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MeD | M C p u ffj fi Journal.
SWOi * Every Wednesday at Thomson. ’*
*_** AS SSCONO-CLASS MAfVTMt slkOH’B that
office in Tilts'- about to expire,
your paper will be
No Local Advertisement will be in
serted unless paid tor in advance.
The Editor is not responsible lor the
statements or opinions of Correspond
ents.
HARD TIMES PRICES
AT
T. A. SCOTT’S
THOMSON, - - GEORGIA.
The long continued financial depression necessitates tho rcdiicti >n o*
prices to the vory lowest living figures, so that the BEST goods to bo
obtained in the market, which are always tho CHEAPEST, may he with
in the reach of all With those facts in view, I assure my customers and j
the general public tha* tho extensive and various lines of merchandisi j
■which I am now offering to the trade, will give entire satisfaction as to
superiority in
QUALITY anti PRKI2
do not doal in SHODDY GOODS of any description, but guarantee tnu
tnv customers shall receive their purchases jus* as repi ceeut-ed. in the
general
Bet Good* Department
Will bo found every article usually offered in a first-class establishment
D Q M E STICS!
Cheaper than ever before. Now is the time to buy
]? K I In” 'V 8,
A splendid assortment, from 4c to 5o per yard. These goods are selected
and purchased after a ioug experience with an especial view to the wants
and tastes of the people of this section of tho country, and I am confi
dent that 1 can minty the most exacting and please even the most
fastidious, if they will examine ..nd price my goods.
o
LADIES’ DRESS GOODS DEPARTMENT
In this Department 1 am offering tho largest and most solect
assortment of
Silks, Satins, Caslimeres and Worsteds, of
latest colors and styles. Also^^
r 8 .• m < i: nuM >s os.
a stock of
Ladies’ Cloaks and Walking Jackets,
and Russian Circulars,
Which must bo sold and are offered ut remarkably low figures. Also
A beautiful lino of
(iloves, Handkerchiefs, Ac., Beautiful Millinery
Hoods of every description.
Hosiery Dei.*a iotmeito,
In this Department I am offering a large an 1 varied assortment of
Ladies’ Misses, Gents and Childrens Hose
AT THE MOST FAVORABLE PRICES.
SHOE! 3.
My stock of Ladies’, M isses, Men’s and Children’s Shoos s vory large
and ol the best and most popular styles.
o
NOTION DEPARTMENT,
Button* of every Variety, Mens Ties, and Scarfs, Handkerchiefs, Combs
Brushes, Suspenders, Perfumeries, and Novelties of every duscriplio
—■ —o
Gents I<Tirnisliing G oods,
tSgfe My stock In this department is as full and complete as can bo found
in any store, and must bo sold; therefore, I am offering the most favorable
inpucements to the trade. CASSIMERES, JEANS, &e, of all the Best
grades and beautiful styles, SHIRTS, Laundered and Unlaundered, Best
Linen Bosoms, and all material of the best quality,
—o
Clothing ! Clothing!
For Men and Boys in groat variety, OVERCOATS at Bottom
Figures. Beautiful and stylish .Hints of best goods and to fit
every size, Handsome, Durable and Cheap.
Boots, Seqes axn Mars,
In this Department my stock is very complete, embracing
GENTS’ FINE BOOTS and SHOES, BOYS’ FINE BOOTS and SHOES
LABORERS' BEST BOOTS and SHOES, BROGANS, &c., All from
tire best manufactures.
GROCERY DEPARTMENT
In this Department will bo found constantly in stock every article o sadly
kept in a first-class Grocery House, embracing everything necessary
to supply the wants of the trade, and I am confident that my
prices will be entirely satisfactory to every purchaser.
I do not keep or offer for sale any light-weight
or second-class goods, bat o ly the BEST
to be had lu the market. In .Staple
Groceries I have a Tory large
and well selected stock of
Com, Bacon, Meal, Nngar, Coffee, Rico, Lard, Cheese, Salt, Syrup, Mo
lasses, Mackerel, Bagging and Ties. Tobacco, Cigars and Snuff, an.
Shelf Goods too numerous to mention. Hardware, Crockery, Glasswar
Cutlery, Grass and Colton .Rope, Powder, Shot, Wads, Shells and Caps
or Breach Loading Guns. A Bettor Selection of these goods has never
ne brought to this market, and at Prices that lead them all
Thomas A. Scott,
Nos.l and 2 Brick Bow.
<£l)c ittcPtifjh* llrrklij Jlumruul.
VOL. XVI.
THOMSON, GEOEaijfL, SEPTEMBER V, J. 537.
SONNET.
Flitting between the two Eternities,
Forgotten Hath-becn ami unknown To-be,
An atom lost iu the immensity
Of I ime and space, into the dark abyss
Still groping, peering; conscious but of this.
That thou bast missed the track, if track in
sooth
There be—nor all thy dreams o? faith and truth
But ignes fatui (dread hypothesis!)
Of thine own kindling. Yet the unconscious
world,
Frail atom, too, on the vast surge of Force
That buoys the universe, hath its destined
course.
Nor therefrom swerves. Art thou, theu, blindly
hurled
I* f<> the void to gasp—and perish? Nay:
Gol guides Mice also on thy j*eriloUß way.
—Noel I‘aton in Englisii Illustrated Magazine.
the notewaueTiouse.
Long years ago, .a child, I lived for a
time in a town whose environs 1 learned
to know well, in many a long ramble
thereabouts, with tho father of my
mother, who was a man much given to
the study of nature. By far the most of
our tramps followed, for the first part
of our route, a street that led out of tho
town to become a road, when it had
dipped over a stoop plunging hill. Then
traversing a wide glade that was almost
a plain, between forest land on either
ride, this road again ran with a long,
gradual ascent toward the blue, glooming
sides of Pilot Knob.
At a distance of some four miles from
tho town, to the right of tho road, and
several hundred yards distant therefrom,
stood a house that has always seemed to
rue a typical abode of w eird dreariness
mid ill omen. It was a large, squarish
structure of rich brown stone, and, as I
now know, it had some architectural pre
tensions. I remember that my grand
father was wont to scan its proportions
with approving eye, although it needed
all my pertinacious persuasions to induce
him to tarry near the spot, which, sooth
to say, had a wonderful fascination for
me. There was no fenco about tho
grounds, though here and there a splin
tered post told where had run the in
closing line, whoso timber had lieo
carried away by foragers in the then
comparatively recent civil war, or else by
the predatory negro population.
In all this slow lapse of years, with
any reference to abandoned human
habitation, lonely and forbidding, my
thought has always flown swiftly back to
the Note ware mansion, silent and grew
some on its little upland. Not long ago,
from the descriptive bits of detail in my
frequent allusions to this house, and from
an ill drawn little sketch of my own
from memory, a clever artist friend, im
pressed by the persistence with which tho
picture haunted me, painted it, adapting
to it tho surroundings of Tennyson’s
“Mariana.” Tho accuracy of tho work
wns wonderful, i>erftent, it seemed to me,
in every detail, and it composed so well
that “The Moated Grange” was the focus
of attention at the art exhibit where it
was placed. For myself, 1 never tired of
studying the picture, which seemed to
mo to have some esoteric, supernatural
charm, the fascination of the mysterious
and dread ; ami as 1 spent before it all of
my leisure time, T had opportunity to
discover that others than myself had felt
the spell.
Thus sitting there olono, one day, at
an hour when the gallery was little fre
quented, I was roused from a long reverie
bv the sound of deep, sobbing sighs, and
turning, saw a woman of more than mid
dle age, garbed in deep black, and with a
face whoso strong, forcible lineaments,
indicative of deep passions and intense
affections, were limned heavily by the
mighty hand of sorrow, whose strokes
are most unfailingly skillful in indicating
their origin. Tho woman’s bright black
eyes, deep set and somewhat strained in
gaze, were fixed upon the picture with
agonized concentration. Tho thin, firm
lijis of her large mouth, whose normal
expression must lx? of resolution, were
piteously tremulous now, and her hands
were clasped so tightly that the gloves
she held were torn across.
“it i.-> the same,” she murmured; “tho
same house, sinister and doomed—the
grave of hope’s and loves, the scene of
ruin and blood. Yes. Omy Godl even
on canvas the blood stains will appear!”
She staggered and fell hack as if faint
ing. I caught her, and as well os I
could sustained her heavy frame, easing
it back against the row of benching along
the room; but even with tho woman in
my arms I could not forbear casting a
glance upon the picture—a glance that
made me shudder. The artist had
pointed with a conscientious regard for
detail, and, for greater effect, had chosen
i the hour of sunset after a day of storm.
! Breaking through lurid clouds, the crirn
| son sun looked out on the somber scene,
and the red light was reflected in pools of
water before the great main entrance,
and in irregular, broken lines that
marked the roadway to the door. Homo
alteration had been made in the windows
of the gallery—a slat of the blinds had
lieen turned or had dropped apart, and a
long, slanting sun ray came in, and, fall
ing coincident with that rain soaked ave
nue, touched the reddened pixels, that
gleamed with a smoothness and transpa
rency which gave them the resemblance
of palpable, fresh spilled blood.
The stranger presently and by degrees
recovered her composure to the extent
that she was able to inquire tho source of
the picture that had so affected her. “I
have a right to l>e curious about it,” she
said: “my name is Dinah Note ware.”
It is useless to chronicle the absorption,
amounting to almost mania, which con
tinued to be inspired in her by tv bit
ing, which work she eventually and
and carried away, insisting on | an
excessive price. * Suffice it to record here
the history of tho original house—a His
tory so sad and shocking in its tragic de
tails th: t I readily understood why it
should have been suppressed from me as
a nervous, excitable child, already unduly
impressed by the uncanny aspect of the
theatre of those deplorable occurrences.
Miss Noteware had been a southern
woman, but on marrying a northerner
she had emancipated the slaves, who con
stituted a large share of her patrimony,
and the newly wedded pair emigrated to
the west, making for themselves a home
in what afterward went into history as
one of the hottest Abolition states, while
separated only by the boundary river
from one of the strongest pro-slavery en
tities. Their circumstances were pros
perous and their life conditions favorable.
Richard Noteware was a man of brains,
of energy and of fine principle; his wife,
while gentle and very quiet,
noble qualities of tho Best type of south
ern women. The mansion of my child
hood memories, which would be recog
nized as imposing to-day and in old com
munities, was regarded as little less than
palatial amid the crude surroundings of ;
that day iu that section. Then, too, its j
hospitalities were wide and generous, j
Two children, a girl and a '*oy, were bora j
to the Note wares, and their family com- !
prised, moreover, Richard j\ T oteware’s sis- j
ter Dinah, but a few ye us older than!
her brother's children, jshe was a gay
and somewhat frivolous giri, who made i
pleasure her only object in life, and who !
appreciated and improved to the utmost i
the social advantages attending her
brother's jxxsition.
When the civil warbrol ■:? out, Richard
Noteware was one of the fjrst to join tho
Federal army, after mak ig the neces
sary provisions for the sate-v and comfort
of his family. Edna, the 10 year old
daughter, was an inmate < fa boarding
school at Chartres, across Gig border, un
der the tuition of Proi'esso" Dodd, famous
as an instructor throughou t the southern
states. Lot, a year the jhnior of his sis
ter. was left at homo w ith to. Noteware
and Dinah; three servants-a woman and
two men, formed tho gar ison, and tho
house was amply provided with arms and
ammunition, although it pas not antici
pated that the day would come when re
course must be had to them, as tho tido
of war would hardly set bit way. But
though the regular armies never invades!
that region, from the first day of the war
it was contested ground qiuongtho bands
of irregular guerrilla comb dants, who un
der the cloak of the great i ationnl strug
gle indulged in their m ’ural propensi
ties for robbery, muiv*Y, rapine—all
deeds of disorder and vioY uee, claiming
ixsutxlb justification ol' ail tv lance to one or
tin; other army. The refugee or “con
traband” negroes too, shortly spread ter
ror throught the country by tho mon
strous atrocities they coaf’nitted, and af
ter the proclamation of X this class was
frightfully numerous.
The one great terror of Kjrs. Noteware’s
life was the fear of these negroes. She
had in childhood witnessed *■ \ uprising
of the negroes in a slave fefclte adjacent ho
her home, in which the house of her
hosts was besieged and many of tho
neighboring planters nmustered; and the
scenes of horror of that |Jisode haunted
her memory and overlain/ her like a dark
cloud. At this time sIT redoubled tho
precautions to protect hB household, and
absolutely refused to lent the house, not
withstanding the urgenM of Dinah’s en
treaties. 1 >inah herself.-ia too obstinate
in the gratification of li pleasure loving
instinct, and too recklen with the inex
perience of danger, to Iwd tho alarms of
her brother’s wife. Naß rally, diversions
were diminished by thcnrovaUiug condi
tions, and whenever a tstivity did tako
jilace, Dinah was take part
in it. Therefore,
m arms warn of a
festival to be held bypEe Confederate
local branch of tho satjtary commission
at ( Hiartres, which lilfe city • had sent
forth an ample contiirsnt of the finest
flower of her young ■uinhood to the
southern army. Whesyall other means
failed to obtain Mrs. L faware's consent
to the expedition, Dinajt averred that a
young friend lately from Chartres had
communicated to her ho suspicion that
Edna Noteware’s healtj was somewhat
impaired, although she would not admit
the fact in her letters ijbme, to spare her
mother distress. To yiait the festival
w ould, so Dinah urge*" J afford an oppor
tunity to visit Edna , and learn if she were
really ill. The mothrt’s tenderness at
once rose superior to by personal inclina
tions and fears, and ah*) consented to the
trip, which was to bo pade in company
with several carriage the town
near by, whose citizens kill availed them
selves of every opening to continue their
bocial intercourse with the Chartres peo
ple.
On the day of the fc% and just before
tho hour of starting, 1 here came to tho
Noteware house an Antiquated gig hold
ing two aged ladies, who lived some fif
teen miles away, poor, obscure and in
firm, their greatest pleasure being the
occasional visits of a day to Mrs. Note
ware. Under these circumstances it was
inqiOßsible for the hostess to leave home.
Her apprehensions for her daughter, how
ever, would have moved her to discourage
the abandonment oi die trip by Lot and
Dinah, if that young lady had entertained
such an idea, tho which was, however,
far enough from, her mind. Accord
ingly, aunt and nephew drew away, and
joining their friends at the ad jacent
town they went on to Chartres without
incident on the way. As the distance
was less than twelve miles, it was thor
oughly practicable to enjoy a reasonable
amount of pleasure in the early part of
the day and then return, reaching homo
by the set of sun, according to agree
ment. But Diuah Noteware wan too
greedy of pleasure to act in conformity
with this arrangement, and she managed
to avoid the retiirn party, reassuring Lot,
after the departure of their friends, by
reminding him of the immunity their
immediate vicinity had enjoyed, and
making light of his mother’s nervous
fears. The lx;y hrul his misgivings, but
he was very young, and he shared in
some measure hfa aunt’s mercurial tem
perament. Besides, as Dinah urged,
they had not seen Edna; for the aunt, on
hearing that the .academy girls wPre to
be brought in the evening to the fair en
masse, bad voted it useless and foolish
to waste enjoyable time by driving out
to the suburban school. Thua Lot was
overpersuaded.
Great was the astonishment of Edna
Notew are when on arriving at the evening
session of the fair, she found her aunt
and her brother there present. But
when she leafed the want of con wider a
; fcion they had exercised toward her
mother the young g indignation
knew no bounds She was oast in heroic
mold, of conspk ntioiiH tmd Jin selfish duty,
courage-an 1 aiiection/without alley.
“And you haVj* kfft.my mother there?
with only the tw o. servants !”sh‘* cried in
thrilling to;ies. -One of the men, h!*g
knew, had been rnisring for some days,
presume I Jysediucell to the guerrilJa./orcefl.
“You ha.Ve left her like that, so nervous,
afraid and dtr tl Lot, go and get out tho
j carriage.” j
“You are i?over gob)g over to-night!”
j Dinah protected; “you know the road is
unsafe fr u single carriage by day; to
morrow' w© shall have the protection of
, a cr<r’.<te fatty is quite safe, what
• tftxxl esu. out going dp her?’ ’
i ’lf nr oilier good, it will, relieve her
Wreadful Mure tore*
turn as you had promised. You can stay
until to-morrow, if you like. lam going
to my mother. ’ ’
And, by her devotion moved to a tardy
repentance, Lot Noteware brought out
the horses, and they left tho place, Dinah,
for very shame’s sake, going with them.
On through the night they went, through,
the wide, lonely river bottom, ho heavily
wooded they could not see the team that
drew them, for the shadow’; across tho
perilous ford, with its shifting quick
sands, and on over the higher county
roads of their own state. Meanwhile, all
had gone ill with Mrs. Noteware. Her
guests had tarried until very late, hoping
her people would return; when, at last,
the old ladies reluctantly decided to leave
her, fearful of not reaching their own
home until after dark, their horses mani
fested such signs of unruliness, that Mrs.
Noteware, ever thoughtful for others,
feared the feeble old ladies could not con
trol tho animals, and sent her man ser
vant with them. Left with only the old
woman who was her cook, tho poor lady
had made every effort to tranquillize
herself, subdue her fears, and explain by
some matter of fact, prosaic reason tho
non-arrival of her son and Dinah.
It was, perhaps, 10 o’clock when tho
cook, s all wild with terror, informed Mrs.
Noteware that someone was trying to
effect an entrance. The lady took a rifle,
and cocking it, awaited the coming of
the intruder, whose successive move
ments of progress into the house were in
dicated to her by the serving woman. At
last the door of the apartment they were
in was wrenched open, and a large and
burly negro entered, most diabolical of
expression. At his appearance, the ser
vant afterward confessed, she was over
come by an uncontrollable paroxysm of
terror, and she rushed from the room,
from the house, out into the cover of the
darkness, leaving her mistress to her fate.
Mrs. Noteware was of good, bravo
blood. As the black brute approached,
she instantly leveled her rifle and fired,
and ho close was the range, and so heavy
the charge, that the wound in his fiend
ish breast would have given exit to tho
life of three such, even, as he. Bleed
ing, gasping, dying, the negro turned
and lied.
After such an experience, what must
havo been the life for the next few hours
of that unhappy lady? What her agonies
of mind? Alone, unhearing, not know
ing whence or at what moment she might
expect further attack, racked with ap
prehension for tho safety of dear ones,
her senaoß.iill overwrought by the shock
and the nervous strain, and tormented
by the thought that she had slain a fel
low creature, whose death, though in
self defense she had inflicted it, would
not fail to lie heavily on her tender oil
science. It was easy afterward to
her movements —to see ho\f sift
barred and barricaded the avanue&^dijfl
tude end susjiense had
until the house had seemed like a trap, a
prison, a tomb, and following the exam
ple of her servant, she had thrown open
one ol the wide front windows, and
stepped out into the refuge of tho night,
still hovering, however, under tlio shadow
of her home.
It was almost midnight when the party
from Chartres halted at tho gate, and
Edna, bidding her brother hasten to moot
and reassure their mother, herself set
about fastening the horses pending the
arrival of the man to stable them. She
had just turned toward the house, with
Dinah cowering fearfully at her side,
when she saw her brother at the angle of
the mansion, in relief against the lesser
dark news of the starry sky, and at tho
same moment a shot rang out on tho
night, its flash showing the light colored
raiment of Mrs. Noteware, standing at
the opposite corner with leveled gun.
Edna sprang forward with n cry of
horror. Before she had gone half a rod
she stumbled and fell over some object
lying across tho path, and, reaching out
her handi to help herself to her feet
they rested upon the woolly head of a
negro—the man her mother had shot
earlier in the night. The girl was quick
and bright, and like a flash her intuition
taught her what, hail happened. She
gasped a few words of explanation to the
horror struck Dinah, and again flow to
ward her mother, thinking naught of
self, nothing of tho danger she incurred,
only of bringing relief to the stricken
woman. Taller then her mother, tho
girl throw her firms about Mrs. Notewaro
as she reached her, gasping: “Oh,
mother! darling mother! it is I—Edna!
Are you injured? and oh! have you killed
Lot?’ *
But the poor child’s breath was faint
from running and excitement, and her
voice rose not above a hoarse and husky
whisper, which her mother could not
hear: nor, in the alarm and haste of tho
moment, did her sense of tact assist her.
She struggled in the clasping arms of her
faithful daughter, wrenched herself free,
and raising the already twice fatal rifle,
fired again. As Edna fell, another shot
rang almost like an echo. None can ever
know whether the flash of the former
discharge had showed Mrs. Noteware, all
too late, that she had killed her child; o/
whether she had, in her frenzy of fear,
fancied herself Ixisat by odds against
which she could no more contend. But
this last time her gun was turned against
herself, and her lifeless body was found
across the corpse of her daughter, while,
a few yards awny, the son and brother
also lay stark and cold,
Dinah Noteware waa the next morning
revived by kindly care, that might almost
bettor ha ve left her to drift into obliv
ion from her long, death like swoon. For
the frightful cries that rang in her
troubled brain indexed another awful
act in the tragedy of tho night. That
morning Ric hard Noteware came home,
on leave for an illness the knowledge of
which he had kept from his family until
ilia presence should reassure them. The
; t unc of dread disorder, the eight of the
deal negro, the inanimate bodies of all
his dear ones—for Dinah lay on the lawn,
apparently as lifeless as the rest, seemed
to tell darkly of conditions even moro
awful than the real facte, and the shock
was too much for the man weakened by
battle and nines s.
From that day on Dinah Notewarj^H
onV aim in life was to care f^g
maniac brother, cm wlnim
diction had ccmic> tliroi-•. c hc^ttß
■ dmk
just ceased, with fU
l.appy Uoiiier. -
g'jxiuui,
3STO. 3©
THE GREAT AMERICAN LAKES.
Whore Do Tloy Supply oi
Water .Change of Level.
It lias long been known that the great
lake are subject to remarkable and seem
ingly capricious changes of level. These
changes are roughly registered in tho va
rying volume of the St. Lawrence—that
remarkable river, itself the outlet of these
great lakes and in a sense a continuation
and part of the lakes themselves. In
! some years the St. Lawrence, which
drains a watershed of over 500,000
square miles, is much fuller ail summer
than in other years. It leaves Hake Erio
already a broad river* forty feet deep.
At the great cataract of Niagara it de
scends with its enormous mass of nearly
400,000 cubic feet of water in every sec
ond of time.
This almost incomprehensible mass of
water, the drainage or overflow of all tho
great lakes, varies in volume with tho
level of the lakes of which it is a part.
A Milwaukee paper gives some interest
ing facts relating to these mysterious
irregular tidal movements, or change of
level, in Lake Michigan. This, tho
second in size and depth of these great
lakes—the largest bodies of fresh water
on tho glolie—is subject to strange fluctu
ations, being several feet lower in some
years than in others. Lake Michigan is
a deep lake—about a thousand feet deep,
or practically as deep as Lake Superior.
It. lias been, it seems, for fiearly thirty
years tho practice of tho government to
take daily measurements of the height of
the water at Milwaukee. The water—
which at that point (;is the clinging
memory of a plunge into it at tho close
of July, 1849, still attests) is almost as
icy cold as it is at Mackinaw—is usually
a foot or two higher in summer than it is
in winter; but in some years the varia
tion is equal to three or four feet. This
represents, on so great a body of water,
an enormous difference. Lake Superior
alone is almost as largo as the grout state
of Ohio, while Lake Michigan, the direct
receiver of its overflow, is about as largo
ns Massachusetts, Vermont and New
1 lampshire put together. A change of
three or four feet in tho level of these
great lakes ini]dies a difference in tho
amount of water too great to be fully
understood and appreciated. The other
lakes necessarily participate in those
fluctuations; hut those appear to be most
marked in Lake Michigan.
Their enfiso is not yet wholly under
stood. Various theories have been ad-
A’anood to account for them—even to the
ij'surd extent of connecting them with
chVa ocean tidal movements. But a far
Vjaiplor explanation seems more probable,
it wpuld seem that the higher level in
Lake Michigan ia summer and autumn
may bo caused lsi>Ue spring and summer
grains and the late jlefdng Haßof ffco
m " ! vJ
X-dtcf Kmfrkm
’dpi '
the groat
4nhill !>’ irn ‘qilar/finow^SH
level in some years than in otraWvniigiit
well bo duo to the varying
May and Juno rain in different
and to tho greater quantities of sa
maining in those hyperborean
to be only transformed, in
into water. Of course the ijflH
I ' ' ■ I' I :la- v
lowest in winter if/id j
and autumn. Whtjj
bo, tho
iltK'tnations in
l.<>.|no; ot u-.'it'-r^p
111 tin* WOl-M’ii^Bgt
tent, and
torn nr ])*■
yr at rfl
most iiitoiß
gn itost
perior isa’J
tho level of ■
J 1,500 squal
1,000 feet. J
course throi v
tian system, j
it receives ml
waters of tho.]
Monltil
t o many
: a! lie
In i
bioiio oa (ho
dial i: may be
’ '* ‘lh
a tool. 'J )i*• l<>w'B||
oi' ! ill ■ Mi’i’gui
u il li O ia. 1.;, ■
key, ]>robobly
wliteh infi sts these
the shoro when
tho rock oystei with R
the lia.se of the
locates and breaks upJ
a-U/ i
i! " • >-G Hlv-'l. <m <i
o - apj.mviitiy for iVH
luuidiVing than for iu value
end it was smaller in proiiortio^B
’a human being would have solecH
proportionate amount of work. 11l
it was usually a stone they could
fingers round.
As the rocks crop up through the
water mud, the stone had to be brougW
from high water mark, this distanced
varying from ten to eighty yards. This
monkey lias chosen the easiest way to
open the rock oyster, viz., to dislocate
tho valves by a blow on tho base of tho
upper one, and to break the shell over
the attaching muscle. The gibbon also
frequents these islands, but I never saw
one of them on tho beach.—Commander
Alfred Carpenter in Nature.
Tlio Liirge*t I'lnning Machine.
A Glasgow engineering firm havo co
strut ted what is said to bo the larca
planing machine in tho world, esnecil
intended and designed to !*> emplodfl
connection with tho
steel plates for the
bridge ;n
111 ■
H Z' 1
One Inch, 3L C', : -
Kw h MibsT 7 >,, / r '• -
inch, f
one inch. jg|K:
(>in‘ inch. A gW‘
One Inch, twelve months V* \ w
One quarter column one 0 no
One quarter column twelve nmnt,Mßs- 85 00
One half column one month • 10 00
One half colulnn twelve, months go oo
One column one mouth „ 15 0;>
One column twelve months 100 00
!R'“ Local notices 20c. pete ln|Bualnsertion.
NOT AVERSE TO . -
An Important Trait
Instinct*—Kxi>ltra
As Rochefoucauld :;doy>
thinjif in the misfortunes .Very
friends that does not aUgggtjjwßtepß’SW*
us, and an apostle of' po*w -
certain vicious thrill run 7h qra* him
and enjoy a vicarious bnJtalfnfrsiß ho
turns to the column in his uwstsjajfcer at
the top of which
stands printed in largo oapitals./jHfdiow
the crowd llocks round tt Btreef VfciwlL
Consider tho enormous annual
revolvers to persons, not oijtria -
whom has any serious
them, but of whom each one ‘hnsAaEMßi
nivorous self consciousness af'r
tickled by tho notion, oa ho clutolfilftd
handle of his weapon, that ho wls; !x‘
rather a dangerous customs' to ihetfijj
See tho ignoble crew that escorts
great pugilist—parasites who feel asif ifcie
glory of his brutality rubbed off Sf
them, and whoso darling hopu from tfeiy
to day is # to arrange some set to, of v hmn
they may share tho rapture withqtifigE
during the painsl The fust blows at a
prize fight are apt to make a refined
spectator sick, but his blood is soon up in
favor of one party, and it will seem as if
the other fellow could not be hanged and
pounded and mangled enough—the re
fined spectator would like to re-enforce tho
blows himself. Over the sinister orgies
of blood of certain depraved and insane
persons let a curtain bo drawn, as well as
over the ferocity with which otherwise
fairly docent men may be animated, when
(at the sacking of a town, for instance)
the excitement of victory long delayed,
the sudden freedom of rapino and lust,
tho contagion of tho crowd, and the im
pulse to imitate and outdo, all combine to
swell the blind drunkenness of the killing
instinct and carry it to its extreme.
Not Those who try to account for
this from above downward, as if it re
sulted from tho consequences of the vic
tory being rapidly inferred, and from the
agreeable sentiments associated with them
in the imagination, have missed the root
of the matter. Our ferocity is blind and
can only bo explained from below.
Could wo traco it back through our line
of descent we should see it taking moro
and more the form of a fatal reilex re
sponse, and at the same time becoming
more and more tho pure and direct
emotion that it is.—Popular Science
Monthly.
Oyitflle. lilinrovcit by Prosperity.
The fact is that tho prosperity of tho
American gypsies has permanently soft
ened the asperity of thoir natures typified
in some of Greilman’s olden gypsies, in
tensified in Scott’s “Meg Merrilies” into
a dreadful witch, and given a most un
fair and prejudicial grotesquenesH by even
so earnest a man as Barrnu^^ypsies
may oce sioually sing
tree^J