University of South Carolina Libraries
THE TRIBUNE. VOL. II.?NO. 22. BEAUFORT, S. C., APRIL 19, 1876. $1.50 PER ANNUM. The Three Callers. Morn called fondly to a fair boy Btrsying 'Mid golden tnoodows rich with clover dew; She calls?but he still thinks of naught save playing; And so she smiles, and waves him adieu ! While ho, still merry with his flowery store, Dreams not that morn, sweet morn ! returns 110 more. Noon ccmcth?but the boy to manhood growing. Heeds not the time?ho sees but one sweet form, One young fair face, from bower of jaemino glowiDg. And all hie loving Ueart with bliss ib warm; So noon, unnoticed, seeks the western shore, And man forgets that noon returns no moro. Night tappoth gently at a casement gleaming With the thin firelight, flickering and low, By which a gray haired man is eadly dreaming O'er pleasures gouc?as all life's pleasures go; Night call him to lior?as ho leaves his door, Sileut and dark? and he returns no more. MISS CRIMME'S ROMANCE. ? At t'.o extreme end of the main street. in a quiet New England town, there was a low, rambling stone house. A portion of it was overran bo with vines that some of the windows were quite hidden. There was all around it a small space of gronnd thickly planted with trees. Miss Jane Crimme lived in the house, aud had lived there for many years. Before, her mother had lived there also a long time, aud when the old lady became an invalid and bed ridden, her daughter took her plaoe at the head of the house, and so strongly did Miss Jame resemble her mother, that when the latter passed away, things went on exactly as ever, and it seemed as if the old lady and her daughter had been merged into one person, so that people ealled her Mrs. Jane or Mrs. Crimme. Miss Jane was far from being a homoly person ; through the traees of time and suffering might easily be seen the remains of past beauty, but hardened and so sorrow stricken, that a great fear fell on the yttlo maid, Elizabeth, Whenever she appeared. Elizabeth was the maid-of-all-work, and a living deliance to those rules which arrange a certain harmony between people and their names. Having been taken from some asylum or charity school, and being much astonished at everything differing from her past associations, her face had acquired a chronic look of utter amazement, somewhat lightened by a pair of perfectly round, large black eyes. Her general appearance was rather remarkable, too, on account of the evident unrestrained exercise of her own taste in matters of dress, which was not altogether above critioism. Her favorite post was at a window commanding something of a view of the main street, at whitm, at short intervals, during the entire day, she was to be seen lean iu g her chin on her two hands, and her olbows on the window ledge, with the prominent portions of her face pressed flat against the glass, wliieh practico had not improved the regularity or form of her features. At the least noise she vanished as though the earth had swallowed her, the' faot being that phe dropped herself on the floor and crawled to tho scene of her duties, as though the window alone was to be feared by allowing her to be seen. Miss Crimme was really kind and gentle. bilk V.ll'lllhflHi r?nnli1 nnu?? nniln accustom herself to the tall figure, and sovore, sad face of her mistress. AHas Crimme's mother had first come to the town many years before, qnite alone. Dor peculiarity of attending exclusively to her own affairs, and leaving those of her neighbors alone, had at first, naturally, of course, excited curiosity and suspicion, but as years passed on, and nothing occurred to feed the one or keep alive the other, they died out, and the old lady was spoken of with respect and left ontirely to herself. Even the arrival of her daughter, of whose existence many were ignorant, some years after her removal to the town, caused but little remark. Miss Jane was then a handsome woman . of about twenty-three. It was said she i came from abroad ; indeed, several stories were set afloat, but soon wore forgotten for some more interesting subject of gossip. She was quiet in her manner, and very retiring and reticent, as if under a restraint, at first, but this soon grew to a habit. Shortly after her oqming, her mother was taken ill, and from that time never loft her room exoept to be carried to her last resting plaoe. Prom the time of her mother's illness Mips Crimmo assumed the head of the hoilfM. All/1 ou T nnnn 1 \ofnrn nnirl onom_ , ??, ?. ^ --- ? ?I . ed ho like h~r mother in her ways and appearance, that she was called Mrs. Cnmmie, and the old lady herself was forgotten Homo time before she passed away. Elizabeth was seated, one afternoon, on tho back of a chair at the kitchen window, greatly absorbed in the occasional passing by of a pedestrian, when a violent knock at tho door caused her to drop instantly on the floor. Bhe remained there some moments, entirely forgetful of hor doty to open tho door. At a second knook she tremblingly went to tho door. This she carefully secured with a chain, to prevent its being open?v ed more than about four inohes, and opening it, aud placing as much of herself as was possible in the opening, she said : "Please como in, ma'am I" utterly unconscious of the impossibility of any compliance with her request. It was the postman. Elizabeth never remembered having seen the postman at the house before, and was consequently greatly alarmed as well as amazed. " A letter for Mrs. Crimme." And he left in the hands of the trembling and still terrified maid a small note with the postmark of the city on it, and sealed with black. It was some minutes before she sufficiently recovered to close the door. Thon she carefully wiped off the lotter on both sides with her apron, and folding it up in that article of dress, went to Miss Crimme's room. She knocked timidly. The clear, even voice of Mies Crimme came in reply: " Como in 1" Elizabeth oponod the door carefully, and squeezing herself in, shut it to hastily, as though she wero afraid the occupant might escape. "Please, ma'am, it was the postman, aud he's been and gone and left a letter, ma'am !" with two quick courtesies, and widely opened ej'es fixed on Miss Crimme, who sat near a wood fire, reading from a ionrnal. Give it to me," said Miss Crimme, closing her book, while a slight flash overspread her face. Elizabeth slowly approached and gave the letter, without removing her eyes from her mistress. MiRs Jane took it, broko the seal, slowly unfolded tno letter and read it. As phe did so, a strangely bright expression came over her face, and she looked almost lovely by the red light of the fire. Elizabeth stood by, greatly wondering, till her mistress, suddenly remembering, said : " You may go, Elizabeth ; and, if yon wish, go out for an hour, no longer, or yon may sit by the window, if you choose." "Yes, ma'am?thank'ee, mips!" and she retired as she had entered, carefully closing the door, lest Miss Jane might escape. In Miss Crimme's lap lay the letter, while her eyes studied the red coals of the fire, and a smile played over her generally sad and stern face. This was the letter : " Can you forgivo and forget the past? I have suffered much, but my feelings for you are unchanged. Write me but one word. I am ill, and lonely, and dying." Then followed an address. Miss Crimme was thinking?remembering. She was but human, after all. There are, in the world, a few true na tures?weak, they are called?which neglect, inconstancy or insult even, can scarcely change or shake in their allegiance to the object beloved. Besides, actions viewed through the vista of long years look wonderfully different. Miss Jane aroie aftor a few minutes, and. sroinc to a small wrilin?* t#liln wrote the answer. And the one word requested was: *' Oome." One or two days after the letter oame, Miss Jane informed the astonished Elizabeth that a gentleman was coming to stay with them, and that the best spare room, which had been her mother's, must be prepared. The room was accordingly prepared, and toward dusk the expected visitor arrived. He came in a carriage. He was evidently an invalid, or had been quite ill. Elizabeth let nothing escape her as she opened the door and called Miss Jane. The gentleman walked slowly and with the aid of the ooachman. He was quite tall, and, but for the various wrappings around him, might have been erect and well shaped. His face was peculiarly handsome. All the features were regular and finely chiseled; but there was a something, to any one familiar with physiognomy, painfully repugnant in the face. Utter and intense selfishness was plainly written there. Narrow and contracted thoughts seemed to be the necessary companions of suoh a face. Miss Jane met him at the door. " Edward I" she exclaimed, in a voice tremulous with emotion, as she grasped his baud, and a world of aftection and pity seemed expressed in her face. She looked young again, and pretty, with that beauty which high thoughts and generous impulses give to a countenance. ''At last, Jeannette?Jeannette I" he said, and his face caught something of the brightness of Miss Jane's. A bright light burned on the hearth of the parlor. There Miss Jano led him, while the coachman deposited a small, worn and well traveled box in the hall. Tho visitor was seated iu a large chair by the fire, and Miss Jane stood by him. The door was olosed. " We meet again, Edward, after so many years of separation," said Miss Jaue; "and yet it seems but yestorday since we last met. Tho long years have rolled by?oh 1 how long and weary they seemed iu passing?and now that they are all 'past, it seems so short?so short I" she repeated, in a dreamy sort of way, and laying her hand on his shoulder. " My true, faithful Jeannette I" returned the gentleman, looking up at her with his large, beautiful eyes, and taking her hand in his. There was a few momenta' pause, during which neither seemed to know exactly what to say. At last Miss Jane broke the silence. "And when did von leave Paris?" Something of the sweet expression here seemed to die out of her faoe, and t Miss Jane. Slio still clung to him with devotion. One night thoro was a noise, late, which roused some of the neighbors, as a carriage drove up to Mrs. Arton's door. Two days after, early, there was a quiet funoral there. Mrs. Artou was a widow. She lived on yet many years, but much changed. Now she was conspicuous for doing good and relieving the necessities of those around her. She could be seen almost daily, her hair perfectly white, dressed in gray, and going, with a basket on her arm, to the poorer portions of the town. Elizabeth still lived with her, but grown into a pretty young woman, still with an inordinate love of dress. She regarded men with great aversion, and was n model of fidelity and devotion to her mistress, whom she regarded at any moment as likely to bo carried off like Elijah or Enoch, and only wondered, as, of course, she must do at something, she looked away from him, and took a seat near him. " Ah ! Jeannette, I am at best but a miserable fellow, but you must help me, for there was never but one in my wretched life who really made me feel what I might and ought to be." The soulless look in his eye belied the words he spoke; he continued: " After we parted in Paris, and you returned to your mother, what was there for me to do? I believed that I had tried your patience too far. I believed myself forsaken by you." " Poor Edward 1" exclaimed Miss Jane, looking up at him tenderly. He continued: " Before I met you, my life had beeu a thoughtless, careless one. Obtaining a position in the army through the influence of my mother's relatives?who, as you remember, were French?I led a careless life, till I met you, just after you had left schotfl, at your uncle's house. You were lovely, Jeauuette "? Miss Jaue sighed, and smiled sadly. Edward added, rapidly: 'With that beauty which nothing can diminish, and which is the reflex of a noble, generous heart. I met yoxi at your uncle's house. I need not recall, I think, thoso happy, happy day8 we passed together, swearing to love each other and be true. I was wrong, I admit it, Jeannette, but you have forgiven me. It was only, however, in appearance. I sacrificed myself for a friend. Miss Jane looked at him eagerly?every word of excuse ho uttered, whether true or false, was only too welcome to her. "I frequented the house of Marie with my friend, for he had resolved to marry her in defiance of tho auger of his father. You supposed it was I who really loved her. Ah, Jenunetto, if you had only been less precipitate, how many years of suffering it might have spared us-both !" He sighed deeply as he looked into the fire, perhaps for inspiration. "You would hear nothing, and you refused to see me. In vain I called, wrote and sent messages. You were decided. You left Europe. You left me that cruel note. I tried in vain to follow yon, to write you, or to explain. All was useless. In desperation 1 married Marie; my friend had died and left the poor girl half heartbroken. For ten long years I have wandered about, now stationed in one place, now in another, till last month, when Marie died. I met your undo by accident in New York, whither I had come, resolved to make still another effort to find you. He gave mo your address, and so soon as I was able, after an attack of illness, I wrote yon, and here, at last, I am with you, my Jeaunette." How much of it all she really believed, it is impossible to say. One thing, however, was certain: she had tenderly loved him in her younger days, and long separation, with nothing in the meantime to occupy or distract her mind, had hallowed and strengthened this love till it had become a part of herself. She knew his narrow, small character; she knew how plausible and truthless ho was; but there was a certain romanco and sentiment about her old affoction for him which was powerful still. There was as much of sadness as of sweetness in her smile as she turned to him and said: " Edward 1 I do not know if you still love me; I am much older and changed since wo parted; but this I know, that my old love is still strong, and that nothing has ever altered it." This she said musingly, more us if speaking to herself than to any one else. "Ah! Jeannette," he rejoined, "you may think ill of me; you cannot think worse of me than I think myself. But with your love to guide me for tho future, I have no fears. Tell me, dearest, shall it be, then, at last ? Can you so far forgive me as to marry me?" *'It may be weakness," said Jeannette* with a melanoholy in her tone. "My life, for years past, has not been a happy one; its one happiness has been iuutuuiug mj juuugui u?j n, vivni forgive me if 1 do wrong ! ' You will love me at least, Edward, and in a soberer friendship, more suited to our yearp, we shall bo happy." Her eyes glistened in the red lirelight, and were moist. He seemed to misunderstand her. " I spoke of marriage, Jeannette, and you speak of friendship." "I meau the same," she replied. "The word seemed too full of happiness for me to utter." That was their be thro thai. A few days later the neighbors were somewhat surprised to hear that Miss Jane had been married quietly in the morning to a Lieutenant Edward Arton. For a while Miss Jane's life seemed to glide on as smoothly as before, and one heard or saw but little of her. Sometimes, early in the morning or later in fliA AVAninn olia to a a annn too llrin/v with a tall and handsome gentleman, whom all knew to be the lieutenant, and looking happy and pretty. Soon, however, they were seen rarely together, then not at all, and the inmates of the low stone house were as mysterious as before Miss Jane's marriage. No one knew the sorrow shut np there. The lieutenant went off for days together and returned as suddenly as he left, and generally in the night. His wife, with the blind devotion of woman, was always ready to pity and forgive. She soon found that ner dream was over, her hopes a delusion ; but she still clung to the memory. He squandered and wasted her fortune, and treated her with the oontempt and insolenoe a mean and selilsh nature feels for thoeo- who sacrifloe all to them. Tears passed on, and told their sad story of a breaking heart on the face of mat mo aerial journey should be delayed. Her eyes had never lost their look of amazement, but she had lost all her taste for sitting at the kitchen window, except about the time when Miss Jane, as she always called her mistress, was wont to return. She met her at the door then, with a smile. "You must be tired, miss," she would say. " No," Miss Jano would answer; "not tired, Elizabeth?one cannot be tired when one is occupiod doing good, and forgetful of oneself. It is the fruitless dwelling on uio past miti wearies, or tne pursuit of something which God does not intend us to have." What is Worn. Louisine faconne is a basket-woven silk material, with brocaded flowers of the samo, or of two colors. Lace scarfs, black, white, and cream color, are beginning to be worn around the neck in the place of furs. The crowns of some hats and bonnets are made of silk and lace. This is very pretty and effective. The dress parsoi is made of black silk, lined with white silk and edged with a heavy fall of black lace. Tho latest collars for gontlemcn are rather high, with the corners of tho ends slightly turned back, or square. The high round felt hat has taken the place of the half high gentleman's hat, formerly used for ladies' riding hats. Ostrich tips will take the place of birds and wings for spring dress bonnets. No more slaughter of the innocents. Costumes are very elaborate,.but not of such a costly character as heretofore, probably owing to the economical times. 1Hh8u de matcla88e is the newest woolen fabrio for spring dresses; it is a damask material, reversible and richly flowered. Some chemises and underwaists are made in one; that is, they have one band, the underwaist buttoning under the arms. The overgarm' nt misnamed the Ulster is really the ancient Burnous, tho common jivercoat worn by postilions all over Europe. Handsome suits are made by using light brocaded cloth goods for polonaises, with skirts and sleeves of a corresponding color of silk. Among the spring overcoats for boys I from four to seven, are some made of a [ light gray cloth, with collar, cuffs, and | lapels of dark gray. The sleeve to be worn with the Cen| tennial waistcoat and jacket is a coat sleeve with the outside seam left open about two inches, finished by two buttons. Gentlemen's hats are rather high in the crown, aud slightly bell form; wide bauds, narrow plain binding, but heavy fiue worsted reps for linings under the brims. The most fashioi able promenade coat for gentlemen is of fiue diagonal cloth, dark color, olive, mulberry, or black; cuffs rather deep, one button on and one above. Belts of lace, loosely fastened around the waists of tight-fitting cuirasses, and terminating in long sashlike ends, are to be worn with lace parures in the spring. A new pattern for night dresses for ladies has three largo plaits back and front running to tho waist line. The standing collar and ruffe are trimmed with a narrow ruffle. j Play and school suits for boys are ! made of gray and blue flannel, having knee breeches, and blouses reaching a little below the waist, fastened in at the waist by a belt. Blouse waists for boys are made of plaid percales. The new pattern extends a quarter of a yard below the band on which the buttons ore, and which gathers it in at the waist. Wolves in France. The Journal d' Agriculture says that the annual damage to cattle alone in Franoe from the depredations of wolves reaches a sum of 2,000,000 francs, to say nothing of the loss of sheep from the same cause. It is estimated that there are about 1,000 breeding wolves, and flint aKnmt O K/Vk ?V.?1 ... I v*?uw i?uv;uw iruuipo ni c uuru in May and June of each year. So that, notwithstanding tho fact that about 1,800 wolves are killed annually, there must be at looat 2,000 depredating by April of each year. The Journal suggests that the representatives from the ravaged districts pay a little more attention to the interests of those who have elected them, and oommends the action of the "States " (United States) in offering a bounty of 810 tor the sealp of ovury wildcat killed. Doubtless such a bounty would soon exterminate the wolVes, and would also be a national economy, since, acoording to the foregoing estimates, eaoh wolf in Franoe costs the nation 1,000 francs at least. ? The First Steamboat. Living men remember when the idea of steam navigation was ridiculed. They ' remember, too, that when the Clermont went from New York to Albany withont i the use of sails, against wind and tide, f in thirty-two nours, ridicule was ohanged into amazement. That voyage g did more. It spread terror over the ? surface of the river, and created wide alarm along its borders. The steam- * boat was an awful revelation to the fishermen, the farmers, and the villagers. 1 It came upon them unheralded. It seemed like a weird craft from Pluto's j realm?a transfiguration of Charon's boat into a living fiend from the infernal regions. Its huge black pipe vomiting 1 fire and smoke, the hoarse breathing of < its engine, and the great splash of its ] uncovered paddle-wheels filled the imagination with all the dark pictures of i / /xUl.'na tUni A ? J gUUiliiO l/UIib lUXliUUUClO UOTO UlVUUIlUU f since the fonndation of the world. i Managers of river craft who saw it at night believed that the groat red dragon { of the Apocalypse was loose upon the j waters. Some prayed, some fled in ter- ( ror to the shore, and hid in the reoessea \ of the rocks, and some crouched in mortal dread beneath their decks, and . abandoned their vessels and themselves . to the mercy of the winds and waves, or the jaws of the demon. The Clermont f was the author of some of the most wonderful romances of the Hudson, and for years Bhe was the victim of the enmity * of the fishermen, who believed that her e noise and agitation of the waters would ? drive the shad and sturgeon from the 1 river. The Clermont was a small thing compared with the great river steamers t now. Fulton did not comprehend the <3 majesty and capacity of his first inven- p tion. He regarded the Richmond, the t finest steamboat at the time of his t death, as the perfection of that class of architecture. She was a little more than v one hundred feet in length, with a low, t dingy cabin, partly below the water fc line, dimly lighted by tallow candles, in 0 which passengers ate and slept in sti- a fling air, and her highest rate of speed g \jas nine miles an hour. Could Fulton revisit the earth and be placed on one r of the great river steamboats of our a time, he would imagine himself to be in a some magical structure of fairy land, or _ forming a part of a strange romance ; g for it is a magnificent floating hotel, ^ over four hundred feet in length, and r capable of carrying a thou-and guests ^ by night or by day from New York to Albany at the rate of twenty miles an huur. * (ontennial Notes. * f L The last allotments of spaoe in ma- g cliinery hall were 480 square feet to 1 dhili nnrl Sfid cnn?o foot tn *. ?! " "J U The opening march for the inaugural t ceremonies on the tenth of May is fa written by the great German composer, Wagner, in response to the invitation of g Theodore Thomas, director of music, 8 and is to be dedioated to the Women's p Centennial Organization of the United f States. b It is remarkable that the oldest na- il tions in the world and the most distant c have been the first to come to bring t! their products to the youngest. Egypt, fa Japan, Sweden and Norway have, in * the order named, already brought their g exhibits to the fair, before an American p article was put in place. u The Pennsylvania railroad oompany ^ are erecting a massive depot just outside the grounds. It will contain every convenience for traveling, and, thongh temporary, will, nevertheless, possess all the comforts that the means and facilities of this company can oommand. ? Work upon the dairy buildings is about to be commenced. $ The grand division of the Sons of ^ Temperance have taken the water sup- e ply to the thirsty in hand and have arranged to supply ice water, free of 0 cost, on the grounds. A fountain will ? be erected at the intersection of Bel- e mont and Fountain avenues. The de- 8. sign will be in the style of a Greek u temple, twenty-five feet in diameter and ? thirty-six feet high, inclosing a fountain ? eight feet in diameter. This fountain ^ will contain twenty-six spigots. The _ tank will hold between 4,000 and 5,000 gallons of water, a supply fully equal, n it is tuougui, to ine uomanu mac win a bo made upon it. j, Israel Putnam's Spy. Ij Between the kill, or ereek, not far ? from the village of Peekakill, on the Hudson, is a high rocky ridge, on the Q southeastern slope of which, north of the a borough, a notable little romance occurred in|1777. General Putnam, whose Q exploits on the upper Hudson have made ^ that region famous in history and tra- Q dition, was in command there. A young Q man, a scion of a good family in Westchester county, was arrested on suapicion of being a spy, and was brought kofAVA Dnlnam I In In a nnwiAn nrara uuiuio X uvunui* vii uio pvim/u noiu fouhd enlisting papers signed by Tryon, and other evidenoes of his guilt. Sir Henry Clinton sent a note to Putnam, with a flag, claiming the culprit as a ie British officer, and making insolent a< threats of wrathful retaliation in oaee the g young man should be harmed. Putnam 1 replied in writing: u "Headquarters, 7th August, 1777." fl " Sir.?Edmund Palmer, an offioer in g tho enemy's servioe, was taken as a spy ti lurking within our lines. He has been o tried as a spy, oondemned as a spy, and tl shall be executed as a spy; and the flag o is ordered to depart immediately. g "Israel. Putnam. f. " P. S.?He has been aooordingly u hanged." o No spy was ever found in Putnam's g camp after that. o Items or latere*t. London pays nearly one-third of the rhole income tax of England. Cream oolored chip hats, trimmed rith strawberries, are m the fashionable ntnre. An Oregon farmer reoently plowed np in Indian skelton, together with 800 $50 ;old slags. A well bred man makes a sandwich of rimself when he wears two mustard blasters. Miss Lillian Edgarton says that ibout five yean are required to exhaust he popularity of the average lecturer. To danoe well, a man should know as ittle as possible of everything else. He ?n balance partners better if his hair is jar ted in the middle. The surest remedy for chapped hands s to rinse them well after washing with toap and dry them thoroughly by applyng Indian meal or rice powder. A Cincinnati policeman, looking for itolen goods the other day, stumbled nto a house in which there were two jases of smallpox, and he immediately jroke out There are trees in California so tall hat it takes two men and a boy to look o the top of them. One looks till ho fete tired and another commences where he first left off. The old saw about "running away rith a.red-hot stove" has been almost iq aiea 111 Albany, wnero a lour tnouand pound boiler was found to be wmsng the other morning. "Dern yon, see if yon can catch his," said a delighted Mississippian, Ira wing his revolver and letting fly at a terformer, who was executing a gun rick and catching the ballet in his eeth. An ingenious method of protecting uluable earings when their wearers arc raveling has oome into fashion. Tsdiil my little balls of Roman gold, whioh pen with clasp and hinges, and effectu; 11 y inclose and oonoeal the preaious tones. In the oenter of a sea marsh on the iver Teche, in Louisiana, is a beautiful nd fertile island of over three hundred ores, and on this island is a mass of >ure, solid rock salt, estimated at 90,>00,000 tons. Scientific men are trying o find out how the island oame in the uarsh, and how the salt oame on the aland. They've got the laugh on a Cincinnati ailroad man just returned from Florida. Che story is that he and two or three riends, after a day's fishing off the Atsrntic coast, spread all sail on their V ' ? mack for home, but after standing three Lours before the wind and making no teadway, they suddenly remembered hat the anchor had been down all the Lme. A Detroit lady was trading at a dry oods store the other day, when she ran hort of money and asked the clerk to at the balanoe on the books. He cheerally agreed, and said he would send the ill to her husband. " You'd better send t to me," she said, as he floured up the 0 it; " I've got a peculiar husband. If bat bill reads 911 for sugar, coffee and aa, he'll give me the money without a rord. If it reads for balance on dry pods, he'll see you in Texas before he ays it. Make it out for grooeries. It j my duty as a good wife to pander to is feelings. Worse than Hazing. The Yale Freshman had a hard time f it in the eighteenth oentury. In 'cribncr for April there is an article on tie ooUege by Henry A. Beers, who notes- from the old 'regulations: 1 Every student," runs one of the old iws, " shall be oalled by his sir name, xoept he be the son of a nobleman, or knight's eldest son." As between the ollege Glasses, a strict subordination ras enforced, and a somewhat laborious tiquette prevailed between faeultv and tudents. The Freshmen were almost a the condition of fags in the English ublic schools. The following statutes rom a book of "Freshmen Lavs" seem icredible, but were gravely meant, and mtin practice: "The Freshmen, as well as other nder-gi ad nates, are to be uncovered, and re forbidden to wear their hats (unless ra dIammw ?woafVinv\ tn fKa rlivtP. ard of the president's or professor's ionse, or within ten rods of the person f the president, eight rode of the professor, and five rods of s tutor." " A Freshman shall not play with any lombors of an upper class without being sked." " In case of personal insult, a Junior iay call up a Freshman and reprehend im. A Sophomore, in like oase, must btain leave from a Senior, and than he lay discipline a Freshman." " UWahmon alia.ll Tint ran in anllaoia ard, or up or down stairs, or oall to any do through a college window." The Power of Glut Powder, The explosive force of giant powder i shown in this statement: A mortar, banding at an angle of forty-five derees, with a quarter of an onnoe of No. giant powder, will throw a shot weigh ig thirty-four pounds the distaaoe of 25 feet. The same charge of No. 2 iant will throw the same shot a disvnoe of 475 feet. In an upright mortar ne ounce of giant powder, No. 1, . tirows a shot weighingforty-two pound* ut of sight: and one ounce of No. 2 iant will throw the same shot 1,000 ?et. The same amount of black bbatng powder will not throw the shot out f tue mortar. We oonelude that the iant has great energy, and is industrial on the oooasion of an explosion.