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IaCKSON CO. PUB. COM’Y, )
Proprietors. {
VOLUME IV.
pl]o
I PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY,
■ >| r ■ ItA.'MJOEPH, Eesscr,
I JEFFERSON, JACKSON CO., GA.
■ FfMCK , N. 'V. COR. PCBI.rC SQUARE, UP-STAIRS.
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Tcpf Jlilpcrtiscments.
Jackson Sheriff’s Sale.
I \\J 11.1. he sold before the Court House door, in
I IT the town of Jefferson, Jackson County, Ga.,
within the legal hours of sale, on the first Tues
day in October next, to the highest bidder, the
church house situated in the town of Jelferson,
and known as Paradise Church, together with the
lot on which it stands, containing one-half acre,
more or less, adjoining lands of Annica Watson
and Wiley Hancock, col., estate of 11. J. Hancock
and others, on the street leading towards Law
renceville. Said house is a large frame house,
neatly weatherboarded and painted outside, well
ventilated with large windows, neatly plastered
inside, good seats, good pulpit, &c., two small
vestry rooms in front, and is acommodioushou.se
for worship or school purposes. Levied on as the
(property of the Trustees of Paradise Church (who
represent the African Methodist denomination
|and the Presbyterian denomination, and who
hold the title to the lot on which said church is
situate, for church and school purposes) (the pur
chaser will not he allowed to use the lot for any
other purpose without the permission of the donor,
[ Mr. T. L. Ross) to satisfy a Superior Court fi. fa.
I in favor of Peter McLester vs. t lie Trustees of Par
adise Church. Property nointed out in the li. fa.
Written notice given to the Trustees, as required
bylaw. JOHN S. HUNTER, Sheriff.
niIOKUI l, J licit so n County.
Whereas, Lewis Y. Bradberry applies to me in
proper form for Letters of Guardianship of the
person and property of J. 11. N.. N. CL, 8. J.. B,
V., E. J. and 1.. 11. Boyd, minors of W. 11. Boyd,
late of said county, deceased—
This is to cite all persons concerned, the next
of kin, to show cause, if any they can. at the reg
ular term of the Court of Ordinary of said county,
on the first Monday in October, IS7B. why the ap
plicant should not be granted said letters.
Riven under my official signature. August
1878. augJl 11. W. BELL. Ord'y.
| | llOltial.t, Jiicltson ronuty.
Whereas, Simeon 11. C'ronje. Administrator of
Klizabcth Maynard, late of said county, deceased,
applies to tne for leave to sell the lands belonging
to the estate of said deceased—
This is to cite all concerned, kindred and cred
itors, to show cause, if any they can, at the regu
lar term of the Court of Ordinary of said county,
on the first Monday in October. 1878, why the
leave to sell said land should not be granted the
applicant.
Given under my official signature, August 28th,
1878. aug.U 11. W. BELU Ord'y
| UiOtttill, Jackson ( oinity.
Whereas, £. A. Irvin, Administrator, and Mary
Irvin, Administratrix, dc bonis non, of John B.
howry, late of said county, deceased, applies for
leave to sell the land—known as the dower—bc
longing to the estate of said deceased—
-1 his is to cite all concerned, kindred and cred
itors, to show cause, if any they can, at the regu
lar term of the Court of Ordinary of said county,
to he held on the first Monday in October, 1878,
whv the leave prayed for by the applicants should
not he granted.
Given under my official signature, this August
21at, 1878. aug>4 IU W. BELL. Ord'y.
| OIOItGIA, Jackson loiinly.
W hereas, N, B. Cash, Administrator, and Mary
K. Smith, Administratrix on the estate of Alfred
Smith, late of said county, deceased, applies in
proper form for leave to sell the lands belonging
to said estate—
-1 Lis is. therefore, to cite all concerned, kindred
and creditors, to show cause, if any they can, at
the regular term of the Court of Ordinary of said
county, on the Ist Monday in October, 1878, why
said leave should not be granted the applicants.
Liveii under tnv official signature, this August
‘•lst, 1878. aug24 H. W. BELL, Ord'y.
Q.BOKCSIA, J* kM>n Comity.
w hereas. B. J. Whitmire, Administratrix on
estate of F. M. Whitmire, late of said county, de
ceased. makes application in proper form for leave
t> sell the land belonging to said estate —
lhis is to cite all concerned, kindred and cred
,tors. to show cause, if any they can. on the first
Monday in October next, at the regular term of
Jhe Court of Ordinary of said county, why said
leave should not be granted.
Liven under my official signature, this Sept. 3.
H7B. sept 7 11. W. BELL, Ord'y.
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THE FOREST NEWS.
The People their own Rulers; Advancement in Education, Science, Agriculture and Southern Manufactures.
SELECT MISCELLANY.
“ What is the Baby Singing.”
What is the baby singing.
Our solemn brown-eyed elf?
“ Me ’ont hab ’oo sing, mamma !
Me say it all mine self/’
What, but the “Song o’ Sixpence,”
For he lisps quite plainly *• pie •”
We guess at “ four and twenty,”
And a shadowy hint of “ rye.”
What is the baby singing.
As lie stamps his tiny foot?
“ Hat Jack so bad and naughty,
Ohcc in a corner put.”
The dainty head is nodding,
The little hands keep time,
And his shy sweet dimple deepens,
As he struggles through the rhy-mc.
What is the baby singing?
Only- the baby knows,
A# softef* ail ken lashes
Over the dark eyes close.
“ Me don’t know that song, mamma !”
And he says no other word ;
His fond, half broken murmur,
Like the carol of the bird.
What is the baby singing?
Only the angels know.
For the sweet child voice is silent.
As the long years come and go.
We clasp in fond caressing *
The tiny- hand no more.
For the little feet have wandered
Far upon the other shore.
BESSY HAY’S LIFE STORY.
The fragrant wild roses, lifting their pink
chalices up toward the sunshine and dew of
the July heavens, flushed all the edges of the
swamp; the robins sang uproarious glees in
the branches of the old apple orchard ; but
neither rose nor robin was fairer or sweeter
than Bessy' May, as she stood among the
currant bushes, culling the red-ripe fruit un
der the shade of a huge old pear tree, where
the stone wall of the garden was draped with
the emerald festoons of a wild grapevine,
while Paul Kstcott stood leaning against the
mossy trunk of the old pear tree, twisting a
stem of blue-bells in his hand.
“I know I*m poor, Bessy,” he said, resum
ing a conversation which had apparently
rela’psed into silence for a moment or so;
“but I suppose poor people have a right to
live and be happy' as well as rich ones.”
“I suppose so too, Paul.”
“And Pm sure I am willing to work if
only [ could find something to do.”
Bessy glanced depreciatingly up at him.
“There is the district school, Paul.”
“As if I wanted to bury myself alive in
that little hole of a school house to teach
syntax and fractions to a parcel of block
heads for twenty dollars a month !”
“And Mr. Elton wants someone to take
the farm and work it on shares.”
“That is mere drudgery ; and besides, the
pa}’ would not enable me to many and sup
port a wife comfortably.”
“We could wait, Paul.”
“You are very willing,” said the young
man, bitterlj'. “I don’t believe, Bessj’ t that
}-ou care for me as I do for you.”
“Oh, Paul!” and a pained look came over
the fair 3'oung face. “Well, then what do
}*ou think of being tutor to Mr. Sinclair’s
little hoys ?”
“Thank j-ou; I don’t fancy the idea of
being toad-eater to a pompous aristocrat like
Henry Sinclair.”
“But, Paul, we can’t always he and do
what we like in this world,” pleaded Bessy,
with a troubled look shining into her tender
garnet-brown eyes.
“Easy philosophy—for you!” and the
}’oung man flung down his stem of blue bells.
“I suppose you would like to have me break
stones on the road. I thought you at least
would sympathize with the feeling of a gen
tleman.”
“And so I do, Paul; but I believe in the
Scripture doctrine of a man’s doing with all
his might whatever his hands find to do.”
“I see how it is,” said Paul Estcott.
haughtily. “ You are weary of our engage
ment : you want to break the worldly fetters
that hind .yon. Very well; so let it be.
You are free !”
And he strode away over the high grass,
muttering something about "having suspect
ed how it would turn out ever since Norton
Van Brugli had come up from New York to
sketch the rocky seenery and turn the heads
of all the girls.”
Bessy Hay made a step or two to overtake
him, but she cheeked herself in an instant,
with a scarlet stain on her check and a
gathering mist in her eyes.
“He ought to know better,” she thought;
‘ and he does. No, I will not follow him.
lie will come back to me when this moment
ary pique has worn itself away.”
In the meanwhile Paul, vaulting over the
low stone wall a few paces below, had nearly
stumbled over the prostrate form of a man
lying among the red clover blossoms, in the
island of shade cast by an umbrageous sweet
gum, and reading.
•* Mr. Van Brugli!”
The young artist glanced up with a sort of
lnz}' scorn showing under his long, dark
eyelashes. Paul bit his lip.
"Engaged in the noble occupation of eaves
dropping, eh •** he muttered.
"Come now. Estcott, don’t be crusty,” said
the young New Yorker, laughing. "I didn’t
mean to overhear your conversation; but
what was a feller to do? This is the jolliest
place on the whole farm, and I wasn’t to
JEFFERSON, JACKSON COUNTY, GA., SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 28,1878.
blame because Miss Hay came out, looking
like Hebe’s self, to gather currants and you
followed like her shadow. Come, let’s go
down by the trout stream, and talk* over
matters and things in general. Are you
really in earnest about wanting something
to do ?”
“Of course I am,”
‘‘Then suppose yon just glance over this
letter that I received this morning from my
uncle. I’ve no idea of expatriating my'self
among the pig-tailed Celestials, for all the
fortunes that ever were made. But for an
ambitious man—read the letter, that’s all.”
And Paul pjstcott obeyed, almost dazzled
for the moment by' the brilliant prospect it
seemed to open to him.
“And you really give me the privilege of
accepting or refusing this situation?” he
exclaimed.
“I really' do ; and considering that I don’t
want it myself, it is no very' great stretch to
generosity' on my part. Only-. y r ou see, you
have got to be in New York to report your
self at my uncle’s counting house withir.
four and-twenty hours.”
Paul sprang up, flushed and eager. “I’ll
do it. Pll show Bessy Hay that I am no
do-nothing after all, when a motive really
worth my while presents itself. But,” glanc
ing at his old-fashioned silver watch, which
contrasted so markedly with Mr. Van Brugh’s
elegant full-jeweled chronometer, “I have no
time to lose.”
“Not a second.”
“But my trunk ?”
“You can get what you need in the city;
my uncle supplies the outfit.”
“And Bessy?”
“V rite to her to-night; my uncle will
forward the letter under cover to me, and I
will see that she gets it.”
Paul Estcott wrung his companion’s hand.
“You are very kind,” he said huskily.
“And I had almost grown to regard you
with distrust.”
Van Brugh laughed, showing his dainty,
pearl-white teeth under a brown mustache.
“Never judge by appearances,” he said.
“And take my' word for it Miss Ilay will
excuse all lack of ceremony when she learns
all.”
Mr. Van Brugh accompanied Paul to the
railway station, and saw him off with a
smilingly uttered profusion of good wishes.
“The best friend a feller ever had,” thought
Paul as the train started off. But he could
see the sardonic grin into which the curves
of the farewell smile altered, when the little
country depot was once more to silence and
loneliness.
“And now,” said Morton Van Brugh, “I
shall have the field all to myself. Strange,
how fascinated I have allowed myself to be
come with a mere country girl ? But there
certainly is something very winning in her
type of beauty.”
Bessey Hay never answered Paul Estcott’s
farewell letter ; nor did the latter suspect that
it was because Mr. Van Brugh never had de
livered it. And Paul, firing under the fevef
ed impulse of his old enemy, jealousy, took
refuge in silence. Nor did a long epistle
from his aunt Jemima, which contained more
news, possible, probable, and improbable,
than any government bulletin, serve to cool
the flames.
“ Folks say,” wrote the epistolary spinster,
"that Eliza Hay is going to marry widower
Sinclair, cause he’s rich. There was a slight
of talk about her and that young Van Brugli,
but he went away all of a sudden, folks
thought, likely with a flea in his ear. Eliza
knows pretty well which side her bread is
buttered on, and Sinclair can't live long with
that cough o’ his'n.”
Was it any wonder that when pretty Bess}*
Hay made an excuse to come to Aunt Jemi
ma’s, and asked wistfully and with a certain
quiver in her voice, if Paul’s letter contained
no message for her, the elderly gossip-mon
ger answered :
“ Dear me ! no. Y'ou didn't expect to hear,
did ye ?”
And Bessy went back home, her little heart
as cold as lead in her bosom.
She had refused Morton Van Brugh ; she
said no to Mr. Sinclair, and in spite of Aunt
Jemima's knowing prognostications; and
people began to wonder if pretty Bessy Hay
was going to be an old maid after all.
Why don’t he write to me, or send me word
at least to show that he has not utterly for
gotten me, thought Bessy.
Why don’t she answer my letter? thought
Paul.
And so the world wagged on, until Mr
Estcott came home from the far off Flowery
Land, not indeed with the fortune of which
he had dreamed in such a sanguine fashion,
hut with a sufficient competency to live well
and comfortably in a place as modest as his
native village.
It was a stormy November evening, with
threatenings of snow in the chill air, and a
low wind stirring the last withered leaves
upon the boughs, when he alighted at the de
pot, looking almost into the eyes of Bessy
Hay, who had come once again for the letter
that never came.
llow seldom are our visions realized ! Bes-
sy had dreamed a thousand times of meeting
Paul Eskootfc, but never in such a way as
this.
“Paul!” she quavered.
“Ah!’ said Paul, doffing his stylish fur
travelling cap, “ I hope you are well.”
For lie did not like to call her Mrs. Sin
clair.
The red stains of sunset had almost faded
out of the sky when he overtook her about a
hundred yards from the depot. llis heart
smote him when he saw the look of meek en
durance in her face.
“ Are you alone, Bessy ?”
“Yes, Paul.”
“I suppose,” he said, with an effort, “that
l must by some new name bow ?”
“Call me Bessy Hay,” she answered qui
etly.
“ You are not married ?”
“ No, Paul.”
He drew a long breath that was almost
like a sob.
“Aunt Jemima said—hut, Bcssj-, why did
you not answer my letter ?”
“ Why did you not write to me, Paul ?”
And before they reached the old Ilay
homestead, where the current hushes had
long since lost their leaves, and the garden
wall was already beginning to be whitened
with the falling snow-flakes, the mists of
doubts and misunderstanding were all cleared
up, and Bessy Hay had promised to forgive
and forget all her lover’s seeming neglect.
“Van Brugh was a scoundrel,” uttered
Paul, “ but without his aid I could scarcely
have been in a position to marry you. It
has been a long time to wait; but it is all
right, Bessy, after all.”
“It’s like a story, Paul,” said Bessy,
“where peoplegi through all sorts of trials
and tribulations, but are happy at last. Oh !
Paul, I never thought I should live a story.’*
A Rejected Manuscript.
If the people who get offended because the
editor does not always print their communi
cations, will carefully read the following, sent
for publication, they ma\’ discover the reason
for the omission :
“In a dingy room sat an old man writing
with a Roman nose and a tall hat. Not far
from him, a brokened-backed chair supported
his daughter, with rickety legs and cracked
rungs. In the same room was an old woman
blowing the fire, with a lean cat under an old
stove, being the wife of the man writing with
a Roman nose. In a corner might he seen a
hungry hoy eating onions with how legs and
red hair from a table which swallowed with
out chewing. The whole scene was overlook
ed by an old clock, ornamented with Poca
hontas, saving John Smith, cn three legs cov
ered with cobwebs and wound up ever}' eight
days by a man with a brass key. Ever and
anon the door was rattled by a cold dog with
out any hinges or knob. Through the broken
window might be seen a woman cutting cab
bage with a baby on her arm through the
shattered panes of which daylight feebly
shone. Another window looked out upon the
street where stood a little man wiping the
sweat from his face with a hand-organ card
ing a monkey on top, by grinding which he
had thought, in vain, to get a few cents from
the old man writing with a tall hat. Such
were the lodgings and the miser, being the
old man writing with a Roman nose so squal
id and miserable that it looked as if no thrifty
broom had ever entered there.”
A Very Obtuse Witness.
Thackery has been police reporting for the
London Diogones. Here is a sample :
Pat Fogarty went all the way from Man
chester to London to thrash Mike Fitzpatrick,
which he did, winding up the performance
with the assistance of an “ awful horse-shoe.”
He was detected and brought before Mr. Jus
tice Simpleman. A part of the examination
is annexed.
Court—“ Well, sir, you came here from
Manchester, did you ?”
Pat—“ Your honor has answered correct.”
Court—“ You see the complainant’s head ;
it was cut by a sharp instrument. Do 3-011
know what cut it ?”
Pat—" Ain't your honor althcr sayin’ that
a sharp instrument did ?”
Court (becoming restive) —" I see you mean
to equivocate. Now, sir. you cut that head ;
you came here to do it, did you not ? Now,
sir, what motive brought you to London ?”
Pat—" The locomotive, yer honor.”
Court (waxing warm) —“ Equivocating
again, you scoundrel (raising up the horse
shoe and holding it before Pat); do you see
this horse-shoe, sir ?”
Pat—"ls it a horseshoe, yer honor ?”
Court —" Don’t you see it is. sir ? Are you
blind ? Can you not tell at once that it is a
horse-shoe ?”
Pat —" Bedad, no, yer honor.”
Court (angrily)—" No ?”
Pat—" No, yer honor, but can yerself tell ?’’
Court—“ Of course I can,you stupid Irish
man.”
Pat (soliloquizing aloud) —" Oh, glory he to
goodness, see what education is, yer honor!
Sure a poor ignorant creature like myself
wouldn’t know a horse-shoe from a mare’s.”
Chinese Maxims and Proverbs.
The finest roads do not go far.
It is the rich who want most things.
Raillery is the lightning of calumny.
Ceremony is the smoke of friendship.
Great souls have wills ; others only feeble
wishes
All is lost when the people fear death less
than poverty.
He who lets things be given to him is not
good at taking.
Who is the greatest liar ? lie who speaks
most of himself.
Men may bend to virtue, but virtue cannot
bend to men.
One may do without mankind, hut one has
need of a friend.
The court is like the sea—everything de
pends upon the wind.
One forgves everything to him who forgives
himself nothing.
The plesure of doing good is the only one
that never wears out.
The tree overthrown by the wind has more
branches than roots.
Receive your thoughts as guests and treat
j our desires like children.
For him who does everything in its proper
time, one day is worth three.
One never needs one’s wits so much as
when one has to do with a fool.
The less indulgence one has for one’s self
the more one may have for others.
He who wishes to secure the good of oth
ers lias already secured his own.
A fool never admires himself so much as
when he has committed some folly.
At court people sing that they may drink ;
in a village people drink that they may sing.
Towers are measured by their shadows, and
great men by those who are envious of
tli2m.
The dog in the kennel barks at his fleas,
but the dog that is hunting does not feel
them.
When men are together the}' listen to one
another, but women and girls look at each
other.
He who finds pleasure in vice, and pain in
virtue, is a novice both in the one and the
other.
The truths that we least wish to hear are
those which it is most to our a Wantage to
know.
The wise man doe 9 not speak of all he does,
hut he does something that cannot be spoken
of.
We must do quickly what there is no hurrj'
for, to he able to do slowly what demands
haste.
What a pleasure it is to give ! There would
he no rich people if they were capable of feel
ing this.
The way to glory is through the palace, to
fortune through the market, to virtue through
the desert.
If the heart does not go witli the head, the
best thoughts give only the light. This is why
science is so little persuasive and probity so
eloquent.
The rich find relations in the most remote
foreign countries; the poor not even in the
bosoms of their own familes.
Virtue does not give talents, hut supplies
their place. Talents neither give virtue nor
supply the place of it.
The prison is shut night and day, }-ct it is
always full; the temples are alwaj s open, and
j-et you find no one in them.
Whoever makes a great fuss about doing
good, does very little ; he who wishes to lie
seen and noticed while doing good will not
do it long ; he who mingles humor and caprice
with it will do badly ; he who only thinks of
avoiding faults and reproaches will never ac
quire virtues.
Sleep’s Time.
Sleep obtained two hours before midnight,
when the negative forces are in operation, is
the rest which most recuperates the system,
giving brightness to the eye and a glow to
the cheek. The difference in the appearance
of a person who habitually retires at ten
o'clock and that of one who sits up until
twelve, is quite remarkable. The tone of the
system, so evident in the complexion, clear
ness and sparkle of the eye, and softness of
the lines of the features, is in a person of
health kept at a concert pitch b}' taking regu
lar rest two hours before twelve o’clock, and
thereby obtaining the “beauty sleep” of the
night. There is a heaviness of the eye, a sal
lowness of the skin, and an absence of that
glow in the face which renders it fresh in ex
pression and round in appearance, that
readily distinguishes the person who keeps
late hours.
God rcsisteth the proud, professing open
defiance and hostility against such persons,
but giveth grace to the humble, grace and
pardon, remedy and relief against misery
and oppression, content in all conditions,
tranquility of spirit, patience in afflictions,
love abroad, peace at home, and utter free
dom from contention and the sin of censu
ring others, and the trouble of being censured
themselves. For the liumb’e man will not
judge his brother for the mote in his eye.
being more troubled at the heam|iu his own
eye, and is patient and glad to be reproved,
because himself hath cast the first stone at
himself, and therefore wonders not that others
are of bis mind.— Jer&ny Taylor.
$ TERMS, $1.50 PER ANNUM*
} SI.OO For Six Months.
Genius and Poverty.
As we lurn over tlwa leaves of the great
book of the past, let us pause for a moment
to read the names of a few of those brave
souls, who.have struggled, fought, and con*
quered, though fettered on all sides by bitter,,
stinging poverty.
Horner, the blind old man of Scio’s Isle,-
went begging from door to door, singing the
songs that were, in after years, to render bis
name immortal.
It was as a charity student that Spencer
entered Cambridge. At the age of fourteen
Shakcspear is said to have been obliged to*
earn his daily bread.
Goldsmith describes himself at a certain’
period of his life as in a garret, writing for
bread, and expecting to be dunned for a milk
score. William llazlitt once went without
food fortwodavs.
l)r. Johnson wrote “ Rasselas” in a week
to defray the expenses of his mother’s fnne*
ral. Lamb calls Coleridge the inspired char
ity 1 oy. For thirty-three years “Elia” him
self was tied to the drudgery of the desk;
and yet. through all these years of slavery,
his quaint, tender humor never failed. Tasso
was reduced to the extremity of borrowing
crown for a week's subsistence. Having nor
candle to see to write his verses, he entreats
his cat to assist him by the lustre of her eves.
Dryden spent his last years in povertv, and
was obliged to write on distasteful subjects
for his daily support.
Cervantes, the genius of Spain, was imprls*
oned lor debt: and here, it is said, the advent*
ures of the immortal Don Quixote were firsC
chronicled. It seemed hard for Sir Walter
Scott to be obliged to undertake his gigantic
task in the evening of his life that should
have been spent in peace and quiet; but
when we read the brilliant Waverly novels,
we (elt that, though the victor sank exhausted,
the prize was worthy of the sublime sacrifice.
Defoe, the author of more than two hundred
books and phamphlets, died insolvent. lie
thus sums up his checkered career;
1 ‘ No man has started different fortunes more?
And thirteen times 1 have been rich and poor.”
“ Salmagnnda,” and “ Knickerbocker's New
York,” were written for recreation ; but later
in life, tailing business, Washington Irvin be**
gan to write to live. Jean Paul Richter’s
life was one long struggle with poverty. The
great desire id' his heart was to see the ocean 1 ,,
hut he, the mighty genius, who had written
so much and so grandly, never satisfied his
longing eyes until there rolled before hitn the
mighty ocean of eternity.
Ilad Burns walked the sunny side of filter
we should never have had that sweetest of alt
home pictures, “The Cotter's Saturday
Night;” nor could we pluck, save in pov*
erty’s rude, uncultivated garden, such a del
icate wild flower as the modest, crimson tip*
ped Mountain Daisy.
There is no sadder picture in all literature'
than Milton, deserted in his poverty, old and
blind. Yet the eyes of spirit only saw more
clearly the glories of that beautiful last para*
dise that he paints in such grand colors.
Facts for Kerosene Burners.
Every lamp filled with the fluid is liabFe to>
explode after burning several hours. But no
explosion will ever happen when the lamp is
full. The danger comes from the constjrot
generation of an invisible vapor in the con*
fined space above the oil. The vapor, which
is inflammable, is caused by the heat of the
burner communicated to the oil; bit® it will
not explrfde unless exposed to flame. The
metal attachments on lamps often become
40 degrees warmer than the eiL wlricfr
itsejf sometimes as high as 200 degrees.
Hence, kerosene to be entirety safe, should
bo near 150 degrees proof.
In the United States alone, last year over
100 deaths per week were reported from
accidents by kerosene.
A simple test is to place a tablespoonful
of tlie oil in a saucer and apply a lighted
match ; if the oil ignites, it is unsafe, never
use it. If it does not take fire it is not nec
essarily safe; because the temperature of the
oil in open air is not so great as that in. a
burning lamp.
Keep the metallic parts of lamps clean and
the air passages open. After a lamp hns
been burning three or four hours atone time,
never relight again till filled.
In extinguishing the light, turn the wick
down quite low and allow a few seconds t*>
intervene before blowing out the flickering
flame, or, better still, do not blow it out, but
let it flicker out. —Prairie Fanner ,
A Good Horse.
‘•Wind,” says an old horseman, ‘‘is the
grand secret of a fast horse. Good lungs
will cover a multitude of faults; while, cm
the other hand, perfection of shape and form
are useless when the wind is out. The chest,
therefore, in all cases, should be large and
capacious. In shape it may vary somewhat,
according to the service to which the horse is
to be’put. If he is apt to be kept for slow
work and heavy drawing, the chest may b<y
circular ir. form, because this shape is one of
strength and bulk, to receive and benrr up
against the pressure of the collar, while, at
the same time, sufficient room is secured for
that expansion of the lungs caused by slow,
regular work. But if the chest is circular,
let it be at the same time deep, or else the
lungs may he cramped. A horse with a shal
low chest is worthless for any purpose. The
rule then is this : For a draught horse, a
circular but deep chest; but. a9 you pass
through the different degrees of speed up to
the racer and trotter, the chest will increase
in depth, compared to its roundness, until,
for the highest rate of speed, you roost take
a chest as deep as a greyhound, and at the
same time not lacking in strength.”— Prairie.
Farmer.
Leisure, the highest happiness on earth, is
seldom enjoyed with perfect satisfaction ex
cept in solisude. Indolence and indifference
do not always afford leisure, for true leisure
is frequently found in that interval of relax
ation which divides a painful duty from an
agreeable—recreation ; toilsome business
from the more agreeable occupations of liter
ature and philosophy.
NUMBER 16,