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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.