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r T ^mm ABBEVILLE PRESS AND BANNER. I BY HUGH WILSON. ABBEVILLE, S. C.. WEDNESDAY, JUNE 13, 1883. . NO. 52. VOLUME XXVII. 'JffiSj FWAS IT CHANCE? Th? wind swept over a silver string; /' "le cord responded, but why did it sing ? f I Was it chance ? I_, ie golden sun, rising, illumined the sky ; lotus awakened, but why did it sigh ? Was it chance ? The nightingale hoverel all night o'er the rose; Why blossomed the rosebud at dawn ? Who knows ? Was it chance ? The moon flew away with th3 dark gazello : Which courted the other ? Who can tell ? Was it chance ? The lover found many strange ways to his fair, But, arrived at ths spot, she was ever thereWas it chance ? ?From thr Persian. nrrm nAiTTmvn nrrvArxm tlllL dljI LLlllf d HUULMt. Squire KimbaU was pulling nj? weeds in his strawberry patch when he saw somebody with a pink sunbonnet on coming down the road. "That's Lucy Keene," lie said to himself. ' Lucy's the smartest and prettiest girl in the neighborhood, by all odds. Her mother used to be just Jike her when she was a girl." Then the squire's thoughts went back across the distance of five-andtwentv years, and he remembered when the sight of Hester Wayne's pink sunbonnet could make his heart flutter, and the faintest glimpse of the pink cheeks and sparkling eyes beneat h its broad brim could bring such a sweet disturbance into his bosom that he couldn't get over it in all day?in fact, he did not want to. But all this had happened long ago. He was an old man now, with a grownup son, and Hester?the woman he had loved and had meant to marry if Fate, or something he called Fate, had not come between them?was a widow, and before him was a second edition of his old sweetlieart. It made him feel quite young again to look at her. As she came up and stopped beside the fence that beautiful June morninir. the old lire t-tirrcd under the dust I and ashes of five-and-twenty years, and he felt a little llarae kindling in 2 his heart. J "I wonder why some young fellow hasn't captured such a prize as she is?'he thought, with a look full of - admiration on his face, as Lucy said j "Good-morning," and added some-1 thing about its being pleasant weather. "Yes, it is pleasant,"he said, looking at her face, and thinking more about that than about the weather, il' the truth must be told. "Very pleasant, indeed. How's your mother these ??days, Lucy?" * " Oh, she's well, thank you," an-; sweredLucy. " You'd think she was if you were to see her, for she's clean-1 ing house, though it is pretty late in ; K the season for such work. "We had f visitors all through May. I wanted i ? to help her, but she said she'd rather , do it al ne, and take her time for it. k As it was so nice out of doors, I made ^ . up my mind I didn't want to stay in the house if thi re wasn't anything I i ^ could do t j help, so I hunted up anex|k cuse for a walk to the village," exI planned Lucy, with a jolly little laugh I that showed her even, white teeth, 1 and made dimples in cheeks and chin. W "What splendid strawberries you | have ! The meddlesome old hens got m into our patch one day, when we were gone, and the first we knew there wasn't a berry left. Mother felt so bad about it, for she always reckons on strawberry preserves and jam for the winter, you know." f "I want to know I" exclaimed the j sympathetic squire. "Xow you tell; your-mother she's welcome to all she H 4 -u cua |HH WilUlS OUL UJL III/ patun. one tau unit | BHj 'em just as well as not, for we shan't | Hflj begin to use half of 'em. I'd a good BH deal rather have 'em used than H wasted." H " I'll tell her, and I know she'll be j BSB delighted at the chance," said Lucy, j Hi "She was saying, only yesterday, that, fin she should fed lost without" strawberry-preserves in the house. You know she'e a great hand for fixing up | such things." ^**~*""ieiC I do," said the squire, thinking ^^ ^"^of the old times. "I remember that she used to have the reputation of outdoing all the old housekeepers in that line. They used to say she had a knack of making strawberry-jam that nobody else could get hold of." " She hasn't lost it yet," laughed MB Lucy. "She'd be pleased to have you come over to tea, and try some of that M Bhe made last year. She had extra j good luck with it." "I'll do it," said the squire, with |W alacrity. " I'll do it, Lucy. Let me H see, to-day's Wednesday, isn't it? Tell Mm her I'll come over Saturday if it's WM agreeable, and take tea with her. I think the s'.rawberries'll be ripe enough H to pick by that time, and if they are, IB I'll brine: a pailful along, and we can I have a good," old-fashioned shortcake? that is, if it wouldn't be too much trouble." "No trouble at all," said Lucy. " Nothing would suit us better. I'm to tell her you'll be over to tea on Saturday, then?" " Yes," answered the squire, feeling very much as he used to when her mother smilei on him. " Oh, by the way, Lucy, I heard from Charlie yesterday!"' " Did you ?" asked Lucy, stooping to pick a daisy. The s juire could not see the blush her pink sunbonnet hid. If he had, it might have set him thinking. "Ye?, and he wrote that he would be home in a day or two," said the squire. " Home to stay, too." " That'll be pleasant for you," said Lu^y, still hunting for daisies in fc_-the grass, as if a great deal depended W' upon her finding a few more. I "Yes, it will," said the squire. " Charlie's a good boy, and it's rather i??.i,om \ jrrfijit house like Iiuxicoviuu uvftv* - - n- ^? mine neals young faces to brighten it up. One like yours, Lucy, for instance." And the squire smiled across the fence at her in much the same way he ha-l smiled at her mother years ago. " I guess I'd better be going," said Lucy, "or 1 won't be back in time to help about the dinner." He leaned over the fence and watched her till she went out of sight beyond the hill. "I don't know but it's foolish to think of sucii a thing," he said to himself, by-and-bye. " I'm old enough to be her father; but 'twouldn't be the first time a girl has married an old man, and if we're willing, I don't see as it's anybody else's business. If I make up my inind to marry Lucy, I'm going to do it," he added. Charlie came home next day. He was a tall, good-looking young fellow, very much what his father must have been at his age; and the squire wasn't a bad-looking man now, by any means. ? r c'nocA T'll h:ive to tell him what I've been thinking about," thought the squire, feeling crawly all over at the Bfl| Idea. " I'd rather take a horsewhipHB ^ . ping, I declare, than to tell him I H think of getting married again; but 1 H suppose I'll have to do it some tim*, H and it might as well be now as by-andH bye. ' "Whenever you have a disagree able thing to do, do it at once and have done with it. V That's my motto." Accordingly, when they were sitting -* on the veranda after supper, the squire fgf coughed several times, cleared his HI throat by way of preparation and began; "I?I have been thinking of?of _ getting a new housekeeper, Charlie." HB J "Won't Aunt Sarah stay?" asked Hj <rC s'pose so, if I askld her to,' ' answered the squire, t" But I mean e mi a?a housekeeper of another Kind. Nol a?a 'hired one, but one who woulc said Charlie in some surprise. " Who is it to be, if I may ask the question?" The squire tried to speak the name of the prospective housekeeper. He opened his mouth two or three times t<> do so, lmt the name clove to the roof of his mouth and he couldn't get it out. lie thanked his lucky stars a thousand times, after that, that such ' was the case. " Down the road," he managed to I say, at last, as he turned his thumb ; over his shoulder in the direction of the I Widow Keene's. "Ah, that's the way the wind blows, ! is it?" laughed Charlie. " I'm glad to | h ar it. You couldn't possibly do I better, in my opinion." j " I'm glad to hear you say so," said the squire, feeling much relieved. " 1 didn't know but you would liave some objections to it." " I don't see why I should," said 'iiiirlie. "I know you'd be happier with such a woman for a wife, for lie's a jewel. It's the best thing that <'>>uiu napp *n, i ininw. " Yes, she's 9 jewel," said the squire, enthusiastically. " 1 don't think I J could do better if I were to look the ! world over. You see, I've known her always. I felt sure you wouldn't ob! ject to have Lucy as?as a member of i the family." 'I'm sure I haven't any objections, and it seems she hasn't." said Charlie, j with a twinkle in his eyes. | "*0 that's over," said the squire, j drawing a long breath of relief, as ! Charlie strolled off down the road in j the dusk. "Chariie's a remarkably I sensible young man. I wohder he never took a fancy to Lucy. She'll be I a good mother to him, I'm sure," and i then the squire had to smile at the thought of Lucy in the role of motherin-law to Charlie, who was two or j three years older than she was. I While he sat there Charlie was tell: itig Lucy that his father had hinted to him that he knew how matters stood between them as well as if he had been told; also, that there was a possibility, or a probability, rather, of a double tie between the two families, i And what he told her after that is none I of your business or mine, though I am I ...IIIImm """ fliof T film if Vl.1,1 j \> tiling (/U -""av 111 It L JL H CI .1U16 11/ uavi soraetliing to do with Lucy becoming " one of the family." About 4 o'clock on Saturday afternoon the squire knocked at Mrs. Keene's dour, arrayed in his best clothes, and with a basket full of great, scarlet strawberries on his arm. " Good-alternoon, Squire Kimball," I cried the widow, as sh" opened the I door for their visitor, with a charming I rose-color on her face that made him think she was almost as fair as she had been five-and-twenty years ago. " Here's some strawberries." said the squire, presenting his offering, fragrant as June ruses, and of a brighter crimson, as they nestled among the green leaves which he had placed about the edge of the basket with a taste one would sc;.rc ly have expected of a gray-headed old man. " Thank you," said the widow, taking the berries. "I'm a thousandtimes obliged to you, I'm sure. If 1' re anything you* haven't, that you'd like, you've only to say so. I'd be glad to return the favor if I knew how to. I was delighted when Lucy told me the word you sent about the strawberries. I don't feel as if I could keep house without a few jars of jam. Come right this way.'' She led him into the sitting-room, where the squire met a sight that rather surprised him. There sat Charlie, whom he had thought in the village, holding worsted for Lucy to wind, and apparently much at home. The squire felt his face grow uncomfortably red, and he managed to stammer out: " I?I didn't expect to find you here, Charlie!" " I happened to fm<l out that you had an invitation to tea, where jam ;ind shortcake were to be the principal attractions, and, having hai a liking for both ever since I can remember, I contrived to get an invitation for myself It'll be a kind of family party, you see." And then he laughed, and Lucy tried to look demure, and the widow got rosy. As for the poor squire, he felt? well, he scarcely knew how he did feel, but he wasn't at all at e;isc. " Just see what he brought us," said the widow, displaying the berries. "I'll make the shortcake, Lucy, if you'll hull them. I rem-'in her you used to I like strawberry shortcake, .Squire Kimball," and the widow smiled till a dim! pie came in either cheek. " I'll make ilie shortcake," said Lucy. ! " Charlie can hull berries while I'm ' mixing it, and whei I get through j with that I can help him. You stay ! here and visit with the s iuire." " Well, I uon't care if 1 play lady, if ! you're willing to ilo the work," ! laughed the widow. "But I'll have to show you what pans to take the cream from," and Mrs. Keene and Lucy went out and left the squire and his son alone together. " I've spoken to her about being one j of the family, though it was all under! stood some time ago, as you must have ! surmised, from what you said to me I the other evening," said Charlie, " and she hasn't any objections." "What!" The squire felt hot and . cold by turns. " I?I don't under| stand." " You know what you said the other j night, don't you, when you told me : about getting her mother for a housekeeper?" explained Charlie. "About my liking to have Lucy for a member ! of the family, I mean. I knew from j what you said that you understood that we meant to get married some time. I've talked it over with her since that, and it's all settled but the j day. I think it would be jolly for us all to get married at the same time. ' What do you think?" | The poor squire was speechless for j the space of a minute. What he thought in that time could not be condensed into a column of this paper. "I?I hope you'll be happy," he managed to stammer out at last. " I I do, really." I "So do I," answered Charlie, "and II am sure we will. And I hope you'll be equally as happy with Lucy's mother. I told you she was a jewel, and I think so more and more every : day. If you aren't happy with her, ! you couldn't be with any woman." ! Then Charlie went to the kitchen to : hull strawberries, and look at Lucy, as J she made the shortcake, and thought, as many a lover has thought. before, I that the girl he lovei was the fairest ; girl in all the world. j The squire sat and stared at the : carpet blankly when he was left alone. I What an awful dilemma * he had } escaped ! He felt chilly at the thought ' of it. Then lie broke out in profuse I perspiration. 1 - - ? 1.? ? ?C "I?1'ingiaa i uiuu i uiiKvc ci iuui vi myself," he thought. "I'm not sure but I dkl as it was, in thinking it would be a good thing to marry Lucy. She's too young when I look at the case as 1 ought to?altogether too young. I'd better marry her mother, j I?I will?if she'll have me," he conI eluded, making up his mind suddenly, | as he heard the widow's step in the i hall. ' That's a great deal the best way. I wonder how I could have been foolish enough to think of marrying a girl of twenty-one or two, and 1 past tifty. The idea is ridiculous," he thought, and then had to smile at his i inconsistency. Not an hour ago then : had been nothing ridiculous in the : idea to him. The widow came in and sat dowi I by the window. What a well-pre served woman she was! "Why. he knev ' of a good many girls who would havi i be: n glad to have such a fresh, clea t complexion. It was true that a threw I of white showed here and there amonj I her brown locks, but there were n *' deep wrinkles on her brow, and be eyes were as bright as ever. Aud hei laugh! it took him back five-sndi twenty years to listen to it. It ma him feel young again. A happy thought came to him as ha cast about for words by which to exI press his desires. "Ilestcr"?very suddenly, and with the energy of desperation?"you said if you had anything I'd like, I was welcome to it. I?I want you!" "Why, Squire Kimball!" exclaimed the widow, blushing so rosily that he felt sure she was prettier than her daughter. "I?l m so surpriseu! ii t so sudden!" "1 know it," 9:iid the squire. "But | you've known me and I've known yoi I ever since we knew anybody. You ! ought to be able to say whether you , feel safe in trusting your happiness in ; inv hands. 1 haven't any fear about I trusting mine in yours. I've been ; pretty lonesome lately, and I know ! you could make my life pleasant if j you'd try to. I want you, Hester, and"?here the squire unhesitatingly told an outrageous lib?"I came over to tell you so. I)o say ye<, Hester." " Well, then, if you want me to? | yes," said the widow. | And then the squire put his arms j round her and kissed her. and she looked prettier than ever. Why? I Five-and-twenty years ago she had not been as attractive as at this moment. If she had been, he felt sure the love-making which had just taken j place would not have been postpone:! for a quarier of a century. j When Lucy came in, half an hour j later, to tell them that supper was ready, Squire Kimball rose up and came to meet her. " This is your mother, Lucy," he said, leading her up to the widow. " I mean your mother-in-law. Oh, dear mn t whnf <im T ?!ivinorV [ mean that '"v * " """ J 3 she's promised to marry me ; and if you marry Charlie, you can figure out the relationship to suit yourself." " I suppos ? I can kiss my father-inlaw, then," said Lucy, delightedly, and | kissed the squire plumb on his mouth. Then the squire gave his arm to the ; woman he had meant to marry fiveI and-twenty years ago, feeling perfectly satisfied with the way things had turned out. No one but himself knows how near he came to making an awful blunder.?Eben E. Harford. George TV. Simpson's Dilemma. " Heaven help me 1" Heine McCloskey looked up with ? startled expression in her deep, fawnlike eyes as these words reached her, and as her glance met that of (ieorge W. Simpson she saw, or fancied that sho did, a look of haunting fear and name-; less terror pass over his face, while the hand that held her own seemed to tremble slightly and the (inely-chiseled lips quivered as if in pain. "You are ill," she said, placing her I hand upon his arm and looking up | wistfully at the face of the man shq loved so well. For an instant George did not reply. Then bending tenderly over her until his lips were almost touched by the coronal of sunny hair that her father had agreed to pay for next month, he ii'kifa lipnw t.hnf". wm JU33CU. LUC Xclil 1IU1VV vivn VU... upturned to him. " l'ou love me, sweetheart?" he asked. "Better than life," replied the giri, drawing still closer to him and stroking with a gentle touch his handsome face, ! which was hot and feverish?" but you really are not well. Let us go into tho conservatory where the air is purer." "No," said George, " let me sit hero beside you for a few moments. You have said that you love me, lieine. Is that love the mere ephemeral passion of a girlish fancy, or is it a true, deep,' holy affection that will go on and on forever and ever, each clay that die3 on the horizon's purple rim making it more steadfast and abiding?" For answer she placed her hand a^ain within his own, and as she looked up to him lie saw that the oeauuiui Drown t'^us utrio suuuoui with tears. "You are cruel to ever doubt my love, darling," she said between the sobs that made her words sound like cider coming out of a jug? " far more cruel than you know. Xo matter what betides, I shall always 1 love you, and your smiles and caresses be ever to ine as the gentle dew that kisses into new life the parched and withered llowers of an August day. Nothing in the wide, wide world can ever shake that love." "Xot even misfortune, or a bitter disappointment ?" he asks. ".Nothing!" exclaims the ?*rl. "But why do you ask?" and her ruddy cheeks became ashen with a sudden fear. " What has happened ?" "Be brave, my precious one," he murmurs, while Heine sits there in silence, every feature strained in tense agony, awaiting his next words. " We are engaged for the next dance, I believe," fie says. "Yes," is the answer. "It is the racquet?" "It is." i * I cannot dance * with ou, my uarmig. "Why?" she asks, rising from the fauteuil, and looking at him with ghastly horror. " Because," he replies, in low, agonized tones, "you have stepped on my corn."?Chica'jo Tribune. A Mouse Runs Down a Child's Throat. The most extraordinary and interesting subject brought before a Vienna clinic for many years was that of a little girl living in the city, Klcinmuller by name, and eighteen months old. The Vienna Neite Frtie Preuse reports the case with such evident lidelity that its truth must be accepted. The girl had shown for several days an utter aversion to food, and her mother finally took her to the general clinic for examination. The professors, perceiving that it was no common disorder, and ascertiining from the mother that the child on the niglit of | .March io nail awaKenuu suiuiuiu} wiui a loul scream from sleep, and conI tinned in great pain for fourteen hours j thereafter, determined to employ the I giistroscope and explore her stomach | with the aid of electricity. Xot to , enter into rather unpleasant details, j they soon found the cause of disturb-; ance, and extracted a mouse, minus the tail, which was subsequently re-' inove l. The only possible conclusion | is that the mouse ran into the open ! mouth of the sleeping child, and down, I her gullet. Her immediate recovery j was confidently expected. mmmm The Red Piain at Moscow, i The sacred Kremlin or citadel in ! Moscow, where the czar's coronation j ceremonies took place, fronts a vjist square on which Ivan the Terrible put j to death by torture several hundred ; men at once, whence it took the namo J of the Red Plain. The curse invoked by one of the victims was amply fulfilled. Sixty years later the Red Plain, was again red with the blood of 100,000 Russians, and the Poles were crowning their king in the Kremlin. On thq same ground, close to where the statuo I of Prince Pojarski now stands, Peter ,the(Jreat massacred thousands of hii insurgent life guardsmen. The burn1 " - " 101,? ! ing Of MOSCOW 111 XOlu lumiucuuu . near this fatal place, which was also . rendered memorable by a formidable [ i attempt upon the life of the late czar. . ?? i j Title or Prince of Wales. 5 On the conquest of Wales by Henry III., of England, he bestowed the prini > cipality of Wales and earldom oi -1 Chester on his son, afterward Ed wan] f i I., as an oflice of trust and govern. 3 j ment. In 1843 Edward III. invested r his son Edward, the "Black Prince," 1 with the principality, and from thai sj time the eldest son of the reigning i king has borne the title of Prince o( i, Wales. . "some singular stories. 0TBANGE INSTANCES OP MISLEADING TESTIMONY. .The Danger of Cirriiiiminntlnl Evidence? Instances of Pcruonn Ilangcd for Crimes Tliey Had Not Committed. Mr. David Graham Adee, in the "Washington Republigives some interesting instances of the mislealing character of circumstantial evidence. In 1742 a gentleman on his way to Hull was robbed by a highwayman. He stopped at the next inn, and in describing his loss stated he always market his coins. .Shortly after retiring to a private parlor lie was waited on by the landlord, who, informing him he had heard of his (the traveler's) adventure, asked the time of the robbery, and said he suspected his hostler, who of late had had plenty of money. Continuing, he sam tnat snoruy ue;ore ne uau sent the hostler to change a guinea, who returned after dark, saving lie could not change it. Th<: landlord noticed the coin was not t ic one he gave him, but before he heard of the robbery he had \ paid it to a countryman. lie suggested I that the hostler, who was then asleep j under the influence of liquor, be! searched, which, beingdone, the marked coins, minus one, were found in his pockets. lie was tri.-d and hanged, but years afterward the landlord, being at the point of death, confessed he did the robbery, managing to reach his inn by a short cut, and, having paid out one of the c dns before finding they were marked, he took advantage of an errand he had sent the hostler on and his drunken condition to place the marked coins in his pockets, and the evidence of the countryman hanged him. The case of the innkeeper in Oxfordshire, Jonathan Bradford, has often been told. Late one night two guests heard deep groans proceeding from an adjoining apartment, and, repiiring there, saw Bradford, with a long knife in his hands, standing over the body of a guest named Hayes, who, earlier in the evening, had admitted that ho had a large sum of money in his possession. Bradford stoutly maintained his innocence, claiming he hal been attracted by the groans of the victim, and hau just drawn the knife from thr, wound when the other guests arrived. The evidence, however, was strong against him, and he was hanged. The real facts of the crime did not come to light for some years, but Bradford was not innocent of the intent, if of the de?d (overt act). The murder had been perpetrated by Mr. Hayes' own fo.it man, who, knowing that his master 11a i ;i large iiuiuum, w uiuuc; with liim, determined upon his death and robbery. Goinz to his room, therefore, he had stabbed him, rifled his saddle-bags, and made his way in safety to his own apartment only, as it must have been, ten seconds before the innkeeper himself arrived upon the tragic scene. But, strange to relate, Bradford left a confession, which ha l been kept secret, that, although innocent of the murder, he had stolen to the room of his guest with the mind of effecting his death. lie had heard Ilaves boast of his money at supper, h. i deliberately planned to kill and rob him, and was stricken with amazement when he found that the deed had already been done. He had been anticipated by but a few minutes in the execution of his murderous design. In Edinburgh, in the year 1721, /ived William Shaw, an upholsterer, with an only daughter named Catharine. The girl was to be married to one .John Lawson, a jeweler, toward whom her father bore all the hearty, honest aversion known as '-Scotch hate." John had been a wild lad, too fond of "hot Scotches" and the lasses, but was entirely devoted to one lass Kinre his engagement to Catherine Shaw. Old Shaw had sworn that Lawson should never enter his family, and wi.h violence forbade him to come near the house. There was the son of a friend of the family, named Robertson, hnvever, whom the father urged his daughter to marry. The girl's lot was hard enough, what with her love for Lawson and the harsh treatment meted out to her in order to bring about her consent to wed her parent's choice. This state of affairs had existed for some weeks, when one evening Iwimo in wrath nnrl peremptorily ordered Catherine to ar> rotof young Robertson without further delay, and prepare for marriage at an early day. The girl angrily refused to comply, preferring death to the alternative of sacrificing happiness. The juarrel had waxed so violent that it was overheard by severid neighbors, and when Shaw left the room one named Morrison heard him shut and lock the door and go down stairs to the street. All was still in Shaw's rooms after this for awhile, but soon the sound of low groans fell upon Morrison's startled ear. In terror he ran to the neighbors, giving the alarm, and telling them of the previous furious altercation. A crowd assembled about the upholsterer's door, and Catherine's voice was distinctly heard to murmur: " Cruel father, you are the cause of my death. You have killed me!" The door was then broken in by a constable who had been summoned, and Catharine Shaw w;is discovered lying upon the tloor bathed in blood and with a bloody knife beside her, and died without another word. At this critical instant Shaw himself came up the stairs and into the room. All eyes were fixed upon him. lie trembled ?1. /v Kj.KsxIsI fliA Knrrar of". Hie fppf Wllt'Jl IIC IJI'UUIU WC IIUI1V1 u? >..u .vv., grew deadly pale and seemed a? if about t > faint. His guilty consternation was apparent. ' To pris. n with the murderer! Off with him to jail!" shouted the threatening throng, and William Shaw was hurried before a magistrate and at onco committed to a cell, charged with tlie slaying of his child. At the trial all was plain enough. The quarrel, the ill-feeling, the broken words of Catharine ("barbarity, brutality, death!") overheard by Morrison and the ante-mortem declaration of the victim ( ( ruel father, you are the cause of my death. You have killed me!") all t lies'? proofs left no doubt as to the guilt of the unnatural parent. lie was convicttd, sentenced and hanged in chains at Leith "Walk in November, 1721. Some time after, however, workmen discovered a letter thrust in a cavity in the girl's bedroom in which she announced she would commit suicide iince she was denied the man of her choice. In the case of Shaw strong efforts were made to set matters right. The hanging of an entirely innocent man became the talk of the excited town. The magistracy of Edinburgh, after a close and cautious scrutiny of Catharine Shaw's posthumous letter, perj festly satisfied of its authenticity (so that no injustice should be done), straightway directo 1 that the bleached bonis of the executed Shaw should be cut down from the gallows, where the chains still held them, and given to his friends and family for decent sepulture, while a pair of the town colors J were to be waved above the grave in .token of restitution. But it was never known that the performance of those repentant ceremonies brought back the brtath to the body of the poor wretch hanged by mistake. Thl9 is the time of the year that the young man thinks of joining a boat club, and, as a preliminary athletic ! movement, he purchases a pair of S dumb bells. He uses these about five ! minutes night and morning for two or three days, and then leaves them alone for the rest of the year .?Puck. The average weight of 20,000 men and women weighed at Boston in 1864 was: Men, 141?pounds; women, 124? ponndsu SCIENTIFIC AND INDUSTRIAL. A Yankee has stormed a prairie-dog . town in the We3t and captured the ani imals for *their skins, which, when : made into gloves, rival the finest kid. Silk-raising has become fashionable" i _ among i lie weaitny women m tanI fornia, and an association lias been j formed for the purpose of spreading information on tlie subject. j Great attention is now being paid ! to bee-keeping in the South. Several parties in tiie Southern States own ; small colonies (hat are kept near the 1 orange groves of Louisiana, In ancient Egypt the tax collector's receipts were inscribed 011 fragments of broken crockery. From the British museum collection of these queer documents, which have been found in large numbers, a series of translations has been made by Doctor Birch, showing the tax in Egypt under the early Ca'sars. The roots of many plants retain their vitality under intense temperatures. Boiling water has been applied to some without injury to them, and some plants absorb poisons that are. destructive to others. The seeds on which birds have fed often retain their powers of germination for a long pe riod, ;is birds sometimes carry them in their bodies from one country to another, where they have grown and multiplied. After a cruise of a few months in the South Pacific a French man-ofwar was recently found to have specimens of living corals growing upon her hull. The interesting discovery has thrown some light on the question of the rapidity of growth of corals. The evidence tends to show that the vessel, on passing a reef of the Gambier Islands, against which' she rubbed, had picked up a young fungia, which adhered to the sheating, and grew to a diameter of nine inches and a weight of two and a half pounds in nine weeks. It would still astonish many persons no doubt, to inform them that even the purest country air is peopled with a host of microscopic corpuscles, animal and vegetable, and even with a multitude of living creatures which enter into our lungs together with the air which we breathe, and which coma in time to take up their residence in our bodies, as in a well-furnished house all prepared to receive them. The surprise would be greater and more disagreeable should we add that the number of these germs thus held by the air in suspension enormously increases in places thickly or even constantly inhabited?that in the great cities they multiply to fantastic proportions?and that in Paris the number of these germs within the circle of) the fortifications is, according to the statistics of micrographers, not less than five thousand billions. Such is the " pure air " which we breathe. WISE WORDS. A cheerful face is nearly as good for an invalid as healthy weather. "We seldom find people ungrateful so long as we are in a condition to render them service. All other knowledge is hurtful to him who has not the science of honesty and good nature. Envy is a passion so full of cowardice and shame that nobody ever had the confidence to own it. To educate a child perfectly require profounder thought, greater wisdom than to govern a state. Fate is the friend of the good, tho ffuide of the wise, the tryant of tho foolish, the enemy of the bad. The best part of our knowledge is) that which teaches us where knowledge leaves off and where it begins. Humility does not make us servilq nor insensible, nor oblige us to ba ridden at the pleasure of every cox. comb. Outward actions can never give ^ just estimate of us, since there are many perfections of a man which are not capable of appearing in actions. If this life be unhappy, it is a burden to us which it is ditlicult to bear; if it be in every respect happy, it is dreadful to be deprived of it; so that in either case the result is the same, for we must exist in anxiety and apprehension. The Need or Sleep. " To tell you the truth," remarked a venerable Atlanta physician, " I do not think that a person should ever be waked, except, of course, in special cases and where there is a necessity for it. Nature knows her own business, and that man who follows nature's rules the closest will receive most of her blessings. A man in his natural state is healthy and sound. He contracts disease or else some one else contracts it for him. The ailments of the father and mother are visited upon the children, not because it is a source of pleasure to the Almighty, but because ic is nature's law. One of nature's rules is that a man shall have sleep. If it had been intended that a man should work twenty-four hours out of twenty-four, nature would have made the sun shine without interruption all the time. Lights are an innovation. Wild beasts don't have lights. They are reserved for man, with his superior innmi miiH.inlirnt.v of hodilv! trinjjcnv<& j ? ailments. Night was made for sleep| and the day for work. The man who disregards the demands of his mind and I tody for the amount of rest which nature claims suffers sooner or later and pays dearly for having abused this prime rule of health. Na ture is the best bookkeeper the world ever saw. You may overdraw your account, but you always pay back the last farthing and often give up the pound of lle.sh; yes, otten more than the pound. A man may think he can steal from nature, but he cannot. As I said, I do not think a person should be waked at morning, and for this reason ; when a man falls asleep he is in the shop for repairs, as the railroad men say. Ilis frame and all its intricate machinery is being overhauled and made ready for the next day's work. The wear of the previous day is being repaired. Nature is doing that herself. She knows what the tired frame needs just as she knows how to make the heart throb and send the blood coursing through the veins. Then she takes that tired frame, lays it down on a bi-d, surrounds it with the refreshing air of night, covers it with the soft darkness and lets the man rest. " Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep," visits him, and as the hours wear by his energies are renewed, his strength comes back, and finally, when morning breaks and the sunlight steals through the lattice, lie opens his eyes and is himself again. Or if he is early to bed he wakes with the cocks crowing. Now who shall go to that man's side an hour before he opens his eyes and say to nature, stand aside and let him get up? lie has had enough of rest. Well, nature will say, 'you can take him if you will, but I will charge him with an hour's loss of sleep and I'll collect it out of his b >nes and nerves and his hairs and eyesight.' Yon can't cheat me; I'll find property to levy on. The old masonic law used to be eight hours for sleep, eight hours for the usual vocation and eight hours for the service of God. Masonry was opera: tive then and the law was carried out. The day was divided into thres equal parts, and each part was devoted to a specific purpose and one was sleep and not one bit too much."?Atlanta Coi:> stitution. The best education in the world is thai got by struggling to get a living AMBUSHING THE APACHES. " rHE STTEPRISE BY M 2 XI CAW TROOPS IS THE CAS A QBAZTOE. rhoStorjof theFiglitn* Told Over aMexlcan Catnp-Flrc?Desperation of a MildMannered Captnin. To-day the most admired military man in Northern Mexico is Colonel (iarcia, and his popularity rests on a single success, known as the "Surprise <f the Casa Grande." No full account of this affair has been published in the North, and in view of the recent excitement a circumstantial one cannot but have interest. Within four weeks .ast past the writer had the good fortune to travel one hundred miles? from the town of Oposura to the heart pf the Sierra Madre mountains?with Colonel Garcia, commanding about 500 men, and on h:s way to the Rio Aros country, where he hopel to surprise eome Indian villages. It was after a lr\nn? rluv'o morph nrnr f h ! rfv-fi VA milp.d w"6 "'V " >"v* """V ? ? I of a mountain trail, along which the j slow, serpentine lile of the troops in I their white, Turco-looking costurae3 could be seen circling and winding in graceful curves for a mile or more. The bugle had at last sounder! the grateful halt for the night, and the .nen stacked their arms and camped i n a rolling hillock, where the country i ould be seen for miles around. On each corner of the square in which 'he troops camped was lighted a iire, . nrl in the center stood the solitary i -nl of the colonel. Here, thanks I.? Mexican hospitality, were grouped our party of two Americans, the commanding officer and the captains. The bright fires showed the Mexican women engaged in making the " tortillas " and cooking 'frijoles" for the scanty meal. The loldiers, forgetful of the day's fatigue tad regardless of to-morrow's danger, were some arguing over the tri?ies that among them always can provoke ardent discussion, and others chanting with great display and little musical effect some fervent love song. At intervals the rhythmical " Uno," " Dos," " Tres," " Quartro," of the tireless picket sentinel rang out clearly. The conversation lagged around the lire, and the moment seemed opportune to get an account from the actors themgplvps of the Mexican victory at Casa Grande. To our request Colonel Garcia said that he had been witness to only part of the engagement. "But you, captain," he said, turning round, "were in the midst of It." The oilicer spoken to was a t ill, slim young man, with the beautiful eyes and delicate, girllike features so often seen among our tropical neighbors, lie, courteously drawing his "serape" a little closer, ! and lighting a fresh cigarette, began: " You must know that not long since we were scouting with four companies near the " dead line," between Chihuahua and New Mexico. The heat for days had b?en excessive, and our search after the wily Apache fruitless. The men were dispirited, ! and, their provisions being exi hausted, the colonel demande 1 : our return to the mountains and the nearest town. It was a typical tropical day, and the men moved silently under the scorching sun. The ground itself, sliadrd by the scanty MnesquittV seemed to sull'er from the heat. We had traveled sincc; daylighr, and about Boon reached where the tiail began to climb the mountains through a narrow canon. Here one of our Babispe, scouts, who ha I been riding in the rear of the lile, spurred his Indian pony along the train, and reaching the I colonel pointed to a cloud of red dust Ion the horizon, saying: "The Apaches!" The column of dust was I ten miles off, but our scout was a I faithful one, and we trusted to his ! warning. Entering the pass the men were directed to climb the sides of the canon and hide themselves. How quietly they lay, almost cleft to the rocks, fearing almost to stir in the Iread that the cunning Indian nature would scent the trap and balk the ambush. Almost every man had soma murder to avenge, some outrage to repay. In two hours the Apaches came hurrying along to the number of lfjO warriors, and the squaws following, driving the stolen stock. To us the haste of the Indians was a mystery, but looking again we saw, about two i hours behind, the American troops in j hot pursuit. But the pursued iinagI ined themselves safe, as they had | reached the mountains. Unsuspectj ingly they crowded through the pass ! until our bugle gave the signal for the first volley. For one moment ! the Indians stood astounded, but then their wild nature came to the rescue. With one accord each man sprung to the nearest cover, a rock or stump. It was useless. Our men were perched above them, and for four hours every Apache head that showed itselt below was a target for a dozen rilles. To us it was a day of reckoning for years of violence, and each man's aim became steadier as he thought of some murdered brother or friend. Gradually the fire from the i bed of the canon ceased, except from | one spot. There, sheltered and in' trenched behind boulders and sale I from our rifles, lay seven of the Apache chiefs. The bayonet was our only recourse for dislodging them. Four times the bugle sound d the charge ; three times were our men driven back, and every time the unerring Indians claimed one dead soldier each. On the | fourth charge our men swarmed over the rocks from all sides, ana meir oayI onets tossed the bodies of the hated ' enemies in the air. From that tight ! but twelve of the Indians were supi posed to have made their escape. "We 1 killed in all perhaps 170 men and j women; but no loss inflicted on them' I repaid us for the killing of our thirtytwo brave men. Both the fate of those victims and the fate of our countrymen who went before J them shall be remembered in j the Mexican army until not one ! living Apache pollutes the fair ! face of our country." As the officer stopped he rose and left tlw lire. For a moment silence hung over the party, until Colonel Garcia, turning to us with a smile, said: "Our | young friend does not look like a per! son who coul I be very bloodthirsty or | savage." "Xo," we answered. "Wo : would, on the contrary, say lie had a I nature that was particularly gentle I and sympathetic." " l er, connuuei^ I the colonel, "in that same slaughter, i that boy threw aside his repeating . rifle, came out from his ambush and, dimbing to the edge of the precipice, lifted large, rocks and dashed out the brains of the squaws and papooses crouched in the canon below, lie received two bullet-wounds, and I was compelled to send three of the men to compel him to retire to shelter. Ilis 1 two brothers were killed a year since j by the Apaches, and he has sworn i revenge." Who of us can say that his provocation was not great, and his j claim of justification wrong??San : Francisco Examiner. XewYorJi's Churches. The 500 churches in New York city J arc distributed among the denominations as follows: Hunan Catholics, 19J; ' Episcopal. 7:); l'resl?yterian, 41; Methodist Episcopal, 00; JJaptist, 06; Lu! theran, 10; Keformed Dutch, 10; Con: gregational, 0; Universalist, 5; Unita! rian 3; miscellaneous, 30. There are I | also 19 Jewish synagogues and tem-1 ; pies and a mixea congregation or ireethinking Hebrews and other elements that holds its meetings on Sundays in? stead of the Jewish Sabbath. I ~ Michigan has 400,000 milch cows, capable of producing products of tho value of $2,000,000 annually. The Florida ship canal will be twenty feet deep and will cost $40,000,000. , THE FAllrf AND HOUSEHOLD. Budding Fruit Trees. All farmers, it is natural to suppose, i know the art of budding, but beginjiers there are in large numbers who jiave it yet to learn. It is so easy to (acquire and affords so much satisfaction in the practice that the wonder is everybody who owns a few feet of ground does not acquaint himself with the practice. The inference is now given to budding over grafting in the majority , of cases?first, because of the great j rapidity with which it may be accomplished ; second, the more convenient season at which it is done; third, the fact that the operation can be performed without injuring the stock in case of a failure, which is always more or lesi liable in stocks headed ^A1? ff ' r? r? fniirtVl fho UUV.U w. (ii?.?iug , i^u.w., ~rr~. tunity which it affords, when performed in good season, of repeating the trial on 1ie Fame stock. To t'jcsj several advantages may be added: j Budding is preferred for all stone- j fruits, such as peaclus and ajrricots,' which require extra skill in grafting, j but which are budded with ease. Budding, in its nature and effects, | differs not in the least from grafting. Each bud is a dis'inct individual, capal le of b:co:n:'ng a troe un ler favorable circumstances. In grafting a branch composed of several buds is employed with a considerable quantity of bark and wuo', while in budding but a s'ngle bud with a sma!l quantity of the adjoining bark and wood ii used. "What is known as shield or T-budding is largely pra -ticeJ by our best pomologists. Having decided on the part to be budded, select a smooth spot and m;ike an upright incision in the bark from one inch to one and a half inches long and at th3 top of this make a cross cut, so that the whole ;hall form a T. From a stick of buds cut a thin, smooth slice of wood and bark conta n ng a bud. With the rounded end of the knife next raise t ie bark on ea h side of the incision just wide enough to i.d'iiit the prepared bud. Taking hold of the footstalk of the leaf insert the bud under the bark, pushing it gently down to the bottom of the incision. If the upper portion of the bud projects above the horizontal part of the T cut it smoothly off Mint if. m;iv fom>)lftt'fi!v lit. Npxt tie a w"v~w *?'v r-"?* ? -bandage over t!ie wound, beginning at the bottom a:id tying firmly above, leaving the end and foot-stalk of the leaf only exposed to the air. In about a fortnight after the budding its success < r failure will be appar> nt. If it has ^succeeded and the stock is a good deal (swollen, loosen or remove the bandage. If it has failed and the bark still parts readily, make another trial. Strings for tyine in the buds are largely taken from bass mats, i r they are prepared from the bark of the basswood, A poor quality of cotton wicking is also a suitable material for this purpose. Xo specified time can be given for budding fruit trees, for much depends on the age, condition and location of the tree, maturity of the bud?, the season, etc. Uuds may le inserted in June and make considerable growth the sa ne season, as the/ do in the South, but, as a general tiling, this is not desirable in the propagation of fruit trees. The ordinary season in the Northern States is from the middle of July until the middle of September, and the earlincss at which a species is budded depends?other things being equa'?on the condition of its growth, riio e accomplishing their growth ear y in the season are budded early and'those that grow until the autumn ire budded late. In all cases it is necessary that the bu s be perfectly leveloped in the axils of the leaves on [lie young shoots intended to bud from I li.irlr milut. r:i up frPi^lv from I the stocks to be budded. The chief difficulty experienced by ;eginners is the proper removal of the (mil, but a little practice will enable the buddi r to overcome this with other mechanical obstacles. There is no better way to acquire a knowledge of the letails than to watch an expert as he joes through t!:e performance of ielecting and preparing the buds and Insetting them.?iViio York World. Farm and (inrilcn Notes. Keep ahead of the weeds. liaise p'enty of parsnips for milch Jow.s. They are one of the best of foc;ts for milk and butter. It does not take a great de;d of slovenly management on au ordinary sized farm to waste $1,0U0 a year. Sweet butter < annot be ma le from .'ream under which wh iy and thick our milk have formed. The moment tvhey forms it has parsed the point of perfection. Curry horses frequently in spring to iid in removing their old coat. A imall quantity of oilmeal added to their feed will* also greatly assist in its removal. Discontinue this when the tvorkintr season begins. A good guide for feeding grain to ,'attle is one pound to each hundred )f their weight. Most animals eat in proportion to their weight, and an min:al weighing l.OCO pounds may receive ten pounds of grain per day. The coat of a horse is one of the iurest indications of his state of health. If in good health the hair is smooth ind sleek and the skin soft. "When the system is deranged the skin loses its pliancy, the surface is hard and dry and the hair rough and rusty. "When horses eat their oats too /apidlv the evil may be checked by placing some clean cobblestones in (he box. The horse will thus be compt lied to pick his oats slowly, masticate them more thoroughly, and they will do him much more good than if hurriedly oaten in the ordinary way. A lamb saved now may be worth dollars next fall. What is called "bad luck" in raising lambs is sometimes bad management, or no management at all. If the sheep are healthy, II * r.lwvii.1 I many every one wen lmuc.i suvmu be raised, and nothing pays the owner better than close, personal att ntion to lluun. A wiiter says that he lias never failed to cure garg-t by the u-e of beans. He feeds one pint of beanmeal, mixed with other meal, for four successive days, and has found that! quantity sullicient to cure the worst cases, lie thinks if c nvs were fed with beanmeal several times a year they would never be troubled with garget. A French chemist claims to have .Iiscoveri d a method of overcoming the | danger threatening vineyards from the ravages of tho phylloxera. His pro. e.-s is to inocula'.e the vines with the phenol poison. The phylloxera do not attack plants thus treated, and are extirpated for want of food. The vines ,ire in no way injured by the inoculated process. Chicks need no food for the first cwenty-lour hours at least, and the less you disturb the chicks and brood ing hen the better. After they begin to take food feed them on hard-boiled eggs for at least the first few days. The old hen can be fed on grain and green food. Milk scalded into curd makes an excellent food for chicks ; about the second week cracked wheat can be given, and, when able to swallow, whole wheat grains. Cracked corn is not fit for young chicks, as it sours. Never give bread soaked in water, as this is almost sure death. The Poultry Monthly says of "scab fog," "scaly leg" or poultry itch, that the commonest and about the best remedy it has ever tried 'for this ma'ady is using common kerosene oil or else crude coal oil, anointing the legs with it, and one application, if a thorough one and worked well under the scales of the legs, will effect a cure j in about a week or ten days. Two aj, - plications at the furthest will do the work, and more than that is apt to make the legs swollen, and it persisted in will render the leg3 useless. Occasional smearing of the perches with coal oil, say once a month, will go far toward preventing the disorder from making its appearance. Keclpea. Rice Pancakes.?Have ready a pint of rice, boiled quite soft; sift together a pint of tlour and one teaspoonful each of baking powder and salt; beat three eggs and mix them with a pint of milk ; before putting these ingredients together, see that the griddle is hot; then mix the pancakes and begin to bake them at once ; if the first ones seem too stiff, add a little more milk to the pancake batter ; serve the pancakes hot, as fast as they are baked. Hatter Pudding. ? Mutter an earthen pudding dish. Sift together half a noiiiul or two level n .il'uls of I flour, one level teaipoonful of salt and a heaping teaspoonful of baking powder. Beat the yolks of four eggs to a cream an 1 the whites to a stiff froth. Mix the the yolks smoothly with the Hour, then stir in a pint of milk, and, last of nil, quickly and lightly mix in the beaten whites. Work very fust; put the batter into the pudding dish the moment it is smooth and set the dish at once in quick but not too hot oven. Bake the pudding threequarters of an hour. Serve it as soon as it is done, either with powdered sugar or with any good pudding-sauce. Celery Fritters. ? Pi:k and wash some thick, well-shaped celery roots, cut off the tops to make, them all the same length, and blanch them for one quarter of an hour in boiling water. Take them out and throw at once into fresh drawn cold water. When quite cold drain them well and tie lightly together in bundles of four; put a small bunch of parsley, some pieces of 1 aeon, a little salt and some good white stock into a stewpan; lay in the bundle} of celery and let it stew g. ntly with the lid on until the vegetaMe is quite tender; take it out carefully to prevent it breaking, drain well; then dip ea h piece in a batter, and fry a delicate golden color. On no account let it be too dark. If possible just glaze the top lightly the instant before serving, and send quickly to cat ne on a toiueu napKiu. lIouHeholil Hints. Cleaning Papeked "Walls.-Papered walls are cleaned by being wiped down with a flannel cloth tied over a broom or brush. Then cut off a thick piece of stale bread with the crust on, and rub them down with this. Begin at the top and go straight down. Smell of Paint.?To get rid of this most objectionable odor, slice a few onions and put them in a pail of water in the center of the room; close the doors, leave th-j window open a little, and in a few hours the disagreeable smell will have almost gone. Another method is to plunge y handful of hay into a pailful of water, and let it stand into the newly-painted room over night. Whitening Beeswax.?My way,says a writer in an exchange, is to make the wnv and tiour it while hot into aquan-1 tity of the coldest water I can get; the cold water sets it quickly and it will look like a large sponge; then take out of the water and lay it in a sunny place out of dours, leaving it there until white enough to suit, occasionally turning it over. It bleaches in a short time. Then melt again and mold it into any desired shape. Sometimes I strain it through a cloth at the fiaal melting. Paper Rallrjad Ties. A tall man, with sharp features and a thoughtful air, sat in a small study, in New York, and gazed gravely at a brown object that lay at his feet. " It is a paper railroa-1 cross tie," ho said. The 8un reporter lifted it with some difficulty. It was of very close fiber, and so highly pol'shed that it resembled i osewood. Its inventor tapped it with his nail, and said; " It doesn't look much like paper, dies it?" " It sco lis more like iron. Is it possible tluit it is made of paper V" "Oh.yes; almost anything can bo tr ade of paper. A paper ball can be rende red so solid that nothing will indent it but a diamond tool. Car wheels are now made of papir. Its strength is astouishing. ou can suspend 330 poun's from a Bank of England noto, and it will not part. Hath tubs, pots, plates, knives, forks, cooking stoves, printing presses, steam engines and chimneys are made of pap.T ,nowadays, and there is absolutely nobmitto the usej to which it may be put." The inventor proceeded to tell the reporter that nearly 70,000,000 railroad ties are used yearly, and that hs had started to invent a substitute for t!ie wooden cross-tie or sleeper. His attention was first attracted to the matter by the outcry raised in the newspapers against the destruction of forests. Continuing, hj said to the report! r: ' Tiiere are scores of mills in the country where naner, straw, prairie grass and other fibrous substances are converted into straw board. The process is simple. The straw is reduced to pulp and run into boards. These straw boards are sold all over the country as substitutes for wood. My inventi< n utilizes straw board. The cross tie is construct d of sheets or layers of paper or straw board, lai 1 one upon another, cemented and compressed into mo'.ds. It makes a perfect cross tie. It is practically water and fireproof, as it is manufactured under 50'J) degrees of heat. Atmospheric changes have no effect on it. It can bj made as cheap as wood of the nresent time and will last at least twenty-five years. One paper tie will outwear live wooden ones, and will render better service, because it does not rot an I there is no danger of spreading rails. The accident to the Long Branch train last year was due, according to ollicial investigation, to spreading rails. The wooden ties had decayed so that the spikes that held the rails were loose." " Will the paper tic take a spike? It seems like iron." "It will take a spike as readily as wood, and ha'ig to it, too. There is plenty of 'give' to the paper tie, so that the rolling stock of a railroad will not suffer. They are of uniform size, and weigh a little more than wood." "Suppose straw board goe3 up in value?" "It doesn't make any difference. The tie can be made of any fibrous substance capable of being reduced to pulp?prairie grass, for instance. But how can the straw give out? It takes a hundred years to grow a tree, while straw grows every year. In the Northwest they burn straw in vast quantities every year so as to get it out of the way. The paper tie must ii* :uinnt.P(i before loner from sheer nc cessity. We can't go on chopping down trees forever. The paper tie dealens sound. It's a pretty good thing, I gues?, eh?" asked the inventor, and again he smiled and drummed on the tie with his finger nails. ? Gold. A cubic inch of gold is worth $210;1 a cubic foot, $362,380; a cubic yard, $9,797,762. This is valuing it at $18 \ an ounce. At th ? commencement of the Christian era there was in the . world $427,000,000 in gold. This had dimin shed to $57,000,00J at the time ; America was discovered, when It: began to increase. Now the amount of gold in use is estimated to be $6,000,000,000. | FACTS CONCERNING CANES. :M HOW MAHUPACTffBED AJTD THS MATZSZALS USED. !ie Changing Fashion* in Wall'in* SHcIt*~ : Where the Flrnt Cones Came From?Nanneberry Sticlt.i I'roni New Jersey Swamp#. Tlie horrible habit of Americans of putting their hands in th ir po?kets $?&&& has led to the popularity of canes in B this country. The .Japanese gentleman shows appr? elation to the same leeling when his costume is incoinplete?without liis shutt'ng fan, which he hangs at his belt, over his right ' shoulder, or in the breast folds of hi? I silken gown. - -f&jjStiM The fashion of carrying canes, how- vMhH ever, among the swells an i lah-de-dah lads of New York has each season its ? -? J ...UK rules, wmcn are ouserveu witu a? much exquisite punctilio as those iySiffl of ladies who wear a poke bonnet one H year and a scoop hat the next. Most of these fashions originate in Europe. A year or two ago there were two styles?the shepherd's crook, shaped like a- fishhook, and a Zulu crook, a '. plain, curved handle When our - -?fl fathers were lads the whalebone cane ' was the proper thing. Now they are Jj so scarce that they are worth t) the -il dealer from $3 to $3.50. Last year the fashion was to carry a silver bail 1 cane. Then there is a style in carry- J inga cane, and this varus each year. 'M One year it was to walk with a spring ; i gait, with lent knees and arms J akimbo as far forward as possible, and -'jm the cane was held between one finger I and thumb, correctly balanced, so as - 'a to swing gracefully. Then camo 3al the aesthetic style. The cane was held Ql in front of the body by the first and '' J second fingers of both hands, and wai "$l allowed to hang limp, while the el $1 bows were still further forward, an 1 the shoulders, if possible, more round. "31 Then there was a fashion test year of vl holding the ferule down. This year j it is to hold it in the middle, with the >| ferule to the front. H The material is as various as can Vvrt n \nnQMrorl nf \f?TIV firfi ?cii iii^u uc iwu V4,? t of imported woods; some from the j tropics, China and the East Indies. The celebrated "Whongee canes are 3 from China, where they are well .1 known and celebrate! for the regular- || lty of their Jointwhich are the points 3 from which the leaves are given off, j and the stems of a species of phyl- |j losiachys, a gigantic grass, closely J allied to the bamboo. The orange and iiTiMi'1 lemon are highly prized, and are importe 1 chielly l'rom the We it Indies, ' and perfect specimens command enor- D mous price?. The orange stick is known by its beautiful green bark, rfQanH with line white longitudinal markings, and the lemon ly the symmetry of its proportions and both prominence and regularity of its knots. Myrtle sticks possess also a value, since their appearante is sa peculiar that their owner ^BHj would seldom fail to recognize them. _ HjxjffM They are imported from Algeria. M The rajah stick is an iin- H portation. It is the st5m of a ' palm and a species of calamus. It is grown in Borneo, una tuxes us name f^UMS from the fact that the rajnh will not . Sj allow any to go out of the country unless a heavy duty is paid. These canes, known as palm canes, are diatinguished by an angular and more or ] less flat appearance. Their color J is brownish, spotted, and they are quite -J straight, with neither knob nor curL i Th?y are the petioles of leaf stalks of ] the date palm. Perhaps the most celebrated of the foreign canes are the I Malacca, being the stems of the calamus sceptonum, a slender climbing JjjaMi palm, and not growing about Malacca, ] as the name would seem to indicate, 1 but imported from Stak, on the 1 opposite coa^t of Sumatra. Other J foreign canes are of ebony, rosewood, 1 partridge or hairwcod and cactus, 1 which, when the pith is cut out, J present a most novel appearance, . hollow and full of hole?. J The manufacture of canes is by no . . means the simple process of cutting | the sticks in the woods, peeling off the | bark, whittling down the knots, sand- d papering the rough surface, and adding a touch of varnish, a curiously v?5j carved handle or hea l, and tipping ?,{n, o fomlo Tn sjind (/lie CUU TTiVU t? . v. Hats of New Jersey whole families 'igjSH support themselves by gathering nan- ABku neberry sticks, which they gather in %'?*? the swamps, straighten with an olr^ B vise, steam over an old kettle, and, perhaps, scrape down or whittle into ^ size. These are packed in large bundles to New York city and sold to the cane * 1S? factories. Many imported sticks, how-, /|gS? ever, have to go through a process ot JHa' straightening by mechanical means, , S which are a mystery to the uninitiated. They are buried in hot sanl until th; y< jprnH become pliable. In front ot the heap xfflmi of hot sand in which the sticks are plunged is a stout board from five to six feet long, fixed at an VajH angle inclined to the workman, . j and having two or more notches .J cut in the edge. When the stick has v i become perfectly pliable the workman ' places it on one of the notches, and, bending it in the opposite direction to which it is naturally bent, straightens r|3 it. Thus, sticks, apparently crooked, (tent, warped and worthless are by this .. eimnip nrocess straightened; but the ^"T*" f u ^ most curious part of the work is ubserved in the formation of the crook or curl for the handles, which are not naturally supplied with a hook or , knob. The workman p'aces one end of the cane firmly in a vise, and pours a continuous stream of fire from a gas pipe on the part which is to be bent. gal When sufficient heat has been applied, the cane i3 pulled slowly and gradua'ly r;und until the hook is completely formed, and then secured with astj>R-g.' An additional application^ heat serves to bake and permanently fix the curl. The under part of the handle is frequently charred by the action of thQ gas, and this h rubbed down with sandpaper until the requisite degree oi smoothness is attained. ? Chicagt Times. Iusects as FooJ Tor Man. Mr. Max 13uchner's "Contributions -.3H to the Ethnography of the Bantus" contains the following interesting notes which show that insects are by r>" ?<n?ina <?o?tM;sor] :is food bv this tribe of negroes, which inhabit a large portion of Southeastern Africa. Toward the end of the rainy season, in April, when the white ants are swarming, the coni< al buildings of these insects are covered with a dense matting o? banana leaves, while, within this cover, vessels are placed with funnel-shaped entrance. In these vessels a vast number of white ants, males and females, are caught and roasted on the spot. They are considered a great delicacy, .".II even Mr. liuchner finding them very pal itable. A large, fat, subterranean cricket, as we'.l as a large Coleopterous larva, living in hollow trees, are equally sought for an 1 roasted over fire. Hut it is especially a large caterpillar called ugoungoo," which is harvested by the natives like a field crop. It is about five centimeters long. Mack, with yellow rings, occurs on the savannas, and " belongs perhaps to the butterfly Crenis."' Whenever it aypears in large numbers the negroes march out in full force from their villages, camping out for weeks in the wilderness to gather and cure the crop. After the intestines i-?" ?rnooil,i nut. the caterpillars Ilitvu ucrii pit?w v. r.ro dried before the fire and rolled up in packages of fresh leave.?. To a civilized taste they are most disgusting, vj the smell reminding one of that of our, cabbage worms. In view of tills custom it seems to be strange that the Bantas refuse to eat snakes and amphibia of all sorts, even frogs and lizards not being touched by them in times of starvation.?American Natu- - * * X ralist. In the first three months of this year more than 1,600 horsea were cut up as beef in Berlin.