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YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT*
ENIGMA—No 24.
I am oomposed of 52 jotters .
Mv 4,13, 33, 21, 9,2, 49, 46, 5 38,
10, 14, 33, is the name or one of the
fallen heroes of the South.
My 48, 25, 31, 19, 11, 22, 18, 46, 41,
is a city of Maryland.
My 52, 32, 33 is a Spanish title ; also
a river in Europe
My 24, 28, 40, 26, 30, 45, 2, 15, is a
cape on the coast of North Carolina.
My 43, 8, 38, 34,13, 35, 22, 30, 33,
44, 23, is a little flower.
My 1, 14, 46, 22,18, 33, is the god
that many worship.
My 46, 25, 17, 13, 11, 9,2, is a wine.
My 29, 5, 49, 4, 28, is a river in
Russia.
My 38, 13, 3,33, 51, 49, 17, 39, is the
name of an eminent painter.
My 7, 18, 9, 35, 49, is a number.
My 22, 37, 33, 21, 38, 12, 28, was an
ancient goddess.
My 35, 27, 30, 19,14, is a letter of the
Greek alphabet.
My 42, 13, 2,40, 36, is something
inevitable.
My 14, 45, 16, 39,35, 11, 52, 13, 15,
was a Grecian hero.
My whole was the very charitable ex
clamation of Mary Queen of Scots on the
day of her execution. Minnie.
Sharon , Ga., June, 1868.
Answer next week.
ENIGMA—No. 25.
I am composed of 27 letters :
My 24, 4, 19, 9, 16, 25, 6, 10, 24, 3,
is an evergreen.
My 7, 24, 14, 23, is an herb.
My 19, 26, 5, is a small insect.
My 21, 12, 27, is a metal.
My 11.9, 4,7, 18, is a common, but
useful animal.
My 1, 17, 19, 3, 16, 9,7, 18, is the
name of a flower.
My 8, 20, 15, is a fruit that generally
grows on trees.
My 2,9, 20, 4, is a period of time.
My 22, 9, 13, 9,4, is a priceless trea
* sure.
My whole is a line written by Thomas
Moore. > Annie
Savannah, Ga., June , 1868.
Answer next week.
ENIGMA—No. 26.
I am composed of 16 letters :
My 6,2, is a river in Italy.
My 12, 6, 14, 11, is a number.
My 3, 13, 12, 4, is a kind of tree.
My 15, 10, 11, is an article.
My 14, 7,9, is a fruit.
My 16, 2, 14, what soothes the af
flicted.
My 8,6, 12, is what we should all
hate.
My whole is a name which should be
d3ar to every Catholic heart.
Amelia.
St. Joseph’s Academy , 1868.
Answer next week.
Answers to Last Week’s Enigmas,
Ac.— Enigma No. 20.—Rev. Michael
Cullman—Vaeuna — Helen— Landau—
Laird —Cheval—Lavender —Medicine.
Mary.
Enigma No. 23. Napier— Erin—
Pear —Reap—Nap—Rain —Air.
First Charade —“ Southern Memories”
—#in —Foe—Una —Grea* and Height—
Ho rse— Insane —i?ife— No — J/other—-
Evening—Jf itylene—Fold —itome-Si'gli
—E v e— So rrow. Birdie.
Second Charade. —Spark Park—
Ark—Spar—Spa.
Conundrum —Your word.
From Correspondents . -Faustina, G.
C., Mobile, Ala., to No. 21; R. C. 8.,
Macon, Ga., to Nos. 20 and 21; J. W. F.,
to No. 21 ; M. E. D., Augusta, Ga., to
Nos. 20 and 21 ; H. W. 11., Selma, Ala.,
Enigma No. 2, 20 and 21 ; J. 8.,
Charleston, S. C., to Prose Charade,
Enigma No. 22, and Conundrum.
To Our Correspondents. —Annie,
Savannah, Ga.—Well written short sto
ries would be very acceptable to us.
If our young friends’ contributions do
not appear as promptly as they would
wish, they must not get out of patience,
as we have quite a number on hand, and
will give them a place as soon as possi
ble. Those sending us Enigmas would
oblige us by sending the answers on
a separate slip of paper.
[Prepared for tlie Banner of the South by Uncle Buddy.]
FAMILIAR SCIENCE,
H EAT —CONTINUED.
The word ventilation is derived from
the Latin word, Veutilo, to blow, or fan,
and signifies the renewal of fresh air.
There is always the same perpetual motion
oi the air in an occupied room as in that
out of doors—always two currents, one o
hot air, flowing out of the room, and an
other flowing into the room. We ascer
tain this to be a fact by the following ex
periment: If a lighted candle be held
near the crevice at the top of the door the
flame will be blown outward, toward the
hall; but if the candle be held at the
bottom of the door the flame will be blown
inward, that is, into the room. This how
ever, is not the case if a fire be in an
open fire-place in the room, for when a
fire is lighted an inward current is drawn
through all the crevices.
The flame of the candle is blown out
ward, if the candle be held at the top of
the door, because the air of the room being
heated, and, consequently, rarefied, ascends,
and, floating about the upper part of the
room, some of it escapes through the cre
vice at the top of the door, producing the
current of air outward. And the flame
is blown inward because a partial vacuum
is made at the bottom of the room as soon
as the warm air of the room has ascended
to the ceiling, or made its escape from the
room, and cold air from the hall rushes
under the door to supply the void.
“A vacuum” means a place from which
the air has been taken, and “a partial
vacuum” means, of course, a place from
which a part of the air has been taken.
Thus, when the air near the floor ascends
to the ceiling a partial vacuum is made
near the floor. This vacuum is filled up
by colder air, which rushes under the
door and through the window 7 crevices
into the room. As an illustration : If a
pail be dipped into a pond, and filled with
water, a hole (or vacuum,) is made in the
pond as large as the pail; but the mo
ment the pail is drawn out, the vacuum
is filled up by the water around, Now,
to apply the illustration: The heated air
which ascends from the bottom ot the
room is removed like the water in the
pail; and, as the void was instantly sup
plied by the water in the pond, so the void
of air is supplied by the air around.
A room, even without fire, is generally
warmer than the open air, because the air
in the room is not subject to much change,
and soon becomes of the same tempera
ture as our skin, when it no longer feels
cold.
We generally feel colder out of doors
than in doors because the air which sur
rounds us out of doors is always chang
ing; and as fast as one portion of air has
become warmer by contact with our
body, another cold portion surrounds us
to absorb more heat.
There is generally a strong draught
through the keyhole of a door, because
the air in the room we occupy is warmer
than the air out of doors ; therefore, the
air rushes through the keyhole into the
room, and causes a draught.
And there is, also, a strong draught
under the door, and through the cre
vice on each side, because cold air rushes
from the hall to supply the void in the
room caused by the escape of warm air
up the chimney and through the crevices
in the upper parts of the door.
If you open the lower sash of a win
dow there is more draught than if you
open the upper sash—the reason of which
is this : If the lower sash be open, cold
external air will rush freely into the
room, and cause a great draught inward;
but if the upper sash be open, the heated
air of the room will rush out, and of
course there will be less draught inward.
A room is better ventilated by opening
the upper sash, because the hot, vitiated
air (which always ascends towards the
ceiling,) can escape more easily. A hot
room is cooled more quickly by opening
the lower sash, because the cold air can
enter more freely at the lower part of the
room than at the upper.
The hottest place in a church, or thea
tre, is the gallery, because the heated air of
the building ascends, and ail the cold air
which can enter through the doors and
windows keeps near the floor till it has
become heated.
Mines are ventilated by being furnished
with two shafts, or flues, which are so
arranged that air forced down one shall
travel the whole extent of the mine be
fore it escapes by the other. By keeping
up a lire in one of these shafts the air is
rarefied or expanded within, causing an
ascending current, carrying with it all
the noxious gases, and rendering the air
pure. Rarefaction makes the air light
er, causing it to ascend through the cold
er strata, as a cork put at the bottom of
a basin of water rises to the surface.
Stoves should be fixed as near the
floor of a room as possible, in order that
the air in the lower part of the room may
be heated by the fire. The air in the
lower part of the room would not be
heated equally well if the stove were
more elevated, because the heat ol a flic
lias very little effect upon the air below
the level of the grate; and, therefore,
every grate should be as near the floor
as possible.
The reason that our feet are very fre
quently cold when we sit close by a good
fire, is because, as the fire consumes the
air which passes over it. cold air rushes
through the crevices of the doors and
windows, along the floor of the room, to
supply the deficiency, and these currents
of cold air rushing constantly under our
feet, deprive them of their warmth.
Smoke is small particles of carbon,
separated by cumbustion from the fire,
but not consumed.
Smoke and steam curl as they aseend,
because they are forced round and round
by the ascending and descending cur
rents of air.
Some chimneys smoke, because fresh
air is not admitted into the room as fast
as it is consumed by the fire; in conse
quence of which a current of air rushes
down the chimney to supply thedefic ency,
driving the smoke along with it.
The air will come down the chimney
because it can get into the room in no
other way, if the doors and windows are
all made air-tight. The best and
speediest remedy in such a case is to
open the door; but by far the best remedy
is to carry a small tube from the
hearth into the external air, because the
fire will be plentifully supplied with air
by the tube; the doors and windows may
all remain air tight, and we may enjoy a
warm fireside without the inconvenience
of draughts of air and cold feet.
Chimneys are raised so high above the
roof that they may not smoke, as all flues
do which are too short.
The flue of a chimney is that part
of it through which the smoke passes.
THE RUINED COTTAGE.
A TRUE STORY OF IRISH LIFE.
On the southern coast of Ireland may
be seen at this day, on the precipitous
highlands of Corballagh, that stretch away
behind Duggarra in a thousand wild and
fantastic shapes, the blackened and weath
er-beaten walls of a ruined cottage,
where once dwelt a happy family of loving
hearts, ere the famine swept, like a pesti
lence, throughout the length and breadth
of the lovely land.
“Mary, mother, look down upon us an’
intercede for us this day!” murmured a
white-haired old mau, who stood in the
door of the cottage. Ilis palsied hands
were clasped, and his tear-dimmed eyes
were upraised to the sky, where the light
ning darted like fiery serpents down the
sides of the dark clouds. The wind wail
ed mournfully and wild, and a hoarse
peal of thunder boomed along the heavens,
awakening a thousand echoes amid the
gloomy mountains of Corballagh. The
shrunken form shivered as the blast swept
by, and the trembling fingers drew the
threadbare coat over the breast where a
breaking heart was throbbing painfully.
“Ahl but it’s cowld,” groaned the
peasant, “an’ the gossoon will perish be
fore he raches this wid the male. God
give the poor crature stringth in the
pitiless storm. Oh, wirra! wirra! but I
wish I was in Ameriky wid me daughter
Mary.”
“Andy, Andy! ” cried a faint voice
from within.
“It’s Alice, an’ she’s wakin’ from her
sleep. I’ll go in to her. She’s goin’
from me, fadin’ like the summer flowers
whin the cowld winds chill the bowers;
dyin’ for want iv a bite an’ a sup. Oh,
Alice! Alice! me poor ould wife, Alice—
has it come to this, alanna, mavounecn,
aeushla gramachree ? ”
These words were uttered in a tone of
anguish, and Andy Maguire entered the
cottage, staggering to the bedside of his
dying wife—staggering from weakness
produced by hunger.
“Andy, dear, I’m goin’,” murmured
Alice, faintly; “I’m goin’ to a world
where there’s bread enough for all; where
there’s no sorrow, parting, pain, or death;
where sin an’ darkness is never known.
It won’t be fi r long; you’ll soon meet me
there, Andy dear !”
Tears trickled down the old man’s
wrinkled cheeks, as he gently raised the
form of his dying wife in his arms, and
pillowed her head on his breast.
“ That’s better,” she whispered : “you
used to hould me just the same whin we
were both young, gazin’ down at me with
the love-light dancin’ in yer black eyes,
tcllin’ me how well ye loved me. I’m
happy dyin’ in yer arms, and may God
watch over ye an’ protect ye whin I am
gone. Kiss Mickey fur me, and give him
me blessin’, fur he’ll come too late.”
Her eyelids drooped, and for a moment
she looked like a person in repose. Again
she looked up. A film was gathering
over the eyes. The Angel of Death had
entered the cottage.
“Hould me closer, fur the pain is at
me heart,” whispered the dying woman.
Then came a few spasmodic struggles,
as the spirit plumed its pinions for a hea
venward flight; a moment more, and
Andy Maguire held in his arms a form of
inanimate clay.
Above the howling of the gale, the old
man heard the sound of voices, and the
tramp of horses’ feet. He laid the cold
form gently back on the pillow, and went
to the door. A gentleman was riding to
wards the cottage, accompanied by two
villainous-looking attendants, who were
conversing together in boisterous tones,
their conversation being interlarded with
fearful oaths.
“The old reprobate! we’ll root him out
in short order! ” exclaimed one.
“Yes, and make kindling wood of the
cabin,” added his companions.
“Do your work quickly,” chimed in
their leader, “and listen to no prayers or
expostulations. If you complete your
work of destruction in fifteen minutes, you
shall have a gallon of ale at the next inn.
I can’t furnish houses for people that can’t
pay their rent. Hallo! there’s old Maguire
himself; pitch him aside, and down with
the cabin before the storm bursts upon us
Dismount, and to your work.”
The ruffians leaped from their saddles,
and their fiendish work of destruction
began.
A cry of anguish broke from the old
man’s lips. He rushed forward with up
lifted hands, his grey locks streaming in
the wind.
“Spare the cabin, fur God’s sake, fur
me poor old wife, Alice, is lyin’ dead with
in! Oh! Mr. Harry Dunn, don’t look on
an’ let them men destroy it! Let it be for
a shelter to the corpse, till I have stringth
to bury it dacently ; an’ may God be good
to yer own! I can’t pay the rint, for I’m
starvin’! starvin’! starvin’!”
This appeal did not touch the young
gentleman’s stony heart. He had heard
pleadings akin to this before. Unmoved,
statue-like, he sat; and when the aged
man raised his hands, and fell on his
knees at the horse’s feet, Harry Dunn
lifted his loaded whip, and with one cow
ardly blow, felled the starving suppliant
to the earth.
There was a large gash just above the
left temple, and from the wound the warm
blood flowed, dabbling the old man’s grey
hair in the dust by the roadside.
Sir Harry spurred his horse onward,
for the raindrops began to fall thick and
fast.
“When your work is done, ride after
me ; you will find me in the inn at Dug
garra! ”
His gallant steed dashed down the
mountain side, and his voice was lost
amid the howling of the storm.
The heartless wretches soon completed
their work of destruction. The cabin
was torn down, and the ruins set on fire:
and the destroyers rode away, leaving the
corpse to be consumed, while the old
man perished by the roadside.
About an hour afterwards, little Mike
returned with the meal. When he saw
what had been done, he sat down beside
his father’s dead body, and wept bitterly
wringing his hands, and moaning as
though his heart would break. He knew
who had done the work, for the report
was circulated throughout the country :
“Harry Dunn, the masther, is goin’
around, burnin’, and destroyin’ all before
Mm.”
In vain he tried to restore his father to
consciousness—life was extinct; and he
crept near the decaying embers of the
cottage, crying, as he warmed himself by
the fitful flames:
“Oh! they’ve murdered me poor old
father an’ mother, an’ fot’ll become of
me now? Mary, mother! look down on
the orphan from above ! Hark ! how the
could wind howls amid the mountains in
Corballagh! The tempest is wailin’ a
dreary coronach for the dead. The dark
clouds is the power of God, an’ the failin’
rain is the tears the angels weep ! ”
I Toward nightfall, a- party of peasants
found the child asleep beside the dead
body of his father, with the little bag of
meal under his head.
They 7 buried the old man decently, and
after taking the orphan to a place of
safety, they started after Harry Dunn,
crying aloud for vengcnce. When they
reached the little hamlet of Duggarra, they
proceeded in a body to the inn. They
found Harry Dunn there; but God’s
wrath had overtaken him. A bolt from
heaven had struck him dead, as he was
riding' down the mountain.
WIT AND HUMOR.
Pen Sketotifs of Senators.— Gen.
Alfred Townsend sketches certain Sena
tors, as follows :
Morton, of Indiana, is like Cromwell,
dark and religious, and lit to wear half
armor. Colliding is a pomatumed royal
ist, a little like Lord Bacon, a little like
J. E. B. Stuart, anti <% good deal frozen.
Reverdy Johnson looks like the Em
peror Titus after dinner, when he had got
too fat for fighting. Howard, with his
glasses on, is something like Dogberry,
and something like a dissenting Bishop.
Doolittle looks like a Thracian gladiator,
brought up among bulls and feuds,
where they 7 have no scissors to cut one’s
hair. Fessenden is like Lord John Rus-
sel, pure Englishman, with more Norman
blood than simple faith. Tipton is Praise-
God-Barebones. Stewart, of Nevada, i s
a Flemish painter in love, with flaxen
hair and beard. Sprague looks like an
intellectual chess player, studying a
move. Mr. W ade looks like a blasted
peak. Mr. Buckalew is half fox and half
ferret.
A lady guest, at a private entertain
ment near Paris, seeing some very fi ne
truffles on the sideboard, told the waiter
to help her to some. He refused to do so,
much to her indignation. Just i n
time to prevent a scene, an intimate
friend of the house came up, to whom
the lady explained her contretemps. The
friend informed her that, on account of
the exorbitant price of the delicacy, or
ders had been given that the truffks
should only be served to the intimates of
the family.
A Spunky Wife.— A middle aged farm
er and his wife were enjoying a winter
evening, closely together, when the con
versation turned upon religious matters, as
described in the Bible, which the man had
opened before him.
“Wife,” said the farmer, “I’ve been
thinking what happy society Solomon
must have had in his day, with so many
wives, etc., as is here represented.”
“Indeed,” said the wife, somewhat
miffed. “You had better think of some
thing else, then. A pretty Solomon you
would make truly ; you can’t take proper
care of your wife. What a figure you
would cut, then, with a dozen wives, and
all of them as spunky as I am.”
The farmer took his hat and went to
the stable to feed the cattle for the night
Daddy’s Cross.— “W T hat’s that?” asked
a schoolmaster, pointing to the letter X
“It’s daddy’s name.” “No, you block
head, it’s X.” “Tain’t X, neither; it’s
daddy’s name, for I seed him write it
many a time.”
It is stated that so many lies were
“nailed to the counter” during the late
election campaign in Connecticut, that
the supply of nails in that State is at a
very low ebb.
A Chicago paper, indignant with a
Detroit coternporary for keeping up a reg
ular announcement, “So-and-So was the
last mysterious disappearance in Chicago,
exclaims: “Why, bless you, we hav-.
more persons ‘mysteriously disappear" in
Chicago every week than Detroit sees in
a month.”
A French writer on gastronomical sub
jects, has defined indigestion to be the
“ingratitude of the stomach.”
“We’re in a pickle now,” said a man
in a crowd. “A regular jam,” said an
other. “Heaven preserve us!” mourned
an old lady 7 .
SiMPtiY Ridiculous.— When a news
paper apologizes in its columns for a lib"!
it has circulated, may it be said to d*
penance in its own sheets?”
An English paper says : “Journalisn
in the Southern States has a tropical lux
uriance and gorgeousness which aston
ishes the inhabitants of the temperate
zones.”
“How long did Adam remain in Para
dise before he sinned ?” asked an admir a
ble sposa of her loving husband. “’Til!
he got a wife,” answered the husband
calmly.
When a certain facetious doctor wa
asked how they could commemorate the
discoverer of ether, he replied, “Very
simply. One pedestal! Two statues'
Morton here! Jackson there! Under
neath, the simple inscription—‘To Ether.’
“I’ll teach you to play pitch and toc
I’ll Hog you for an hour, I will,” said;
father to his son. “Fathor,” instantly re
plied the incorrigible, as he balanced a
penny on his thumb and finger, “I’ll t -
you to make it two hours or nothing.”
A young Indian girl who had curiou
ly watched the process of marking barre
heads in a flouring mill in Winona, Minn
stole in one day, and taking possession of
the stencils, ornamented her blanket with
the words, “Ellsworth’s Choice,” and
paraded the streets in great delight, but
to the disgust of Mr. Ellsworth, who is
a bachelor and has made no such ehoie<
Dumplings.— “ Uncle Jemmy,” said a
waggish blade to one of the best old iu<x
who ever lived or died, “I am told you
are very fond of apple dumplings.
“Why,” said the Patriarth. “when I live :
in Virginia, I liked them better than any
thing in the world, and could eat cighte< n
or nineteen at a time; bill, somehov
since I came to Georgia, my appetite lias
so failed me that 1 can never eat nior
than fourteen or fifteen before they begin
to clog upon my stomach.”
Asa worthy divine and a broad thing,
ing doctor were dissenting about the "b
says and Reviews.” some doubts wck
raised whether Eve was formed from ;
bone, when a poetical lady remarked :
“Well, if Eve was so formed, it must h n c
been from the bone of contention.’'