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TEARS AFTER. ~ I know the yearn have rolled across thy grars Till ft ha* grown a plot .• ! I*\ el cni'S AH ttuiomcr does Its green luxuriance wave In silken shluuncr on thy breast, alas! And all the winter it is lost to sUrht. Beneath a windlng-shoet of chilly white. 1 know the precious name I loved so much Is heard no more flu* haunts of men umotur; The tree thou pluntcdst has outgrown thy touch. And sings to nllon ears its murmuring song; The lattice-rose forgets thy tendance sVvoet, The air thy laughter, ami the sod thy feet. Through tho doer wood where grew thy vio lets Lies the worn track of travel, toil and trade: And steam's imprisoned demon fumes and fret*. With shrieks that scare the wild bird from the shade. Mills vex the laxy stream, and on Its shore The timid harebell swings its chimes no more. But yet—even yet—if I, grown changed and old, Should lift my eyes at opening of the door, Aud see again thy fatr head’s waving gold. And meet thy dear eyes' teuder smile onco more. These years of parting like a breath would seem. And 1 should say: “I knew It was a dream!” Majazine . WAIII.M*. One day, near the end of last Sep tember it was the first bright day wo had had for a week or more—l strolled dowu the main street of the seaport town whore I was spending my vaca tion, intending to go out on the salt marshes hack of the town. This main street, although little more than a mile Jong, has as eventful a career in it* brief as the road in the Pilgrim’s Progress Chart we used to see, hung in the sitting-room of our grandfather's houses. Starting from the railroad, it brut passes the colony of fish-houses and their rows of frames covered with dry ing cod: then it.plunges into the hurry and bustle of the town, running tho gauntlet between the two rival grocer ies uhicli stand insultingly face to face; aud passing the store iti whose windows are exhibited two lamp chimneys, a jar of candy and a box of pepper, while overhead hangs tho sign: m ll. Hoarse, Commission-Merchant.” Then it comes to the head of the wharves, where are congregated the men from the mackerel fleet in the harbor, talking in various languages, or executing slow dances to the ttitle of “Home, Sweet Home,” from jewsharps ami aceordcons; and then it conics out in the old village, with the white church and the trim houses and the flower-gardens full of peonies aud pansies and hollyhocks and larkspurs in their season, and hemmed in by white picket-fences, each with its green roll along the top. I walked along here, catching a glimpse through every cross street of the harbor, until 1 came out to where the houses were more scattered. Then the road goes up a little hill, and from the top you have an unbroken view of A& harbor on one side, and on the other tOsalt marshes. Just beyond this hill top and standing apart by itself, was an old house which I had never noticed much before, but which now attracted my attention, and I stopped. It stood back fifty feet from the road, and was built in the common country fashion, with one storv and a pitch roof slanting toward the road. Tin* blinds were all closed, and their green had faded to a light blue. The white paint of the house was much of it washed off, and what was left was peeling and curl ing up. Through the crack between ‘the boards of the front door-step was growing a row of vigorous pigweed, and tin* front yard was a sea of Bounc ing-Bets. There had been a grape-ar bor at one side of the yard, but it had gone to ruin, and the vine was trailing among the weeds. Von could tell where the flower-beds had boon by the greater luxuriance of growth, and along either border of the path, from the gate to the doorway, could bo seen the twinkle, here and there through the weeds, of seashells. The house was surely unoccupied. But there was a certain air about it which suggested something more than this. It looked as if it were wait ing for someone perhaps very far off now--to come and clear away the weeds, and fill the flower-beds with color, and throw open the doors and windows and let in the sunshine. As I was wondering what the story of the house might, be. a white-haired man, who had evidently been a sailor, came trudging down the road. “Who lived here?” he said.in answer to my question: “Why, this isoldf'ap’n Pc leg's house. You cant have been here long if you haven't heard of old -C’ap'n Peleg. Would you like to look inside? Well, I’ll just go along here to toy house nd get the key.” He came back a moment later, and pushed open the gate, which moved slowly on its rusty hinges. We made our way through the tall weeds to the door, and here, too, the lock and hinges were rusty: but at last the door opened, and we went into a little entry, and from there into the parlor. A1 though the room was dark—lor the blinds were, closed and the curtains down— yet the light from the doorway showed that it had a cheerful, liome-like look. There was a red carpet on the floor, ami on the walls were hanging some bright pictures of schooners under full sail. Here by the window stood a big rock ing-chair, with a soft red cushion in it, and there was another pulled up before the fire-place, and on the andirons were piled brushwood and sticks —all ready for the match. “ It s fifteen years since that fire was built,” said tin* old man, throwing open the blinds, and then seating him self in one of the chairs and rocking softly •* Yes, sir, eighteen hundred and sixty-three. How time does fly." “ And G it waiting for the owner?' 1 T asked. “Well," said the old man, whose name, by the way. 1 found to be Nehe niiah, or Ne'nuah, ns he called it — Capri Ne miah Blossom “set down, and 1 11 begin the story and tell it right through, and then you can answer your own question as well as I can. “You see this house is quite old now. Cap'n Peleg’s father lived here, and then Cap’n Peleg. and it’s good new for three or four generat o more. That'll what the old man said when he built it. He was a young man then, but he said: ‘l’m building this house for my grand son as well a.- myself.' So he picked out this spot, just sheltered by the hill, and yet so t you can look down across the harbor and see the vessels goingin and out, and he brought all the lumber from down South somewhere—Southern pine—in his vessel, and had the best work put in. And sure enough, when he died Peleg brought his wife here, and counted on leaving it the same to bis boy. Now, if I only had a daguer reotype of Cap'n Peleg. that I raw once, to show you, and one of his boy, you might guess the whole story, all by yourselr. The old Cap'n had black eyes and heavy eyebrows, aud a heavy jaw, and close-set mouth, and Hi—that was the boy s name—he gave promise to take after 14s father. “ But they got on together first-rate. Cap'fi PelegVwjfe died while Hi was ouU h boy, and $0 Cap'n Peleg; and Hi {ltd to amko Uiuuk of each other, ami €j)c (layette. VOL. X they were always together, and Cap'n Poleg was forever making a willow whissle, or rigging a rabbit-trap, or do ing something else for Hi. He'd mar ried late, and was getting along in years, and so he give up going to sea and staid at home and took to fanning a little, so's to look after his boy: and almost any day you could see them go ing across the flats for clams, or setting off on a day s fishing cruise in their boat, or carting up a load of seaweed for the garden, and wherever you se© Hi you was pretty sure to see Cap’ll IVleir. too. Ili was a nice-looking boy, full of life and fun. and a great favor* ite all over the village. Twas a pity things couldn't have staid so right along. But when Hi got a little older there began to be trouble. “ lb* wanted first to go to sea, but tho old man >ail No, and he meant it. So after a while Hi gave in. He had to. There was no peace to in* had with Cap’n Peleg unless you\! do just as lie said. But the trouble was that Hi was much the same way, and they’d dfe agree on one thing and then on anoth er, though it always ended by Hi’s giv ing in. “But at last It. came to a point where he couldn’t give in. They had a great dispute, audit hung on week in and week out. and thev didn't ir<> ’round together so much as usual. 1 hey never told any one what it was, but this I know, that there was one family in the village, Cap'n Cyrenus Baxter's family, and that Cap’n Peleg hail always had a grudge against them no matter about the reason now, but he distrusted them all, root aud branch. Now Cap'n Cy renus had a family of nice smart girls, and as things would turn out, Hi had to take to going there to call evenings, ami'twas about the time the old man found out which way the wind lav that lie began to make trouble. But he'd got hi-' hands more'n full that time. And the more the\ disagreed, the more Hi seemed to look like him, with his black eyes and eyebrows and set mouth. And he knew only too well that his father never would yield on that point. ‘Twas no u*a* thinking of such a thing. And I guess for several days they hard ly spoke to each other, “Well, things couldn't last so long, and one morning when Cap'n Peleg got up. Hi was nowhere to be found, r’irst. the Cap’n thought he’d gone oil* to be married, and lie was terribly angry, Cap'n Peleg was, and said h< and never speak to his boy again. But after a while he met a man from the wharves that told him he’d seen Hi. “ ‘Whereabouts?’ says the Cap'n. “* Setting sail with Cap'n Norris on the Leading Breeze, 1 says la*. “‘Cap’n Norris?’ says the old man: ‘why, he's going off whalin’, on a three years'cruise. Why, I know Hi too well to believe he'd go off that way, without saving a word to his father. 1 “‘But he has,' says the man, ‘1 was down on the wharf when the wind sprung up, towards morning, and they was getting ready to start, and 1 se Hi come along through the fog and go aboard. I guess he'd talked with the Cap'n before, for he went right to work. They got up their sails and weighed an chor, and he came onto the "barf to east off. So he just shook hands with two or three of u,s that was -landing there, and said ‘♦Good-by’ 1 sort of quiet, and then jumped aboard, and off thev went, and 1 guess you can see the vessel now f you go up on the hill.’ “So up on the hill Cap’n Peleg went. And he thought be saw the Leading Breeze, but it was foggy, and he wasn't sure. He often said afterwards that he did wish the fog could have lifted, for a few minutes, just then - can’t toil what pn>sed in the old man's mind those three years, lie seemed the most unhappy man I ever saw, but 1 don't believe in all that time he ever once changed his mind. He got a letter from Hi from some foreign port where they’d put in, just say ing he was well, and thev was having good luck. And by and by Jie got another. And when two years had gone by. and there was some reasonable hone of their coin ing home—if the whalers have good luck they often make a shorter trip than they expected he began to get nervous and irritable, ami )<• spent a good deal of time on tin* bill just above the house here. And very early, mornings, before In* got there, J used to see some one else there, too. My house is the only one where you o u see folks up there where they look off, and \ never told anyone about her being there. Jl was easy watching then, because there was no reason to be anxious if they didn’t come. But when the third year went by, and then the months began to creep along, and creep along, one after another, it was trying times. By and by i! was four y ears. The old man’s hair was fast getting white then, and he had to take a cane when he went up on the hill, but he kept Ins spirits, and he was dreadful hard to get along with. Aunt Nabby kept house for him then, and she said be couldn’t sit still'a min ute, or think or talk about anything but Hi and the Leading Breeze. “Then it got to be four years and a half, and then five years. Most of the crew on the whaler had been from other parts, f-o there weren't many others on the lookout, and what there was lost all heart—all but two; and they never met. “ But the old man was failing fast. One day, after he came do\oi from the hill, he took to his bed. and ne sent in for me and got me to keep a lookout for him. and he said that if he should bear Leading Breeze was coming into the harbor, he knew he could get right up and go down to the wharves to meet his boy. But it didn’t come, and he got weaker and weaker. “ One evening he sent for me to come in. And when I got there, he couldn’t seem to make up his mind to tell me what he wanted. But at last I guessed what it was, and I went to Cap’n Cvre nus’ and told Abby what I thought the old man wanted. She was a real sensi ble. nice girl, and she put on her things and come" right down. And she and the old man had a long talk. I don’t know what he said, but when she came out, I saw she'd been crying, but she tried to smile, and told me she was coming down the next morning, and she guessed p'raps she'd better stay awhile and look after him, and try to Okw him uo SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY EVENING, JUNE 13. 1883, “t iook nor nome, aim wncu i came back Cap'll lYleg seemed a good deal softened down, and he told me he was feeling considerable better, and said he had more confidence in seeing Hi soon than he'd felt for a long time, and 110 meant to have Hi's clothes brought down from his room the next morning, and laid out in tho sun, to be ready for him. But he said lu'd tell me then, while ho was feeling like it, that, if lit* shouldn’t live to set' Hi, 1m wanted the house to stand just so, with the lire all ready to light, and the chair drawn up in front, ami his room up-stairs all waiting, and evervthing just so, so't when Hi corin' he didn't say if lie come, but when ho come lie'll tili<l it all waitin'; for him, and know Hint his father bail loft it so for a sort of ‘welcome home.’ ‘And come to think,' he says, ‘l'll just write It down now.’ So he w rote it down just how lie wanted it left, and signed it. And - Aunt Nabby laid down her knit tine and eanio in. and 1 got my wife In, and we signed it for witnesses. “ Then lie lay hack satisfied, and that night he died." t ail'll No'nitali. who, for the last few moments, had been sitting motionless, began to rock again. 1 waited for him to goon with tho story, hut < Inst, as he did not sjteak, 1 said: "That was a long lime ago. How did it all eotne out in the end':"’ ‘‘That is the end," he said; “that’s the whole story, and here the house stands and waits, and waits: and will wait, too. Cap’ll I’eleg's hoy never entile hnek. nor am of the erew. And this old house is waiting for someone that will eome. Never will conic. The old Cap’ll left so't she can eome and live here if she wants,” he added. “But she's no need for that. And some day the house'll belong to her. That's all. Quite different from these stork's you read, isn't it?” We rose and went out again, and passed among the tall weeds and through the croaking gate. As wo passed there a moment we saw the harbor spread out below ns peaeeful in the (juiet glow of the setting suu. In some such bright harbor, perhaps, old Cap’n l’eleg had long since met Ins hoy. Cap'n Ne'miali shut the gate with a sharp click. “Il'sgetting ratlierehilly,” he said,as he turned toward his own cottage. “ Hood-night.’’ Stewart Chaplin, in A. y. Examiner. Hater ns a lh tnk. Many persons drink ordinarily as little water as possible, and none at all at meal times, because they suppose that water dilutes the gastric ‘juice. Experiments, however, show that dilution does not di minish the power of tlio gastric, juice, and further, that water alone, as well as solid,food, awakens its secretion. A pa per read by Dr. Webster, of Boston, at a meeting of a learned medical society, took the ground that, water, used moder ately at meals, is beneficial, and that a large class of persons drink too little. The result is, if too little water is drank —especially if the person eats heartily— the perspiration and the kidney secretion are diminished. Not only they, but the waste of the system, which can be re moved only in a state of solution, is not eliminated with sufficient regularity and fulness, and the system becomes gradu ally clogged liy it. The accumulation is slight from day to day, but in time un pleasant symptoms are developed. These symptoms are of an indefinite character discomfort, even pain, sometimes in one place and sometimes in another, con stipation, and unhealthy line of the skin. “Patients,” said Dr. Webster, “who drank no more than a pint of water a (lav have told mo that, they were lmt thirsty. They were surprised when told to drink more. Those who have fol lowed this suggestion in the course of a week have developed thirst, and drank as many as three pints of Mater a day.” We may add that water taken into the stomach is at once rapidly übsorbe I by tlio blood vessels. A bowl of well-sea soned broth, as a first course, is specially helpful to the above class of patients. A large quantity of ice water is harmful to anv one. _ Whisperings for ltadielors. None but the married man has a home in his old age; none has friends then but he; none but he lives and freshen* in his gree.n old age, amid the affections of wife and children There are no tears shed for tho old bachelor; there is no one in whose eyes he can see himself reflected, aud from whose tips hit cun receive the unfailing assurances of care and love. No, the old bachelor may be tolerated for bis money; he may eat and drink and revel as such do; and he may sicken aud die in a hotel or garret with plenty of at tendants about him, like so many cormorants waiting for their prey; but where are tin moistened eye, and gentle hand, and loving lips that ought to re ceive his last f:L’’ti - si! ‘ He will never know what if is to be loved, and to live and die amid a loving circle. Ha will go from this vorld, ignorant of the dii liglits of th .i domestic fireside, and on the records of humanity his life is noted —a blank. _ ___ Skin Grafting. The process of skin grafting promisi s to receive a fresh impetus from the labors of AT. Anger, a French surgeon. The main feature of his discoveries is that pieces of skin taken from amputa ted limbs may bo used to obtain cicatri zation on the bodies of other subjects. Hitherto portions of skin were taken from one part of a patient's body and applied to another part. ft. is stated that in one case the surgeon cut pieces of skin from the surface of an ampu tated finger, and applied them to the ulcerated leg of another person. In three days the bandages were removed, and the grafted parts were found inti mately united to the surface and evi dently vascularized. It seems essen tial to the success of the process that the graft be made immediately after amputation. Tito name given to this operation is “heteroplasty.” In the countiug-room of a Galveston Irishman the following notice is stuck up in a conspicuous place : “Persons hav ing no business in this office will get. through with it as soon as possible and leave.” j*. llow a Woman Identified. A few days agon man called at a ltottso on Fort street cast and asked for a bite to oat. He was refused, aud shortly after ho left a cloak was missing from the hall-tree. Tho police wnro notified, aud the other day when they arrested a man on suspicion, they sent for tho woman to eome down to the City Hall and identify him. When she was asked if she was certain that she could identify the man who had called, she somewhat indignant ly replied: “Identify him! Why, I could pick him out among ten thousand!” She was then confronted with the prisoner. She gave him a good looking over and called out: “Oh! you can't fool me! You’ve had your hair dved from black to red since you asked for eold pancakes, but I’d know you if I saw you in Texas!” The captain here observed that ho never heard of black hair 1 icing dyed red, and after a brief examination he as serted that the prisoner's hair had not been dyed at all. “Well, 1 may possibly be mistaken about his hair,” said the woman, “but I’ll swear to that overcoat. 1 took a good look at it as ho went off the stops, and 1 know it's the coat and the man. I particularly noticed that tho third but ton from the top was missing.” The captain informed her that it was an overcoat he had borrowed within the hour and asked the prisoner to slip on. The woman wouldn't give in for some time, but finally said: “Well, 1 might have been mistaken, but I looked square into his eyes, and I know this is the man.” “What color did you say his eyes were!” “Blue, sir, light blue.” “But this man's eyes are black—coal black!” So they were. Tho woman was dumb with asionishment for a time, but finally rallied and said: “Didn’t this man wear a slouch hat when arrested?” “No, ma'am—ho wore a cap. ” “Anddon't you think he is the man?” “1 don't, think anything about it, as I never saw him until an hour ago.” “Is it positively necessary that I identify him as the man V” “No, ma'am. ” “Then I guess I won’t. Tho fact is, I was a little flurried that morning, and I don’t think 1 got a fair sight of the fellow Besides that, 1 think the cloak was stolen tho day before I missed it, by an old woman who was selling notions.’’ Detroit Free Press. A Remarkable Calculation. A curious illustration has been afforded by the New York Journal of Commerce. It takes up an utterance of the Kov. Adriondaek Murray, who said in a re cent lecture: “Now the population of the earth is 1,000,1)00,000, and a generation dies every thirty years. In every thirty years, then, l.OOti,tilll),000 human beings go out of tlio world and 1,000,000,000 eome in. Forty years ago Ihc church taught that tho world was G,OOO years old. Him doesn’t to-day pretend to guess within 100,000 years how old the world is. Very well. What lias been the population of the world since the race began? Who can estimate the number? By wlmt arithmetic shall you compute tho swarm ing millions? Take the globe and flat ten it into a vast plain, 24,000 by twenty-four, and would it accommodate but a fraction of the human beings that have lived upon its Btial'aoe? Where in the locality of tlui judgment to be, then? (him it have a locality V” To this the Journal replies: “Now make the widest conceivable estimates. Bnppo.se that the human race has ex isted on this earth lOD.OOOyears, that the population has never from the first day been smaller than this estimate, for the present time -namely, 1,1)00,000,000. For the sake of cany calculation, instead of the estimate of thirty years to a gen eration, call it three generations to a century. There will appear to have been 0,000 generations of 1,000,000,000 each, who, being assembled, require standing room. For a crowded meeting of men, women, and children, it would be am pie estimate to give each two square feet of room. A square mile contains, in round numbers, 25,000,000 square feet, and 12,500,000 persons could stand on it. Therefore, eighty square miles would hold a generation, and 11,000 times that space would hold the population of 100,000 years. Tlmt, is to say, 240,000 square miles would contain them, and, gathered in a parallelogram, they would stand in a space 000 miles long by 400 broad. They could easily be. accommo dated in one or two of our States. “Dead and buried, side by side, they would require live times their standing space, or l sav) 1,200,1KK) square miles, and the United States litis ample wild lands, as yet unwanted and unoccupied, to give them a cemetery. If any one wishes he may estimate how many thou sand years of generations could find graves in this country without crowding each othei. Whoever will may imagine the population assembled in a circle, o’ in a vast theater, with floor above Hoot, each floor diminishing tho surface area of the building. It will do people of vivid imaginations good to reduce such imaginations to tho facts of figures, and any school girl can do it. ” The Diamond Queen. The most conspicuous feature in tho evening scene (at Saratoga) was a lady from Philadelphia, fair, and young, and petite, a Mrs Moore, whose sleeveless dress of rare point-lace is said to have cost -$20,000; and in whose hair and ears, and on whose shoulders, bosom, neck, wrists and hands were displayed diamonds that must have run up into hundreds of thousands in value: in sol itaire-:, crescents, horizontal bands and graceful pendants, that flashed and gleamed whenever there was the shad ow of an excuse for them. Her hus band, a gentlemanly, middle aged mau in appearance, supported her on his arm and a little in their rear, solemn vi-aged and absorbed in intense watch fulness of her, a private detective in citizen’s (Ire's.-, wound his way in and out amid the brilliant scone It was a strange spectacle. People held their breath and called her “the "Diamond Uw;dib"-~AWanu Evening Journal, The Art or Being n More. “The other night at tho opera hall I met one of our comediennes, who is gen erally recognized as among the most amiable in her profession, and especially fond of gayety. “‘Well, you have plenty of fun,’ I observed. “ ‘Oh, so, so ! the men, and especially the young men, aro such bores.' “In a single word the fair speaker had unconsciously defined tlio constitutional malady of this French people, which passes for the wittiest nation in the world, and is so in fact; lmt which occa sionally expends a vast amount of wit for the purpose of appearing to ho witless. “ I may seem to be tittering a paradox, a ludicrous contradiction, but the fact 1 speak of is simply the exaggerated result of our instinctive horror of ull that is oold, sad and serious. “So great is our horror of ennui, that we defy it, for the same rea m that sav ages worship what they most fear. This is why, in this insolent, skeptical, mock ing, laughing France of ours it has be come a profession to lie a bore. “Not a vulgar profession, but an ox celleut and iueom parable one, without risk or peril, which opens all doors aud is a safe conduct to all aspirations. “ Nevertheless, it must not lie sup posed that one can succeed the first time, or in one day in becoming a perfect bore. One is not born such under this sun of ours. One can only become so, just ns one becomes an orator, after long and continued violence done to his own na ture. Even with the true vocation atnl especial natural aptitude, one must pa tiently practioe for years. “For it will not sutlioe to ho simply a bore; one must also be serious, very se rious. “A certain apprentice in diplomacy who wuh not greatly worried by his ex cess of brain-power once asked M. do Talleyrand for advice how to succeed in bis career. “ ‘ First of all,’ replied l’riuee Beuo vent, ‘never laugh 1’ “ 'Thanks, Monseignenr- and then’— “ ‘And secondly—never laugh !’ “ There is no use denying it, tho whole secret lies in that. Fancy the influence a man must have who never laughs 1” la: Voltaire. Humorous Writing. Almost every one privately indulges in the idea that he could become a cele brated humorist writer if ho were only to try. He takes up a magazine or newspa per and reads a humorous article, and says to himself : “If I only had time, 1 could do vastly better tlmn that.” Now, friend, suppose you take the time and try ! If you can produce a first-class hu morous sketch, your fortune is made. You need not plod on in counting-houses or vegetate behind tho counters of dry goods stores selling calico at a profit of 2 cents on a yard. You can just go on with your first-class humor, and fix your own valuation upon it, never fearing but it will be puiil. But the fact of it is, you are a little mistaken. This humorist business is much easier in theory than in practice. Anybody can criticise and find fault with our funny writers, but the question is can that same “ anybody” do any bet ter? If so, let him do it. You think it a very easy and simple thing to sit down with a pen in your fin gers and a sheet of paper before you and indite thoiifdits which shall con vulse the world with laughter, and say ings which shall bo repeated for scores of years to come ? Well, wo are all willing you should try, anil when you achieve success we will laugh tit your witty things, and sun ourselves in the flash of your diamonds, and not feel any envy. * * * We are apt to look upon humorous writing us a pastime, as requiring less thought and intellectual power than the heavier essays which crowd our reviews; but in this wo are mistaken. Your true hu morist must have wonderful imagina tion, observation, a keen sense of the ridiculous, a thorough understanding of men, a generous power of language, delicacy, sensibility, tenderness and a strong love of humankind.—l'Ae Thorn Fa pern. Medical Adventure. Medical adventure, which during tho last century lias left few of the physical penetralia of humanity unexplored, lias just conquered tho last delicate obstacle to the rehabilitation of the body. Op erations involving the cutting of the throat and the introduction of food by artificial means were thought to be the utmost venture that science would evet successfully makeiu replacing the wasted, wounded, or decaying forces of nature. But a Vienna physician, Professor Bill roth, has invaded tho stomach of a pa tient, cut a cancer from the intricate tissues, and the subject is-not only alive but in better health than ever. Before making the experiment tho doctor prac ticed exhaustively on the stomach of dogs, removing various parts, restoring the covering, and succeeded in establish ing the basis of his scientific principle of resection. The human subject was a wo man, aud the cancer enormous, leaving some doubt in the operator's mind an to the elasticity of the stomach to adjust itself after tho cutting out of such a mass. But no difficulty was experienced. The woman began by drinking milk, aud graduated to more substantial alimentary nourishment. Tho operation involved the opening of the stomach, tho cutting of the masses of tissue-liko covering, the removal of several pounds of caucer ated accumulation, the reclosing of the aperture, and the provision for artificial distension of the now costing. Physi cians the world over will be delighted if not surprised by this wonderful perform ance, removing as it does another from the list of generally supposed fatal mal adies.—-Philadelphia Times. A distinguished looking man appeared in a California town, and, falling in, could not tell his wants in English! Several Germans visited him, and ho talked to them, asking one of them to write his will, in which he described himself as Count Carl von Schiller, and gave to each of his benefactors from 10,- 000 to 15,000 ducats. Renewed attentions were paid to him; but now lie is in tail, N0.21 A Singular Story. Tho paragraph going the rounds of the papers stating that the old pirate who made Aaron Burr’s daughter Theodosia “walk the plank" has died again, recalls a story told some twonty-fivo years ago by a venerable gentleman, now deceased, who passed his youth in Southern Berk shire. It was to the effect that in one of tho earlier years tif the century a fine looking, middle-aged woman, came to ono of the towns near Stockhriilgo and purchased a small .cottage. She ap peared worn with distress of some kind, and although seeming to have abundant means, she neither sought nor accepted any society, save tlmt of tlio poor aud unfortunate, with whom she mingled as a rule, only to relieve their distress. There was ono exception, however, in an unfortunate woman who hail been be trayed in her youth. This outcast she took to her home, where she washer companion and finally her nurse, until the benefactress died, leaving hoi poor friend wlmt remained of her property. This woman, in order to make good her formal claim to the gilt liicli was not in a bequest., stated in confidence to a magis trate that the giver was no other than Theodosia Burr Allsten, and that she had revealed to her under strict injunction of secrecy that her melancholy aud singu lar seclusion was duo to the fact that she had been compelled' to live for two or three years with tlm pirate captain and that when she was at last released, with some money in her possession, she was so overwhoimed with shame that she de termined never to let the world in which she once moved know of her existence, but to spend the remainder of her life in deeds of charity, She had selected Stockbridge at first ns a place of resi dence, from a family tradition of its se clusion—her grandfather, Hev. Jonathan Edwards, having bfen an early pastor there —but she found intercourse be tween that town and New York had bo como altogether too frequent for Iter purpose, ami she tt tired to a smaller town. — Pittsfield (Massachusetts) Sun. Shot-Making. 'lucre is a shot-tower in Baltimore, and tho American describes tho process of making shot. Ono of the “secrets” of tho manufacture is the mixing of lead with a certain proportion of a combina tion of mineral substances called “tem per.” Tho “temper ’is fused with lead, and gives the molten metal that con sistency which makes it drop. If it wee® not for the “temper” the lead would be moulded hv the sieve, and would form little pencils Jiislend of round shot. When “BB” shot for instance, are to he made, the lend is p-wirod into a pan |>er forated with holes ci responding to that size. The littie peflev pour dowu inn continuous shower, amt fall. In their descent of two hundred foot they be como perfect spheres, firm and dense, and they aro tolerably cool when they strike the water, although the swift con cussion makes the tank foam and bubble as if water were boiling furiously. The shot must fall in the water, for if they should strike any firm substance they would bo flattened and knocked out of sliapo. It is said that this method of making shot spherical was the invention of the wife of a poor European workman in metals, who had spent months in try ing to find how to do it without mould ing. To get the little pellets perfectly dry after they have been in the “well” is the most difficult aud troublesome pro cess of the whole manufacture. An elevator with small buckets, very much like those used in Hour mills, car ries tlio shot up as fast as they roach tho bottom of tlio “well” and deposits them in a box sixty feet above the first floor. The water drips from thelmekotsasthey go up, and not much is poured into the receiver above, although it is intended to be a sort of dripping machine. From this receiver the shot runs down a spout into a drying pan, which greatly resem bles a gigantic shoe, made of sheet . The pan rests at an auglo which lr °n. mils tho wet, shot to roll down t P er ' chamber below, and the pellets b° perfectly dry as they pass over the eoome sheet-iron. warm Obtained What, He Wanted. The Philadelphia Times contains an account of a young man employed in a largo iron manufacturing house in that city, who became dissatisfied with the wages ho was getting—(this alone gives the story a fishy look) —and lie went to 1 1 in employers and told them frankly tlmt ho would like more pay. Homo young men, if they had wanted more pay,would have died sooner than let it he known, hut this young ditcK didn’t seem to care for anything. So he told them ho must have more currency, aud they said they would raise him from $l5O a month to $75. He was a shipping clerk, aud had few equals ns an artist with a camel's hair brush aud a pot of lamp-black. Ho could not, t herefore, accept $75 a month, and ho told them so. Then they hum bled themselves before him aud asked him what he would take to say nothing more about it. The shipping clerk said lie wanted a partnership interest, having read of such tilings probably in u novel As soon as the members of tlio firm could recover from their astonishment, they promptly kicked him out. All this oc curred eight years ago, “ To-day,” says tho Times , “lie is tlio leading member of a firm which employs nearly three thousand men and hoys, turns out fifty thousand tons of iron a year, pays out over a hundred dollars a month m wages and salaries, and does a business of sl,- 000,000 a year.” And we suppose if any ono of those three thousand men and tun s should go into his office and ask for a partnership interest in tho concern they would get it, would they? Or would he stand them on a spring-hoard and fire them through the root?—Feck's Sun. Destroying Hie Human Stomach. The manufacture of cheap candies from white earth, or terra alba, mixed with a little sugar and glucose, is earned on extensively in New York. A census taker, who investigated the confectionery business, reports that seventy-five per cent, of some candies is composed of these substances, and some candy, notably “gum drops,” contains still lesjs sugar. Wliat is called a fine brand of Castile soap has been found to be com posed chiefly of this white earth and grease,— Boston Journal, WIT AND HUMOR. Sko transit—An ambulance wagon. A tight fit — Delirium tremens. Eveby man’s houso is his castle, but every man can’t be King of Ashanteo. One is a seal ring and the other is a real sing. Eli ? Sure enough. What was the conundrum ? A young man described a taxidermist to a bevy of young girls ns ono who sort o' upholsters animals I Ho took tho cake. The difference between tho Fenian leader and an advance agent is that one is Head Center, while the other is sent ahead. Neveu address your conversation to a person engaged in footing up a column of figures. There’s nothing so deaf as an adder. An Irishman who was found guilty of stealing a lot ot coffee was asked by the magistrate w hat lie did with it. “ Made tuv with it.,” was the 11 berniun’s reply. Young lady, examining some bridal veils—“Cau you really recommend ties one?” Over-zealous shopman—“Oh, yes, miss 1 It may be used several times." “I'm afraid tho bed is not long enough for you,” said the landlord to a \ , loot guest. " Never mind,” he n-p t “I’ll add two more feet to it \\l, got in.” “Winn you name the bones of tu head?" said a teacher to one it a class. “I’ve got 'em all in my h .. teacher,” replied the pupil, "but l cue i tve T-m auay.” ** I u tube > 'ur arm, Mie* Id }• e.* o, G*od i. ith 1 \ iieod t" o.ng t . ‘♦Gikhl ii.it'i, aid ol!’ Haiti ulie, ■* but, tiieo, a iu lb u t tin r i g io Im art on that. ' Km n e<t lie, \\ tit i i>h that lie’ r denied her, “ Good lu h i bulla '.idi*, ir., Ai.tl ilua ih bo. e oi uU.’’ We aro eons antly told that “tin evening Wore on ’ —bat what tho i von uig wore on sueli occasions wo are ikh tut armed. Was it the close of a sum mer's day ? Why is a thief yonr only true phi losopher? Because he regards evtry thtng from an abstract point of view, is opposed to all notions of protection, aud is open to conviction. This is a little coeducational scene : Professor : “ Who will see Mr. B. before next Monday?” Lady student, hesitat ing anil blushing a littlo more : “ 1 shall see him Sunday night, probably. ” How Some Famous Authors Worked. Tho fluent and graceful literature the vorld admires was by no means as easy to make as it iB to read. Pope is af iirmed to have kept his manuscript a year or two for study and alteration, md even then his printer’s proofs Were jo full of alterations that on one occa sion, Dodsley, his publisher, thought it better to have the whole recomposed than to make the necessary corrections. Goldsmith considered four lines a day good work, aud was seven years in beat ing out the pure gold of the “ Deserted Village.” Hume wrote his " History of England ” on usofu, hut he went quietly on correcting every edition till liis death. Robertson used to write out his sen tences on small slips of paper; and, after rounding them and polishing them to hi satisfaction, he entered thorn in a book, which, in its turn, underwent con siderable revision. Burke had all his principal works printed two or three times at a private jircss before submitting them to his pub lisher. Akenside and Gray were inde fatigable correctors, laboring every line; and so was our prolix and morn imag inative poet, Thomson. On comparing tho first and latest editions of the “ Seasons,” there will be found scarcely a page, which does not hear- evidence of his tusto and industry. Johnson thinks the poems lost much of their raciness under this severe regimen, but they were much improved m fancy and deli cacy. Johnson and Gibbon were tin 1 least laborious in arranging their copy for the press. Gibbon sent the first and only MS. of his stupendous work (tho "Decline and Fall”) to his printer; and Johnson’s high-sounding sentences were written almost without aq effort. Both, however, lived and movi and, as it were, in the world of letters, thinking or caring of little else—one in the heart of busy London, which lie dearly loved, and tlie other in his silent rctr. at at Lausanne. Dryden wrote hurriedly, to provide for the day. St. Fierro copied his “Paul and Virginia” nine times. Rousseau was a very coxcomb in these matters; he wrote on fine gilt-edged card-paper when lie could get it. Sheri dan watched long and anxiously for bright thoughts, as the MS. ot his “School for Scandal,” in its van us stages, proves. Burns composed in the open air, the sunnier the better ; but he labored hard, and with almo-t-unernng taste and judgment, in correcting. Lord Byron was a rapid composer, but made abundant uso of the pruuing knife. Sir Walter Scott evinced his love of literary labor by undertaking tho revision of the whole of the “Wav erly Novels.” The works of Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge and Moore, and tho occasional variations in their different editions, mark their love of re touching. Southey was unwearied after his kind—a true author of the old school. The bright thoughts of Campbell, which sparkle like polished lances, were manufactured with almost equal care. Cash Versus Credit. Any retail dealer can buy closer with cash than witli credit. The closer he buys the greater are his profits. Money put down on his collator gives him a chance to discount his paper, meet his notes and pay current expenses. Charges on tho book mean cash next month, or the month after, or next year. Cash asks no favors except to be waited upon. Credit must have a bookkeeper, a collec tor and a lawyer. If a retail dealer iu groceries asks the juice of starch, ho is told that he can have it at bo much credit, or so much for spot cash. If a consumer asks the price of the retailer, it is one jirice to Cash Down or Dead Beat. The more one thinks this matter over the more he realizes the force of the re mark of a prominent Western financier, who lately observed; “The man who pays cash when lie can get credit is a fool.” And so say we all. If Dead Beat is to have the same price as Gish Down, with an additional advantage of sixty-six days’ time—which means ninety in nineteen cases out of twenty—why do any of us pay cash? Why not all take credit? —Detroit Free Press. Con. Moßplolkins, who holds a hi rank in a Galveston military org tion, was aroused a few nights a the sound as of burglars in the lion- He instantly seized a shot-gun, cocking both barrels, called out, Bungler tone's: “Halt! Who goes there? ’ “ Don’t be scared, papa; I won’t do nuf fiu to vou, I want a dwink," piped an Infantile voice, —Oalvetton fifews.