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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.