Newspaper Page Text
W. F. SMITH, Publisher.
VOLUME VIII.
NEWS GifANINGS.
Nearly all the Geoigia editors are in
favor of a local option law.
Volusia county, Florida, has the larg
est orange grove in the world—l/'OO
acres.
Some 2,800 dogs have been listed f< *
taxation in Lewis county, Va.
A fruit canning factory, to cost $40,-
000, is to be built in Nashville, Tenne.--
see.
Th<* market priee for turtle eggs in
St Augustine, Florida, is 10 cents per
dozen.
Georgia pays out about *55,000,000
per year to increase the cotton crop and
lessen the price.
A company has boon organized with
a plenty of capital to go into the busi
ness of canning fruits and oysters at
Pascgoula, Mississippi.
A negress, arrested at Abbeville, S.
( for carrying a yistol, was discharged
on the ground that the concealed weapon
act does not apply to women.
Loudon Hood, a well-known negro,
died in Meriv ether county, Ga., last
week, aged ninety five years. It was
his proudest boast that during bis long
life as a slave he had never been whipped.
The fruit growers of California have
challenged the fruit growers of Floridai
to exhibit fruit with them in the city of
New York during next spring.
•Gon. Gordon is prospectively the
richest man in Georgia. Gov. Colquitt
is reported to have recently made $70,-
000 by the sale of a coal minein which
he and Gen. Gordon were interested.
A writer in the Ennis (Texas) Re
view proposes raising csttalpa* trees for
fence posts; he says that in five years
from planting the tree is large enough
for posts and that in ten veins it is
large enough for a railroad tie. He es
timates that 2,000 trees can be grown on
an acre.
Unpopular ministers that no commun
ity wants are called “gum-log preachers”
in the Georgia M. E. Conference. They
are “hard stock,” and are generally put
off on some mountain community, where
they get a salary ranging from SSO to
S2OO a year.
A South Carolina paper says that
thousands and thousands of doves are
infesting the rice fields of West Wa
taree. In some places the rice has been
replanted two or three times, and yet
the stand is not good, owing to its de
struction by the birds.
A party of miners in Northeast Geor
gia, at the depth of twenty feet below
the surface, found seventeen diamonds.
They have been pronounced genuine by
a New York firm, and are said to be
equal to the African diamond. There
may have been ‘‘salt” in the neighbor
hood.
Recent census bulletins show that
Selma has 7,529 people; Greensboro
1,833; Demopolis, 1,839; Marion, 2,074'
Jacksonville, 882; Oxford, 1,361; Annis
ton, 942; LaFayette, 1,061, and Tallade
ga 1,233.
While Rev. Mr. Collisson, of Hous
ton, Texas,*was taking farewell of his
Methodist congregation, preparatory to
going over to Episcopalianism. and was
giving his objections to Methodism.
Brother .Teems F. Dunible interrupted
him, saying: “I have no right to ob
jeet te your quitting the church if you
think proper, but I have a right and do
protest againt your using a Methodist
pulpit to abuse the Methodist chuich in.
or to condemn Methodist doctrine.’
There was quiet on the Potomac after
that.
in 1881 Georgia produced 23,190,472
bushels of Indian corn against 17,646,-
459 bushels in 1870. Of wheat she
made last year 3,158,335 bushels against
2,12/,01/ bushels in 1870. The oat crop
in 1880 amounted to 5,544,161 bushels
against 1,904,601 bushels in 1870. Only
19,396 bushels of barley were grown i*
the in 1880, but the product in
18<0 was still smaller—s,64o "busAels.
The figures of rye are 101,759 against
32,549, and of buckwheat 2 439 against
bO2. Georgia is not a buckwheat State.
Mr. J. M. Darsey, of Hinesville, Ga.,
was annoyed last year by the otters,
dust back of his house is a spring branch
affords a home for a great many
otters. Fish being scarce, when the
corn was in mutton, they left the branch
and took to eating the corn, and they
could destroy as much as so uany coons.
Mr. Darsey would sometimes run as
many as five out of the field at one time,
and the dogs soon became afraid of them.
He succeeded in killing a number, how
ever.
THE LPIE KIM GLES CLUB CHORUS'
Tea, we am paosia’ down de lane,
An* haltin’ by de way,
Jlst long , nuff to rest our limbs
Au' fur de cbil’en pray; -
La*’ Sunday preach/r Gordon said;
De march will soon be o’er,
An all de ole folks safely cross
Upon dat shinin’ shore.”
Chorus— But old folks am jolly folks,
An’ while we wait to go •
Let’s gin de fiddle lots o’ work
And rush de ole banjo.
Dar’ Uncle Dan’l, he am lame, *
An’ Peter White am bald,
An’ Dinah Rock an’ ole Aunt Ohio’
Am waitin’ to be called;
An’ Trustee Pullback says to me:
11 De summons soon mils’ come
For you an’ me an’ us ole folks
To tote our baggage home.
Chorus—
Dar> Pickles Smith and Daddy Toots
A nearin’ of dar end,
An’ Deacon Spooner an’ his wife
Am cruteliiu’ round de bend;
Ay! us old folks am hnngin’ on,
An’ kinder wailin’ round,
To Jet dechil’en grow a bit
Fo’ we go underground.
Chorus—But old folks am jolly folks,
An’ while we wait to go
Let’s gin de fiddle lots o’ work
And rush de ole banjo.
THE WATER LILT.
The little village of Chelston, in the
county of Hertford, might have been
termed with Goldsmith’s “Sweet Au
burn” the “loveliest of the plain,”
* ' j here 81, iiling spring it’s earliest visit paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed.”
And on this bright summer’s morning
on which our # story opens it appeared
more lovely than ever, with the rich
foliage swaying beneath the clear blue
sky, the broad green meadows, and the
grazing cattle, ivliile the gurgle of a
brooklet mingled its music with the
caroling of birds.
Half-hidden amid a shady clump of
trees a young artist sat painting at a
small, light easel, and the faint outlines
of distant hills. and scattered hamlets
were already standing out from the can
vas in front of him.
He was apparently but little over
thirty years of age, and his face looked
grave and stern for one so young, and
bore unaccountable traces of some long
hidden sorrow.
He had for some time been sitting ab
sorbed in liis work, almost unconscious
of anything around him save the fair
sketch of landscape he was so faithfully
doll** oci ting.
The brooklet ran by him—not twenty
yards from where he was seated—and
the dappled cows lay chewing their
cuds upon its banks, or quenching their
thirst in its crystal waters, reminding
one of Sidney Cooper’s most perfect
pictures of cattle.
Emost Darrell’s attention was, how
ever, suddenly arrested by anew object,
and one which to his gaze was fairer
than any he had seen that morning. A
little girl, scarcely seven years of age,
was standing near the brook—she had
been gathering water-lilies, and in her
hand she held a basket containing a
number of the pure white flowers. His
eyes fell upon her face, lifted wistfully
to his own, and then something like a
smile broke over the little one’s mouth
as she said, half shyly:
‘ ‘Do come and reach me this beauty,
if you please. ”
Ernest Darrell was hardly sure at first
whether it was really himself she was
addressing; but no sooner was he aware
of the fact than he laid down his palette
and brushes and came forward to her
assistance.
“A water-lily, is it?” he asked, glanc
ing at her basket.
“Yes, such a beauty, but so far out of
my reach,” she repeated, and then stood
eagerly watching Ernest, who stretching
himself full length upon the bant suc
ceeded with his long arm in grasping
the coveted flower.
The child’s delight was unbounded,
the sight of which amply rewarded him
for his trouble; but the unusual beauty
of her face and the air of childlike grace
which accompanied her ever/ movement
completely won Ernest’s heart, and he
was determined not to let her run away
just yet.
“You must give me a kiss as payment
for it,” he said, with a smile, lightly
passing his hand over her golden head
from which her hat had fallen. She
started back, with a vivid blush.
“Oh, no, indeed; I am a great deal
bx> old to kiss you,” she exclaimed.
“Why, I am seven, and quite a young
lady.’’
“Are you, really? Then I am sure I
beg yonr pardon,” said Ernest, hardly
able to repress a laugh. “But at any
rate you will tell me your name?” he
added.
“Oh, yes; my name is Lilian, but I
am nearly always called Lily,” replied
the little girl, with an air of consequence.
* ‘Lilian—nothing else ?” asked Ernest.
“No: only that,” she answered.
Surnames are generally superfluous
with children.
‘ ‘Then, I pressume, the fact of your
being a lily yourself makes you fond of
the flowers that bear your name,” he
rejoined, smiling.
She laughed—a soft, silvery, happy
laugh, that fell like music upon the
young artist’s ear.
“Oh, I don’t know; I think I love all
flowers, but especially these,” she said,
glancing down at her basket “They are
so large and pure and white, like the
white-robed angels in the stained glass
windows at church. Mamma loves them
too, because she says when I am not with
her they remind her of me. ”
“You are mamma’s pet, then and pa
pa’s, too, I suspect, tor the matter of
that,” replied Ernest, his interrupted
occupation totally forgotten in the new
iMuftd li, Industrial Iwtfr st. the Piffn iow ol Truth, the Establishment of Justice, and the Preservation of a People’Government
pleasure he felt in conversing with the
child.
‘ ‘I haven’t a papa, ” she said, droppipg
her voice; “he died, oh, long before I
can remember, but I never ask about
him, because it always makes mamma
cry. Would you tell me the time,
please ?”
Ernest glanced at his watch. “Nearly
1 o’clock,” he told her.
“Then I must bid you good-bye,” she
said, “or I shall be late home.” And
setting down her basket she bethought
herself of the hat, which she proceeded
to adjust on the top of her golden
curls.
“Do you come here every day ?” she
asked of Ernest.
“I shall be here every day for a little
while,” he answered her.
1 ‘’Then I hope I will see you again,”
she said artlessly. “And thank you so
very much for getting me the water
lily.”
For a moment her little ungloved hand
rested on his own, her lips parted in an
other smile and then she was gone, has
tening away with all possible speed across
the sunny fields, bearing her sweet bur
den of flowers—types of her own pure
soul.
Ernest Darrell stood gazing after her.
Was it the touch of her light fingers that
had brought so strange a thrill to his
heart ? He sat down to resume his paint
ing but even that had lost its wonted
charm—he was restless, and his thoughts
wandered back to what might have been
some years ago, when he married a girl
who loved him only for his father’s
wealth, and who (when the securities
failed in which old Mr. Darrell had in
vested the whole of his money, and he
was a ruined man, his son’s prospects
also) left him—his six months’ bride
leaving behind her a coolv worded-note,
intimating that she could share poverty
with no one, and that he need not seek
her, as she never intended to return.
And he never had sought her; but the
love he had borne her was as warm in
his heart now as it had been on the day
they were married. And as he sat at
his easel there, in the field where little
Lilian had left him, he wept for the
memory of her who, in those days, had
not been worthy one throb of his noble
heart.
Several days elapsed before he saw the
little girl again, but during that time
she was hardly once absent from his
thoughts. He had lived stfdh a lonely
life since his father died (broken down
by the trouble that haa oome upon him
in the loss of his wealth,) and, with
nothing to care for in the world but the
art he was wedded to, the child had
come across his path like a ray of sun
shine in the darkness. But cue day, as
he was returning home, she came danc
ing toward him, and seizing his hand as
if their acquaintance had been of years
instead of days, she immediately began
an animated conversation, such as only
children can begin on the spur of a mo
ment.
Ernest was certainly amused, if not
interested; but as their way along led
them past the hrook where they had
met before, Lily broke away from him
and ran eagerly toward it. She looked
back once or twice to laugh at Ernest,
and in doing so tripped over a stone
hidden in the grass and fell forward into
the water.
A cry burst from her lips, but imme
diately Ernest came to the rescue, and
ere ske became totally submerged, had
succeeded in drawing her out upon the
bank.
Wet clothes and a severe fright was
all the harm the child had sustained:
and as Ernest proceeded to wrap round
her a thick plaid shawl, which he gen
erally carried with him to protect his
feet from damp grass, she began to
laugh at her little adventure.
“I have gathered my water lily now,”
said the young artist, smiling; “and I
would not exchange it for all the others
in creation.”
He took her, entirely enveloped in the
warm shawl, up in his strong arms and
continued his walk, now in the direction
of Lilian’s home.
“I am so sorry—mamma will be out,”
she said, lifting her beautiful eyes to his
face. “She would so liked to have
thanked you herself. But do you know
which way to g&?”
“I want you to direct me, Lily,” he
said.
The distance was short, as he sup
posed; and as they reached the gate of
a pretty villa residence, which had often
attracted Ernest’s attention before by its
quaint picturesqueness. Lilian informed
him that this was “her home.”
“I thank you so very much,” said the
child, as she stood once more upon the
ground and rang the bell. “I wish
mamma could thank you herself—l don’t
know how to. ”
“You need not thank me at all, dear
child,” Ernest Darrell assured her, with
the old shade of sorrow darkening his
face. “I only hope the consequences
of what has happened may not be
serious.” He remained with her until a
middle-aged woman, whom Lilian called
“nurse,” came forward to claim her
young charge; and then, after giving a
brief explanation of the whole affair,
he bade Lily good-bye and walked on.
About a week subsequent to this event,
Ernest Darrell happened to be passing
the house where little Lilian dwelt, when
he heard her voice calling after him
down the sunny road:
“Come back—Oh, please come back!”
she was saving, in breathless eagerness;
“mamma does want to see you so much,
and thank you for saving me when I fell
in the brook.”
And Ernest felt his hand grasped in
the child’s, and almost before he was
aware of it, she had led him through the
gates and up the steps to the portico.
Then across the wide hall she dragged
Mm. lawrhin? and chatting acailv the
INDIAN SPRINGS, GEORGIA
wmie, mio a mxunoasiy rarmsnec r®*n,
where her mother sat.
A beautiful woman, with dark hair
and Oriental eyes, rose from an ottoman
at their entrance and came toward them.
At least, she came half way, and then
tottered back, with a deathly pallor
overspreading her countenance; while
he—Ernest—dropped Lilian’s hand and
stood gazing at that agonized face.
“Marian—my wife!”
“Ernest! On, is it possible that we
meet at last?”
There was a dreadful silence, during
which, at a sign from her mother, Lilian
fled, and those two were alone—after
seven long years.
The stem, grave face of Ernest Dar
rell was sterner and graver still—even
Lilian might have shrimk from it then
—and Marian, the woman who had
blighted his life, fell at his feet.
“Oh! Earnest, my husband —my
much-wronged husband—forgive me!”
she cried. “I have suffered deeply—
ever since that day I left you. ”
“Suffered!” repeated Ernest, in cold,
rigid tones. “Have you ever thought
of what I have suffered?”
“Yes, yes* ten thousand times,” re
plied Lilian's mother, in a voice well
nigh choked with emotion. “But mine
has been the undying worm of an accus
ing conscience. Oh, Ernest, I have
been justly punished for my wickedness.
I never knew how dearly I loved you
until I had lost you—until I had sacri
ficed that which I would have given the
best years of my life to bring back. Re
member what I had always been—a
spoiled, petted child, with never a wish
ungratified, and it seemed so hard to face
poverty—even with you. 1 was very
young—only seventeen, remember, Er
nest—and all through the dim vista of
years that lay before me 1 saw nothing
but* want, penury and deprivation. I
fled in a moment of madness, delirium—
anything you like to call it—leaving be
hind me that cold note, in which
I bade you never seek me. I
did not go home, for my parents
would have immediately have com
municated with you. I went to an
uncle, who loved me only too well—sin
ful wretch that I was—and I told him a
lie, that you had deceived me, and that
I married a beggar whom I believed to
have been rich. He was a bachelor,
and lived a secluded life, away from all
relative'* 'Tftd friends. I think I was the
only tiature he loved on earth, and no
two lived ajono. At his house my little
child was born, and it was then that I
began to think and long for you. I
wrote aud told my parents—as soon as
I was able—of what I had done, and
bade them to seek you, and bring you
back home. They wrote, I know, but
never received any answer; and so I
thought you had treated me as I de
served, and had resolved to forget me for
ever. When Lilian was three years old
my uncle died, leaving me his heiress,
and I took this house, in which I have
lived ever since, alone—quite alone,
with my child. Oh, Ernest, how I have
longed for you, and prayed to heaven
to send you back to me? I have seen
your name in the newspapers sometimes,
and I know that as an artist you have
risen to fame. And now, Ernest, for
our child’s sake, forgive me—take me
back, aud try to think of me as leniently
as possible. I know that you can never
love me again. I don’t expect you to;
but—,”
“Indeed, Marian, you are wrong; I
have never ceased to love you,” inter
rupted Ernest’s cold, stern voice. “I
have been as truly your husband in
heart, all through these bitter years, as
if we had never parted. I have wept for
you and have prayed for you too, over
and over again. But—”
“But you cannot take me back. No,
no!” exclaimed Marian weeping. “I
was wrong to ask it; only I thought for
Lily’s sake—”
“And, for Lily’s sake, I will,” said
Ernest. “I love my child too well to
part with her now. Rise, Marian, my
wife—my well-beloved—the past shall
be forgotten; blotted out as though it
had never been, and we will begin our
marriage life again. ”
“I am not worthy. Oh, EVnest, I
have never deserved such love as this!”
said Marian, as she was clasped in her
husband’s embrace.
“You shall make yourself deserving;
it is all in your hands now, remember,”
he said, with grave tenderness, and
looking into the depths of her beautiful
eyes.
How long they remained thus, in
happy silence, they might never have
known had not a little hand, the loueh
of whose fingers Ernest Darrell had felt
before, been placed within his own.
He looked down and met the upturned
gaze of his child. In a moment she
also was gathered to his arms, while
blessings fell upon her fair young head.
And as she had fallen like a sunbeam
across his path in the beginning, so did
she continue to the end; and through the
happy years long afterward he could
only look back, with joy and thankful
ness unspeakable, to the day on which
he had met her by the side of the brook,
carrying her basket of water-lilies.
Lime-Preserved Wood.
Lime has been found successful as a
wood-preserver. The method, which is
French, consists in piling the planks in
a large tank, then covering them with
quicklime and slaking them with water.
The timber requires about a week to be
thoroughly impregnated with the lime
water before it is taken out of pickle
and slowly dried. The entrance of the
mineral particles into the grain also ren
ders the wood harder and denser than
before. Beech wood, for example, be
comes like oak, and, without losing the
elasticity that fits it for tool-handles, is
fax more durable than oak.
DUFF AND THE BEE.
A Sabbath Tale of Nature and
Knowledge.
[From the San Francisco Chronicle.]
The Duff family, pater, mater and lit
tle ones, picnicked on the beach beyond
Fort Point yesterday. “I do love na
thure,” remarked Patrick Duff, who is a
proud and frequent voter of the Seventh
ward, as he unhitched the drav-horse
from the family carryall, which bore
the family arms, “Duff’s Xpress.”
“ The cares av political loif and gineral
expressing require that man shud relax
his moind midst the grand reposh av
tireless nathure’s reshtful bosom. I’ll
ring that sentiment into me next warrad
club spaehe, Mary Helen ; be me sowl,
I will. Lave hoiild av that cowld boiled
liam, James Henry, or I’ll throw ye into
the trackless tide.”
The lunch basket was safely deposited
in the shade of a rock, the youthful
Duffs disported bare-legged in the mild
surf, and Mr. and Mrs. Duff wandered,
free from care, o’er the green hillside.
Presently Mrs. Duff discovered a bum
ble-bee in the deep recess of a wild flower
slie had plucked. Alas, she had never
seen a bumble-bee before ! ‘ ‘ Luk here,
Patrick,” she exclaimed, “ Yez never saw
the loike av that in Kerry, Pat.”
Mr. Duff was too much of a politician
to commit himself as to his knowledge,
or lack of it, without first considering
the subject. Taking the flower from his
wife’s hand, he eyed the bee critically
and then assented : “Itis a purty bur
rid, Mary Helen.” Then he carefully
picked the bee out of the flower between
liis thumb and forefinger and repeated
slowly:
“ Yes, it is a very purty burrid; 1
link it is a—”
Before Mr. Duff had explained wliat
he was pleased to think the bee was, lie
had dashed the flower in his amazed
wife’s face, jumped excitedly in the air,
landed hatless and with liair erect, and
again repeated, still slowly, but with
popping, glaring eyes, and in a voice
husky with pain and anger :
“It is a purty burrid, but, holy niur
tlier, how hot its little fut is !”
‘ ‘ Patrick Duff’, have you been hitting
that whisky-bottle in tlie lunch-basket ?”
exclaimed the indignant Mrs. Duff.
Patrick, in dumb bewilderment, gazed
on his swelling and inflamed thumb and
then at the wife of his bosom before he
“ Hod yez run yer needle through that
burrid, Mary Helen, befoor yez gav’ it
to me ?”
“ Don’t yez be too funny, Pat,” said
Mrs. Duff, testily
“ ( Shure, I’m not funny at all, Mary
Helen, and yez needn’t look that way at
me, nather, or I’ll break yer vartebrse,”
said Mr. Duff, getting madder as his
thumb got bigger.
“Yez had better not be thrying your
tliricks wid me, or I’ll land ye wan side
av that ugly jaw of yours that ’ull tach
ye who is boss of the Duff family.” Mr.
Duff’s voice rose as he realized the full
extent of his hurt.
“Yez have been dhrinking yerself into
transitory jim-jams, Pat, and yez had
better slape it off before lunch,” replied
the lady in a conciliatory tone, which
only served to aggravate the gentle
man’s temper into exact sympathy with
his thumb, for with an irresistible im
pulse he made good his threat, and in a
moment the sweet solitude of the spot
and day w r as rudely broken by blows
which fell with unconjugal force and ra
pidity on both the heads of the Duff
family, while the bumble bee hummed
drowsily off, moralizing over greatness
of evils when unknown.
Something About Fans.
Kan Si was the first lady who carried
a fan. She lived in ages which are past,
and, for the most part, forgotten, and
she was the daughter of a Chinese man
darin. Who ever saw a mandarin, even
on a tea-chest, without his fan? In
China and Japan to this day every one
has a fan, and there are fans of all sorts
for everybody. The Japanese waves his
fan at you when he meets you, by way
of greeting, and the beggar who solicits
for alms has the exceedingly small coin
“ made on purpose ” for charity present
ed to him on the tip of the fan.
In ancient times, among the Greeks
and Romans, fans seem to have been
enormous ; they were generally made of
feathers, and carried by slaves over the
heads of their masters and misstresses,
to protect them from the eun, or waved
about before them to stir the air.
Catherine de Medicis carried the first
folding fan ever seen in France; and, in
the time of Louis XIV., the fan was a
gorgeous thing, often oovered with jew
els, and worth a small fortune. In En
gland they were the fashion in the time
of Henry YHI. All his many wives
carried them. A fan set in diamonds
was once given to Queen Elizabeth upon
New Year’s day.
The Mexican feather fans which Cor
tez had from Montezuma were marvels
of beauty, and in Spain a large black
fan is the favorite. It is said that the
use of the fan is as earefully taught in
that country as any other branch of
education, and that, by a well-known
code of signals, a Spanish lady can carry
on a long conversation with any one, es
pecially an admirer.
The Japanese criminal of rank is po
litely executed by means of a fan. On
being sentenced to death he is presented
with a fan, which he must receive with
a low bow, and, as he bows, presto / the
executioner draws his sword and outs
his head off. In fact there is a fan for
every occasion in Japan.— Harper's
Young Folks.
A man in Albany having announced
that he “had a historical pitcher,”
fourteen base-ball clnbs have written
him asking what the pitcher’s terms
were for the season.
SUBSCRIPTION-$1.50.
NUMBER 46.
SCRAFS OF SCIENCE.
A new form of thermometer indicates
the temperature of any place at a con
siderable distance through the agency of
electricity.
The cranium in giants is usually small
in relation to their stature, but enormous
in absolute measure, although their in
telligence is generally small. An exam
ple was Broca’s giant Joachim, credited
with a very slight amount of sense. Yet
this great imbecile had a huge cranium,
and his brain weighed nearly as much as
that of Cuvier.
The drawings of the planet Mars,
made by Prof. Harkness in 1877, have
been transformed from the orthographio
representation to Mercator’s projection,
and a map of the planet has been con
structed. General tables have been
computed which give directly the areo
grapkie latitude and longitude of the
center of the disc of Mars and the posi
tion angle of its axis as seen from the
earth.
The value of spongy iron upon a large
scale in the filters of water works is be
ing tested at Antwerp. The water is
first allowed to pass through a mixture
of iron and gravel covered with sand, and
then it goes into a second basin, the bot
tom of which is covered with sand. The
experimental results have been more
satisfactory than those from ordinary
filters, and there are no indications of
of any necessity for renewing the iron,
which serves to oxydize the organic mat
ters suspended in the water.
Dr. Siemens has lately experimented
on the fusion of metals by means of elec
tricity and has succeeded in melting
1 1-10 pounds into a compact ingot in
minutes. In melting large quantities this
electrical method is rather more than
twice as costly as the ordinary furnace,
but for the fusion of precious or refrac
tory metals, for chemical purposes, and
for other applications where the question
of economy is secondary, the new method
is convenient and practical. In melting
small quantities it may even prove eco
nomical.
A steam carriage has been used for
some time in Berlin. The Leipzig Ga
zette mentions that another German city,
Chemnitz, the manufacturing center of
Saxony, with a population of about 50,-
000, is also using a steam car for the
t,ra.r>o;rw'v+. .-vf >V. -y—l. ~ ~ - -X- xl*.— L. tha
streets without the use of rails. In two
months it made forty-four trips, carrying
406,500 pounds, which were easily dis
tributed in all parts of the city, on grades
and curves as well as on levels, without
causing any accident to vehicles or pe
destrians.
The earth’s eastward rotation, together
with the increase in rate from the poles
to the equator, has a tendency to throw
the waters of streams against their west
ern banks sufficient to produce quite
marked effects in many parts of the
world. It is noticeable in large rivers
where the deposits are earthy, and the
pitch of the water is small and in the
direction of the stream, the bank against
which the water strikes the more forcibly
being high and steep while the other is
low. The effect has been observed in
many streams of Europe and Asia, and
on the rivers intersecting the low land of
the Atlantic border of the United
States.
A comparison of the principal expend
itures for lighthouse service in France
and the United States has recently been
published by Emile Allard. He finds
the average annual cost of light to be
$716 in France and $2,358 in the United
States. A large part of the saving in the
French service is undoubtedly due to the
difference in the cost of labor; but he
thinks that much of it is owing to the
vigorous economy which the engineer
of the department of bridges and high
ways bring to the execution of their la
bors, and to their careful avoidance of
introducing luxurious arrangements
which do not contribute to manifest
utility.
Self Control.
In some people passion and emotion
are never checked, but allowed to burst
out in a blaze whenever they come.
Others suppress them by main force,
and preserve a callous exterior when
there are raging fires within. Others
are never excited over anything. Some
govern themselves on some subjects,
but not on others. Very much can l>e
done by culture to give the will control
over the felings. One of the very best
means of culture is the persistent with
drawing of the mind from the subject
which produces the emotion, and con
centrating it elsewhere. Tne man or
woman who persistently permits the
mind to dwell on disagreeable themes
only spites him or herself. Children, of
course, have less self control, and so par
ents and teachers must help them to
turn their attention from that which ex
cites them to something else; but
adults, when they act like children,
ought to be ashamed of themselves. The
value of self'control as a hygienic agent
is very great. It prevents the great
waste of vitality in feeling, emotion
and passion. It helps to give one a
mastery over pain and distress, rather
than it a mastery over us.
Apropos of the great fire in Paris a
correspondent offers the following ad
vice: “In disasters of this kind one
should proceed with the strictest order
and method. Accordingly, one will
first of all save the children, who are the
future; the women, who are the present;
the old men, who are experience; then
the furniture; and, if there is time, the
collateral relations and the mothers-in
law.”
Love looks not with the eyes, but with
the mind.