Newspaper Page Text
J, W. ANDERSON, Editor and Pioprietor.
Whip-Poor-Will.
IThe sun is sinking to his rest
IBehind the brown hill’s distant cm
|T I The he river wanders bees toward the sea,
weary drone drowsily;
pV'hen, |A clear swiftly voice soundeth as the falling star,
from afar—
Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will.
[A H all field, willows, with harvest drooping sheaves aglean*
to the strean
|A farm-house with its mossy sheds,
A garden from whose spicy beds
! A savory odor, rising, floats,
f nf l mingles with those mournful notes.
Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will.
The cloud ships In the western sky
With close reefed sails at anchor lie
ilpon a sea whose tints of gold
Bind purple hues lie fold on fold,
jAnd with the dewdrop’s gentle fall
p'here echoes still that plaintive call—
Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will.
(One pale star trembles in the east,
A long guest at a gorgeous feast,
■Vhose brilliant colors slowly fade
p drops the nighttime’s somber shade.
jAnd clear and soft the distance lends
|The voice that with the twilight blends—
Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will.
A11 through the darkness and the de'
[Until the day begins anew,
The katydids and nightjars lone
[Will sing their weary monotone;
but only through the dusky trail
Vi evening comes that tender wail—
Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will.
—EJfis M. Lane.
HER CHILD'S PICTURE.
i In a secluded village in Brittany there
lived some years ago an honest peasant
k"inan, known as “La Veuve Y'vonne.”
phe happened one day to hear some of
k neighbors speaking of tbe wonderful
powers of photography.
“Wonderful indeed!” she exclaimed.
I 4 1 Where are the best of these marvelous
kictures to be seen?”
“In Paris. Why do you ask, Mere
ifvonue ?”
“Never mind. I have an idea. You
ill see.
I The widow’s mind was strong and sim
fcle; it did not take long to “make up.”
I Without staying to deliberate, she
Backed up a few necessaries, and one fine
inorning, rich with the savings of many
Industrious years, she set off alone for
Paris.
I She arrived in the creat caDitaL with
ihei scarlet petticoat, her white necker¬
chief, her large cap and her honest face.
Directly she arrived she inquired:
i 4 Who is the best photographer?”
In reply she was furnished with the
address of a clever artist, to whose studio
she at once hastened.
Everybody says, monsieur,” she be¬
gan, “tbat your likenesses of children
are admirable.”
i i Everybody is very kind,” replied the
| photographer. “If I have attained any
unusual skill it is probably because I
have worked eon anwre. I love the little
rogues. I have, moreover, plenty of little
subjects of my own to practice upon,
jfice here!”
F He opened a door, called, and thc next
Bmoment half a dozen merry children, of
■ages varying from three to twelve, rushed
■into thc room and crowded round his
■ knees.
“It is a child, I presume, madame,
■whose portrait you wish taken?”
1 “Yes, monsieur, it is a child. He will
■ b? neither petulant nor rebellious, the
Bdead.” ■poor little love. Good reason why; he is
At these startling words the photogra
■ pher felt distressed. He felt he must
I have bitterly renewed the mother’s grief
■ in exhibiting to her these fair children
f and caressing them before her eyes.
“Go and play on the balcony,” he
! whispered, hastily; and as they passed
; through the door he kissed them tender-
1 ly, but softly, lest his visitor should hear.
; Then he said, with great gentleness:
4 4 As the little child of whom you speak
I is dead, it is, I conclude, a posthumous
I portrait you wish to have taken—the pic
I ture of the little creature whose innocent
f soul has fled, lying in his white bed, a
cross in his hands, a crown of white
I roses on his colorless forehead. I shall
be happy if you will give me your ad¬
dress, to proceed as soon as possible to
your residence.”
“Thank you monsieur,” she said. “My
child has been dead six years.”
t . You have then already a portrait of
your son?” he said, after a pause—“a
painting, perhaps, that you wish photo¬
graphed 1”
l t A painting of him!—I?” exclaimed
Dame Yvonne. “Mon Dieu, no. It is
the hope of obtaining one that has induc¬
ed me to make this long journey.”
4 . What, madame! And do you imag
I ine that without the original, without
, another portrait, without any sort of in
I dication or guide, I can produce a like
| ness of a child dead six years ago?”
i a “What, monsipur; to cried Dame
j Y'vonne, in her turn; “and do you mean
to say it is impossible? People vaunt on
ism. every side the prodigies, the miracles of
photography. Cannot the art that ac¬
complishes these marvels reproduce a
a shadow of my son? Cannot it
H give ever so imperfect a resemblance of
gl her child to a desolate mother, who——"
S >bs broke the sentence. Dame Yvonne
* could say no more.
Ht The kind-h-arted photographer did
not wish th? simple peasant to return to
her Bre ton village disappointed, so he rc
£ ctcd awhile.
The Covington Star.
“Madame,” he said, thoughtfully,
“nothing is absolutely impossible.”
“Ah she cried, quickly, ‘ ‘then you
can give me a portrait of my darling? ’
4 . Who knows?” he said, “I will try at
any rate.”
i i You have preserved the clothes of the
child you have lost?” he asked.
4 4 Preserve them?” she echoed; “I have
the very little garments still as good as
new, in which I dressed him the last
time he ran chasing the butterflies in the
green fields.”
4 4 Send them to me directly, said the
artist.
“You shall have them in an hour, mon¬
sieur,” she replied.
The clothes were sent, tho work was
begun, and two days afterward Dame
Yvonne received the first proof of the
portrait. She uttered a cry of joy.
“It is he!” she exclaimed. “I know
him again! It is my son! See! there is
the little vest with the silv. r buttons—
the little trousers I made with my own
hands; there are his little arms, his tiny
fingers, his long, golden hair, falling over
his shoulders. Oh, yes, it is—it is my
little child! Oh, monsieur, how much
do I owe you!”
4 l Madame, ” said the photographer, (c;
in
presenting to you an image which you
recognize as your son, dead six years ago,
I have accomplished a miracle, Miracles
are not paid for.”
For us, the miracle is not difficult tc
explain. Nothing is so like, in figure,
air and attitude, to a child five years old
as another child of the same age. The
photographer merely placed before the
camera one of his own children, dressed
in the pretty Breton costume of the dead
boy. He was represented kneeling on a
cushion, h s head bent, bis face hidden
bv his hands, which were raised and
ciasped together in the noble and grace¬
ful attitude of prayer.
Dame Yvonne returned to Brittany.
She showed the portrait to every one she
knew; and to all who would listen she
enlarged, in terms of reverence and won
der, on the marvelous power of photogra
phy, which had produced the likeness of
a boy who had bean dead six years.
Weathercocks.
At Bishopstone church, in Hereford¬
shire, the vane is in the form of a grid
lA/lU tire oi uivui »_»r v, uv.1
death of St. Lawrence, the “patron
saint” of the place.
The towers of the town-halls are fre¬
quently furnished with five vanes, a cen¬
tral one higher than the rest, and one at
each angle. Sometimes the initial letters
of tho four points are placed midway be¬
tween the vanes. We know the market
place of a small Border town, pebble
paved, with a tall market-cross raised on
nine steps near the centre of it. There is
still a large square stone among the peb¬
bles, where bulls used to be baited, tied
to the ring upon it. There is still an an¬
nual procession to it of men on horseback,
carrying halberds, to proclaim a fair.
There is still a bevy of pleasant country
women clustered in it every Saturday,
who have brought butter and eggs for
sale from the distant farms among the
hills and moors. It is always cool, quiot,
and grey, with the surrounding hous es
looking down upon it pensively. Among
these houses, on the west side, stands
the Town Hall, with an archway run
ning right through it for foot-passengers,
and on thc top of the hall rises a central
tower, with the vanes all pennon-shaped.
Curiously, in country residences, the
vane is generally placed in the stable
yard, either on the bell-clock turret or
on the louvred ventilator.
As these notes have raised our eyes to
objects above thc ordinary level, we may
notice thc ornamental ridge with which
large steep roofs are generally furnished,
as they have an origin not generally
known. In early times our predecessors
placed turfs or clods on the upper ridges
of the slanting sides of the rough roofs to
keep out the rain at their junction. Out
of these lumps of earth clusters of flowers
and weeds grew freely. Accustomed to
the floral outlines thus made, our more
recent ancestors handed down their re
membrancc of these wind-borne seedlings
in the conventional foliage of the orna
mental clay ridge now in common use.—
Quiver.
Sheep and Goafs of Thibet.
A letter from Thibet, to the New Yorl
Tribune, has tbe following: The most
disagreeable feature of the Nirpania
Dhura is the sheep. They come in strings
a mile or two long in charge of short,
sturdy little Tibetans, who appear at in¬
tervals in the procession wrapped in dirty
sheepskins and carrying a long rifle slung
over their shoulders. They brandish
their sticks and emit various awful
squalls, squeals, whistles and gurgles to
cheer the minds of their woolly charges.
Each sheep carries a j ir of little leather
saddle-bags stuffed full of salt or borax.
The caravan is generally led by a number
of huge goats similarly laden, In this
country sheep are covered with wool, and
goats with hair. This may appear to you
a matter of course, but in many parts of
Western Asia the sheep are just as likely
to have hair and the goats wool. There
I could only distinguish thc goats by
their tumed-up noses and generally im¬
pudent bearing, and the sheep by their
mild, Roman-nosed dignity and their
huge fat tails, which sometimes weighed
twenty pounds.
COVINGTON, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, MAY 12 1886.
filVIUiUj AMOVE THF 1 11L MUyUlD. MOOIJI^
,
I Pueblo Indians Resenting the
Presence of Whites.
j A Ounosityr 0o!lector ' s ^xoiting Adven¬
ture with His Wife in Arizona.
-
Colonel James Stevenson, of the Bu
feau ' of Ethnology, has returned to
Washington after a sojourn of about six
months among the Indians of Arizona,
bringing a carload of rare and valuable
curios, illustrative of tho social habits,
worship, and industries of various tribes,
of which little is known. He was ac
eompanied in his travels by Mrs. Steven
Bon > and tbe pair had an adventure
am0D g the Pueblo Indians quite unusual
in its character. Having explored some
newly discovered cave villages in the vi
einit y of Flagstaff, Arizona, they gather
ed a small party and struck across the
desert to the northeast for the Moqui
towns, several days’ journey distant,
Tbe y arrived safely, and encamped at
the foot of a high mesa, upon the top of
wbicb stands Oreibe, the largest, west
ernmost, and least known of all the
“Pueblo” towns. Its population is about
850 souls, and the village is a compact
mass of rubble structures, standing one
u P on another, like a pile of empty boxes,
and with as little regard to any general
plan of architecture. The people, like
all village Indians, are comparatively
harmless, but, unlike the majority, have
a strong aversion to contact with the
whites.
Some of the leading men of the town
came down to the camp, and, after con¬
siderable palaver, gave consent that
tbcir village might be visited, but stipu
lated tbat no effort should be made to
convert the people to Christianity. The
next day Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson, accom¬
panied by their four friendly Moquis
from other villages and as many Nava
joes, rode to the top of the mesa, dis
mounted, w alked into the village plaza,
and thence climbed a ladder to the top of
tbe cocique’s, or high priest’s house,
When the presence of the strangers be¬
came known there were signs of excite¬
ment throughout the village. The neigh¬
boring housetops and the plaza were
thronged with excited barbarians, who
^laattwel let luud vulcjs ua-a iiidCtc lineal
ening gestures. One burly savage upon
a roof just above the cocique’s dangled a
lariat suggestively noosed at the end, and
loudly demanded that the whites be
taken to the estufa, or underground
chapel of the village, and there summari¬
ly dealt with. One or two demonstra
tive individuals volunteered to be the
first to apply the knife. The friendly
Moquis stood their ground only a few
minutes, nnd then disappeared, but the
Navajoes, who are made of firmer mate
rial, remained,
Col. Stevenson says that while the sit
uation was highly interesting it was
probably less alarming than it would
have been to people unacquainted with
the natural timidity of the Pueblos.
Mrs. Stevenson, who has sojourned with
her husband through many wild tribes
and knows the Indian character well,
created an opportune diversion by shak
ing her fist in the face of a hunch-backed
savage, whose vindictive eloquence seem
cd to exert a most mischievous influence
over his fellows, addressing to him at the
same time several brief but vigorous re¬
marks in English and Spanish which he
was, of course, quite unable to under¬
stand. Before the man had recovered
his self-possession the strangers had
backed down the ladder and then slowly
made their way, with the howling pack,
men, women, children and dogs, at their
heels, to their ponies, mounted, and rode
down to camp. They found the cook,
who was the only other white person in
the party, considerably alarmed, He
said the camp was surrounded soon after
their departure by many friendly Indians,
but when the Moqui deserters reached
them and told thc story of the proceed
ings on the mesa all mounted their po
nies and made haste to get away, The
epok feared his companions had been
made prisoners—perhaps murdered,
q-h,. party remained in the neighbor
hood several days visiting the other
Moqui villages, to all of which they
were welcomed, and many times they
were visited surreptitiously at night by
people from Oreibe, who brought curios
for sale, which they dared not offer open¬
ly, In this way a fair collection was
made. Meanwhile tlie story of the epi
sode in Oreibe was carried to Ream’s
1 canon, 25 miles distant, the proprietor of
: which, an English ranchman, has lived
in the vicinity many years, and by fair
dealing, pluck, and firmness has gained
an extraordinary influence with Navajoes
and Moquis. Mr. Ream at once organ¬
ized a party of three or four white men,
the only ones living within 60 miles, and
a dozen or twenty Navajoes for a rescue.
The Oreibes received information of
his approach, and the head men of their
tribe incontinently fled. Ream sent his
Navajoes after them, and the two, includ
,n ff the hunch-backed chief, were
brought in. Ream tied their elbows and
took them to his ranch for discipline, the
Stevensons accompanying them. Tlie
prisoners w ■re defiant at first, but after
two or tl rre davs’ confinement under the
guardianship of Navajo jailers, who beat
drums, danced, and indulged in other
terrifying performances, they begin to
relent and confessed that they had acted
badly.
“Now you are beginning to talk roa
son,” said Koam 4 v and we will see about
letting you go soon. It
“But,” snarled the hunch-back, i 4 we
must go now.”
4 4 Hold on, my friend, you are too fast.
You will not be so abrupt, perhaps, to
morrow. ”
After another night’s confinement the
prisoners begged their liberty and werb
joined in their prayers by a deputation
from the village. They promised good
behavior in tho future and extended an
apparently cordial invitation to the Stev
ensons to return. (( Now,” said Ream,
i. you are talking like men. We will keep
you another night.”
The next day they were set at liberty
and went away crestfallen and repentant.
—New York Times.
The Georgia Bloodhound.
The Georgia bloodhound is just now s
national topic. His wonderful peiform
ance at the convict camp at Oldtown
cocked his ears. His ignominious cap
ture by Tobe Jackson, the alleged dyna
miter, left him fiop-eared again. Justice
to ourselves, the hound and the public
’
requires a summary of his qualities.
To begin with, the Georgia blood
hound does not quarry his game unless it
is a rabbit—a small rabbit. He is neith
er fierce nor powerful. A boy can hold a
pack off with a cornstalk. But for trail
ing a fugitive—for hugging him close ag
his shadow—or for flying along his tr clc
w en even the grass has forgotten its im
press and the wind has powdered it over
with dust, he is as relentless as death it
self.
Let me tell you what he can do, and
he can be made to do this any fair day
at Oldtown camp.
1. A convict sleeping in one bunk of a
hundred, shod and clad precisely as the
hundred convicts about him, may slip
his chain and flee. Ton miles away he
may meet hie fellow-prisoners again, may
run to and fro among them, may walk
with them a mile and leave them. Six
hours after, these hounds, put' on his
track where he slipped from the camp,
will follow him to when-he met his gang,
will thread his tracks in and about with
-U. JL *
where it leaves them and run him down,
though he cross convict gangs every mile
he runs.
2. This escaping convict, clad in
stripes cut from the same bolt with a hun¬
dred others, may run through the
woods, touching weeds and bushes as he
runs. Fifty convicts, clad as he was
clad, may run through the same
woods in every direction. The dogs will
hold his scent running full tilt, breast
high. If he makes a curve of forty-five
degrees, the dogs will not run the line,
but will catch his scent thirty yards away,
and cross the angle, though it were filled
with the convicts who had eaten and
slept with the fugitive. Often a dog
will carry a scent in gallop, running par¬
allel thirty yards to the windward.
An uncanny and terrible little beast is
the redbone hound, trained for the hunt¬
ing of man .—Atlanta Constitution.
Life Studies by lizo Brown.
No man who loves anything good can
be hopelessly bad.
Keep the heart right and the feet will
not go far astray.
Tho survival of the fittest is the doc¬
trine that always wins in a dog fight.
The man who worries a out things
that cannot be helped is sawing timber
for his own coffin.
Sitting up with the girls is pleasant
pastime, but remember, young man, that
it takes hog and hominy to keep house.
Somebody says the American type ot
manhood will steadily improve until it
surpasses all others that are or ever have
been; all of which it would be dreadful
hard to make a dude believe.
A bachelor poet propounds the follow¬
ing conundrum: “What i6 warmer than
a woman’s love?” In response to which
a married prose writer would like to in¬
quire: “What is colder than a woman’s
feet?”
A man who saved a young woman’s life
from drowning in New Jersey, recently,
made a proposition of marriage to her,
and was accepted. In less than a year
this same young man will be regretting
that he ever learned to swim.
Science is said to have made the dis
covery that the molecules of which the
most solid substance is formed never act
ually touch each other, but you couldn’t
make the man believe it who unexpected¬
ly bites on a shirt button in his pie crust.
A magazine writer asserts that a few
vocal sounds have the power to express
all the feelings and emotions of the
human soul; but anybody who has ever
been head over cars in love, or mad to
the marrow, will have reserved opinions
I I on the subject.
Some folks claim that a woman has
none of that Jove-like intuition of the
divine within her that makes the king
bee of the hive grand, gloomy and jjeeul
iar when communing with nature. But
I the unclad truth about the matter is that
j I a sixteen-year-old girl can see more poet¬
ry in a new bonnet with pink trimmings
than a man with a head like a fleece of
woo l could discover in a thunder gust.-v
Chicago Ledger.
CHEAP MEALS.
A Paradise for Tramps in the
Great Metropolis.
A Restaurant Where a Dinner May be
Obtained for a Few Cents.
After a very pleasant lunch in Park
Row, Detective Gilbert Carr said-to a
New York reporter, “We know how all
decent people live; suppose we see how
the be gg ars ““d tramps eat their food.
'
Lotus go to Tramps’ Hall. Tramps
Ilall is a small restaurant, if it can bff so
stvled. in Pearl street near Chatham,
The sign over the door bears the inscrip¬
tion, “Small Delmonico.” There are a
half dozen tables anil twenty-four stools
in the place. The tables are made of
rude material and are covered with white
oilcloth. There are a few cheap pictures
and theatrical show billB hung up on the
walls. The kitchen is in the rear and
eommunicates with the eating place by
means of a door in which an aperture has
been cut. Through this door the dishes
j ordert The cook d by customers are handed out. j
and the kituhen are rigidly
ke i’t in , seclusion. No outsider is allowed
to enter the mysterious laboratory in
which the re P asts of the Lazarusfts oi
Ncw York arc P re P ared - There are no
waiters - for the proprietor, Mr. R. Barna
bo, is too wise to trust strangers in so
econ °mleal a business. He acts as wait
er and casbler ’ and his deep trousers
P ok( T is the till fiom which ho make?
cbaa S e - Mr - Barnabo is an adipose Ital- j
inn of an olea ” inou; nature something in '
>
the way of a cross between Mr. Wardle’s
^ nt boy and br ‘ ab Heep. He fairly bub
bles over with good nature and impress
08 8 casual visitor with the idea that he
iB ready at any moraent to thr ™ big
-ound the stranger’s neck and kiss
on botb cbeeks i after tbe traditional
80 d repugnant Italian fashion. A curious
crowd was partaking of, Mr. Barnabo’s
cheer ' There were two blind mendi- !
cants nnd two 1)lear ' c y ed women who
sbarp tbe ' r spoil*, a cripple who hobbles
,
about on the stum P s of ^ legs, an.organ
grinder who had deposited his instru- j
ment undcr the table at which he 8at .
and a vn £ abond di e8sed in soldier’s uni- j
j ^ orm ’ w ^° * s doubtless familiar to th«
• Sf-S broken : down veteran
plates were of the coarsest crockery, the j
knives and forks of the commonest kind
ami the spoons of pewter. “It does not
pay to have expensive articles here,” said
Detective Carr, with an explanatory smile; i
“the customers might be tempted to
leave the house and take them with
thein.” Mr. Barnabo proudly exhibited
to the reporter his 1 rill of fare and price
list. It read as follows: :
Cents. | Cents,
Cup of coffeo or tea, 1 ] Fried fish, 4
Bowl of coffee or tea,2; Beefsteak, 4
Cruller, 21 1 Fried Pork chops, brains, \
Bowl of soup,
Fried liver, 81 Pork and beans, 4
Heart stew, 8. Kausages,
Fried heart, 8 Bread pudding,
Hash, 3 Liver and bacon, 5
Koast heart, 3 Roast beef, 5 \
Pies, 4 Veai cutlet, B
Pies, half, 2 Roast mutton, 5
Beef stew, 4 Two fried eggs, (
Mutton stew, 4 Maccaroni, ft
Pork stew. 4 Chicken stew,
Corned beef and cab., 4 Roast veal,
Pig’s head and cab., 4 Ham nnd eggs, 10
Mutton chops, 4.Hamburger steak, 10 i j
When asked how he could sell food at ■
such a price and earn any profit, Mr. Bar
nabo smiled, shrugged his shoulders arid
said: “Economy, signor, always econo
my. On leaving I ramps’ Hall Detect
ive Carr said to the reporter: “Ihere is
no mystery about the matter. In the
hotels the unused food left on their
plates by guests at meal-time is sorted
out when brought back to the kitchen.
Every evening Mr. Barnabo calls with his
wagon, secures it uud recompenses the
cook with whom he is doing business.
That is the cook’s perquisite. So it is
that tlie precise article which a surfeited
millionaire refused to his stomach yester
day is consumed complacently to-day by
. * One-eyed Jimmy ’ or “Slobbery Mike
in Tramps'Hall.
Tlie Boy Gol Jlong.
The Wall Street Daily News tells this
story: “It was a New York capitalist
who flung $1,000 at one of his sons a
ye-ar ago and said; ‘There it is, and it
is the last dollar you'll get from me. You
don’t know enough to pound salt. Spec
ulation! You haven’t sense enough to
buy sb ip eggs, The other day the
old man went down to Florida to see
about a 3,000-aere tract of land he had
purchased at $3 an acre for an orange
grove. He went to the headquarters of
j ‘The Florida Orange Grove Estate Agen
cy,’ and he found that his son was Presi¬
dent, Secretary, Trcasurer, and sole own
er. Half an hour later he discovered
that his 3.000 acres raised alligators in¬
stead of oranges, and that the boy had
cleared about $8,000 in the single Mans
action.
LicrUtning Photographs.
At a recent meeting of the Franklin
Institute Prof. Ilou-ton presented two
photographs, taken on a dark night by
the light produced by fl.ishes of light¬
ning, in which a building and trees were
distinctly shown, They were thrown on
thc scene by the aid of Prof. Holman’s
lantern microscope. The duration of the
flash by which the plates were secured
was estimated at the 1-300 part of a sec
ond. —Chicago Tribune-
VOL. XII. NO 25
SCIENTIFIC SCRAPS.
-
The steady shrinkage of glaciers in the
Swiss Alps has caused severe losses te
many of the peasantry by the drying up
of pastures formerly moistened by glacial
rills.
Rain water is stored in the moss and
herbage of the woods, to be consumed
by the vegetation during the dry season.
A striking illustration of this fact is
given in a forest on the western coast of
the Caspian sea, where the vegetation is
very luxuriant, although it never rains
except in the fall and winter.
A remarkable variation has been
served in the stature or the inhabitants
of France. If a line be drawn diagon
ally acr03S the countl '- v from Manche t0 !
Ly0ns ’ the P°°P le of thc northeast oitiut
division have an average height 6f
feet 6.6 inches, while those on the south
west side average only five feet 4.6 inches.
A Fiench scientist has propounded a i
theory of the formation of coal. Hi/
believes it is produced by the sinking ol
floating islands like those which now oc
CUr 011 many lakes and rivers, and which
are conspicuous on the Upper Nile,
These islands are composed chiefly of
turf, which, being swallowed up by the
water > becomes fossilized at the bottom.
The lowest temperature at which the
seeds of common cultivated plants germ
mate has been determined by Mons. Hell¬
riegel. Barley and oats were found to
start in soil having a temperature of 35 I
degrees; rye and winter wheat at 33 de
grees; Indian corn at 48 degrees; the
turnip at 33 degrees; flax at. 35 fkgrees;
the pea and clover at 35 degrees; the !
bean and lupin at 38 degrees; asparagus
at 35 degrees; the carrot at 38 degrees;!
and tho beet at 40 degrees.
Prof. Germain See, ; the eminent French
physiologist) declare that man is omniv .
0 rous, and is destined to live the ele- 1
on
ments furnished by the three kingdoms!
0 f na t urP . lie cannot mainta n robust
health on meat alone a3 food< nor can he
ii ve on vegetables alone. The practice
0 f pure vegetarianism is simply impos
sitrie, and thc so-called vegetarians are |
corapeUe d to make up the deficiency in !
their food by consuming a quantity of !
such aniulal subs tances as milk, eggs and
butter. From the mineral kingdom must
be had rmre water, whichean hujrenlared
<< Takin „ tho greatest depth of the
oc an M ( j^ e miIeg nnd t)ie height of the
higheat mountnin as five miles above the
)eve , of the sea „ gays the 3llj/illee r, “and
remcmbering that tho giobe itself has a
diameter of 8030 miles, the comparative
insignificance of all the surface iuequal
iUe3 of tho { ,. u . tb is atoncc forced on our
attention, but it is better seen If we take
a circle sixty-six feet in diameter, having
on its surface a depression of one inch,
or a globe one foot in diameter with a
groove on its surface one-sixteenth of an
inch in depth, which would represent on ;
true scale the greatest inequality of 1
a j
mountain height and ocean deep on the
surface of tho earth. ! j
Origin of the Whale.
Professor Flower remarked, pertinent
ly to a description by Dr. Struthers in
the biological section of the British asso
ciation, of the Tay whale, that the whale
carr j ed jts pedigree on its own body and
iu every part 0 f j ts structure. It had
bccn thought that mammals might have
passcd through an aquatic and marine
s tage before they came to the land, But
observations of the anatomy of the whale
8howed that this could not hare been the
case. Tliere could be no question what
ever that the whale had been derived
from a four-footed animal. It was a
eharacteristic of a mammal to have a
ba ; rv covering, Whales were at one
t ; me thought to be an exception, but it
was shown, in almost every one that had
bc . en examined that at some period
of its life it rqust have had a
a rudimentary covering, which was gen
erally found in the neighborhood of the
upper lip; that covering was
and often lost before bii th. Another re
markable feature was the teeth. All
these whales were furnished with a set of
tectb) rudimentary but complete, and
n0 ^ characteristic of the fish, but of a
m0 re com P letely developed land mammal,
These teeth entirely vanished at an early
period, sometimes before birth; and they
we re entirely functionless.
r “
A Molher’s Sacrifice.
“Now, Eliza, listen to me and pay at
tention. for on these few words may de
pend your future happiness.
“Yes, ma.”
“When Henry comes this evening anc
you pass him the pie, watch his counte¬
nance closely.”
“Yes, ma.”
“If he trembles with joy, ask him how
he likes your cookery. But if he shud
ders, just mention casually that you.
mother always attends to the pastry.”
“Ob, ma! how kind of you.”
“Don't mention it. He will hate mo.
but when I live with you after morria
all will be explained.”— Call.
Floral.
“Maud, de why is a gardener 151
your cheeks
“No, John! you know I never c;
guess conundrums. YYh; 5 he?”
‘•Because he is the culler of rose
love. Tableau .—Free Pre**.
Song. . t
Oh, three little birds on a bramble spray)
Each flew to find him a nest;
[here was one went rarely over the sea;
tnd one flew straight for the North Countrie j
1 But the third
Little bird,
He winged his way to the watery West,
1 Where one that I love sits sighing.
Dh, for the withering bramble spray,
And the bird that sleeps in his nest I
there is one in a castle over the sea;
And one in a pine in the North Countrie;
But the third
Little bird.
He sings at a lattice far in the West,
Where one that I love lies dying.
Ah ug>, for the thorny bramble spray
AndTthe weary bird in his nest!
There is one that dreams of the silver sea;
And one looks over the North Countrie;
But the third
Little bird,
He sings o'er a grave in the silent West,
i Where one that I love is lying,
—Chambers’ Journal
HUMOROUS. ,
Hobbies are hard steeds to manage.
i lion. Society’s favorite flower—The dandy
A tongue that never talks scaidal—-the
tongue of a shoe.
An anomaly in pantaloons—They are
never tight when they are full.
The pupil of one’s eye is made to at¬
tend to business by the lash that is held
over it.
A woman refused to give a meal to ft
dwarf the other day, becaqsa she wai
opposed to dine-a-mite.
A man should buy ready-made shoes il
he wants something to wear well, be¬
cause he never sees the last of them.
She—“What a man you are, George;
“IL what should VZ
' ^
“Give us the ballot box!” is the cry of
but very few of the fair sex, while the
. of , our feminine ... population . is . content
!T t ^ bel “& a 0WP< t0 frequ€nt y stulf
6 !U1 ° X ‘
“ Maud dear why is a gardener like
> *
your cheeks?” “Now, John! you know
1 never can S ueas conundrums. Why is
be? ” “Because he is the culler of roses,
^ ovo *” tableau.
In olden time? thev iisqd to punish a
Us t0D ^ up - In m odern times they quit
if ’ because a mnn ’ 8 ton ^ w wouid n0<
iast morR than £,x weeks ’ ,f a hole
put in for every lie he told.
Lieutenant (to a brother officer): “1
have ill-luck in getting married. A fair
one without money my father objects to.
A homely one with money my porsonaf
feeling objects to. A fair one with
money her father objects to. A homely
one without money—why, naturally
everybody objects to.
Senators on Exhibition.
It is astonishing the extent to which
^ Senators pose for the galleries, says a
Washington letter to the Boston Herald.
There is one Senator who appears t«
make this almost the sole object of his
service on the floor ot the Senate, No
matter how thin that body is in attend
ance, you will always find him there,
He strikes many attitudes, but he never
retains of them long at time. ~ ile
one a
will sit in his own seat; then he will go
into the lobby; soon he returns and
walks back and forth behind the rows oi
benches; then he takes the scat of anoth
er Senator; then he rises to promenade
1 again, He does not make speeches liim
I self; he writes little in his seat; he sel
dom talks with other Senators; he is just
on exhibition. Another from the West
is not so tall, so large, or so handsome,
but he is almost equally conscious. He
looks so different from the rest that the
; visitor’s eye rests on him at once, as it
' the Senate board, and generally
surveys
the inquiry is made as to who he is. Hs
is a Senator who does speak, and he
| speaks with the realization that ha is in
presence of the galleries. Not a word
that comes from him escapes the ear of
the auditor in any part of the building.
How Many Hours for Sleep.
There is an old saying that has fright
ened a great many people from taking
the rest that nature demanded for them,
“Nine hours are enough for a fool.”
They maybe; and not too many for a
wise mail who feels that he needs them.
Goethe, when performing his most prod
; c i ous literary feats, felt that he needed
nine hours; what is better, ho took them,
We presume it is conceded by all
thoughtful persons that the brain in very
young children, say three or four years
of ag-, requires all of twelve hours in
rest or sleep. This period is shortened
gradually until, at fourteen years of age,
the boy is found to need only ten. When
full grown and in a healthy condition,
the roan may find anight of eight hours
sufficient to repair the exhaustion of the
day and new-ereate him for the morrow.
je he discovers that he needs more
sleep he should take it. There is surely
something wrong about j im; perhaps a
forgotten waste must be repared, His
sleep, evidently, has not been made up;
and until it has and he can spring ta his
work with an exiuiaranou for ft, he
should sensibly conclude to) let his in¬
stinct control him and stay in bed.—
Good Housekeeping.