Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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T-"-RFWEEKLY EDITION. W INNSBOIRO, S. C., -DECEMBER ,18.VL IN THE ORCIARD. Mellow lies the sunshine on the orohard slopes at d midows, On DO of purple asters and tit of leafy hills ; -- , . The soft, warm haze is tender with a palpitat Ing splendor, And a fresh. delloious odor all the dozing val ley fills. Colors like a prairie in the color of its blos some Gleam amid the grasses where the luscious frultage lies, And in their oosy places on the bough., with tempting faces Peep and nestle myriad appli s, like birds of dyes. Golden, green and russet, and warm with scarlet blushes, Basking in the silent noon upon their perches * 'mong the leaves How they glow like royal roees, where the loving sun reposes, How they fall from their own fatuess on the orisp autumnal eves. Apples, fragrant apiles, piled high beside the presses, And heaped.in wain and basket 'neath the broad-branched, mossy trees, Can we fairly call him sober-the splendid, rioh October Pouring out his swee's and beauty in such lavish gifts as these ? Children frolicking and feasting on the ripe ness to the core Monarchs of the orchard king lom, with every tree a throne What are spring days for your praises, or woodpaths, or the daisies,' To those provinces of sweetness, which, by right of love, ye own ? Sadly may the aged ponder life's decays and changes. iot y6 uth sees no dark onien as the mellow apples fall. 0 children, keep.. your gladness ; may you have no more of sadness Than while, romping in the orchards, you. are kings and queens of all! What John Harding Thought, "In some things women are so silly and ridiculous!" Here John Harding laid down the maga zine article he had been reading, and which had for its theme the apparently inexhaust ible one-the follies and shortcomings of the sex to wiich he had alluded. -Mrs. Harding glanced from the bow she was fashioning to the solemn face of the speaker. "In some thingst That is encouraging surelyl I've known such quantities of mno that were silly and ridiculous in so many ways. What is it now, I wonder?" Loftily obvious to the quiet sarcasm in these words, Mr. Harding continued: "Just look at the way they dress, for in - stance." "Oh!" "Not only devoid of common sense, but of all artistic elegance and beauty." "Really, John," retorted Mrs. Harding, drawing her needle through her work with so much energy as to snap'the thread, "how ever silly a woman may be in your estima tion, I think they might know how and in what style to dress." "They might, I suppose," was the cool response; "hut that they 'dOn't is, very evident. H1ave you icad: 'Dress as it ite lates to Health and Beauty,' in the last Monthly." "No,'' respondeld 1MJrs. H~ardiig, with a toss of the head. "It was writteno by somec man, I suppose," "No matter who it was written by; it is sound sense, every wordl of it. I wish you would study that article, Mary; it would (10 you an inose denl of' goad. I don't mecan to say that you hoaven't sense in a good many things, which surprises ime all the more that you shoould sliow so little in the way you dross." Mrs. Harding's red eheeks grew still red. der. * '.-*."John Hardingi" "There, now, Mary, don't fly into a pas soon because I tell you the truth, all for - your own good. Just look at the trimming on the skirt of your dtess, for jnstance; ac cording to all artisti'e rules,'the line should be unbroken, from waist to feet, and here it ls emit up' and destroyed in hialf-aidozenm places?" "Have you ever seen mec in a dress whose skirt le -entirely plain,'or,' as-you term it, with the liIe unbrokoifrrofir waist'to foet?'' "No; but I shoouki be glad to do so"'' "You woumldt, Have . you any farther complaint to insgeo i If yoh'ave i beg $hst you won't be babitjafd ; tojt gtatlug lj.d "I don't mean to be. ~here's the hat you, wear. That is what you call it, I sup pose, 'though for any its' i. pord: mb it might as well be called/most tdyting else;i a mass of ribbons, feathers and flowers, . piled up as hIgh as jios e and vdoinityon the back of the hoeah."'' "Anything (urtheor?" -, . "Yes. Look at theo way the hair is worn by nine-tenths of the ladies-yours among cm, part of it in a snarl on tihe forehead and the rest braided and 'festooned at the back of thme head." "Hlow would you have iiae arrange it?" "Why, simply drawn back from thme fore head and colled low at thoe back of the head so as to'preserve its.classio. outline. *Some thing the way i is in that pictureo. Sed?"' Mrs. Harding glanced at the picture to -which her husbatid poinlted, that of' a very lovely girl, withi ahall reg'ula'r fcattir~d, and who wavy hair was losely knutted at the back. 4 "Yes, I see. But I don't think you over saw my halr dressed in that style." "It would ben im uene 1tnpmtvenient -If you would dross it so, you'd look like quite anotheo person." "tink I should, Biut havel 0O& omt further suggestions to make? Your ideas are so original that they interest me." "Not, at preseut," returned Mr. Hard ing, biting off the end of his cigar he Inten ded., to light as soon as he got out on the steps. A few minutes later he put his head back Into the room where'his wife was sitting: "I shall be around with the ponies at 8, Mary. Don't keep me waiting." Mrs. Harding belonged to 'that- large class-of ladles Nlose attractions depend more or less on style of dress, and no one understood this more clearly than she. She knew her strong and weak points, and how to bring out the one and conceal the other. For instance, she had fine eyes, hair and complexion, but her features were rather Irregular, her forehead especially being out of proportion with the rest of her face, and the form wanting in roundness of outline. But so skillfully were these defects remedied by the adjustment of the hair and dress th'at they were scarcely no ticed, and she was considered by all who knew her-her husband not excepted-to be an attractive and very charming woman. Mrs. Harding spent the greater part of the morning in the attic overhauling a chest that had belonged to her husband's aunt; apparently well repaid for her trouble by the -garments fished up out of its dark depths, and which she carried to her own room. Out of these she fashioned a dress very similar in style to the one for which her husband had expresed so much admira. tion. "I hats to disfigure Inyself so!'' she thought, as the straight folds felU lankly around the tall, thin form making it look still more tall and thip; ."but nothing else will cure John ; and if lie keeps on he'll drive me franticl" ~ Taking a round, flat hat, very much in voguo a few' years ago, and whose only ornament was a ribbon around the crown, Mrs. Harding went down into the parlor. Slid did npt have long to wat, Ten in utes later Jolm came uo to the door, in an open phdeton, drawn by the' well known grays that were the pride of his heart. Running up the steps, ho opened the door of the room where his wife sat. He stared at her, for a moment, in dumb amazement "Heavens and earth Mary, is that you? I thought it was-I don't know what What have you been doing to yourself?" "I have been trying to carry out the hints you gave me. this morning ; ip regard to dress. I hope.it suits you and that you ad mire its effect?" "Well, no," responded Mr,. Harding, taking a critical survey of the odd looking figure before him. ''I can't say that I do. To speak plainly you look like a frlghtl" "I must say John," retorted his wife with an Injured air, "that you are very diffeult to suit. I have spent the greater part of the morning in following the suggestions you gave me at breakfast and still you find fault. What is it now I'd like to know? Hete is the unbroken sweep of skirt; the classic line of the head-I think that is what -ora call it. And'you surely can not say that this hat Is too high, or that. Its ele gant !sm8icity--I guote yody words-is destroyed'by any superabundance of flowerr, feathers and ribbons." Igr, H'arding tugned very red. "Tiiat is all 'nonsense, Mary. I had only three hours at ni'y disposal, andl it's now half past 8.' I thougnt I should find you all ready." "I shall bj3 ready i'a half a mipute,":re pliell hla wife tying on her hat. Mr. Hardlag lookedl at her in hiorritied astonishment. "Do you thinkc that I am' going 'o take you out insuch a dress~as that? Why you lhek like ap escaped Subaticl'' Just hero the door bell rang. "It's Judge Howe," said Mr. 'Harding, as lie listeded to- the voice, In reply to th~e servant whio answered It. "He's come ex pressly to see you. For pity's sake go up stairs and put on something decent. I .would'nt; hae a see you in that dlowdy thiiig for' ishy donsiderationl" "Will you promise-" , "I'll promise, anything!" interposed Mr. Harding drawing his wife toward the door which opened into the back parlor, and through which she disappeared just as their vIsitor was announced.. In analmost incredible short space of time Mrs. Uarding epteied the parlor where hier hul} eji.ad tt}h best were seated, looking ecbdIfferentW tino one not inti mately acquainted wtth her would have recognized hier. dSwaonsgho rle Mr Hardin dwaogsgl frle as ho looked at the pretty, tastily-attired woulaq of pvhengjhe had so often spoken to ils:fridnd,.Judge Hlowe, and to whom lie was so proud to present her. ~Ii the g~'and ''ailmiated eonversatiou that followed, and all the pleasant thoughts 'to whichi it gave rise, he forgot everything p15e; not so w~th Mrs. Hlaring. As soon pa the door' clo 1d after their visit or, she I~urnacd her laughing eyes futll upon her husband's face. "Now John, let us have a fair and clear understandirg; I want to suit you If it is a possible thirig. Which Qf Gjie tiro styles offdressing do you wish me tro adopt?'" "I shouldn't suppose you'd ask such a questioni, Mary. Seeing you once In the peculiar costume you assumed is quite enough foi me,' IPaseure ydih""'"/ "I assumed it to please you--don't for got that." "Ypg~ failed. in,.gopir ojcet, then. To spehik friahkly, I didn't a pose it 'possible for you to look yoidgypright ugly In apy thiing." ,/ "Yan are not ovar anmpnmanta.., laughed Mrs. Harding. "But no matter: if you're satisfied, I am. Don't look so crest fallen, John; you are net a bit more incon slatent than the rest of your sex who give ours so much sage advice in regard to mat ters they know nothing about. If the wives and daughters of these modern Solomon. should dress as they advise other people's wives and daughters to do they wouldn't be seen In the street with thon.' Married Life Atmong the Esquinaux. It might be supposed, says a correspon dent with the Schwatka expedition, who saw something of life among the Esqui maux, that In such a state of society as exists among this people there would be no roman ces, no marrying for love; but that would be a mistake, for there have been several roman tic little episodes that came under my ob servation during my residence in North Hudson's Bay. There is a poor old man dwelling with the Iwilliks, near Depot Is land, named Iteguark, who had two very attractive and useful wives, or Nu-lee-aug ar, as is the nWtive term. The old man had been a good hunter, but a few years ago met with an accident that resulted in his right knee becoinngbtiffened, and his hunt ing days were over. He can still hpnt seals throng the iae, but cannot work up to them on top of the ice, nor can he chase the reindeer on his native hills. Then it was that Oxeomadiddlee looked with envious eyes upon the youngest and fairest of Ito guark's wives and induced her to come and live with him. She knew that her new lover was strong and active and better able to support her than her old love and listen cued to the voice of the tempter. Iteguark was not disposed to submit meekly to this treachery on the part of his friend Oxeo madiddlee, so one morning while the tru ant wife and her new husband were sleeping in their igloo Iteguark enteredand sought to take the life of the seducer with a hunting knife. But Oxeomadiddlee was on his guard and being a man of immense strength Ie caught his adversary by the wrist and by the sheer force of his grip compelled him to drop the weapon on the floor. He then released his hold and Iteguark rushed out to his own igloo and got his bow and quver, but his enemy was atil watchful and took the bow and arrows away and destroyed them. Here ended hostilities. Oxeomadiddlee paid the old man for his wife and that set tied it forever. Presently another Inuit named Eyerloo fell desperately in love with poor Itegua'k's remaining wife, and with his arts'and bladishments won her away from her husband. There was no fight this time. The poor old man gave up con ple'tcly, and said the world was all wrong and lie only waited for his summons to leave it and mount the golden stairs. A few years ago an Igloolip Inuit named Kyack won the affections of one of Iko mar's wives, and this brought on a duel in which Kyack came vdry near leaving Mrs. Kyack a widow. Ikomar got the head of his enemy in chancery and tightened his arh around lita neck until Kyack dropped lifeless upon the snow. He gradually re covered, and would have returned the stol enwife, but Ikomar refused to take her back, and demanded payment instead. This was tendered to him, and being appeased by the offer further trouble was avoided. Punnie, one of Armow's daughters, was, in jier youth, affilanced to Sebeucktelee, but when she reached a marriageable age be came the wife of Conwechungk, her adopt ed brother. The pretext for this new ar rangement was that Sebencktelee's father had not iiade payment at.the time lie made the wedding contract, and that Punnic loved Conwechungk better anyhow, and would take advantage of the omission of the Intended father-in-law. It made no difference that Conwechungk had another wife-In fact, it was all the better on that account, for lie would have one for him selbsand another to loan around to Is neigh bors. When I left Depot island I noticed that he had not only loaned his first wife away but had traded his dearly beloved Punnie for Tockoleegeetais's wife for an indefinIte period while Sebeucktolco had taken to his bosom Netchuck, the discarded wife of 8hockpenark. But life is altogether too short to allow of ai complete and reli able record being made of the social gossip of an Esquimaux village. Intermiatriages are common, and everybody is related to every one else in the most intricate and astonishing manner. I once read of a man who married a widow, and his father, sub sequently marrying the daughter of this same widow, was driven Insane by trying to ascertain the exact relationship of their children. Such trifles have no effect upon the Inult brain or the entire nation would long ago have become raving maniacs. namies. According to a Yorkshire notion, a new born infant should be laid first in the arms of a maiden before any .one touches it; and 'In seome placestho infant's right hand Is left unwashed In order that lie may gather riches. It Is, too, considlered very import rant by many that an Infant should go up in the world before it goes down. Thus, in Cleveland, says Mr. Henderson, "if a child should be borh In the top story of a house, for want of a flight of stairs one of the gossips ill take it in her aims anid, mount a stable, chatr or chest of drawers, before she carres It down stairs." In the north of Enagland when an lafant for the first time goes out of the house, it is presented with an egg, some salt, a little loaf of bread, anid occasIonally a small piece of money -these gif ts being supposed to Insure that, the child shall never stand In need of the common necessaries of life. lIn the Ea t Ridin11g of Yorkshire a few matches aro-adoed io light the child to heaven. It was, too, in former times custo mary, and the practice is not yet obsolete, to provide a large cheee and cake and cut them at the hmth of ea ehilid. These were called thme "groaning cake and chmeesr," and were .distributed - arnong all the neighbors. Inm Yorkshire this cake Is termed the "pepper cake," and in some localities the "sickening cake." It Is time soure of a species of divination, for being cut Into small pie~ces by the nmedic~l man~lt Is divided apiohg itlie'unmirried of the fe file sex, under the name of "d reaming bread." Each one lakes a piece, places It In the foot of the left stocking and throws it over the r~glit abl~de. (is lielng dlone' the algstfe~ir to belakwai'd, without, uttering a word, and those who are lucky enough to fall asleep before midnight are favored with a aight of their future hue. bands in theio rae A Bachelor's Confession. I live In a French flat. 6f course there are objections to French flats. So there are to most things. I can't afford a hotel,and I detest a boarding house. A bachelor of thirty odd, who had been at the mercy of boarding rase keepers all his days, can easily understand that. So, when I engaged'a suite of rooms third floor in a French flat edifice-and ar ranged my household goods therein, with a fine lookout over a green dot of a park in front, and the glimmer of a palisade in the rear, above a forest of chipping, I consid ered myself well off. What is my profession? I haven't any in particular. I am an artist, and draw a little; daily, in front of my easel, I contrib ute to the press, and write when the divine aflatus seizes me. I read the law when I feel like it, and draw a little income from a snug little property left nie by an uncle in India. Consequently I was able to dec orate my iew quarters very prettily with Bagdad rugs, old China dragons, black and gold Jipanese screens, 'and pictures I had picked up at a bargain. And when the fire was burning cheer fully in the grate, the first rainy M1ay ev ening, the student lamp sliimug softly on the red, carved table, and the waiter from a neighboring restaurant had brought in my frugal dinner of a broiled bird, a mold of currant jelly, a slice of roast beef, and a raspberry dumpling, I considered myself pretty comfortable. "Upon tile whole," says I to myself, "I rather approve of French flats." I rang the bell. The janitor-i respectful, decent sort of a fellow, in a round jacket and carpet slippers-answered the summons. "Janitor," said I, "who occupies the floor above?" "Nobody, sir," the man answered. "Last party moved out yesterday, New Party moves in tomorrow." "A large family?" said I, rather dubi ously. "Bless your heart, sir," said the man, "no family at all-a single lady, sir." At this I congratulabed myself more and more. "I shall have the prospect of a little peace now, I think,'' said 1, and ate my dinner in a fool's paradite of happiness. The single lady moved in on the mor row. She must have moved in when I was down town selecting some new mill boards and color tubes for the summer sketches that I intended to make, for when I returned, fondly expecting once more to enter into my kingdom of peace and seren ity, everything was changed. There was a banging and pounding over head, a thumping and hammering-a sound as if some middle-aged glantess, in hob nailed shoes, was enjoying herself in a promenade. I sent for the janitor in a rage. "Is this house coming down?" said I. "It's the new tenant a-moVln' in, sir," said he, apologetically. "Does her furniture consist entirely of Herrng's safes and square pianost" said I. "There are two pianos, sir," said he. "She's musical." "The deuce she isl" roared I. "Two pi anosl And does she play on 'em both?" "Don't know, sir, I'm sure," said the man, with a distressed expression of coun tenance. I endured the noise until midnight, and then I sent up the jani or's wife. "The third floor's compliments to the fourth floor, and would like to know if this sort of thing is to go on all night." Down came the wonaan again. "Fourth floor's compliments to the third floor, and wishes to know if lie expects peo ple to get settled without a noise." The next day the piano-only one how ever-commenced. I was elaborating a skeleton for a scientitic essay, and it dis turbed me seriously. I endiured it as long as I possibly could, and then I had resourc'e once more to the janitor's wife. "Third floor's complimeints to the fourth floor, and 'will feel obliged if she will favor me with a little peace and quietness, long enough to do some necessary writing." There was no reply, and the music ceas ed abruptly. But that evening, when I was begining to solace myself with a iittle violin prac tice in the twilight, tap, tap, iap, came the janitor's wile at my door. "Fourth floor's compliments to the third floor, and will feel oblIged if he will favor her with a little peace and quietness, long enough to write a letter." ,flow I hate that woman! So we lived for a month, exchlanging constant misriles of wai fare. ':could cheer fully have given up that miserable French fiat and gone back to boardig, only un luckily I had engaged it for a year. The fourth floor elocutionized, and had friends to select private readings, whose voices were deeper than Hamlet's, and more so norous than that, of Charlotte Cushmnan. She was charitable, and had classes of heavy-booted girls twice a week, to siing hymns andi learn to sew, A sigle lady, indeed! If she had been a quadruple lady she could not have made more nolse, - nor enjoyed the making of it more. At the close of tihe month, however, an incident happened which turned the current of my whole life. I went on a pic nIc. I don't often go to affairs of that kind; but this was an especially select affair, gotten up by my friend IHarold Webster. I went, and there I met Barbara Willis, andl fell straightway in love with her. She wasn't exactly young, but neither am I and to my taste a full-blown rose is sweeter than a bud, wherever you tind it growing. She was dark-eyed, with full cherry lips, satin-brown hair, and a c )mplexion as fresh as roses and( ivory. We talked--our ideas coincided exactly. It seieed if~ our souls were two looking.gjasses, to mirror each other's. "'Miss Willis," cried I, "why is it that we have never met before? I feel as if we were old1, old friends!'' As X spoke I gently pressed her hand, and she smiled back unutterable things. I went to my friend Webster, who was making uip quadrilles on the uipper deck. We were accompanied by an excellent brass bsend. "Oh, IHarold," said 1, "1 can never thank you enough for introducing me to that, angell'' "Do you mean Barbara Willis," .said lie. "Well, I do think she Is rather a flne girl." We grow confidential as we, sat together oil the promiena'de deek and,. watched the tnoonlhght ripple over the surfaco of thie tides, "A bacheolor's lifeois btgt half g #fe~ ls Willis'asaid A:. . "I can readily imagine that," said she, softly. "1 live in a flat." confessed I. "Do you?" said Barbara, (the sweet, old English name was just like her.) "Why, how strangel So do II" "Isn't it dreadful?" said T. "Horridi" said she, closing her lips as though she meant it. "And there's a female dragon occuples the floor above me and torments me out of my life." "Well, If this Isn't a remarkable coinci dence," said Barbara. "There's a detest able old crab of a bachelor under me, wpd takes all the pleasure out of my existenb&" "Should two lives be thus blighted?" said I. "I-1 don't think they should," Paid Barbara, looking intently at the bouquet of pansies she hela in her hand. It was past midnight when the boat land ed. Harold Webster came up. "I promised to see you home, Miss Wil lis," said he, rubbing his hands briskly. "You need not trouble yourself, Webs ter," said 1. "I shall be most happy." I called a hack, helped the divine Barba ra In, feeling more and more as if I wevie walking in cloud land. "Where shall I drive to?" said the man. "No. 69 Ravenal street,"said she, fourth floor. "What!" cried 1, "not to Fernandino flats?" "Exactly," satd she. "Why, that's where I livel" "Are you the third floor?" she cried out, breathless. "Are you the fourth?" I counter-ques tioned. "But you're not a crab at all?" "Nor are you a dragon. On the contra ry-" But what matters It what we said? Things were alte.-ed front the very begin ming. I took my violin up stairs the next day, and helped my divine Barbara nut with sonata of Beethoven's. I suggested a new educational theory for the nabnailed classes. I listened enchanted to lier ret tation of Tennyson's Brooh; and at the end of the quarter we are to oc married-liar bara and I. WYhy the Needie Pointa .Northerly. The reason why the needle points in the northerly direction is that the earth in it self is a magnet, attracting the magnetic needle as the ordinary magnets do; and the earth is a magnet as the result of certain cosmical facts, much affected by the action of the sun. These laws have pei i-Aleities all of which have not as yet betn deter. mined. The inherent and ultimate reason of the existence of any fact in nature, as gravity, light, heat, etc., Is not known fur ther than that it is in harmony whh ill facts in nature. Even an earthquake is in perfect harmony with, and the direct re sultant of, the action of forces acting under general laws. A condensed explanation in regard to the needle pouting to the- north ward and southward is as follows: The magnetic poles of the earth do not coincide with the geographical poles. The axis of rotation makes an angle of about 28 degrees with a line joint to the former. The north ern magnetic pole is at present near the Arctic circle on the meridian of Omaha. Hence the needle does not everywhere point to the astronomical north, and is constantly variable within certain limits. At Sain Francisco it points about 17 degrees to the east of nortn, and at Calais, Maine, as much to the west. At the northern nag netic pole a balanced needle points with its north end downwards in a plump line; at San Francisco it dips about 63 degrees, and at the southern magnetic pole the south end points directly down. The action of the earth upon a magnetic needle at its surface is of about the same force as that of a hard steel magnet, 40 Inches long, strongly mag netized, at a distance of one foot. Th'lie foregoing is the accepted explaiiation of the fact that the needle points to the northward and southward. Of course no ultimate reason can be given for this natural fact, any niore thn for any other observed face, In nature. itutter andi Chleese of the Ancients. From the fact that the ancientwriters of the Hebrew and Greek schools do not mna tion butter or cream some have concluded that neither was known or used up to..nearly the close of the first century of the Uliristian era; but this must be a mistake, for no doubt one of the oils mentioned in the Old Testament was of a butyraceous denscrip 'ion. The milk of herds and of goats is spoken of, consequently there must have been cream, and butter also. produced b~y the conveyance of milk in skinis on camel. back, as it, Is fregnontly carriedl In what Is called the Holy Laad to-day. Th'le ci mate, in patriarchal tinmes, ais it p~resents, wouldi not, allow butter t. remain long in a solid state; and hence Its miention as oil. This is, however, sijeculative, though more than probable. Pliny speaks of "cow cheese," which lie calls butyrum; and thb nomad Arabs nmade what they called "kymac," which Is a thickened preparation of cream almost like butter. It is niade by shaking creami of goat's milk in a calabli. The native Ea&st Indians naade butter from buffaloes' milk, which they called '"ghiee," which is simply butter of a thick, oily con sistency. homer and Virgil both mention cheese, the for iner that could be cut by a kmfe-Hlercamnedb being described in the Iliad as having shred andi scraped goat's cheese into a posset lie prepared for the wouinded Machaon. Virgil leaves cheese with no greater consisteney than curd, which the Scythians used to mix with mare's blood and feast upon. Long before the Christian era the buttery extract fromi milk was used by the barbarous iiations and by the liomanis as an ointment, witii which they anointed children when teeth log, and applied to their skins to defend them from the sun. This was butyrum, ghcc, or imcited butter; and, if it looked then no more tempting than when presented forty years ago, under ani Arab tent at the second cataract of the Nile, it must have been then, as now, a .very repulsive ap. pearing article of food,hih a most offen sive smell of rancidity. .JBefore thieir~ intercourse with Euro peans, thieMaoris, according to Mr. J. W.hStackof theNew Zealand Institute, had terms only for three colors---whmite, blaock and red. Ils paper is valuable as thirowing light ont some of the re cent hearneod disputations regarding the color sonse of the Greeks about the time of the siege of Tkey. It is oniq thing to appreciate color, anid quite an other thing to0giv prelse. ey pressign to that anproMa.a Riirdl-searinur. "Why don't you scare the birds away ?' says not only one friend but many to me when I show them my plums, my apples and pears, picked here and there long be. fore they are ripe, just as a taste of one and then another, but enough to spoil the fruit, and prevent their growing or keeping. It is vexing-very vexing, I say; but how am I to scare them? And if 1 do, I frighten away also the very birds I want to come, as well as those 1 do not. Then it is most difficult to scare when you nave a :o on two sides of. your garden, which la also crowded with shrubs, besides the fruit-trees, the latter being either close to gether or growing as ornameuts among the shrubs and flowers. Then there are 200 or more In an orchard that does not quite join the garden, but also have a wood on two sides. "Ifave a boy," said my friend. "Let him have a watchman's rattle, and make him go about with it. That'll scare thein." "Possibly it might-," I rejoin, for a while, perhaps a week, but not more; and only think of the noise of the rattle perpet ually going from morn to night close to your house, and another joining chorus, tor rather making a duet, from the orchard. It would be just as unpleasant for myself and friends as for the birds. Besides, the boy will not come until seven mn the morn ing, and then go at six In the evening. It would be before and after those hours the birds would do the mischief ; they would watch him coie and go even to his meals; and, besides, In a day or two they would get so used to the sound that they would scarcely fly before him." "Nol" said my friend, "not they.'' "But it has been tried,'- say 1, "and (toes not answer." "Well, there are plenty of other means," I get in reply. 'Name them," sy 1. "Tie scarlet worsted about the trees you want to save.1 "I have tried it, and no result. Feathers on strings will do for a while, and so on; looking-glass, inste'ad of frightening, at tracts some birds." "Al I well," says my friends, "it's all nonsense; it can h)e done if you like; but the fact is you don't care and don't try, that's it." .You are wrong," say I. "Come and sit here in the shade, and I will tell you a few attempts to frighten the birds. Awhile ago a friend of mine had a cherry-tree full of cheruies. They were fine and good; s, to preserve them from the birds, he put i bell up in the tree, and brought a string through the window of his bedroom that was tied to the bell, so that early in the morning he could ring the bell as lie was lymg in bed. The first and second morn ings the effect on the birds wai all that could be desired; the third he pulled at the stl'ing, and found the bell did.not sound well; so he got up to look, and there, sit ting on the bell, was a magpie, trying with difliculty to balance himself as the bell was pulled to and frol In three mornings the birds had got used to the scare." "Another one I will tell you. Mr. Brock, of the Crystal Palace, gave me some Japa iese- kites; very curious figures they were. These, I thought, would seare the birds if flown occasionally. I took then home, and on the following day I flew one, and when it was about fifty yards up, or there abouts, the birds caine far and near to ob serve it; larks in partieular, also swallows and martins-round about, the kite they and others flew, going close to It chirping and twittering, quite a throng of them; I should say there were foTrty or more all to gether. After a short time, by ones, by twos and threes, they went away. I low cred my kite (which, by Lhe way, repre. sented a Japanese lady) and put it away. A few days after a visitor from London came, and, walking around the garden, I said(, '1 will showv you a curious sight pre sently.' 8o I got out uiy kIte, and' away it went, higher anu higher. I let out all my string, but never a bird came to lkok at it-not one. I was astonish~ed. My friend looked at the kite for a short time, and then said, 'I don't see anything in particu lar in that.' 'No,' said 1, 'but 1 do0.' Then I told him how the birds swarmedi about at when I flew it before, and~ I expected they would again. But no such thing; in one flight they had got used to It, and were neither frightened nor caited( about it in any way. Nor did( they afterwards, whieni I again tried another Japanese figure-not one came to see it. Againi, I have put clothes stuired v.'ith straw, representIng a man, up ini the garden to scare thme jaiys. Glomg out early on the third morning afteur One was fixed, [ saw a jay sitting on the hat of the figure with somegreon pea-pods, enjoying them In a most contented way. No, my friend, 1 have never yet found any 'bird-scare' a nawer for more thanm three dlays, and seldom11 so long. Trying to scare birds is one thing, doing it is another, and, as a rule, you do more harm than good, for you frighten the more thnid, such as the warblers, from doing you the good, while the bold, such as black-birdsm, jays, etc., arc not deterred. So I thInk your idea of scaring is not of much use." "Wel l," saidl my friend, rising, ''what (10 you (do?" "Net thme trees and the strawberries where 1 can, and lot the others take their chance. Losing time fruit is not so bad as losing the birds. A bushel or I~wo of fruit sp)oilt Is not so diflIcult to bear with as whole trees denuded of bloom-buds." llere my friend looked at his watch. "'Lear' mie 1'' said he, "'I shall lose tihe train,'' anr1 ho made ior the garden gate with more tha.hl, accustomed speed; amid just as he passed through I saidl gently to "Your watch Is a little slow, I think." "Ah ," said lie, and away he ian. "That's a scare," said I to myself, as I sauntered up the pathway to the house; "but, like those for the-birds, it won't last long." Musieal c.rhleimnmn. An amateur musician of great natural genius played the "Anvil Chorur, ' on a piano to a few friends the other nignt. After he hiad banged the piano nearly to iecos, he stoppedi and turning to Gilhoolf', said: "Now, Mr. Gilhoolj, I want yotir can did opinion about my skill." "My opinion." said Gillhooly, "alp't worth a cent. I never worked ha a iloller shop or a blacksmith shop. ln may life, but Bob nere, has. Ask hun." Bob said it was the best thing of theo kind he had heard for years and yet the inusieal cuss was pleased enough .to send across the street for a pitchet' of beer and Uses of Tar. Twenty years ago one ot the most offen sive refuse products from manufacturing industry was that known as gas tar. It was surreptitiously got rid of by throting it into the rivers, and formed the ghastly blue patches known as "blue billy." .This substance, by the aid of the chenalst's art, has been lifted up from its lower.place, and no 'nds forth as the source of somhe of ti 'iseful products in the arts; but It. color and odor have been trans. nit, the most beautiful dyes, and the i. delicious flavors. The offensive refuse-this poor, rejected Cinderella-has now become the queen of the by-products of our manufactures. Instead of its being furtively put out of sight, factories have sprung up alongside of the gas works to enable the chemist to transmute their gas tar and ammoniacal liquors into a score of differeut products of wholly different na tures ; and the curious thing is, that many of them are, as if by magic art, elevated from this dire nuisance lato materials which appeal to the sense of- beauty and delicacy in every form. Among other prMucts of gas tar as of Insufferable smell is benzole, which, with nitric acid, produces nitro benzole. a body resembling in odor bitter almonds. It Is greatly used for the pur pose of perfuming soap. Bensole, itself) is a body of great solvent powers, and one of the most effective removers of grease stains known; whereas the source from which it springs is one of the greatest soll era in existence. .Naptha is a product of. this tar-the ,ource of light in many facto ries removed from gas works; when treated with turpentine it is transmuted into cam phine, and illuminates our drawlug-rooms. Naptha Is also used in dissolving the va rious guns, rosin, etc.; india rubber, gut ta-percha, and by instrumentality, a hun dred new substances are introduced to the world. Aniline, the base of the dyes bear ing that name, is obtained from the action of nascent hydrogen or nitro-benzole. It seems almost incredible that the delicate tones of color known under that 'name should issue'from so foul a source; but it Is so. The arts would, indeed, be deprived of one of its most beautiful embellishments if this new agent had not been discovered. A brilliant yellow is again produced'by the action of nitric acid. Carbolic acid is con verted into carbonic acid. Even red dyes, but of a very ephemeral character, are pro duced from napthaline. Almost all the colors of the rainbow isaue from it; but In the absence of all color lampblack is made by burning with slight access of air the least volatile component of gas-tar. Among the light oils of tar are some which, with the heavy oils, are ellective In preserving wood from rotting, and tar creosote, carbol ic acid, which is a most powerful antisep tic, and one which will come greatly into use now that the nation is becoming more careful of its health. The production of alum and sal ammoiac, although it cannot be said to be recovered from the refuse of gas works, can with truth be said to be pro duced from the refuse of coal mines-the shale which roofs them in. Formerly this was a waste material which occupied a vast spuce, like the spelter heaps. It Is now utilized by our dyers and color printers to fix their colors. This product is made by setting fire to the shale, and heating the re siduum in Iron pans with sulphuric acid, with the addition of the gas liquor, when the result is ammoniacal alum. Cremation In Bally. The Italians are resolved to make the system of cremation as perfect as possible. The headquarters of tke institution at Milan have recently received a very singu lar addition. Its customers were con. fronted with a difficulty which at first had not been anticipated. The diffidulty was to know what they were to do with the ashes of their deceased relatives. It seemed imp~roper that ordinary sepulture shlouild follow so uniusual a procoss of cremation. The management at Milan'has at last found Its way out of the difficulty. Incineration Is, after all, but a revival of an old fashion, and it was only necessary to follow out the usages of its originators in order to cause all difliculty to disappear. The Crematory Temple at Milan is to have an annex, whiclh will, in fact, be a cemetery. The municipalhty has already selected its archi tect andI approvedi the plans which he has furnished. The cemetery, when completed, will differ as widely from an ' ordinary grave-yard as cremation differs froif an ordlinary sepuiture. it will be an Etruscan building, thirty-six feet high- by about twenty feet long, and will be furpished wvithi recesses, 120 in number, according to the present design, in each of which sev eral cinerary urns can be placed. The aulthorities are so confident of the selccess of the undeortaking that they have ordered vaults or catacombs to be constructed un der thme nave, and these will become the p~rivate prop~erty of families. The practice of ci emnation seems to have made more way in Italy than in Germany, to which two countries of Europe it has as yet been al most entirely conined. Mark Twain'g LOUK Book. Receipt for 19ow England pie:-To make this elegant breakfast dish, proceed as fol. lows. TVake a sufficiency of dour, and construct a bullet-proof dough. Work this into, a form of a dish, with the 'edges turnedl up sonic three fourths of an inch. Toughen and kiln dry it a couple of .days in a imilid, but .unvarying temperature. Construct a cover for the redoubt in: the same way and of the same material. Fill with stowed dried apples. agglratate with cloves, lemon po6l and labe of citront' add two p~orthons of New Orleans' sugar then solier on the-lid and set in a safe place till it potrifles. Servo cold pt brealcfast and invite your eneniy. German Ooffee: Take a barrel 'of *ater and bring- it to a boll; rub a clifory berry against a cofee berry, then convey. the former into the water. Contipie he boil ing and evaporation until the ipalty of the lavor and aroma of tlie COt and chicory has boon diminished to a proper degree; then set adido to cool; Noir un harness the remaIns of a once cow. tromn the, plow, insert themn in hydraulic, press and when yoti shall have acqmred a. tea sponful of that pale. blue 'juidewhich a (Gerinan superstition regards as imik, modify the malignit,of its strength In a bucket of, topjdwyater. and ring up the ag arouhd yodrbd a 6 gut~ua ,. ,