for cheering Ids own mother ?a venerable and deeply respected princess?Frederick William utterh destroyed his popularity in the realm ol his ancestors. Between 1831 and 185C Countess Sehaumburg bore her husband seven sons and two daughters, | Early in the latter year she was created Princess of Hunan bv the emperor of Austria. On the elector's death in 1875 she inherited the whole of lii? enormous fortune, invested in statt securities and railway stock, which will be divided among her eight surviving children, the youngest of whom i is a lieutenant in the Fourth regiment I of Austrian lancers. I A fonsunipUve's Fftrlil for Life. j A. H. Barnes, of lb-no, Xevada, Jl^llUt 1*11 ftiiiaiiiiijriiwii ?i-|iuu? a I silver tube which passes between tho . ribsintothclungs. In 1849 Hnrnes, then I living in Sycamore, DcKalb county, ' Illinois, was declared an incurable con! stimptive. The lung was tapped and | he recovered. In he was again ! taken down by the disease, when he j once more resorted to the tube and has worn it constantly ever since. There ' is a daily discharge of matter. Mr. j Barnes is a man of very regular and ! temncrate habits, does not use tobacco j in any form nor stimulants of any ! kind, hardly ever uses any medicines, ! excepting sometimes a little iron for | the blood : is always feeling well when j the hole in his side is open, sometimes ! feeling a heaviness there, hut has got i used to that. This ease is certainly I worthy the attention of medical men. i It seems to give a man a new lease of 1 lif e even when apparently as good as I dead. j "When Mr. Barnes conceived the idea of tapping his lung all the physicians hut one scouted it as a thing that I would prove fatal. However, lie per! suadcd Dr. Woodman to perform the : operation. In ISM Mr. Humus was in Honey Lake valley, and was on the I brink of the grave. Now, again, the I resident physicians were opposed to I the idea of an incision, and after re[ pealed appeals for an operation, which | was refused, Mr. Barnes borrowed a lanee and cut open his side himself. | lie then inserted a cateller, and drawj jug olT nearly a quart of matter inlineJ diate relief was found. The cough j and expectoration stopped almost inj staidly, and Mr. I James was soon upon i his feet again. Thus he has prolonged . his life over thirty years. The World's Letters. , I III" HII i'l ii<(i m 'i1111 jniniui iiiui nit ?u Ilcrne has issued its statistics for the year 1S7'.), covering the twenty-live | principal countries belonging to the postal union. During the year N.200,i 000,000 pieces were sent l?v post, of i which 4.iH)0,000,()0() were letters and | ])ostal cards. Of the enormous total 5,024,000,000 pieces are credited tn i Europe, 2,MO,000,000 to America,205,j 000.0(11) to Asia. 7:3,000,(100 to Australia ant I 12,000,000 to Africa. Reckoning the population of the globe at 1 ,-100,000,000, the total would allow 5.1 pieces of mail matter per capita Among the nations England sent tlx largest number, 1,587,000,000 pieces 1 and Germany the next largest, 1,200,000,000. In the use of postal card? Germany came first, with 123,000,000 and England followed,with 114,000,000 A Daring Bank Robbery. The robbery of the First National | j bank of Kewakee, 111., was a most i ! audacious affair. The bank is favora- j j bly situated for the work accomplished j j there. On one side and at the rear j 1 there is no occupied building for some ; j distance, while at the front and on the ! ! other side it is separated from other ; business houses by the street. "When ; the bank doses for the day the curtains I of the doors and windows are drawn I ; down. The men who committed the | i robbery had been around town at j ; different times for several days. One j i of them came in on the evening train, j . and, stepping into the bank on his way from the depot, asked to leave a valise j in the office until the next day. lie received permission to do so. During the remainder of the day the men were seen by different persons, sometimes i together and at other times senaratelv. ' in the different parts of the town. One was a tall, slim, beardless man j about six feet high, with a eonsumptive look, low, square jaws, and rather -.ominent features. The other was somewhat shorter, thick set, with red sunburned face, and a light mustache. The former was dressed in a dark suit,' with a linen duster, and the latter in dark blue, with glass or pparl buttons. Toward evening they visited the livery stables to hire teams, but did not go together. As it happened, they were unable to get what they wanted. At a few mini utes before 6 o'c lock they went into i the bank together. The cashier of the bank, Mr. 0. S. "Wentworth, was on a vacation, and the bank was in charge of the assistant cashier, Mr. .T. J. Pratt, who, with the second assistant, Miss Carrie Palmer, was balancing the casli preparatory to locking it up. They had about finished when they heard quite a loud rap at the door, and Mr. Pratt, thinking some one had arrived late with a deposit, told Miss Palmer to open the door. Miss Palmer recognized the man who had left the valise, and, supposing that was what he was after, unlocked the door. She was immediated seized by the shorter of the men, who placcd his hand on her mouth and shoved her around through the back oflice to the vault. The other hastily preceded them, and as Mr. Pratt, who was in the vault at the time, opened the door and started to come out, the scuffling noise arousing his suspicions, he was dealt a stunning blow with the butt of a revolver, which left him unconscious until the villains had accomplished their work. Miss Palmer fared worse. She was treated in a most shocking manner. The burglars at first stuffed her mouth with linen and her own hair, and then beat her head upon the lloor, bruising and cutting her outrageously. She remained conscious until nearly the last, but says she does not remember hearing the men go away. ]3oth were bound and laid in the vault, and after the robbers had secured their plunder the vault door was locked The men then walked coolly out of the house with $18,769.05, about $12,000 of which was in gold, and made their way out of town toward the northeast. They had been seen to go into the bank by several persons. Others saw them when they came out with their heavy load of plunder in the valise. Shortly after they left the bank both the inmates of the vault recovered consciousness and began pounding and calling for help. Mr. Pratt, with a silver dime for a screwdriver, after a time succeeded in removing the combination lock and released himself and companion from their captivity. Making Shoes. | Manufacturers of shoes at Lynn, Mass., do not buy more machines than [ they need becayse few have stood the test of many years, and it is expensive to keep replacing unperfected machines J with those valuably improved. Most machines are labor-saving, and economy prompts a manufacturer to give mnnliinn ii'Arl'nru flin luin ftfi f ir? thn dull season. In the heeling of shoes a | great deal is done by machinery, a great deal by hand, according to the grade of the heel, and the wages are ' from twelve to eighteen dollars. Those who finish the soles earn about the same as the heelers. Boys' wages in all ] departments are from three to eight dollars, and they can often be em| ployed quite profitably to do the work ; of a man. The lasters, who fit the , shoe to the last, have always made excellent pay, earning from twelve to . twenty dollars per week, according to the rapidity with which they . handle the work. Xo machine has . yet been invented which can do l more work and better work than a capable last or, although there is one which will do a very good day's work j on the cheaper grades. "When it is . considered that one man can sew, another beat out, another set the edges, ' and so on, for the work of ten lasters, ' here is no disputing the advisability of a lasting machine. It is as likely | to he invented as the machine which sews a pair of shoes in a minute although the difficulty to overcome is to find some machine which will readily adapt itself to the inaccuracies of the fitters and the different degrees of pliability of all kinds of stock. The feasibility of lasting shoes by machin| ery will no doubt have to come from nit! accuracies 01 omer ueparuiiciiis, such as extra 'care in the making of ])atterns, in selection of stock and gauges on stitching machines, which will make every shoe of a size, the same in every particular. Most of the seams in fitting a shoe, taken by the guidance of an operator, necessarily j vary, and shoes cannot he made exact in large quantities until there is some j arbitrary guide which will not allow i of any variation. The use of the needle is very essen-! tial in the manufacture of shoes, and : no small proportion of those employed are the "girls" who are always called "girls," irrespective of age, as long as they work on shoes. In departments * * 1 -.~ i ? i.. ! Where tiicv are employed reductions have been made so often that they ilo not earn one-half what they diil ten years ago. Very few earn more than ten or twelve dollars a week on work which once paid them i eighteen or twenty dollars, and the ! average earnings are not more than , j seven or eight dollars. The rcduc'tions have not been, in proportion, , j more severe than in other depart| j ments, lmt stitching machines were always capable of as much work as i they arc now, and there is no chance to do enough extra work to make the aggregate wages as much as formerly. Just at this season ' of the year good help in the stitching-room is quite scarce, and if this continued it would have a tendency to make prices better, or oblige | manufacturers to d.'iiiand a longer time to lill their orders. An unusua i . . ... , j scarcity this year is caused mi-gciv ml cause the demand lias changed from lace to button Imots, in which there is more work, and, latterly, because , worked buttonholes have gained such , popularity that the girls \vlu? work , them have been drawn largely from . the regular force of stitchers. Large numbers of the stitchers who spend the summer months with friends or service at the summer hotels, will no , doubt return in time to supply the de, licienev for the next trade. Their ab. senee lias been especially noticeable . this season, bccause these additional features have required a larger force I of operatives. . In 1870 the value of all the men's clothing manufactured in the United . States Wits ?147,000,000. In 1880 5 ?125,000,000 worth was made in the #! live cities of New-York, Philadelphia, | i Chicago, Boston and Cincinnati. TRAINING FOR THE NAYY. Tlie Life thnt Apprcntlcc Uoya Lend on tlie United .States School ShipH. The United States training ship Minnesota returned to New York from Newport,.where she had been for the last fifteen months, and where the recruits received were few in number. Boys entering j the service are required to be over fourteen years of age and under eighteen, and must agree to serve until they are twenty-one. They have to undergo a searching medical examination, and must be free from all physical defects. The minimum standard is as follows: Age, fourteen to fifteen years; height, four feet nine inches; weight, seventy pounds; chest measurement, twenty-six inches; fifteen to sixteen?four feet and eleven inches, eight v pounds, twenty-seven inches: sixteen to seventeen?five feet one inch, ninety pounds, twenty-eight inches; seventeen to eighteen?five feet two inches, 100 pounds, twenty-nine inches. On entering, a recruit, -whatever his age, is rated third-class boy, with a salary of $9.50 per month. On attaining the rating of seamen-apprentice his pay is increased from $17.50 to $31.50. By the time the apprentices reach the age of eighteen they are considered lit to he sent abroad in a practice vessel, finishing their term of service in a regular man-of-war. The Portsmouth and Saratoga, at present in Naples, have 300 such boys on board. In no case are they discharged in a foreign port. When twenty-one years of age they receive a discharge stating their qualifications. The course of instruction they have received generally fits them to pass an examination for second mate in the merchant service, though the object of the system is specially that of educating a superior class of men for the navy. If they reenlist in the navy within ninety days from the date of their discharge tliey are granted a bonus of three months' I.,11 K 4 xuii pa>. j\.h iwruij-iuui uu apjiieiitice may, l?v passing an examination, become seaman gunner, from which position lie may rise to the rank of warrant officer, becoming boatswain or gunner at a salary of $1,200 to $1,800 a year. The boys receive instruction in all the branches of n plain English education and are in addition taught the different subjects necessary to a seaman, such as seamanship, great gun and small arms drill, rowing, sailing, swimming, fencing and boxing. They may also join a volunteer class of navigation, held during the winter. They are not required to stand watch, men being specially retained for that purpose, but are for the sake of convenience nominally divided into two watches. The reveille sounds at 5 a. m., when they turn out and receive hot coffee and biscuit. Clearing decks generally occupies them till six bells, when they go to breakfast. They return to duty at 9 o'clock, at which time all hands are mustered at quarters. Their studies engage their attention during the remainder of the day. Dinner is served at noon and supper at 5 r. m. The boys are allowed a full ration of provisions, but this they generally commute when in harbor for its money value?thirty cents for each ration?with which they purchase food themselves. At sundown all the boys are sent to tne mastneau, to anorci healthy exercise to accustom them to going aloft. Pensions are allowed in the case of those disabled by illness or injuries contracted while on duty. The boys are allowed a reasonable amount of liberty and to draw from their pay a certain amount of pocket money. If not absent on foreign cruises the boys are permitted to visit their homes twice a year if their conduct and the state of their accounts warrant it. Their parents may also visit them on board the vessels. Xew York is considered a good place for recruits, five or six a day sometimes making application. A number of applicants are constantly rejected because of physical or moral disability. There are at present on board the Minnesota 414 boys, eighty men and thirty officers and a sergeant's guard of twenty marines. Captain J. II. Gillis is in command. The Minnesota is a wooden steam frigate of 3,000 tons. .She is pierced for sixty-four guns, but at present mounts only twenty-four. She was first used as a training ship in 1875, and has been stationed in different places since that time. SCIENTIFIC NOTES. Scientific men in Japan are discussing the possibility of utilizing the internal heat of the earth. Mr. Villiers Stuart records that when the mummy of the great warrior Thothmes III. was unswathed the body was found to be unusually short and i slight. Hardly had a rapid photograph j been taken of the figure than the fragile remains, as if in protest against | the violation of their rest, vanished ! into dust. Flax is more extensively and more I successfully cultivated in Belgium than | in any other European country, particI ularly in South Brabant, Ilainault and ; West and East Flanders, in which the ; most beautiful llax in Europe is proj dured, employed for the manufacture of the Hrussels lace, and sold for that purpose. Before an English committee of inI quiry, Dr. John Horkinson has exi pressed the belief that the whole of the electricity generated hv one horscI power would* not do more than boil a ! gallon and a half of water an hour. | This opinion was given as evidence that electricity is not likely to ever be! come economically useful for heating purposes. Monkeys, says Alfred R. Wallace, j are usually divided into three kinds? I apes, monkeys and baboons ; but these do nut include the American monkeys, j which are really more different from all those of the Old World than any of the latter are from each other. X atualists, therefore, divide the whole monkey tril>e into two families, one having its habitat in the Old World j and the other in the New World. The Highland Warriors. The appearance of the Highland regI intents which England hurried to the j front from both siiles of Egypt was as ! great a surprise to the Bedouins of . .\r;il>i Pasha as to their grandfathers i in IT'.'S. When the Highlanders of I Sir lhilph Abercromby's army landed :it Alexandria in that year the Arabs ' of tin' town, after a wondering survey J of the stalwart Celts, ran to announce to their friends the arrival of a host i of giants, so huge that the clothes which ' they wore were all too short for them. In the sepoy mutiny of 1S~?7 the Highland regiments did priceless service hoth at Lucknow and Cawnporc, storming on one occasion a high-walled garden defended hv live ' times their numlter of sepoys and literally annihilating the whole garrison. , When Nana Sahib's soldiers first caught sight of the plaids and kilts they exclaimed joyfully that all the English soldiers must have heen killed and that the sirkar (government) had had to call out the women. But after their lirst taste of a Highland bayonet charge they abandoned this belief once lor all, ami fell back upon the theory that these terrible lighters had deliberately adopted this female garb in order to remind them of the wrong which they came to revenge, viz.. tin* massacre ' of the English ladies by Nana Sahib. Eree libraries are a great power in the United States. Eortv-nine new ones were opened in 1879, containing 86,779 volumes, making a total of i 3,842 public libraries of all classes, HEALTH HINTS. U fSM I A sun-hath is a ready remedy for B Health should he the rule, and sick' ness the exception, in human life. H Pains in the side are most promptly relieved by the application of mustard. ./'JMI | Xo sick person ever gets well until H j the weakest organ in the body is made -''ajl Air is food. To have good health ! human beings should live more in the Those who are sick have added to j their sickness by the poisons they have | taken medicinally. One of the simplest and best remedies H to be given to children troubled with H worms is poplar bark. Physicians use it with marked success. It can be ' 3 bought at any drug store. Take a M little pinch of the bark?as much as H you can hold on the point of a pen- ' knife?and give it before breakfast. It has a clean bitter taste and any child will take it fl An excellent medicine is sunshine. The world requires more of it, morally / and physically. It is more soothing " ; /^BH than morphine, more potent than pop- : : pies. It is good for liver complaint, for neuralgia, for rheumatism, for M melancholy?for everything. Make your rooms sunny and cheerful; build your house so as to command the sun- i|^H light all day long. H To treat sprains give the affected .' && part rest and apply warm fermenta- / - tions. 11 lnnammatipn nas sei in put on leeches and cooling applications, * H which ma}' be removed at intervals H when necessary. When the inflaramation subsides use friction and stfmulating liniments or poultices made of bread, vinegar and water. Low vitality may result from anx-_ . iety, watching, over-work, intemper-' ance, vice or from a lack of adequate ; nourishment. High health offers little lodging-place to the germs of disease, -'H somewhat as the seedj of weeds find no / room in a well-cultivated grass field. Low health opens a chance at almost H every point. Few things, however, so M let down the system as insufficient or .fl improper food and want of sleep.? Dr. Footers Health Monthly. * H ?V t!^S * Condensing a Telegram. fl There was a big smash on the railroad at Dallas Center, Iowa. To an- . .'^m| nouncc his escape from a horrible death ^JjaO one of the passengers, a tall man with a thin neck, handed the telegraph operator the following message: H Mna.SAn.vn II. Folljnsbee, Dallas Center, Iowa.?My Dear Wifo: I left the city earlv this v3^H morning, after eating breakfast with Professor - y9| Morton, a live roan in the temperance caoac. I expectcd to cat dinner with you at home. But we ~H| were delayed by a terrible railroad accident on the railroad, and I narrowly escaped being killed; one 9 passenger was terribly mangled, and hat since died; out I am alive. The conductor eays I cannot make connection so as to come to Dallas Center this " moraine, bat I can get there by 8 o'clock this evesInc. I hate to disappoint you, but cannot help it With love for mother and the children, I am your loving husband, Rooer K. Follihsbbj?. s *^; v3^E The operator read it, smiled, and said: "You can save considerable ex- - r E pense and tell all that is really neces- fajSH sarv, I presume, by shortening this message down to ten words. "We have J no wire directly into Dallas, and will have to send this message part of the way over another line, which adds _ largely to the cost of transmission. I Shall I shorten this for you ?" H "No, oh, no," the man with the shawl replied, " I'll fix it myself." H The tall man with the short panta ^ >?i- ii.. ,1^.1. lOOnS WtUL MUCK LU IUC UCai\. ivivxi . his message. It was a stunner, fora fact, and the man heaved a despairing sigh as lie prepared to boil his "letter" down to ten words. He <^-1 9 sighed again after reading it through once or twice, and then scratched out ..9 " Dallas Center, Iowa," as though H everybody knew where he lived. Then j9 he erased " early," and drew his pen . slowly through " breakfast with " and " in the temperance." Then he scratched over "dinner with," and/T*^4 went on to erase " and narrowly caped." And so he went on through the dispatch. Occasionally he would hold it from him at arm's length, after making an erasure, to get at the gen- 9 eral effect. And at last, after much scratching and erasing and with many sighs, he came to the window and said: V,;^9 " Here is this telegraphic dispatch to H my wife. I have not been able to con- . ?9 dense it into ten words, and do not see H how it can lie done without garbling ..^?9 the sense of the dispatch, but if you ^?v&-9 can do it you will oblige me greatly, as " ,*v.<9 I do not wish to incur any really un- M nnnp??!nrv #?vnf>nsp." 1' -?--- . And with that he handed the opera tor the following expunged edition of his original message: Mrs. Sarah II. Follinsijee?My Dear Wife : I left the city?this moraine after eating?Professor Hj Morton alive?cause I expected to eat?yon at home. Rut we wora delayed by a terrible railroad ; afl accident on the railroad. I?beins killed?terribly > I mangled and since died; the conductor?cannot 'iV^B j Dallas Center-but I can.?I hate?mother and children. Hooer K. Follinsbee. H I The operator smiled once more, and I in his quick, nervous way that grows fl out of his familiar association with . fl the lightning, made a few quick dashes with his pencil, and without adding or changing a letter in the original message, shriveled it down to its very sinews, like this: I Sarah II. Follinsbhe?Dallas Center, Iowa? Left city 'smornln-j; delayed by accident home B '^evening. Uogrr'K. Folli; suee. i " Tiu-re, that is all right," lie said, in the cheery, magnetic way these opera! tors have. "Fifty cents, sir; only H ; twenty-five cents if we had our own .>7?| I n.; intu r?-?ii;i? sir- we'll have one next spring, too; saves you .several#**,-.." dollars, sir. That's right, "thank you." j And tho man with the thin neck and N j thin hair went and sat down on a -S ! chair by the stove, and stared at that 9 j operator until the rescuing train came *< along as though he was a worker of ; miracles. A Natural Ballroom. 8 About a mile from the market-town H of Adelsberg in Austria, and three 9 j miles from Trieste, is to be seen the I | most wonderful cavern in Europe, and I possibly in the world, called the Adels- * H : berg rave, and which has been ex- fl | plored for a length of nearly 3,000 yards, as lar as a subterranean lake. *'fl : This cavern consists of several grottos H from sixty t<> eighty feet high. The I | interior rescinds with the noise of ' I water, as a little river runs completers, B j through it, forming many cascades on its way. ami being finally lost to view in a lissure. This river continues its suhterranean course for about eight j miles ; and alter a time it disappears | into the caverns of Laase, whence it emerges as a navigable river called the Laibach. The entrance to the cave of Adelsberg is illuminated by hundreds of candles, anil a transparent curtain, composed of large sheets of ervstal! lized limestone, is seen hanging from the roof. The vast hall or ballroom is about ISO yards from the entrance. It is ."{no feet long and KM) feet high, and is adorned with transparent stalactites of every kind of fantastic shape and form. I'ntil the year 1810 this ballroom was the only part known ; but at this date the wall of stalagmite was broken through, and a series of chain j D--T ' hers exposed to view possessing a ' cathedral-like appearance from the | stalactites, in many instances forming i vast columns l>y meeting the stalagI mites below. In the Adelsberg cavern numerous specimens ;ire found of the , proteus, a kind of lizard that dwells in | the bottom of cavern lakes.?Cham' bi-rs .J < >it nut I. Allow fow Is, if n??t confined, to shirk ! for themselves in the fore part of the day. especially in the warm summer mornings, when numerous insects and worms are out. Make; them industrious, get their own living when posj sible stnd give them their food after j they have done their level best to get a living. It is the active and not the i stupid hen that lays the most egg* ??J