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VOL. VI. THE APPEAL. PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY, . By J. P. SAWTEIX. Terms of Subscription.: Oxb Year. ...$3 00 | Six Months s2 00 Invariably in advance. HT. No attention paid to orders fbr the pa per unless accompanied by the Cash. Bates of Advertising: Ort» square, (ten lines or less.) $1 00 for thtf Rwt and 75 cents for each subsequent inser tion. ■ A liberal deduction made to parties who advertise by the year. Persons sending advertisements should mark the number of times they desire them inser ted, or they wilkbe continued until forbid and charged accordingly. Transient advertisements must be paid for at the time of insertion. If not paid for before the expiration of the time advertised, 25 per cent, additional will be charged. . Announcing names of candidates for office, *5 .00. Cash, in all 'cases. Obituary notices over five lines, charged at regular advertising rates. All communications intended to promote the private ends or interests of Corporations, So cieties, or individuals; will be charged as ad vertisements. * Job Work, such as Pamphlets, Circulars, Cards, Blanks, Handbills,etc., will be execu ted in good style-ana at reasonable rates. All letters addressed to the Proprietor will be promptly attended to. 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!”