Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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SOUND THS REVBILUE. Wake the world to new conditions, Free from moss-grown superstitions, ? Free from all decayed traditions, Sound the reveille. Hail the morn, foretold in story! Souls awake to deeds of glory! Leave old fancies, dim and hoary, Sound the reveille. These the days for noble doing, High ideal thoughts pursuing, Noblest inspirations wooing, Sound the reveille. Wake to meet the calls of duty, Wake to progress and its beauty, Harvests wait you, full and fruity, Bound the reveille. This the age when thought is growing, Fires of noble purpose glowing, Streams of knowledge strongly flowing, Sound the reveille. Dally not with foes and factions, Soft allurements, vain distractions; March close linked in thoughts to actions, Sound the reveille. 8hun poor bauble, gilt or varnished, Let your heads aud hearts be garnished Rich with honor, pure, untarnished, Sound the reveille. Ours the world's pathfinding nation, Ours the people's inspiration, Strong iu faith and consecration, Sound the reveilla Scorn mere words and idle tattle, Demagogue with empty rattle, Deeds, not words, win every battle, Sound the reveille. On! Fulfill the dream of ajree, Genius wrote on wisdom's p vges, Prophecies of bards and sages, Sound the reveille. Liberty has crowned our nation, Ours the van, the honored station flnnn^ olnurl fin l'a nrrtplftmat.inn. Sound the reveille. Wrong breaks ranks, and right la leading; God commands, and progress pleading; Sleep not, on, unstirred, unheeding, Sound the reveille. Up! Awake! The hours are fleeting! Friends advancing, foes recreating. Forward, march I The drums are beating, Sound the reveille. ?Bridgeport Standard. DEFEATING DEATH. A STOKr OF PRAIRIE LIF8. "Good-bye, John; take good care of yourself and come back as soon as you JHJ." ^'Good-bye, Nellie, dear, and don't lorget me while I am away." Their hauds warmly pressed each other as their lips would have done had not others been near. . Thus they separated. Neilie browning watched the talL, strong form of John king until it was lost in the high grass of the prairie, and with a sigh returned to duty. Never before baa tfte little isolated way station seemed so dull, the click oi the telegraph instrument so monotonous. There was literally nothing for her to do after the customary "putting to rights." No train would pass for hours, messages aeldom troubled her, she had exhausted her little stock of reading. What could he do to make the hours pass less wearily? bhe rested her head upon the keyboard and gave herself to pleasant waking dreams, to meutally following her lover and murmuring aloud of the pictures thought photographed upon her heart. It will take .John all day toicspect the line to the little wooded* island in the middle of the prairie, nnd he will have to sleep there tlonc in the log cabin. I wonder if he will think of me all the time, as I will of him? How I wish I could !>e with him!'' She blushed crimson as the Indian piniV that splashed the prairie as with blood at the unmaidenly thought and endeavored to fix her uttention upon other things. But do what she would her thoughts wandered to her lover, the lack of comfort he would experience, and the | happy day when she would have the ; right to be ever by his side and lie with j her head pillowed upon his broad b:cast at night. As it" the hours had become leadenfooted they c ept along. At noon .--he I listlessly ate the lunch >he had brought from her farm homo; then wi>lied night would hurry along that she might be with her lover at hast in dreams. Darkness did come after long and | weary waiting; her hours of duty hud . ended a;id she was preparing to leave . when the station was called and she was told in c<icking whispers that on account of anevtrathat was wildcatting she would have to remain until midnight. With the reverse of a pleasing expression upon her face and an almost, de- j Hant tossinc back of hor auburn curls. sho sat down again. The workmen ' about the station went home and left her alone; the frogs croaked mournfully from a neighboring slough, and ihe wires made music as the brisk night wind nlaved nnnn them Rut the nviierinnre i was not ucwto her; there wasnothing to ; fear and her father would come tor her j when the night was done. Kight, nine, ten passed and the silence was becoming painful. Something must, be done. She failed to remember being i so much oppressed by the lack of society and wondered how Robinson Crusoe could have existed before his man Friday. Then she thought of a female friend who was operator at the next i westward station, and, nearly dying for i some one to talk to, summoned "^ter-! ling." There was no reply. Try as she would t directly she could get none, but utili/.ing a circuit she was answered, and asked: : "What is the matter with the main , line." "Matter enough." was answered, ami her trained ear instantly told her the touch was not of a delicately fingered girl, but a heavy-handed man. The prairie in all on tire between here at:d Buffalo Heart (Jrove, thar is beginning to burn and when the Ihinus sweep round on your side vou'U have to look; sharp if they d >n't catch you uappiug, | my pretty dui-y.'' At auother time she would have closed the key w.th an angry snap :.t the impu- i dent farn liarity. Now there was room ' in her brain for only one maddening thought. I.'i'nu nc (lliidnill'' J ft tll<? l.'lhin " "i" ;?""b * r?? ? in the grove, would be surrounded by fire, be "stifled by smoke, be burned to death! "Prairie rout.d Buffalo Heart Grove a sea of flaii.e, line down, bridges over culverts probably burned. Stop all trains at X," she managed to flash back over the wire. Then she dashed out where all should have been darkness but was not. For miloB earth and sky were illuminated, the roaring of the flames could be distictly heard, their furious leapings distinctly traced, their speed swi( or than the grey hound and their force r'^i?tles \ as a cyclone. Nothing to her now was duty, nothing that it wanted two hours of midnight, nothing that many lives might hang upon her remaining at her post. One life she know was in danger, and that was to her more than all others in the world. With flying feet, with a desperate resolve forming in her brain, she hastened homeward, but did not enter the house ?dared not for fear of the thwarting of her purpose. As she passed the window she sa* her old father nodding in his chair, and a satistied smile parted her lips. For all the hidden weaitn 01 mountain and canyon she would not have him waken. Well she knew the swiftest and most untiring horse in the stable. That it was one she had never ridden, a young, tiery, valuable blue blooded stallion, she never gave a thought. Speed and courage were the things now to be desired, and all other considerations, even her own safely, were dwarfed into nothingness by them. " " * " With soothing voice una gentie nanus the girl led the horse out, bridled, saddled and mounted. Astonished by her daring, he quietly submitted. The charm of womanhood had easily accomplished what had ever been a difficult task for men. Then, startled by the unusual burden and flapping of skirts about his flank, he reared, plunged, pawed the air, kicked vigorously and made a desperate elfortto unseat the rider. It was unsuccessful. The hands that held the reins, little as thev were, had a grip of iron,and the whip left a welt upon the glossy skin. Madly sh iking h s head, dashing out with his heels, with the breath whistling through the thin nostrils, he made a second attempt: shivered as he received a still im>re stingiug blow, then dashed furiously dowu the road. The clatter of hoofs disturbed the dreams of the o d farmer. He sprang to the window, but only to calch an indistinct vision of something, glauced at the clock, murmured contentedly of having ar hour before ?oing for Nellie, and set tied himself for another nap. Little idea had he that his only child j and costly steed were indulging in the wildest of races under a sky lighted as ! by the flumes of hell and surrounded by its fires. The switchman saw the girl as she flew past; saw the swift galloping horse, the rider with her long hair streaming in the wind, the horse as if breathing smokesaw without recognition, and superstitiously imagined that the ghost of some red child of the wilderness, whose bones * 3 ' '' in Vmi l/ltn?v fVio irftn U&U l>ceu UlMUl'UCU IU uuuiliu^ vuv VU track of the pale face, was out for a midnight revel. For a considerable distance the road was over the undulating prairie, and both horse and rider enjoyed the racc; then they were forced upon the ties, and the heavily shod hoofs clattered along the bridges: then they left it and safety and plunged upon a narrow thread of beaten earth, with tire swiftly rushing toward it from either side. The horse, brave and blooded as he was, hesitated, as well he might; but the hand of the rider was firm and the whip merciless. A brief hour had transformed the gentle girl into a woman1 maddened by love and superior to danger The one idea that had taken possession of brain and pnlsing heart remained permanent. T/->li? ITinir a.'n? in rtaixrer of beincr COU suined. She must save him or ? And very soon the horse bccame mad as well. With long and seemingly tireless strides he stretched himself His dark skin was ticckcd with foam, his sides were heaving as a bellows, like escaping stc im hi< breath was blown, his eyes were red with exertion and his frame trembled with excitement. On, on they psesscd, on thus far in little d inger, for the Arc was yet at a distance. But with every moment it hf?fn i-A ni nrpr nearer, closed unon them and blazing sparks fell thickly aTrain. I On, on. ami the flames leaped upward j and at times closed over their heads;! they were rushing as through a tunnel of | hissing, roaring fire; it was crowding in upon them, was beneath their feet, was playing in fantastic shapes around and above. Mad as the girl was with desire to reach her lover the horrors of the situation were forced upon her brain. She bowed her head to the fiery storm, | shieldvd her fa-e and often extinguished I her blazing dress; spoke encouragingly to the horse, patted his quivering neck, used the deep cutting lash, cutting a , hundre 1 times more cruelly, for his sides were cracking with the heat and blood , was oo'.ing from the blistered wounds. { On, still on, but more slowly at every ( stride, with steps less firm and secure, , breath more scant, courage less high and , pace less swift. Never yet steed that could long bear such a fearful strain;!, never tlcsh that could resist a prairie fire J: with hundreds of acres of dry, tall grass |: and reeds for fuel and fanned by a gale, j fin! Tlif> rr'pl clnplflf?d lipr fives with'! her trerabii ig hands, and above the | ; s:noke saw the waving of trees. As yet J J the furious tfre had not reached, at least j ( not penetrated them. There was life, :, safety, and, more than all. lo?*e. Could |' she reach them? A scanty half inile had ] Titafinr>f n.Q ! >11 IV . HUIWK.W, v, \ clear to discover as mind, told the horse ] of the situation as clearly as her eyes. !, She palled upon him, and he answered; j she bowed to the saddle, she shut her ; eye* mid (lion! j, " The t'amcs swirled around, they wore ', wrapped as in a winding sheet of them, j \ the red. forced tongues touched them ;! with blistering kisses, the wind roared | through the gigantic furnace, the earth was hot bene ith, the air burning a!>o*e; J deer, wolf, every creeping thing were j! out footed in the race, were beaten down by a swift death, and how could they j' possibly escape? On! Between them and the sheltering! tree* hut a few rods remained; but a few feet. Could they be overcome Voice and lash urged the noble horse on. He struggled to obey, but his best cfToits ! were becoming feebler, his heart was j beating si ?w, the iron-muscled limbs i were i':ist becoming use'e^s. A single j burst ofs; t ed, as at the beginning would j have been enough?the r.t itig of a few | seconds all that was icquired. Fiantic.illvthegirlshouted, in despair s!ic i:iiiicu me rcckinji skips, inenorsi' i gathere I for a supreme effort, reeled, j slaguered. fell oven as the win 1 roared i ami the fire hissed more savagely. Hut the inpul-e had been sullicient to carry him beyond the blazing death and ' the bushes closed behind and the trees rose ab >ve and protected them from the s- orchbtg shower. "Cod be thanked,'' exchrmed the suf-1 ft-j iag girl as she knelt beside the gallant l.orse. "God be thanked,' and she tluti? : her arms around his neck and shed bitter ! tears as she saw how scarred and burned he was, regardless of her own sulfcrI iu"s* With difficulty she urged him to his j feet and led him forward. But he knew ; A3 well as slut of their safety, oi tne ne| (essitv of moving, and latnb-like foli lowed deep iuto the wood where the ! cabin stoou. 'John, dear John," rang out the voice ! of the girl. "Xollic! Oroat God, is th.it von?" was nr^;J and ?|uestione?l, n:id u iuo raent later she was locked -within his protecting arms. In a few words she told all, and begged him to do all possible for "the horse. "Now and ever," he answered. "One moment." lie climbed to the top of a tall tree, looked around, descended and said chccrf ully: ' 'The wind has changed; the fire is rushing away from the timoer; we are safe here. But why in the name of heaven did vou attemot such a dan gerous chance,*Nellie;" 'Because, dear, I loved you so," and, | she dropped fainting upon his anxiously throbbing breast. What "Sand-Blasting" Means. "What is sand-blasting ?" asked a Chicago Ilfrald writer of a man whose life had been spent in decorating glass, "The grinding or decorating of glass with sand?a secret process, the inside facts of which we cannot disclose," replied the expert. "Come upstairs and see a sand-blast machine." The machine ? /..'Jo.mill in cJiano nr ft rhcftsfl ? tiuci luiu w. .. press. The glass is laid on rubber belts at the side and is then fed into the machine. As soon as it disappears from view somo rubber flaps come down and prevent the pressure iD the interior from escaping. This pressure is exerted by wind and snnd?a 20-horse power engine being required to raise the "blow" which' drives the sand to the glass. Looking through the window in the centre of the machine a " gun " is disclosed. It haa a large mouth-shaped opening, at which it is loaded with 20-horse power ammunition of wind ana sana. ueioro the ammunition is allowed to leave the gun, the aporture narrows to about onesixth the width of the loading point. This condenses the sand bo that when it leaves the gun it strikes the glass with such force as to eat into the surface. When the glass has been exposed it passes out of 'the machine on rubber belts at the opposite side. This process is called grinding, and one machine will grind about 9U0 feet in a day. Now for the decorative part. Suppose the sandblaster wishes to present on , J--? TT? I a square oi glass a certain aesi^u. xic simply covers the surface with beeswax and a certain mixture laid on over the glass in exact duplicate of the design required. The glass passes into the machine. The sand is fired from the gun, but this time it grinds only the exposed parts. The portion covered with bees1 *1 1 ?!-.????? ?/V4 4aha1>O/^ wax una me secret mi.\mrci3 uut tuu^u^u by the sand, and when the plate emerges from the machine and the wax, etc., are washed off, behold the design standing out in sharp contrast to the ground surface which the sand has scarified. This is the A B C of sand-blasting. The process is susceptible of much elaboration, and one improvement which > was patented last year by a Chicago gentleman is called the "ammograph." The pictures are first drawn on the back of the glass by the artist with a color which will resist the action of the sand-blast. It is then subjected to the stream of sand, which cuts the glass in all parts ?ir?? nnf rnvprpd more or less by the resistant. The resistant is then washed off clean, leaving the pictures cut into the glass. They are next silvered over, if desired, to give greater brilliancy. The effect is that of a multiplicity of colors, but no paint or coloring of any kind is used, the effect being obtained by the different shades of the glass itself. The Thrifty Natives of India. There is no abstemiousness in the wnrlrl And no thrift like the thrift and abstemiousness of the average native of i India. Millions of men in India, espe- j cially in the richer soils and in the river deltas, live, marry and rear apparently healthy children upon an income which, even when the wife works, is rarely above two shillings a week, and frequei tly sinks to eighteen pence. The Indian is enabled to do this uot so much by the cheapness of food?for, though it is cheap, a Europeau who ate the same food would want five times the money to feed himself?as by a habit of living which makes him independent of the ordinary cAres of mankind. He goes nearly without clothes, gives his chil- j drAn none, and dresses his wife in a lone | piece of the most wretched muslinT Neither he nor his wife pays tailor or milliner one shilling during their entire lives, nor do they ever purchase needles or thread, which, indeed, it is contrary to semi-religious etiquette ever to use. The poorer peaeant inhabits a hut cou: taining a sirgle covered room of the smallest si c. with an earthen platform or two outside it; and as he constructs and repairs his own dwelling he virtually pays no rent, except for the culturablc land. lie never touches alcohol or any substitute for it. There is an idea in Kngland that he eats opium or hemp; but he. as a rule, swallows neither? lirstly, because he regards tlicui with as I much moral antipathy as any Knglish I gentleman, and secondly, because he could not l\v any po sibility pay for articles which in India, as everywhere else, lire exceedingly expensive. lie eats absolutely no meat, nor any animal fat, nor any expensive grain like sroorl wheat, but lives Ion millet or small rice, a little milk, with the butter from the milk, and the vegetables he grows. Even of these he cuts more sparingly man int.- jiuwn-si Tuscan. Once a quaitcr, peihaps, lie will eat enough during so r.efe?tival. but us a rule he knows accurately what will sustain him, and would be enraued with the wife who cooks for liiin if she preprepared more. lie is asi stcd in this economy by a religious rule which we have never seen a Hindoo break, and which is undoubtedly like the rule ugainst killing oven, a survival from a military law or <ustom of the most remote antiquity.?London Speetntur. ~~~ 1 Salt for the Teeth. Millions of dollars arc spent, yearly upon dentrifiees. They lead to the spending of millions inore upon dentists. A large percentage of this vast outlay is unavoidable. The rcinaindei could he saved if mankind, sifter reaching the age of leason and its last teeth, would not persist in continuing fresh. Common table salt is all that is net tled. There is no manufactured tooth powuer more harmless. There is none so simple and efficacious. It will act null}'retard decay after we have tiled oil the enamel l?y using the fool's toothpick, which is u quill, instead of a sliver of soft wood? or, better still, a thread.?Nao York Thus. "Wreathes There a Mau." Breathe* there n man with soul so dead, Who not unto his wile hath said, "The season's come, alas! alack! I think you need a sealskin sack,'' If such a man full well you know, go mark him. ?Waterloo Observer. Breathes there a man with soul so dead, Who never to his wife h th s.iid, (It is a very olden dodge) "My dear, you should have gone to b?d. You knew I'd soon be home from 'lo Ige." ?Tue Baton. Breathes there a man with soul so dead, Who never to his wife has ?jid, "I wish you could tua'ce cu h broad As mother did liviore 1 v. e.l." - (?o. 'mm Mountaineer. wmmmmmmm?ammamam?ammmmm?mmmmmmmmw^mmm RHYMES TO ORDER. A VISIT TO A PRACTICAL POET IN NEW YORK. Making a Living by Writing Poetical AcrnaHra nn Ynnnp l.nrlios' Christian Names?The Pool's Perils?Some Specimens. The house is one of the oldest and most substantial in the Seventh Ward. It originally sheltered a family of sedate Knickerbockers, whose names mtiy be j seen on tablets in Trinity churchyard. It j 4a nnw nrivori nr> tn funanlo nf spvorill I ' fc>- "I" ? --1 nationalities, whose chief occupation is, cutting, stitching, and sewing. The re- J porter walked up a short flight or wide j stone steps, much worn by the contact of ! many feet, between two old fashioned iron railings, and stopped a moment be-! fore the open door. He heard, like a dim echo from a roaring sea, the buzz . and whirr of many machiucs. A little i humpbacked man emerged from a door | on the right of the hall, letting out an 1 additional flood of noise and disclosing a bevy of bright eyed girls. The reporter ; showed the little man this clipping from , a newspaper: POEMS written on all subjects at reasona- J ble rates. Rbvraed acrostics a specialty, , A J J - * XT.. ' AUU1K? , i*V. , OU, York. The little man handed the clipping back, pointed upward with a long forefinger and said: "You will find him on the top floor." . At the end of three flights of stairs, 1 pasted on the door of what was origi- j nally the hall bedroom, where a luxu-< rious Knickerbocker may have slept off the diurnal fatigue of doing nothing, i was the card of the verse maker. The reporter knocked, and a brisk, commer- . n?nl vni/'P flnnr romnrlrpfl 1 "Come in!" t The room wa9 large and devoid of furniture, except a second-hand green lounge, two cane bottomed chairs, and a desk litercd with manuscript. The man . who sat before the desk was dressed in : a well-litting suit of brown. He did not look like a poet. He had a neat air, his hair was short, and he wore a collar. He looked up and asked, in the tone of a storekeeper: "Well, sir, what can I do for you?" ! As the reporter's object was to ascertain the true inwardness of the poet's business he dissembled. "I am something of an acrostic maker," the reporter ?aid, "and I came here in search of a job. What can you do for rae? I i thought perhaps you might take in a : partner." The poet smiled and said cheerfully:! "I am willing to take in almost anybody except a partner. It would not pay rae. i I cun get all the acrostics I want at from 15 to 2.5 cents apiere. But if you would like to write some for me at the highest rate I pay, a quarter, I'll give you enough to do every week to pay your lodging; that is, provided you can write metrical and sensible verse." The reporter said he would subulit: sonic of his jingles to the poet. Then the poet took a ponderous book, resembling a ledger, from the middle drawer of the desk, and told the reporter to look over all the acrostics in it, and dc sure noi 10 write any simnai to inem. The reporter found verse3 molded to , almost every Christian name. Some of the acrostics were written by versewriters more distinguished than the poet's twenty-five ceut contributors. But the poet probubly did not know it. "When the reporter came to the letter L, the poet, who had been busy tryiDg to build a verse to fit the name Lucy, looked up and laughei. In answer to the reporter's interrogatory look the poet said: "You have got as far as L. I will not spring the minstrel chestnut on yon by saying you can now warm yourself. I will merely ask you to read the acrostics under Li/zie. They're the only i twoi nave ior tne name." The reporter read thus: Lady, half thy beauty lies In thy dark, expressive eyes. Zest for love and life they show, Zeal for all things good below. I see, in short, within thy eyes, Everything that's woman?wise. Like the busy bee, be ever busy In the pleasant paths of labor, Lizzie. Zealously domestic themes pur.sue, Zoned with joy then horn" will be to j ou. Innocent and cheerful industry E'er the source of happiness will be. There's a little story connected wilh the first verse," said the poet. "I advertise in all the country papers in the East, West, North and South, as you may PAn innlnrAfl nn/1 T rmt vn#iimcta ' from all these sections for acrostics. ' Nearly nil the requests come from young fellows dead gone on young women. They want the acrostics for a love letter or an album, and they get them when they sent me a dollar or so. Lizzie, being a hard name to tit a rhyme to, comes high. Six young fellows all wanted Lizzie last month. I had already sold her to a dozen persons in ditrere it parts of the country. I risked sending her olf again, and have been sorry for it ever since. Lizzie, No. 1, with the dark, exnressive ovi ?. wont to a si oonev vounfr ! I i ^ - , . O man in Virginia, and he put her in his sweetheart's album. Unfortunately, one of his sweetheart's feminine cousins, on a j visit from Sandusky, Ohio, h d the same j Lizzie in her album. The two girls put! their heads together and concluded that j their beaus had deceived them. I got a ' letter from the young man saying that, he would expose me and have me prose-1 cuted fpr carrying on a swindling busi-= ness. lie hasn't done either yet, but lie j has caused me to be mighty careful how j I send my two Lizzies around the coun- j try. If you can get up a companion for j them, young man, I'll give you a dollar." i The young man seid he would try, | and asked the poet if he had ever had j any other trouble on account of the; rhyme-robbed young ladies in the big j book. The poet said that Lucy had also j caused a lover's quarrel and a dcnuncia-1 tiou, per li tter, of the poet. Lucys were ! quoted at $1 each, one-half the price of Lizzies. Among the hucys that the reporter made a mental nole of were these: Like what are you, my darling, bright-eyed bc.inly' Upon 111is hall that spins around the sun Coni|Miri-ons I cannot find to suit ye. You inatchle**, splendid, scrumptious little on-*! Live unselfishly and kindly. Uselessly, ignobly, never; Coming seisons then will findthoe V>?m<r I1I>H h<< intifllI lis ever. Loving is a duty, Urhane litt!e Invuitv. ('lieorfully pursu it? Yuu will never ruo it. The repoiter skipped the Marys. They filled fifteen pages and were quote! at 50 cents each. There were three Pris cillas with $1.2."5 marked opposite tncm. The Nel its were numerous and were marked 50 and 7H cents. The poet said the demand for Marys was steady. Sweet old-fashioned Margaret and Harriet were never called for, but Maggie and Ilattie were popular. Lillic was wanted occasionally. '1 lio reporter ga- e only cursory attention to ;he big book aflor passing Lizzie and Lucy. Uc left the poet - -77VV . ^ with the promise to try to earn a dollar or so, fashioning a verse to fit Lizzie. The poot was then wrestling so hard with the name of Lucy that the reporter suspected that he was not realiy a poet, after all.?Niw York Sun. WORDS 0F~WISDOM. Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam. We always like those who admire us; wc do not always like those whom we admire. Babylon in all its desolation is a sight not so awful as that of the human mind it ruins. Improve the wit you have bought at a dear rate, and the wisdom you have gained by bad experience. The mind is like a trunk; if well packed, it will hold almost everything? if ill packcd, next to nothing. Money and time both have their value. He who makes a bad use of one will never make a good use of the other. "Dust to dust" rounds out the sum of life for the soul that grovels earthward; tViP cnnl Viavinrr oflFanfiAna oima nrrlnov. ore that transcend this world, does not expect to die. In order to have any success in life, or any worthy success, you must resolve to carry into your work a fulness of knowedge?not merely a sufficiency, but more than a sufficiency. Between heaven and earth hangs a great mirror, crystal-clear, upon which the unseen world casts its mighty images; but only the pure, child-like eye can behold them. Every day is a little life;' and our whole life is but a day repeated. Those, therefore, who dare lose a day are dangerously prodigal; those thnt dare misspend it, desperatP. No way has been found for making heroism easy, even for the scholar. Labor, iron labor, is for him. The world was treated as an audicnce for him; the atoms of which it is made are opportunities. The accusing spirit, which flew up to heaven's chancery with the oath, blushed as he gave it in; and the recording angel, as he wrote it down, dropped a tear upon the word and blotted it out forevert The narrower your daily round, the wider may be the out reach. Isolated upuu a uuiku uiuuu iuiu-jjcarv, jruu may take in river and lake, forest, field and valley. A hundred gardens lift their bloom and fullness to your single eye. Chickens and English Sparrows. A resident of Madison, Ohio, writes as follows to the Cleveland Leider: The tcmer.ty of the English sparrows is beyond parallel, and although they are universally condemned by the press and destroyed at every opportunity by the public, yet they steadily increase, and what is more perplexing they seem per fectly contented with their lot, and are cheerful and even hilarious Not only do they deprive the barnyard fowls of a large portion of their daily food, but also use them as instruments of shelter and protection, and that they have lost none of their reputed courage and audacity the following incident will show: One evening while passing a pole upon which a number of fowls roosted, I was surprised to see several sparrows fly away from the rcos*. Not fully satisfied with my conclusion?that the birds were roosting under cover of the fowls?I stepped behind a board fence to watch for a verification. Present y the birds began to return and alight within a few feet of the roost; then one with more courage than any of the others, flew over and alighted squarely on the back of a large rooster, and a moment later disap peared between the feathers of the rooster and a lien at his side. Soon the othersparrows began to settle betwc n the fowls, and in a short time a'l had found a warm shelter from the storm, and protection from noxious animals 1 eneath the soft feathers of the good uiitured fow's. Indeed, I do not bel'eve that the fowls dislike the sparrows: on the contrary, I believe that the great, generous cocks take delight and pride in offering protection to these, their miniature counterparts. I am confident that I observed one portly old rooster slightly elevate his wing to give a sparrow a comfortable roosting place, and then chuckle encouragingly to the wee bird as it nestled closely to his downy bosom. How Suowslieds are Built. Snowsheds to cover the railway track have been built at points on the Central Pacific road, where it crosses the Sierra. As the trains bound east leave Emigrant Gap they run through one" continuous shed for thirty-five miles. The purposo of the sheds is to prevent the track being buried under falling and drifting snow. They sccure this end, but arc themselves the occasiou of ?rcat inconvenience, such as ihe noise, the loss of view, and the routining 01 xne siuukc 10 me nam. Tlicrc is nothing peculiar in the construction of these sheds, which have to support only the burden of the stiow. But on the line of the Canadian Pacific, where the road crosses the Kocky Mountains, sheds of a different construction are needed. Before the road was completed, observations in the mountains showed that avalanches must be provided ajrainst. A single avalanche covered the track for a distance of 1,300 feet and to the depth of fifty feet. The ; result of these observations was that the j compuny built four and one-half miles of snowsheds at an enormous expense. ' The sheds are constructed as follows: On the high side of the mountain slope a crib filled with stones is constructed. Along the eutirc length of the shed, and on the opposite side of the track a timber trestle is erected; strong timber beams arc laid from the top of the cribwork to the top of the trestle, four feet apart, and at an angle representing the slope of the mountain as nearly as possible. These are covered over with fourinch planking, and the beams are braced i on either side from the trestle and from : the; crib. The covering is placed at such a height as to give twenty-one feet headway from the under side of the beam to the centre of the track. The longest of these sheds is 3,700 feet. Thinks He Sum Hearcn. The Rev. C. E. Cline writes to the Crntr-l Chr 'ntim Adro ate that three years ago the parsonage of Eminefsburg, Iowa, was struck hv lightning and he was hit in the breast by a large piece of plastering knocked from the cc ling. Instantly after being struck he saw n "great multitude of the most beautiful children running toward him and waving their hands and shouting greeting of joy.-' He felt no paiu whatever, and wondered where he was. Soon became to himself and found his wife and children weeping over him. thinking he was dead, lie was not seriously hurt. He says that he shall go down to his grave believing that on that night he eutcred heaven. A BURIED CITY. TRACKS OP A GREAT PREHISTORIC RACE IN ARIZONA. Old Irrigating Canals, Rains of Large Buildings. Stone Utensils, Burial Tombs,Etc.,Unearthed ?A Child's Skeleton, Etc. A Tucson correspondent of the Washton Pod writes that some very important discoveries concerning prehistoric races have been made during the past year by Professor Frank Cushman, who has charge of an exploring expedition in Southern Arizona. His field of observation has been the fcfalt River Valley, where Father Keno made explorations as early as 10117, where he traveled through Arizona to establish Jesuit missions, and he speaks of it as having a considerable population of Indians, who have siuce become known as the Pimas and Maricopas. But he discovered traces of a heavy population that had existed long before, and that had become extinct. Among the evidences were old irrigating cauals, ruins of buildings and stone utensils, both for war and domestic use. Professor Cushman's camp, as described by the Pod correspondent, who had visited it in August last, wa9 at the edge * ?r-.A. v _ J _? J ?:i 1.. 1 A oi wnai iiuu eviucmij uccu n mu,j mi considerable size, and about three hundred yards away was the citadel or fortress of this city. He walked over to this citadcl and took a general survey from that point. It hud evidently been a building of considerable size and strength, probably several stories high, and had its foundation laid deep in the earth. The mater.al used in its construction was sun-dried clay, tho same as that used by the Mexicans of the lower and middle classes, and before Mr. Cushman began his explorations there was nothing to murk its whereabouts exoept a sort of oblong hillock.or mound. Little of the walls above the foundation were found intact, but the ground plan could be A '? ? 11 ao tlto 1 inoo iracea in every utruui, no men ? ut nuw of ihe outer wall. The rooms were of different sizes, and seem to have been constructed with much architectural skill. A number of the smaller apartments had undoubted'}- been constructed for burial-vaults, for when they were opened up skeletons were found in them, the heads being invariably to the east. In one of these vaults was the skeleton of a child. Mr. Cushman was of opinion that the building had been a sort of combined citadel and sacred temple, and that the remains of those found there were those of priests and their families. He said he haa encountered many evidences that convinced him that the people who inhabited the city had reached the period in civilization when the priest is supreme in power. A chief or king lived in the citaael, but he was evidently under the control of the priests. The city extended out' in all directions from the palnce or temple, and the foundations of many of them had been exposed, quite a number of them consisting of only a single room; but now and then there would be one of larger and more ample proportions, and in most of these larger ones there had been found burial-vaults and skeletons. Two thousand of these skeletons had been exhumed. There was a general burialground, where the dead seem to have been thrown promiscuously, a sort of Potter's field, but the skeleton's here * J were so oroKen up mai uu guim opccimens could be obtained. The richer people buried their dead in their houses, building air-tight vaults for the purpose, but the poor classes were disposed of much as they are to-day in our larger cities. Mr. Cushman had found a great deal of pottery in the tombs, as well as in and about the dwellings. All the best specimens seemed to have been used for sacred purposes, and this was, no doubt, one reason Mr. Cushman had for believing these people, whoever they were, had arrived at a period in their national history when the priests were at the head of affairs. These liner pieces of pottery * kiif mn.A 1 were ox many (uucieui ouau?, uu? ..i_?v , all of light color, with bla.k markings j and figures, reminding one greatly of ancient Egyptian pottery. The inferior specimens look much like that made by the Arizona Indians of to-day. No iron, cop, er or metal instruments of any kind have been found, but great quantities of stone axes, stone pestles and mortars, bone needles and knives and other such materials as liclong to the stone age. But the skill with which these articles were j made w;is far superior to that shown by I the Indians found in America by the whites. These prenistouc aweucrs 01 Southern Arizona were a people of very superior intelligence. They built cities that ranked with those found in Mex.co by Cortez, and were in advance of those of the Colorado Xuni tribe of the present day. Mr. Cushman thinks they were ; much the same people as the Zunis. Mr. Cushman has found agooddeal of wheat aud barley and other grain, all of it, of course, in a -charred, blackened condition, and he had also traced several canals and had found the ruins of a large reservoir, so that he had no doubt that extensive irrigation had bceu carried on, and that all the valley had been under n.tiM'vatirtn Hp thinks there must have been a population of at least 2/5,000 in the ruined city he was exploring, and that most of the inhabitants lived by cultivating the surrounding country. Mr. Cushman says his theory of the disappearance of this prehistoric people and the almost complete obliteration of their city, is that they suffered from great calamity, like the inhabitants of Herculan i'iim aud Pompeii. It was proba- j bly an earthquake. He soys: "1 have j found skeletons under the walls of houses, j lyiupjas if the walls had suddenly fallen | upon the persons and crushed them to i d?;ath. ^ es. I think there came a ternblc earthquake, killed many and fright- j ened the remainder away. They were I no doubt a religious people, and strongly f ifcm. cuu- tii thi? ! I I iuua, W ilKU IMWJ ww? calamity thut befell them .1 warning to i seek some other abode. They probably moved south, and it may have been i ' their descendants that the Spaniards | 1 found in Mexico. They were certainly i equal in intelligence and general advancement to the Aztecs.'' ?. 1 Birds Killed by Monuments. 1 # ( Prof. Ridgway, of the Smithsonian - 1 1.:^. 0??r t? ' Institution, spujiKiiijj u 1 iuu uuu.? atuk?? the Institution killed in large numbers by flying against the ISartholdi statue beacon in New York harbor,says thut the specimens wore mainly of tlie "warbler" 1 or note-uttering family of dilTcrcnt vari- i etie', wliif.h were insectivorous, and also I field birds, such as the madow lark, but 1 none of the specimen are rare. These i birds migrate by night, and, although 1 they fly high, Prof. Kklgway 5avs they ? arc "attracted from all sides down (o Ihe ] electric light. Many birds, mostly j crows, have recently been picked up dead i near the Washington monument. A few I wild ducks also have 1 een destroyed in l the same manner. The crows fly low i and migrate at dawn, and the mist hido.5 1 the monument from 9iffht. i HOUSEHOLD MATTERS. How to Cook a Turkey. A good authority on the subject gives the followiu? full directions for cooking a turkey: French works on cooking tell us that poultry and game should never be washed. This may do for French markets and appetites, but where poultry is sent to market undrawn, the inside is sometimes sour, rod apt to give an unpleasant taste to the staffing and the flesh as well. If the fowl has been drawn as soon as killed, and the gall ha* not been broken, it will not need waihing; but if there is the least suspicion of taint, wash it well in cold water, to which a teasDOonful of soda, and two of salt, have been added. There is an infinite variety of receipts for stuffing a turkey. A plain dressing, which is the basis of all, is made with breadcrumlw - ' mixed with butter, pepper, salt, and thyme or sweet marjoram. The bread sheuld be soaked in cold water and sqeezed dry in a towel. The excellence of the seasoning will depend upon skill of the cook. Add all seasonings .1 little at a time, and taste to see when you have it right If you havecotserved an oyster soup previously, an oyster or celery stuffing is most excellent Use as much of the oyster liquor as may be necessary to moisten the bread, dilating it with half the quantity of water or milk, and about two dozen small oysters to a ten-pound turkey. In this caso an oyster sauce ,mu8t be served with it. For this, bring to a boil the juice of half a pint of oysters and one-half pint of milk, also boiling; thicken with two teaspoonfuls of flour wet with cold water, add the oysters, give one boil, and serve. For a celery stuffing the celery must be stewed ana mixed with the bread crumbs, which should have been moistened with hot milk. A sauce is made by heating a half pint of milk, thickening it as above, and adding ^ celery that has been cut in half-inch pieces and stewed until tender; "season with butter, pepper, and salt, and the least trifle of grated nutmeg. You*may also change your dressing by the addition of cold minced veal or sausage meat. .Now, having acciaea upon ine siyia in which your turkey is to.be dressed, and having washed it preparatory to the process, till the body and craw as full m may be, and sew the aperture with cotton twine; draw the legs closely to the body, and tie or skewer them iu place, er the bird will come out of the oven in anything but a shapely condition, with it* limbs pointing to the four points of the compass. Bend the wings back ohder the body, place it in the baking-pan, season it all over with salt and pepper, and _-plet it stand several hours before it goes 4 inte the oven, that the seasoning in the dressing may permeate and flavor the meat. Pour a little water into the pan, - * - il _ and put it in a moderate oven ior sue first hour, so that it may heat through slowly. Baste frequently, and increase the heat after the first hour. A tenpound bird should be baked from two and a half to three hours. Half an hour before it is done, dredge it with flour, and baste every ten minutes until the cooking is finished. If it is not very fat, skewer thin slices of fat larding pork over the breast before baking. Serve brown sauce as well, made from the gravy in the pan, even if you have celery coni>o Mnk-n thfi brown arravt by adding a little hot water to the gravy j id the pan, from which you hare skimmed the fat. Thicken it with flour wet with cold water ; and the stewed giblets chopped fine, and put a dash of lemon-juice to the seasoning. Serve currant or cranberry-jelly, or spiced plums with the turkey. Other Recipes. Sour Roast.?Put some beef with a j sliced onion into a stone crock and cover with good vinegar (cold), put pepper, | salt and a few doves. I.et this stand a whole day and night, and tne next aay roast in the oven, vinegar and all. Dressed Tonodk.?Take a corned tongue and boil till tender; split it and stick in a few cloves, cut one onion, i little thyme, add some browned flour. Have the tongue covered with water, ia which mix -the ingredients, add three hard boiled eggs chopped fine; garnish with hard boiled eggs. ; Cheap Rolls.?Take cold mush (com meal or hominy), and knead into enough Graham flour to form a (lough, just stiff enough to handle with flour, make into rolls three or four inches long and nearly an inch thick, then bake in a hot oven ~ from thirty to forty minutes. They are best when eaten warm. Corn Starch.?One pint of milk, three whites of eggs, three tablespoonfulsof cornstarch, three tablespoonfuls of sugar; boil the milk, add the other ingredients, and pour in mold. Make a custard of one pint of milk, three yolks of eggs and three tablcspoonfulsof sugar; flavor. Add boiled milk, and wlien ready to serve, pour around the whit* part. Baked Appt.es.?Take a dozen or. more juicy Baldwins, wipe and core, |>ut Into a tin baking pan anil fill the cavities with fin<*ar: take a tablespoouful of but " ~ "O ? . ter and the same of Hour, rub together until smooth; to this pour boiling water till there is enough to just cover the apples, grate nutmeg over the whole,and bake in a slow oven an hour or more. Nice for dessert. Hominy Cakes.?Cold hominy left :.'rom breakfast one morning may be utilized the next in cakes. Mix with cold hominy an equal amount of wheat flour until perfectly smooth; add a teaannnntul of salt, and thin off with "i? buttermilk, into part of which a teaspoonful of soda has been dissolved; x when of the consistency of corn cakes, add ' a dessertspoonful of melted butter, and bake as ususl. Vermicelli I'uddino?Parboil twelve ounccs of vermicelli, drain it iu a ? eve, and put into a stew-pan with a qt art of cream, four ounccs of butter, half a pound of sugar, the juice and grated r.nd of two oranges the grated rind of one lemon, and the juice of half a one, and a little salt; cover and let it simmer slowly until the cream is nearly aborbed; turn on a Th?>n ftdd the UUl IV VVV/A WM ~ volks of six eggs, and the whites beat into a still froth, mix thoroughly yet lightly. Put it into a well buttered mold, and bake for an hour and a half in i moderate oven. When done, turn it in a dish and serve with sauce. ?.4mm:<ui Agriculturist. Gait and Character. A Spanish student, Dr. Pcracchira, lias learned that bad men may be distinguished from good by their walk. In aw abiding people the right pace is longer thau the leit, me laiurai sepnra:ion of the right foot from the median line is less thau that of the left. In persons predisposed to the left there is a pronounced widening of the base of support, together with a very long step; ind in those of murderous intents the >:isc of support is not as wide as it is in hieves, since the angle formed by the ixis of the foot with the median line i? ess obtuse, but the peculiarity of t&eir footprints is very marked.