Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, November 23, 1882, Image 1
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m. grist, Proprietor. 1 ^it Jitiupenttrni Jlamilp ftemspaper: <3for t|e promotion of % political, Social, Agricultural auD Commercial Interests of t|e Sontjj. TERMS--$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE.
VOL. 38. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 33, 1883. NO. 47.
She Jdarw Seller.
theiiTcommon bo>o7 ~
Several explosive sneezes interrupted Loye
Travis, as she added the hist touches of charming
disorder to the fringe of curling bronze
hair, which lay on her forehead. As a particularly
energetic "Ah-tish-oo!" rent the air,
and caused her to perform an involuntary
courtesy, her straight, dark brows met in the
thoughtful little frown, which was peculiar to
her, and, looking meditatively into the mirror,
she observed that her blue-gray eyes were inflamed,
and that her pretty nose, with its suspicion
of up-tiltedness, had, on this occasion,
more than a suspicion of redness.
* "I can't have taken a cold," Loye meditated.
"It must be ; yes, it is the fifteenth of August
1" she exclaimed, as she glanced at the
calendar, which hung on the wall of her room.
"It has come !" she announced, solemnly, as
she walked into the room where the family
were assembled at breakfast.
"What? The Day of Judgment, or a cyclone
?" demanded Kate, Loye's younger sister.
"Xone of your flippancy, Miss!" rebuked
Loye. "What evil genus lias dogged my foot*'
* 1 ?? > 14
steps since my earliest teens, jyiug m >vait iwi
me, and pouncing upon me with mathematical
precision, every year, on the fifteenth of August
? What diabolical spirit, may I ask you,
holds me in its clutches, from that date onward,
making me sneeze, and gasp, and cough
at its own sweet will?(not mine, I assure
you !) until frost releases me from captivity ?
'Of all sad words of tongue or pen.
The saddest are, 'Hay fever time again' !' *'
she continued, with mock despair and real
vexation. "But," brightening, and speaking
with sudden resolution:
" 'Tis well for us all that a region lies
Where the infusoria never rise,''
and I'm going there this summer !"
Mrs. Travis, Kate and Johnny, stared in
amazement. Had Loye develo{>ed latent lunacy
? Only last evening they had all assembled
in solemn conclave, to discuss ways and means
to pay the butcher's bill, and here was Loye
coolly announcing that she was about to take
a pleasure trip 1 |
"IIow ?" inquired Kate.
" 'She'll take her knapsack on her back,
And travel on the railway track,""
sang Johnny, in an irritating falsetto.
"You know I'd be glad to have you go to
Michigan, or to some of those Northern States,
dear, hut"?began Mrs. Travis.
"Yes," interrupted Loye, "I know the family
exchequer is not filled to overflowing. But
I have a plan, and if Kate and Johnny will
stop glaring at me, as if I were a two-headed
lady, I'll tell you about it."
She accordingly unfolded her plan, and, after
many feeble jokes and much scoffing, on
the part of Kate and Johnny, great perplexity
on the part of Mrs. Travis, aud much tri- J
umDhant uroving of points at issue on the j
part of Loye, shewon her mother's consent to
what she wished to do, and clieerfully dispensed
with the approval of jeering Kate and
Johnny.
* * * * * * *
One afternoon, late in August, Donald Trafton
stood by the river at a Wisconsin summer
resort skipping stones. As he was sauntering
along the wooded banks of the Lac la Belle,
its smooth expanse suggested a renewal, at thirty,
of one of his boyish sports at ten. Acting
upon the suggestion, he had collected a small
mountain of thin, smooth stones, and for the
past ten minutes or more had been laboriously
trying to make them skip properly. But instead
of giving the graceful little leaps which
Trafton had expected them to do as a matter
of course, they ineffectually grazed the surface
of the river and then plunged at once beneath.
They made a pretty show of sparkles
and dancing rings on the water, it is true, but
they were not by any means fulfilling the duty
of skipping stones. Donald paused and rue-1
' fully admitted that his success was not bril- j
liant. So evidently thought an unseen spectator,
for, to Trafton's stupefaction, there
swooped upon him an apparition in an ivory
flannel dress, with a dark green sailor hat atilt
on a bronze confusion of curl and wave, and a
pair of
"Eyes of a deep, soft, lucent hue,
Eyes too expressive to he blue,
Too lovely to be gray,"
met his with the direct gaze of a child, while
a sweet voice pleaded :
"Oh, please let me show you J"
As Trafton turned, a slight reddening,
which would have been an undeniable blush in
a fairer man, overspread his face, and lie met
the gaze of the pretty stranger with a look of
recognition and pleasure which was instantly
suppressed. .She did not notice this look,
however, for her fingers were tingling for the
skipping-stones as an artist's may tingle lor
pencil and brush when he se-;s tliem used by
unskillful hands. Trafton making no reply to
her request, she again pleaded :
"Oh, do let me show you !"
He yielded his place at once to the incognita
in ivory-and-green, and, after ruthlessly demolishing
Trafton's carefully-built mountain,
she gleaned from the scattered stones a few
that met with her approval, and proceeded to
"show" him. How pretty she looked as she
stood poised on the bank, taking careful
aim ! With her fringe of hair blown by the
winds into countless curly tendrils, her lashes
resting heavily on her cheeks like black satin
on peach blossoms, and resolute little dimples
deepening at the corners of her mouth, Trafton
thought he had never seen anything more
satisfactory to look upon.
In another instant the stone was thrown.
A deft turn of the wrist sent it spinning over
the river, touching its surface and bounding
onward fourseparate times. Incognita breathed
a quick, satisfied sigh at the successful accomplishment
of her feat, and said, excitedly,
"There ! Johnny himself couldn't" have done
better ! Then she suddenly seemed to awaken
to the enormity of her conduct in thus thrusting
herself into the society of au unknown
gentleman, taking forcible possession of his
retreat, and insisting upon teaching him to
skip stones, will he, nill he. Sudden scarlet
eclipsed cheek peach blossoms, and she began
to stammer apologies.
"What will you think of me V" she began.
"Indeed I am not bold and improper, although
I know that I must have seemed so this afternoon.
You may ask any ope at Fort Ray nor
if I am." And then, recollecting that she
was speaking to some one who hail probably
never seen Fort Raynor, she added, hastily,
"Or I will give you the address of my minister
and my Bible class teacher, and you may write
and ask them."
Trafton looked at her with smiling dark
eves as she stood, in wild anxiety, to clear her
self from all suspicion of being an improper
person. Then, as she concluded, he said, reassuringly
:
"There is 110 necessity for writing. I am
fully convinced that you are the very pink and
pinnacle of propriety. Why, any young lady
who had a spark of themissionory spirit in her
composition would feel it an imperative duty
to hasten to the instruction of a benighted
heathen, who was struggling, unaided and
alone, to make some progress in the noble art
of skipping stones."
"You really were doing very badly," said
the pretty missionary, candidly.
"Still, if you really insist upon it," continued
Trafton, looking at her quizzically, "when
1 return to Fort Raynor I will question your
pastor and teacher with regard to you, Miss
Travis!"
The tables of surprise were completely turned
ui>on Loye. She repeated, blankly, "Fort
liavnor ! Miss Travis!" then recovering her
self slightly, said: "I know that it is not
|K)lite to stare at you so, and repeat your
words as if I was a parrot; but you have
completely petrified me. Please turn me to
flesh and blood as quickly as possible, by
plaining what you mean by exploding these
names upon me like two Fourth of July
lire crackers."
"Very well, Miss Galatea. I live at Fort
Ttaynor. I am Donald Trafton, of the firm
of Trafton & Detwiler, hardware merchants.
I have seen you in church, and learned your
name, although I have never chanced to meet
you anywhere until to day."
"We have only lived in Fort Raynor for
two months" explained Loye, "and we have
been busy settling, and mother's health is
poor, so that I've been almost nowhere as yet,
except to church and the confectioner's," she
added, with a whimsical reflectiveness. "Sometimes,
when T. feel as if I weretlbsolutely rolling
in gold?th^u is, have a dime to spare?I treat
myself to some chocolates. .Now, it you nau
only chosen to sell candy instead of stoves
and nails, this double surprise might have
been avoided. But you would have, learned
what a temper I have if you had sold me stale
chocolate."
"Xever would I have been guilty of such
baseness!" returned Trafton fervently. "But
have I dissolved the stony spell which bound
yon ?"
"Yes, I believe so," said Love, giving herself
a playful little shake. "But I am turned
to flesh only to fly, for it's a qurter past five,"
she announced, glancing at her watch and
returning it to her girdle of dark-green velvet.
Then, before Trafton could carry out his intention
of looking at his time-piece, and declaring
that hers was absurdly fast, she had
bidden him good afternoon and si>ed away.
He hurried after her to express a wish that
they might meet often. She never paused,
but merely tossed over her shoulder a cool,
"It isn't likely, for I am so busy."
"What can she l>e lso busy.' about,' Trafton
pondered, shrugging his shoulders in annoyance.
"For what fancy work (or fancy idleness)
she has thrown me over, I wonder ?
Probably like the rest of womankind, she has
fallen under the baleful influence of sunflowers
and cat-tails. But she is carrying her
devotions to extremes, if, even for their testhetic
sake, she, eschews the society of her
kind."
Trafton, felt amazed as well as nettled,
by Loye's cavalier dismissal of his request.
He was by no means vain; still he could not
i but be conscious that he had a well-knit ath
letic figure anil a remarkably handsome face ;
he knew there were few young ladies who
would not prefer his society to seclusion,
even when brightened by the yellow charms
of the most gorgeous sunflower that ever lit
a Kansas prairie or bloomed upon a chairback.
He reflected, however, that Miss Travis'
apparent check upon his advances might
be only a coquettish thorn, intended to sting
and stimulate him into seeking the rose, herself.
And then he fell to wondering if he
would see her at the lawn social that evening.
He had told her that he had seen her sometimes
at church, but he had not informed her
that, after his first sight of her there, he had
attended the services regularly for the sole purpose
of looking at her.
lie had strolled into the Episcopal church,
at* Fort ltaynor, and his attention had been
attracted by a very pretty girl who looked, as
she listened to the sermon, like a child listening
to an absorbing fairy story. Her eyes were
wide and attentive, her head thrown a little
back and her lips slightly parted. Loye never
posed for effect, but she had a way of doing
heartily whatever she did, which habit included
even listening to a rather {>oor sermon.
Trafton came again and again, making the
lovely face, with its fascinating combination
of earnestness and piquancy, his prayer-book,
sermon and song. He had never been able to
obtain an introduction to its owner, for the
reason which she herself had given that afternoon.
Then the time for his annual hay-fever
coming around, he had run away from it to
its northern retreat, trusting to find Miss
Travis in her usual place on his return.
She was not at the lawn social, nor did he
' - - * A
meet any one wno Knew ner, su ne wna iuiucu
to fall back upon the hope of another chance
encounter.
It came three days later. He found her
seated on a camp-stool trying: to sketch a bit
of river scenery. He was as familiar with
paint brush and pencil as she was with skipping
stones, and under his instructions and
finishing touches, the sketch was much more
satisfactory than it would have been otherwise.
"My self-respect is at last restored," said
I Trafton. "We have mutually, instructed and
surprised each other, and may as well cry
quits."
"Perhaps," said Loye, with a look which
suggested the possibility of her having further
surprises in store. Then she gathered up her
j materials preparatory to another flight.
"Are you Cinderella running olf to your
pots and pans V" laughingly inquired Trafton,
as he noted the quick look at her watch, with
which she prefaced her withdrawal.
"Perhaps," tersely replied this mysterious
young woman. "I am?stopping?at Mrs.
Blaiuling's," she added, with an odd little
dimpling smile, as Trafton begged her to tell
him where she boarded ; then walked away
with a swift, elastic tread.
The next morning found Trafton installed
as a guest at Mrs. Blanding's. In the margin
of time which bordered the dinner hour, some
of his fellow-boarders assembled in the wide
j hall or on the shaded porch. He scanned the
; little knot for Loye, but she was not visible,
i Eminent among the ladies were a classical
girl, two scientific girls and a flirting girl.
The classical girl had woven several Homeric
threads into the webof desultory conversation;
the scientific girls had set up Darwin and Herbert
Spencer in opposition to Homer; the
flirting girl had angled for and obtained sev'
1 ,:iiI T niro rlM nnt
(Till neai nine cwiiij>iiiucin..->, hi i,uv
appear. Tliey were at the dinner table ; every
j chair was occupied; Trafton's eyes wandered
i eagerly in search of Love, still she was unacj
countably absent. lie turned suddenly, as a
| sweet, unusual voice, behind his chair, in|
quired his choice of soups, and his eyes rested
| upon the face for which lie had been search|
ing.
This creature of surprise wore a blue ging:
ham, with a white apron and white collar and
! cuffs. Her wayward hair was filleted and coilj
ed into subjection, and if any merriment lay
| in ambush under the dark lashes it revealed
itself only by the merest t winkle. Reside this
! severely grave young person Milton's ideal woman,
as exemplified in Eve waiting on her celestial
visitors, would have appeared a giddy!
I thing.
i In his amazement he had not answered her
i question, and she repeated it. He stammered
j something in reply, and she flitted away.
Awaiting her return, he glanced at the other
j occupants of the table to see what they thought
! of having Miss Travis for a waitress. Appa1
rently, they thought nothing of it, for their
! faces showed no marks of surprise, and they
continued sipping soup so placidly that Trafi
ton soliloquized somewhat savagely : uIf an
! angel should drop down in a casual way, fold j
! its wings carefully so as to keep the feathers !
out of the butter, put sv large apron over us t
"robe of white samite, mystic, Wonderful,1' j
;uid begin to wait on the table, they would I
take it as a matter of course."
Loye soon returned with the soup, and plac-;
ing it before Trafton, said, in a solemn, meas- j
lured whisper, "Are?we?quits ?" then her
I lips suddenly curved, and a voiceless laugh ran i
| over her face, seeting free a host of dimples
and brimming over in her blue-gray eyes. A t
] second later her face was unchallengeably dej
mure, and she darted away to supply somebody !
; with water.
Trafton wished that the merry bud of laugh-:
I ter could have blossomed. lie would have
liked to join in the silver peal, even though it'
had rung at his own expense.
Light had broken upon him. He fancied I
i that he held the clew to Loye's freak. He-!
| memhering her pregnant "Perhaps!" in an-j
! swerto his remark that they might as well cry j
; quits, he concluded that she had planned this j
I surprise on the spot in order to turn the scale j
once more in her favor, and that she had taken i
the boarders into her confidence and bound ;
them to silence. And he would not question
anyone. The little witch should have her |
; triumph ; he would not mar it by any Paul
; Prying.
I As the days went on he was rather surprised ;
! to see her remain at her post and take no share 1
i in the festivit ies of the place ; but perhaps she j
had a taste for private theatricals and wished
j to make her part consistent. At all events,
I freakishness was to Loye what freakedness is
to the pansy?an added grace.
' Loye, having got the better of Trafton, felt
friendly toward him in consequence, and graciously
allowed him to fill her intervals of leisure
with boating, sketching, rambling and all
the other pleasant and-so-forths of snmmei
idling-time, which can be conducted a deux,
and from which, therefore, she was not debarred.
So the days sped by as lightly as thistledown
puffs on a buoyant breeze till the woods began
to blush and the summer sojourners to ebb
away. Trafton was not certain that Loye returned
his love, for she was by no means a girl
to wear a sweet secret as openly as the flowers
at her belt. One morning, however, he resolved
to put a plain question, and wait for a
straightforward answer.
They were resting in a scarlet nook of the
woods after a long ramble. She was looking
up at the point where red tree-shafts and blue
sky meet, with the wide, intent gaze which he
remembered of old.
"Loye," he said, suddenly, "what do you
suppose I went to church at Fort lifcvnor
for ?"
"Why, how can I tell ?" bringing her gaze
from the tree-tops to his face. "Perhaps you
went to show your new clothes, or to see what
the other gentlemen wore ; or," she suggested
as a remote nossibilitv. "you may have gone
to hear the sermon."
"I went to look at you. And I looked at
you because"?here he faltered, then went on
quickly and passionately?"because I loved
you."
Did a flush spring to ^oye's cheek, or was it
only a reflection cast by the rosy leaves ? Did
quick smile curve her lips, or was it only a
trick of the sunlight that played on her face V
Trafton could not tell, for she turned her head
so quickly.
"Loye," he pleaded, after moments had
passed into minutes, "what do you say ? Better
"No" than nothing, but make it "Yes" if
you can."
That was a neat little model of an Egyptian
pyramid which she was constructing with
the scattering acorns; but he wanted his answer,
and she seemed in no haste to give it.
She was beginning to weave a very tasteful
wreath of the tinted leaves; but?his longstretched
patience' would snap before it was
done.
At last she turned and said, in her pretty,
thoughtful way, wide eyes and a reflective
little frown :
"How strange it is that some words are so
hard to pronounce although they are really
very short!?'Yes,' for example." Then there
was a second edition of the smile and blush
which were unequivocal verities, and Trafton
read in the lovely eyes the answer that the
lips only skirted.
******
"That was a blessed caprice of yours, Loye.
If it hadn't been for that I couldn't have
monopolized you as I have done all these
weeks. And perhaps, but for that, you would
have said 'Yes' to someone else, and I couldn't
have you for my own all a long life-tiuie, as
- - - ? i m _?i. _
I Hope to do, stveetneart," sam j.nntjii, a
few days later, as he slipped a gleaming; ring
on her finger.
"Caprice!" she echoed.
"Yes, the caprice that led you to wait at
Mrs. Blanding's table in order to give me a
finishing surprise."
"As if you were worth the trouble!" she
retorted. "Perhaps it is a caprice to have
the hay fever ?" she mildly inquired.
"No?a thousand times 110!" exclaimed
Trafton, energetically.
"It may be a caprice, to wish to go where
you will not have it ?"
"There could not be a more eminently sensible
desire," fervently returned Trafton.
"And I suppose, of course, that it is a caprice
not to have much money," continued
Loye, with deadly sarcasm.
"Alas for freakish humanity if that be so."
"I nave sneezed through the hay fever for
so many years that I wanted desperately to
escape from it. But we haven't nearly enough
money to allow me to go as a butterfly, so I
decided to go as a bee. The New England
girls at the White Mountains put the idea in
l>o,wl r*rwl T orl \fl'Q All
ikiy iicmij aim i igvuiicwv/u iuiu* jyu?tiu?%
old neighbor of ours in New York, who was
keeping boarders here. I wrote to her. stating
my dire need, and asking if I could come
as waitress. She replied that I might. So
here 1 came and here I met Prince Charming,
who has been very good to me and given me
a lovely ring." With a glance at the sparkling
ring and a smile to its donor, she added,
"Am I acquitted of capriciousness V"
"In regard to the heat-handed Pyllis episode?yes!
Hut 1 supiKise you inquire why
I came here ?"
"Why did you V" she returned, obediently.
"Because I, also have the hay fever V Loye,
it is clear that you and I were made for each
other; for are we not pursued by a common
enemy and united by a common bond ?"
EXTENT OF THE MISSISSIPPI VALLEY.
The Mississippi is not only the longest river
in the world, but the valley or basin which
it drains is the greatest. It occupies the
whole central portion of this continent, from
the Rocky Mountains, on the one side, to the
Alleghanies or the Blue Ridge, on the other,
covering an area of 1,238,042 square miles,
considerably larger than the area of the IB
original States and exceeding the combined
areas of England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland,
France, Spain, Portugal, Germany, Austria,
Italy and Turkey. Nearly every acre of it is
good and fertile land. There are no sterile
mountains here, no deserts, no arid, rainless
plains. Nowhere in the world is there so
much good land lying in one body. The basin
of the Amazon, which alone equals it in size,
falls far short of it in fertility, for there are
innumerable barrens and wilderness bordering
the great stream of South America, whereas,
with the exception of the most western
portions of the Arkansas and Red river valleys
all the basin of the Mississippi is suscepti
- ti k,vI ? !,?
Ultt Ol L'Ulll VillHUI. It 13 uuiicvcu tnat uic
aridity of the staked plains and alkali plains
of the far West is exaggerated, simply because
no such thing as the cultivation of crops lias
been attempted there, and that they will
be found, when emigrants reach them, to be
like the celebrated 'barrens' of Indiana, now
the most productive portion of that State.
But, of the Mississippi valley. This term
naturally includes all the country drained by
our great river. In tl.ieir speeches 011 this
subject the orators have been geographically
very incorrect. It has been the custom to
estimate this valley by States and Territories,
and to declare that it included 21 States, as,
for instance, Ohio, Wisconsin, Indiana, etc.
This is not a fair or proper estimate. A large
portion of Ohio lies in the Mississippi basin,
but not all of it, and it is a great mistake to
credit all the population and production of
the "Buckeye State" as belonging to the valley.
Cleveland, Toledo, Sandusky, and the
fertile region lying along Lake Erie belong to
an entirely different section, to the Lake region.
They have 110 connection with the Mississippi,
and their interestsare as different from
those of the valley as the interests of Buffalo
and Boston.
In the same way all Wisconsin is usually
included in the Mississippi valley, although
the most populous portion of that State, lying
011 Lake Michigan, does not, in any sense belong
to it.
The only proper way to estimate the Mississippi
valley is by the drainage basin of the
great river. This gives the exact extent
of country tributary to the Mississippi valley.
Estimated on this basis, the Mississippi
valley contains either all or part of 28 States
and Territories?New York, Pennsylvania,
Maryland, West Virginia, North Carolina!
Georgia, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas, Kentucky,
Tennessee, Ohio, Illinois, Indiana,
Alabama, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, Ar*
w ? f \t. 1 1_ 1 n o
Kansas, .Missouri, ixansas, .ixeurasKa ami i^ur
orado, and the Territories of Wyoming,
Montana, Dakota, New Mexico and the Indian
Territory.
The country embraced in this is of tin
most diverse character, now mountainous
now plain, now semi-frigid, now torrid. It?
productions are equally varied, and it yield;
every crop known in this country.
The Mississippi valley is naturally divider1
into six sub divisions?the basins of the Ohio
Upper Mississppi, Missouri, Lower Mississip
pi, Arkansas and Ited.
: ^isfcilaucous gtcaditup
NEWS FROM THE MOON. ]
The telescope has lately revealed some very |
curious and startling appearances in the moon, i
i Astronomers have been slow to accept the con- i
! elusions which these observations suggest, be- !
i cause they have so long believed that the moon '
is a dead planet and incapable of supporting j
! any life upon its surface. This belief is based
i principally upon the assumed absence of a lu- i
nar atmosphere. But these recent observa- I
> tions indicate that the moon has an atmosphere,
and if it has an atmosphere, it may <
i liave various forms of life upon its surface, <
; differing as much from those upon the earth as <
! the moon itself differs from the earth, in its 1
! geological and climatological features. It <
would be very curious if the telescope, the in- i
strument which has banished from the moon i
' the hosts of strange creatures with which the i
imagination of some of the ancients peopled <
i it, and shown how unfitted it is for the habita- j
tion of beings like ourselves and those we see <
around us, should now make us believe that <
the moon is the home of beings more grotesque
in our eyes, perhaps,any the imagina- 1
I tion has uictured. We "do not say that this is 11
probable, but only that it is suggested by the 1
very interesting observations which have late- 1
ly been made, and which we shall briefly describe.
On the 27th of March last, Mr. Stanley Williams,
an English observer, was looking at the
moon, in the early evening, with a telescope of
considerable power, and giving particular attention
to that very singular oval vaHey known
to astronomers by the name of Plato. This
valley is about sixty miles broad, remarkably
level, and surrounded by a ring of mountains
averaging something less than 4,000 feet high,
but shooting up, here and there, into peaks
nearly as high as ./Etna. When the sunlight
strikes across the summits of the mountains
on one side, it throws the shining peaks into
splendid relief, but all the valley within remains
shrouded in darkness. The sun was
just rising upon this mountain ring when Mr. 1
Williams made his observation of Plato, and J
his eyes at once detected a strange appearance. 1
The interior of the valley, which usually ap- (
pears totally dark at such times, was illumi- *
nated with a faint phosphorescent light, ma- \
king its level floor dimly visible. It was not 1
the effect of reflection from the illuminated *
mountains, because the interior of the valley J
was protected from such reflection. .Some '
passing clouds, in our atmosphere, shut out (
this interesting scene from the sight of the (
observer, for about an hour. When the sky }
cleared again, Mr. Williams looked once more, (
and saw that the strange light had disappeared.
Mr, Williams had made a similar observation,
in the same spot, about five years ago.
About seven weeks after Mr. Williams' ob- j
servation, which we have described, there was | t
a total eclipse of the sun, and a party of French j
and English astronomers went to Egypt to ob- j
serve it, as the line of totality ran across that
country. When these astronomers turned the }
spectroscopes upon the edge of the moon as it (
hid the sun on the 17th of May they perceived j
indications, in the strengthening of certain c
lines of the spectrum, of the existence of an t
atmosphere on the moon. Tiiis observation, t
though not unprecedented, was hailed with i
satisfaction by those who had always contended
that the moon was not as dead as it seemed. (
The existence of an atmosphere would explain {
the phenomenon which Mr. Williams witness- ^
ed in the valley of Plato, as well as various ]
other equally singular observations which have c
been made by students of the moon from time i
to time. s
But this was not all. On the 19th of May, 1
two days after the eclipse, John G. Jackson of J
Delaware, while studying the lttoon, as he had
been accustomed to do for years, with a re- (
fleeting telescope, was surprised to see near f
the western edge of the disk, and over a por- i
tion of the flat region known as the Sea of \
Crises, something which lie described as a j
feathery-looking cloud. Just two monthslater
he saw a similar appearance in the same place, j
And now Mr. L. E. Trouvelot, a well-known t
astronomer, commenting upon Stanley Wil- (
Hams' observation, says that he has more than .<
once witnessed similar appearances upon the j
moon's disk. He has seen lunar landscapes (
lose their distinctness as if thin clouds were j
floating over thein, and once around t he crater i
of Kant, he saw what may have been a rare c
vapor slightly tinged with purple. He has al- ]
so seen another large crater illuminated with t
a faint purple light. Mr. Trouvelot thinks <
these various appearances are manifestations l
of a lunar atmosphere of a nature yet unknown. ;
Curious observations of a similar nature can |
be found scattered here and there in astron- <
omical records reaching back more than acen- (
tury, but they have generally been looked upon ;
with distrust or totally disregarded. These {
recent observations give them renewned inter- (
est and tend to vindicate their correctness, j
If it can be shown that the moon has an at- <
mosphere, Sir William Ilerschel's idea that i
our satellite is inhabitable will not be deemed <
so ridiculous as it has seemed to some modern i
astronomers. We should not expect to obtain t
any confirmation of the observations of the |
German telescopist who believed he had dis- <
covered a big city and great military works in ;
the moon, but reasons might be shown for i
thinking that the moon supports life peculiar |
to itself. The mere possibility of such a thing i ]
is somewhat startling, for the moon is really a J1
very near neighbor to the earth. Few, per- j ,
haps, realize how close we are to another world ,
besides the earth, but it is a very narrow span <
of space that separates us from the moon, j
The mean distance is only 240,000 miles, or less |
than ten times the circuit of the earth, and <
only about eighty times as far as from here to |
San Francisco. Not a few sea captains have <
probably sailed as far as the distance from the |
earth to the moon. And yet so close at hand ]
as this there is a world differing so widely <
j from the one we dwell upon that we can only j
; admit the possibility of its being inhabited by |
J assuming that its inhabitants are as unlike |
ourselves as their world is unlike ours.?Ale to \
j York Stin. i
AUTUMN LEAVES. i
The tints of the forest are uncommonly bril- i 1
I 1 ?).:? ........ tm.q /wJ/J artrl wot Sontomlior I
| 11(1111/ Li 113 J l"(Vl 1. UV VVJ\I (kHU it vv I
was favorable by checking their development; j1
and the frosts have not been sufficient in east- | <
ern Massachusetts to mar their hues. If there i
should be no severe frost before November we '
shall see during the remainder of this month 1
a display of tints of extraordinary beauty. 1
There are very few regions in this vicinity that !
do not now present some very line displays, es- 1
pecially in the lowland where the red maples <
are abundant. On the old Concord turnpike '
there are many beautiful groves of red maple 1
in the meadows on the north side of Fresh 1
Pond, where the veeries are so musical in May 1
1 and June. Indeed, one cannot ride out from 1
Boston into the country live miles,, in any di- (
rection, without seeing many fine views of this '
brilliant scenery.
1 But there is no more favorable opportunity !
to view the autumn tints than is afforded on 1
j Bear Jlill, in the Middlesex Fells. From this
' height we can see all the different hues that
i predominate in the various wooded tracts, ae- '
| cording as they are uplandsand covered chiefly j 1
| with oak, ash and hornbeam, or lowlands 1
j abounding in red maple and tupelo. J?
1 i The greater part of the wood on the high
j grounds in the Fells is covered with oaks of (
i different species ; and these are not tinted be- 1
i fore the last of October ; but in many of the
| lowlands situated in and around this region '>
i j the red maples are in the fullest of their splen,!
dor. There is no sugar maple in the woods of ;
, J eastern Massachusetts. This is an upland tree
that prevails in Maine, New Hampshire and 1
, j Vermont, and all along the Green Mountain
| range. This tree is planted abundantly along
i our roadsides, and its tints are far more bril,
j bant than those of red maple, but they are j
: chiefly scarlet and orange ; seldom crimson |
and purple.
i j The last Summer was very dry, and the An- j
, | tumn tints are unuiain,; uuu uie mum ui..-.
? j liant Autumnal hues generally appear after a !
i i wet Summer followed by a cool Autumn, if 1
I unattended with frost. Cool weather prel
j serves not only the purity of the colors, but it
, j maintains the persistence of the foliage. If
the early frosts are delayed, as they have been
I this year around Boston, the tints are brighter
for this delay while the weather remains cool.
But a wet Summer is so generally followed by
premature hard frosts that the finest displays
of Autumn tints are suddenly ruined by them.
Seldom are all the favorable circumstances for
preserving the purity of the tints combined in
any one season. Not more than once in six or
eight years are both heat and frost kept away
30 as to permit the leaves, unseared and untarnished,
to pass through all their beautiful
gradation of colors.
All those who are accustomed to note the
successive changes in the face of nature must
Have observed tii.it tiie uinerem nines m im
Autumn, some being entirely denuded wliih
ithers remain almost unchanged. Some species
preserve their verdure until their leaves
irop to the ground, among which are many of
the exotic trees and shrubs. Others roll up
their leaves into a crisp before they fall, like
uo.st of the herbaceous plants, without materially
changing their color, except by fading.
Such are the locust and grape vine. The leaves
if a third class, without wilting, change from
?reen to some brilliant color; the greater part
if our indigenous trees and shrubs are of this
lescription.
Those trees in general that display the earliest
and brightest tints are the first to lose
:heir leaves. This is observable chiefly in the
ed maples, whose tints of yellow, orange, searet,
crimson and purple are conspicuous, while
:he leaves of the oaks are still green. When
;he oaks begin to be tinted, the maples are
rapidly losing their leaves. The tints of the
American elms are neither so brilliant nor so
/arious as those of the maples. They consist
inly of a few shades of brown and yellow not
isually very brilliant. It is worthy of notice
;hat while our native elms are rapidly losing
dieir yellow, leaves, the English elm still re:ains
its foliage and its verdure almost as pure
is in the Summer. The same difference may
;>e observed between the greater part of the
ndigenous trees of America and those of Engawl
and the continent of Europe.
This habit of European trees of leafing a
veek earlier than ours, and remaining green a
veek or two later in the Autumn, has led many
lersons to prefer them for ornamental purpoies
to their kindred American species. A few
idditional weeks of verdure in the foliage of
)ur trees would be a prolongation of one of
;he pleasant advantages of .Summer; but it
night not to be overlooked, that ii the Amercan
trees do not continue in leaf as long as
;hose of England, they greatly exceed them in
he brilliancy and variety of their Autumnal
uies. If, therefore, we were to substitute foreign
trees, with their prolonged verdure, for
)ur native trees, with their early-falling leaf,
ve should have Autumn without its present
:harms.? Wilson Fl<i<j<i, in Boston Transcript.
HOG KILLING TIME.
The following from the Atlanta Constitution
s a truthful sketch of a genuine home scene on
;he Southern plantation, as witnessed every
,'ear before our people transferred their smoke10uses
to the West.
At a dinner the other night, after the trash
uul been disposed of, two roast pigs each witli
in apple in his mouth, were brought in and set
11 front of the host and hostess. I had not
leen such a thing in years, but it was a savory
eminder of many a lavish board under which
ny youthful legs had twined about each other
n ecstacy.
There's a good deal of sentiment in the memiries-that
hang about the hog. Where is there
i festival that compares in solid enjoyment
vitli "hog killing time" on an old plantation V.
EIow many a time have I sat on the warm side
if a big fire in the cold of December dawn and
icked my half-frozen chops as I watched the
ileek carcasses being drawn and quartered, or
lung over the huge scalding pot, like a young
Macbeth over the witches' caldron.
How the glories of those festive occasions
:ome trooping into my mind as I write ! The
irst trophies that came to the youngsters who
vere happy enough to be present, were the
(ladders that blown up and tied, opened a
? <*Anf Enll Al? rllMurl fliul lllill
;<une wi. iiiijuwinjnu luuiz-iiiiii, wi u>i\.u imu ....v.
iwjiy, were exploded on Christmas as the openng
gun. Then came the tails to be roasted in
;he embers of this fire, or that, and slay the
lemon that was unchained in the youthful
itomach, while the hogs were laid on a rail
>ile to freeze during the night. The next day
:a:ne the spare-ribs with their crisp and cheese
ngfat, and the backbone with its unutterable
narrow. These elemental delights past, then
:ame the more intricate process of cutting the
eaf lard into little white blocks that were
hrown into the pots from which came the
sweetest and purest lard, and those dry brown
jits into which all the savor and the essence
md the soul of the hog seemed imprisoned ?
:he cracklings ! (Stop a moment ! pardon this
miotion. There?it is over !) And from the
jracklings and fatty bread, and the head cheese
md the chitterlings, and the smoked jowls,
md the brains, and the liver, and the shouliers
and then the feet, first boiled and then
fried in batter. And after the over worked
lausage grinder that wheezed and soughed as
t was well nigh choked to death with chunks
jf fat and strips of lean, or strangled to death
kVith red pepper and salt, or tickled to death
with sage leaves, but nevertheless filled pans, I
lots and skins and maws with odorous sau-1
iage, until it must have itself been astonished
it what it had done. And then the mince
neat, which is at once the meeting point and
:he resultant of all the edible felicities. And
astof all?after every part and particle of
:his precious animal, save and except the brain
md haslets, had been absorbed with thanks
mil praise?the old smokehouse with its
smoldering fire of hickory chips in the pit dug
in the centre of its floor, its winding rat holes j
taunted the winter through by keen young |
iportsmen, and its vague and blackened raf- j
;ers beyond theaspiiations of all save the most j
hiring climbers, and their slender cross sticks !
from which were clustered festoons of sausage {
inks sweetening in their skins as nuts in their j
I?11" nn wliiIn njiIf siilits !
JllCJin ^rnmi uinu.u.in., .....vw
md hams that ripen oil and grew flavorous in i
their seclusion, absorbing month after month
the aroma of the earth, and of the sifted ashes
that were sprinkled over them, and of the
jweet chips that burned beneath them, and of
the odorous smoke that floated about them,
md of the night winds that stole through the
loosely shingled roof above them.
This is all very foolish. It is fashionable
now to berate the hog, mainly, I think, because
hog killing has become a business now
instead of a sentiment, and because hogs are
killed in slaughter pens rather than in open
woods, and sausage meat or beef rather than
pork, and hams sweetened in a night with
mgar and cured in day with chemicals rather
that with the gentle influences bred of air and \
earth and forest and in long patient vigils that j
nature requires of all things she brings to perfection.
He this as it may, the hog in all his
particulars is appreciated in high life. The
late Senator Ilill loved nothing so well as a
plate of chitterlings. I have seen Gov. Ilersehel
V. Johnston eat a pig's ear with infinite
relish. What were Gov. Brown's collards (I
refuse to spell it coleworts) to that great and
good man, if underlying his historic love for |
this fine esculent there was not an unconfessed j
love for hog's jowl. I once saw Gordon rush- j
ing through Wall street, when we both had j
more stocks than was healthy, with a bucket
of hog's brains that he had bought from a
ilown town butcher for his table at the St.
James. Governor Stephens dotes on broiled |
ham, and the nearest to death General Toombs j
ever came was from indigestion caused by j
overeating hog's head cheese; so that a little i
more hog's head might have prevented seces- j
sion. More than one historian holds that j
Lee's army was never whipped until uie ua-1
eon had given out and it had to fall back on |
beef. Mayor English frequently greases his j
distinguished chin with fatty bread, and '
it was at a Governor's table that I saw;
the suckling pigs that evoked this train of j
memories.
Succkss.?Every man must bide his time. !
He must wait, More particularly in lands
like my native land, where the pulse of life j
beats with such feverish and impatient throbs, |
is the lesson needful. Our national character ,
wants the dignity of repose. We seem to ;
live in the midst a battle, there is such a din, j
such a hurrying to and fro. In the streets of
a crowded city it is difficult to walk slowly.
You feel the rushing of the crowd, and
rush with it onward. In the stress of wind
and tide, all professions seem to drag their
anchors, and are swept out into the main.
The voices of the present say "Come 1" But
the voices of the past say, "Wait!" With
calm and solemn footsteps the rising tide
bears against the rushing torrent upstream,
and pushes back the hurrying waters. With
no less calm and solemn footsteps, no less
certainty, does a great mind l>ear up against
public opinion, and push back its hurrying
stream. Therefore should every man waitbide
his time. Not in listless idleness, not in
useless past-time, not in querulous dejection,
but in constant, steady, cheerful endeavors,
always willing and fultilling and accomplishing
his task, that, when the occasion comes,
he may be equal to the occasion. And if it
never comes, what matters it ? What matters
it to the world, whether I, or you, or
another man did such a deed, or wrote such a
book,so be it the deed and book were well done ?
It is part of the indiscreet and troublesome
ambition to care too much about fame, about
what the world says of us; to l>e always looking
into the faces of others for approval; to
l>e always anxious for the effect of what we
1- ...?1 I - - - 1frt Knor
UO ailll Say ; LU UC illWiiya SIIUIUUI^ w Ii?u Kill/
echo of our own voices.?Lotifellow.
A BANDIT IN.PRISON.
An Independence, Mo., letter says : Frank
James, the bandit, is leading a luxurious life.
There is very little restraint put upon him.
lie is trejfted like a king. The wild life of
this red-handed murderer lias a strange fascination
for many people. Ilis cell in the Independence
jail lias been transformed into a regular
drawing room. Here he receives his visitors
like a prince. Had Frank James been a
great public benefactor he could not have been
treated with more deference. The people
make a lion of him. His name is upon everynody's
lips. Women grow sentimental over
him. Younggirls carry him bouquets of flowers
and the bovs imagine themselves a Frank
James in embryo and emulate his deeds in
miniature. It is a sickly kind of sentiment
which pervades the air of Indeiiendence. It
is anything but a good lesson which is being
taught Young America. Instead of painting
Frank James as the murderer, assassin, train
robber and bandit that heis, people sympathize
with him, use their influence with the Governor
for a pardon and talk about him as if he
never had been such a very bad man after all.
Frank James is no longer the dreaded outlaw
with a price upon his head. He has been
raised to the rank of Colonel and is sjioken of
now as "Colonel" James or "Mr." James.
TIIE OUTLAW'S LITTLE l'ALAC'E.
There is but little appearance of a cell about
Colonel Jame's place of residence. When he
gave himself up to Governor Crittenden he was
treated like a common prisoner. Hut such
treatment was considered altogether too barbarous
for a gentleman of Frank James' standing
in the community. His friends got together
and subscribed a sum of money sufficient
to buy a beautiful Brussels carpet. It
was presented tc him a few days ago, and
since then the cell has been transformed into
a regular little palace. Entrance to the august
presence of the ex-bandit is only to be obtained
by card. For a time he allowed everybody
to visit him, and he liked to tell marvelous
tales of marvelous feats in the saddle.
Hut this erot monotonous. Too many people
were anxious to shake the gentleman by the
hand, and so he hit upon the card system. A
visitor hands his card to a jail official. It is
taken to Mr. James, and if Mr. James feels in
the humor lie remarks, "Show the gentleman
in." If not, the visitor is told that Mr. James
is reclining and cannot see visitors. That settles
it ; he is not disturbed.
A visitor to the jail to-day found the exbandit
in a very talkative mood. It was just
after dinner. He was reclining in a luxurious
chair and enjoying himself. The carpet on
the floor was soft and yielded to the tread.
Around the walls hung pictures, some of them
paintings, the gifts of admiring friends.
There was no iron bed-stead, there was no roll
of dirty blankets in the corner. In their place
was a fine old mahogany bedstead, and a mattress
of soft, downy feathers was covered with
sheets of snowy whiteness. On a table were
vases filled with freshly cut flowers, sent in by
ladies who seem to take great interest in the
bandit king. The place had the fragrance of
a floral establishment. Everything was neat,
everything was comfortable, everything was in
good taste.
THE BANDIT KING.
James was faultlessly dressed. lie spends a
great deal of time in his toilet. His locks
were nicely parted. Xot a hair went astray.
Ilis boots shone like a mirror. Such a fine
polish had he given them that his face was reflected.
His clothing was tasty. Xot a speck
of dust could be found, for the bandit king is
a very particular gentleman. There was nothing
of the border ruffian about him. He had
every appearance of a well-to-do man of the
world receiving a friend in his own apartments.
It was hard to believe that this man
was Frank James, the noted desjierado, and
this place a prison cell. His manner was polite
in the extreme. He seemed to be well
versed in the courtesies of society. The fact
is that Frank .lames is not the ignorant outlaw
that most people believe him to be. lie is
well read, and it is his boast that he has hosts
of friends with whom he was in the habit of
staying when hunted by the officers. In
their parlors he considered himself safe from
detection and pursuit. Then too, he has spent
much time in the Western cities and his conversation
shows that he has not always been
outside the limits of good society.
lie took his visitor by the hand and shook
it. Then after a bit he began to relate some
of his experience, but he could not be drawn
into a conversation upon his coming trial.
This is fixed for November 27, at Kansas City.
It is pretty sure that James will plead guilty
and that the governor will set him free. lie
seemed to have no care for the future. He
said he wanted to settle down and lead an honest
life, and he thought he could make a successes
a farmer. His wife is with him most
of the time and his mother, old Mrs. Samuels,
is a frequent visitor. Both are sanguine that
the bandit will eventually have his freedom.
FRANK JAMES' LADY FRIENDS.
There is nothing Frank James desires that
he does not have. He has lots of friends
among the women. They carry him flowers
and send him delicacies. In fact, Mr. Frank
James is having a nice time of it altogether.
He is not allowed to dine off of the common
prison fare. His meals are sent into him by
friends on the outside and they are repasts
which ought to satisfy any one. They are entirely
in keeping with his Brussels carpet and
his mahogany furniture. He is never in want
of company. All kinds of people call to see
him. Young ladies are as fond of his stories
as the men, and his cell would be full most of
the time if he would allow it. Prominent
men are among his visitors, including ex-Governors
and members of Congress. Mrs. Crittenden
has called with the Governor. But,
after all.-James likes to see his old companions
the best. Old members of the Quantrell band
are always welcome. He likes to talk over
ma timoo utwi uiiiifever Frank James mav be
in the future he is not likely to forget that he
was once one of the most noted outlaws of
modern days.?Corresjtonrience Phil(?lcl)>hia
Times.
Concerning "Old Maids.''?The term
"old maid" is rapidly disappearing from society.
People who are heard to use that opprobrious
epithet can at once l?e classed among
the ignorant vulgar. The fields of labor are
now so much wider for women that they are
more self-resjiecting, and are learning to analyze
the realities of life rather than to judge
of things on the surface, which was the result
of the old, narrow way of educating women.
They are also learning the truth, that unless
neonle marry for love, and for no other reason.
marriage results in unhappinesjj and misery
for both ; and unless true congeniality can be
secured as a basis for married life, the better
way is to remain single. The day is going by
when women accept an offer of marriage for
fear of being called an "old maid." That
kind of vulgar ridicule from the lips of commonplace
and ignorant people has given rise
to more unhappy marriages than any other
cause. Now that women are becoming^. I
lightened, the tendency of the timesv5foS;M.j]v '
ing them that they need not
; passed or laid away upon the shelf, if they re!
mained unmarried after reaching the age of
j twenty-five years. Two or three years ago the
j most sought after and fascinating women in
| Newport society were son.e ladies between
\ thirty and fifty years of age. The experience
j of women of education and travel, charmingly
dressed, has taught them how to sip life's
| pleasures with a tact that put their pin-feathery
sisters, with all the advantages of youth
and beauty, in the shade.
Wearing Stays.?Dr. Alfred Chadwick
comes to the defence of women who wear
corsets in a style so gallant that we cannot
forbear quoting him. He does not believe
for one moment that fully 90 per cent, of
women are deformed by stays. "If such were
the case," he adds," "I should not hesitate
tn <uiv that. <?0 nent. of women know notli
ing of lacing, for if lacing the figure is practiced
in a judicious manner, instead of deformity
would come elegance and health. A
well-applied corset leaves the upper part of the
chest perfectly free and develops the capacity
of the lungs in that situation?the most important
situation, by the way, especially in
the female sex. Tubercular consumption
usually attacks the apexes of the lungs, a
part far removed from the pressure of a corset,
however tight; in fact, the tighter the
corset in the lower part of the chest the
greater amount of work and expansion in the
upper part- but this would not lead to consumption."
The doctor believes that a woman
is in better health in every respect when
wearing a proper fitting corset, but he deprecates
the beginning suddenly of tight lacing.
"What I consider to be the perfection to the
female figure or to the male," he says, "is to
begin early in life, say at the age of 7 or 10
years, and then only with very yielding
materials, permitting the corset simply to
touch the contour of the body, though a little
firmer at the waist. As the girl grows up
and the chest expands the bust of the corset
may be very properly made larger, the waist at
fho oomo tir*-?n Kninrr Irmtf within Vlr'iimdq If
LUC OCllllC LllllC ircili? nUf'V HJOUU vvui?v?w.
such a system be carfully carried out there
never would be an undue pressure anywhere,
and the girl who reaches womanhood will
possess the perfection of a figure, with its
round and taper waist, broad shoulders and
well developed chest. It always was and will
be necessary to restrain, limit and correct the
growing figure. Without aid nature seldom
forms a good waist. Gradual and early corrections,
instead of violent and sudden reduction
of deformity, is the way to achieve success?no
evil effects can possibly ensue. In
the wearing of the corset, the degree of comfort
with which it is borne should be the test
of utility. Early care and judicious management
will in every case succeed in attaining
elegance and in preserving health." This
view will give great satisfaction to the corset
makers and the ladies who wear stays, but it
may well be questioned whether stays do not
do more harm than good. Perhaps it is the
abuse, rather than the proper use, which is to
be criticised and condemned.
Tiie Popular Max Wins.?The man who
succeeds is the popular man?the person who
has hosts of acquaintances, and who does not
hesitate to ask a favor, any more than he does
to do one. He cultivates his acquaintances
and blossoms out before each one. lie is always
glad to see them, and always has a smile
and a pleasant word. Beyond a certain poire
he is intimate with none, knowing that a man
with strong friendships is sure to have some
decided enemies, and an enmity often is most
inconvenient. The popular man knows all
the prominent members of the club : but he
never neglects those who fill the ranks of mediocrity.
He is especially thoughtful of his elders.
Everything that comes to his mill is
I grist. ?
TI?oro ie nothing hypocritical in all this.
The popular inan is what he seems to be. He
wishes well to every one, himself included,
and he would do no one an ill turn. lie wishes
no one to do him harm. His desire is to
make things pleasant to others that others may
make things pleasant unto him. He does not
neglect the harder work of life. If he is in a
profession he studies diligently for some hours
each day, when there is 110 opportunity to cultivate
the social part of his nature, or to render
his relations with others more friendly.
If he is in trade, he does not neglect to learn
his business thoroughly from the bottom up.
What he does he does well, 110 matter how
small it is.
Such a man is sure to command success.
He is thorough and can be depended uiwn in
purely business relations, and in his social life
he charms and attracts his acquaintances, so
that every one wants to help him. If he is a
young lawyer, the elderly men, to whom he is
always deferential in manner, think of hiui
first when a little legal business comes in their
way that will pay him well but is too small
for them. He gets the job. If he is a young
broker, speculators remember that he is a good
fellow, and knowing that he is honest and capable,
give him their commission, even in preference,
perhaps, to a more repellant acquaintance
wiio is more conveniently at hand. If a
social gathering is lacking in one member, lie
is always thought of as the one to fill the vacant
place. Women smile on him, and his
i nlionn/w r\f IVW1 l.ft'i ri<T tt'ol I !l VM t.Pllfnld llPttpl".
V/iuuiuca wi man j ujq u v?? w...v.~ ? 7
even if he is poor, than a more sedate and quiet
man of possibly much greater force of character.
The Poison in TobaccoSnoke.? A series
of experiments lias been recently conducted
by Ilerr Kissling, of Bremen, with the view
of ascertaining the proportions of nicotine and
other poisonous substances in the smoke of
cigars. His paper, in Dinylcr's Poli/lerknischcs
Journal, gives a useful resume of the work of
previous observers. lie specifies as strongly
i poisonous constituents, carbonic oxide, sulphu|
hydrogen, prussic acid picoline bases, and nicotine.
The first three occur, however, in
such small proportion and their volatilily is
so great that their share in the action of tobacco
smoke on the system may be neglected.
The picoline bases, too, are present in comparatively
small quantity; so that the poisonous
character of the smoke may lie almost
exclusively attributed to the large proportion
of nicotine present. Only a small part of the
nicotine in a cigar is destroyed by the process
of smoking, and a relatively large portion
passes off with the smoke. The proportion
of nicotine in the smoke depends, of course,
essentially on the kind of tobacco; but the
relative amount of nicotine which passes from ^
a cigaarinto smoke depends chiefly on how far
the cigar has been smoked, as the nicotinecontent
of the unsmoked part of a cigar is in
inverse ratio to the size of this part?L e.,
more nicotine the shorter the part. Evidently,
in a burning cigar, the slowly advancing
zone of glou^ drives before it the dlstillable
matters, so that in the yet unburned portion
a constant accumulation of these takes place.
It would appear that in the case of cigars that
are poor in nicotine, more of this substance
relatively passes into smoke than in the case
of cigars with much nicotine ; also, that nicotine,
notwithstanding its high lx>iling point,
has remarkable volatility.?Lomlon Time.
A Dangerous Headland.?Cape Race,
the scene of many marine disasters, is near
the southeastern extremity of Newfoundland,
latitude forty-six degress thirty-nine minutes
j north, longitude fifty-three degrees four min
I utes. it is a lorty ami precipitous ueaumuu,
| extending into the Atlantic f.iom thesouthernj
most point of the division of that island call|
ed Ferryland. It forms a prominent point for
I navigators in the North Atlantic, lying near
I the ordinary route of vessels between the
eastern ports of the United States and England,
and being the last point of American
land sighted or passed in the eastern passage.
It is a point, very dangerous to ship sailing in
foggy weather between the United States and
Europe. On it is a revolving light ISO feet
above the sea. It was established by the British
government, and is sustained by a b"
upon all from or to Great Britain, to
Canada the notheastern part ,
i States.
t -^gstic economy eom!
ITere is a lii'! Cfbrgyman?"So I hear
edy from .Tied again, Jacobs." .Jacobs
! you've,or ; I thought as how winter was com1
- * ' - Ann lilankot and
L"? on, ana tfecry, snc u K<??, ~
I got t'other, we might as well make a pair,
and l?o more comfortable like."
A