The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, September 13, 1882, Image 1
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