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8 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.’'