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The Recorder. BY DRAYTON & McCRACKEN, AIKEN, S. C., TUESDAY, APRIL 11, 1882. VOL. I. NO. 26. In Future. It seems to me the bad of expectation Baa not yet swollen to the perfect flower That with its wondroTs exhalation The world of faith will dower. . The lamps we light are bat the stars of promise The faintest reflex of a distant sun That wakes an eager salutation from ns ’Till nobler heights are won. The past was bat the preface of the story In which the romance of our lives is wrought; The deeds that win imperishable glory Live scarcely in our thought. Whate’er we do falls short of our intending; The structure lacks the beauty we design; And tortured angels, to their home ascending, Depart and leave no sign. Ry a.l the doubts and trials that so vex us, By all the falls and failures that annoy, By all the strange delusions that perpiex ns, And yield no fruits of joy. Wo know that unto mortals is not given The btrength of knowledge (hat is yet in store lor us, ere yet wc* walk the streets of heaven, And dream of heaven no more. The hear of earth lias secrets yet witholden. That wait the dawning of some future day, * When angel hands from sepulchre so golden Shall roll the stone away. Man has not touched the zenith of creation; The godlike thought that filled Jehovah’s mind lias had in Him but feeble revelation, Uncertain, undefined. The days uluren time reache* its fruition, •With moments wtiahted with no vain regret, Ibose days of which the soul has sweet pro vision, Di*. ,v nigh, but are not yet. —JusephinePollard. £ THE QUAKER ARTIST. " I toll tboo now, Richard, that thee’ll never get a cent of my money if thee keeps on with this devil’s work.” The speaker v. as Friend Joseph Har ris, and he held ut arm’s length a small picture in water colors, the features of which \v*. re hardly discernible in the gloom of the winter morning. Friend Joseph hud been ut the barn, as was his custom, to fodder the cattle and feed the horses before break fat t, and had •iiscoverfd this humble bit of art in a Book in the granary. He did not have to bo -told that it was bis eon Richard’s work, whose inclination to such ungodly pursuits had been the distress of his parents’ lives. Full of suppressed wrath Joseph burst into the kitchen where the family were waiting breakfast, and without preface t d 1 ressed his sou with the threat which ho considered the most dreadful he could use—ibat of disinheritance. It meant something, too, for in spite of his plain surroundings Joseph Harris owned nearly two hundred a-res of land wortn ft hundred towl •jollatf' id his’visits to tho county town o_, the first of April of each year were not to pay interest but to receive it. A 1*11, straight figure, ho was nearing sixty years of ago, bat as vigorous as a -outb, with quick motions and sharp 'lack eyes, indicating a violent nature chained for life by the strict discipline of the Society of Friend3. His sen Richard, now turned of twen ty two, was of a different mold, short and stoutly bui:t. His face at first sight seemed heavy and vacant, but this was in fact the abstraction of the dreamer. His soft brown eyes, and hair clustering in thick curls over his low but broad forehead, made amends for his somewhat commonplace feat ures. The moment his father entered the kitchen Richard felt th-t his secret labor had been discovered, but his anxiety was more for it than for him- fcelf. He rarely dared face his father’s anger, for Joseph Harris, like many of his sect, made up in severity at home lor the smooth and passionless exterior he maintained abroad. • “ Will thee give it to me, father?” Slid Richard, advancing toward the outstretched hand which held the sketch, while the hand’s owner contem plated it with unspeakable disgust. Poor little painting ! It was a frag ment of an autumn afternoon, during which Richard had been husking corn in “the hill field” and which had abided in his memory clothed with tho halo of a hundred day-dreams. There was a corner of a woods, the foliage half green, half shading into tints of brown and red. A rivulet leaving a piece of meadow still pay with autumn flow ers and green with late grass, flowed rippling and sparkling ont of tho sun light into the shade of the dying leaves. What courage and hope it must have! Richard followed in thought its waters as they flowed on to Chester creek and then to tho stately Delaware river, and far out till they met the mighty ocean which washes tho shores of all the world. And as;ho mechanically plunged his husking knife into the shucks and turned ont tho gokleu ears one after the other, he humbly took this lesson to himself, as was hia wont, and said: “I, too, must have more courage, firmer Lope. Why should net I go tor- ward in my study of art with greater faith ? I must, 1 will.” And to fasten the vow he had painted two studies of this little piece of meadow as a constant reminder, snatching the time on First days and Fifth days, when his father and mother were at meeting, and he and Mose Riddle, the colored man, were left to look after the stick. One copy he had sent on a venture to a com mission house in New York, tho other he had hidden in the barn. It had acquired a kind of sanctity to him, and each tree had become a sym bol of some rebuff or danger he was fated to encounter in his future life. He had, moreover, described it to Sib- billa Vernon, and bad promised this sole confidante of bis aspirations that he would bring it over some time and let her see it. But Sibbilla lived two miles away, and as her parents were also strict members of meeting, who regarded every work of art os profanity, this would have to K< managed with due caution. Richard’s first impulse, therefore, was to secure the picture. But his father had a double cause of displeas ure, and his anger was deep. He had agreed to give Richard a fourth share iu the profits of the farm this year, and not only was this painting business an ungodly amusement, but also a waste of precious time and a loss of mouey. It must be stopped. “ I’ll put it where it deserves to go, and where thee will follow unless thee turns thy steps from the world and its follies. But the fire that thou wilt meet will be that which is not quenched, and where the worn dieth not.” With these words, which Friend Harris spoke slowly and with that slight chanting intonation which char acterises the utterances of the speakers in meeting, the solemnity of which was further increased by the use of the formal “thou’’ instead of the usual “thee,’’ he stepped to the kitchen fireplace, where a goodly wood fire was burning under the crane, and striking the picture against the eoruer of the mantelpiece tore a rugged split through its center and threw the whole into the fiames. In a moment it was a shriveled cinder. There are ceitain natures whose in herent strength can only be developed by a violent shock. Full of latent power, their weakness comes from a native humility. They distrust themselves through a genuine admiration of others. Such was Richard Harris. But the necessary shock had come. He gazed a moment at the cinder, his face crim soned, but the severe discipline of the Society and the family exercised the sway that it usually does even on the very young among Friends. “ Father,” he said, in a low and even tone, “I repeat what I have often told thee; I have no light that there is evil in painting; but as thee thinks there is, I shall bid thee and mother farewell to-day, and seek employment else where. I shall not ask thee for any share in thy estate.” Taking his hat from the window-sill he passed out of the kitchen door, leav ing his father speechless with amaze ment at this rebellious utterance, and his mother—a poor weak woman, con stantly in misery between carrying out the severe rule of her husband whom she feared, and yielding to her tender ness for her boy whom she loved — wiping her tears without emitting any sound, either word or sob. As for his two sisters they sat demure and motion less through the whole scene, at heart rather pleased at it, as they had no sympathy with their brother’s taste for forbidden arts, and thought him a queer, wasteful, uncomfortable member of the household. Moreover, though younger than he, they were not too young to see at once the pecuniary advantage to them of his renunciation of his share of the estate. Richard went toward the barn and took a seat in a nook of the corn fodder stack that was built along the side of tho barnyard. He did not feel the cold raw air of the early morning. His mind was too full of the step he was about to take and what had led up to it. Now or never he must quit the farm, re nounce the teachings of the bociety, throw aside the coat with standing col lar and the quaint broad-brimmed black hat, give up tho plain language, reject the counsels of the venerable facers of meeting who would surely be appointed to visit him, and prove a recreant to ti e revered precepts of Fox and Barclay. bias for art. Why was ho born with it? Whence came it? Tbesa questions he had often asked himself. For six generations his ancestors had never touched a brush or palette; not a painting nor a statue nor a musical instrument nor any drama or work of fiction had been allowed in their houses How had he been created with a passion for color and form, with a love of poesy and music, which neither the dreary farm work nor tho colorless life, nor all tho frigid, deadening dis cipline of the Society could quench? Going back to his earliest memory ho could recall that when four jears old he was left for a few hours at the house of Mike Wallis, an Irish tenant on a neighboring farm, and that Mike’s wife had kept him in the utmost bliss by showing him a colored print of the Virgin and tho lufant, and telling him the pathetic history as it had pictured itsdlf in her warm Irish heart. But what was the horror of his parents next day when he toddled into the room when they were at dinner and called : “ Mudder, mudder, como see God.” His parents ran to the door to see what this strange appeal meant, and lo! there, on the floor of the front porch, chalked in rude but faithful outline?, were the Child, with rays of glory around his head, and the Mother, by his side, holding a cross. He could still recall the scowl that came over his father’s face aud his mother’s impetu ous rush for a bucket of water aud scrubbing-brush. Nor had he forgotten tho violent shake and immediate spank ing he himself received for his artistic endeavor. His memory leapt till he was a boy of ten, and to his intense delight at effecting a trade of a Barlow knife for a box of paints. Many an hour of joy had they given him, hiding himselt in the garret of the old house, in the back part of the hay mow near the dusty gable window, or in a little hut he ha d built in tbo woods. But bis prying little sister betrayed him one day, and not only was his treasure confiscated but be himself was tied to the bedpost by his mother and given such a whip ping as would have discouraged most youthful artists. Later in life, when he was too old for such vigorous measures, many lec tures had he received on the frivolity of such tastes and the wickedness of min istering to them. These scenes passing through his memory convinced him that it was vain to battle with such inflexible rules, and that to be free be must leave the farm and all its associations. There was but one which had really held him. This was Sibbilla Vernon. Tho daughter of rigid parents, her mother even a “ public friend,” whoso voice at monthly and quarterly meet ings was familiar to all members of the Society, Sibbilla was a not unusnal typo of the advanced thought of her sect. Calm, self-possessed, clear-headed, she had announced when but fifteen to her family that her own conscience was her guide, and that in ail essential matters she should follow it. From childhood she and Richard Harris had delighted to play and talk together; and though uo word of love, no kiss and no caress had ever passed between them, both their families and themselves considered their union merely a matter of time and money. Not did this absence of the nsnal pas sages of love seem to any one concerned a strange circumstance. They were accustomed to the repression of all ontward show of feeling. In neither household had the children ever seen a kiss exchanged among its members, young or old. Thongh devoid of any passion for art herself, Sibbilla understood and re spected the forbidden tastes of her lover. She looked upon His peculiar abilities as gifts of God for use in life, »sd she quietly but firmly put aside the traditions of her sect, which condemn them indiscriminately. “Wilt thou presume to deny the many testimonies of Friends, both in England and America, against these sinfnl arts ?” her mother wonld ask ; being a “ public friend ” of considera ble local fame she never employed the incorrect nominative “thee,” even in family life. “ Mother,” replied the daughter, “ they spoke for their day. I must act in mine by the light I have, not by theirs.” Her mother wisely avoided argument, trusting that the Spirit wonld enlighten her daughter in time. Leaving the fodder stack Richard wilfecd across the bare fields toward tho plain brick house which was Sib- billa’s home. His mind was made up. Ho would go to New York and devote himself to the study of art. He had saved since his majority about three hundred dollars. He had youth, strength, talent, love—was not that enough? Would Sibbilla approve of it? Would she make tho serious sacri fice it involved ? As he approached the house it was about 10 o’clock, and all the males were out at work. He knocked at the front door, instead of the side door as usual, and Sibbilla herself opened it and gazed at him with considerable surprise in her hazel eyes, quickly changing, to an expression of pleasure, which Rich ard did not tail to note, and which filled him with both joy and anxiety. “ Why, Richard, what brings thee here at this Lour ?” was her exclama tion. “Sibbilla,” he said, “I wish to see thee," and stepping in he closed the door, and they both stood in the wide hall, obscurely lighted by the transoms at each end. He paused a moment to re cover his control, and then spoke in a low, vibrating tone: “ I am going to leave tho farm in order to^tndy art. I shall have to give up my membership in the Society, as thee knows. Father says he will leave me nothing if I do, and I know thy mother agrees with him. But I am not afraid. All I ask is that thee approve of my decision and will become my wife as soon as I am able to offer thee a home." At that supreme moment of resolve all the strength which for generations had been nurtured by the noble Quaker theories of seR-reliance, all tho passion which for generations had been muffled and smothered under the narrow Quaker system of formality and repression, burst forth and were expressed in the face of Sibbilla Yernon. She seemed to rise in stature, and looking him fall in the ejes, laying one hand on his arm and passing the other round his neck, she said: “ Richard, I will come to thee then, or I will go with thee now.” The tone was low and the words with uht ha&rarPM hMEho llcaru it ffelr Ui his inmost soul that no oath could be stronger. “ Thank God and thee,” he uttered, and for the first time in their lives each felt the magic meaning of a kiss of love. Seated on the wooden “settee,” which is the common furniture of the country hall, he told her his father’s words and action and his own unaltera ble determination to seek his future in art. It was agreed that they should be married by a magistrate as soon as Rich ard should have an income of seven hundred dollars a year. Full of quiet joy he went home, an nounced his intended marriage and im- ’ttediate departure, packed his trunk, aud told Mose to have the dearborn ready at 6 o’clock in the evening to take him to the station. After the 5 o’clock supper the members of the family maintaine i almost entire silence, his molhor quietly crying, his father reading the “Book of Discipline,” his favorite literature. The dearborn drove up with Mose, who had been to the station with tho milk, and stopping at tho country store, which was also the postoffice, had brought a letter for Richard. It was rather unusual for any member of the household to receive a letter, therefore Mose announced it with considerable emphasis, addressing his master by his first name as is the enstom in strict families: “ Joseph, by’nr’s a letter for Rich ard. Hiram sez it’s a letter from York, and ’pears as if it mout be on bizness.” Joseph took the letter, and resisting a strong inclination to open it passed it to his son. It was from the firm in New York to whom he had sent a copy of his picture, and it read: New York, January 18, . Dear Sib: We have the gratification of informing y on that the study you sent us on sale has attracted the atten tion of one of our patrons, to whom we have parted with it for §500. Deduct ing comm., stor’ge, insur’ce, del’y, etc., as per inclosed statement, leaves a net bal. of 8372 G2, for which find our c’k herewith. You mention a duplicate of the study yet in your possesion. We will take that at the same figure, cash on deliv ery, aud will give you an order for five more studies to bo completed withiu a year. Respectfully, Smiles, Wiles & Co. As he read this letter the check foil from his hand on the table. The sight of the colored and stamped paper was too much for his father. Glancing at tho large amount, as much as he received for the best wheat crop his farm could raise, he snatched the letter from his son's hand and eagerly read it. Richard stood by in silence. “ What does he mean by the dupli cate study ?’’ said his father, in an un certain voice. “ He means,” said Richard, quietly “ the picture you threw in the fire this morning.” A new light dawned on his father’s mind. So long as his son’s taste seemed nothing but a time-and-money-wasting form of idleness it had no redeeming fea- nres; but Ahe incredible fact that there were people willing to pay hundreds of dollars apiece for such vain images now stood right before him. He was too shrewd to misunderstand it and its re sults. “Richard,” he said, with a softened- voice, “I desire that thee would post pone leaving us for a few days. Thy mother and I will accompany thee to the city, and will be present at the cer- mony. * I think Sibbilla’s parents will also not refuse to attend.” As he went ont he said to Mose, who was waiting with the dearborn : “ Mose, thee shonld always be slow to anger, and avoid the committal of rash actions when out of temper.”—Our Con tinent, ® FOR THE LADIES. Mrs. A. T. Stewart. Mrs. Stewart has passed seven years of widowhood, and during this timr has occupied the most spacious house ever built in the Fifth avenue—previous to the Vanderbilt palace. She lives here entirely alone with the sole exception of her housekeeper, a half-dozen sett vants and the coachman. The estab lishment is kept closed, and in appear ance, at least, is one of the loneliest places in the city. The palatial struo - ture stands back from the street at least thirty feet, for Stewart’s taste required a display of retirement: Viewed iu front the immenaa a*—«*w BCClfir. consecrated to silence. The enrtains are down aud the broad porch which graces Thirty-fourth street is seldom entered till evening. In fact the enormous building noa- suggests the idea of a mau soleum. What is to become of it? This is a very interesting question. Its oc cupant is old and cannot last long, an \ hence the place is peculiarly liable to the law of mutation. Mrs. Stevart sel dom leaves the building, but the ser vants can easily step out by the rear gate, for they never use tho grand en trance. Judge Hilton and Mr. Libby often makes calls and Dr. Maroy is oc casionally in, but these exceptions hardly break the long reign of silence. The first floor contains the receiving- room, drawing-room, dining-room aud picture gallery. The ceilings are eight een feet high, except the last mentioned, which is nearly forty. The furniture is elegant beyond description. Ascend ing a marble staircase tho library Is reached and also the Stewart bedroooi and apartments for guests, all gor geously furnished. Think of so grand an establishment being solely occupied by a widow and her servants. This palace, like most structures of the kind, is highly inconvenient. One wonld think, indeed, that it was built more for appearance than for com fen The latter, however, is rarely consid ered in the domestic architecture of a great city. Had Stewart been disposed to make a spacious and accommodating house he could easily have accom plished his object, but what would the world say ? The determination to excel that gone before him led to the con st luction of this showy but inconveii- ent place. Readers, think of that feeble old lady being obliged to make the as cent of thirty-six steps (each six inches) in order to reach the family bedroom.— New Yorfc Letter. The tiqtift / “peculiar first pre- Fasblon Notes. Ribbons grow wider. Shot silks are revived. New cheviot mantles are short. Rhadames silk is very popular. Jtat’s-tail chenille is a new fringe. Wh.’U o«ago-»« Satin stuffs are in their decoder Soft gros grain trims spring bonn English silks have come into fashii Short skirts are plaited from to toe. Lace frills are used inside of poke bonnets. Sunflowers are embroidered on new parasols. Linen guipure lace, like Macrame, is new for millinery. Pom-pon passementeries trim satin dresses handsomely. Cloth shoes to match cloth dresses have patent leather foxiug. Puffs of satin and crepe lisse are worn around the neck and wrists. Bayadere stripes are imported for trimming self-colored dresses. Many more straw bunuets of dark colors are seen than of white or yellow tinted braids. Lengthwise tucks in the upper breadths of overskirts appear in many silk costumes. Embroidery bands edge the parts of many handsome costumes wherever a baud of trimming can be applied. Grenadine lace for trimming grena dines comes with designs to match the bro^he flowers of the grenadine. All blues, from porcelain and navy to gray blue or greyhound, and sky to water blue, are found in new veilings. Some of the open necks of new French corsages are cut in lyre shape in stead of square, or in Vandyke fashion. Rose is the favorite color for the solid- colored ginghams or zephyrs that come with open-work embroidery bands on tho selvages. Cotton sateen and light alpaca are frequently used by economical dress makers for tho foundation skirt of silk and veiling dresses. Plain, tight-fitting bodices, full panier or tabiier draperies, and much trimmed skirts are the rule for spring suits of light woolen stuffs. Very stylish spring walking costumes are snown, made of olive, gold and bronze chovoits, trimmed with facings and pipings cf Japanese red. Taking Loaf Photographs. A very pretty amusement, especially for those who have just completed the study of botany, is the taking of leaf photographs. One very simple process is this: At any druggist’s get au ounce of bichromate of potassium. Pat this into a pint-bottle of water. When the solution becomes saturated—that is, water has dissolved as much as it will —pour off some of the clear liquid into a shallow disu; in this float a piece of ordinary writing paper till it is thor oughly moistened. Let it become dry in the dark. It should be of a bright yellow. Oa this put the leaf—under it a piece of black, soft cloth and several sheets of newspaper. Pat these between two pieces of glass (all the pieces should be of the same size), and with spring clothespins fasten them together. Expose to a bright sun, placing the leaf so that the rays will fall as nearly perpendicular as possible. In a few moments it will begin to turn brown; but it requires from half an hour to several hours to produce a per fect print. When it has become dark enough take it from the frame and put it in clear water, which must be changed every few minutes until the yellow part becomes white. Some times the leaf veinings will be quite distinct. By following these directions it is scarcely possible to fail, and a little practice wifi make perfect. The total number of blast fnrqace and rolling mill establishments and atesl works in the United States was 808 in 1870 and 1,005 in 1880. The value of materials used was 8135.526,132 in 1870 and 8191,271,150 in 1880. The Baking Business, e baker comes down to us from an- tiqt\?ty and has always figured more or less prominently in sacred and profane history. Witness the conspicuous part played by Pharoah’s baker, and the ap pearance of the functionary in nursery Ipre in connection with the butcher aud the candle stick maker. The baker aud his cavernous oven belong to many land^ and many ages, but it was reserved for modem days to transform the industry from an enlargement of the domestic process into one of the branches of trade-employing labor-saving ma chinery. , Let us first inspect the cracker de partment. The cracker is a institution.” Tho dough is pared iu long troughs. It is then put into a “worm,” where a device which resembles a huge corkscrew turns and twists it, gives it its final kneading and forces it into a trough, from which it is passed through rollers and appears in a Idbg sheet, ready to be cut into crackers. This work is performed by a cutting machine, which by sliding the sheet of dough on a table under a die cuts out 720 crackers a minute. Theso are taken from the table on a flat woodoa shovel aud deposited in the oven, and the clip pings are thrown back into the dough trough. Gazing in at the mouth of tho oven wo see a spacious compartment which we are told measures twenty feet square and thirty feet deey. It is heated by a furnace in the basement of tho building. The oven contains eight shelves, nine feet long and three feet wide, arranged on a revolving frame and holding two and a half barrels of crackers. Eight minutes are required for the baking, aud as soon as one shelf is emptied it is filled again from the cutting table. The baked crackers are conveyed to bins in the upper story by an arrange ment somewhat similar to that by which grain is elevated. The backets empty the crackers into a bin where they are allowed to cool and fall into a recep tacle beneath, from which they are taken and packed. The packing ma chine is a curiously contrived device, and arranges the crackers in rows so as to greatly facilitate the work of the packer. About thirty-two barrels per day is the product of the establishment of which we speak. Let us pass to that part of the bakery where ginger snaps are made. Long, thin sheets of “snap” dough pass be neath a cutting machine, similar to that used for crackers, which punches out twelve snaps at a stroke or 864 per min ute! The cakes are then passed through steam and water to give them a glossy appearance, and are then placed in the oven, which has tables revolving hori zontally. One turn of the tables bakes the thin snaps, and two turns does the business for the thicker ones. The time taken to convert the dough into a baked Asm lailfll I per hoar, or 500,000 per 50,000 snaps day is the product. After all, bread is tho most import ant product of the baker. Here we see a revolving crank in an iron trough mixing ten barrels of flour in eight minutes. The bread is given four “risings,” and the weight of each loaf is ascertained before it passes to the oven. The number of loaves turned out every day is 3,100. About 500 loaves of brown bread are baked daily, some cooked by beat and some by steam, the latter process requiring six hours. Recovering from a Broken Neck. About five months ago, says a recent issue of the San Francisco Chronicle, the daily press published a short item re garding a teamster named John Oollery, who attempted to drive his team through a barn door, and in so doing bad his head forced down on his breast; until his neck was broken. Police Surgeon Stambaugh made an examination of the injured man and found that the seventh cervical vertebno was fractured, and that the spinal cord had been stretched nearly t wo inches. So serious was the in jury that the reporters, after chronicling the* incident under the head of fatal acci dents, paid no further attention to the matter, and failed to inquire after Col- lery’s condition, considering him dead and buried. A Chronicle reporter was therefore exceedingly surprised yester day afternoon to meet tho supposed corpse near the city prison looking re markably well for a man with a broken neck. In a conversation which ensued Mr. Collery stated that ho was almost as well as befoie the accident, a slight stiffness in his right side constituting his entire “ unhealthiness.” After his removal to his home Collery states ehat he was laid flat on his back with a sort of fence about his neck and head which kept him immovable for over two months. Both tho body of the vertebra) and the arching laminoe were discovered to be broken, and the operation of joining them together without pinching the spinal cord where it had sagged be tween the ragged edge is described as one of the most difficult ever performed. For a month the patient lay on his back, completely paralyzed in one- half of his body and with but little feeling in the other. If ho moved in the slightest degree during the first fort night he could plainly feel tho jagged edges of the bone grate together, and for hours after such an attempt ho was con tent to lie on his hard bed without at tempting to move a muscle for fear that the spinal cord should bo crushed and his existence ended in a twinkling. The straightest position attainable was re quired, and to this end Dr. Btambaugh was compelled to refuse him a mattress, forcing him to lie on a wide plank. Collery said that before his eight weeks of enforced quietness were ended he thought that Doard was made of ada mant. The most dangerous time ho experienced, he says, was one day when an attendant told him that a man whose neck could stand break ing as his had was not born to be hanged. His desire to laugh was irre sistible, and the shakiog up his merri ment gave him caused his fastenings to burst and the fracture came near being ruptured afresh. Daring the first five weeks he did not move over a foot from his first posture. The paralysis Las now almost entirely disappeared, and Dr. Stambaugh yesterday promised him that he would be able to go to work within six months. The average fatal ity in cases of clearly defined Iracture of the spine is estimated at 999 in 1,000. It is estimated that 325,090 cords of I wood will be cut in Vermont this year| for ndlxoad uses. EARTHQUAKES. Some at the Shocks that Have Vlsttq0 the . Western Hemisphere The last great earthquake which visited Central America was on March 19, 1873, when Sm Salvador was ut terly destroyed. That part of the world is peculiarly exposed to these convul- s'ons, but the disaster of 1873 was not so fatal as that just reported, for, though three successive shocks were felt, the inhabitants, warned by previous noises, were able to find places of safety, and only about 500 perished. Earth quakes have been so frequent in the Central American States that the In dians are accustomed to say that it is “the land that swings like a hammock.” The city of Caracas was entirelv de stroyed in fifty-six seconds on March 26, 1812. Quito, in Ecuador, was almost destroyed on March 22, 1859. In Peru, Caliao was destroyed in 1586, and the accompanying soa wave was ninety feet high. It was again destroyed in 1746. An earthquake which will bo readily recalled was that ol August 13 and 14, 1868, in which Avica suffered severely. The tidal wave carried a number of ships inland, among them the United States steamer “ Wateree.” A United States storeship was also lost by it. In Chili destructive earthquakes have oc curred. One in 1822 caused a perma nent elevation to au extent of from two to seven feet of fully 100,000 square miles of land lying between the Andes and tho coast. February 20, 1835, the city of Concepcion was destroyed for the fourth time; there were felt over 300 successive shocks withiu two weeks. April 2, 1851, a severe shock was felt at Santiago. In tbo United States have been many severe shocks. The most severe which ever visited the Eastern and Middle States was that of November 18, 1755. The shock felt in Now England was undoubtedly promulgated from either the same center which emanated the disturbance that had destroyed Lisbon on the first day of the month, when 60,000 persons perished in six minutes, or from a center whose activity had been stimulated by the continual quaking that then prevailed from Iceland to the Mediterranean. The earthquake of the 18th began in Massachusetts with a rearing noise like that of thunder. After a minute’s continuance of this there came a first severe shock with a swell like that of a rolling sea—a swell so great that men in the open fields ran to seize something by which to hold on lest they should be thrown down. After two or three lesser shocks then came the most violent of all, pro ducing a quick horizontal tremor with sudden jerks aud wrenches; this con tinued two minutes, and after a short revival died away. Numerous other shocks followed in the course of a month. In Boston many buildings vpmnt .... —w wr shape. Oa October 19, 1870, occurred the most considerable shock that has been observed in the Middle and East ern States during the present century. The source of this disturbance has been traced, with some probability, to the volcanic region fifty to 100 miles north east of Qaebcc. From this region the shock spread to St. Johns, N. B., and thence was felt westward to Chicago and southward to New York. The velocity of the wave or shock was about 14,000 feet per second. The occurrence of the shock felt at Quebec was telegraphed to Montreal by tho operators of the Montreal Telegraph company in time to call the attention of those at the latter city to the phe nomena, about thirty second) before the shock reached them. In California the earthquake of 1852 destroyed one'of the Southern missions. That of March 26, 1872. was the most severe that has occurred there during many years. Special damage was done in San Fran cisco by the cracking of the walls of fine public buildings. Iu Nevada the mining regions suffered in 1871 by the destruction of Lone Pine and other settlements. Hair Turning White in a Single Night. About fifteen years ago a young man named Henry Richards, who lived at Terre Haute, Ind., was going home one eveving about dark from a visit to a friend, aud was walking along the rail road track. Some little distance from town was a very high trestlework over a creek, there being no planks placed across for walking, so that people had to go over on tho ties. Richards was walking along at a lively rate, and when he arrived at the bridge he did not stop to think that a train coming in was then due, but, be ing in a hurry to get home, he started to walk across on the crossties. Ho had gotten nearly half way across the bridge when the train came slipping around a curve at a lively rate. He saw the train at once and started to run, but saw that it was useless as it would cer tainly overtake him before he could get off the bridge. He was now in a terrible plight. To jump off was ceitain death, and if ho remained on the track the train would crush him to pieces. There was no woodwork beneath the bridge for him to hang on to, so he saw that his only chance was to swing on to a small iron rod that passed under the crossties. No time was to be lost, as the train was nearly on tho end of the bridge. So he swung himself under the ties, and in a few moments was hanging on for dear life. The engineer had seen him just before he swung under the bridge, and tried to stop the train, but did more harm than good, as ho only succeeded in checking the speed of the train and made it a longer time in passing over the form of Rickards. As the engine passed over the coals of fire from the ashpan dropped on his hands, burning the flesh to the bone, as he could not shake them off, and to let go would have been ceitain death. The trial was at length over, and, nearly dead from fright and exhaustion, with his hands burned in a terrible manner, Richards swung himself upon the bridge again aud ran home. When he reached there his hair had not turned, but in a short time afterward it began to get gr »y, and by morning it was almost perfectly white.—Louisville The Tame Alligator. •• You see that item in one of the papers abont taming young alligators, I reckon,” said the Gravesend man, capturing the city editor by the button hole and drawing him into the door way. “ You know the paper said it was a fashionable thing to do.” “ I don’t remember. Perhaps I did. "What of it ?’’ asked tho city editor. “ I tried it,” said the Gfrisjpsend man. “A friend of mine brought me one from Now Orleans, and Pm taming that aUigator for the children to play with.” “ How dees the experiment come along,” asked the city editor. “I don’t know abont the experiment; the alligator is thrivin’. Ho was six weeks’ old when I got him two months ftgo.and he is seven years old now. People in our patts say he’s all the al ligator I’ll ever need.” “ What does he do ?” “ Well, it’s here. When he came he was a sportive little cuss and just wab bled around friendly. He was chiefly mouth, and we used to feed him for the fun of seein’ him eat. Now we skin around when we see him cornin’ for the fun of seein’ him go hungry.” “Is he dangerous?” asked the city editor. “ I haven’t been close enough to see. Ho eat up my dog, aud when 1 left this mornin’ he was in the sty arguin’ t io question of pork as a diet with the pig. My wife thinks if the pig has any luck he will find the cow we lost.” “Better get rid of him, hadn’t yon ? ’ suggested the city editor. “ I don’t know,” said the Gravesend man. “We’ve stored so much away in him now that it se’erhs like givin’ up most of our property, and my eldest girl says she can’t hear of havin’ her leg go ont among strangers.” “ Did he bite her leg off?” demanded the horrified city editor. “Sure,” responded the Gravesend man. “ Took it off short! Then here’s the baby. We hate to part with the baby’s grave, so we try and keep the alligator along. My wife insists on keepin’ him, ’cause she thinks she saw a couple o’ peddlers go in oue day, packs and all, and she’s got au idea the packs may come to the front again if we hold on. Besides, she seen that item about tame alligators being fash- ’nable, and she’s got a good deal on style.” “But do you call that alligator tame ?” “ Oert’nly. He comes right intone house, same’s any of us, and keeps himself. He’s got that heel,” and the Gravesend man pointed to a mutilated foot. ^‘There’s my son’s wife, too. She’s part alligator now. He eat her np a week ago and the boy hasn’t got over his arm yet. The alligator got the arm, too.” “Great scott 1” ejaculated the city When he puts himself up he’s busi ness. He s the lightninest alligator for a tame one you ever saw. When we first got him we used him for a tack hammer, drew nails with him; but now he’s the head of the family, except payin’ the rent. When there is any mysterious disappearance around Gravesend the coroner comes and views the alligator. That ends it. When the baby was snatched they held the inquest in a tree. The jury was all on one limb, and the alligator under neath looking up. Biraeby the limb broke, and the jury disappeared in a row, just as they sat. We didn’t wait for any verdict. The coroner gave me a permit, and after the fnneral we shied an empty ccfflu at the alligator. Then the minister said dost to dust, aud we all dusted. Do you remember whether that item said what a real tame alligator ought to be fed on ? ’ “ Don’t recollect seeing it at all. Aren’t you afraid he’ll eat up some of your family?” “Think he’s liable to?” asked the Gravesend man, with a curious expres sion of visage. “He might. Suppose he should got your wife ?” “Ah!” said the Giavesend man. “ He mierht get her, mighten he ? You think I’d better keep him, then ?’’ and the Gravesend man leaned against the door and gave himself up to reflection. “ So he might, so he might,” the city editor heard him say as he drew away and left him there. “ That beautiful young tame alligator may get her yet,” and the gloom of nightfall enveloped the frame dilating with a new hope.— Brooklyn Eagle. A Poor Memory. Without question the memory may be cultivated. The habit of attention is one of the first to be acquired in work ing toward this end; but there are other helps, such as the habit of order, and tho advantage arising from proper classification, and last, bat not least, the aid of the imagination, in making mental pictures. The grocer and the apothecary know the value of order in their business; the bookseller, too, with his thousands of volumes; see him step to the place in his store where he knows the volume yon are asking for shonld be; he merely reaches forth his hand and takes it from the shelf. Watch the type setter at his work; you would think his fingers work automat ically, as they take up from the box ar rangement before him the exact letters composing the words of his copy. Ob serve the fingers of the piano player; as f endowed with intelligence or mem ory, the right key goes down at the proper time; it matters not what the speed of the movement may demand, there is no [hesitation. Now why can not we accomplish with facts, figures and ideas what the type-setter accom plished with his type, the pianist with his keys. All that is necessary to do this is application and a determination to succeed. • A Catfish in the Parlor. The Cairo (Ul.) correspondence of the St. Louis Globe Democrat famishes the following in the course of an inter view with a merchant of Columbus, Ky., relative to the flooding of tho town: “ How high did the water come ?' “ Well, the Belmont hotel was built [above high water mark of 1867, tho highest flood ever known, and the water was two feet deep in the house. Why, the proprietor actually caught o Danenhower’s Life In Yakutsk. Mrs. Danenhower has received a long letter from her son, Lieutenant Dan enhower, of the Jeannette explor ing expedition, dated Yakutsk, Siberia, December 30,1881. It contains n^flk)wa which h*w not been anticipated by^llegraphio dispatches, but it gives some interesting details with regard to the life of tho Jeannette survivors at Yakutsk. In the letter Lieutenant Danenhower say8:T^ We are passing toe time quietly but impatiently. It is daylight here at about 8 a. m. We get up and have breakfast at a little hotel that is handy. The forenoon I spend reading a little, writing a little and in attending to any busi ness I may happen to have on hand. About 2 r. m General TschemiefTs sleigh arrives, and I go to dine with him; generally return about 4 w u , and if I do not have visitors I take a nap and kill time as well as 1 can until 9 v. si , when we have supper at the little hotel, and then go to bed. As I have told you before, I have found nice people in every part of the world that I have • visited, and this place i i by no • means an exceptioif Last evening, for instance, we spent very pleasantly at the house of a Mr. Oarreikoff, an Irkutsk merchant, who entertained us very well. His wife is a charming lady, and it was very pleasant to seo tho three beautiful chil dren. They have a fine piano, the first one we have seen since leaving San Francisco. Yakutsk is a city of 5,000 inhabitants. The houses are built of wood, and are not painted. The streets are very wide, and each honse has a large yard or court. The principal trade is in furs. In summer a great deal of fresh meat is sent up the river. Daring nine months of the year snow and ice abonnd. In the winter the thermometer falls to sev enty degrees below zero. Since our arrival it has been sixty-eight degrees below, and to-day it only thirty-flvo de grees, or thereabouts. In the summer the temperature rises as high as ninety- five degrees Fahrenheit, but tho nights are cold. There are many horses and cows in this vicinity. The natives, the Yakutzs, eat horse meat, but the Rus sians eat beef and venison. Potatoes, cabbage and a few other vegetables, a few berries, wheat and rye are grown in this vicinity. There are a few sheep and poultry also. Dr. Kapallo has examined my left eye and he says that a very ordinary opera tion is required to make it a. very effi cient eye. What is called an “artificial pupil ” will have to be cut in the mem brane that now clouds the vision. He advises mo to wait until I get home, for after the operation I will have to remain ic a dark room for a month or two. Mj general health is excellent. I am stont and hearty. Of course there is very little Ameri- place, but it here and there. The death of Gar field is a topic often mentioned, and, from the accounts here I learn that he was shot by Guiott on the train near Long Branch. A great deal of interest and sympathy is manifested, by the Russians. Last evening I sa v a Tomsk newspaper, which said that the Alliance had made a cruise in search of the Jean nette, and had reached latitude eighty degrees fifty-five minutes north on the west coast of Spitzbergen. Had our ship held together ten (two years she would arobably have drifted out in that vi cinity. About 900 miles south of this place there lives an Englishman named Lee, and from him I hope to learn a great deal of news. W here the Boulders Come From. AU who have seen the immense boul ders called “lost rock” in some sec tions, scattered over the northern part of the United States, which have little or no resemblance to any mass of rocks anywhere in the vicinity, and have per haps asked tho question: Where did they come from? Also the heaps of sand, gravel and cobble stones of vari ous sizes which form many of our ridges, knolls and hills, and which are totally unlike any fixed rock near them. All these phenomena are attributed to a single cause, aud that is the great sheet of ice which nature stored up years ago without th6 necessity of pro tecting it in an icehouse. According to Agassiz the sheet of ice extended in this country as far south as South Carolina or Alabama, and was thick enough to cover all the mountains of the east ern part of North America with the exception of Mount Washington. This peak projected, a lone sentinel on that vast waste of ice, two or three hun dred feet. In the latitude of Northern Massachusetts ho conceives tho ice to Lave been two or three miles thick. The boulders were all torn off by the ad vancing ice sheet from the projecting rocks over which it moved, and carried or pushed as “ bottom drift,” scrateh- iug and plowing the feuriace over which they passed and being scratched and polished themselves in return, till they were finally brought to rest by the melting of tbe ice. They were not car ried as far south as the ice sheet ex tended, seldom beyond the parallel of forty degrees north. Tho native copper of lake Superior was drifted four or live hundred miles south, and the pud ding stones of Roxbnry, Mass., were carried as far south as the Island of Penikesc.—Scientific American. | huge catfish gronnd floor.’ in the parlor on the meet of Heat on tho Nerves. Dr. William A. Hammond, the dis tinguished neurologist, in an article in Ovr Continent with the taking title, How to Escape Nervousness,” warns against overheated apartments. He says: An overheated apartment al ways, enervates its occupants. It is no uncommon thing to find rooms heated n winter by an underground furnace np to ninety degrees. Fi&hts and murders are more numerous in hot than in cold weather, and the arti ficially heated air that rashes into our rooms, deprived as it is of its natural moisture by the baking it has under gone, is even more prodnetive of vicious passions. It is no surprising circumstance, therefore, to find the woman who swelters all day in such a temperature, and adds to it at night by superfluous bedclothing, cross and disagreeable from little • everv-day troubles that wonld scarcely ruffls her temper if she kept her room at sixty- degrees and opened the windows every now and then. An English thief, on a stolen horse, L was captured by a policeman on a I bicycle. 1 The largest orange grove in Florira | is that of Maj. H. Norris, who want from Chicago to Spring Garden, Fla., in 1872. He now has a grove of 11,000 thrifty orange trees which bear about 500,000 oranges in a year. The best thing known for the restora tion of falling Lair is the nse of Ameri can petroleum, which should be rubbed on the head quickly with the palm of the hand. It should be applied six or seven timeg ip ally at intervals of th*©Q days, * t A v » 'V/y* / */ i, e o *+ •s. ‘6/, 67