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VOL. VI.
THE APPEAL.
PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY,
. By J. P. SAWTEIX.
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Over the Hill to the Poor
House.
BY WILL M. CARI.KTON.
(Written for Harper’s Magazine.)
Over the hill to the poor bouse I ! m trudgin’
my weary way—
I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle
gray—
I, who am smart an’ chipper, for all the years
I’Ve told,
As many another woman that’s cfaly half as
old.
Cvcr the hill to the poor house—l can’t
quite make it clear !
Over the hill to the poor bouse—it seems so
horrid queer 1
Many a step I’ve taken a toilin’ to and fro,
But this is a sort of journey I never thought
to go.
What is the use of heapin' on me a pauper’s
shame ?
Am I lazy or crazy ? am I blind or lame?
True, I am not so suple, nor yet so awful
stout;
But charity ain’t no favor, if one can live
without.
I am willin’ an’ anxious an reafly any day
To work for a decent livin’ and pay tny hon
est way ;
For I can earn my victuals' au’ more too, I’ll
be bound;
If anybody only 4 is willen’ to have me round.
Once I was young and ban'some— I was, up
on my soul— . •
Onoe my cheeks was roses, ray eyes as black
as coal;
And I can’t remember, in them days, of bear
in’ people say,
For any kind of a reason, that I was in their
way.
’Taint no use of boastin’, or talkin’ over
free,
But many a house and home was open then
to me ;
Many a han’some offer I had from likely
men,
And nobody ever hinted that I was a'bnr
den then.
And when to John I was married, sure lie
was good and smart,
But he and all before me, an’ I was young
an’ strong.
And I worked the best that I could in tryin'
to get along.
And so we worked together ; and life was
hard but gay.
With now and then a baby for to cheer us
on our way ;
Till we had a half a dozen, an’ all growed
clean an’ neat,
An’ went to school like others, an’ had
endugh to eat.
So we worked for the child'rn, and raised
them every one ;
Worked for ’em summer and winter, just as
we ought to’ve done . .
Only perhaps we humored ’em, which’ some
good folks condemn,
But every couple’s child’rn’s a heap the best
to them.
* Strange,.how much we thiuk of our blessed
little ones!
I’d have died tor my daughter, I’d have died
for my sons ;
And God He made that rule of love, but
when we’re old and gray,
I’ve noticed it sometimes somehow fails to
work the other way.
Strange, another thing; when our boys an’
girls was grown,
And when, exceptin’ Charley, they’d left us
there alone;
When John he nearer an’ nearer conie, an’
dearer seemed to be,
The Lord of Hosts He come one day an’
took him away flora me.
Still I was bound to struggle, an’ never to
cringe or fall—
Still I worked.for Charley, for Charley was
now my all; ...
And Charley was pretty good to me, with
scarce a word or frown,
Till at last he went a courtin', anil brought
a wife trora town.
She was somewhat dressy, an’ hadn’t a pleas
ant smile—
She was quite conceity, and carried a heap
o’ style ;
Busts ever I tried to be friends, I did with
her, l know ;
But she was hard and proud, and I cold n’t
make it go.
She bad aud cdication, an’ that was good for
her;
But when she twitted me or mice, ’twas car
ryin’ things too fur; ■
An’ I told her once, ’fore company (an’ it
almost made her sick,)
CUTHBERT |S|f APPEAL
That I never swallowed a grammer, or et a
, ’rithmetic. - .
So ’twas only a few days before the thing
was done—
They was a family of themselves, and I an
other one ;
Aud a very little cottage one family will
- do,
But I never have seen a house that was big
enough for two.
An’ I nevot could speak to suit her, never
could please her eye, . .. ’
An’ it made me independent, an’ then I
didn’t try;
But I was terribly staggered, an’ felt it lik£
a blow,
When Charley turned agin me, an’ told me I
could go.
1 went to live with Susan, but Susan’s house
was small,
And she was always a hintin’ how snug it
. was for us all;
Aud what with her husband’s sisters, and
what child’rn three,
Twas easy to discover there was’nt ro.om for
me.
An’ then 1 went to Themas’, the oldest son
I’ve got,
For Thomas’ buildings’d cover the half of an
acre lot;
But all the child’rn was on me— I couldn’t
stand,their sauce—
And Thomas said I needn’t think I was corn
in’ there to boss.
An’ then I wrote to Rebecca, my girl who
lives out West,
And to Isaac, not far-from tier—.some twenty
miles at best.
And one of ’em said it ’twas too warm (here
for any one so old,
And t’other had the opinion the climate
was too cokl.
So they have shirked and slighted me, an’
shitted me about—
So they have well nigh soured me, an’ wore
my old heart out ;
But still I’ve borne up pretty well, an’
wasn’t much put down.
Till Charley went to the poor master, an’
put me on the town.
Over the hill to the poor-house- -my child'rn
(Tear, good by !
Mafty a night I’ve watched you when only
God was nigh ;
Aqd God’ll judge between us, but I will al’-
ays pray
That yon shall never suffer the half Ido to
. day.
. Died Yesterday. *
Every day is written this little
sentence—“ Died yesterday.” Ev
ery day a flower is plucked from
some sunny home ; a breach made
in some happy circle ; a jewel sto
len from treasure of love. Each
day from - the sunny fields of life,
some harvest disappears—yes, ev
ery hour some sentinel falls, from
his post, and is thrown from the
ramparts of time into the surging
waters of eternity. Even as we
write, the funeral of one who “died
yesterday” winds like a winter,
shadow along the street.
“Died yesterday.” Who died ?
Perhaps it was a gentle babe, sin
less as an angel, pure as zephyr’s
hymn—one whose laugh was the
gush of summer rills loitering in
the power of roses —whose life was
a perpetual litany—a may time
crowned with the passion of flowers
that never fade. Or, may hap, it
was a youth, hopeful aod generous,
whose path was filled # with flowers,
with not a serpent lurking under
neath —one whose soul panted for
communion with the great and good
and reached forth with earnest strug
gle for the guerdon in the distance.
But whose heart is still now—he
“died yesterday.”
• “Died yesterday.” A young girl,
pure as the orange flowers that
clasped her forehead, was stricken
down as she stood at the altar, and
from the dim aisles of the temple,
she was borne to the “garden of
dumber.”
A tall, browned man, girt with
the halo of victory, and at the day’s
close, under his vine and fig tree,
fell to dust, even- as the anthem
trembled on his lips ; and he, too,
was laid where the “rude forefathers
of the hamlet sleeps.” “ •
An aged patriach, bowed with
age and cares, even as he looked
out upon the distant hills for the
coming of the angel host, sank
into dreamless slumber ;. and on his
doorpost was written, “died yes
terday.” .
“Died yesterday.” Daily, men,
women and children are passing
away, and hourly,, in some grave
yard, the soil is flung upon the dead.
As often, in the morn, we find some
flower that blushed sweetly in ' the
sunset, has withered up forever ;
so daily, when we rise from our
bivouac, to stand against post, we
miss one brother soldier, whose
cheery eyes, in the sieges and
struggles of the past, has been like
dew from heaven upon hearts.
Each day some pearl drops from
the jewel threads of friendship—
some lyre to which w r e were wont
to listen, has been hushed forever.
But wise is he who mourns not
the pearl and music lost-
CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, JULY 12, 1872.
For the Cutbbert Appeal.
A Tour Through Texas,
OR
Information for Emigrants,
BLANCO COUNTY,
County Seat, Blanco. Area,
727 square miles; population, 1,.
500; scarcely any negroes. This is
chiefly a stock county, though it
has fine farm lands, and corn, wheat,
potatoes, sorghum, and all the usual
products are raised in abundance.—
There is however, very little cotton
grown. The land is light and easi
ly cultivated. Nearly the whole
county is prairie. But there is
plenty of wood for fuel, fencing,
and all ordinary purposes. There
is no part of the State where living
is cheaper, or where the people en
joy better health. Stock raising is
very profitable, and sheep and hogs,
do remarkably well. This county
has been somewhat exposed -
ndian depradations. San Antonio is
the best market, distance 60 miles.
The people also trade with New
Braumfels, distance 40 miles, and
Austin is due east 50 miles. There
are several native grapes, and the
county is well suited to their culti
vation, though veiy little attention
is yet given to fruits of any kind.—
Lands are worth from 50 cents, to
$5, per acre. Wages average about
$lB per month.
BASQUE COUNTY,
County Seat, Meridian. Area,
905 square miles. Good schools iu
every settlement. The Episcopa
lians, Methodists, Baptists, and
Presbyterians have churches in dif
ferent parts of the county. This is
one of the finest agricultural coun
ties in jhe State. Climate very
healthy, water chiefly limestone.—
The lands are very productive, cot
ton average from one-half to three
quarters of a bale to the acre. Pas
turage is superior, but agriculture
is steadily gaining upon the stock
raising interest. There are plenty
of timber for ordinary purposes.—
Pino lumber is brought from Grimes
county, costing near 030 per 1,000
feet. Houston is the chief market,
but many trade with Galveston and
towns on the Central Railroad. It
is some 75 miles to Millic'an, and
erage yield of corn is from 20 to 30
bushels per acre, one hand can cul
tivate 40 acres in corn and small
grain, about half the labor is done
by negroes ; but tlrey lire not relia
ble. I know of no vineyards in this
county, though wild grapes grow
spontaneously, which make good
wine.
BOWIE couStV,
County Seat, Boston. - Area, 892
square miles. This is a well-timber
od county, with extensive pineries.
It has always been considered one
of the best cotton counties, having
extensive alluvial lands on Red
River. It is also a fine wheat coun
try. Its bottom and uplands pro
duce abundantly all the products of
the Country. It has excellent iron
ore, and some good mineral springs.
The Dailey Springs are considered
a certain remedy for dyspepsia.—
There are extensive beds of lignite
coal. Red River and Sulphur Fork
are the chief streams, and their bot
tom lands are unsurpassed by any
in the world. Tht> Memphis, El
Paso, and Pacific Railroads will go
entirely through this county. The
chief markets' are Jefferson, and
New Orleans the former 50 miles
distant from Boston the county
Seat. Freight to New Orleans is
sls per bale on cotton; passengers
fare S4O. Hie price of uplands,
unimproved, $1 to $3 per acre ; of
bottom land, $5 to S3O. Average
yield of-bottom lands, one bale of
cotton per acre, or 50 bushels of
com. There are good schools and
several churches in this .county.
BRAZORIA COUNTY,
County' Seat, Brazoria. Area,
1260-square miles. Acres in culti
•vation 50,000. Good farm -lands
uncultivated, 150,000 acres. Two
thirds of the county prairie. Aver
age per. acre, 25 bushels. Average
cotton .per acre three quarters of a
bale or 375 lbs. lint. Ninety-five
per cent, of the labor is done by
freedmeii. Wages for farm labor S2O
coin per month. Good lands are
selling from $5 to $lO per acre
when improved, and unimproved at
$2 to $5. Inferior lands at 50 cts.
to $2. Provisions are abundant,
and cheap, at aboat the same price
as heretofore numerated. The
Houston Top and Brazoria is the
only Railroads Columbia is its ter
minus. We have a regular* trade
with* Galveston, through the canal.
This is a great cane county, 1100
hogsheads of sugar were raised in
1869, and about 2,00 Q hogsheads
.1871, showing a considerable in
crease, there will be considerable
•
more this year. Before the war the
county produced from 7000 to 8000
hogsheads. Average yield per
acre, from 1000 to 1200 pounds,
w T ith good cultivation, 2500 to 3000
pounds per acre may be and is oft
•en made. The land is alluvial, and
only requires proper drainage and
cultivation to increase the product
to double and perhaps thribble the
present average.
BRAZOS COUNTY,
County Seat, Bryan. Area, 578
square miles. (For boundaries, see
map of Texas. I can furnish them.)
Half the county is wooded the
chief growth being various kluds of
oak. There are two or three miner
al springs of Sulphur and Magne
sia. This is one of the best cotton
counties, a bale to the acre being
a common yield. All the usual
products are raised abundantly.—
Chief Markets, Houston aud Gal
veston ; the former 85 miles, the
latter 135 miles distant by railroad.
Considerable quantities of wine is
made from the native grape. Im
proved bottom lands are worth S2O
to $35, per acre, and upland $lO to
sls. Farm products are generally
a little higher in this county than
in many others, as the Central Ra’l
road offers facilities for taking them
to market.
BROWN COUNTY,
County Seat, Brownwood., Area,
1050 square miles. Population
very small, as the county is new
s\nd on the frontier exposed to the
Indians. The principle stream is
called Pecan and Jim Neck ‘creek.
The county is nearly all prairie, and
stock-raising is almost the only in
terest, though there are some few
small farms, and very good farm
lands. T. M. A.
An Item Every Han
Should Read.
Never use a ladyls name in an
improper place, at an improper
time, or in mixed company.
Never make any assertions about
her that you think are untrue, or
allusions that you feel that she
would blush to hear.
When you meet men who do not
scruple to make - use of woman’s
fair name in a wreckless and un
principled manner, shun them* for
they ar-e the very worst members
of the community—men lost to ev
ery feeling of humanity.
Many a good woman’s character
has been ruined and her heart bro
ken, by a lie, manufactured by
«ome villain and repeated where it
should not have been, and in pres
ence of those whose little judgment
could not deter them from ’circula
ting the foul and bragging report.
A slander is soon propagated, and
the smallest thing derogatory to a
woman’s character will fly on the
wings of the wind and magnify as
it circulates, until its monstrous
weight crushes the poor, unfortu
nate victim.
Respect the name of a woman,
for yourjnother, and as you would
have their name untarnished and
their lives unembittered by the
slanderer’s biting tongue, heed the
ill that your words may bring upon
the mother, or the wife of some
fellow creature.
Haytien Proverbs. —The day
that the little chicken is pleased is
the very day that the hawk takes
hold of him.
Eggs ought not to dance with
stones.
Before you speak, turn your
tongue over seven times.’
When you go to the donkey’s
house, don’t ask if his ears are long.
A little dog may have courage
before his master's door.
It’s only the shoe that knows
whether the stocking has Ifcoles.
Good soup may be made in an
old saucepan.
The cock wears spurs, but "he is
no horse nlan for all that.
Pardon does not heal the wound.
A pig that two owners is
sure to die with hunger.
Reproach is heavier than a bar
rel of salt.
A promise is a debt.
Flies are caught with syrup, but
not with vinegar. .
According to a Western poet, a
Mrs. Jones struck her head in a
cannon’s mouth and touched it off
with her parasol. He thus de
scribes the sequel: “A snap, a
fizz, a rumble, some stupendous
roaring tones—and where upon
earth’s surface was the Mrs. Jones ?
Go ask the moaning winds, the sky,
the mists, the murmuring sea ; ask
the fish, the coroner, the calms—but
don’t ask me.”
From the New York Mercer.
Divorce.
. A stream of girls, mostly with
little baskets or satchels in their
hands, were pouring from a dingy,
seven-story building in one of the
east-side streets of New York city.
They were chattering like magpies,
and their dress, style, and tones
would have told plainly enough Jto‘
a New Yorker that they were shop
girls. Among the noisy crowd was
one whoso modest air and pretty
face contrasted strongly with those
around her. She was barely six
teen, slender and graceful of figure,
and with such a pretty, gentle,
trusting face, that nobody could
have looked into it without admira
tion. So it seemed, at least, to the
young man who gazed rather boldly
at her, thereby bringing a deep
blush to her cheeks. The novelty
of a New York shop-girl blushing
because she was looked at' pleased
Merrit lane, and he stopped with
the utmost assurance and accosted
her. The girl drew back, as if of
fended at the affront. She was evi
dently a novice, for not one of her
companions would have slighted
the chance of a flirtation with as
handsome and well-dressed a young
man.
“ Don’t be a fool, Milly,” whis
pered one of the girls ; “he don’t
mean any insult; let him walk
home with you.”
Milly seemed to think her com
panion’s fiat final, but she blushed
redder with shame as she walked
away with her new male companion.
“ You have not been long in the
shop ?” inquired he,"
“ No ; only a week,” was the re
ply, in modest • tones ; “ but how
did you know ?”
“ How did I know? Why, by
your manner. You haven’t the air
of your companions. Where did
you come from ?”
“My parents lived in the coun
try until about a year ago, when,
they both died. I went to live with
a distant relative, who. did not
treat me well, and. so I came to
New York, hoping to be ablo to
support myself. The girl that you
saw whisper to mesb - got me work,
and I board with her mother in
Stanton street.”
All this was said with the frank
ness and- unreserve of a child.—
Quite unconsciously Millv won the
admiration of her companion, ahd
at the end of their walk he begged
to be allowed to see her again.
So it was that the simple, pretty
shop-girl awakened the love in his
heart, which till now had known
only passion, and as Merrit Lane
knew more of her, the devoted,
clinging affection she felt foe him
transformed this love into a passion
so deep and true that for her sake
he could overcome all- obstacles.—
She loved him and trusted him.—
Her code of morality was not that
of the world; with her, love was re
ligion, and having given her love
she scrupled not to give herself, —
Merrit, however, concealed from
her his name. To her lie was
known as Merrit Langdon, not for
his sake, but for hers, for he hoped,
so far was she from the circle in
which be moved, to 'conceal from
her the fact of his marriage, which
he knew from his knowledge would
drive Milly irrevocably from him.
Every evening found him tfith
Milly, for her love was more attrac
tive to him than his own home—a
mansion on one of the aristocratic
up-town cross-streets. And in that
home he had.a young and beautiful
wife—a wife that did not mourn for
his nightly absence. For Mrs.
Lane was a thoroughbred fashiona
ble lady. She had. married in ac
cordance with her parents wishes ;
she loved no one. She had really
taken quite a fancy to her husband,
for ho was handsome, fascinating,
and as i#uch in love with her as
any man is sure to be with a younjj
and beautiful woman ; at least for a
month or two, if thrown into his
arms. Both were rich; their es
tablishment was unexceptionable;
what more could a*woman, brought
up as she had been, desire ? She
had now been married ttvo years,
and they had never had .the slight
est quarrel, and were on the best
possible terms, meeting at stated
times, discussing the topics of the
day, never interfering with each
other, enjoying perfect freedom in
the liberty of their separate- pur
suits and pleasures,
Mrs. Lane, of course, went into
society, 'where she shone the re
splendent centre of.a large circle of
admirers. She was gay, witty, fas
cinating, beautiful. Jealous wives
saw their husbands'hover around
her at concert and ball, and hated
her ; but they might have spared
themselves the trouble of being
jealous, for Mis. Lane valued ad
ulation at its true worth. She was
perfectly conscious of her -own
beauty and power, and she used
them oply in exciting admiration,
not love. When the former seem
ed liable to Intensify into the latter
she speedily froze it by indifference
or contempt; for, with all her fri
volity and fashionable folly, she had
no notion of being anything but a
true wife.
George Lascelles was an average
man. He had the customary faults
and virtues in average quantities,
and was neither an angel nor a dev
il. Possessed of good looks and a
fortune, he led an easy, aimless life,
drifting here and there as caprice
dictated. But suddenly he seemed
to change —seemed actually to have
a purpose in life—and this change
was caused by love for Merrit Lane’s
wife. Thrown frequently into her
society, and unaccustomed to the
resistance of any inclination, he
suddenly found himself infatuated.
Then he regretted bis folly ; but a
little reflection convinced him that
his love was not unrequitted. And
jj; was not vanity that led him to
that conclusion ; Mrs. Lane had al
lowed herself co drift unconscious
ly in the same direction. They
were alike in loving each other;
but they wero unlike in their subse
quent sentiments. He gave himself
up to the passion, and pleaded his
suit with the fervid language of an
uureasoning lover; she remembered
her marriage vows, tried to smoth
er her love, and forbade him to see
her.
One evening the bell rang, and
George Lascelles was announced. —
Afraid of arousing the servant’s sus
picions if she refused to see him,
she gave orders to have him ad
mitted. When she was alone she
upbraided him for persecuting her.
“ And, do you suppose,’’ said
Lascelles, *“ that I am going to
give you up after knowing that you
love me ?” .
“ But you must,” replied Mrs.
Lane. “ Remember that I am a
wife. Have you no respect for me?’’
“ Yes ; but love overbalances all
other feelings toward you.”
“I will inform my husband.”
“ No, you will not.”
“Why?”
“ Because you do not love him,
and you do love me.”
“ George Lascelles,” and now
there was anger in the woman’s
voice, “ you may get the better of
my argument; but nothing shall
induce me to be untrue to a hus
band like mine—husband whom I
respect, if I do not love.”
“ What if I should tell you that
he is unfaithful to his marriage
vows.”
“ I should not believe it.”
The man’s face flushed under the
implication of falsehood, and he re
torted :
“ I will prove, within an hour if
you wish it, that what I say is true.”
“ Do that and I am yours.”
“ I will hold you to that promise.
Dress yourself for a ride, and I will
order the carriage.”
Within ten minutes Lascelles and
Mrs. Lane were being driven to
ward where Milly Deneral lived—
a portion of the city contrasting
considerably with that which they
had just left.- They alighted in
front of a tenement-house *of the
better class, and passed up-stairs.—
Lascelles knocked at a door, and a
pleasant “ Come' in” was the re
sponse. They entered a neatly-fur
nished apartment, and were invited
to be seated by Milly Deneral,
whose wonder was excited by a
call from straogers. •
“ Is Merrit here ?” inquired Las
celles, carelessly.
.“ No, sir, not yet,” replied Milly,
“ but I expect him very soon.”
“ He rarely misses an evening,
does be?” continued Lascelles.
“O, no, scarcely ever; but why
do you ask ? ”
“ Because we wished to see him ;
that is all.”
And then he continued to Mrs.
Lane:
“ Are you satisfied ?”
“ Not yet,” she whispored. “ The
Merrit she speaks of may not be
my husband. I must be sure.”
“ Y r ou shall.” •
Lascelles crossed over to a table,
upon which lay a photograph al
bum. He opened it, and after
turning over a few leaves he point
ed to one of the pictures.
“ This is Merrit, is it not?” lie
asked.
« Yes,” replied Milly, with some
thing of pride on her pretty face,
“ that is Merrit.”
Lascelles handed the album to
Mrs. Lane. She looked at the
picture with white compressed
lips.
. “Is he your husband?” she asked
at length.
Milly blushed scarlet. Going to
a bed in the corner she pulled aside
the curtains which hid it. A baby
lay there asleep.
“That is our child,” she said.
Mrs. Lane turne whiter yet
around the lips as she heard and
saw.
“But are you married?’’ asked
Mrs. Lane.
“First tell me,” cried Milly, re
sentfully, “what right you have to
ask ? Why do you come here and
impertinetly question mo ? If you
have business with Merrit you may
remain : otherwise you had better
go before I insult you more than
you have me.”
“I have the rig Tit to question,”
was the repty, “because I am his
wife ; and I wish to know whether
he is a bigamist, or whether yon
are —”
But the sentence was not finished,
for Milly fell to the floor as white and
cold as marble. They carried her
to the bed and laid her beside her
child, and tried to restore her.
Just then Merrit enterd. "When
he saw Milly lying there, with his
wife by the bedside, he staggered
back -in amazement.
“What brought you ?” he
faltered.
“Never mind now,” she replied.
“I see that your otliere wife is re
viving, and we will leave you togeth
er. Come, Mr. Lascelles!”
When Milly opened her eyes,
Merrit was alone with her. He
was about to speak, but she inter
rupted him.
“Now I know,” she said, “why
you have postponed our marriage
from time to time. O, Merrit, how
could you deceive me, when I trus
ted you so ?”
The guilty man felt like a culprit
indeed before the clear, innocent
gaze of the girl he had so foully
wronged.
“But, I swear that I love you !”
he finally said, with an earnestness
that left no room for doubt “and
that I prize you far"above my wife.
The law binds me to her, But effee
tion binds me closer to you ; and I
will never leave you po matter what
comes, unless you command me to
do so.”
“Command you to leave me !”
exclaimed _Milly.
“What would be left me then ?
O, Merrit, I have loved yon so blind
ly that I should die !”
The remainder "of the evening
passed and at t welve o’clock Merrit
gently removed the arms that clung
to him so tenderly, and took his
way home. Upon arriving there
he did not find his wi’fe in her ap
artments.
She had been there, so said the
servants; but had hastily packed
her trunks and gone away again.
“Did any one go with her ?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Lascelles.”
“That will do ; you may go.”
Left alone, Merit Lane dropped in
to a chair and tried to think calmly."
His wife had, without doubt, eloped
with Lascelles. His first impulse
was to pursue them; but he first
asked himself these questions ; Had
he any right to upbraid her ? Was
he sorry that she had gone ? With
these queries half answered, he
went to bed and tried to sleep.
The following night he was at
Milly’s side. He told her all, and
promised to marry her as soon as a
divorce could be procured.
-And he subsequently kept his
promise. Milly is now legally his
wife, and they are absent on a Eu
ropean tour, as if no cloud had ever
hung over their connection with
each other.
In the meantime Mrs. Lane had
also procured a divorce, dhd has
married Lascelles. They are living
a happy life in a Western city.
Os course the law says that a man
and wife cannot each obtain a di
vorce from the other; but then the
law is excessively pliable, and both
of the parties are too well satisfied
to quible over knotty points.
mm i
A marjied lady in Rock Is
land, Illinois, had been in the habit
of placing needles in her mouth.—
Now and then she swallowed onje,
and it was sure to appear in some
strange locality a few months after
passing down her throat. During
the last five years seven needles
have been extracted from her body,
in different places—two from the
region of the stomach and short
ribs, one from the leg, near the
knee, and recently one was taken
from the left temple. Thg lady
has always enjoyed good health,
and has never suffered any incon
venience from her metallic diet.
NO 28.
How the World will End<
Planets are continually Integra*
ting diffused materials which they
encounter in their progress through
space, and it has been estimated that
the earth adds to itself nearly one
hundred and fifty billion such mete*
oric particles every year. Secondly
it has been proven that every planet
must be slowly losing a part of its
molar motion of rotation. The efi
feet of tidal waves, which are caus
ed by the gravitation of liquid to*
ward other planetary bodies, is to
retard diurnal rotation; and, in fact,
the terrestrial day is lengthened by
reason of the friction of the tides,
aud it is destined in the remote fu*
ture to "give about 480 hours be
tween sunrise and slinset. The earth
is also losing, molecular motion by
radiation. That some terrestrial
heat is lost without compensation—
and very slowly, of course—can
hardly be doubted, and fur the state
of things thus ultimately to be pro
duced we may .find a parallel in the
present condition of the moon,—*
That appears t to afford an example
of the universal death which in'an
inconceivably distant future awaits
the entire solar system. If alqpg
with the dissipation of the molar
and molecular motions, the planets
are also losing angular velocity, this
loss of motion will ultimately result
in their integration with the sun.—
Os two facts .which bear ujxm the
subject, one (familiar to all students
of science) is the observed retarda
tion of Encke’s comet by the resis
tance of. the medium through-which
it moves. The other, which, so far
as I know has not hitherto been
mentioned, is that all the planets are
nearer the sun than they ought to
be, according to Bode’s law, the va
riation being most conspicuous, as
might be expected, in the case of
Neptune - . It is at least worthy of
notice that the discrepancy is such
as might have been caused by a slow
diminution of the angular velocities
of the planets. Another fact, that
the inter-planetary spaces are filled
with matter, and that consequently •
all planetary bodies rushing through
th*em must meet with resistance and
lose momentum, proves that im
mense momentum will be eaten up
by the resistance, force. This loss
of tangential momentum must bring
all the planets into the sun. As the
planet slowly draws near the sun its
lost tangential mentum is replaced,
and somewhat more than replaced,
by the added velocity due to the in
creased gravitative force exerted by
the sun at the shorter distance. At
the last the planet must strike the
sun with tremendons force. The
heat generated by the earth and the
sun alone in such a collision would
suffice to produce a temperature of
nearly 5,000,000 degrees centigrade.
Os course, disintegration would im
mediately follow, and the next stage
is the dissipation of the whole into
nebula. —Lecture of Prof. Fiske.
A Pai*krnal Letter. —The fol
lowing letter was written by a fa
ther to a son in college:
“My Dear Son,—l write to send
you nejv socks your mother knit
for you by cutting down some of
mine. Your mother sends you ten
dollars without my knowledge, and
for fear you would not spend it
wisely I have kept back half and
only sends you five. l r our own
mother and I are well excepting
that your sister has got the measles
which we think would spread
among the other girls if Tom had
not had them before, and he is the
only one left. I hope you will do
honor to my theaching, if you do
not you are a donkey and your
mother and I are your affectionate
parents.”
Interesting to Farmers.—A
series of experiments, instituted to
test the average loss in weight by
drying, shows that corn loses one
fifth, and wheat one-fourteenth by
the process. From this the state
ment is made that farmers will make
more by selling unshelled corn in
the fall at seventy-five cents than
the following summer at one dollar
a bushel; and that wheat at $1,32
in December is equal to $1.50 for
the same wheat in the June follow
ing. This estimate iB made on the
basis of interest at seven per cent,
and takes no account of loss from
the depredations of vermin. * These
facts are worthy of consideration.
__ •
"—A Dutchman getting excited
over an account of an elopement of
a married woman, gave his opinion
thus.- “If my vise runs avaymitan
oder man’s vise, I shake him oftt of
his preecbes, if she be mine sadder
mine Got!”