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A Family Companion, Devoted to Literature, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets, &c. Vol. X. WEDNESDAY MORNING, APRIL 8, 1874. No. 14. THE HERALE IS ?CBLISflED EVERY WEDNESDAY MOINING, At Newberry C. M., BY THOS. F. GRENEKER, Editor and Proprie?or. Terms, $2.50 per Jnnun Ivariably in Advance. 9s The per is stopped at the expiration a a=* for = f'it paid. i ( Tka.)4 mat denotes expiration of sub attry.. MWICH SHALL IT BE? "Which shall it be? which isall it be?" I looked at John. John looked at me, (Dear, patient John, who loves me yet As well as tho' my locks were jet); And when I found that I must speak My'voice seetued strangely low and weak. "rell me again what Robert said;" And then I list'ning beat my head. 'ThIs is hia letter:" "I will give A house and land while you shall live, If, in return, from out your seven One child for aye to me is given." I looked at John's old garments worn, I thought of all that John had horne Of poverty and work and care, Which 1, though willing, could not share; I thought of seven mouths to feed, Of seven little children's need, And then of this. "Come, John," s6'd I, "We'll chooseamong them as they lie A;.,,-ep:" so, walking hand-in-hand, PearJolm and I surveyed our band. First to the cradle lightly stepped Whemr.Lillian. the baby, slept, 'fs damp arls lay like gold alight, A glory 'gainit the pillow white. Softly herfather stooped to lay His sough hand in loving way, Wbes dream nor whisper made her stir, And huskily John, "Not her-not her." We stooped beside the trundle-bed. Aed one long ray of lamp light shed Athwart the boyish faces there, In sleep so pitiful and fair; I saw on Jamie's rough, red cheek Alsar undried. 'Ere John could speak, "Be's but a baby, too," said I, And.kissed him as we hurried by. P4le, patient Robbie's angel-face Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace. "No, for a thousand crowns, not him," iWe whispered, while our eyes were dim. Poor Dick! bad Dick! our wayward son, Tarblent. reckless, idle one oId,he be spared? "Nay, He who gave B s.efrend him to his grave; Only a mother's heart can be Patient enough for such as he; ida,tadd John, "I would not dare To send him from her bed-side prayer.'' Then stole we softly up above Andkaelsby Mary, chBld of love. "Perhaps for her 'twould better be," I said to John. Quite silently He lifted up a curl that lay Across her cheek in wilful way, And shook his head; "Ney, love, not thee." whilT e easy heart beat audibly. onewre,ouroldest lad, Trusty and truthful, good and glad, 54 like his father. "No,John, no 1.cannot, will not let him go." &nd so he wrote, in courteous way, We could not give one child away; And afterward toil lighter seemed, Thinking of thai of which we dreamed, ath, that ot one face 4 We missed from its accustomed place. Thankful to work for all the seven, ~ ~sigthe rest to One in Heaven. T 'SFOOLISH1NESS. ""Another girl! and girls are of no earthly use in France without a ~ ':and Monsieur Marillac ~ z$k~int of his house in a rage. - I'helittle new-corner, who was named Marie, was the fifth daugh ter cm to vex the paternal comn itee~ f pays anid me.ns. As ma trimony is the chief end of a French girl's existence, it was no wonder that poor monsieur received the congratulations of his friends with his heart wrong side out. But little Marie throve in spite of the frowns, and at sixteen had S developed into a fine, handsome, and brave girl, so that her father was wont to stroke her long )rown hair, ansd say, "True you are a girt, Marie, but you have all the qualities of a man. That is a great comfort.' At this time Marie had two lof es,-one old, rich, and whose suit t her father favored ; the other, young and not rich, whom Marie loved and married without the bless ing of her father. Her husband had just completed a medical education. HKe~ae Mfand handsome, and his da ~in Pierre Marquerat. A week after their marriage Pierre found himself nearly penniless, and the young husband and wife soon after bade good by ,to France, to seek a home and fo.rtune in America. They landed in New York, beginning the work of home making with empty hands, but strong hearts full of love. Pierre gradnally won a place for himself and his profession, whiich, added to - Marie's excellent management, fur nialed them with all the real com forts of home. But every year or timo brought a baby, until there WerG seven, all boys. "Ahi !" if my father could only see my seven boys, he would adore me, and quite for give mne for being a girl myself,' Mariewould proudly say. When the youngest was tree years old almost the entire family -was stricken down with fever. From days and nights of watching, Pierre, who was less strong than Marie, be ca.ne prostrate-from fatigue, his physician said; but he would be quite well after a litCua rest. In twc hours he was dead, and the eldest son lay dying. From that day Marie was broken -ea,rted. She had loved her hus ..bead with the whole force an til he lay dead at her side no othe man had seemed to her so large I souled, so noble-hearted, so devote< and true. She did not weep-be grief was too deep for that. He heart, if she had one, was stone Nothing moved her. All sorrow; fell so far short of her own as t< seem not worthy the name of sor row. She was still so young, bare ly thirty-three, and she already ha< drunk to the very dregs the sweet eat and saddest of life's wine. Foi her woman's heart there was no -thing left. For her mother's heari there were si boys, and for hei brains and her hands the care ani support of them. She had hej homb, but no income now. Whal could she do? Teach French, and take a few boarders. So a fe% weeks' time saw the happy, bright eyed, vivacious Marie changed intc a pale, sad, black-robed woman with her handsome boys gathered about her like a constellation, ani half a dozen gentlemen to sit at hei table and learn French. Most o: them were professional men, whil( one or two were her own country men. The first to come was Torr Sigismond, partner in a down-towr tea house, and the pet of a bacheloi coterie, many of whom had beer classmates in college, and led the usual life of well-to-do city fellowE who have no "incumbrances." Some one in the firm was wanted who un derstood French, and why not leario it himself? A Franco-American friend gave him Madame Marqe rat's address. The artlessness ol madame's broken English, and thE sweetness of her broken-hearted face, made the formal business mat ter a foregone conclusion. And sc it happened that being the first b3 a day on the carpet, Tom was giv en the late doctor's place at table, il "he would be so good as to carve.' Carving was as new and untried a business as speaking French. But he was a fellow to do any thing for a woman except marry her. He wouI&d carve if he amputated his hands in the operation. And ther those six distracting boys, with their "maman, maman, maman, kissing her, hugging her, rubbing their heads against her, overwhelm ing her with their devotion, and trying her patience to the utmost How could he ever expect to leart all their pretty French names, much less abide in the midst of such a bedlam? And so each and all of the gentlp. men thought, but had their won derings answered by the nameless graces of the widowed madame. IDay by day only enhanced their ad miration, and astonished them witi her capabilities. From mQorning until evening neither her hands noi her feet seemed to find rest. There were always the boys to be sent tc school, the market, her French pu pils, her household to superintend and yet she seemed always so inca pable of fatigue, always so tidy, ani always courteous and ready to talk but always so very, very sad. One day Gustave, the third boy was brought in from the street wit] the blood streaming from a wound in his head. It had been nearly i year since Pierre had died, and un til now Marie had thought she hai no heart. But the sight of he: bleeding child showed that she had and she gave way to a fiQod of tears After that she was quite like thi impulsive vivacious, and warm heart ed Marie of old. She was a French woman in a thousand ingeniona ways-so rich in tact, in expedien cy, in helpfulness ; but had it no been for all those boys, one migh never have known what a charace: she had. One day it was teaching little Pierre never to lie ; another Louis the beauty of unselfishness another, courteous manners to Co let, generosity to Claqde, or pa tience to Paul. She was certainl' the most wonderful mother thes< men ever had seen; and neither ha< they forgotten their own. Th< sight of her and her boys day afte: day developed their own father]; instincts and longings for a homn and fireside and a madame of thei own. But where could another Ma rie be found ? None of them aske< himself that question oftener thai did handsome Tom Sigismond. Wc men were so treilhendously deceil ful. He could count up a score c "perfecct beauties" he had flirte< with, who smiled sweetly, sang an< talked like seraphs, and made bE wildering toilets; but he declared h knew them to be perfect Xantippe in temper. (That was before Xantii pe's -amiability had been exoners ted.) If he married, and he certaix ly never should, but if he did, h wanted to know the woman. Call ing now and then, seeing her in tb parlor, going to opera, and concert riding in Central1Park, and the lik< -furnished no real clew to her cham acter. Moreover, there was no wa to find out, unless one interviewe r under the guise of coachman. Even if they were angels, he was afraid 1 of angels, unless it was this French r one with her six cherubs. r Of course he learned French with a vengeance. It was a wonderfully courteous langua'ge, seeming fitted for only lords and ladies. He was - astonished that he had not learned - it before. It was "Voulez vous [ quelque chose, madame!" in the morning and at night. He charged himself with commissions, and fin ally grew to taking the boys out by twos for a walk or ride. At the end of three years he was the only [ original boarder left. He had con jagated the verb ailner through all its mood and tenses, and instead of looking further for a Marie, decid ed to sue for this one, including the satellites, Louis, Colet, Gustave, etc. One day he fell in with a pair of his bachelor friends. t "Where do you keep yourself, Tom, !" inquired one. "I haven't seen you for six months. In love, eh, old fellow " "Yes, I believe I am," said Tom, seriously. "One more unfortunate!" doled out the other. "Young, rich, and pretty, I suppose ?" "Yes, young, rich, and beautiful," answered Tom. "No money, a wid. ow, and six boys." -Oh, that-excuse me-but that's too thin." "But it's a fact," said Tom; and the friends sobered. "Hey! are you crazy, old boy?" "Never less so, old fellow." "Six boys! the d-ickens! That's beginning life at the top end, I should say. "Very likely; but if there were twelve, it wouid be all the same. There isn't anotiier woman in the world like her! She's French. I've been learning French." "Y-e-s, I should say so-by heart. Did you propose en Francais, a la Francais ?" "Haven't come to that yet." "Ah! then you are not hopelessly lost?" "Yes, I am. It's a gone case. If she says no, I'm hers all the same." ,Of course they had abundant rea son to think he was a fool. Any body would, when he could marry any one of the twenty "splendid girls," but instead choose a widow dowered with half a dozen boys! But then he had got beyond public opinion. But what would Marie think ? and what would Louis and IGustave and Colet and all these oth er graded thinkers think?i It was no small thing to attack a heart surrounded by such a home-guard. But faint heart, etc., including six boys. One day Marie seemed unusually sad and perplexed. "Some of those horrible bills to meet," Tom sus picioned, and he couldn't offer her -a cent beyond his board, which he i made as high as possible. Next ,day found her face no brighter, and after the boys were all in bed he ,knocked at madame's little sitting i1 room, saying he would like to come I~ in for a while. Marie blftshed; and tputting her finger to her lips, point -ed to little Pierre asleep on a sofa. lA low tune suited what Tom had to -say, and so he began, after drawing ,a chair vi--i to her own. ."Maclame, you are the only wo man in the world I know, and the -only woman I love. I am neither -a fool nor crazy. I wish to marry ;you. -' Marie threw up her hands in true t French horror. t "Marry me ! Pourquoi ?" e"For yourself." "But my six boys !-what can you ,think?" ;"I think they need a father. You . are wearing your life out to care for -them. Moreover, as they grow old. rer they will need advice and guid Sanee that you can scarcely give. I ThatlIwant to marry you and the a six boys is proof that I love you six ctimes as much as it is necessary to rlove a woman without children." aj "Oh, but you will think different to-morrow." "No; I made upmy mind to this I six mon ths ago. I have only waited i hoping that time and circumstances -would make you need me as much Sas I need you. I hope I am not fwholly indifferent to you?" 1 You have been very, very good. I But no one can be to me what my -Pierre was. I cannot allow you to e sacrifice yourself, and I cannot mar s ryag'ain. I must give myself to -my children-les pauvres garcons !" -and the tears streamed down her -cheeks. e "But it breaks my heart to see you distressed, and have no right e to help you," exclaimed Tom, a~ seizing the fair white hand, that i bore only a worn wedding ring, and -kissing it in a desperate way. y"Ahm, then you must go away," : sighed Marie. "Only as my friend." "And you have no other answer ' "None other, monsieur." "Promise me one thing. If you can at any future time give me a different answer, grant me the hon or of telling you again how entirely my life is yours, and yours only." She smiled sadly. "There is al ways hope in such promises, and I would not deceive you. You will thank me for this some day, if not now. Of course Tom protested that he never would, and avowed his loyal ty and devotion, and then, packing his traps, went to a hotel without a word to anybody. When the fact of his departure became known in the house the boys were furious, and overwhelmed Ma rie with questionings. Each one missed him in his own peculiar way, and, "I wish, I do, that Monsieur Sigismond would come back!" greet ed Marie's ears many times a day. And she, poor thing ! missed him a thousand times more and more as the days went on, until it was no longer use for her to deny to her. self that she loved him almost as much as she had Pierre. And was she quite sure that she ought not to have said "Yes" for the boys' sake ? One day Colet came dancing in like a wild boy. "Oh, mama, I met Monsieur Sigismond to-day, and he asked how the dear, beautiful mama was, and about all the boys; and I asked him why he went away, and he said he didn't want to, and that he was just dying to come back, but you wouldn't let him. Say, mama, is that so? Mayn't I tell him he may come back ?" "No, no, Colet; mother thinks he is very good, and hopes that some day he will come back without mother's saying so." But he did not come; and although Marie de voted herself to the boys, her heart ached all the day. Her old friend, Dr. Lauson, who had known her and her husband for many years, and who had always been very fond of Marie, came in nearly every even:ng, with the kind intention of cheering her. True, she would rather a hundred times have been alone, but she was too kind to appear otherwise than glad to see him. On one of these visits the doctor surprised her with an offer of his hand and heart: a very sensi ble, appropriate, and worthy hus band, the world would have said. When he had finished, Marie point ed to the door. "Never come through that again with such a thought or wish in your heart," said she, almost passionate. ly. "I do not love you; I canri love you; I never can love you - You are my friend ; I will be frank with you: I love Mr. Sigismuond." The doctor bowed an adieu, and passed out. He was a generous soul. He knew Sigismond. He went straight to his hotel, and sent up his card to Tom. "Glad to see you, doctor," greet ed Tom, giving his hand in a cordi, al clasp. "I've just been and offered my self to Madame Marquerat," blurtei out the doctor, sinking into an ea sy chair. "Ah, and am I to offer congratu lations?" said Tom, in a forced way "Yes, I think you are, Mr. Sigis mond. I certainly should if I stood in your boots." "Yes? Well, when is the happy event to come off ?" "Any time you say, I reckon ; and the' doctor ran his fingers through his sparse locks. "I say ?-that's clever. You speal in riddles. I hope the event has not affected-clouded-disturbed your-your "Yes, I think it has. Madame showed me the door. She loves another man, Sir-another man." "Her poor Pierre," suggestei Tom. "No, it's a live man, and his'nam< is Tom-Tom Sigismond." "What!' shouted Tom, springing 'up. "E-h-h ?" responded the docto: slowly. "I is best not to get exci ted over it. You can't see her to night; but if you go round to-mor row, I think you can fix the mattel up ; and I advise you to rush mat ters. I know Marie. She lovel you, my boy-she loves you; bu she is a proud piece, and if you giv< her a chance, she will keep postpon ing the matter to the hurt of yoi all. God bless you." "And you too, my dear man! added Tom, fairly taking the gooi doctor in his arms. Tom went around "to-morrow. The boys were all home from school and Marie stood in their midst ad justing some difficulty. "I saw Dr. Lauson last night Madame Marquerat," began Tom~ putting his arm about her, whil< the boys looked on in silent won~ der. "We will be married to-mor row." THe snpoe s ifn appal wa, an utter impossibility. "Boys, what do you say for having me for your father?" "Oh, jolly! splendid!" they all shouted; and seeing the doubtful look on Marie's face, which, by in tuition they interpreted, began to pleal, "Yes, maman; do, please !" while Louis, drawing back and fold ing his arms, said with great digni ty7 "I tell you what, Mr. Sigismond, th we think you are a first-rate fellow, E but you'll have to be awful good Lo mother. I'm nearly as tall as you now, and I'm well up in gymnas tics." "Hush, hush, Louis!" laughed Marie, waving the entire corps fromr re the room. What happened after- r ward has happened a great many e times, and the oftener it happens . the more it baffles description. lao Next day there was a quiet wed la; ding in the little home parlor, with only Dr. Lanson, one or two lady friends, and the boys to witness the ceremony. Tom's friends de clared the fellow was a fool. But ian his mode of reconciling them to his at fate was most effectual. He invited IEi them to dine with him, to show off his boys, make them envy him his Marie, and enjoy the most delicious H dinners in New York; and they in variably went away confessing that Tom was not such a very great fool ci after all. That was five years ago; to and as an illustration of the power of example, three out of the five jE bachelors have married widows with daughters, whom they laughingly st declare shall marry the Marquerat boys. Nous verrons hi NEWSPAPERS DOMESTICAL. SC LY CONSIDERED. Too low an estimate is apt to be ci set on the domestic value of news- rE papers. After reading them, and a putting ourselves, through their ei agency, in mental correspondence 0: with the world, they are thrown B aside and forgotten. But to sup- il pose their usefulness bounded by L their news columns and the waste- 01 bag is a thriftless mistake. tc In the first place, there are the b< household recipes, to be found in 01 stray corners, often excellent, and a deserving a refuge on the fly leaf il of the family cook-book. Then come the pretty verses, the strange c< and droll stories, the brief bio grahieQ and reminiscences which a pasted in a scrap book, are a source o of never ending pleasure not only is to those who do not care for richer di intellectual food, but to those who c< have only odd minutes for reading. a, Notwithstanding the squibs jo- , cular jornalists have penned on the n use of newspapers for bed clothing, a we know from experience that these , are not to be despised. They may at not be as comfortable as your blank- al eta, but certainly they keep out the s cold. Two thicknesses of papers is are better than a pair of blankets, t and in te c ase of persons who dis- S like the weight of many bed clothes, it they are invaluable. A spread te made of a double layer of papers e, between a covering of calico and't chintz is desirable in every house- i5 hold. The papers should be tack ed together with, and also basted to ej the covering to keep them from slip- I ping. An objection has been made a on account of the rustling, but if tl soft papers be chosen the noise will a not be annoying, especially shouldb the spread be laid between a blan-- t, ket and the counterpane. As a protection to plants against & cold both in and out of doors, no thing~ is better. If newspapers are t pinned up over night at a window between pots and glass, the flowers t) will not only not be frozen, but will not even get chilled, as they are so It liable to be at this season. In the tl same way, if taken to cover garden a, beds, on the frosty nights of early autumn, they will allow the plants! to remain safely out doors some time later than is common. r One of the oddest services to put r our journals to is the keeping of ice a in summer. An ingenious house- c -keeper recently discovered that her f daily lump of ice would last nearly tj twice as l6ng when wrapped in" newspapers, and placed in any kind t of covered box, as when trusted c solely to a refrigerator. This is veryj convenient, since it is possible to y have the best and cheapest refriger- h ator constantly at hand. ti To polish all kinds of glass after c wasning, except table glass, no cloth or fannel is half so good as a newspaper ; and for a baker's dozen e of other uses, quite foreign to its b primal purpose, it is without a rival.3 (Scribner's. Iissuggested that in building railroads, the rails should be heated red-hot, so that the workmen will COTTON MANUFACTURE, NORTH AND SOUTH. The iiistory of cotton manufac tre in the United States is both cu us and instructive. Its rise and -owth has been more recent and pid than the majority of well-in rmed persons saspuct. Nominal ,the first impulse was given in e year 1814, but practically the eat movemient which has brought e United States into rivalry with igland dates back but fifty years. recently as the year 1810, the inufactured products of Virginia ceeded those of Massachusetts in lue $5,500,000 per annum. Every .e knows how the comparative -koning stands to.day. The enter ise of one man, seconded by the ergy and industry of the commu ty in which he lived, has for the t half century made the South butary to the North, and made the emer both producer and consumer e the benefit and profit of the lat r. In the war of 1812, a wealthy d intelligent young Bostonian ts made prisdner and taken to igland, where he was struck with e inventions of Arkwright and irgroves, as applied to the British tton manufacture. This young in, whose nAne still fives, in this nnection,iu that great manufactu ig marvel of Massachusetts, the wn of Lowell,with the aid of an in nious Scotchman, Samuel Slater name, returning home, selected 'altham, on the Charles River, (a ream since made famous in song well as in story,) as the site of a experiment; and from that -ain of mustard seed has sprung .e forest of factories which has nee flourished on New England il. Speaking of this matter, but very cently, one of the most eminent tizens of Massachusetts made this markable prophecy, which maybe uch nearer its fulfillment than ther he or the great majority his hearers imagined. General anks used this language: "The dustrial processes discovered by owell will not have been thor ighly established until the cot in of the country shall have aen utilized by manufacturers i the lands where it is produced, well as iron, over the inexhaust ile beds of ore and coal with which sture has so lavishly enriched this >untry." To General Banks himself as well to his auditors, a simple recital what the Southern people are do ig in this very matter, and have one ever since the last unreliable masus returns were made four years ~o, will be almost a revelation as ell as a confirmation of the correct ess of his statement. The next de de may produce results which ill confound the anxious of the ~herwise, and again reverse the rel ive position of the North and outh as manufacturing centres, Lfilling the conditions laid out by ie man of Massachusetts much ear er than even he expected by bring ig the raw material and its manu ,cture into immediate proximity all ver the cotton States, as it is now ie case in Georgia, South Caro na and Alabama. Of the young and growing Low. Ils of the new South-at Granite lle, in South Carolina, at Augusta aid Columbus, at the Eastern and 2e Western extremes of Georgia, t and near Montgomery, in Ala ama--little has been said or writ mn, and less generally known, as et; but these are indeed most prom sing pioneers in this mighty indus rial movement, and the rapid, iough steady progress they have 2ade in the past three years, recalls de similar march to success ad realth made in Massachusetts, and aroughout New England, during 2e early part of this century.-Ed. -in de Leon, in Harper's Mfaga ineC for Feb>ruary A Danbury boy who reads the apers went to his father with a >pe in his hands and told that -orthy if he did not give him fifty ents to buy a jack knife he would n-th With hang himself. It was 1e place of the oli man to say, Heaven forgive you, my son, for ae awful thought-here's the fifty ents." He didn't say it, however. [e merely twined his fingers in the oung man's tresses and bumped is head against the door jamb un E the suicide thought it was Fourth f Ji4nright.-Danbury NYews. A negro held a cow while a cross yed man 'was to hit her on the .ead with an axe. The negro ob erving the man's' eyes, in some ear enquired "Is you gwine to hi' rhere you look ?" "Yes," "Den, hold he cow yourself, said cuffee. When a policeman finds a mar all he takes him to the statiot LOnSO and his frinds bail him out 'HE FORESTS OF GERMANY. In Saxony there are very few forests. Often for miles not a tree a can b2 seen save the fruit trees that skirt the highways; but in North. 0 ern Germany there are more forests. e They are mostly of modern growth, bl having been planted and carefully b cultivated. The general growth is e pine. Adjoining almost every vil. b lage in North Germany is a sinall piece of woods, which is guarded 6 and protected with the grcatestcare. The trees are planted in rows.- t When they are young they are used for various purposes, but no one is or allowed to cut one except the man al who has charge of the forest.- Co When a tree is cut down the price is fixee, and the money paid to the for- UC estman. At the end of the year the re forestrman makes his report, and the fr money it divided among those vil. th] .lagers owning the forest, as the is woods is held in common. The dc house in the village either does or does not have the right of coz-,won m attached to it. One sees every fr state of growth in these forests, ly from the little pines one foot high ar to the trees of a hundred years._ they ascend like stars step from one hight to the other, and thus show in what care this people are taking, not'only to secure to themselves the necessary wood for building and furniture, but to leave the coming generation a forest which like them- M selves is growing up to maturity._ Nothing but this wise foresight and R care has prevented Germany from be- ifn ing entirely without wood. Many of P( the wooden toys, and, indeed, al. a most all we buy in America, are not 10 only made here in the Saxon Alps, hi but the very wood out of which they are made has been cultivated, aI and the tree, before it is hewn down b into toys, has been the care and at- s tention of several generations that p have passed forever from earthly a sceines. I It is very seldom that wood is z used for fuel. The houses of the " peasants are very warm, and do not b require the same amount of fuel that ours do. I have not seen a U fire-place or grate in Germany.- " The stoves are mostly made of a brick, and when heated in the h morning they keep the room warm f all day. In North Germany the usual fuel is peat, which burns well, and makes a far better fire than we V in America think. This fuel is very cheap, four or five groshens buying * enough to last all day. II RAILwa SIGNAL CODE OF THE UNrrTED STAES.-We publish the fol- 0 lowing railway signals for the ben efit of all interested:t 0 n e whistle .signifies "down " brakes." e. Two whistles signifies "off brakes." f( Three whistles signified "back up." b Continued wvhistles signifies "dan-. ger." d Rapid short whistles, "a cattle alarm." fi A sweeping parting of the hands t on level of the eye signifies "go~ ahead." Downward motion of the hands with extended arms signifies "stop." C Beckoning motion of one hand signifies "back." Red flag waved upon the track C signifies "danger." Red flag stuck up by the road-j c side sifinifies "danger ahead." a Red fla~g carried upon a locomo tive signifies "ar engine following." Red flag hoisted at a station is a P signal to "stop." Lantern at night raised and low- P ered vertically is a signal to "start." I Lantern swung at right angles e across the track means "stop." r Lantern swung in a circle signi fies "back the train." SPIRIT PrIoToGRAHs.-The spir- h it photographs which pass current b among eredulous spiritualists for b genuine ghosts of the departed b are produced in various ways. The latest and most scientific t method is as follows: The plain 0 back ground screen, before which I the sitter, is placed in order to g have his portrait taken, is to be;i painted beforehand with the form of the desired "spirit," the paint t being composed of some fluorescent substance, such as a solution of'a sulphate of quinine. When this I painting dries on the sere in, it is i invisible to the eye; but it sends' out rays that have power to i m-t press the photo plate ; and thus E the image of the person together i with the quinine ghosts are simul.- t taneously developed upon the negative.--Scientqic American. THE KnXENNY C.rs.-Here's the whole story done up in verse: There were two cats in Kilkenny, Each thought there was one cat too mnany, So they quarrelled and fit And they scratched and they bit, Until, soon there wasn't any. Rapid transit-icide. FRI ENDSHIP. "Fiiendship," says Geothe, "is i elcetive affinity, based upon the >iritual consanguinity w h i e h, 1-lh coexistent with, is differ. >t from any tie or instinct of ood relationship." Friendship i its origin in the nature and ndition of man. He is a social ing, and loves to frequent the ciety of those who are like him It' but still he finds his happi SS in11COMplete unless participa d in by one in whom he places s entire confidence and consid s his friend. When in difficulty d distress he looks around for nsolation and advice. We can scarcely open any vol ae of antiquity without being minded how excellent a thing is endship. But it is to be feard at, in modern times friendship seldom remarkable for similar votedness. What indescribable happiness ast it be to possess a real, true end-a friend whom we can re on; who when enemies gather ound, when sickness falls on the art, when the world is dark and cerless, will bear a willing part our ca!amity. Adversity tries true friendship. you have a friend who loves >u, be sure to sustain him in ad rsity. Lethim ieel that his for er friendship is appreciated, and at bis love was not thrown away. .al fidelity, while rare, still exists the heart. Who has not felt its >wer? They only deny its worth id power who have never either ved or labored to make others Ippy. The good an,l kind, the affection. e and virtuous, see and feel the avenly principle. They would crifice worth and happiness tc ,omote the happiness of others id in return. they receive the re. ard of their love by sympathi ng hearts and countless favors hen they have been brought low distress and adversity. If you have a friend try to re din him, for the time will com< hen you will be willing to give 1 you have, and ever hope to ave, for one ti ue and. sincer< iend. It is a favorite theory of mind ist all ourdisappointments and re. .rses are the results of our own 11ly. If we are truthful and hon. able in all things, and do as near right as we can, there'll not uch happen to disturb us. Omi iends will not forsake us with. it provocation. I don't mean those summer but. rfly f r ie nds. They are nol orthy of the name. But I dc cpect you to be careful of the w~ friends you have, and stand y them through storm and sun iine. Keep them ; for when th< irk day of your desolation comes ere is no anchor like the true rm friendship of one you have -ied and not found wanting. THE REPRODUcTION OF PAS-1 rATEs OF CoNscrOUsNEss.-Dr arpenter, in the Contemporar y *eview, gives some interesting lustrations of physiological influ ices on the habits of thought he reproduction of past states O: nciousness is described to be at utomatic action. The theory ih iat the chemica! action of bloot ithe brain is a sort of registering rocess, which if it is properly ursued, leaves an indelible imn ression that can always be re roduced under the proper influ aces. A case of forgetting ac< acovering a language is a pecu ar illustration of a sudden chang< the action of the blood. Dr .bercromibie tells of a man wh< ad been put in a state of stupo: y an injury and, in this state egan to talk as though he hat een thirty years absent frorn itales, and had apparently forgot anl tihe language altogether. EUp n the recovery of his health, th, nan began to talk tbe English Ian uage and completely forgot bi irelsh again. A curious fac rithlin the knowledge of the wri er was the case of a student il ~ermnany who wvas exceedingl: nxious to acquire the Germai nguagPe as soon as p)ossible. IH ad some knowledge of it, bu as unable to use it in con versa ion. Yet, in his sleep, his muin vidently engrossed w i t h th tudy, he could hold a conversi ion, understand perfectly and tal luently. Josh Billings says very trul3 'You'd better not know so muc] han to know so many things thi ~in't so." An Irishman, being asked i ourt for his marriage certificati howed a big scar on his head abot lie sze nf a small shnvel. ADVERTISINC RATES. Adverti,ements inserted at the rate of $1. 60 per squarc-one inch-for first insertion, a,d 750. for each subsequent insertion. Double column advertisements tenper cent on above. Notices of meetings, obituaries and tribute a of respect, same rates per square as ordin-.iy advertisements. Special notices in local column 20 cents per line. Advertisements not marked with the num ber of insertions will be kept in till forbid and charged accordingly. Special contracts made with large adver tisers, with liberal deductioas on al-ove rates. JoS ft,"rav Done with Neatness and Dispatch. Terms Cash. HINTS ON WRITING. Editors would be saved a world of trouble and vexation if all c6n tributors, or those who desire to become contributors, understood how to prepare manuscript design ed for the press. The following rhyming advice is so excellent that we quote the whole of it, for the benefit of whomsoever it may con cern: "Write upor pages of a single size, Cross all your t's. and nealy dot your i's, On one side only let your lines be seen Both sides filled up annouuce a Verdant Green. Correct-yes, recorrect-all that you write, And Let your ink be black, your papcr white; For spongy foolscap of a muddy blue Betrays a mind of the same dismal hue, Punctuate carefully, for on this score Nothing proclaims the practiced writer more. Then send it off, and lest it merit lack, Inclose the postage stamps to send it back; But first pay all the postage on it too, For editors look black on 'six cents dae," And m:urmar as they run the effusion o'er, 'A shabby fellow and a wretched bore!' Yet tre it goes, take off a copy clean Poets should own a copying machine; Little they know the time that spent and care In hunting verses vanished-who knows where? Bear this in mind, observe it to the end.. And you shall make the editor your friend.', SENSATION OF STARVING. For the first two days through which a strong and healthy man is doomed to exist upon nothing bis sufferings are. perhaps, more acute than in the remaining states. He feels an inordinate, unspeakable craving at the stom achnightandday. The mindruns upon beef, bread nnd other substan tials; but still, in a great measure, tbe body retains its strength. On the third and fourth days, but es pecially on the fourth, this inces sant craving gives place to a sink ing and weakness of the stomach, accompsuied by nausea. The un fortunate sufferer still desires food, but with loss of strength he looses that eager craving which is felt in the earlier stages. Should he chance to obtain a morsel or two of food. he swallows it wvith a wolfish avidity ; but five minutes afterwards his sufferings are more intense than ever, lie feels as if he had swallowed a living lobster, which isecrawling and feeding up on the very foundation of his ex istence. On the fifth day his cheeks suddenly appear hollow and sunken, his body attenuated, his -color is ashy pale and his eye wild, glassy, cannibalish. The different parts of the system now war with each other. The stomach calls upon the legs to go with it in quest of food :the legs, from very weakness, reifuse. Thbe sixth day brings with it increased sut fering,although the pangs of hun ger are lost in an overpowering languor and sickness. The head becomes giddy-the ghosts of well remembered dinners pass in hideous processions through the mind. The seventh day comes, bringing increased lassitude and further prostration of strength. The arms hang lifelesly. The de sire for food is still left, to a de gree, but it must be brought, not sought. The miserable remnant of life which still hangs to the sufferer is a burden almost too grevious to be born ; yet his inhe rent love of existence induces a desire still to preserve it if it can be saved without a tax upon bod ily exertion. The mind wanders. At one moment he thinks his weary limbs cannot sustain him a mile, the next he is endowed with unnatural strength, and if there ~be acert ainty of relief before him ~dashes bravely and s t r onagly forward, wondering whence pro ceeds his new and sudden im paise. CooKrso A HrCsBAxn.-The fol 1lowing recipe for'cooking a hus band will be found very useful for house wives under all circumstan ces: "Many good husbands are spoiled by cooking; some women keep them in hot waterconstantly, while others freeze them with con jugal coolness; some smother themi in hatred, contention and variance, and some keep thenm in a pickl all their lives. These women always serve them up wvith tongue sauce. Now it can not be supposed that husbands will be tender and good if man Saged in this way; but on the contrary, ve-y delicious when managed as follows: Get a larg;e jar, called the jar of faithfulness (all good wives keep one on hand,') Hput your husband in 't, and set him near the fire of conjugal love; let the fire be pretty hot, but es epecially let it be clear, and, above all the rest, be constant ; cover him with affection, kindness and Ssubjection, garnished with modest, becoming familiarity, and spiced with plessantry, and if you add kisses and other confections, let them be accomplaniled with a suf ficient portion of secresy, mixed with prudence and moderation. I would advise all good wives to try this recipe, and realize whab an admirable dish a husband. makes when properly cooked. ~ I Tb~~