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THE SOUTHERN WORLD, JULY 15, 1882,
7
The Production of Pl( Iron in 1SS1,
The total production of pig iron in the
United States in 1881, was 4,641,564 net tons,
or 4,144,254 gross tons. (A net (on is 2,000
pounds and a gross ton is 2,240 pounds).
The production was less than had been
generally anticipated. It was little more
than 8 per cent, greater than that of 1880
which was 4,295,414 net tons, or 3,835,191
gross tons. The prodnction of 1880 was 40
per cent, greater than that of 1879, wbicli
was 3,070,876 net tons, or 2,741,853 gross
tons.
The production of pig iron in 1881 in the
pig-iron-producing States was as follows, in
order of their prominence:
States. Net Tons.
Pennsylvania 2,190,786
Ohio - 710,546
New York W9.5W
Illinois 251,781
Michigan 187,043
New Jersey 471,072
Missouri 10O.7U8
Wisconsin 102,028
Alabama *8,061
Tennessee 87,406
Virginia - 83,711
West Virginia 60,400
Maryland 48,756
Kentucky 45,973
Georgia..... 87,401
Connecticut 28,482
Massachusetts 18.618
Minnesota 7,442
Indiana 7,800
Colorado..... 6,806
Oregon 6,100
California 4,414
Maine....... - 4.400
Texas 8.000
Vermont 2.798
Washington Territory 1,200
North Carolina suo
4,641,661
The following table shows, in net tons, the
quantity of pig iron produced in each of the
years 1879, 1880 and 1881, with Bituminous
coal, Anthracite coal and charcoal, it being
understood that the second of these classi
fications is not absolutely as accurate as
coke is used as a mixture in many Anthra
cite furnaces:
Fuel used 1879. 1880. 1881.
Bituminous 1,488,976 1,950,206 2,268,261
Anthracite 1,273,021 1,807,651 1,734,462
Charcoal 358,873 5.17,558 638,838
3,070,875 4,295,414 4,641,5*1
Anti-Fat Dietary.
Our corpulent friends may be interested in
the report of Mr. Joseph Harrass’s attempts
to get rid of his superfluous burden of flesh,
especially as the dietary followed docs not
seem, on the face of it, to be an objectiona
ble one, and 1ms not proven injurious to
health in his case, The facts are stated in
the Herald of Health as follows:
Ho was corpulent, had irregular and fee
ble action of the heart, tendency to fuinting
difficulty of breathing, and many disagreea
ble sensations in the head indicative of ner
vous exhaustion. Height, live feet six
inches; normal weight, 150 pounds; age,
fifty-nine; weight at beginning of treatment,
200 pounds. Began treatment October 8th.
Treatment as follows:
Breakfast—Vegetables, brown bread (toast,
cd), water, with lemon juice, and occasionally
oatmeal.
Dinner—Vegetables, brown bread, water,
and plain pudding.
Supper—Brown bread (toasted), stewed
fruit, and water.
Ho tea, coffee, cocoa or milk, except skim
med, and only a trifle of butter.
Itesult:
End of.October weighed 187 lbs.
“ November weighed 182 “
“ December weighed 177 “
“ January weighed 174 “
“ February weighed 173 “
“ March weighed 170 “
“ April weigheil 168 "
“ May weighed 106 “
“ Juno weighed 106 "
Present weight 150 “
All the distressing symptoms have been re
lieved, and as the patient is so well he can
again carry on his business. His physical
and mental strength have been greatly in
creased.
Mr. Harrass says he has suffered no serious
discomfort from his diet, except when away
from home, and he feels as if lie has learned
an important lesson os to how to reduce his
corpulence—which has been such a source of
discomfort—and once more enjoy life.
Do you want to grow salt, and, at the same
, time, have an interesting, handsome orna-
ment? The proceeding is a novel chemical
experiment that may be tried by any one.
Put in a goblet one table-spoonful of salt
and one spoonful of bluing; All the goblet
two-thirds full of water, and set in a position
Wtere it will have plenty of warmth and
sunlight. In a little while, sparkling crys
tals will commence forming on the outside
of the glass, and it is both a novel and inter
esting sight to watch it gradually growing
day by day, until the outside of the goblet
is entirely covered over with beautiful white
crystals. Another variation of this beauti
ful experiment would be to take a goblet
with the base broken off and fasten it in the
center of a thin piece of board, which may
be round, square or oblong. After the crys
tals have formed on the glass, set it on a
tiny wall-bracket and place a bright holiday
or birthday card in front of it; this will
hide the base, on which no crystal will
form. After this is done, All the goblet with
flowers or dried grasses, and yon will have a
vase which will cost comparatively little,
and in reality adils to the bric-a-brac of the
room.
CAM, A MAM.
John Jackson was a very industrious, hard
working man of 23 years. Being the eldest
child and the only son, he had always re
mained at home, assisting his father on the
farm. Joltn was much respected by every
one in the neighborhood, and many a bright
eyed girl had secretly thought she would like
to change her name to Mrs. John Jackson. But
John was no “ladies’ man.” The fact was,
John was very bashful. He would rather
hoe potatoes all day, than undergo the cere
mony of an introduction to a young lady.
Not that John disliked the dear creatures—
far from it. We believe that he, in common
with all bashful, well-meaning men, enter
tained the highest respect and admiration
for them. And this, no doubt, was the prin
cipal cause of his bashfulness. He felt that
they were superior beings, and that he was
unworthy to associate with them on terms
of equality. But we cannot stop to moral
ise.
Nancy Clark was the daughter of a re
spectable farmer, whose lands adjoined the
Jackson farm. Nancy was a pretty, saucy,
little wench, and liked John Jackson. When
they were children they attended the same
school, and as he was a few years her senior,
was usually her champion in the childish
disputes that arose, and her companion in
going and returning. At lost John be
came so much of a young man as to be kept
from school, as she had been in past years.
John discovered, too, that he had been grow
ing in stature, and it seemed as if he had
been growing out of shape. His feet and
legs appeared very awkward; he didn’t
know what to do with his hands; bis face
pained him, and, taken all in all, he was in
clined to think he was not more than half
put together.
Now, the truth was, John was really a fine
looking young man, and nothing but his ad
miration for Nancy could have suggested any
such foolish thoughts about himself.
As the novelists say, it was a lovely day in
August; the heavens were clear, serene and
beautiful; the trees were laden with golden
fruit, and the birds twittered their songs of
love in the branches. We were about to say
“earth had yielded her bountiful harvest of
a year’s grass and clover, which the noble
yeomanry of Chesterville had garnered,”
but upon second thought, concluded to say,
“the farmers were done hayin."
John’s sister had a quilting that afternoon.
His father had gone to mill to get some
wheat ground, and John was left to repair
some tools to be ready on the morrow to
commence mowing the meadow grass.' Sud
denly it occurred to John, that if he re
mained about the house in the afternoon, he
would be called in at tea time and required
to do the honors of the table. To avoid this
be quietly shouldered his scythe and stole
away to the meadow, half a mile distant, re
solved that he would not leave there until it
was so dark that he could not see to mow,
and thus avoid seeing the girls.
The meadow was surrounded on all sides
by a thick forest, which effectually shut out
what little breeze might be stirring. The
sun poured its rays as though the little
meadow was the focus point where the heat
was concentrated. John mowed and sweat-
sweat and mowed, until he was obliged to
sit down and cool off. Then it occurred to
John that if he took off his pants he might
be more comfortable. There could be no im
propriety in it, for he was entirely concealed
from observation, and there was not the
slightest reason to suppose that he could be
seen by any person.
go John stripped off, and with no cover
save his linen, commonly called a shirt, be
resumed his work. He was just congratu
lating himself upon the good time he was
having,’and the lucky escape he hod made
from meeting the girls, when he chanced to
disturb a huge black snake, a genuine twist
er, with a white ring around his neck.
John was no coward, but he was mortally
afraid of a snake. “Self-preservation” was
the first “passage” that flashed through his
mind, and “legs take care of the body,” was
the next. Dropping his scythe and spinning
round like a top, he was ready to strike a
2:40 gait, when at that moment he was near
enough for the snake to hook his crooked
teeth into John’s shirt, just above the hem.
With a tremendous spring, he started off
witli the speed of a locomotive. His first
jump took the snake clear from the ground,
and as John stole a hasty glance over his
shoulder, he was horrifled to find the reptile
securely fastened to the extremity of his
garment; while the speed with which he
rushed forward kept the snake extended at
an angle of ninety degrees with his body.
Here was a quandary. If he stopped the
snake would coil about his body and squeeze
him to death; if he continued the race he’d
soon fall from exhaustion. On he flew,
scarce daring to think how his dreadful race
would end. Instinctively he had taken the
direction of home, when a feeling of secu
rity came over him. Suddenly flashed over
his mind the true state of affairs: his father
gone, the quilting, and worst of all—the
girlt. This new horror sent the blood back
curdling about his neck, and he came to a
dead halt. The next moment he felt the
body of the cold, clammy monster in con
tact with his bare legs, his tail creeping
around in a sort of oozing way, as though
his snakeship only meditated a little fun by
way of tickling John upon the knees.
This was too much for human endurance.
With a yell, such as a man never utters save
when in mortal terror, poor John again set
forward at break-neck pace, and once more
had the pleasure of seeing the snake resume
his horizontal position, somewhat after the
fashion of a comet.
On he flew. He forgot the quilting, forgot
the girls, forgot everything but the snake.
His active exercises (he paid particular at
tention to his running), together with the
excessive heat, had brought on the nose
bleed, and as he ran, ears erect and head
thrown back, his chin, throat and shirt
bosom were stained with the flowing stream.
His flrst wild shriek had startled the
quilters, and forth they rushed, wondering
if some mad Indian was not prowling about.
By this tinle John was within a few rods
of the barn, still running at the top of
bis speed, his head turned so that he could
keep one eye on the snake, and witli the
other observed what course he must take.
The friendly barn concealed him from the
sight of the girls. He knew well that they
were in the yard, having caught a glimpse
of them as they rushed from the house. A
few more bounds and he would be in the
their midst. For a moment modesty over
came fear, and he once more halted. The
snake evidently pleased with his rapid trans
portation, manifested his giatitude by at
tempting to enfold the legs of our hero
within his embrace.
With an explosive “o«cA/” and urged
forward by "circumstances over which he
had no control,” poor John bounded on.
The next moment lie was in full view of the
girls, and as he turned the corner of the
barn, the snake came round with a whiz
something after the fashion of a coach-
whip.
Having reached the barn-yard, to his dis
may he found the bars up; but time was
too precious to be wasted in letting down
bars. Gathering all his strength, he bound
ed into the air—snake ditto—and as he
landed on the other side, his snakeship’s
tail cracked across the upper bar, snapping
like an Indian cracker.
Again John sit forward, now utterly re
gardless of the presence of the girls, for the
extra tick of the snake’s tail as he leaped
the bars, banished all his bashfulness and
modesty, and again he hod the pleasure of
finding the snake in a straight line, draw
ing steadily at the hem of his solitary gar
ment.
The house now became the centre of at
traction, and around it he revolved with
the speed of thought. Four times in each
revolution aa he turned the corner, his
snakeship came around with a whiz which
was quite refreshing.
While describing the third circle, as he
came near the group of wonder^truck girls,
without removing his gaze from the snake,
he managed to cry out:
“Call a man I"
The next moment he whisked out of sight,
and, as quick as thought, reappeared on the
other side of the house—
“Callamanl”
And away he whirled again, turning the
corner so rapidly that the whiz of the snake
sounded half-way between a whistle and
the repeated pronunciation of a double-e.
Before either of the girls had stirred from
their tracks, he had performed another rev
olution—
“Call a man!”
Away he flew, but his strength was rap
idly failing. Nancy Clark was the flrst to
recover her piesence of mind, and seizing
a hoop-pole, she took her station near the
corner of the house, and as John reappeared,
she brought it down upon the snake with a
force that broke his back and his hold u;ion
John's nether garment at the same time.
John rushed into the house and into his
room, and at tea time appeared in his best
Sunday suit, but little tbe worse for the
race, and to all appearances cured of bashful
ness. That night he walked home with
Nancy Clark. The New Year they were
married, and now, when John feels inclined
to laugh at his wife's hoop, -or any other
peculiarity, she has only to say, “Call a
man,” when he instantly sobers down.
Wiwb (jrowing has become a very promis
ing industry in Virginia, and what is said
of the business there can be successfully ac
complished in Texas. No better sale, more
favorable climate, or greater natural ad
vantages can be obtained in any country
than are found in our own country for wine
culture. Of wine growing in Virginia it is
said:
It was commenced in 1869 by two Germans
on Blue Ridge range, and crops were dis
posed of in New York. By 1877 these pio
neers were producing nearly 3,000 gallons of
wine annually. Last year they had 37 acres
under cultivation, and turning -out 3500, gal
lons. This year they oxpect to make out
of their own grape crop, combined' witli
those of neighboring vineyardists who have
had the good sense to imitate their example,
from 8,000 to 10,000 gallons. At flrst they
sold their wine through agents, but now
they have determined to bo their own mid
dlemen, and are doing well at it The two
counties Nelson aud Albemarle at present
produce together from 50,000 to 60,000 gal-
ons annually,
Who would believe it? The duster—that
peaceful emblem of domestic toil—may, un
der certain circumstances, become more
dangerous to handle than a six-shooter. We
are in dead earnest. An eminent scientist
declares it to be a fact. Do you know just
wbat you are doing when you brush away
dust? You disseminate in the air, and con
sequently introduce into your interior, into
your tissues and respiratory organs, all sorts
of eggs, sporas, epidemic germs, and mur
derous vibriones which dust contains. One
movement with a feather duster may be
enough to poison both you and your neigh
bors—to innoculate you all with typhus, va
rioloid, or cholera—strange as it may ap
pear. Instead of a feather duster take a
cloth, wipe away the dust, instead of stirring
it up. In short, wipe—never dust!—Le Vol
taire.
There is not in the compass of nature, a
more lovely emblem of the soul, imprisoned
in this mortal body, than (homely as tlio
comparison may appear) that of a bird in
the egg. The little animal, though thus
confined, is in the midst of the scene of its
future life. It is not distance which ex
cludes it from the light, the air, and all the
objects with which it will soon be conver
sant. It is in the midst of them, when the
moment for bursting its enclosure comes,—
will be ushered into the new world, and
translated into scenes unknown before, not
by any change of place, but by passing into
another state of existence. So it is with
the soul. It is now, in a certain sense,
eternity, and surrounded with eternal
things. Even the body to which it is attached
stands out, on the surface of this globe, in
inflnite space. Besides, the spiritual world
envelopes it on evory side; it is compassed
with a cloud of witnesses; innumerable
spirits camp about it, and God is ns inti
mately present to it as the highest angel that
beholds His face in heaven. Nevertheless,
to realize to itself the nearness and the
presence of those external objects, at least
to know them as it will know them hereafter,
Isa thing impossible. Why? Not because
any tract or space is interposed between the
soul and them, but because the spiritual
principle, while united to flesh is, by the
law of that union, so incarcerated in the
body as to be denied all means of inter
course with those scenes which lie around
its prison walls. The hand of death can
alone unbar the door and let the spirit out
into the free and open day light of eternity.
—Ex.
Do not praise the qualities of any article
more than it will bear. Boats are often sunk
by being overloaded.