Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO, S C., JANUARY 18, 1881. VOL. IV.-NO . 1SMEITOES. Down dot p in the lowermost drawer. Away fromu the cold, ca- eless gaze, They lie in a 'ime-tintod cover Memeutoos of earlier days. There lies in that preo'ous fackage A note ; but the delicate hand That traoed it hath long awayel-ta eoeptre Afar off in Beulah's fairland. Beside it a look, brightly silvered With time and the toils f the past, Is laid , but the Infinite bosom That weaiy head p:llows at last. Another, of deep glossy blaokneas, Reoalls a beloved mothcr's oare. she went ore the dews of life's evening Bad fallen, the kingdom to share. These others-ah I well, 'tic evough The ribbon all so.led to untie I Too bitter tLe griefs they awaken a Touch not-undisturbed let them lie, le only who fashioned eo wisely The heart can its secrets beat keep g Then, wake not their sad, mournful echoes. But tenderly hush them to sleep. When the Ship Comes In. A sweet-faced woman and a sweet-faced child are wandering among the shipping docks of the great c'ty. The woman is plainly dressed, but evidently in her best attire, and there is a touch of gentility In her finery, In the real lace collar, relics of better days, perhaps, the pearl earrings and the neat gloves. The child is neatly dressed, too, and as she clasps the woman 's hand, looks love at her guardian. But ihe woman's face is not at Its best now, a care worn look, And a faint wrinkle ul)on the pale forehead that ages her and lessens the charm of her features. She Is inquiring of the dockien, of the stevedores, of the loungers about the wharves, whether the brig Good Luck has come In. She always receives thu saime reply to her eager question, for the brig Good Luck has been lost a month ago, dashed on a lee shore, and ground to pieces by the sea, and will never come in-never -never more. If they told her, she wouldn't believe them, for the woman and hi r child have supreme faith that the brig Good Luck will come in soon with cargo and crew, though they have been asking the same question and same prayer for imany and many a day. Then she goes across the street and winds her way among the bales and boxes and Iasing carts, and through all the hub bub und bustle of the whari, and climbs a flight of stairs to where the brig's owners have their oilice. They are used to seeing her. They smile sadly when she enters with the child, and look signiticantly at one snother, as much as o say : "Poor thing I she's mad. No wonder, no wonder I" Mad I Yes, she Is mad with "hope de ferred," with anxiety to meet her husband, Caleb Shelter, master of the brig Good Luck; to meet the master of the brig, her husband and the father of her child. Why does he stay away from her so long? "Is the Good Luck in yet?" she asks of a clerk. "Not yet, ma'aim." "Shu is expected, of course to-day?" "Of course." "There's a vessel coming In now. I see the tall masts. Look I Look I" poInting out of the office window to the river front. "Maybe that's ill lIlie, dear, look! there's father's vessel, with father on board!" The child clasps her litLIe hands at the light. "Sorry to say that ain't it, nma'am," says the clerk, relapsing ito his calcula tions and paying no miore attention to the woman. She stares out of the open window at the approaching vessel drawnt by a tug, and then with a blank look upon her face, and a moan that Is heartrending, says: "N~o, Ellie, no 1 That Is not the Good Luck. I see the figure-head. Trhe ligure lieadi of Good Luck is ani angel; a white and gold angel. No, no! that isn't it." "But papa will soon come hiomie, won't he, mamma?" whispered the child. Old Mr. r~wvman), who is the head of the e'stablishmaent here, now comes from be hInd his desk, and, approaching the wvoman, says In a kindly tone: "Mrs. Shelter, sit down;. make yourself as comfortable as you can in a dingy ofilce like tis. llere, little one, come here, give mer a kiss. A bright, pretty little dear, Mrs. Shelter."-. "She looks pale," said the mother. "She is tired; she bas been walking too much." The 01ld gentleman site down and lifts the little girl on his knee andl kisses her. Bhe wvinds her arms about lis neck and exclaims: "You'll tell my papa to come soon, won't you?" "Yea, clear," It was the habit of this firm to pay a sort of pension monthly to the widows of captains who were lost in their service. It was not much of a stipendl, being only half-p-.ty, but it was certainly a blessing In very many cases. Mrs Shelter had always received her husband's money here, while lie was at, sea, or it was sent to her when she was sick or the weather was bad. "Ah. Mr. Tawman, i'm sure the Good Luck wdl be in to-daty." "'Certainly It will. What's to hinder it?" lie answers. lie puts the child down andi goes over to his desk, and unlocking lia drawer lie takes out an accoumnt book and begims wrliing a receipt. Thlen goes over into thme cashier's room. While lie Is there the tel-graph clerk calls lhim over. Click, clickity click! goes the magic in strumuen repeoatinig Its dot, and dashl mecs. sage. "Hear that?" says thme operator. "That's news for you!" Tlhme prFopiletor could read every word by its sound. "it's like a message from Godi," snyt Mr. Tawman, reverently. "I must not tell her." lHe comes hack to where the woman IF sitting, his face is flushed wvith; emotion; some strange excItement. Hie throws Intc her lap a bundale of banik notes. Tlhcre, Mrs. Shelter, now go home. Take a car at the door. "Oh, i'm not tired, And I should like to be here when the brig comes in. But I thanuk, you so much, so mucn." "Here little one," says the good-hearted TaWmnaa, "here's something for you to buy candles with." He nut a ito her tiny out. stretehed hand a bright silver quarter of a dollar, and laughs at the wonder and de. light of the little rz-ciplent. "I'll keep this for my papa." Poor little tiing, she is weary unto sleep. She cuddles herself Iu the big chair and sinks into slumber In an instant. "Now, Mrs. Shelter, you've had no din. ner," says Taw mau. "Oh, yes, sir." "Yesterday, perhaps, but I mean to-day. Go down with Mr. Pelton, there, our young man, and get somethlug-to cat. You see we have arrangements for the comforts of our clerks. * We give then a hot' dinner, and a good diinner too. There's nobody there." "Go down there and ask the waiter, George," addressing Mr. Pelton, whom he had summoned, "to lrivo this good lady a cu) of tea und a piece of toast, some chicken, and all that." Then, pausing a muoment, as if propriety and philanthlopy are struggling for mastery in his mind. "No, no, George. Tell Henderson to send the dinner up Into the room here, that's better1" The young man leaves the room. Then Mr. Tawnian enters the of flee again and consults the telegraoh op erator. "Send this message at once, Mr. Lind say, if you please." lie writeisonethme, and the operator clicks It off at oace. It's a long message, a very long message in deed; but the President's message itself Is not half so important, so interesting to those whoI it concerns. Then by the time the message is sent, the dinner is ready in Mr. Tawman's private oflice, when Irs. Shelter partakes of It, but does not think proper to waken the weary child that she may eat also. Then iMr. Tawman says: "Now, you had bettor go. I'll see to the child; I'll brinjg the little girl t) with me to-night." "No, not" exclaims the mother. "I must have my Ellie with me always, sir. You are so very good, though, sir; so very gool And Is there no news of the Good Luck?" "Not a wora, I'm sorry to say." "It can't, be possible. The brig must come in to-day." "I'm Fure I hope so, with all my heart and soul, Mrs. Shelter." "I know you do," she responds, with a sigh. "Now go. I'm sorry yoil have to waken the child, but I suppose you can't help it." "Conic, Ellie," says the mother, touch ing her lightly on the shoulder. The child with a start awakens and cries, "Is it my pApa? Dear, (ear papal" Then, seeing her disappointment, she burst into tears. "Don't cry, dear, don't cry. The brig will come in. )ou t cry!" The good old man speaks soothingly to the sobbing child; and the mother catchmg her hand walks slowly and sadly away, followed by Mr. Tawman, who lifts the little girl down stairs and helps both her and her mother into a car. The next morning the woman Is again loitering - abouit -the wharves with the saino agenized inquiry. She again puts the question to the wharfmnen, and again only receives the same answer. Then, as be fore, she seeks the office of the brig own ers, still accompanied by her little girl, and asks: "Has the brig Good Luck coie in yet?" "Not yet, ma'am." She sighs and looks out of the window at the shipping. She says she will wait for Mr. Tawman, and site down. When Mr. 'lawman comtes, as usual, he greets her very kindly, and kisses the little girl and says: "I'm sorry the brig isn't in yetl" "Will it be in to-day?" "I hope so." And lie goes behind his desk and looks over his letters. He has not long been engaged in his correspond ence when a scream from the wonian startles hin. She has risen and Is pointing excitedly out, of the window. "'here is a ship conming mn, look, look!" "That's not it," says a clerk, "that's a schooner." "Oh, no!" sadds Mr. Tawman; ''that's not the. Good Luck.". "It is! it isI" She darts fr om the office, dragging the child after her, runs across the bustling wharf out to the very edge of the water. Mr. Tawman rushed to the window, opens it, andl calls to her. To no purpose, however. All thme clerks cluster about the window to wvatch her. "The womian is mlad I" says cine. "She Is going to drown herself." Trawmnan says quietly to the telegrap~h operator: "it's the Mary." Trho schooner Is heing towed up the river by a tug. She is making prep~arations to anchor in the stream opposite the wharf. All this time Mrs. Shelter Is standing in the midst of a crowd of eixcited people0 waving tier hiandikerchief, and the little girl is waving hers. "Look! look! thierel There's a man over boardl" cried one of the clerks. A cry of alarm goes ur from the wharf. "Ileavenst" cxclaimned Mr. Trawvman, thoroughly aroused. "What, dioes that meal)?" "lie's swiming ike a ish," says a clerk. ''ie has landed. Hark at the cheers!" "Look! look!" shouted the operators. ''She ls hiugging him; so Is the little girl. It's Captain Shelter!" "Thank GodI" exclaimed Tawman, "and pray heaven she may not sink under the shock. Poor woman. How shio clings to the direnched iman. Dear! (dear!' Then lie puts on hIs hat and runs dlown the steps like a boy, and darts over to where husband and wife and child ar e united and happy. "Alit" he exclaimed, shaking the cap. tamn by tihe hand, and not, caring for the gaping and wondcribg crowdi all around him; "this Is good luck, isn't it, ch? Did you get my telegram?"* When the mtan can speak lie answers: "Yes." "I planned It all!" chatters old Tawman. "You see I got a dliapatchi yeterday from the Breakwater, saying that Captain .Shelter had~been picked up on a rail, by the schooner Mary. I told her in the car yesterday that the brig would come In, and come m it dId. Over to the oflIce, every one of you, and after dinner and dry clothes, cap, we'll have a talk about business. Comie on." AN Pexbange says: "When milk sours, sealdinag will render It sweet again." Itsis different with an old maid. Whem she is sour, soalding will only anavtnant her acidity. Wuterfall of Itoraimna in riouth America. Barrington Brown, durinug his miemora ble survey of Guiana, reached the foot o Rogalma, and ascended its sloping portioi to a height of 8,100 feet.above the level o: the sea. 3etween the'highest point hi reached and the foot of the great perpen dicular portion which towered above is I band of thick forest. Looking up at th great wall of rock 2,000 feet in height, hI could see that a fL; est covered itR top, anc that in places on its sides where small treei or shrubs could gain a hold, there they clung. The gigantic chlif itself, is com. posed of beds of white, pink and red sand. stone, interbedded with layers of red shale, the whole resting on a great bed of red diorite. The length of Horalia is aboul eight or ten miles; Kukenam Is perhapf larger, and the area of Illebeapeur is cer. tainly more extensive. It is impossible tc view this wonderful group of mountains without realizing that far back in the youth of the world they formed part of an archipelago In tropical seas. That they arc well wooded and watered is made certan by visible trees and the enormous waterfall which pours at least fromu Ioralma. A grand view of thin cataract was obtained by Harrington Brown, front the mouth of i cave, inhabited ty guacharo birds, and sit u ated 1,882 feet above the level of the set. Through the clear atmosphere was distinet ly visible at. a distance of thirty iudles, the white thread of the water- fall. The In dians said it was the head of a branch of the Cotinga River, but it Is more pioba bly the head of the Caroni, a branch of the Orinoko. This tropical btaubbach Is probably the highest fall in the world and is at the same time ot considerable bulk. The cliif of IRoraima is 2,000 feet, in height, over the tipper half of which it fell like a plunib-line and then descended with a slight slope outward. The remaining 3.000 feet to the valley below slopes at an angle of forty-live degrees and, being tree-cover ed, the rest of the fall is hidden by foliage. The invisible attraction of the curious sa vanna range of Island mountains to natur alihts arises from the inaccessibility. This should not be understood as the inure de sire to excel others in a feat 6f climbing, but as the hope that some relics of mam malian life of the so-called "iniocene" period may have survived on these isolatet altitudes, cta off fron all comunication with the living. moving world. If any of the "mioceno" mammals lived upon them when the sea washed their bases, the de scendants of those animals may exist there still, as the lemurs exist in Madagascar anu a whole family of mar-supials, such as the kangaroo, in-Australia. Perhaps a balloon may one day solve the mystery which lends a charm to these Island mountains, and the happy naturalist who lands, as one will, of course, and in time-on the summit of Rorailma may find himself among the de acendants of the races long since blotted from the lower world, in which the evi. dence of their existencei is recorded in the great stone books alone. Aiud the forRl dpths, 'on Which rests a large cloud, he may find not the gigantic-saurians of the youthful world, grin monsters of the fish. lizard form, but the great progenitors of existing miaminalia. Leaving the tapir, one of the most ancient ot extant creatures, at the bottom of the orahina cascade, lie may find at its top its gigantic congeneirs huge herbivorous animals Lifteen and eight een feet in length; the dinotheluium, a tapir-like creature larger than the eleplhant, antique analogues of the mastodon, ances tors of the horse, the hog, and the great eats, which In the known parts of the continent are represented by the Jaguar, the punia, and the ocelot. The prospect of the dinotheritim alone, would be sufli cient to compensate an enthusiastic naturalist fei the labor of years. It is the largest of the terrestrIal mainalia which have inhabited our globe and deservedly stands at the head of thick skinned animals, as the miiegathetiuim or gigantic sloth at that of the tardagrades. P'ruably the dinotheri umn wouild be found, if found at all, pur huimg alife like that of the hippopotamus. Its gi-cat hecat and tusks nre fhted ior grublbing upl aquatIc plants, aniL like those of the walirus, for helping thte animal out of the water. But the thniothier-ium is but one of the stai-thng forms which nught be looked for en Rorania, if its cliffs be really as dir. flcult as p~ainte-d. Lizards iii the semi ophiidiain stage umighit be encountered and other animals which, as the little boy said, w~ho had been taken into a lecture of Pr-of. Owen's '"had not quite made up their minds what they were going to be.'' Mly Fatther. A carriage in the train bound fr om Vi enna to Pesthi, contaiined, one evening lately, five passengers--n Englishiman, two Magyars, a m~ihil-looking man of sixty, and a handsome young German, who seemed dreadfully sleepy. Tfhe E~ngilih man observed that the sexagenarian es sayed to chat with the young German, who, however, yawned and soon slumbered. The sexagenarian became garrulous and lamented his son's carelessness in money matters. "See hin now, going to sleep) in a carriage full of strangers. I think I'll give the young man a fright -for once In his life;" and lifting uip the lappel of lisa coat, lie laughingly dIrew ouat a pocketbook. At. P'resburg the careful father samQ he must get out ior a minute, but when the trailn moved on he didn't return. When he woke tip they told hiu his father had got out and taken lisa pocketbook. "My father I" le shrieked, and, clutchig his empty pocket, burst into a volley of inost iunfilia imprecations. "I haven't got a father," he howled out. "I never saw the oli scoundrel before. Good God I that, pock etbook contained 8,000 flormns. Hie must have seen It when I took my ticket I" Not uinli kely. That genIal, sol-distant pairentl has not been heard from. A compumenitary nti. There ls a trainip who hatunta the east end of Galveston who Ihas got It down fine, lie has itduced It to a perfect system. Het knocked at the door of a house. Trho owne, canmo out. As soon as lie lalid eyes on tli( tramp lie said: "Now, look here, only re costly I gave you a nickel to stay a wt ay foi ten days, and hero you are back again.' The tramp put his hand to his forehead and wr~s lost in thought for several minutes. T'hen lie said: "You are right, Colonel. Your regular assessment Is not dlue yet. When 1 get back to my counting room 1',1 pay off mty head bookkeeper antd discharg( htim. He has neglected to give you the proper credit on the ledger." "Well, gc on, now." "All right, colonel, this Is not a professional call it; it fs only comphimon inry. No exnra charge. The Saore City. What a singular a t is Benares the sacred city of the [iud 9. From all parts of India, pious Hind come to speud their last days and die, e of thus obtain lug their peculiar form f salvation. All day long fronm the earli t dawn till sunset, thousands of people bat e on the steps of the gnats, which run al g the river's bank for nearly two miles, in lie sure and cer tain hope that by such luon their sins are washed clean away. It is an extraordinai sight to lit In a boat and quietly drif ,with the stream alongside the wholo lengt of this great city. and watch the bathers " o 1111 up the lIne. Men and women are th I piously engaged, and the usual plan to to ring down a plain robe which they deposit on the stone steps, while they descend Into he water in other robes, and there perfo mt the necessary a'nount of ablutions. While the bathers stai1I up to their walsts in water, devoutly foih g their hands in prayer, or shedding off ings of leaves into tle running streamn fron larige baskets, the priests are , quatting on t e shores by scores. each under an enormous Ombrellaof plaited bamboo some ten or tw4lve feet In diain eter, anid each with a co tinially increasing heap of small coin prese ted by the bathers -for what purpose we not know. One of the gnats is c ed the "burning gnats," where are staked great piles of lumber, and where the hoats that you see coning down the river with enormous stacks of wood upon them unload their burdens. Here, in the midst of the bathers, the dead are burnt by their sorrow ng friends. The body is brought down laahed upon a small hand bier. If a man, It is wound tightly in white robes, o that every part is cov ered; if a woman, the robes are red. The body is then plunged over head n the stream, und then left lying in the water half submerged, while the friends build the funeral pyre. When the pile is half built the body is laid on, and then more wood, and then the torch is applied, and the smoke of the burning soon pours forth in Lhick, murky columns. When the wood is burned, all parts of the hody that are left inconsumed are thrown into the Ganges, down which they float till the birds and fisbes finish what the fire leaves undone. This cremation goes on daily, and during one short visit before breakfast we saw six funeral fires lighted but did not feel called upon to watch the entire destruction of th several pyres. ArticC 100. The unlucky prisoner in the immense field lee during the Imposing, unbroken loneliness of the long Arctic night, when the wind is calm, can hear the crackle of the snow under the stealthy tread of the polar bear at an astonishing distance, and hear what a man, speaking loud, says at 1,000 inetres distance. It can, therefore, be well understood how the sound of ice pressures must travel to his ear from enor mous distances. "oinetimes," the author writes, "the noise of the wou movements was scarcely to be heard-a mere murmur -and caine to our ears as does the play of the waves on a steep coast from the far distance. Sometimes it hummed and roaret closer to us, as if a whole column of heavily laden wagons were being drawn over the uneven ice surface." in the sound was combined all manner of noises caused by crackling, grinding, falling of blocks, crushing, and many other pheriomena of ice life. It is astonishing how far and how clearly every noise is conducted in the ice. The noise at the very margin of the field on which we were seemed to occur Immediately at our feet. If we placed our cars to the ice, the sound was heard so loudly that we might have expected the ice to open under our feet the next mo ment. The whole dry ice-covering was a vast sounding-board. Whenever, as I lay (own to sleep, I placed ny ear against the dry, wooden ship's Ride. I heard a hum miing and buzzing which was nothing else buti the sumi of all the nolst s which oc cuirredi in tihe ice at a great distance from the ship." TIhe surf ace of an expanse of young salt water ice on which no snow has yet fallen is soiLt so that the footstep is impressed upon01 its white covering as in imeltinig snow. This is to be observedt even at a templera ture of 40 degrees U. Thbe unfrozen fluid is not wvatcr, but a concentrated solution of salt throwii out by the freezing cf the ice beneath. When summer begins the thawing that 6ccurs is very local and uniequmal. Any dark body, such as heaps of ashes, or the dropping of bears, cats its way into the snow, absorbing tihe rays of heat which are reflected oif again by the genmeral white surface. Tihe bear-droppings cat their way into the snow, and then into the ice, andl the conical hole thus formed fills itself with water. It may at last cat its way right through the ice where not very thick. Thus are formed the greater part of those holes in drift-icc which arc usually ascribed to seals. The author never saw a seal's hole in winter. Winter Traveling In Colorado. A recent traveler in Colorado says the train discharges its freight into a dozenm coaches, which set off for the mountain pass that lies between Norton and Lead. ville; they rattle off through thu whirling snows towards the range of mountains, which is already thick with storms. Our own way lies across the South Park to. wards a lower part of the Arkansas Valley; fe' uten miles the fouar horses hurry the~light open wagon over the snow-covered plain. through the blinding snowv that flies before the liasts rushing down from the mountain ravines. Then we find our ivay upon the regular freighting road that leads in a de vious course th~rough the mountain gorges to Leadville. It is a way for which little has been done except by the wheels of the endiers trains of wagons; but nature meant this land for roads; thme scant foliage andi slight rain-fall leave each of the ravines a natural road, and tihe frost has now bound mud and stones together. Every nile of this trail Is occupied by a long caravan of the freighting teams that carry In provis. bons ad take out bullion. The ordinary irain consists of inaay teams, each com posed of two wagons, the hinder one being without a tongue, and the two coupled to gether as closely as two railway cars. sometimes there are three wagons in the string. Eight or ten mules and a single driver supply the motive power. With this "outfit" one dexterous driver will drag about ten thousand pounds of freight at the rate of twenty-hive miles a day. Some of these trains are individual ventures, but commonly a dozen teams are under one wagon-mnaster, who fixes the marches and determines the nlaces whare the tmain shall halt to pass the tides of wagons that set the other way. These caravans give us the most picturesque aspects of this mountain life ; the driver's are a strange selection from the vigorous frontiermen. The labor is extremxely arduous and the life of the rudest, but the profnts are very largo; many of these teams earning from thirty to fifty dollars per day, net, for a half year at a time. 'The men live and generally sleep with their anuinals, even in this fierce cold. They are silent, indefatigable fellows, bru tal In every outward aspect, yet withal sin gularly pallent with their difficulties and helpful of each other, unless the other is a "greaser." A courteous word or two will always get their aid in passing through the perplexing blockade, where trains going in opporite directions ieet on a narrow deale. Their life Is one of trials. We are rarely out of sight of dead horses or mules which have broken their legs or died of ovcr work, and every precipice along the road shows the wreck of wagons that have slipped over the edge into the gorge below. In two hundred miles' travel with them I did not hear a brutal word front one man to another, and I was indebted to them for inany considerate acts. They are a mar velously profane lot, but their swearing has a curiously impersonal character. In his dificulties with the teams a ian will lift up his voice and address the luiluite in a diabolic honiily that wouli befit Blilton's Sitan, and then, subsiding like a geyser, remalu silent for the rest of the day. At night, when they gather around the fire, in the low-walled, turf-covered ranches, they are peifectly imute; they sit on the benches as still as munainles, until they slip down upon the floor and snore until morn ing. They suenm wrapped in their own thoughts, or in the place where their thoughts ought to be. 'I hey often caip alone by the roadside; indeed, many of them seem toprefer the absolute isolation that they find In bivouacking In the scrub woods ten miles from neighbors. One night I sought directions from one of these solitary men. lie was a huge, grizzly-bearded fel low, whom I suprised cooking his supper by a little fire in a niche in the rocks near his teain. His ugly visage stood out in the blaze of his bacon, which lie was toasting on a stick. He gave me sufficient answers without looking up to see waio it was shout ing at hin out of the darkness. Vanila, Cinnamon, cocoanut. The vanilla plant is trained on poles placed about twelve or eighteen inches apartu-oe planter has a line of plants about three miles in length. Like the car daion, It yields fruit after three years, and then continues producing its pods for an indefinite period. The cinnamon is, as its name indicates, a native of Ceylon. It is cuitivated on a l'ght, sandy soil about three miles froim the sea, on the southwest coast of the island, front Negumbo to Matura. In its culti vated state, it becones really productive after the sixth year, and continues from wa '%y 4U 1AA yVaUO. I iu aupuinendem of the largest estate in that neighborhood, stat-ed there are not less than 15 varietics of cinnamon, anfficiently distinc. in flavor to be easily recognized. The prio:luction of the best so injures the plants that it does not pay to cut this at any price under 6S. 6d. to 54. per pound. Thi estate aliutdld to above, yields fron 30,000 to 40,000 lb. per annum; a uniform rate of 4Jd. per lb. of finished bark is paid for the labor. Cin namon oil is produced from the bark by distillation; the mode is very primitive and wasteful. About 40 lb. of bttrk, previous ly macerated in water, form one charge for the still, which is heaed over a tire made of the spent bairk of a previous distillation. Each charge of bark yields about three ounces of oil, and two charges are worked daily in each still. The cultivation of the cocoanut tree and the prodluction of the valuable cocoanut oil are two important Cingalese occupa tions. Tihese trees, it appears, do not grow with any luxuriance at a dlistatnce from hu man dwveilings, a fact whiichmay perhaps be accounited1 for by the benefit they derive fromt the smoke lnsep~arable fronm the fires in human habitations. The cultivation of 1 cocoanuls would sem to he dlecidedly p~ro fitable, as some 4,000 nuts pert year arc yieldled by each acre, the selling price be ing E3 iper thousaiid while the cost of cuii. tivation is about ?2 per acre. In extract ing the oil, the white pullp is remtovedi and dried, roughly powdered, and pressed in similar machinery to the linseed oil crush ing mills of this country, Thec dried pulp yields about 60t per cent. by weight of limpid, colorless oil, which in our climate forms the white mass so well known in pharmaflfcy. Mtarriago kFee lu Muusala. A schoolmate in the district of Jucknow, Russia, was enaged to wed the daughter of a landowner in the neighborhood, whose wealth was not, at all proofortionato to his acres. The bridgegroom, bride mand the parents of the latter called on the priest of .he lady's village, in order to settle the amount of the wedlding fee. The clergy mian fixed it at twenty. five roubles. Un happily, tho b~rideO's father was determined to make a show more in accordance with his ancestral dlignity than with hIs impov erished condimtion, and Invited all lis kin-. efolk and acquaiance fromi far awl' near to attend the ceremony. Thel result was that the procession to the church included no fewer thain eleven carriages, all futll of weddling giuests. When the p~riest saw ti nmagnificent preparation, ho hurried to thie bridegroom, and informied hin that the fee for a marriage of stich pretensions would not be twenty-five, but one hundred roubles. When the mian pleaded his pov erty as a schoolmaster, the pastor replied by pointing to the signs of his father-in-law's wealth. Th'le wedding party held a con sultation, and,indlgnant at the priests con dIuct, resolved that the whole p-ocession should drive off to the next village. The priest outwitted them, however; lis ies soniger arrivedl at his brother cleric's door long before the lunmbering coaches, so that when they reached the church, and asked the price of the sacerdotal function, the parish priest was ready with the reply, "One huindred roubles." TIhe procession started again for a further village, but the miessenager had been there before them; the priest of the place couldi not marry 'thbem for less than one ,hundred roumbles. Thley experienced a similar disconmfiture, accord ing to the reports, at no less than four vil lage chiurchtes, and it was only after a long drive across the country that they stic ceeded in finding "little father," who read ily consented to bestow the sacramental benediction of matrimony for the fee which the lady's own nsator had nr!ginial A Duellug Heqminiscenoe. The recent unveiling of the statue of Alexander lamilton, in Now York, brings up recollections of the ground upon which the duel between Hlanilton and Burr was foughi. L. i recent conversation with an elderly gentleman, an old New Yorker, this subject was brought up, and he gave a graphic account of a duel between one Dr. Barton and Mr. Graham, not far from the very spot where Hamilton had lost his life some years before. In the spring of 1820 or 1821 the narrator, being then a young manui and the owner of a fast White hall boat, was approached one evening by two gentlemen who wished to know if he would take a party from the foot of Cort landt street the next morning at 5 o'clock. This the narrator promised to do, an.1 at the time appointed he was on hand with his noat, manned by four oarsmen, and himself at the tiller. Three gentlemen got on board, and he was directed to steer toward Paulus Ilook, (now Jersey City.) Froin there they proceeded up the river to -1 spot on the beach ahovo Hoboken, an about 100 yards from where the memorable duel had been fought. They all landed, and about fifteen minutes afterwards 'another boat, owned by a "Capt." Anthony B. Fountain, put ashore, with Mr. Graham and another party. When this last boat landed, and while stepping ashore, Graham stumbled and fell over a rock, saying to Lhe gentleman with hin, who turned out to be his second, "Eddy, It won't do to fall yet." This was the first intimation the nar rator and "Capt." Fountain received that % duel was about to take place. While the econds were measuring the ground, an )Id farmer and several men with hoes over Licir shoulders. approached the spot, and me of the men hurried as though he were about to try and stop matters where they were, but the 'il farmer said, "Stop, John, - it all, if they want to shoot, let lm shoot one another " After some ten paces were ilneasured off on the bieach, the seconds tossed for choice of position, the principals took their pistols, and Barton took his stand facing the south, Graham facing north. The narrator and "Capt." Fountain stood near the beach about nid way between the combatants, the seconds ind the doctor who was with them stand iAg opposite. When the signal was given they fired, Grahani's shot striking the ground about nildway between the combatants, and Blar Lon's shot alniost grazing Graham's right side. After the first tire a short conversa Lion ensued between the priacipals and scconds, which the narrator did not over hear, after which they again took their positions. At the second fire Graham tired first without, hitting Barton, and Barton, after taking deliberate aln, fired, hitting Grahan in the groin. The Injured man Jumped about two feet into the air, and the narrator and "Capt." Fountain ran to the spot and caught hh111 as ho fell. Dr. M[cLeod then examiinc him, and observed, 9~~~~~.1.-...%....,.. ........ ._ ..'.. "Ilarton, my dear fellow, you have shot mie; I forgive you." Barton said, "I am sorry." 'The old farmer and his non then ipproachod, but before they had reached he place the parties had taken to their re pective boats. On first leaving the shore lie boats were somewhat separated, but Jhoy afterwards Came together. and Barton ook from his pocket a flask containing )randy and passed It to Graham. ie ;wo boats then took difforent directions, he narrator taking Barton back to Cort andt street, and on the way the narrator isked Barton why lie shot Graham after lhe latter's pistol went off, and his reply Nas, "IMy God, I never thought of it," and he narrator was convinced from his man ier that it had never occurred to him that t0 might have thrown away his fire. Bar on to'd the narrator (and at such a tune It a to be supposed that lie would have told he truth) that the pistol withi which lie had hlot Ga'ahamn was the Identical plastol with which Burr had shot ilsaulton. Barton wettto the City lloteland p~acked ala trunk%, and was rowed to Staten Is and, lie was then driven across to Ami oy, thence to Cape Mlay, where a pillot Joat conveyed lham to a shil bound for lavre. The narrator understainds that lie emained in Paris for some time, and was mngaiged in the office of the United States .onsui. Grahiam (lied before the boat eached shore, and~ there wias coanslderable sxcitement at the tune over the nifair. l'he narrator, "Capt." Fountain, as also he oarsumen in the two boats, kept shady ~or a few dasys, but upon being advised to o to the proper authorities and make a lean breast of it, they did so and we ro lischarged. Winter Onre of Late liroods. Late broods of chickens frequently oc Juzr where fowls are allowed their Jiberty. tt as a waste of eggs, lhen's time, and ,hicks. They will come out ' sometimes ma the very borders of winter. )ftentimes these broods are as Tne andl promising as anly brought out uariier in the seasoni, but there is inal uope of rearing them, if not too late some nay grow up, but they can never be any )roflt. Tticy sooan becomne stunted and nature in a diwarfedI condition. By con ining them in a warmi, sunny buiding, hey may be comparatively comafortabulo if Nell fed (anid winter chicks coanumo an mnornmous quantity) but the nights are too aevere. Th'Iis tells on the growth. The Jctter plan is never to allow a hena to sit aite an the season, and it amay be avoidled if ~trlct watch be kept. it is only neglect hat permits lhens to sit in the fall. Chicks ~hat are brought out in July are little ex pense In rearing, and become profitable, as well as those ini August arnd muany timies mi :lepteaaber, but later than this the balance In their favor is small, if givena three or our weeks with a majority of fine dlays, hoey obtain so great a start that the coming o0ld weather does not pinch them so miuch. In that time they become feathered, and if :onfied during winter, with plenty of reed they will grow fluiely, and by spring, Lhe puloets will be read~y to lay. The towls should be assorted well, and the late broods and liens that are nct laying shoul be kept, separate from '.hose that are in lay. ing condlition. Trhey ah )uld not be crowded together LU a smail place on scanty rations. T1ho better way is to give all an cuqual chance and sufficient tood. D~o not, permit the pres once of two or three youang roosters, but behead all such useless fowls as soon as fit for the pot, and keep only the breeders re ujuired. if there be no convenient place where they may run separately or singly, allow them to run with the layers. Never confinQ f~wo or mrnc fi eks togathor. unless they are for the shambles, for they will fight. and destroy each other's beauty. Too many ctecks are a detriment. Laying hens are cross and pugnacious. For this reason it is better to miake two flocks In winter-the layers and the non-layers. There are generally both sorts even among fowls of tl e same breed, and in different breeds the variation Is still greater. Late broods require some nursing, and more frequent feeding. It is a goodl plan to give soft feed, which is a little warm, in severe weather, as a crop full of cold grain chills the immature botdies and brings on ladi. gestion. Where hens are kept inlaying alt the time duinig cold weather, the grain must be warmed. It is better to feed filly natured birds on whole grain. Corn should be either boiled, or baked with a little grease (either tallow or lard) melted in while hot. This is excellent for laying hens and is relished. Care should be taken, however, that it be not too hot. Tke kern cis, although cool on the surface may be scorching inside, and may be an injury in stead of a benetit. Smaller grains do not rquire this preparation. Lato broods, when kept in a thrifty condition, often make line fowls for another season, and frequoutly become show birds, as their season of moulIng occurs so much earlier, that they are generally in feather and coa dLtion at the eurly autumn shqws. Thu Ilomie or St. columba. At the western extremity of the Garve loch group there Is a small island separated from its larger neighbor by a narrow strait. Its cliffs are lower, *uore broken and rug god; and fardown over their beetling brows .appear patches of grass and wild llowers, which give them a softer appearance. Fronting the mainland, the land rises abruptly in a wall-like face, but at the back it slopes gradually down to the level of the sea. In some places Its trap-dykis have been iselated by the action of the tides, anid project from the recks like Cyclopean walls; whicat the southend there are deep caves mantled with ivy, and huge arches like the fantastic rock scenery of Carlsaig, on the opposite shore of Mull. A fringe of rugged rocks, with sharp teeth-like projec tions, standing out in the water, guLrds it on the western side: with tortuous channels, running in among them to the shore like the reef around a coral island. By the na tives of the district this island is called "El4ilean na Naonh," -or the "Isle of Saints." It has been Identified almost be youd doubt as the "Inisula Hinba," or "liinbinn," to which Adamnan refers in his "Life of 8t. Colunba," as one of the islands on which the great Celtic apostle had founded Iis earliest nionasteries. From time immemorial it hns enjoyed a sacred reputation, a rClio lo0. Iefoie the time of St. Columba it was, probably, like lona, the Remt of so-called Druidic worship, or whatever kind of nature-cult the primitive inhabitants had favored. St. Brendan, whose name is still commeno 1 Nr ain ,9ur ,icac l~ Ita Chrii1an establishment, supposed to have been a col lege for training preachers of the Gospel, previous to its occupation by t he monastery of St. Colnuba, and this establishment was, in all likelihood, swept away in the severe struggle between the Piets and the Dalrhadic Scots, in the year 500, which ended in the defeat of the latter. The old Gaelic word for college, viz., Ailcac., Is still preserved in the name of Elachnave, by which the island is best knowa in our guide-books. Between it and Oronsay there was once a close ecclesiastical con n(ction; its pairsonage and vicarago foinds having, previous to 1630, belonged to the celebrated priory of that island, whica in its turn was an appanage of liolyrood Ab boi , near Edinburgh. Latterly It has been included in the parish of Jura. For many centuries it has been uninhabited, and with the excep~tion of shepherds whio pay an oc casional visit to it to look after their sheep, and a few zealous antiquar'es who laud on its shores at long Intervals--Its stern silence Is never disturbed iy the presence of man. Lafayette's Tome. All Americans should make a pilgrimage to the Inst resting-place of the great Lafay ette at the cemietery of Picpus, Paris. It hiis been said that it became necessary to abandon this cemetery because it was gorged with dead. Thils is, an error; the room was not lacking, but the place of in termnent was badly situated in the midst of a quarter thinly platited, but rich; it was beside the "subject of the diatribes of the aristocrats and of the contre revolutioniste."' Thle result was its remioval. During the early part of the lieign of Tierror, a conmc tery being needed, choice was made of a sort of desert, which backing up against the very walls of La Folio Chartres, that is to say thie Parc-Monceau of to-day, was bountled by tihe 01(d wall d'onciente the liue Vahois and the lRie du ilochue. This was called the Cemetery do Mousseaux, as known oflicially, but all the people of Lai Petite P'ologue called it the "Cimetiere des Errancis." it was "inaugurated" in July, 1795, by the burial of Chariotte Corday, onie ohf the very first to be iinterred there. It reeivedl also all the "hard cases" of the revolution. The cemetery was very soon closed and never again used. Before the 18th [Brumairo no more intorments were madle there, and its very existence seemed to be ignored. A "cabaret" was estab 11ished on Its site, and people drank, sang, and dniced there. Trho annexation of that suburb of P'aria caused this "petit Tivoll" tq disappear.- Tiho construcetion of the Boulevardl Malesherbes and the extending of the Itue Mironmeni scattered nearly the last remains of this ancient cemetery. All that is left of it now is a fragment close to the walls, and some ball players come togeither there occasionally to enjoy thema selves. Picpus, La Madeleine and Les E'rrancis were, therefore, the three deposi taries of the victims of the guillotine. The Dilath4IgioutoIelioacope. In military manwuvres on a large scale, one of the principal causes which prevent the undlerstanding of the development and. result of a tactical operation is theodifleculty experienced by troops of the one side in distinguishing the dIrection In which the artillery of the other is aimiedl. To meet thIs dIllilculty the Bellati-Chiodo helloscopo has been introduced In Italy. A reflector, mounted on a small frame, is directed so as to throw a beam ef solar rays opi the point aimed at by the artillery, anti tho troop fired on may thus be enabled to take the tactical formation best suiteda to the of fectsm the fire might be expected to produoc. A subsidiary retlector, is used wheri the solar rays do not strike the chief rcleotor. directly. Tlhe apparatus can also be used as a heliogranh.