Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, September 10, 1885, Image 1
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lewis m. grist, proprietor. J 31 it Jjnbeptitbtnf Jamilj) fttfospapfr: Jfor Ijjc promotion of fljc |)clitical, Social, Hgrimlfural anb Commercial Interests of % So?f|. |terms--$2.50 a year, in advance.
VOL. 81. YOBKYILLE, S O., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER IP, 1885. 3^Q. 37.
fctcrtcd foettti. j
THE CLOSING HOURS.
BY VESPER.
Oh! precious hour, when glowing in the west
Bright radiant clouds in gorgeous festoons rest |
On the soft blue bosom of the evening sky, '
Fringed by lightning beams that leaping round i
them fly i .
In zigzag dances through the "tinnier air,
At the same moment almost everywhere,
While cooling zephyrs, with melodious voice i
Seem whispering everywhere to all, "rejoice."'
'Tis sweet, indeed?'tis sweet at such an hour !
, To stroll l?y babbling brooks, through field or J
bower, f
And watch the weary herd as on their way 1
Slowly they move homeward at the close of day. i
While drooping flowers rise and breathe around ,
us
Perfumes so sweet that almost they confound us,
Yet bid us hope when we with earth are done
There will be found by us a better home. i
How serenely sinks to rest the dying day.
Robed in glowing purple, scarlet," blue, and gray, J
While, fluttering fast, the birds of every wing" I
Haste to the troes, there, vesper songs to sing, 1
Making melody as sweet as earth has ever heard ; <
Though they can neither speak nor chirp a word ; j
> Still they sing till all shadows take their flight ^
And stars begin to twinkle down their light. ! ,
1 Now safe at home the flocks, the herd, and fowl, j 1
They fear no savage beast nor hooting owl
When once they've heard the faithful watch- (
dog's bark", ,
But in peace till waken'd by the soaring lark, I
When lirst he pipes his notes and darts away ! !
To meet the sun and grget the coming day,
As slowlv flocks and heards arise again,
Stretch themselves and go to browsing o'er the
plain. I
Oh! peerless hour, how dear are you to all, ;
And what the tender memories you recall; <
And oh! is it not solemn to see"the rapid flight (
Of all earthly objects as they pass from sight ? .
How loudly do they call to improve each day,
Ere we, lik"e them,"from earth shall pass away, J
Where, as weary pilgrims, sadly now we roam,
Longing for peace and rest in the eternal home, S
$he ?dler. j
A STORY OF ADVENTURE j
AND <
Suffering in the Far West. J
<
k
Early in January, 1851, Mr. Royse Oat- ]
man (a native of New York) and his family .
entered that portion of the Mexican terri- 1
tory now called Arizona, in company with \
an emigrant party, of which he was a mem- !
ber. Originally the party numbered some i
eighty or ninety persons, but disagreements 1
had divided them during the journey; Mr. i
Oatman and his friends took the Indian j
route from the Rio Grande, with a train ,
consisting of eight wagons and some twenty j
persons. After a series of continued hard- i
ships and disasters they reached Tucson i
entirely destitute of provisions, their stock *
broken down, and most of them unable to proceed.
j
Mr. Oatman saw nothing but utter desti- ]
tution before him if he tarried there, and
he was sorely embarrassed what to do. His :
stock haci oeen reciucea 10 two yoKe 01 i
cows and one of oxen, and was so jaded i
after the long journey that it was not prob- 1
able they would hold out much longer.
Nearly two hundred miles of a desert coun- 1
try lay between him and Fort Yuma; and <
beyond the Colorado there was still a terri- j
ble desert to pass before he could reach the 1
' southern counties of California. While suf- ?
fering the tortures of anxiety and suspense, ?
with the gloomiest prospect if they remain- t
ed, a Dr. Lecount, who had extensively ex- i
plored the Pacific coast arrived from Fort 1
Yuma, and reported the route safe. He 1
had seen no hostile Indians, and had heard ?
of no recent depredations on the way.
Encouraged by the information, Mr. Oat- t
man determined to push forward at once ?
for California, and, accordingly, on the 11th ?
of March, he sej out with such slender out- ?
fit of provisions as he could procure. Trav- e
eling for seven days under great difficulties, t
his family on the verge of starvation, his ?
cattle scarcely able to drag the wagon, he s
* was overtaken by Dr. Lecount and a Mexi-11
can guide. It was evident from the exhaus-: (
tion of his team that he would be totally I j
unable to reach Fort Yuma without assist- ; t
ance. Dr. Lecount agreed to hurry on as : f
fast as possible and send back assistance j j
from the fort, which was still distant about j J
ninety miles. i f
The first night beyond the Oatman camp i i
an attack was made by a band of Indians! s
upon Lecount and his guide, and their ani- j
mals stolen. Left on foot, without any , r
means of subsistence, they were compelled
to hurry on or starve. The Mexican was i
sent ahead to procure assistance. It was c
thirty miles back to the Oatmans. Lecount ?
" saw no alternative but to rush on after the (
guide. He left a card, however, conspicu- f
ously fastened to a tree, stating what had
occurred, and warning the emigrant party | r
behind to be on the look-out for the Apaches. ; 1
Although the Oatmans camped at the same ; 1
spot they failed to see the notice; or, as some t
suppose, Mr. Oatman saw it and concealed :
it from his family, in order that they might ?
not be uselessly alarmed. f
On the 18th of March they spent a dread- (
ful night on a little island in the Gila river. 1
A terrible storm blew the water up over
them ; their scanty supply 01 provisions was ,
damaged, their blankets and clothing wet
through, and the starving animals driven
nearly frantic with fear. It was a wild
and desolate place, many days' journey ;
from any civilized abode. Hitherto, Mr.
Oatman, naturally a man of sanguine tern-j
perament, had borne every disaster and :
braved every danger cheerfully and with-1
out flinching; but the presentiment, of some
terrible doom seemed to have fallen upon '
him at this place, and he was seen by some
of the family to shed tears while silting in j
the wagon. The next day they proceed- j
ed but a short way, when the jaded animals !
utterly refused to move. It was impossible
to urge them on with the loaded wagon;
their strength was spent, and the faithful
creatures seemed ready to lie down and die.
By unloading the wagon, and pushing the
wheels from time to time, the distressed
emigrants succeeded at length in getting
upon a narrow flat, bordering on the river,
where they halted to recruit.
Mr. Oatman was greatly dejected. It I
was observed by the family that he looked
anxiously down the road over which they
had passed, and that he never before seem- !
ed so utterly despondent. The sun, which j i
had blazed upon them fiercely all day was |
now fast setting. They were beset by diffi-11
culties. Before them lay a vast desert; be- j
hind and to the right a wilderness of moun- '
tains. It was starvation to stay, and al- j 1
most inevitable disaster to go forward.
Mrs. Oatman, the noble wife and mother,
always patient, hopeful and enduring, busied
herself in attending to the wants of the
children, and in uttering words of encouragement
to her husband. He, however,
seemed utterly overwhelmed with gloomy
forebodings, and continued to look back
upon tne roaa, till, suddenly, an expression i
, of indescribable horror was observed in his <
P face, and the next moment a band of i
Apache Indians was seen leisurely approach- i
ing along the road. The children perceiv- 1
ing instinctively that their father?to whom i
they had always been accustomed to look <
for protection?was agitated by no ordinary
emotions, became alarmed; but he succeeded
by a strong effort in maintaining an
appearance of composure, and told them
not to be afraid, that the Indians would
not hurt them.
When the Indians came up, Mr. Oatman
spoke to them kindly in Spanish, and mo- i
tioned to them to sit down. They sat down
and asked for tobacco and pipes, which he
gave them, and they smoked a while in
y token of friendship. * They then asked for <
something to eat. Mr. Oatman told them f
his family were nearly starving?that they <
had a long journey before them, and could |
ill spare any portion of their scanty stock.'
However, he gave them a little bread, and 3
said he was sorry he could not give more, j
After thi? they stood off a little, and talked
in a low tone, while Oatman set to work to
reload the wagon. It was observed that
the Indians looked anxiously down the
road, as if expecting some approaching par- 1
ty. Suddenly, with a terrific yell, they
jumped in the air and dashed with uplifted
clubs upon the doomed family. Lorenzo, a a
boy fourteen years of age, was struck on the
head and felled to the earth the first blow. I
Several of the savages rushed upon Oatman, r
and he was seen for a moment struggling \
in their midst, but soon fell a mutilated V
corpse at their feet. Mrs. Oatman pressed i
her youngest child to her bosom, and s
struggled with a mother's heroic devo- 1
tiou to save it, shrieking in piercing accents, a
"Help ! help! Oh, for the love of God, will e
rmhrvnv save lis ?" t
A few blows of the murderous clubs quick- a
ly silenced the poor mother and her babe; Y
and in less than a minute the whole family, t
save Lorenzo, Olive and Mary Anne, were t
lying dead or moaning in their death struggles
upon the ground. Olive, a girl of six- i
teen years of age, and Mary Anne, a frail r
2hild of eleven, were dragged asideand held a
in the iron grasp of two Indians. Lorenzo, a
the boy, was stunned by the crushing blows v
which had fallen upon his head, and lay f
bleeding by the edge of the precipice. In I
his narrative he states that he soon recov- p
ed his consciousness and distinctly heard t
the yells of the Apaches, mingled with the a
3hrieks and dying groans ol his parents, cl
The savages, seeing him move, rifled his r
pockets and cast him over the precipice, a
He must have fallen twenty-feet, and that
he was not instantly killed, or maimed be- t
yond recovery, seems miraculous. Strange- i:
discordant sounds, he tells us, grated on his f
*ars, gradually dying away, and then he Y
heard "strains of such sweet music as com- t
pletely ravished his senses." h
Thus he lay until reason became gradually
restored, when, with great difficulty he u
:rept back up the hill. The sight of the t
lead bodies of his parents, brothers and f
sisters, lying scattered about the broken u
wagon, was too much for him, and for a r
while he felt like one laboring under some t
horrible phantom. He knew that his sis- t
ters Olive and Mary Anne had been taken e
japtive, and the fate to which they were i
loomed was even more dreadful to him
lhan the sight of the murdered family, i
Sick at heart, and faint from loss of blood, a
he turned away and crept towards the river, r
A. burning thirst consumed him. He a
thought he was dying. With incredible
lifficulty he reached the river, where he c
satisfied his thirst and slept a-few hours, t
Thus refreshed, he resolved upon an at- c
tempt to reach the Pi mo Villages, which, c
though distant a hundred miles, was the t
nearest place known to him, where he could e
hope to procure relief. During the next c
two days he made his way along the road? ^
sometimes walking, sometimes creeping on s
his hands and knees, resting every few min- c
ntes when he could procure the friendly i
shelter of a bush; at times delirious, and r
constantly haunted by the horrible dread a
that he might again fall into the hands of 1
Indians. He grew weaker every mile from f
hunger, thirst and fever; and worn out at r
last, lay down to die. f
A strange noise aroused him from his n
stupor. Upon opening his eyes he found r
himself surrounded by wolves. He shouted \
us loud as he could, and threw stones at 1
them. The nearest he struck with his hand, t
Rising again, he pushed on, the wolves I
following closely at his heels. About noon
yf the second day, as he was passing through a
i dark ravine, two Pimo Indians, riding on \
3ne American horses," appeared before him, c
md seeing so strange an object fixed their a
irrows and raised their bows to shoot. He i:
iddressed them in Spanish, telling them he a
vas an American, and begging them not to t
sill him ; upon which they lowered their t
dows and manifested signs of interest and r
sympathy. \
When they learned what had happened,
hey gave him some ash-baked bread and i
i gourd of water. Then they told him to t
iwait their return, and rode away. He s
vprl a little while, but fearful of treach- t
iry, started on again. Wandering along
;he road until he came out of the ravine
ind overlooked the plain, he discerned
some moving objects in the distance,
-vhich he speedily recognized as two white:overed
wagons. He knew they must be
Americans. Overcome by emotion, he sank
;o the ground unconscious of all his sufferings.
The wagons contained friendly
American families who had started for
Fort Yuma. Next day the unhappy sufferer
was safe among the Pimos. The emgrants
halted a few days until he gained
iufficient strength to join them. He traviledwith
them to Fort Yuma, which they
eached after a journey of eight or ten days.
As soon as the Apaches had concluded the
nassacre of the Oatman family, and plunlered
the wagon of its contents, they flew
icross the river, takiug with them the two
aptives, Olive and Mary Anne. These unortunate
girls had seen their parents, broth;rs
and sisters cruelly murderad, and were
low dragged away, bare headed and shoeess
through a rude and desolate wilderness.
Ferocious threats and even clubs were used
o hurry them along. Sometimes the
younger sister faltered from sheer lack of
strength ; but the savage wretches, unmind'ul
of hor sufferings, beat her, and threatened
to dispatch her at once if she lagged belind.
On the third day of their journey, after the
uost incredible hardships, having traveled
>ver two hundred miles, they came in sight
>t a cluster of low thatched huts down in a
alley. This was the Apache village. The
ribe consisted of about three hundred, and
ived in the most abject condition of filth
ind poverty. From this time, for many
nonths they lived a life of servitude, workng
from morning till night for their cap:ors.
The scantiest pittance of food was alowed
them, and that they had to gather
:hemselves. Often they were without food
for two days at a time, save such roots as
they could secretly devour while gathering
supplies for the lazy wretches who held
them in bondage. The youngest sister,
Mary Anne, was of a weakly constitution, c
ind gradually declined under the terrible c
hardships to which she was subjected. a
There is a touching pathos in the gentle- j
ness and fortitude with which she bore her e
sufferings. She seldom complained; and t
it was her custom, when alone with her r
sister to sing hymns and say she thought j
heaven would take pity on them some s
Jay and deliver them. a
The sisters one evening sat hand in hand, t
Mary Anne sang one of the favorite hymns j
she had been taught by her mother. Then r
gazing with steadfast and loving eyes in ' 5)
her sister's face, she said, "I have been a j <
?reat deal of trouble to you, Olive. You J
will miss me for a while, but you will not! j
have to work so hard when I am gone." I 1
The Indians gathered around in mysteri- > 2
aus wonder; but the dying girl saw them (
not. A smile of ineffable happiness beam- i
?d upon her features. Peacefully she sank j
to rest in her sister's arms. Olive was left ?
to bear the burden of life alone. t
During several dreary years the brother, j
Lorenzo, had vainly striven to procure the I i
release of his sisters. No aid was furnish-! j
ed by the military authorities at Fort Yu- j c
tna. * The only person there who took any | j
interest in the matter was Mr. TIenry j i
irrinnei, a private citizen, who irum | t
up to the date of Olive's rescue, never ceas- j
ed to exert his energies to that end.
Through the services of Francisco, a Yu- j ;
ma Indian, the purchase of Olive from the i
Indians was effected by Mr. Grinnell in Feb- s
ruary, 1850. She was brought down to a j
place on the Colorado at on appointed time, r
Here Mr. Grinnell met her. So completely 1
was she disguised by long exposure to the s
sun, by paint, tattooing and costume, that 1
he could not believe that she was a white 1
woman. When he spoke to her she made no i
answer, but cried. It was not for several f,
days after her arrival at Fort Yuma, that <
she could utter more than a few broken i
words of English. Subsequently she met i
her brother and, was taken by him to his (
residence near Eos Angeles. ' 1
|psceU3ttC0ttSi ?cafliH(j. 4?
z
BRUSHES. t
TOW THEY ARE MANUFACTURED AND OF WHAT
THEY ARE COMPOSED. ^
There is not a household convenience or h
l personal implement that is of more im- 11
>ortanee than the brush, and its name is j
nany; a catalogue of different brushes e
vould fill a column in this paper. Yet few i
mow how a brush is made and of what s
t is composed. It has been supposed by \
ome that split whalebone?which is on- g
y another form of hair or horn?was used s
,s a cheap substitute for bristles and read- li
:rs of forty or fifty years old will remem- i
?er that biack bristle brushes were avoided, t
.nd only white ones were salable. In fact, li
lowever. whalebone is much more costly n
han bristles, and is only used for special t
>rushes. ii
And even the bristle supply is becoming f,
ng costly and scarce. Hereaway we raise r
10 more bristled hogs; most of them have \
, coating of soft hairs sparsely distributed, v
,nd some of the finer sorts have a curly s
yool. Even the Southern hogs, which self- e
ared in the woods are dying out, and a c
ligher type of the class Sus is taking their c
dace. Nearly all the bristles that are f
ised in this country come from Russia, (j
.nd they cost the brush maker from one n
lollar and a quarter to three dollars a
>ound. They come tied up in neat rolls,
nd assorted as to lengths and stiffness. t
Horse hair is largely used for brushes; d
here is no material that will so finely pol- p
sh sewing machine needles, as they come v
rom the last machine process, as horse- fc
iair brushes. Horse hair makes the soft i
irushes for plush, velvet, and for the silk e
lat makers. c
The vegetable kingdom is largely drawn o
ipon for brush material. To say nothing of f<
irooms, there is a grass called Tampico, b
rom the place of its exportation, that is r
ised for hand scrubbing brushes. It is a v
ound fibre of light straw color, quite n
ousrh and elastic, and possessing the un- 0
isual quality of retaining its rigidity ana E
lasticity however much soaked it may be s
n water. <j
flattened steel wire with the temper in, is f
ised for fine cleaning brushes and tor street i
md stable use. These are so coarse and a
igid that they would be better designated o
is scrapers. p
But there is a wire brush that is the very c
ipposite of these. It is made of steel or c
>rass wire that is so very fine that it goes t
luite beyond the finest gauge made in this s
lountry. It goes to what is known to the <]
rade as forty-four English gauge. Brush- (
is made from this are employed in the pro- t
luction of a peculiar finish on silver. a
iVhen silver is used in plate, whether it is c
olid or an external deposit, it is not often s
impressed, or hardened, by any mechan- a
cal means, except when it is burnished to f
nake a polish. The "sattn finish" of plate j
ind silver ornaments, so much admired of j
ate years, is produced by these brushes of r
ine steel and brass wire. The brushes are (j
otary and are ru n at high velocity. The ef- j
ect of their action on the soft surface of sil- s
'er is to raise the particles so that they will t
lot reflect the light as a polished surface
vill, but give a soft, velvety, refractive rj
ight to the eye. This efiect is produced by v
he soft wire brushes that feel under the p
land almost like cylinders of down.
The common way of fastening bristles v
.nd hairs and Tampico grass in brushes is ]
vith common pitch, which is kept hot at a t
onvenient bench, and is kept fluid by the
dmixture of a little tallow. The worknan
grasps from a bunch or pile of bristles 3
. few in his fingers doubles them over at 1
he middle, winds a bit of fine twine about t
he butt or bend, dips that end in the hot i
?iteh, and presses the bunch in a hole in the c
vooden back of the brush to be. c
But a better process is wiring or twining; a
n either case the looped brush being held f
>y a wire or twine that passes through a \
mall hole in the back of the larger hole h
hat receives the bristles. But, as all these ci
vires or strings are seen on the back of the t
?rush, they must be concealed by a false s
tack for nice work. t
The writer has a specimen with a solid t
?ack that was made more than fifteen years t
go. In this, the bristles, doubled, were t
ed by a wire staple into the holes, and the ?
nds of the staple being crossed by a die, t
he wire was forced into the wood by a t
(lunger, and really locked in the solid ma- i
erial. The brush has been in constant use I
luring all these years and is "as good as 1
lew."?Scientific American. ?
Southern Loyalv.?The thoughts of t
he people are not upon the war, not much 1
ipon the past at all, except as their losses t
emind them of it, but upon the future, s
ipon business, a revival of trade, upon edu- e
ation, and adjustment to the new state of t
hings. The thoughts are not much upon e
(olitics either, or upon offices; certainly
hey are not turned more in this direction
han the thoughts of people at the North *
re. "When we read a dispatch which de- 1
lares that there is immense dissatisfaction v
hroughout Arkansas because offices are not ?
lealt out more liberally to it, we may know ^
hat the case is exactly what it is in, say, '
Wisconsin?that a few pofltical managers J
re grumbling, and that the great body of
he people are indifferent, perhaps too in- ^
lifferent, to the distribution of offices.
Undoubtedly, immense satisfaction was r
elt at the election of Mr. Cleveland, and s
lation of triumph in the belief that now c
he party which had been largely a non(articipant
in Federal affairs would have a J
arge share and weight in the administra- J
ion. With this went, however a new feel- t
ng of responsibility, of a stake in the eoun- a
ry, that manifested itself at once in attach- *!
nent to the Union asthecommon possession
if all sections. I feel sure that Louisiana, for 1
nstance, was never in its whole history, 1
rom the day of the Jefferson purchase, so 11
onspciously loyal to the United States as it c
s to-day. I have believed that for the past 1
en years there has been growing in this j1
ountry a stronger feeling of nationality?a '
listinet American historic consciousness? r
nd nowhere else has it developed so rapdly
of late as at the South. I am convincd
that this is a genuine development of at- s
achmenttothe Union and of pride in the c
lation, and not in any respect a political r
novement for unworthy purposes. I am I
orry that it is necessary, for .the sake of }
iny lingering prejudice at the North to say 1
his. But it is time that sober, thoughtful,
mtriotic people at the North should quit 1
epresenti ng the desire for office at the South *
is a desire to {jet into the government sad- ?
lie and ride again with a "rebel" impulse. 1
t would be, indeed, a discouraging fact 11
f any considerable portion of the South ?
ield aloof in sullenness from Federal affairs. 1
Vor is it any just cause either of reproach or r
>f uneasiness that men who were promi- G
lent in the war of the rebellion should be J
irominent now in official positions, for with 1
l few exceptions the worth and weight of G
he South went into the war. It would be 11
die to discuss the question whether the 1
nasses of the South were not dragooned J
nto the war by the politicians; it is suflident
to recognize the fact that it became
iractically, by one means or another, a J
inanimous revolt.?Charles Dudley Warner, 1
n Jfarper'.s Magazine for September. N
-
Poisonous Coffee.?As coffee drinkers,
Vmericans lead the world, and it is distress- I
ng, to say the least, to know that coffee is 1
ystematically polluted. A most deadly {
loison, prussiate of iron, is used to give the s
ich and much admired surface to the coffee t
jean, and the consequent danger to the per- \
iistent coffee drinker is incipient paralysis, f
tickles naturally preserved should be of a i
ight green color and mildly pungent. The s
lickles of commerce are bitter and of a dark (
jreen color. This is due to a preparation c
if the soluble salts and copper. The effect c
ipon the human stomach, particularly t
imong children, need hardly be pointed f
nit. A few years ago canned goods were r
nit up in strong tin cans, and rosin used in r
he process of sealing the ends. The tin
iow used is a mere shell, and chloride of
inc is a poisonous liquid and it is impossile
to prevent its mingling with the conents
of the can. The primary cause of this
aod pollution is due to the demand for
heap goods and the competition among
nanufacturers to supply this demand. It
i impossible to believe that any class of
nen would deliberately poison their fellow
reatures, and yet the result is the same,
n the race for the nimble penny all considrations
of humanity are ignored. It is
mpossible for the consumer to protect himelf
from these pollutions?the evil is uni'ersal.
What shall be done about it?
ihall the consumer hold the dealer responible
? That would be manifestly unjust, as
ie cannot sample or guarantee his wares.
Ahere remains the manufacturer, and him
he laws can certainly reach. If the State
aws are inadequate, what is to prevent the
lation from seizing this monster by the
hroat and throttling it. A rigid supervison
of the factories, a seizure of all polluted
ood and a wholesome fine and imprisonment
would effect a wonderful change in a
rery short time. The immediate effect
yould be a slight ri?e in the price of wholeome
food, but the nesult would be a markd
improvement in the health of the whole
ommunity. If it is in the province of the
entral government to guard our shores
rom the invader how much more is it a
luty to crush the enemy that lurks in our
midst.?Philadelphia Call.
Mountains.?If the force which raised
he mountains had acted all at once and no
lisintegrating action had afterward taken
ilace, the Alps would have consisted on the
yhole of one great folded mass, led up to
>y a number of lesser undulations, and risng
at the centre into a huge boss or elongatd
hog's back, which might, perhaps, be
more or less broken here and tliere by an
ccasional dislocation. They would have
ormed, not a varied range of mountains,
iut a continuous ridge. From the pictuesque
point of view, such an Alps as this
yould be practically worthless; it would be
lothing more than one gigantic down, withut
any variety, romance or mystery?a
nere dome of swelling rock, covered on the
ummit by a curved sheet of monotonous,
lull and uninteresting snow. Fortunately
or the British tourist and the canny Swiss
lotel keeper, nature manged the thing in
, different way. Frost and rain scraped
>ut the range, as fast as it rose, into jagged
>eaks like those of Chamount, or precipitous
liffs like those of Grindelwald. Rivers
urved out for themselves deep glens like
hat of the Valals, and glaciers wore them
elves profound beds lfke that of the Mer
le Grace, or round lake basins like those of
Irimsel. The softer parts were cut away
>y this ceaseless action of wind and rain
nd frostand ice sheet; the harder and more
rystaline portions alone were left behind,
carred and weathered into fantastic shapes
is jagged peak or craggy summit. The
inal outcome of the process in the modern
Vlps as we actually see them?rising here
nto snow-clad boases, jutting out there in
laked needles; traversed at one spot by
leeply cut torrents, sculptured at another
nto beautiful valleys. "They remain,"
ays Profeasor Geikie, "marvelous monunents
of stupenduous earth throes, followd
by a prolonged gigantic denudation."
The whole mass is not nearly so high as it
vould have been had erosion never kept
?ace with elevation; but it is a thousand
imes more picturesque, more varied, more
vonderful and more dangerous. I add the
ast epithets advisedly out of compliment
o the Alpine Club."
Lightning in TSropical Climates.?
dy experience confirms the remarks of
)r. Van Danckleman in Nature, respecting
he little damage done by lightning in tropcal
climates. In the plains of India at the
ommencementof the monsoons, storms ocur
in which the lightning runs like snakes
ill over the sky at the rate of three or four
lashes in a second, and the thunder roars
vithout a break for, frequently, one or two
lours at a time. During twelve years resilence
in India I heard of only two human
eingsand, I think, three buildings being
truck, although in parts of lower Bengal
he population amounts to more than (500
o the scjuare mile. I always attributed
he scarcity of accidents to the depth of
lie stratum of heated air next to the
rround keeping the clouds at such height
hat most of the flashes pass from cloud
o cloud and very few reach the earth. The
dea is supported by the fact that in the
iymalayasatG,000feet, objectsare frequenty
"struck. I have seen more than a dozen
>ine trees which had been injured by the
ightning on the top of one mountain beween
8,000 and 9,000 feet high. In the
iritish Islands thunder storms are sum
0 be more dangerous in winter than in
ummer, and such a fact, if true, can be,
xplained by the very thin stratum of air
hen intervening between the clouds and
arth.?London Nature.
A Storm of Birds.?Said a lighthouse:eeperat
Atlantic City, New Jersey, I renemberone
night late in September there
vas what we call a dry fog, the kind that
;learns and looks bright sometimes without
1 light. I went out on the walk around the
ight, thinking I heard a curious noise,
['here were thousands of birds darting
bout in the luminous fog, with the light
lancing on their backs and wings, so it reninded
me of insects about a lamp. The
oar of their wings and their cries were
uch that you couldn't hear yourself speak
ir even think, and I hung on to the rail
.lmost crazy from the uproar. But I came
o mighty quick, I can tell you, for the first
hing I got a knock on the head, a bird
aking me right aside of the neck; then,
is I turned another struck me in the back,
nd I don't doubt but that I'd have been
airly; bombarded off it if I hadn't got in.
fhe birds kept it up all night, and in the
norning we counted over six hundred dead
it the foot of the lighthouse. They were
?f all kinds?sparrows, hawks, robins and
nostly duck and snipe, birds that traveled
ilong the shore going south. You see, they
lad seen the light, and getting confused rah
ight into it."
Lamp Shades and the Eyes.?Profesor
H. L. Cohn describes a long series of
leterminations of the relative values of vaious
forms of lamp shades. The method
mrsued was to measure the brightness of
vhite paper lying on a table over which
he source of artificial light was suspended
it a given distance by means of a Weber
)hotomete. As one would anticipate, the
general effect of a shade is to increase very
greatly the illumination immediately under
he light, and not modify it notably at an
mgular distance greater than forty-five decrees
from this region. The last section of
he pamphlet, which deals with the illumilation
requisite for the easiest use of the
(yes, is of the most general interest. Taking
is a measure of the value of the illuminaion
in this sense the number of lines which
an be read from a newspaper in a minute,
ind as the unit of illustration that of a nornal
candle at a perpendicular distance of a
neter from the paper, he finds that the
>est illumination is very rarely secured,
(xcept immediately under a lamp provided
vith a good shade, the author emphasizes
he conclusion that few school children
vork in a satisfactory light.?Seteuce.
Locusts.?California and Oregon are lia>le
to occasional ravages of three species of
ocusts, the most dangerous of which is the
freat Rocky Mountain locust, whose ravages
everal years ago came near starving out
he people of two or three Western States.
This locust is remarkable for its power of
light, and travels in dense swarms high up
n the air, darkening the sun or filling the
iky with the glistening light of their wings.
)bservers have stood on the highest peaks
)f the Rocky Mountains and straining their
jyes upwards have seen the sky filled with
loudsof these tiny soaring insects, so high
is to be barely discernible. These insects,
ifter devastating one region, rise into the
lirto look for fresh fields and pastures new.
OLD-TIME SCHOOL-TEACHING.
REMINISCENCE OF AN OLD PEDAGOGUE.
It is always a very pleasant thing to let
bad boy bring his punishment on himsell
I noticed as f stood at an upper window i
a large school-house where I taught, tha
the boys came out the back-door into th
play-ground as if they had been fired fror
a cannon. They shot out one after anothe
and generally landed in a convenient snow
bank. On going to the head of the stairs
saw the reason. The boys jumped astride c
the banister and went sailing down the ir
clined plane, jumping clear off the step.'
and landed, as a general thing, on their feei
The end of the banister had no newel posi
and the open door was only a few feet fror
the bottom of the stair-way. It was gref
fun,.and theamusement was increased whe
a big boy could rake in with his projectin
feet some unfortunate youngster who wa
going; down the stairs in the "ordinary waj
I told the boys when school was called ths
this sort of rapid transit would have to stoj
Boys usually don't have much respect fc
the commands of a new master until the
find that he means what he says. At th
next recess I went to the foot of the stair!
to find out whether they proposed to obe
me or not. I found, as I expected, thatthe
didn't. When the lads came sailing dow
the banister I grasped each, as he flew pas
by the collar and swung him around int
the lower passage way and stood them uj
one by one, somewhat dazed by the whii
they got. It was lively work, for the suf
ply of the boys exceeded the demand. The
came from the upper regions with bewildei
ing rapidity and I had my hands full in e\
ery sense of the word, as I gathered them ir
At last the news spread that the master we
at the foot of the stairway, with a standin
invitation to all sliders, and the down-pou
of boys suddenly ceased. I wasjastabout t
turn my attention to the row of captive
when I heard the following conversation a
the head of the stairs:
"Don't. The master's down there."
"I don't care."
"He'll collar you."
"I'd like to see him do it. I'll give hii
a dig that'll double him up mighty quid
you bet. Like to see him collar me."
The latter speaker made no attempt t
conceal the fact that he didn't give a nan
for the new master.
I stood at the foot of the stairs and waite
for him. He threw his lesr over the banh
ter, and, spreading out his feet, launche
himself down toward me. A glanceshowe
me that I would be raked in the next m<
ment, and would be the laughing-stock (
the school; so I kicked the door shut an
stood aside. The big fellow, whose name
did not then know, came down like a whir
wind. The moment the door closed he trie
to fling himself off; but he was too lab
He shot against the door with with a thu
that made every window rattle, and fe
back in a heap on the floor.
I helped him up on his feet, assiste
by one of the boys, and he said, feebl;
that he guessed he would sit down for
little while. I let the row of culprits gi
and told them that an accident like thi
might happen at any moment if the do<
chanced to shut, and so after that we had r
more sliding down old Grime's cellar doo
It is seldom that a school-master has
hand to hand encounter with a pupil; y<
in the backwoods I have known such
thing to take place. I once was one of
party of five who undertook to thrash 01
school-master, who was a terribly sevei
man. He gave me the worst thrashing
ever received, and to this day I don't kno
what it was for. However, thrashing ne1
er went amiss with me at that time. I a
ways deserved it, and this one I mere!
placed to account, knowing there was sti
a large balance coming to me. But as
was saying, five of us agreed to climb c
the teacher at a lonesome place about half
mile from the school where he couldn't ci
for help. We climbed. But alas! it wi
not the teacher who had to cry for hel]
He thrashed all five of us. He had got s
accustomed to thrashing boys that he seen
ed to do it quite from the force of habit.
The school-boy of my day was a bor
fighter. Every new boy had to fight h
way to his place among the boys. I ha\
fought, when I went to a new school as
pupil, with good-natured fellow who ha]
nptinil to he the ehamnions. who had in
the slightest ill-will toward me, nor I 1
them. But school etiquette demanded tin
we should fight, and we did. I don't suj
pose this occurs to any extent in tow
schools, hut, no doubt, it does in the com
try, where a hollow behind the school-hous
or a piece of woods down the road offers
secure fighting ground. Little the teacln
will know of these combats if there is
stream near by where the victor and vai
?uished can wash their bloody noses, as a
tost Londoner would say. 1 was alwaj
a coward, and never took kindly to tho;
fellows "whose fist was ever ready for
knock down blow." The boys of that fi
off time had no idea of the rules of the rinj
They fought in a savage, rough and tumb
way, and when one got the other down
was considered no dishonor to pound awa
at him till he cried "enough." At this cr
the boys generally pulled the upper savag
off if he didn't quit.
One day a tramp circus man taught lr
some valuable wrestling tricks. My favo
ite was a hip-lock, which invariabl
brought to earth the opposite party. Th
beauty of it was that wnen once you raise
your opponent off his feet you could lay hii
out in almost any style you chose. He wt
perfectly helpless, despite his struggles, tf
moment you got him in the air, and the
it was delightful after literally keeping hii
in suspense to lay him flat on the groun
in any particular style that fancy suggeste<
This point, however, was not lasting for tf
boys after tumbling to it in various attitudi
generally "tumbled to it," as the slan
phrase has it, and then its usefulness was s
an end. Still it was always a wonderful a
complishment in a new school, and on se1
eral occasions, although I was a terrib
coward, I gained a victory over my oppi
nent by clinching and hip-locking him an
then pummeling him in such rapid succe
sion that the fight was over before 1
4.1 4. : 4. uA,i
lllUUgl illlilU UC^UII.
Although boys will fight like tigers amor
themselves, it is rare that one of them sun
mons up courage enough to attack the
common enemy, the teacher. Only once i
my varied experience as a schoolmaster di
a boy set out to thrash me, and that occ:
sion I shall never forget?and I don't su]
pose he will either.
I taught a wild school in a backwoot
district one winter when physically, I wj
scarcely able to teach. 1 had had a sevei
illness and was back at my desk again befoi
I had fully recovered my strength. I ha\
often been pained to observe that theave
age boy has little consideration for tl
weak, and my school seemed to think tin
because I wasn't able to give them the
regular rations of birch they might d
pretty much as they pleased?and they di<
One day I felt that my control of the schoc
was gone. The noise that I was unable I
quell kind of dazed me, as I sat there loelin
completely ill and helpless. I felt that I ha
netter resign ana get into u suw-hjiu ui
boiler maker's shop, or some such occnpi
tion, that was quieter and more soothin
than the one 1 was in. All at once tl
noise ceased and on looking up I saw ths
Bill Trinimins, the biggest and worst bo
in school, was sitting on a desk with h
feet on the seat he ought to have sat 01
This was a direct defiance of authority tin
could not be ignored. Bill was the only sc
of his father, and Old Man Trimmins ha
no more control over him than I had. Bi
could have thrashed me quite easily, an
I knew it.
"William," I said, somewhat wearil;
"would you oblige me by sitting down c
the seat."
"Thank you," said Bill, "I'm quite con
fortable where I am."
There was a titter around the room i
this remark, which was doubtless conside
ed the very choicest of wit.
"William," I said, rising, "f will have 1
punish you if you don't take your seat as
you ought."
He grinned at this absurdity and said: c]
"Well, I guess you never had a better
a chance." XJ
f. I walked to where he sat in his elevated
n seat. tj
t "Hold out your hand." a
e He laughed. p
n I struck him a smart rap over the knuck- ^
r les with the ruler. This so enraged him g(
that he threw down his slate, jumped into g(
I the aisle, and with an oath tiling off his e
if coat. I retreated back to the desk and he p
i- followed. With all his bravado he was |j
j, afraid to hit me a square blow which would
t. have settled the matter there and then. a
L He was not afraid of me personally, but I |,
n represented, in a way, the authority of the j,
it district?was the embodiment, as it were, 0
n of law and order, and that indefinable some- n
g thing he was just enough afraid of to hesi- j
is tate about striking, so ne clinched rae in- j,
r. stead. Of course I quite agree with you (
it that there could not be a more demoralizing {
i. sight for a school to see than a fight between *j
>r teacher and pupil, but there it was, and I t
y had not time to see my way cleverly out of j
e it. Events had followed each other too rap- t
3, i<Uy- d
y The moment Bill clinched, as they called c
y it, I felt he had made a mistake. Old mem- j
n ories of bygone fights rose up, and as they n
t, rose I elevated William ou my hip and d
o dropped him chattering on the floor, much d
), to his own astonishment and that of the t
rl school. o
)- "Rise up William," I said, "and hold out s
y your hand." a
r- He sprang to his feet and cried: "You 0
r- just try that again." b
i. Once more we clinched, once more he c
is lost his feet and once more he lay on the t
g floor. t
ir "There, I have accommodatedyou. Now j
o oblige me by getting up and holding out 0
?s your hand." i
it This time he tried to strike me but I n
dodged that, clasped him lovingly again, h
and flung him at full length. He evident- v
ly regretted that he had taken off his coat, h
for the floor was hard. He made lor the f
n door but lost time by going around for his a
t, discarded coat. I reached the door first, g
locked it and put the key in my pocket, g
0 Some of the girls had begun to cry, and all t
g the boys sat breathless. Bill looked flur- j,
ried and somewhat the worse for wear. a
d "Hold out your hand, William," I said, t
3- as he approached. To my astonisnment he t
d held out his hand, and he instantly thrust a
d it further and took me around the body, a
)- completely to my surprise. He raised me i
)f from the floor and only a grapevine twist c
d around his leg saved me. We surged back t
1 and forth a moment, till I got my feet on a
1- the floor and instantly I had him on the ?
d hip once more. I felt my strength rapidly c
3. leaving me, so with a final supreme effort I c
d flung him without mercy on the hard floor, r
11 and there he lay while I leaned panting c
against the wall. As he showed no signs of i
d getting up, I took a dipper from the pail r
y, which always stands near the door in ,a f
a country school-house and threw the cold j
3, water in his face. f
at He raised himself and leaned with one i
ar hand on the floor, dying Gladiator fashion, x
io and seemed to be at a loss to know just
r. where the discussion had left oft'. I helped
a him collect his ideas by saying: 1
et "William, get up and hold out your 1
a hand." - 1
a He rose somewhat painfully, as Ilip Van '
ir Winkle did after he overslept himself, and, ]
dusting off his clothes, he held out his hand i
* rathersheepishly. I hadn't strength enough s
w left to thrash him if I wanted to. I said: <
frv whin o hifiP hnv ll'Vp VOll. I 1
' jl uuu i VYaut iv ?yiup u uig mvj ^
You know what you ought to do as well as
y I can tell you. If you goto your seat I'll
say no more about it. I'll let you off easy
1 this time."
10 He felt dubiously of the back of his head
a to see if it was in place, said "thank you,"
"y with a grim grin and went to his seat.
ls When I got back to my desk the whole
P* school seemed to whirl round and round and
30 I felt the ringing in my ears that a person
feels when sinking in the water. However,
I came to the surface all right, and when
'.n the school-house became stable once more I
,s noticed that the pupils were more indus'e
triously attending to their lessons.
tt Such was the intellectual status of that
P" neighborhood that I received more congratulations
for my little debate with Bill Trimto
mins than for all the brilliant educating I
lt did for two years after.?Detroit Free Press.
> t t ,
n Geokge Washington.?The following
is a summary of the character ascribed to
Washington in McMaster's History of the
* People of the United States:
He died in his sixty-eighth year, and in
the heyday of his glory and his fame. Time
" has since dealt gently with his memory,
and he had come down to us as the greatest
'.p of all leaders and the most immaculate of
all men. No other face is so familiar to us.
His name is written all over the map of
J, our country. We have made of his birth?
day a national feast. The outlines of his
it biography are known to every school-boy
" in the land. Yet his true biography is still
to be prepared. General Washington is
f known to us, and President Washington.
' But George Washington is an unknown
man. When at last he is set before us in
' the habit as he lived, we shall read less of
' cherry-tree and more of the man. Naught
y surely that is heroic will be omitted, but
' j side by side with what is heroic will appear
^ much that is commonplace. We shall behr>i<i
rrrout. pnmmnndpr renairincr defeat
? with marvelous celerity, healing the diasen- t
"r sions of his ofiicers, and calming the pas- r
? sions of mutinous troops. But we shall also 1
j hear his oaths; and see him in those out
bursts of passion to which Mr. Jefferson has
* alluded, and of which Mr. Lear has de- t
ag scribed. We shall see him refusing to be c
" paid for his services by congress, yet exA
acting from the family of the poor mason l
_ the shilling that was his due. We shall
know him as the cold and forbidding char- {
.J acter with whom no fellowman ever ventured
to live on close and lamiliar terms, i
J We shall respect and honor him for being, j
1 not the greatest of generals, not the wisest i
" of statesmen, not the most saintly of his j
race, but a man with many human frailties
and much common sense, who rose in the
? fulness of time to be the political deliverer '
~ of our country.?The American. ?
in 1
id Increase of Negroes.?At the session 1
of the Presbyterian General Assembly^ (
0. Itev. Dr. Allen, secretary of the Freed- 1
man's Aid Society, made a strong speech c
js following the presentation of the report of I
ls the society. To illustrate his remarks he (
re had hungon the wall, back of the platform, c
re a map twenty feet long by twelve feet wide, s
rQ showing the ratio of black to white popula- N
r. tion in the Southern States. It was a very c
ie startling map, and when explained by the j*
xt earnest speaker, made a strong and lasting 1
jr impression. Here are a few of his signili- c
l0 cant facts: Twenty years ago, at the close 1
1 of the war, there were in the Southern r
u States 3,947,000 colored people, and now
q there are more than 7,000,000. Then there a
itr were in Mississippi 220,000 negroes, now t
(1 050,000. Then there was in South Carolina (
a 400,000, now more than 000,000. Five hun- f
j. dred colored babies are born in the United ?
ig States every day. The colored population c
,e in the United States doubles every twenty e
vt years; the white population only once in s
,y thirty-five years. Eight years will not have t'j
is passed before the negroes will be in nu- t
lt merical majority in some of the Southern | t
States. At the present rate of increase, in
in 1985 there will be 70,000,000 white people in
J the United States and 192,000,000 colored (
11 people. c
id The day is not far distant when it will be t
a physical impossibility to continue thepres- t
y, ent disfranchisement of the colored people of 2
m the Southern States. In South Carolina he \
has bought and paid for 270,000 acres of land 1
l- which he cultivates. In the South he pays r
taxes on more than ?91,000,000 worth of c
it property. lie is editing, printing and pub- i
r- lishing 100 newspapers, and yet of the 7,- c
000,000 colored people of this country more f
to than G.0(M),000 cannot read nor write.' t
ALWAYS 191 lJAJULK Ut tlNG.
No one who is unacquanted with the
liaracter of an oil-producing, storing, and
ansporting district, writes a Warren,
'ennsylvania, correspondent of the New
'ork &??, can form any notion of the scene
lat is presented when the fire breaks out
nd gets beyond control in such a district,
'orest fires and lightning are the most
readed agents of destruction, but there are
d many other latent forces which may as?rt
themselves at any moment, and wrap
ntire communities in flame, that life and
roperty in the oil regions may be said to
ang upon the slightest tenure.
The oil wells are all flowing over, and
re pouring forth, by day and night, cease?ss
streams of material not only highly
nflammable itself, but from which gases
f a most deadly explosive and comoustiDie
ature are generated. Tanks holding from
,000 to 30,000 barrels of petroleum are thicker
grouped in every producing district, and
rom and to them the oil is constantly
ouring through networks of pipes in all
lirections through the field. The ground,
he buildings, the trees and all surroundngs
are literally saturated with crude peroleum.
The puddles in the road are
lepths of oil, or water thickly coated with
iil. The physical character of the country
n which petroleum is found in Pennsylvalia
is sucn that every district is cut up by
[eep ravines or gulleys, and the wells are
[rilled not only on every available rod in
he valleys, but they climb the rugged sides
f the steep and lofty hills to their very
ummits. Jlapid streams course the valleys
nd tumble down the mountain sides. The
il towns are compact collections of frame
mildings, constructed without regard to
ontiguity of the wells. Derricks rise from
he very door-yards, in the streets, and
ower above the buildings on every side.
Ground about in this mass of inflammable
il wells and tanks, oil-saturated surroundngsand
tinder-box buildings, railroad loconotives
scatter showers of sparks almost
lourly. Natural gas is conducted from gas
/ells in all directions, and is used in all the
louses for light and fuel, at the oil wells for
el, and leaps in pillars of flame into the
ir from pipes set here and there in the
round in all parts of the region. Nitroglycerine
factories are numerous in all disricts,
and the dangerous explosive is stored
n magazines at many convenient points,
nd is "transported daily in wagons througn
he field for use wherever it is needed at
he wells. The falling of a live spark from
, locomotive, the premature explosion of
, nitro glycerine torpedo, the careless or
mprudent lighting of the natural gas in
?ne of the combustible houses, is sufficient
o turn the whole community for miles
.round into a sea of flame in an incredibly
hort time. Thus at Hew city, a leading
til town in the Bradford field, a torpedo
txploded one day, and in five hours the ten
niles of territory was swept by fire. Not a
lerrick out of the three hundred that were
n the district was left standing, and for
lays three hundred leaping fountains of
lame, fed by the oil spouting from the wells,
tresented such a spectacle as few people
iver witnessed. Three hundred thousand
rnrrels of oil in tanks were destroyed, and
lot a building was left in Hew city.
The Wheaten Loaf.?Good wheat
Dread and butter is the staff of civilized
ife. Take away wheat bread and butter
"rom our families for a few generations, and
vho is prepared to say that civilization
vould not glide easily to a state of barbarism?
There is sound philosophy in this
suggestion; because there is no other kind
if human food that is so admirably adapted
;o the development of the human frame,
including a noble brain, as good wheat
Dread. Civilization has seemed to keep
pace with the production of wheat, and
refined society tne world over has seemed
:o exist coveal with the wheaten loaf.
We find the lowest order of intelligences
standing on a potato. Only one step above
;his class, another order is found on a hoerake.
One degree above this we meet with
;he class that has risen in the scale of being
is high as it is possible for mortals to rise on
i pan-cake. Head and shoulders above all
;hese classes we find the highest order of in;elligences,
with large and well-developed
Drains and noble characters, standing serurely
on their wheaten loaf. No other
'ood can excel the wheaten loaf, because it
"urnishes more and better material for the
luman brain than any other food? The
Cook.
A Chinese Farm.?The Chinese farmlouse
is a curious looking abode. Uusualy
it is sheltered with groves of feathery
jamboo and thick-spreading banyans. The
,vails are of clay or wood, and the interior
)f the house consists of one main room, exending
from the floor to the tiled roof,
,vith closet-cooking apartments in the cor- ,
aers for sleeping rooms. There is a sliding
viudow on the roof, made of cut oyster
ihells arranged in rows, while the side winlows
are mere wooden shutters. The floor
s the bare earth, where at nightfall there
)ften gathers together a miscellaneous famly
of dirty children, fowls, ducks, pigeons,
md a litter of pigs, all living together in
lelightful harmony. In some districts infested
by marauding bands houses are
itrongly fortified by high walls, containing
ipertures for firearms, and protected by a
noat, crossed by a rude drawbridge.
? ? ?
The Rules of Elizabeth Fry.?The
ollowing rules for the guidance of life are
)y the celebrated Mrs. Fry:
Never lose any time. I do not consider
hat lost which is spent in amusement or
ecreation every day ; but always be in the
labit of being employed.
Never err the least in truth.
Never say an ill thing of a person when
hou canst say a good thing of him. Not
>nly speak charitably, but feel so.
Never be irritable or unkind to anybody.
Never indulge thyself in luxuries that
ire not necessary.
Do all things with consideration, and
,vhen thy path to act right is most difficult,
>ut confidence in that Power alone which
s able to assist thee, and exert thine own
lowers as far as they go.
Sleep.?"Blessings," exclaimed Sancho,
'on him that first invented sleep. It wraps
i man all round like a cloak." It is a deicious
moment certainly?that of being well
lestled in bed, and feeling that you shall
Iron srentlv to sleep. The good is to come,
lot past ;~the limbs have been just tired
mough to render the remaining in one
Histure delightful; the labor of the day is
lone. A gentle failure of the perceptions
tome creeping over one?the .spirit of conciousness
disengages itself more and more,
vith slow and hushing degrees, likeamoth r
detaching her hand from that of her
leeping child; the mind seems to have a
>almy lid closing over it like the eye; 'tis
losing?'tis more closing?'tis closed. The
nysterious spirit has gone to make its airy
ounds.?Leigh Hunt.
A Twklve-Foot Straight-Edge.?An
tbsolutely exact straight-edge of more than
hirty-six inches is a wonder of mechanism.
)ne 'of six feet was not recently believed
>ossible, although several had been made
?n different plans of' web-like and truss
onstruction. It has been claimed, however,
that almost absolute exactness had been
ecured by a straight-edge twelve feet long,
["he appliance looks like an arched truss,
he highest spring of the arch being only
wenty inches in a length of twelve feet.?
BSaT "Under certain conditions," says the
Jermantown Telegraph, "the force which
generates heat will also generate light, elecricity,
and even sound. So the powers of
he mind are convertible into each qyther.
dental drill and discipline gained in one
vay will avail us in a hundred other ways,
vnowledge in one direction has intimate
elations with all other knowledge. Powsr
developed and exercised in one sphere is
eady for use in another; and he who has
Irawn it from many sources will be best
itted to put it forth in his chosen vocaion."