Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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BARNWELL. S. C., THURSDAY, JANUARY 21. 1880 VOL. IX. of Saint (n« old well of taint John In the pariah of fawton-Kottaare. Olamortanahlra, haa a tMa at Mb own, whioii la generally bettered to ran to that of the tea, some half-mile "Thera la plenty of room for two In here. Within the ateep tunnel of old grey-etone; And the well *a to dark, and the aprlng ao clear. It la quite unaafe to go down alone.’* •‘It la perfectly aafo, depend upon It, Tor a girl who can count the atepa. Ilka me; And If ever I aaw dear mother'a bonnet. It m there on the hill by the old aab-tree." i la nobody bat Heea Morgan’a eow Watching the duak on the milk-white tea. Tla the ttme and the place for a life-long row, Suah aal owe yon, and you owe me." “Oh, WHMe, how can I, In thla dark wellT I ahall drop the brown pitcher. If you let go; The long roof la mnrmuiing like a aea ahall. And the ahadowa are akudderlng to and fro.” “ Tla the aound of the ebb In Newton bay, Qniekaaa the aprlng aa the tide grow* leaa, nreo aa true lore flowa away Counter the flood of the world’* aucoeaa." "There la no other way for lore to flow; Whenerer it aprlng* In a woman’a breaet, To the home of Ita own heart It muat go, And run contrary to all the reat" "Then All the tweet cup of your hand, my And pledge me your maiden faith thereon. By the touch of the lettered atone abore, 'And the holy water of Saint John.” “Oh. what ahall I ray? My heart drop* low; My finger* are cold, and my hand too flat, la love to be measured by handfula tot And you know that 1 lore you—without They etooped In the gleam of the faint light, orer The print of themeelreaon the limpid gloom; And ahe lifted her full palm toward her lorer. With her Ups prepared for the worda of doom. But the warm heart rose, and the cold hand fell. And the pledge of her faith aprang, tweet and clear, From a hollar source than the old saint's well. From the never-ebbing tide of love—a tear. —B. D. Black more. In December Harper’s. ELSIE’S LOVER. wants to tend me «p to the Manor House to help Mrs. "I suppose it isn't right to say such a thing," said winsome Elsie, with a S laintive sigh, to hof friend and confi- ant, old Nurse Barnes; ‘‘but I often wish I'd never been born. Nobody knows what to do with me, and I cer tainly don't know what to do with my- ae If. ‘‘Dear, dear!" said Mrs. Barnes, “what are they going to do with you?" •T don’t know,” said Elaie sadly. “Uncle Josctdi wants me to go and work in the factory. He thinka 1 might earn twelve shillings a week, after I had had a few works’ practice.” “It’s not hard work," said Mrs. Barnes. “You'll soon get usad to it, dear. One can get used to any- %>d Aunt Betsey H< Perkins, the housekeeper," went on Elsie. “I was there a week in the spring. Oh,"—with a long breath,— "it ia the prettiest place! One room all full of books, don’t you know, and a hall where they hang nothing but pic tures. I used to creep all over the plaoe, when the squire was gone out on horse hack, and Mrs. Perkins was taking her after-dinner nap. I used to sit down in the silk chairs, and fan myself with the big scented fans, and make believe I was a great heiress, with lots of ser vants to order about." “Oh, Elsie! that was making very bflhUt said Mrs. Barnes, with an awe> stricken shudder. “Yea, I know." confessed Elsie; “but it was only making believe, after all, and nobody knew. But I saw Mr. Raven twice, and he talked to me just aa kind—oh! a deal kinder that Uncle Joseph does. And he told me the names at some of the rarest flowers, and oSered to lend me books out of the grand li- brary But Mrs. Perkins told Aunt Betsey that I am too idle and awkward lor aervloe. So now I don’t know whether I am to be bound to Mias Miggu, the dressmaker, or sent to learn the artificial flower trade." “It’s most a pity, ain't RT said Mrs. Berne*, looking lympathisingiy at Elsie, dad jot then, aa »ho surveyed ffc* UMb dark eyes, the cheeks glowing pcflnafl under their stain of gypsy MnAfh, Dm lithe, graceful figure in ita outgrown gown, the fancy suddenly crossed her mind that, under some circumstances, Elsie Linn might be almost handsome. “You aee, I have no one really be longing to me," said Elfie, “Even Uncle Joseph was on mother's half-brother. And they knew what to do with ms." “What would you like best to do?” said Mrs. Barnes, who was paring pota toes for the ono o’clock dinner. “I should like to be an authoress, an write books," said Elsie, with kindlinj uuiy oq> sighing, only tnr cy don't “Bless me, child!" said Mrs. Barnes, “what do you know about authoresses?" “Nothing," confessed Elsie; “that's the trouble. (Ml should like to paint pietnrea, and tfHi famous; or be queen of a country taSroas at war, and lead die soldiers to victory, mounted on a coal-black horse; or ao something very gnat and grand, so that people might new forget my memory. Mrs. Bernes first started and then ■iCked. Pour soul, there was perhaps a time when she, too, had her wild dreams and Impossible imaginings. “Soon things don't hsppe nowadays Jh omen have ty “Tee,” cried Elsie, with a start, as the flinek struck twelve. “And Aant Betsey ufl# he wanting bm to set the table. 1 How she will soold if you a verv cm- Jos- Bet- sbe i things don said she. schib, and waah and sew in this oonan not ride to battle or paint grand Better leave off thinking of But to Elsie's infinite relief, when she Aunt Betsey met her with “Come la quick, child,” said she, “and change your frock. Mr. Raven is "OhP* cried Hate, with a skip over “am I to be Mrs. fVkia'a aaMf “We don’t know," said Aunt Betsey mjetorioualy. ‘Time will skew. Don't jump about, my child. Try to take ahartstana, and be a lady. And, oh, wftkt a areadfnl tear that ia in yoor Nevermind now. Warn quick it aa soon as evor you can, •at down to the beat parlor.” Bat knag before EMU Unn’s ' * B picked, tub roeo, last spring and gave to little Billy Sniffen, in the road, the last day she was at the Manor House. “There were such lots of them,” she argued with herself, “hanging there in the sunshine, all purple anil fragrant, and Billy had jnst got over the scarlet fever—poor little mite!—and did long for them so. I knew it was wicked, but the temptation came over me so sudden ly that I couldn’t help k. And now if Mr. Raven has told Uncle Joseph, and Uncle Joseph is going to scold me " Elsie drew a deep inspiration of hor ror at this idea, bat she must face her fate, and endure it as best she might Ami in hoi 7 best frock, which was scant and faded enough in all conscience, she descended with a heavy heart to the “best room.” “Bring her in! Bring her in!" said Uncle Joseph with a chuckle. “I never yet sold even a yearling calf without giving the purchaser a chance to look at his bargain—ha, ha, ha! And really want the child. Squire ” Mr. Baven rose courteously and put a chair for Elsie as she entered, with drooping head and cheeks aflame. “We are old friends," he said; “are we not?" At the sound at his gentle, measured accents, the prickings of Elsie Linn's conscience became intolerable. She lifted her large startled eyes to Mr. Raven’s face. "I’m very sorry, sir," said she. “Please, I’ll never do it any more." “Do what?” said Uncle Joseph, star ing. “I am quite at a loss to understand you," said Mr. Raven courteously. “The grapes, please," faltered Elsie, getting redder and more confused than ever. “1 didn't pick ’em for myself; it was for little Billy Sniftcn, and ” “Never mind the grapes, Elsie.” said Mr. Raven. “Lot me see—how old are you?" “Seventeen, sir," said Elsie in a low voice. "And I am seven-and-thirty!" said Mr. Raven slowly. “Do I seem like old man in your eyes, Elsie?" She shook her head, and then, boldened by the fact that Uncle eph had disappeared, and Aunt sev was drawing water at the well, added: “When I write my novel, I shall make the hero just like you. I won’t call him R^jren. lest people should tind out; but Bawmburn. or Bel raven, or some such MUM. You won't mind, sir, will you?" Mr. Raven smiled a strange, serious ■mile. “Elaie," ■aid hew “would you like to come and live at the Manor House?" Elsie's dusk face brightened. “Oh, so much!” she cried. "But Mrs. Perkins don't want me; she says I’m too flightv and too young.” “Elsie, you misunderstood me," said Mr. Raven, with another smile. “I don’t mean as Mrs. Perkin's assistant—I mean as my wife. A sudden crimson flooded Elsie's face, neck and throat All of a sudden the scales seemed to fall from her eyes; the world stood before her in its true colors. 8hc was a maiden out of the pages of romance. Robert Raven was her lover. He took her hand tenderly in his. “Elsie," he said, “could you teach yourself to love me? For I love you with all my heart" And she critnl, “Oh, yes! Oh, yes!” and laid her flushed face across on his shonlder, and wept and smiled in turns. She had entered the room a child; she went out a woman, leaning on her lover’s arm. Even Uncle Joseph no ticed the change, and Aunt Betsey vaguely wondered what had come to “our Elsie." So Elsie's problem was solved. She went to be lady at the Manor House, to gladden the heart of this modern Kin Cophetua who had fallen in love witi the nineteenth century Beggar Maid. And as her dark beauty bloomed out into perfect loveliness, people wondered that thev had been so blind. But Mr. Raven said quietly: “I knew it all along. When first 1 mw her picking daisies in the park, I knew that she was the most beautiful creature in all the country. I fell in love with her then, and I nave been in love with her ever since." But to Elsie the whole thiqg seems like a dream out of the Arabian Nights. Raising Psara la the South. Gen. George Sheridan has often been mistaken for the other general of the same name. He was at the white house onoe daring the Hayes administration when a delegation was announced. It was a horticultural convention which had called to pay its respects. Presi dent Hayes asked Gen. Sheridan to ac company him to the reception room, most of them thinking it was P. H. Sheridan to whom they were talking. Gen. Sheridan finally became reticent, and the president sought to engage him in further talk. The conversation between them ran about like this: Hayes—General, have you much fruit in Louisiana? Sheridan—O yes. We have oranges and apricots and grapes in profusion. Hayes—Do you nave any of the hardy northern fruits—apples and pears? Sheridan—There are a few apples raised along the northern boundary of >the state. Hayes—Do you ever raise pears? Sheridan—Always, if we nave three of a kind. There wae a moment's icy stillness, and then a Mg, fat fruit-grower, with a roguish eye, unable to bom in, began to ■ueker, and in Isas than a twinkle of The rest all imeelf laughed with —New York Tritmm. Lieut Greely’s theories respecting the North Pole naturally meet with much ofpoaRleu ia England. It wae his for tune during his imprisonment in the Arotie to upset the conclusions reached by Sir George Naras and his compan ions respecting the Palssocrystio Sea. Having controverted what the English ssplocm awninod to ba foetSLlie oaMot Meet to have his own thsoriee peas un- ‘ ” * Uaut Groely believes that lesan LtOO miles in diamo- aboet the Pols, that never trsaam; and eaujeetons that the Pole it- Arif b fihs eaeWe sf aa las eapusd bad ioo foam UXb toifiOO fwt A MUSKRAT'S PERILS. Trapping the J.l::l.-> Auluia! Ylon~ the New. Jor «-V Marche*. “It is not neorsMiry logo to the north ern latitude to ! ar i to trap successful ly. Jersey will do for b.'srinners." So spoke an o’.d indi"vnous New Jer sey fisherman a* lie sat on a sugar hogshead wh’eh rest ‘don a South street E ier and tapp d its In a ! merrily with is big split-loather boots. His scraggy whisker-i and weather bronzed, pleasant countenance, says the New York Timet showed that he was one of those happy persons who had passed the period of life when youthful ambitions and aspi rations never to la* obtained had passed away, ami ja'a-'e and contentment were now accompaniments of a frugal life. On his head was perched a cap of black fur, and gloves of similar material peeped from deep pockets of the old tar- stained coat. What started the old man was the presence of a pile of steel traps, which glistened in the sunlight of a warm fall day. He eyed them furtively and heav ed a sigh. The traps did not look at all fonnidablc as they lay in a tangled heap, with the four-foot chains spread out in every direction. They were of the latest pattern, light, but of strong, stiff springs, Ihoutrh not difl'ering in any essential particular from the ordi nary rat-trap that many a mind-becloud ed tenant at a late hour h:is put his f(K)t into while groping in the coal-cellar. At the end of the chains were little round rings, which would be used to fasten them to stakes. “I suppose." continued the voting man, “those fellow s will be sent north to be used in mink trappin'. Ef I onlv had ’em in the meadows near mv place I would make the muskrats howl. They're thick down there, and I mean to make it hot for a few of ’em myself this winter.” “Tell me sonti thing alx>ut trapping," asked a listener. “Waal," replied the old fisherman, “you looks as though you needed a lit tle of it to spread them .shoulders of yourn and harden them muselcs." and he pinched the thin, soft bieejw of the young weakling's arm. "There is noth ing better to strengthen young fellows and build ’em up than tranpin' and trampin'over the meadows anti through the woods. There ain't any money in it to speak of, but some fun, I should sav." Take the salt marshes on the Jersey coast and they are full of mu-krati, while the streams further inland con tain but a few. The muskrat is a re- sp»Ttable animal to trap. He is wary and on his guard in the more |>opulous districts. In value his pelt is not worth much. The prices paid for them vary from lo to .'io cents apiece, according to the condition of the fur, and also the condition of the market. Some years they bring much more money than in others. The pelts are used in making hats. Sometimes they are done up into furs and sent into the country to be sold under the name of ri\er mink. Of course, as to a pecuniary return, there is not much to attract a young man or boy in this small trapping, but in it he will learn much about the mysteries of the brooks and the secrets of animal life, while the exercise he gets is brac ing. The cost of axes, boots and traps will amount to as much as he gets for the skins. “Waal." continued the old man, “there ain't much plav in trappin’, and its mostly work -hard work, too. You want to be well prepared for it. In the first place you must have warm cloth ing. for you will be out in most all kinds of weather, and nights, too. And in the mornin', when you get up early to go look at your traps, it's cold and raw. You must carry an ax or big hatchet with you to drive in the stakes to which the chains of the steel traps are to be attached. They must be driven in tight, too, or the animal will pull them out anil away he will go, trap and all. Then you want a big bag to fetch ’em home in when you get any. These things, with a good set of steel traps, will do to commence with, and then the trnpi>cr may put in box traps and de vise means of alluring the beasts. Soma people use a little bait in the shape of a piece of turnip or apple to allure ’em. A piece of sweet apple is awfully good bait for a muskrat and he will try hard to get it. A drop or so of anise-seed on the pan of the trap is also quite an at traction for ’em. As a rule, however, these allurements are not necessary, and care to cover up the trap will be suffi cient The musKrat is a wary animal, and won't step square into a trap when ho secs it He’s Knowin’, and if it ain't well hid he will step around it But there’s other things to catch besides muskrats. Ye see that cap?" and the old man took his headgear off. “Ye see that cap? That's made out of cat- skin. There was a time when catskins was worth LO cents apiece, but they ain’t worth nothin' now. In a season’s work you will probably run against one or two mink, too. Real mink, too. Yes; and in New Jersey I’ve caught quite a lot of ’em first and last” Catching muskrats is a common win ter pursuit for fishermen and others in New Jersey, and large quantities^ them igf helps keep the poor coostmen in to- are caught The money got for them helps P ■ bacco. The muskrat docs not come out of his lair in the daytime, except on rare oc casions. Sometimes, on very dark, cloudy days, he may be seen swimmip across the pond or down the river, wit hia head just above the water. He is an ugly-looking animal, of brown fur, black, webbed feet with white claws, and long, white teeth. He is a fast swimmer, and hig powers for staying nnder the water are enduring. At night they come out to feed, and wander miles oyer the fields in search of food. They travel over the same roads on these occasions and make little paths, which in trapping parlance are called run*. The steel traps arc often set in these runs, and are carefully covered over with light material, dried leavee, and crass. .The unsuspecting rat, as he travels along, will probably get caught. It is always better, if possible, to catch the lively little animal in the water, where he will drown. If on dry ground and the jaws of the trap have caught the pretty well down toward th* foe. the animal as well as its endurance. Many is the time the trapper will be disappointed to tind only a stump of a leg in his trap or one or two toes. The muskrat's home, if the stream or pond has a high bank, is a little hollow place under ground five or six feet from the water’s edge. The entrance is nn der water. The hallway, after it has penetrated the bank, will turn tip above the level of the water, and there, in the little dry subterranean chamber, he spends the day in sleeping or is busy storing away food for winter. The trapper is happy when he finds the en trance to these houses. Ho will spend time in poking with a long stick under the bank for these place* When found he places the trap under water just in the entrance. If the rat is caught ho will probably drown, as the weight of the trap and his efforts to get awav will tire him, and finally, exhausted, he sinks below water. In the small ponds with low hanks the muskrats often build houses of cornstalks or grasses. Whole families live in these edifices, which are sometimes built several feet above the level of the water. The en trances, and there are usually several, arc under water. Inside they arc fitted up into chambers—cozy liitlc places lined with soft grasses. A favorite mode of catching the rat in his own house is to cut oft' the top of his domicile and place the trap in ono of the little rooms, carefully covering it over with a part of his soft bed. The rat when found alive caught in a steel trap will fight furious ly, and many a blow on the head will he receive before he will give up. Ho is courageous, and on his own part will make the attack, as young and old trappers will testify. When there is no way of escape ho immediately gets ready to resist. A dash is made at the trap per's leg, and if he once strike* * howl of pain will escape the poor trapper, while the long sharp teeth will hoia on with a gjip that would shame a bull dog. Too venturesome amateurs some time come home with fingers hanging by shreds and big holes in their hands, the result of too much freedom with their prey. The box-trap is the favorite for streams, as it L easily made, and often several raU are taken in one in a ■in gle night. It consists of a long, straight box, rectangular in shape, made with entrance* at both end* large enough to admit the rat comfortably. In the ends are placed gates made of stiff wire, slanting toward the inside of the box, so that it can be lifted up easily by the rat going in, but cannot be opened out ward. Spaces are left between the wires so that tne water can run through eas ily. The box is sunk in the middle of a stream and securely anchored with big rocks. Then a row of stakes is driven from the box to the shore, firmly im- bodded in the bed of the stream. They arc usually run a little up the stream so as to form a sort of fence down to the trap. The rat coming down the stream timls himself between two walls of stokes and can not get through. He follows along to the trap; then he dives under in his efforts to get through the blockade. His nose comes in contact with the wire gate and it lifts easily; he passes in and on through. At the lower end he meets the lower gate, which slants in. and cannot open it If he turns back the same difficulty meets him at the other end. In a short time lie drowns from lack of air. Some times, in a stream thickly inhabited by rats, the trapper will finu his box full in the morning when he makes his rounds, and the next night he will probably find more. In the spring, when the rats are running and swim ming long distances, the box traps will yield a large return for the capital ex pended. It is a job to keep them in re pair, however, and when big storms come the stakes will likdy be washed out by the floods and perhaps the trap go floating down the stream. Here is where the hard work comes in. I Another manner of getting the rats is to flood them out A small box trap is placed at the entrance to a bouse, and just below the stream dammed up so that the water will rise to such a height as to drown them out As they attempt to pass out the main entrance they get in the trap, or if the trapper is a good shot he will kill the animals as they swim away. Moonlight nights there is sport in shooting the muskrats as they are swimming in tne ponds. “The Mighty Dollar.” “The Mighty Dollar" is probably the most successful play, financially speak ing, in which the Florences nave ap peared. It came to be written in the following manner: Mrs. Florence, while abroad, was constantly amused at the French phrases which good natnred and oftentimes wealthy bnt uneducated American women made use of with such an amount of misapplication and mispronunciation as to create the high est amusement at their expense. She thought that it would be a first rate idea to transfer one of theee persons from the stage of life to the mimic stage. She spoke to her husband about it and he agreed with her views. He also had had a character in his mind for a long time—that of a good humored bat not overscrupulous lawmaker of the mat west They went to Ben Woolf, a clever journalist, and had him write a play to order with these two characters as the prominent features. Woolf did as di rected, and the ‘Mighty Dollar" was the result At first it was named the “Almighty Dollar," but the American public which can tamely submit to In- genoll’s piasphemies, could not submit to the use of the word “Almighty,” though Washington Irving, one of the chastest of American writers, had given this very name to the dollar. Thus it was the play was changed from the “Al mighty" to the “Mighty Dollar." In the characters of Barnwell Slote and Mrs. Gen. Gilfiory, Florence and Mrs. Florence have appeared over t.AOO times. — Brooklyn Eagle. A man living at Red Wing, Minn., has a pair of golden candleetidu which he says he dog out of an Indian mound at Waukesha, Wie., and which he thinks are the golden candlesticks which fann ed part of the decorations of BoioMOu’e not being" able to poll away, anove where Gen. Robert T< A CRY FOR BETTER LIGHT. Ths Risk* a Missr Kan* !)•«<•«*• H* Coe Not So*. For every fifty thousand tons of coal mined in the anthracite regions, writes a Scranton, Pa., correspondent, one hu man life is lost. This is at the rate oi fifty lives a month, or almost an average of two a dav for every working day In the year. When the price of coal U adjusted for the season the cost of pro duction and transportation is all care fully summed up in the estimates, but this one factor of the cost of human life in mining the coal does not get into the calculations, and is never reckoned in the price current The chief causes oi fatality in the mines are explosions oi and falls of roofing. While the most rcaded form of destruction, that of ex plosion, does not appear from statistics to be the most fatal numerically, yet it is attended by a fact that adds to the melancholy of the fate of its victims. Every life lost in a mine explosion is a sacrifice to carelessness, either the care less and culpable act of a miner or to the more deliberate carelessness of mine- owners in omitting to provide better light and ventilation in tne mine. Scarcely a week passes in the coal region without news of some disaster from explosion or the falling of a mine roof, and every accident is followed by the cry, that has been made ever since coal-mining began in the region, that there must be Dettei* light for use in mines. The cry is soon forgotten, be cause it has never been followed up by any practical effort on the part ot the men most interested to make it of prac tical effect. Accidents in mines are enormously increased by the darkness. A danger greater than that from a gas explosion constantly menaces a miner. Of the deadly presence of the fire-damp he may frequently trust his sense of smell to warn him, but the other danger he can only discover with his eyes. This dan ger is that from the fall of face-coal in the roofs, and one-third of the lives lost in the coal-mine* arc lost by these fail* of coal. A blast in a mine may shatter n larger area of coal than is thrown down. If the miner sees a crack in the wall aboad of him, or in the roof above him, he knows he ia in danger, and he can tell whether it is imminent by bis never- failing test of tiie piece of wot clay. This clay, plastered over the crack, will shortly tell him whether the crack is stationary or is slowly but surely en larging and advancing toward the time of the fall of nick or coal. If the crack is enlarging the clav will soon show a crevice in itself. Then there i* danger swift and near. The miner has the reputation of be ing a most reckless and heedless person, and the evidence of many mine acci dents show plainly that except for some careless act of a workman it would not have happened. The danger of fire damp is a* well known to the miner aa the fact that he ia alive, and *u<A an act of bravado or thoughtlessness arf striking a match to light His pipe or the going forward with a naked lamp or a Burning candle while there was a strong suspicion that the deadly fire-damp was lurking at his side would seem to ne the madness of self-destruction. Not even the most reckless would be supposed capable of thus deliberately inviting a horrible death or doom himself to see his chance of life and escape slowly wear away while he is imprisoned in a locked-up gallery. Yet the interior of a mine after an explosion too often bean the mute but unmistakable witness as to the cause. It may be a half-burned can dle, sometimes still clutched in the care less miner's hand, or a box of matches half emptied, or a naked or unlocked lamp. It is a common thing to hear the report of a mine accident of this kind ending up with the statement: “Caused by a miner working with a naked lamp." But in making the clay tost to dis cover the danger that may be present in a cracked roof there is not much won der that the miner risks one danger to the more surely determine the immi nence of another. His lamp is dull.and the tea’ing clay is surrounded by dark ness. The miner, to note more certain ly the working of the clay, frequently removes his candle, and holds it nearer the crack to give him a better light, thus imperiling his own life and that of others by the danger of exploding gas in the effort to more surely escape the other danger that he knows may be present. If instead of the fire-fly lamp the miner is now compelled to use because of the still backward state and scientific neg lect of invention in regard to the bet ter and safer lighting (J mines he had a light by which he could see clearly what was threatening him in the con fines of the gloomy chambers he would not, as now, constantly be tempted to brave the risk of fire-damp. The electric lighting >of mines has been suggested and experimented with, but it doe* not seem to be practical in the winding galleries and isolated cham bers of the anthracite mines. The lights would have t > be so numerous that the cost woi..U place the lighting of mines for electricity, as a rule, beyond the con sideration at the mine-owners. “What is needed," says an old Scranton mine boss, “is a portable lamp, easily carried, and capable of a brilliancy so great that the necessary safety-screen can not re duce it to dullness that will tempt the miner to bring the naked flame ot a match or candle in contact with mine gases 1n order that be may insure him self against the one danger he loan more than an explosion. I believe that kerosene can be made to become the medium of producing the light It is cheap and Mfe. To. the person who will Invent an appliance by which it may be used will surely come fame and fortune, and the blessings of his fellow- men. If some brilliant inventive ge nius could only experience even for a short time the sensation of % miner when, in the absolute and lonely dark ness of a mine passage, he hears the ominous sound of cracking beams and rattling stones and eoal overhead, the horror of which no repetition of the sound can lessen, and should feel, as the irresistible instinct that he haws light, even at the risk of oth er psrU, he would certainly tarn his thwmhti and Invsntiou to ths poor work- msnlo|Ih^—dsrgromd until ho 4io» Few people are probably aware of the great engineering undertaking in which Russia has been engaged for years, draining the Pinsk marehes. These are so extensive as to secure special designa tion on the ordinary map of Europe, be ing, we believe, the only case of the kind, and In point of the area are very much larger than Ireland. Situated on the Russo-Polish confines they have be come famous in Russian history as a refuse for all manner of romantic char acters. and have remained an irreclaim able wilderness in the midst of a pros perous corn-growing region up to within the last few years. In 1870 the Russian government first took in hand seriously the abolition of this wild expanse, which, owing to being perpetually more or less submerged and covered with a jungle growth of forest, prevented not tfmly communication between the Rnssian district* on cither side, but also between Russia and Austro-Germany. Conse quently a large staff of enrineering offi cers and several thousand troops were drafted into the region, and these have been engaged on the undertaking since. Up to the present moment about four million acre* have been reclaimed, thanks to the construction of several thousand miles of ditches and of canals so broad as to be navigable for barges of several hundred tons burden. Just now the engineers are drawing up the programme for next year, which com prises the drainage of 350,000 acres by means of the construction of 120 miles of ditches and canals. Of the 4.000,000 acres already reclaimed, 600,000 acres consisted of sheer bog, which have been converted into good meadow land, 900,- 000 acres of “forest tangle," which have been prepared for timber purjioses by cutting down all the underwood and thinning the trees, 500,000 acres of good forest land—forest oases in the midst of the marshes—hitherto inaccessible, but which have been connected more or less with navigable canals and thereby with the distant markets, and finally 2,000,- 000 acres have been thrown open to cul tivation,altiiough only 120,000 acres hare been actually occupied up to now. Be sides making the canals and ditches the engineers have built 179 bridges, bored 152 wells from forty feet to eighty teet deep, and 425 from twenty feet to forty feet, and have made a survey of 20,000 square miles of country hitherto unmap pod. When their task is finished Russis will have effaced from the map of Europe one of the oldest and toughest bits of savage nature of the continent, and a few years will suffice to render the Pinsk marshes indistinguishable from the rest of the cultivated region of the sources ot the Dneipcr. From an en gineering, geological and scientific point of view, the work is one of special inter est, and capable globe-trotters, anxious for a novel theme, might do worse than spend a few months amid the fad ing Pinsk marshes, describing the changes in progretM.—Engineering Lon don. & A Lor Chute. One of the most interesting sights to be seen in the Sierras is the manner in which logs are sent down the valleys or river canyons from the timber heights above. A contemporary gives the fol lowing graphic description of one of these scenes: A chute is laid from the river bank np the steep mountain to the railroad; and while we are telling it the monster logs are rushing, thundering, flying, leaping down die declivity. They come with the speed of a thunderbolt, and somewhat of its roar. A track of fire and smoke follows them—fire struck their friction with the chute logs, ey descend the seventeen hundred feet of the chute in fourteen second*. In doing so they drop seven hundred feet perpendicularly. They strike the deep water with* a report that can be heard a mile distant Logs fired from a cannon could scarcely hare a greater velocity than they have at the foot of the ehute. The average velocity is over one hun dred feet in a second throughout the en tire distance; and at the instant they leap from the mouth their speed most be fully two hundred feet per second. A sugar-pine log sometimes weighs ten tons. What a missile! How the water is tossed in the air! Like a grand plume of diamonds and rainbows, the feathery spray ia hurled to a height of a hundred feet It forms the grandest fountain ever beheld. How the waters foam and settle, and lash against the shore! One log. having spent its force by its mad plunge into the deep waters, has floated so as to be at right angles with the path of the descending monsters. The mouth of the ehute is perhaps fourteen feet above the surface of the water. A huge log hurled from the chute cleaves the air and alights on a floating log. You know how a bullet glances, but can you imagine a saw-log glancing? The end ■trikes with a heavy shock, bat glides quickly past for a short distance^ then comes a clash like the reverberation at artillery, the falling log springs verti cally into the air, aim with a curve like a rocket falls into the water a long dis tance from the log it struck.—oocra- Mtfefo Bee. Midnight flport tn Mississippi. “A banging," said Col. Barbour, “ia very old sport for us Mississippiana Down in the Yasoo country, when I live, when we grow tired of bear-hunt ing we get ud a hanging party just for a change. You see, we locate some fel low who has stolen a hog, and on a moonlight night we send out invitations to the neighbors, and request them to join us ia a hanging party. They al ways accept and come Weil mounted, and we go to the not wit hived and string aim up. I last fall, when the boys got tired of deer driving and dock-hunting, that we up a little impromptu aflUr one honor of a Texan man who was'on a visit to some of his relations, and before daylight we treed four of the msaneet men the Yaioo swamp had ever seen. Pay me a visit some time and PH intro duce you to the boys and take yon eat with us some night. Come down this fall, if yoe can, for we have at leaflt ten men spotted, and we’ll have five or ate nights' rare sport”—Mrs Orktau Jto- the game is Mary Anderson ie learned the abominable] of turning the toes in; i „ Timet wants her to tarn the —Omaha Herald. "Beware of overeating," MJS at cal advertisement; “it eamsfl * and death." Yes, beware of < Death, you know, loves a —Philadelphia CkronieU. A girl at Memphis hae Her prospective fetheMm _ dcavoring to indues hlf eon 1 the match. This * ‘ “ warning for the Chronicle. "Ma, did you read lathe ‘Yaocinating Bees’ in Mildred. “Why, no, are the old lady. “I did that bees ever took the PUltburg Chronicle. Scene: Reception In Young gentleman—“Walter, a spoon for the ice-cream, instead M thi» fork." Waiter (from New Yerfc)—<fc- cusc me: I clean forgot I vm ‘ * in Philadelphia.” It is rumored that one ef ear i since next rear will publish an i can novel tne scene of whteh is net laid in Boston; but H is not sals to r such wild rumors until thsy are’ —Norrielovm Herald. A poet mys: “There is all rise somewhere. ” This is To the man who is )nft going to there comes the . somebody has to get up —American Hebrew. The stingiest man on record Hart County. It isi scribed to by many always gets behind a toea watch for fear some one will the time of day.—JSforfweU fOa.) Bam A correspondent traveling in Mat mandy tells London Truth mat in th. Church of Elbcsuf the cure, after his sermon. ^ _ parishioners, please pot only sBser the plate, as it takas soak a long tone count ooppers.” “You say that the woman afTImbt too have their neom bond and wr jewels in them?" “flo trsrslnintan I “Then a Tlmboetoo wemna mast I like the Puritan yacht” “Hew do y* make that out?" “Beeaam dtohM nfs seen ter bored.”—Boston Osnrfer. The Enquirer nmhoasd a EMU to year-old girl My to ito mother lotoorpto ing: “Mother, I battorr God ddMarto dead.” “WhyT * somewhat astonia “ ‘Cense I haven’t „ • WMtoir JSftarfsAMnaMhgf i ” xaVwV79BWMg ff, “I never s said an old dark, periences, “batIota. . that did not advortiaa. out my head wae almost you now sm it Solitary did it ’-CVnefoiMlf Cbmoso “It’s through ao teak ef plained a ured-l “that I came into the here, and the world own mom] “Yea," wm the reply, “toe wort* „ you a livfeg but you haven't eaWDj spunk eaoagh tosoBeet tt. ”-7r fl A wsB-regwotsd have faith in Ms bright future, and oat beyond Faith, hope, and most difficult tripartite in this world to haa) City (Ore.) Say-Bra Young Contributor —“Wtifyott M afar?” Country are alsrom ai (Beading.] Wml *Gn , the eua wae lew/ ah. it bask:] Sony, ate) It’s ran not quite up to ear standard." A call was made at tla j week for a apeef taaatar Hawaa . wished to send the kttsc. cant said it was to i yearP’ now. •self the •aid: “Yon ksva mother blowing bm a company home without lying herf* Tea. air.** as much like a toraada aa know of. But yon neadn't mother that I said to, K Y. Journal. Shahid just dropped lag call on her ‘ you know, „. it ia awfuBy warm; bat I wear this fur-teimn ‘ how.” “a I didn’t Is it the same „ ‘ Hu, it fen% Xt'a brand new it” It's a vaay tad A wa from chmdL was aanairtSi urchin, who begged bar “And whatwooMyan da' if I gave yen oaof” “Please, ma’am. Pd plied the lad. “Pbar observed the lady, man ttveth natty no dime with me, to my houM 1*8 tracts written nr on ths awfntiaw ByUnga. “(A fear, O 1 feS^toto pern oar ma"* think ear •‘Teh There ia a