Newspaper Page Text
CP I L o J XJl
Wm. C. MARTIN, Editor.
A Song of Best.
O weary Hands! that, all the day,
"Were set to labor hard and long;
Now softly fall the shadows gray',
The bells are rung for even song.
An hour ago the golden sun
Sank slowly down into the west;
Poor, weary Hands, your toil is done,
Tis time for.rest!—’tis time for rest!
O wftiry Feet! that many a mile
Have trudged along a weary way.
At last ye reach the trystiug stile;
No longer fear to go astray.
The gently bending, rustliug trees
Rock the young birds within the nest,
And softly sings the quiet breeze;
“ ’Tis time for rest!-Otis time formtt"
O weary Eyes! front which the tears
Fell many a time like thunder rain;
O weary Heart! that through the years
Beat with such bitter, restless pain,
To-night forget the stormy strife,
And know what heaven shall send Is best;
Lay down the tangled web of life,
’Tis time for rest!—'tis time for rest!
—Florence Tylee.
The Widow’s Pumpkins.
It was a brilliant October morning,
the grass all sparkling with hoar frost,
the trees waving their red-jeweled arms
to the sunshine, and Eliakim Ellis was
driving serenely down Hay Hill.
“I ain’t a poet,” thought he, “but if
I was, I could write a lot of rhymes
about like this. Why, it’s poetry all
the way through, And—eh?—how?-
what? Who’s that?”
It was the Widow Hepsy Hall, stand¬
ing at the door of her little one-storied
<housc, and beckoning with her long,
lean arms toward him. The farmer
drew his rein.
“Hold on Sorrell” he apostrophized
his steed. “You ain’t never in a hurry,
when I want you to be, so I calcerlate
you can stand still a bit now. Wal, Mis’.
Hall, what can I dew for ye this morn¬
ing?”
I’ve got somo pumpkins that I want to
sell,” said the Widow Hepsy. “Drtfful
likely ones.”
‘‘Pumpkin s?’’ec hoed Eliakim. “Why,
bless pumpkins is a
just now. The
PF irned out powerful
fccd| £.<&;. folks
is baows.”
Ash | lisappointment crept
over the ; i i face, as she stood
there, uaeonsc ily picturesque, against
the curly ho tv rib. and crimson wood
bine IcawM wlanded the doorway.
u
The team ckme into her dim eyes.
“Then I may as well give it up,” said
she, in accents of dispair. “For I hain’t
nothin’ else to sell; and Bolindy had set
such store on my cornin’ down this
autumn aforb cold weather set in.”
“Eh?’’ said Mr. Ellis; good-naturedly.
“You was a-goia’ down down to Belin
dy’s, eh?”
“I can’t without no money,” said the
Widow Hepsy Hall. “And I was sort
o’ calculatin’ on them pumpkins. The
corn hain’t amounted to nothin’, and
the weasels has tuk all the poultry, and
the dried berries mildewed that last dog
days weather, and the carpet-weaven’
business is awful duil; ; so what be I to
do?”
“Cau’t ye put off your visit?” said
Eliakim, thoughtfully flicking the top
off a cluster of saucy ox-eyed daisies,
that grew close to his wagon wheels.
“Belindy’s liftle boy’s got the croup,”
said 3W. Halt, lugubriously. “And her
husband has fell off a scaffold and broke
his leg. And if ever I’m wanted there,
it’s now.”
“I swan!” ejaculated honest Eliakim,
as he realized what the double meaning
of poverty and misfortune was. “Fetch
mo them pumpkins; I’ll buy ’em any
how,”
“I’lllet you have the lot for a dollar,”
the Widow Hepsy, wistfully.
HMsHmest out in the corner lot.”
. i^a't gethered, eh?”
iie 1 who’ve Igot together ’em?”
filly retorted Mrs. Hall—“and
about the place, and me with
pi my back.”
i Ellis' heart smote him. Who
fie, m
'W& to complain of a little extra
trouble, when the Widow Hepsy was so
much worse off than himself?
So he alighted, and led Sorrel labor¬
iously down the stony cart track toward
the corn field, where, amid the harvested
shodts, gleamed the ruddy gold of pump
. kills innumerable.
*
“Pumpkins!” screamed Mrs. Ellis,
when her husband drove into the door
yard at noon. “Pumpkins! Why, Elia
kirn Ellis, what on earth are you bring
ing pumpkins hero for? Ain’t we got the
barn-chambers full, and the lots full, and
the very cattle won’t eat’em? Be you
clean gone crazy?”
Mrs. Ellis was a high-cheek-boned
female, with projecting front teeth, and
hard, greenish eyes, like badly colored
masbles. She was ono of those who
worship gain ns the fire-worshippers far
down before the sun. “Money is
SPRING PLACE. GEORGIA. THURSDAY. JANUARY (i, 1881.
money 1” was her favorite axiom. And
Eliakim felt his heart sink within him
as he faced her stern, uncompromising
gaz?. “They’re
jest a few—” ho began.
“A few!” shrilly echoed his wife.
“The waggin is heaped full! And we
n-throwin’ of ’em away every day!
That’s jest a man’s calculatin’!”
“Jest a few,” said Eliakim, hitching
desperately on the first section of his
speech, “that I’ve brung down here to
sell for Mrs. Hall. There ain’t much
market up that-a-way, you know,
Loisy. <
^And,” he ad'ded to himself, “good¬
ness knows how glad I’d be to sell ’em
if I had the chance 1 I ain’t lyin’, no¬
how!”
Miss Ellis gave a prodigious sniff.
“Don’t you fetch that there truck
inside of tho door-yard, ’Liakim!” said
she. “Jest dump ’em on the roadside
and let the neighbors’ hogs eat ’em up
ns. quick as they can!”
But Mr. Ellis took advantage of a tin
peddler coming along on the other side
of the street, and engaging his help¬
meet’s attention, to smuggle in the load
of pumpkins,
“I won’t waste ’em anyway,” said he.
“If anybody’s hogs is to cat ’em, it may
as well be mine."
That afternoon, when he _ name in to
supper, a thing happened which had
never before befallen him in all his mar¬
ried life.
Ho found the tea-kettle cold, the Gra¬
ham gems unbaked, the table unspread
and his wife crying piteously.
“Eh!" said Eliakim, blankly. “What
in-all-creation’s—the matter now? You
ain’t sick, be you, Loisy?"
“Yes, I be!” sobbed Mrs. Ellis.
“Heartsick, Liakim. Ob, what her I
done? I’vo sold them old gray pants
o’yourn to the tin peddler, and never re.
membered how I’d put that there hundred
dollar coupon bond you gave me to keep,
in the pocket, because I calculated no
burglars would take a pair o’ragged old
panst. Oh, dear! oh, dear!”
For one minute Eliakim Ellis stood
silent. A hundred dollars was a
hundred- dollars to this hard-working
man, who could only save and scrape bv
tittles.
But he looked at Louisa’s pale,woe¬
begone face, and his great, tender heart
rose up within him like the billows of
the sea.
“Don’t fret, Loisy, my gal,’’he said,
cheerfully. “It was only au accident.
’Tain’t wuth frettin’ about.” And he
bent down and kissed her forehead—a rare
occurrence in their undemonstrative
household. “We’ll go to work and make
it up as fast as possible, my dear.”
“Oh, ’Liakim!” sobbed the good wife,
“I don’t deserve you should be so good'
to me. I’m a cross, scoldin’ creetur,
and—”
“Tut. tut, tut!” goodhumorcdly inter
rupped her husband. “Guess I ain’t
goi«’ to hcv my wife abused this a-way."
“And I’m sorry I spoke so short about
them, pumpkins,” added Louisa, dole¬
fully.
Mr. Ellis whistlod render his breath.
Ho was almost disposed now, to regret
that he had paid out that dollar for the
Widow Hepsy’s pumpkins.
“However, it’s done,” he said to him¬
self, “and it can’t be undone. Loisy’d
best be left in the dark, I guess, about
it.”
He was alertly kindling the fire, while
31rs. Ellis moved sadly about, making pre¬
parations for the evening meal, when
there was a lively tattoo, played by a
very energetic pair of knuckles on the
door outside.
“Come in I” shouted he.
And who should make his appearance
but the tin-peddler himself.
“Hello, squire 1” said he. “Guess
tbeTe’s been a mistake somewhere. I
ain’t buyin’ up Government coupon
bonds. I’m in the tin trade. I found
this ’ere in your old pockets. So I al¬
lowed it was best to bring it back right
away.”
He held out the folded slip of parch¬
ment. Eliakim looked oddly at it.
“Fetch on Diogenes and his lantern!”
said he. “I calc’latc here’s the honest
man at lastl”
“Get out 1” said the tin-peddler. “I
don’t want none o’ your four-syllabled
fun poked at me. But I tell you what I
dew Want. Them there pumpkins that
you was cartin’in when I exchanged a
sauce-pan and two dippers for them gray
pants with your good lady, ni give you
fi ve cen ts apiece for ’em.”
“fyne !” cried Farmer Ellis, joyfully,
“^here’s to be a big dinner up to
Stapleses Hill,” went on the tin-peddler,
“And they’re goin’ to bake two hundred
pumpkins-pies, and all the pork and
beans that’s to be 'had. And there’s
goin’to be a corner in pumpkins. I’ve
got my wagon out here, so I guess we’ll
] oa d upright away.”
j And thus the hundred-dollar coupon
bond was returned, all safe and sound,
by the tin-pcddlcr, wlio, was as honest
as ho was shrewd, aud tho Widow
Hepsy Hall’s pumpkins were satisfacto¬
rily marketed. So much so, indeed, that
Eliakim even purchased out of tho
profits a snuff-colored merino gown,
whicli he left at the widow's door the
very next time he drove past.
“It’s a pity she can’t share more o’
the good luck,” said he.
Mrs. Hall found tltc gown, neatly
wrapped in paper, at he door when site
came home front cranberrying in the
swamp, and she never knew where it
came from. But she made it up, aud
wore it to her daughter Belinda’s iu the
city.
But honest Eliakim has not yet told
Louisa, his wife, that ho bought Widow
Hepsy’s pumpkins, and paid a dollar for
them in good hard cash.
“It ain’t best to toll women every¬
thing!” said he.— Helen Horrent Grates.
Beds of tho Past.
Tho house of tho ancient Euglish gen¬
tleman was not, as a general thing, pro¬
vided with bed rooms, says a writer
about the bods of our ancestors in the
Cosmopolitan. A chamber or shed was
built against tho wall that inclosed the
mansion and its dependencies, and in
this little cell tho lord and his lady slept.
Sometimes there was another chamber of
the same kind built for the daughter or
young ladies of the house. As a general
tiling, tho young men of the house and
tho guests slept on tables and benches in
tho great hall, when woolen coverlets or
blankets were provided for warmth.
Servants and attendants slept upon tho
floor.
Later on, in the time of the Tudors,
tho “four poste” bedstead, an immense
piece of furniture having a canopy sup¬
ported at each corner by the posts, be¬
came tho fashionable sleeping couch.
Somo of tho old wills mention “posted
sett-work bedsteads.” These panelled
bedsteads were sometimes of elegant and
massive architecture. The columns re¬
sembled huge balusters, and rose from
square dado bases, and all the frame
pieces were carved with decorative
mouldings of various patterns. On soma
of the earlier bedsteads tho columus ter¬
minated with figures representing the
four evangelists.
A Ball of Birds.
It may, perhaps, be adduced as ono of
the most rcmarkablo of the many curious
and often inexplicable habits common to
the lower animals of widely different
classes, the practice of forming them¬
selves into balls or clusters, as is the case
with bees, star-fish, some kinds of bats,
and at least two species of birds. One
of these species is a swallow found in
Van Dieman’s Land; the other, the
mouse bird of Central Africa. These
strange little creatures, according to Le
Vaillant, who describes them, generally
live in small companies of five or six in¬
dividuals, and generally soleet a densely
foliaged tree or thick mass of bushos for
their gathering place.
Pencaux, who verifies this statement
of Le Vaillant, also mentions having seen
them clinging to each other while asleep,
the first bird holding on to the brauch
with one foot, while it supports a second
bird by entwining one of tho latter’s logs
with its own free limb; this seeond bird
in a like manner supporting a third, and
so on until they form n chain that often
contains as many as six or seven of these
living links.
Hunting Gnlls.
The gulls, and there are millions of
them about the mouth of the St. Croix,
furnish profitable sport for the Indians.
They take their soft, beautiful breasts
to the watering places aud sell them at
75 cents to $1.50 each to the ladies for mil¬
linery and decorative purposes. Gulls ate
easy game to bag, but for some unknown
reason they stay on the Canadian side of
the line the most of the time, and tho
Canadian authorities have forbidden
Americans to shoot at them in the 'Pro¬
vincial waters. This is a great griev¬
ance to tho gull hunters, who have peti¬
tioned the governor of 3faine and his
council to take some action in the mat¬
ter. The course of the Canadians is
believed to grow out of the fisheries im¬
broglio.— Leieistown (Me.) Jovt'nai.
Toughening Wood.
It is claimed that by a new process
white wood can be made s i tough ns to
Tequire a cold-chisel to split it. 'Ms re
suit is obtained by steaming the timber
and submitting it to end pressure, tech
nically “upsetting” it, thus compressing
the cells and fibers into one compi.ct
mass. It is the opinion of those who
have experimented with the process that;
wood can be compressed seventy-five
per cent., and that some timber which is
now considered unfit for use iu such
work ns carriage building could be made
valHa|!c r by^i ■ Age.
SILENT SCHOLARS.
-
Teaching Deaf Mutes to Talk
in a New York School.
A Method which Bequires Great Patience
; •and Perseverance.
Up in Fiftieth street, not far from
Fifth avenue, in otfa of those brown
stone fronts that looks like the twin of
every other brown stone front on the
block, a queer class of pupils meets every
1 day. Some of the pupils are only five
I ye , r3 ol .j and 80mo are twenty> but not
j J onfre ver makes any fioise, and in point
of quietness the class is a model one.
Nobody'ever hears schoolboy laughter
or schoolgirl jollity ring out from that
school-»>om, and the very house itself
has not even the conventional door-bell.
You caii count every tick of the little
clock with- the class in full session while
you stand waiting in the hallway. .
In this silent house deaf mutes are
taught to speak. Two privato classes,
with seven pupils in each, meet there
day after day, and from 9 in tho morn¬
ing till late in tho afternoon struggle
witl) those simple sounds that most of us
learn unconsciously in our babyhood,
i Miss Sr die W. Keeler is tho teacher.
For eleven years she has worked among
deaf mutes and given to voiceless
tongues tho music of our speech. In
this country and in Europe she has
learned all that the best schools can of
* ur '
But whatever methods different teach¬
ers may have, to the on-lookcr who
spends an interested hour or two in her
class-room it seems that the only suc¬
cessful method must bo nine-tenths pa¬
tience. One must have the quiet pa¬
tience of a marble statue and persistence
os the flowing of a river to perform this
modern miracle of making the dumb
talk. To make a sound over and over
again and then to begin at the beginning
and repeat and reiterate and explain and
recite; the same thing a thousand times
is somewhat a suggestion of the work of
a teacher's life.
Two boys about seven, another of ten,
a f.r'ji'tytgirt of sixteen and two smaller
jf'iu about elbveil years old -wpro sitting
quietly around a little table. There was
a blackboard and a First reader in the
room. Miss Keeler was teaching the
smallest boy to say “Ah!” She put ono
of his hands on her chest so that he
could feel the vibrating of the vocal
chords, and held the other close to her
mouth, so that he could feel the expul¬
sion of her breath. Then she said “Ah!”
and he tried to say it after her. Then
her lips formed tho word “papa,” and
the little fellow, by closely watching,
essayed to imitate her, but the only re¬
sult was something that sounded like
“mum-mum.” The teacher held the
lad’s hand to her lips so that ho could
feel her breath as she expelled it in mak
tho “p” in “papa.” Tho “in” sound
did not bring any breath on his
hand; so he tried again, and, holding
his hand to his own mouth, changed
“mum-mum” into a guttural sort of
“papa.”
Tho little pupil had hard work getting
the letter “e.” The only way he could
feel this sound was by placing his hands
ono on each side of the jaw of the
teacher. The sound of “m” and “w”
ho got by placing the fingers of one hand
on the teacher’s nose and tho fingers of
his other hand in precisely the same way
on his own nose. Then ho copied the
movement of her lips and tongue ex -
actly, and another letter was won. The
vowels are taught first, then letters are
put together, and the lad at last learns
to say “boy.” Then he writes it on a
slate, and is told that (ho three letters
mean himself or any other boy.
One pretty tittle maiden named Min¬
nie, sits just across the round table. She
began learning early, and speaks very
nicely. Of course, that voice which she
herself has never heard lacks the modu¬
lation that we unconsciously learn to look
for. “Ilove you,” from those pretty
tips has the same measure of affection
expressed and the same placid intonation
that “I hate you” has. She is a'good
example of the double system of teach¬
ing that goes on in this queer school¬
room. She has learned lip-reading.
Speak slowly to her and she can tell
from the changes in your lips anci tongue
witat you say. Make the mere motion
J our nioiitb, as if whispering softly,
tint do not make the least sound, and
she can tell "hat your words would be.
course in this combination of ob
je^Meaching and lip-reading there needs
'® ust str » n ff e mistakes. Take the
cast of Dr. Gallaudet, who, speaking in
oMrth mutes, tried to explain
* dcaqon was. He took his hat
passed it round ns though taking up
a collection collection in m church—that was a dea
cos. , Now did di they understand? Of
course. Little George held up bis hand
Vol. VI. Hew Series. NO. 48.
and was given a chance to air his knowl¬
edge and tell what a deacon really was.
“Ho is the monkey that goes round with
the organ-grinder to collect pennies.’’
So when he wrote on the board the defini.
tionof “consequence”—“that which fol¬
lows,” another bright lad said a dog was
it consequence, because he followed the
man.
Just about a ceutury ago, the plodding,
painstaking Germans began to try to
teach deaf mutes to talk. They learned
it from Spain, and havo been improving
ever since. Now nearly all the big cit
tes of the civilized world have deaf mute
schools. A child should begin at five or ;
six years to learn, and in ten years ought j
to be ablo to talk fairly well. Most j
teachers limit their classes to seven, as it j
is difficult to give the desired attention
to each member of a larger class. The
pujrils are glad to learn, and arc singu¬
larly persistent in trying. But, after all,
there is something pathetic in their
struggles to talk a language that has no
meaning for their cars.— Ncie York World.
Voting by Electricity.
At tho mechanical exhibition at the
Palais de l’Industrio of Paris, there is
exhibited a machine for registering
votes, which will, it is said, be shortly
installed in the French Chamber of Dep¬
uties. Its object is to obviato mistakes,
the loss of time, and the necessity of the
members leaving their desks t<^ record
their votes. The machine, which is the
invention of M. Debayeux, is worked by
electricity, and the vote of a full house,
it is Baid, may bo make known by this
means in less than five minutes. The
arrangement of the apparatus is as lol- ; j
lows; In front of each seat throe con¬
tact makers are placed, the knobs being
marked “Yes;” “No,” and “Absten¬
tion.” Only one of tho pushes can bo
depressed at one time, and neither of
them can be used more than once, until
they have been released by the action of
another part of the apparatus, which is
under the control of the president. The
voting is recorded by means of three sets
of cylinders, upon which is inscribed in
relief the names of the members in al
phabetical order, and also the series of
figures from one up to the tjpt&l niimbcr
of members. These cylififTers rotate uu
ddF inking pacts, and after tKti voting;
an impression being taken on a band of
paper against the name of each member
present, is found a number in ono or
other of the three columus “Yes,” “No”
or “Abstention.” These numbers ap¬
pear perpendicular in numerical order.
Hence the total number in each division
ip read at the foot of the three columns.
The apparatus is necessarily somewhat
complicated, but it is said to work with
great facility. It will be remembered
that for somo time a similar voting ap¬
paratus was exhibited in one of the Con¬
gressional committee rooms at Washing¬
ton, but was finally taken away by the
inventor, who despaired of its adoption.
—Electrical World.
•
Fear Does Not Reason,
An instance out of my own experience
will go to show how fear docs not reason.
About ten years ago when I was in Ba
den near the Black Forest, I was in the
habit of walking alone in the evening
till late in the night. The security was
absolute and I new very well there was
no danger; and as long as I was in tho
open field or on the road, I felt nothing
that resembled fear. But to go into the
forest, where it was so dark that one
could hardly see two steps ahead was
another thipg. I entered resolutely, and
I went in for some twenty paces; but, in
spite of myself, the deeper I plunged
into the darkaegs, the more a fear gained
possession of mo which was quite incom¬
prehensible. I tried in vain to overcome
the unreasonable feeling, and I may
have walked on in this way for about a
quarter of an hour. But there was noth¬
ing pleasant about the walk and I could
not help feeling relieved when I saw the
tight of the sky through a gap in tho
trees, and it required a strong effort of
the will to keep from pressing toward it.
My fear was wholly without cause. I
knew it, and felt it as strongly as if it
had been rational. Some time after that
adventure, I was travelling at night,
alone with a guide in I whom I had no
confidence, in the mountains of Lebanon.
The daager there was certainly much
greater than around Baden, but I felt no
fear.— Popular Science Monthly
Quicker Than Wall Street,
“No, I wasn’t cleaned out in Wall
street, ” he replied, as he choked back a
heavy sigh. “Wall street was too slow
forme. Igot my $7000 on a Monday;
onTuesday I invested in a short-horn
buti; Wednesday morning I got up
and found thathe had been kicked to
0r 8 ’
“D,d „ you have . anyth,ug le tf
“Onlv about $15, mid I paid that to a
fellow to kill the old horse and haul both
bodies to the woods. Wall Street Metes,
Delay.
Always to-morrow and never to-day.
So the winter wears till the bloom of May—
Yet what is a month more or lessP’ you. say.
But, as May goes over the purpling hilt,
You lead before and I follow still
From end to end of the months, until
My passion wears, with .... the autumn weather.
To the very oudof its tender tether;
For, never apart, yet never together,
We walk as we walked in the bloom of May;
But at last your “to-morrow” is my
“to-day,”
When “ wbat * ra ? r( \
'
_
HUMOROUS.
Isn’t a revolving light on the coast a
navy revolver,
A last farewell—A shoemaker giving
up his business.
Yoked garments are much worn—By
oxen. They are gored.
Many a man asks a girl to share Us
lot when ho own no lot.
A trade union—A marriage between
business rivals to promote trade.
“I’ll just give you a few points” re¬
marked the paper of pins as the man sat
on it.
Schoolmarm to little Josic: “Where
is the North polo?” “At tho top of the
map, marin.”
The tailor and dressmaker are the in¬
dividuals who dwell most on the eternal
fitness of things.
A scientist weut out the other night
in a gale to sec what color the wind was
and found it blew.
The tailors and dressmakers are the
individuals who dwell most on tho eter¬
nal fitness of thingi.
Frequently the gentleman who lava
himself out to deliver a nice, breezy dis¬
course is simply windy.
Brown—Did you enjoy yourself while
you were away? Green—You bet. Didn’t
see a blessed bill ^collector the whole
time.
“There is something I have just
dashed off,” said the poet as lie knocked
his would-bc-son-in-law off the door
step,
j “Nerve food” is advertised. This is
the kind of food the m m eats who wauls
l4aj>jacupy.J,\yp. seats in a crowd od wrii
road car.
Lord Churchill makes 00 gestures a
minute while speaking, or half as many
ns a woman who is describing her new
hat to her dearest friend.
A little girl calling with her mother
at a new house where the walls were
not yet paperod, exclaimed: “What
a bald-headed house, mammal”
A Now York physician says “it is
dangerous to go into the water after a
hearty mcai.” And we presume if he
did go in after ono ho wouldn’t find it.
Some western papers look with horror
on the uso of tho word “woman” iu re¬
spectable society. One of them recontly
chronicled the finding of a “lad’ys
skeleton.”
“Ah, George,” sho murmured as they
drove along tho moonlit road, am I very
dear to you?” “And George, as he did
a little sum in mental arithmetic, in
which a team and his $0 salary largely
figured, softly answered: “Very dear.”
“Here, you,” howled a customer at
a restaurant to the waiter; “can’t you
see that I don’t wear lace shoes?” “Yes,
sir.” ‘Well, then, what do you mean
by bringing me this shoestring in my
soup? Take this back just as quick as
you can and bring me a plate of soup
with a button hook in it.”
The World’s Greatest Desert.
One-half of tho earth’s solid surface is
buried in the abysmal regions of the
ocean, and exists at undulating plains
beneath a watery covering from two to
five miles thick. On this land at the
bottom of the deep sea, tho diroctor of the
Challenger publications tells us, the con¬
ditions presented are most uniform. The
temperature, near tho freezing point of
fresh water, does not exceed seven da •
grees in range, and is constant through¬
out the year in any locality. Sunlight
and plant-life are absent, and, although
animals of the large types are present,
there is no great variety of form or abun¬
dance of individuals. Change of any
kind is exceedingly slow. At the great¬
est depths deposits are chiefly a red clay
mixed with fragments of volcanic mat¬
ter, remains of deep sea animals, cosmio
dust, mangauese-iron nodules and zeoti
tic crystals. No anaiageous deposits have
been traced on dry land, although the
continents are mainly made up ci rocks
which must have formed under the sea
^ thQ coasta . Throughout S all geolo
^ tim0 the dcpoaits of ^
Wering mters appcar t0 ^
up into dry land through tL the con
of the earth, while abysmal
. , hnve remained , the , most
“S 1008 perma
nent areas of the earth’s surfac.
