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The Covington Star.
J. W. ANDERSON. Editor and
The Last Year.
Tender lights on sky and sea;
Milk white blossoms on the tree;
Lull of storms and tempest bleak;
Faint bloom on a wan young cheek.
“Spring, the blessed Spring is nigh I"
Said my darling, hopefully.
Violets’ breath and primrose rays;
Sunshine treading leafy ways;
Gentle steps, that, weak and slow,
Through the woodland pathway's go
“It were sad in Spring to die!"
Said my darling, wistfully.
Glorious Summer, crowned with flower#
Dreamy days of golden hours;
Sunset-crimsoned hills afarj
Dewy eve, and silver star.
“Strength may coma witn by and byel 1)
Said my darling, patiently.
Growing fruits and ripening grain;
Languid days and nights of pain;
Fields so golden, earth so glad,
And ft young life doomed! “’Tissad
Through the bright days here to lie,"
Said my darling, wearily.
Sighing winds and falling leaves;
Yearning love, that vainly grieves?
Patient eyes, with farewell gaze,
Greeting the wan Autumn days.
“Happy world, fair world good by*,"
Said my darling, tenderly.
Wailing storms and weeping skies;
Soft wings spread for Paradise;
Solemn whispering accents thrilled
With the awe of hope fulfilled.
“Life! O blissful life on hight”|
Breathed my darling, rapturously.
Wreathing snowdrifts, far and wide,
Mantling o’er the lone hillside,
Purer than that stainless veil—
Like a folded lily pale,
While the moaning blast goes by,
Sleeps my darling, peacefully.
— Chambers's Journal.
LOVE AND SCIENCE i
The last day at school! Examination
was over; exhibition was at an end, and
Effie Parker knew that she was about to
enter on the threshold of a new life.
Most girls rejoice when this last day of
school dawns upon them; but Effie was
unlike other girls in more respects than
one.
Effie Parker was an orphan, under the
rather reluctant guardianship of a bach¬
elor uncle, and his house was all the home
6lie looked forward to. Other young
graduates were talking of their parents
and brothers and sisters; even of their
pet birds and plants; but Effie was all
aline.
“I wouldn’t cry, said LUcy Brown,
1-------„ -JTOll tier suticuue. ana throw
ing both plump arms about her neck.
i i Tell me, Effie, what makes you cry?”
“Because I am so—so lone—somel”
sobbed poor Effie.
4 4 O, nonsense?” cried Lucy Brown.
“Why should you cry? You might, in¬
deed, with some show of reason, if you
were like me, booked to go out as a gov¬
erness, and cam your bread by the sweat
of your brow! For I haven’t even an
uucle to go to 1”
Lucy was a short, plump, dumpling of
a girl, with brown hair, big blue eyes and
just enough of an upward curve to her
nose to give her an indescribable air of
8aucines8. And she wore gingham
dresses because they were cheap, and
washed her ribbons in gum-arabic water
and darned her gloves until they were
more “mend” than material. And withal,
she was the most piquant and stylish
looking little girl in all Madame Metour’s
establishment.
if But I’m afraid of Uncle Gerald,” fal¬
tered Effle— ‘ ‘to be there all alone with
him.”
“Does he scold?” asked Lucy sympa¬
thetically.
“N—no, but-”
“I’ll go home with you,” said Lucy.
• i Cornel My engagement to teach the
nine little boys of Mrs. McManahan does
not begin until next month, and I’d as
soon go home with you as to stay here
among the lexicons and French gram¬
mars.
“Darling Lucy, if you only would!”
exclaimed Effie, giving her schoolmate
such a hug as nearly choked her.
<4 Two of ’em!” ejaculated Mr. Gerald
Vane, dropping his niece’s letter in des¬
pair. “Mrs. Caldwell.
u Sir?” said the trim housekeeper.
“There’s two of ’em coming.”
“Dearme, sir! is there, indeed?” said
Mrs. Caldwell. “All the better, I should
say. The old house needs brightening
up a little; it’s as dull as a convent.”
4 4 And what is to become of my scien¬
tific experiments and natural history in¬
vestigations, I should like to know?’
demanded Mr. Vane, indignantly.
“Well, sir,” coughed Mrs. Caldwell,
“if it ain’t making too bold, I think
you’re too much wrapped up in them
heathenish doings. And two nice little
girls to educate and
“Two nice little girls? Are you mad,
Mrs. Caldwell? Why, my niece is 18 at
least, and the other one—Lucy Brown
she calls her—must be as old, if not
older.”
(4 Dear heart, sir, you’re forty-six, and
I’m ten good years more," said Mrs.
Caldwell, “and if these ain’t little girls
compared to us, I should respectfully like
to know what you would call them.”
44 Humpl” said Mr. Vane. “Dinner at
six, Mrs. Caldwell.”
Mrs. Caldwell courtesied and retired,
-•ogit.tmg within hem.ll wh.l.h. should
ZL'1 :ZX
“Oh, isn’t this nice,” said Lucy
Brown, dancing about the broad mosaic
paved hall in a sort of impromptu, valse
step. “Oh, I should like to live here
always, I—dear me, what have I.done?"
For her flying skirts had caught in the
top of a large glass jar, and crash, it came
down on the marble floor.
“Dear me, said Mrs. Caldwell, “it’s
one of the master’s chemicals, as he fusses
over, like they was liquid gold.”
“Will he be very angry?” whispered
Lucy, with her eyes like blu* marbles—
while Effie began to cry.
(i Let’s run to our room as fast as we
can, ” she faltered, “before Undo Gerald
finds it out.”
“No,” said Lucy, valiantly. “Where
is Mr, Vane? I’ll go and tell him at
once. Mr. Vane, as a tall figure was
seen entering through a side door, “I
broke the jar!”
“Did you, indeed? Miss Brown, I
presume,” with a formal bow, as Eflie
came timidly forward to kiss him.
“Isn’t he handsome,” Lucy whispered
to her schoolmate, as they went up stairs
together.
4 I But he’s so stern-looking,” sighed
Effie. “Never mind; let’s get dressed
lor dinner as quick as we can, for uncle
can’t beaT to be kept waiting.”
Lucy Brown, whose one-dyed silk dress
required no long and painful adjustment,
was soon attired and down in the gar
den.
“Dear me!” said Lucy. “Here’s a
whole box of frogs. Some cruel boy has
shut them up. I’ll just run down to the
brook and give them their liberty.
She was proceeding, when Mrs. Cald¬
well called to her from the window.
“Miss Lucyl Miss Lucy!”
“Off you go, froggies 1 Don’t they
jump charmingly 1” Lucy cried, clapping
her hands as one by one the reptiles
plashed into their native element.
li What did you say, Mrs. Caldwell?”
The housekeeper uttered a groan of
despair.
“Mr. Gerald’s frogs that he’s been try¬
ing some scientific experiment with,these
three days!” she uttered.
“Oh, dear,” said Lucy, witha comical
gesture of terror, “I’ve been and gone
and done it again. I really do think I
was born under an unlucky star!’“ .
Three weeks Lucy Brown remained a
guest at Vane Hall—three weeks of un¬
mitigated disaster, tribulation and devas
♦ niinn i.—i— **- V—v-u
camellia-house; she lost his pet Italian
greyhound. She tipped a bottle of ink
over an essay he had just completed
for the “Savant’s Monthly,” and
ruined his collection of dried butterflies
by accidentally sitting down on them
when they were airing in the window
seat. Literally, she “did what she ought
not to have done, and left undone those
things which she ought to have done.”
“How is-it,” said Lucy, dubiously,
44 that I am always getting into scrapes
and Effle here isn’t? What is it, Mrs.
Caldwell? Mr. Vane wishes to speak to
me? There! I knew it was coming.”
4i Knew that what was coming?” asked
Effie, blankly.
“He’s going to turn me out of doors 1
He can’t endure me any longer, and Fm
sure I can’t blame him much. Well, I
shall have to go back to Madame Me
tour’s, I suppose.”
“Miss Lucy, do go to your room
first,” pleaded Mrs.Caldwell. “Yourcurls
are all in a tangle,and your mouth is red¬
dened with raspberry juice, and there’s a
rent in your gown a quarter of a yard
long, where you’ve caught it on the
sweetbriar bush, and
“Fiddlesticks! said the irreverent
Lucy. “I’m as bad as I can be already
in Mr. Vane’s eyes, so there’s no use in
prinking. And I’m sorry, too, *> with a
little quiver of the lip, “for I wanted
him to like me just a little.”
She went boldly into the study to face
her doom, while Effie Parker sat down on
the doorstep and began to cry.
“If Lucy goes off to leave me, I shall
die of homesickness and loneliness 1” she
sobbed.
It was fully three-quarters of an hour
before Lucy Brown came out of the au¬
dience chamber.
It must have been an awful long lec
tore. thought Effie with a shudder.
4 . How flushed she looks! I wonder if
she has been crying, Come here, Lucy,
darling, and tell me all about it.”
Lucy nestled down beside her friend
without a word.
4 4 Was he very cross?” asked sympa¬
thetic Effie.
“No—no, not so very.”
“Did he scold you?”
“No," Lucy made answer, in a voice
so low as to be scarely audible.
44 Did he tell you you couldn’t stay?”
“No. ”
“No, no, no?” mimicked Effie, begin
ning to be little nettled. “Then do tell
| me "what he did say!”
“He asked me to marry him,” said
Lucy, with a hysterical mingling of laugh
i and sob.
| Effie started to her feet.
j “Asked you to marry him! And what
did you say; !»
“I said yes.
“I never was so glad of anything in a
my life!” cried Effie, exulting y; or
you can live here a way8 ’ “ y °“
now , f
Mriu’t *huol
many
««•"
COVINGTON, GEO RGIA. W EDN ESDAY. OCTOBER 6. 1886.
So Lucy Brown was “settled in life,"
much to the satisfaction of everybody,
Mrs. Caldwell included.
"To be sure, she ain’t the style I ever !
should ha’ supposed master would have
taken a fancy to,” 6<aid the housekeeper;
“but there’s no accounting for the whims
a scientific man picks upt”
Coral.
The value of coral depends on its color
and its size. The white or rose-tinted
variety stands highest in popular esteem,
perhaps, chiefly, because it is the rarc
est. It is mostly found in the Straits of
Messina and on some parts of the Afri¬
can and Sardinian coasts. The bright
red coral, in which the polyps are still
living when it is fished up, stands next
in value. Dead coral has a duller tint,
and is consequently sold at a lower price.
Two entirely different substances bear
the name of black coral, One of them
is not, properly speaking, coral at all,
and it is commercially worthless, as it
breaks into flakes instead of yielding to
the knife, though it is often sold as a
costly curiosity to foreigners. The other
is the common red coral which has un¬
dergone a sea change, probably through
the decomposition of the living beings
that once built and inhabited it. It is
not much admired in Europe, but in In¬
dia it commands high prices, so that
large quantities of it are exported every
year. These are the four important dis¬
tinctions of color, though they, of course,
include immediate tints which rank ac¬
cording to their clearness and brilliancy.
The size is a still more important matter;
the thickness of the stem of the coral
plant—wo use the commercial and en
tirely unscientific expression—determines
its price, and many a branch of red coral
is valued more highly on account of its
thickness than a smaller piece of the
choicer rose color; the reason of this is
clear; a large, straight piece of material
affords an opportunity to the artificer; a
crooked one, if it is only bulky enough,
can, at least, be turned into large beads;
mere points and fragments can only be
used for smaller ones, or made into those
horns which are said to be invaluable
against the evil eye, but which do not
command a high price in the market,
perhaps, because it is overstocked.
A Pine Wood.
A pine wood is one of the loneliest
scenes in nature, not merely as regards
1*11 J utlltil llMUg UHI1|^|
Nothing breaks up its uniformity and mo¬
notony. It has none of the rich variety
of life that characterizes other woods.
The seasons themselves make no impres¬
sion upon it, for it is dressed in peren¬
nial green, and it retains its shade alike
in summer’s heat and winter’s desolation.
It prevents all undergrowth; no brambles
dare to stretch ther long, trailing, thorny
arms—like the feelers of some creature of
prey—within its guarded inclosure. No
wild roses can open their trembling pet¬
als, white with fear or crimson with
blushes, in its solemn sanctuary. No
hazel bush will drop there its ringlets of
smoking catkins in spring or its ruddy
clusters of nuts in autumn. No mimic
sunshine of primrose tufts, no pale star
beams of anemone or sorrel will light
up its gloom. No glimpse of blue sky
are let into it by hyacinths, or bluebells,
or violets. To all the lowly plants that
find refuge in other woods, and in turn
adorn and beautify their hosts, the pine
trees in their dignified independence re¬
fuse admission. No song of bird or hum
of insect is heard beneath their boughs.
And on the ground below, strewn deep
with a carpet of brown needles and emp¬
tied cones that have silently dropped in
course of long years from overhead, and
are slow to decay, only a few yellow
toadstools and one or two splendid scar¬
let mushrooms make up for the painful
dearth of vegetation. It seems as if the
balsamic breath of the pines which is so
wholesome to human life—preventing
all fevers and infectious diseases—were
as deadly as the upas shade to other
forms of life. — Dr. Hugh Macmillan.
An “Epicure.
Speaking about New York restaurants,
a correspondent tells the following
stOTy: Pedro’s best customers are politi¬
cians, who are trying to perfect them¬
selves in the art of epicurean apprecia
tion. The average New York politician
is always attracted to a restaurant pat
ronized by brokers, and he will never
knock under to any man in praise of any¬
thing that can be eaten. The Hon.
James Oliver, better known as Paradise
Park Oliver, once told Jerry Hartigan
that none bat epicures ate at Pedro’s,
and invited Mr. Hartigan there to din¬
ner. Two hours afterward Jerry met the
Hon. Fattie Walsh.
“What’s an epicure, Tom?” asked
Hartigan.
“An epicure is one of these duffer*
that eat anything,” Mr. Walsh replied.
“I thought so,” Jerry remarked.
“Fve just ate a meal at Pedro’s, and it
makes me sick to pick my teeth.”
Beyond the Reach of Drugs.
“Are you feeling better, Mr. Feather
ly?” asked Bobby at the dinner table.
4 I Feeling better? I haven’t been sick,
Bobby.” indiffer
“I didn’t know,” said Bobby
“Ma an’ pa were talking aboul
gen ealoev last night and ma said il
couldn’t bo m'ncb wo,*, ‘topped yo,
“ dl '■~ v “ ™
THE CATERER.
How Some Entertainments
Are Supplied with Food.
Uaterers _ of £vei 0
7 who Carry Eat
ables to Oi'.y Households,
The caterer, says a correspondent of
the Troy Timei , is now a power in New
York. A few years ago a well-stocked
household wa.s considered sufficient unto
itself, but nf iw the caterer and his assist
ants are called in for anything out of the
regular ord er of things, from a luncheon
of six peo’ple to supper for five hundred
guests. There are caterers of every
grade, from good-natured and hard¬
working negroes who serve meals to
bachctlo rs living in cheap rooms, at
prices ranging from thirty to seventy
cents a meal, up to the Finards, who
pretend to be a peg higher even
than Delmonico. The humbler caterers
may be seen trudging along in the morn¬
ing from their homes in the poorer quar¬
ters of the city, lugging oblong
tin boxes that have been ja
panned a seal-brown at a date
more or less remote, and wending their
way toward sleeping bachelors all over
town. The tin boxes are about a foot
square and two feet and a half high,
with a big handle on the top. Within
are tin shelves. Under the bottom shelf
are alcoholic lamps. On the shelf is a
platter wit "a chops, steak or ham. The
space between that shelf and the next is
only three inches, but the shelves above
it are about five inches apart to give
room for the cups, saucers, coffee and
milk pots and sugar bowl. All of these
things have their slots, into which they
fit closely. The top shelf is used for the
table cloth and napkins. The front of
the box is a door. It swings open and
exhibits the breakfast to the hungry
lodger when the caterer bustles into his
Toom. More pretentious kits than this
are sent out by the hotels and restau¬
rants. A breakfast may be carried miles
through the snowy streets and laid on
the table hot and inviting. The cater
ing department of the big restaurant is a
very important one. There is a preju
dice against boarding houses in New
York. At all events, it is exceedingly
unfashionable to live in one, and the
people who are not supplied by caterers
from nh/vi'vo 0 -•#/%*m rvf
fashion. Contracts to serve meals may
be made with the big restaurants at
rates far below the regular fig ures on the
bill of fare. But perhaps the caterer
is most highly appreciated by people
who entertain.
Instead of bulldozing the regulation
cook into preparing a dinner for a num¬
ber of guests, a note to the caterer set¬
tles it all. There is then no hurry, no
delay, no wrangles with servants, and
the surety of a good dinner well and
promptly served. Half an hour before
it is time for the guests to arrive a wagon
of the hearse pattern with a chimney
through the roof drives up. Nimble as¬
sistants carry in the wine from the re¬
frigerator in one end of the wagon and
the edibles from the hot compartment in
the other end. Everything is there,
from the flowers to the salt. The regu¬
lar servants retire and the caterer takes
possession of the kitchen, pantry and
dining room until the guests have
gone. Then the wagon drives up
again, and in twenty minutes all traces
of the dinuer party, whether to six or a
hundred guests, have disappeared. This
plan of giving dinners grows more and
more popular every year. The extent to
which the fashionable New York house
wife depends on the caterer, not only for
food but for nearly everything else in the
way of entertaining, is growing more and
more noticeable. These useful servants
take all the details of the work of party
giving off the hands of the hostess. They
lay the dancing cloth, provide musicians,
have the dancing orders composed and
printed, decorate the rooms, put up the
storm awnings, number the carriages,
provide extra chairs, coat checks, sup per
and help, and virtually give the enter¬
tainment. All the lady of the house has
to do is to walk down to hsr parlors and
receive her guests when they begin to
arrive. The cost of all tais is very much
less than one would imagine, and the re¬
lief from the din, hubbub and annoy¬
ances that prevail when the house
servants undertake the wwk is decided.
Speech Photography.
Descriptions of the new apparatus of
Professor A. G. and Dr. C.
Bell make it appear quite as won¬
derful as the telephone, It is based on
the remarkable discovery that a jet of
falling water or a flame of,gas reproduces
every word or soued withfn a given dis¬
tance, and it seems to accomplish, by
more sensitive means, wlut was attempt¬
ed by the speaking phonograph. By ar
ranging a descending lim of colored
water bet ween the sunliglt and a mov
ing sensitive tablet, the ribrations pro¬
duced in the film by spcelh are instanta¬
neously and continuously ohotographed.
Other arrangements came the photo¬
graphed irregularities coresponding to
Mr pulsations to be retralslated into air
waves, making the voice heard again.
H the anticipated success is achieved
with such speech records, the aid of the
photographer’s art will bdof more value
to the future reporter that a knowledge
of short hand
An Arab Danoe at Port Said.
The following extract is from Edwin
Arnold’s “India Revisited The Arab
quarter consists at present of booths and
wooden huts, and the bazaars possess for
experienced travellers little interest or
picturesqueness. In one of them, how
ever, we found a native cafe where two
Ghawazi girls were languidly dancing
before the usual audience of low-class
Arabs and negro connoisseurs. Q ne
clad in scarlet, was a novice of no skill;
the other—graceful and clever, with a
handsome face of the old Egyptian type,
worn hard and marked deep by a life oi
vice—was prettily dressed in a wide
trousers of purple and gold, a spangled
jacket and head-dress of coins and beads,
with a jingling girdle of silver amulets.
Asked if she could perform for us the
“balance dance,” she consented to exhib
it • that well-known Egyptian for the
pas
modest consideration of two francs and a
bottle of English beer. The cork of this
contribution being drawn, a lighted can¬
dle was then fixed in the neck of the
bottle, which was then placed upon the
crown of her black and glossy little
head. A carpet was next spread upon
the sand, and extending her hands,
armed with castanets, and singing a high
but not unpleasing voice, to the accom¬
paniment of a darabouka and rabab, she
swayed her lithe body in slow rhythmical
motions to the words of her song and the
measured beat of the musicians. “I am
black, but it is the sun of thy love which
has scorched me 1 Send me some rain of
help from thy pity. I am thirsting for
thee.” The Ghawazi began with Arabic
words of this tenor, keeping exact time
to her strain with foot and hand and the
tremors of her thrilling slender frame;
now slowly turning round, now softly
advancing and receding, now clasping
her hands across her bosom or pressing
them to her forehead —but perpetually
keeping the bottle and lighted candle in
perfect equilibrum upon the top of her
head. Suddenly she sank, with a change
of musical accompaniment, to the ground,
and—while not only maintaining the
completest harmony of her movement,
but even making this strange posture one
of grace and charm—she contrived in
some dexterous manner without touching
it, to shift the bottle from the top of her
her head to her forehead, and thus re¬
clinad on the mat, her extended fingers
girlish qianniner frame palpitating the castanets, from her lierht.
crown to
feet, always in the dreamy passionate
measure of the ancient love-song. This
was really an artistic piece of dancin rr r>?
though the performer was only a common
“almeh” trom the Delta, but the dance
is, no donbt, as old as the Pharoahs, and
every step and gesture traditionally
handed down.
Handy Things to Know.
Here are some figures and rules very
handy to know and have at hand, in the
mind or on paper;
A rod is 16 1-2 feet, or 5 1-2 yards.
A mile is 820 rods.
A mile is 1760 yards.
A mile is 5280 feet.
A square foot is 144 square inches.
A square yard contains 9 square feet.
A square rod is 272 1-4 square feet.
An acre contains 43,560 square feet.
An acre contains 4,840 square yards.
An acre contains 160 square rods.
A section, or square mile, contains 640
acres.
A quarter-section contains 160 acres.
An acre is 8 rods wide by 20 rods long.
An acre is 10 rods wide by 16 rods
long.
An acre is about 208 3-4 feet square.
A solid foot contains 1728 solid inches.
A pint (of water) weighs one pound.
A solid foot of water weighs 62 1-2
pounds.
A gallon (of water) holds 231 solid
inches.
A gallon of milk weighs 8 pounds and
10 ounces.
A pint (of water) holds 28 7-8 solid
inches (28.875).
A barrel (31 1-2 gallons) holds 4 1-8
solid feet (4.211).
A solid foot contaius nearly 7 1-2 solid
pints (7.48).
A bushel (struck) contains 2150 solid
inches.
A bushel (heaping) contains 1 1-4
struck bushels.
Where Is He. !
“And you say you would die for me,
George?
4 » Die for you I Yes, a thousand
deaths.
“You are a noble man, George.”
“My darling, you do not know me
yet.
4 4 Well, dearest, I do not wish you to
die ........ for but I will tell what
me, you J vou •
can o for me to s ow your affec
** on ^
'
“What is it my darling? Shall I pluck
the stars from the cerulean dome? Shall
I say to the sea, ha! ha! cease to flow, for
my love wills it! Shall I tell yon bright
and inconstant moon that is glinting the
hill tops with her light, that she must
not shine on thy face too roughly—
ha!”
44 No, George, no,” she smiling said,
<4 I do not wish you to attempt such im
possibilities, All I ask of you is j
this-” !
. . Yes, my darling.” !
4. All I ask of you is this—don’t call |
again.
VOL. XII. NO. 46.
SCIENTIFIC SCRAPS.
The eyes of poisonous snakes have
been found by Dr. Benjamin Sharp to
have elliptical pupils, while in the harm¬
less species they are circular.
London engineers say that, as a mat
ter of theor y’ * is P ossible to make
* teamers t0 ran 40 knots Bn hour “ d
cross the Atlantic m three da y 8 - But
the vessel could only carry passengers.
The thickness of the earth’s crust is
believed by M. Faye, the French geolo
gist, to be greater under oceans than
beneath continents, because the earth’s
heat has always radiated more freely
there.
The earthquakes recorded in 1885, ac¬
cording to Mons. C. Detaille, numbered
246, of which only six were felt in North
America. January, with 49 earthquakes,
1 had the greatest number for
any month;
and October, with 11, the smallest.
The French Academy of Sciences has
been told by Mons. Treve of the curious
phenomenon of a beautiful green ray
which flashes into sight for a quarter of
a second on the disappearance of the
upper edge of the solar disc at sunset.
The appearance can be seen only when
the sky is exceptionally clear, and is
probably an illusive effect on the eyes of
the sudden extinction of the sun’s glare.
Of the group of glaciers at Glacier
Bay, Alaska, each one is about 900 feet
high, and is supposed to be submerged
the same number of feec. They are about
three miles wide and extended along the
shore seventy-five miles. These glaciers
are the sight of the world. The pale
blue tinge of ice has a fascination for the
eye. The continual falling of tons of
the breaking and creaking masses causes
a roar of deafening sound that no artil¬
lery could equal.
Under the slow but continuous action
of the sulphurous acid thrown in the air
of cities by the combustion of coal and
the influence of the frequent changes in
the degree of atmospheric humidity, it is
found that the peroxide of red lead, used
hi coloring certain placards, is destroyed
and sulphated. At the same time the
protoxide of lead thus liberated is trans¬
formed into an insoluble sulphite, and
this salt, being easily analyzed, it is be¬
lieved that a certain means is thus ob¬
tained for determining the condition of
the atmosphere in large cities and its re
—
Sensations of vision require a definite
time of exposure of the retina, which
time Mr. J. M. Cattell, of the University
of Leipsic, finds to be considerably de¬
pendent on the nature of the object and
the intensity of the light. It varies with
the several colors. Orange gives the
quickest impression of the eye, and yel¬
low closely follows it ; then come blue,
red and green ; while the retina is least
sensitive to violet light-time, which is
from two to three times as long as for
orange. By lamplight the eye works
more slowly than by daylight, and the
order of perceiving colors is changed to
orange, red, yellow, violet and blue.
A Bribe or $20,000,000,
The second attempt to bribe a mem¬
ber of Congress was made more than
thirty years after that in which Col. John
Anderson figured so disastrously. This
time the intended victim was Stephen
A. Douglass, the little giant of the
West, and at that time a member from
the State of Illinois. The attempt was
made by a well known speculator, D. V.
Holbrooke, in connection with the pas¬
sage of the bill granting the Illinois Cen¬
tral Railroad Company an immense tract
of public land lying on both sides of the
projected road. At a certain stage of the
proceedings Holbrooke offered Senator
Douglass one-half the land granted on
condition that he should so arrange mat
ters that Holbrooke should secure con
trol of the whole grant, The tempta
tion was a great one—in fact the heaviest
bribe ever offered to a legislator in mod
ern times. It was two and a half mil
lions of acres, worth even then $20,000,
000, but valued to-day at very many
times that amount. When this offer
was made, Senator Douglass was confined
to his room at the hotel and unable to
move about without the aid of crutches.
Holbrooke stood near the sofa on which
the senator was reclining. Douglass
waited until the tempter had baited the
hook and thrown out the line.
“Then,” said the senator afterward in
relating the incident, “our former reci¬
procity of feeling was, so to speak, all on
one side. I jumped for my crutches, and
as he ran from the room I gave him a
blow on the side of his head that he
didn’t forget for many a day.
Fancy a boodle alderman of 1884
, bringing • . bribe-offerer - to , punishment . ,
a or
p Umme Hj n g him with a crutch for tempt
ing him with $20,000,000.— N. Y. Mail
and Express.
__
Freaks of Nature.
Old Mr. Bently (who is very much in¬
terested in anything of a curious nature)
—Here’s a curious thing, wife. A far
mer in Iowa cut down a maple tree one
hundred years old, an’ found imbedded
in the centre a live toad.
Old Mrs. B -ntly (who is more inteT
ested in darning socks)—Well, well, is
that so? A maple tree a hundred years
old imbedded in the centre of a live
toad. That is curious, Joshua, Read
suthin' more.
Life's Bitterness.
This is the bitterness of life, to knov
That love lies not in front, bat far behind;
That not for violent searching shall we find
A sweet-faced rose of hope beneath tune’s
snow,
Nor any flower of new Joy below
The furrows swept by the autumnal wind,
Nor any corn-stalk where the maidens bind
The golden ears in a long, laughing row.
This is the bitterness of life, to feel
The slow-limbed noisome minutes crawl
away,
But not to mark by any happy peal
Of silver be Is the passing of a day,
Tarrying till our now consciousness doth
steal
Into death’s pine wood, damp, obscure and
rey.
—George Barlow,
HUMOKOUS.
A genuine hum-bug—the locust.
No man would hang » |icmre frame
beeause of its gilt.
A friend in need is a friend—who gen¬
erally strikes you for a quarter.
An over-due steamer— the tea-kettle
that failed to boil with its usual rapidity.
Why are good resolutions like fainting
ladies? Because they want ‘ ‘carrying
out.”
Speaking of wages, it is when the har¬
vest comes that the farmers go for a
general cut down.
“Pa,” said a 5-year o!d son, “can a
rope walk?” “I think not my son,"
answered the father, “but it might if it
were taut.”
“Man," said Adam Smith, “Is an ani¬
mal that makes bargains. No other ani¬
mal does this—no dog exchanges bones
with another.”
“I aim to tell the truth,” said a New
York Fisherman. “Yes,’’interrupted an
acquaintance, “and you are probably the
worst shot in America."
“Ah,” said Jebokus, taking his friend's
baby, “ho has got his mother’s eyes—
and my hair,” he added, as the youthful
prodigy grabbed him by the foretop.
Fond mother (to bachelor uncle)—
“Why, John, don’t let the baby play
with that gold toothpick. He’ll swallow
it.” Bachelor uncle—“Oh, that won’t
de’Cny harm. I have a string tied to it,
so I can’t lose it
Policeman—Have you a permit to play
here ? Organ-grinder—No, but it amuses
the little ones so much. Policeman—
company Then you will have vignu-j^ttuuvt the goodness to ac
tut?* —— » »• j
well, sir; what do you wish to sing ?
Bather an Odd Game for Fast Rider*
“We don’t have much time for play
out on the road,” said a railway mail
clerk, “but we are a little stuck on base
ball, and we manage to carry a whole
nine with us. There’s the catcher there
—the iron thing that catches the bags
from the crane as we go by at the rate of
fifty miles an hour—and it has to stop
some hot ones, too. The man that
throws the bags off we call the pitcher,
and he is up on all of the curves, drops
and twists. The mail carriers who pick
Up the bags on the fly and hustle them
to the postofflee are our fielders. The
man who takes care of the bags and gets
them ready for the local station is called
the short stop in every railway mail car
in this country. Oar letter case clerks
are called the basemen, because they are
continually passing letters from one to
the other. Whenever one helps another
decipher a bad address he is given credit
for an ‘assist,’ and if a man fails to
handle one of the tough ones and some¬
body else can do it for him we give the
second man credit for a ‘put out.’ Our
basemen are deadly throwers, let me tell
you. On our line are nine important
postoffices, and we call each one an in¬
ning. We are always in dread of our
‘error’ column, for all of our ‘errors’ are
carefully scored against us in the super
intendent’s office. If we make too many
errors we go into the captain’s office some
flu® d®y and find that our names have
j been ‘struck out’ from the pay roU.
That’s a part of the game that isn’t fun
ny.” — Chicago Herald.
Beautiful Australian Cares.
A number of large and beautiful sta¬
lactite caverns have b en discovered near
Queensland, Australia, In one, the
walls, according to an exploring party,
were beautifully white while the stalae
tites and stalagmites joined in exquisite
tracery, reminding them of Chinese
carved ivory. Another, fifty feet by
thirty feet, with plain walls broken only
by niches, and meeting in a vaulted roof
of immense height, they called the ca¬
thedral. In some of the dark passages
their candles were extinguished by the
host of bats. From others they de
scended sixty feet into lower caverns, but
everywere the ground sounded hollow
beneath their feet, so that the whole
mountain appears to be travered by sub¬
terranean passages and caves in every di¬
rection excavated in the limestone rook
by the action of hot springs.
A Touching Tale,
Said Fogg, “I just met a poor fellow
who told an awful tale of distress, and
woundup by asking me for a quarter."
Brown—“And of course you gave it
to him?”
Fogg—“No; I wanted to; bat his
tale was so pitiful that I burst into tears,
and in my emotion I quite forgot the
poor fellow and hastened away to hid*
my grief ."—Boston Transcript.