Newspaper Page Text
.
\ r- 4
mwro MARTIN, Publisher.
PERRY,
GEORGIA
BT IBB HEARTH.
Ton coma too late;
’XU Ur on In NoTeubn.
The Irina itrike* bleak
Upon the cheek
Shet csroth rather to keep warn
[And where 1 * the banal)
'Then to tbeto
One jot ot Its celet color lor yonr sake.
■Witch! Bee! .1 stir the ember
Upon my lonely hearth, and M4 the toe wake.
And think yen that It will 1
’XU homed, I say, to ashes.
It amold ere cold
As graveyard mold.
I wish, indeed, yon vonld net How
Sponit.0,
ffi de»4 to kUL
Z say, the gho*u of Brea will merer a Hr,
JTor woman lift the liibM
01 eyea wept dim, howe’er you* shine or Iots of
herl
Ah, awset sorpriss
Z did not think rad
Upon the gloom
Of thh
s r
each ihinlfll
_J this cold room
Could flit Tour even, aboag, aala 1
Calls life from death.
The warm light lie* -
At your triumphant feet, faint with desire
To reach yotL see 1 The lining
Of violet and of silver in that sheath ef fire!
If you would
Although it U November—
I will not say
A bitter nay
So such a gift for building fires.
■dad though it tires
Jfs to. think of lt-I’ll own to yen
(If you can Stir the ember) ...
it may be found at last, just warm enough for two.
—Saunter's Monthly.
THE SACRIFICE.
[non TEE FBEKCB oy HBHBY
Maurice was wandering aimlessly in
the depths of the forest. It had ceased
mining but the drops of water were
still rolling from leaf to leaf with the
light sound of a nearly-exhausted, foun-
tnvri trickling into its half-filled bati-
and in the distance the dark path opem
out into a wet glade of a deep green of
exquisite softness. The tranks ef the
trees were very black, their branches
"blacker still, and the massive houghs of
the chestnut trees above the j
painter’s head seemed like the
arches of a cathedral at the hour when
all is dark in the church, and when the
colored windows cast into the gloom
gleams of light so intense and so mys
terious that you would think them lit
op by a fire of live coals from without.
Maurice loved this hour at the decline
«f day, when, after the. rain,.the. sun
lias not shone out) and when a gray tint
is cast over everything, blending out
lines, softening angles and investing
every shape with’ a smooth and exquisite
roundnesa. He walked slowly, discover
ing every moment in the well known
forest some beauty till .then unknown
.and he was thrilled to the very depths
of being by that tender admiration for
nature which is one of .the characteristics
•f genius.
Having roached the glade he looked
around him. The grass was green and
brilliant; the. delicate leaves of the
shrubs, shining beneath the water which
had washed them, formed a fine, lace
like network against the dark hack
' id. He
at forest beyond. ;
stoppedin order to see better, to observe
better and to take in better the impres
sion of the wet forest, more impressive
and more human so to speak, in its great
shadows than beneath the sunshine in
all the splendor of the day.
The pretty and graceful figure of a
young girl stood out against the foliage
of the birch-trees. She advanced with
a supple movement, without perceiving
Maurice, who, as immovable as the
trunk of a chestnut tree, was watching
her. When two steps from him the
young girl perceived him. She started
and let fall a few twigs from the fagot
of wood that she was carrying on her
head.
“ You frightened me,” she add, smil
ing, and her large black eyes tiidne out
merrily beneath the tangle of her blonde
hair.
\ He looked at her without answering.
A complete harmony which no words
can render, reigned between the slender
, the laughing face, the lace-like
_ s of the glade and the tints of the
idsicape.
‘/Standstill,”saidtjrajonng; “Imp
^°Stle wished^ to posh back her hair,
which had fallen over her face,- hut he
prevented her by a gesture.
“ Remain as you are.”
He seated himself on a stone and
fetched rapidly the outline and fea
tures of his young model. She was a
peasant, but delicate and refined as the
1 young girls of the peasantry often are
before their complete their often tardy
development. The eyes were already
those of a woman, while the smile wae
still that of a child. gij|j
“ How old are youF’^Bed the painter
Still working.
“ I shall soon he sixteen.”
“Alreadyl I saw yon three years ago
a little hit of a thing.”
f I was very little,” said she, with a
I pretty laugh, and frank and bold as a
sparrow; “hut I grew fast, and on St.
-- John’s day I shall have lovere.”
“Why, oh St. John’s day?” asked
ihe young man, stopping to look at her.
“Because one must nave a lover to
dance with around the bonfire.”
So soon! That pure brow, those inno
cent eyes, that childish month, all
these were to be profaned by the boor-
' ish gallantry of a rustic 1 Maurice felt I
4 vague jealousy d awn inhia heart. J
“ Will yon have me for a lover?” j
said he, resuming his work.
“Oh, yon I yon are a gentleman
and I—I* am a peasant; goodgirls do
not listen to gentlemen.”
That is the village code of morals;
the young man answered nothing.
“I cannot see shy longer; will yon'
come back here to-morrow, a little
earlier?”
“ For my portrait?”
“Yes.”
“ I will come hack. Good evening,
air.”
She raised her bundle of wood and
. went away into the deepening shadows,
beneath the archway of the dark chest
nut tree.
Maurice went home dreaming of the
fair haired child. He had seen her
often, and had always looked at her,
but with the eyes of an artist. Now it
seemed to him that he looked at her
With the eyes of a jealous lover. That
night and the next day seemed intermi
nable to him; and long before the ap
pointed hour he was in the glade.
He worked alone,,and when the young
girl arrived, a little lath —alreadv play
ing the coquette—she was quite" sur
prised.
“ Is it really myself 1” she said. “ Will
you give it to me?”
“ No, I will make yon a little one foi
yourself.”
‘ And that one, what will yon do with
5fc?”
tm _
HP®
"Itwill go to Paris; itirill.be put in
a large frame; it will be hung in a
beautiful gallery, and every one will
come and look at it.”
“ Ah'! yes, I know; in the exhibition.”
“Haveyon heard of the exhibition?”
“There are gentlemen painters here
who work for the exhibition, as they
say, hut they-never took my portrait.”
Daylight was fading gently; Maurice
found aaon the preceding evening, the
exquisite soft tints which had so
charmed him, and his work advanced a
hundred cubits toward posterity.
He saw her again several times be
neath the checkered daylight of his im
provised studio, and he took pleasure in
making this work his best one. Already
ediebratedj he had no need to make him-
•lf a name,-and-yet he was sure that
this picture would pxi the aesl to his re
nown.
By the time he was quite satisfied
with it winter had come, and Maurice
loved his littie model. He loved hei
too much to tell her so, too much to
sully this fidd ifiower whom he could
not make Eiswife.-but enough to suffer
at the thought ofileiving’heF. She hsd
none of thosequalitier which secure tb«
happiness of* 'life; neither the depth
of teeling nor the devotion which cause*
oa to forget everything; she was a pretty
field flower, « tittle vain, a little co
quettish, with no gnat faults nor yet'
great virtues. Maurice knew that she
was not forhim, and jet scarcely de
veloped, and which her home-span gown
ehastely enfolded without disguising.
He loved the deep 'eyes, the laughing
montit, the teirluur that'was always in
diSOrde^, fhelittle handkerchief tied
across her breast—he loved it all, and it
was with reluctance that he wept away.
We always go away with reluctance.,
when wehave nothing to hope for on onr
return. It iB so hard to leave behind a
bit of one’s life of -which nothing is to
remain.
He carried away his picture, however,
and it was before it that he passed ids
happiest hours that winter, always per
fecting a work thatwas already perfect.
The picture was admired. The critics,
who were unanimous in their enthu
siasm, declared that such faces could
not exist, excepting in the brain of a
poet or the imagination of a painter;
Maurice listened, smiling, and kept for
himself the secret of the sweet face that
had inspired him. He received bril
liant offers for his picture; never had so
high a price been offered for any of his
works; but he refused, and he refused
also to allow it to he eopied. Since he
was never to possess anything of his
model hut her likeness, he intended
that that should he -his qlpne. *
Autumn was drawing near when he
returned to the village. Twice had the
fires of St. John seen the whirls of the
merry dance since he had painted the
portrait, and when he thought; of the
young girl, it was with a smile that was
something sad, as he asked hioqself on
which of the village rustics she fixed her
choice.
His first pilgrimage on arriving was
to the forest of chestnut trees; at the
fall of day—night Comes quickly at the
beginning of October-toe wandered
down the long path; hut it was no’ longer
dark; it was traversed by an amber sun
beam, which seemed to have fastendfi
itself on everyone of the leaves which
quivered on the branches or crackled
beneath his feet. . i
’ )r of the dead leaves brought
J whole world 1 of regrets* of re
membrances of bitterness,’ stirring up
within him an unspeakable sadness, and
a more complete disgust with everything
that he. had sought np to that time;
When he had reached ue glade he sat
down on the spot where eighteen
months before he had made the sketch
which -had since crowned his renown.
The cold stone seemed to laflgh.at him
ironically for all that he had suffered.
A peasant girl—a coquette—a matter
of great consequence Burelv.
“She would have loved me had I
chosen. Many others have loved
painters, ’and-have followed them to
Baris, and then have disappeared in
the scum of the great city without load
ing with chains the one who hadi initi-
‘ and
The Pig and the Rat.—A pig, so fat
that it could hardly move, once lolling
indolently in its sty, saw a poor, half
starved, rat, that, with much timid
alertness, stole from its hiding-place,
and after seizing one of the many
grains of corn that lay scattered around,
quickly escaped with hisiprize, and with
very mnch the air-of «-beggar who had
asked for something to eat; and had
then run away; ashamed to be seen.
“Yon poor .creature,”’ grunted the
pig, “what a life you lead; half-starved
and half frozen! Behold me now!
Here I am; a person -of co:
carefully fed and attended to,
every morning fresh, sweet straw thrown
to me to make my bed soft and warm.
As for you, poor -creature, it is onlyat
the risk of your life, by ^constant labor
and even
ing worse,
stall.”
“ Please to recollect,” said
he paused for a momentat the mon
his hole, “when yon heap your A
upon me, that you receive favors 1 anc
benefits not on account of
master hears you. nor
FOR THE YOUNG YOLKS.
ated them into the mysteries of ai
intellectual life. * * * He is* fool
who sacrifices to chimeras the real-goods
of this World; the love of a beautiful
girl, the glory which talent gives, the
fortune which success brings.”
While he was thus denying the gods
of his youth, he saw coming towards
him, in the well-known path, the young
girl of other days, who had grown up, i
who had become a woman in one word. -
She was not alone; a rustic was walking!
beside her, holding her by the little
finger; a fine felloyr,: for ’ that matter,
strong and well ,'maclei and? richly
dressed for a peasant.' He bent towards
> %S<L feffii time to time wiped away
with ins lips a tear from the joung
girl’s cheek. ’
On seeing Maurice they stopped, con
fused and surprised.
“ And it-.was for this/’ thought he,
“that I respected this flower!”
And he was thinking with contempt
uous pity of his folly when the young 1
girl addressed him;
“They will not let ns marry, sir,”
id she, her voice broken with sobs..
“Iam poor; he has some property, and
his mother will not have me for a dangh-
ter-in-law. She talks of. disinheriting
And you, too, dq not wish him to he
disibheritea, do yon?" said Maurice
ironically.
“Indeed,” answered the lad; “we
must live!”
ing. As for me, I do not live [in con
stant fear of the butcher’s knife, and I
think it is likely that I shall keep my
place in the world, pobras it is, much
longer than yon will keep yours.”
Sam’s Experiencerr-One brightmorn
ing in February, 1878, a manly-looking
boy of fifteen came to me and said: “I
want to get a pair of Pekin ducks,, but
I have no money; will yon let ine have
a pair and take the pay in work? I
will do anything that a chap of my size
can do.”
The hoy was a stranger, bat I liked
his looks and his willingness to work,
so I answered: “ Of course I will,” and
started for the yard to pick out the
ducks.
“ Better git the work afore ye let him
have the ducks,” said one of the neigh
bors who happened to be in.
“ Do yon know anything against the
hoy?”
“1 don’t know nothin’agin him, but
he belongs to the old Jackson tribe tha,t
moved onto the old’Smith farm; his
father is lame, and his mother is a pale,
shiftiest lookin’ critter, and I allowed
that the gal3 warn’t mnch, they are al
ius fussin’ over a bed of posies and sich
thrash; they had better be workin’ out;
there’s .plenty that, want gals; and I
reckon money ain’t over and above
plenty in that family.”
“I like the hoy’s looks, and I will
trust him,” I answered; ■
“ Then it’ll be the last you’ll ever see
of the ducks or the hoy either; mind
what I toti ye,” and Mother Mooney
nodded her gray head quite emphatically
as she picked np her basket and marched
offi Poor old soul! she has lost all her
faith in human nature.
With Mother Mooney’s “mind what
I tell ye,” still, ringing ; in my ears, I
picked out a pair of the finest ducks on
the place for my boy customer, and gave
him lots of advice concerning their
care. When that Boy started home,
with his dqcks in a basket, he was prob
ably as happy as the average hoy ever-
expects to be in this world. I’ll be
back Monday, sore,” he said as he shut
the gate. - :
Monday came; likewise toeboy;;eyery
day afterwards that boy walked the
long three miles; that stretched between
the “ Old Smith farm” and my place,
and worked with a will until his debt
was cancelled. After that I saw him
no more until after Christmas.
“Well, Sam, what luck with the
ducks?” I asked. “First rate,” he
answered.
“ Tell me about it. How many eggs
did your duck lay ? and how many ducks
did you raise?”
“My ducks laid seventy-nine eggs; I
sold half a dozen of them to Mrs.
French, and set the rest. I didn’tmean
to sell any eras. but had to sell a few to
buy feed. 1 got fifty-nine young ducks
from the eras I set, and. I raised every
orie of them; didn’t I do pretty well for
*nner?”
deed you did,” I replied, “What
on do with the ducks youraised?”
HOSE DOCTOR.
American Farmers on the Amazons.
Fever and Ague.—There are some
situations where fever and ague prevails
every season, and this is the case in the
vicinity of creeks and swamps. An ac
quaintance-of-ours, who has resided for
several years on one of these creeks,
never has had a-single case of fever and
agne in his family, while all his neigh
bors have been more or less affected
with it every season. He attributes his
immunity from 'this troublesome dis
ease to the use of a good fire-in his
house every chilly and damp night in
summer and fall. When the Indians
travel at night or early in the morning
in swampy regions they cover their
nose and month with some part of theii
garments to warm the air which they
inhale; and this they say prevents chills
and fevers.
- Ant as a SmfOiANT—rThe exciting
gen are well known, and every one
felt the invigorating influence of fresh
air; yet no practical appticatidni 3 fiaa :
been made of these beneficial proper
ties of a snbstanoe so cheap and uni-
' a When the, body is weafe -tire
rtjmed, and the whole systomm.
of lassitude; just go into the
&£n*’aic; take a fe**tij3pi?6uB inspira
tions and expirations, and thhi r
[From SSith’l “.Br»xil and.the Amazons.” J ■ • [Oood Company.)
my
1__„ ,, ,
with ins head bowed down on his hands,
thought for a long time. y
Bis idle fancy had flown away—noth
ing remained of the slender young girl
hut a peasant, who was still handsome,
hut very near becoming an ordinary
matron.
“So it is with onr dreams!” said he,
rising, “The only sore thing that we
can gather from them is to do a little good
with them.”
The same evening he wrote to Paris,
and a few days later he presented him
self at the young girl’s house.
“ I have sold your portrait,” he said
to her,, in the presence of her astonished
mother; “ I received a large sum for it.
It is quite a fortune. I have brought it .
to you in order that you may marry -j 111 ™ 6 manai
your lover.” v [con|istencfy
General Reuses was seated on a
mackerel-barrel, with his feet on a
couple of sugar hogsheads, and had just
given an account of how he froze them;
sliding down hill ■ in the winter of ’75.
There was silence for a few minutes, in
terrupted by an interrogation by Mozart ■
'Dafiaail: “Do you mean, General, to
have our understanding comprehend dat
yon froze hofif of dem feet in one win
ter ?” “ Boff,” replied the General, cut
ting off a piece of tobacco about the
size of a toy harmonica. After another
reign of silence the General demanded,
“Do Hflru.dpnbt tiiat statement, sail?”
“ N<joW s&r V himselYtuJ 11 was only
“ I’ve got -four of them now, and I
keep the oli pair, I am going to raise
lots of them next year. And I sold
seven pairs to-the neighbors; the rest
Pressed; and were sent to market."
“ How much did you get for themf'
“Got three dollars a pair for those
we sold alive, and those we sent to mar
ket brought $20.50 : ;tiie feathers brought
$3 moire; that makes $44.50, don’t it?”
Take out the $61 paid yon, and $11.80
see I made $27.^T ciban cash. I ^efl
you I had to scratch'around pretty
lively to get enough to feed them on
after the>young ones were about half
;grown; I picked berries, and sold them,
ahd.hoed corn Borne,.and cut up old
Mrs. Flint’s woodpile, and dug potatoes,
ahd.iraaked corn, so I kept them going'
until I sold them.” _
xnere, Boys; 1 have given you Barn’s
first experience as a poultry raiser, and
if any of yon can make a better show
ing I .should like to hear from you.—
Fanny Field in Prairie Farmer
The Late Editor of the London Times.
' John T.Delane, wasfortinrty-sixyears
-the chief. editor of the' London Times,
which he fonnd a great newspaper, and-
made the greatest journal in England.
Up to his day; the. Times had been great
in its news. - Some of; its “beats^ during
ttie Napoleonic canter** ’I 1
surpassed, and its f<
Df facts- touching
to one or two-of the greatest libel suits
in the . history of English journalism.
Mr. Deiane, the nephew of the previous
fina.np.ift1 manager of tiie paper, became
in 1841 its chief editor at 24 years of
age; and he piade ; the ,paper great in
success .for twenfy yeara and more; it
refieoted the sentimentof the English
rating class, and it.waa served l>y a b,ody
of men altogether superior in abilily
,and character to any previously em
ployed on English papers. -Deiane
showed signal ability in .choosing his
ngftnfa' and, an alnicist cynical contempt
the management of the paper for
aper first went hope-
Mm in its treatment
of the United States from 1861 on, and
he had a rough tumble in a newspaper
war with Bichard Cobdeh only a few
in popular estimation. The anonymous
secrecy of English journalism always
left in the dark Delane’s real work in
nmldTig the Times what it was, but
he has generally had the credit of being
the great master mind of the enterprise,
“PA,” said a little boy, “a horse is
worth a great deal more, isn’t it, after
it’s broke?” “Yes, my son. "Why do
£ )>u ask such a question ?” “ Because I
Soke the new rocking-horse you gave
'*■ V "-’jig.” '
will be instantly perceived. The indi-
vidnal trying the experiment will feel
invigorated and stimulated, .the blood
will conrse with freshness, the longs
Trill work witii increased ^ detivito, the
whole frame will feel revivified, and
nature’s stimulant will be found the best.
Soda FOBBusNS.—Allkindsof burns,
including scalds and annbhrns, are al
most immediately zetieved.by the appli
cation of a solution of soda to the bum-
surface. It must be remembered tiiat
dry sbda witi not do unless'it is sur
rounded with a doth hloist enough to
dissolve it. This method of sprinkling
it on and covering it with a,wet cloth is
often the very best. But it is sufficient
to wash the wound repeatedly with, a
strong solution., It would be well to
keep a bottle of it alwayson hand, made
so strong that more or less settles on
the bottom. This is what is called a
saturated solution, and really such a so
lution as this is formed when the dry
soda is sprinkled on and covered with a
moistened doth. Dr. Waters thinks
the pain of a burn is caused by the
hardening of the albumen of the flesh
. which presses on the nerves, and that
the soda dissolves the albumen and
thus relieves the pressure. Others
think that' the burn generates an acrid
add, which the soda neutralizes.
Learn about The Pulse.-—Every
intelligent person should know how
to ascertain the state of thh pulse
in health; then, by comparing it with
what it is when he is ailing, he may
have some idea of the urgency of lus
case. Parents should know the health
pulse of each child—as now and then
a person is born with a peculiarly slow
or fast pulse, and the very case in hand
may he of that peculiarity. An infant’s
pulse is 140; a child of 7, about 80; and
from 20 to 60 years is 70 beats a min
ute, declining to 60 at fonr-sepre. A'
healthful grown person’s pulse heats 70
times .a minute; there may be good
health db\rii to 60; but if the pulse al
ways exceeds 70 there is a disease; the
machine is working itself out, there is
a fever or inflammation somewhere, and
the body is feeding on itself;- as in con
sumption, when the pulse is qnick, that
is over 70, gradually increasing, with
decreased chances of cure, until it
reaches 110 to 120, when death coines
before many days, When the pulse is
over 70 for months, and there is a slight
cough, the lungs are affected. There
are, however, peculiar constitutions, in
which the pulse may be over 70 in
Laalfcli. t t
Immensity or the Stars.
It IS known that the stars are true
sons, thaiu some of them are larger than
out own sun, and that around these
enormous centers of heat and tight re
volve planets on which life certainly ex
ists. Our snn is distant from us38,-
000,000 leagnes, but these stars are dis
tant at least 500,000times as fat—a dis
tance that, in fact, is incommensurable
and unimaginable for ns. Viewed with
the unaided eye, the stars and the
planets look alike; that is, appear to
have the same diameter. But, viewed
throngh the telescope, while the planets
are seen to possess, clearly appreciable
diameters, the stars axe still only mere
luminous points. The.most powerful
of existing telescopes, that of Mel
bourne, which magnifies 8,000 times,
gives ns an image of one of ourplanets
possessing an apparent diameter of sev
eral degrees. Jupiter, for instance,
which, seen with the naked eye, ap
pears as a star of the first magnitude,
with a diameter of forty-five degrees, at
the most, Trill in the telescope nave its
diameter multiplied 8,000 ttis.es, and
will be seen as if it oconpiedin the keav-
ens an angle of 100 degrees. Mean
while, a'star alongside of Jupiter, and
which to the eye is as bright as that plan
et, will still be a simple dimensionless
point. Nevertheless, that star is thou
sands of times more voluminous than
the planet. Divide the distance be
tween ns and that planet by 8,000, and
yon have for result a distance relatively
very small; but divide by 8,000 the
enormous number of leagnes. which
represents the distance of a star, and
there remain a number of leagues too.
great to permit of the stars bring seen
by us in a perceptible form; In con
sidering .Jnpiter, or any. of, theplanets,
we are filled Tritii woiider at the raonght
that this tittie^lununonsf point might
number 5,000 fold greater—for of stare
visible to onr eyes there are only about
5,000. Ati, the stars of these many con
stellations, .as..the.. Great Bear, Cassi
opeia, Orion, Andromeda, all the stars
of the zodiac, even all the stare which
are visible only from'the edrth’s 'sonth-,
era hemisphere; might bA set in one.
~’“ie, skip by side,,with no one over-'
--- another, even without the
_ I Contact between star and star,
and yet they wChld occupy so small a
space that, were it to be multiplied 5,000
fold, that space would be entirely cov
ered by the disk of Jupiter, albeit that
disk to ns seems to be an inappreciable
point —Prof. J. Vinot.
tfe”" v "; Her Husband's CIockT, ; £ S y{
She laid her pretty hand upon her
husband’s shoulder. “Henry, love,
there’s something the matter with the
clock; will yon see to it?” So he took
off his coat, removed the face and fin
gers, examined the interior parts with
a large magnifying-glass, blew into them
with the bellows, oiled them thoroughly,
and did all that mortal ingenuity could
devise. But it was of no avail, and so,
despairing, at a late hour of 'the night,
he went to bed and slept the sleep of
the righteous. Next morning at break
fast quoth she: “Harry, dear, I know
what was the matter with the clock.”
“■Well?” “It only wanted winding.” j
Down the Santarem street come four
brownr horses, dragging an immense
American wagon; a tall, coatiess indi
vidual sits astride one of the Iraders,
and guides 'toe cavalcade with, much
flourish and noise. He draws up in :
front of St. Gaetano’s store and salutes
tire merchant; then alights and inarches
straight np to ns, remarking, “Well!
who are you?” Of course, we get ac-
fifty Americans who are established in
toe forest near by. Platt is himself a
Tennesseean; the others are from Mis
sissippi, Alabama, and so on.: Farmer
Platt Dresses us to “ come out for a few
day8,’ f an'd we go. The wagon, he in
forms ns, was sent from his old home in
Tennessee, and, in spite of a law which
dnW/th^duties amounted to as much as
the original -cost. Presently w« stop
with a jerk; oneof toe wheels is caught
inatbigitiiana. The farmer's wife'teri-
comes ns cordially, too children are shy,
tor they, do not' often see strangers.
All tire Americans are cultivating
sugar rime;- the l juice is,'distilled' into
ram, which is sold at Santarem; Prob
ably coffee or cacao, might pay better,
but.onr. colomstacama -without money
and ean not wait tor slow-growing crops.
Platt saved a tittle money - and nought
tms ground of an Indian woman, and
had to earry provisions six miles on his
back. Platt nad to grind his coraat*:
wo&den mill until he could, get an iron
one, at doable the original cost.. And
to with all tools and agricoltnral im
plements. “The children have no
schooling,” complains Mrs. Platt; “they
can’tevengotoaBrazillian master, for'
we are too far from town.” Sometimes
they visit with thc> other Americans,
bat the plantations are far apart and
toe roads are rough, and it is not often
they can make a holiday, unless it is
Sunday.
Transmissibilify of Hydrophobia.
A man with hydrophobia was brought
to the Lariboisiere Hospital, having
been bitten in toe upper lip by a dog
forty days previously. He had had toe
wound cauterized two hoars after the ac
cident, and had thought himself quite
safe till tome of the usual hydrophobia
nymtoms appeared. The day before his
death in a quiet interval, he yielded him
self, with toe best grace, to toe experi
ments in inoculation which were made
wito blood and saliva. The result of
the rabbit with the blood
.tive (as in toe greatmajority of
previous cases of inoculation with blood
of animals under rabies). Bat with the
saliva ft was otherwise. A rabbit inoc
ulated fn toe ear and abdomen, on the
11th of October, began to show symtoms
of rabies en the 15th, being mnch excited
and damaged toe walls of its cage, while
it uttered loud cries and slavered at the
month. Then it fell into bollapse and
died the following night. The rabbit’s
body (it so happened) was not dissected
till thirty-six hours after death, and far
ther experiment was made by taking
fragments of toe right and left submax
illary glands and introducing them under
toe tom of two other rabbits respectively.
These two rapidly saqcambeaj one on
toe fifth, the qthee on the sixth [day (be
coming visibly ill on the third); neither
passed through a furious stage, however,
the predominant feature was paraplegia
(a form of paralysis). The important
practicle result is that human saliva,
such as caused rabies in the ,rabbit, is
nebemarily virulent, and would prob
ably have corresponding effects on man;
so that it should be^dealt with cautiously,
and that not only daring the' life of the
person furnishing it, hat in postmortem
examination.
Amber-Cane Sugar.
The Missouri Republican says: There
was recently shipped from Crystal Lake,
111., a carload of sugar made from am
ber cane. TMb was to be followed by
another in a few-dayB, making not far
from twenty tons as the result of toe
first experiment in sugar making in that
locality. The product is described as
being “ light in color with a delicate
orange tinge. It had also a peculiar lus
ter, and toe grain was bright and spark
ling.” The gentlemen who visited the
factory reports “ that the proprietor of
toe hotel went to hiB store-room and
brought .opt a fur sample of yellow ‘ O*
coffee sugar, and the two. were compared
side by Side. The odds were fonnd to
be greatly in favor of the amber, sugar.
It was much lighter and brighter, and
beside it the yellow ? O ’ looked dark,
dingy, gammy and lnsterless.” Gen.
Le Due, who lms just visited toe factory,
and from whom toe infofmatiqn relative
to the shipment has been gained, say*
“ that the proprietors inform' him that
there is so much enthusiasm among
farmers regarding this new industry
that there will he i0,000 acres of toe
early amber cane planted in that local
ity next year.” The factory is well pro
vided with every essential for
sugar, the same as the refinery at Fi
banlt, and will next year, it .is thought,
he running so smoothly as to turn out«
carload of sugar every two days.
The English Cabs.
The one-horse cabs, though, are too
pleasantest conveyances we find in any
English city. The two-wheeler—called
toe “HaDsom,” from toe inventor’s
.same—^carries two passengers, and is
hung i io low, in froAt of toe axle, that
it is an easy step from it to the ground.
The driver sits on a perch behind, with
his reins running over the top, and toe
passeng y jr can shut himself in with glass
doors aom. wind and rain if he wishes.
There being tighter make better time
than toe four-wheelers—which generally
seem to fall heir to toe scrubbiest old
nags in toe city—and are preferable
when there are not more than two in the
party or there is not mnch luggage. The
fare, fixed by law, is one shilling
(twenty-four cents) for two miles or
less, for either one or two persons, with
a sixpense^idditional - ior ; every.Addi
tional mile; and a aixpencefore very fif
teen minutes it is kept waiting. The
four-wheelers, which resemble a one-
horse hack, and carry trunks on top,
will accommodate four passengers in-
side and one on^ toe seat with the
driver, i the charges for one or two pers
sons being the same as in a Hansom,-
with sixpence additional for the whole
trip for- each person over two. Acabv
must go in any direction toe applicant
^ola aKo
chi
proverbial liars’and extortioners, arid
will generally demand double whit .the.
.law allows them if toev see any hope.pf
[getting it. The law, however, gof^ds
' toe rig : ts"of their victims very care
fully. I f a bargaiii is made beforehand
higher t .an toe legal rate toe passenger ,
cannot he held for it; if at lower/the
cahmaii can be held for it. Thejprinted,
rates most be shown at the, request of'
the passenger. All the stranger heeds
is to procure a pocket map of the city
and figure distances for himself, tender-
After John E. Owens, the comedian,
had retired to . his chamber in the
Palace Hotel in San Francisco, the
other night, he caught .this sound of
something crinoline in toe hall,. and.
heard a gentle tap on the door of his
room._ He opened the door. He shut
it again. For on the mat outside lay a
j>retty baby boy, who was crowing Ins*,
tily. Pinned tb toe baby’s clothing was
the.following note: “My Dear Sir:—
I have seen.yonr performance of “ Hig
gins ” in Dr. Clyde, and consider it one
of the finest impersonations 1 ever wit
nessed. The only way in which I can
evince my gratitude to you is by offer
ing you one of; the loviest intents I
could select. from., the; orphan, asylum; -
Take it and cherish it, and Gcid Mesa
you and prosper 1 yon. Aw tJwKHO'wir
Admirer:" ■■Mr’. Owens struggled with
conflicting purposes for a few moments,
and then- summoning all of his friends
that coitid he found, solemnly
nounced 'that ba[by’s adoption as “
E. Owens. Jr:” 1
an-
'John
A YOUNG man who had just returned
from* long.journey, clasping his adored
one in, a loving embrace in a dimly-
lighted parlor, was seized with a great
terror that, for ah instant, paralyzed
all his energies. “Oh, my darling,”
said he, wildly, “why did n’t you imte
me of this ? What is it—spinal disease ?
or have you dislocated some of your
ribs, that yon are obliged to wear this
broad leather bandage?” “Oh, loye,”.
toe gently murmured, “ this is only my
new" belt; I would have got a broader
one,- hut it would net go under my
arm »J ’—?■ A nArmnd Barar.
A YOUNG man, of Cleveland, O.,
deeply in love with a Jewish maiden
whom he wished to marry, recently re
nounced his Christian faith and em
braced that of his betrothed. If is n6t
difficult to determine beforehand who
will “ ran ” that family.
\... -g* -W*
- , T i '~ r <' .
ing cabby the legal fare. Jf his emh -ffist by toe ‘seecmd and so^ on by pro.
neuceis not satisfied—and he never is— gression ad ‘infwritum but, calcnlatfom
he can demand your address and “itom-:-of.-velbcifyr momentum and projectil«
mons” you before a magistrate. This, force•areoittei'lyiloBt dn a man when he
he rarely fails to threaten, but always I
•fail to do. It is said to he entirely safe,
having first taken cabby’s licensed num
ber for use—at the police court, if need
be, to hold out a handful of change and
direct him to take what the law allows
him. But I never ventured on such a
perilous experiment. There are nearly
fourteen thousand cabs in London:
They are always to be found in waiting
at the railway stations and places of en
tertainment, and standing places are as
signed for them at frequent intervais’On
the streets. But toe tired, pedestrian^
need never wait long for one if he stops
anywhere on a much-frequented thor
oughfare and hails the first empty one
that passes. Much pleasanter ' and
quicker than omnibus or street car, and
much cheaper than a hack, it is sin-
galar that they have not got a foothold
in all onr American cities.
How Young Gautier Wrote.
[LUtrary WorM.]
No thief ever experienced so mD
remorse of conscience, as he who i
a curl from a pretty woman’s
and afterward learns that it
hair.
ad cut 1
^ l to aiio
•ot is old fashioned
ok fit to be seen.” This
The Czar of Russia
f i Emperor Fran«I:;
0 ,0,000, or $ie.I
fs
tosturbed pe^stelticaclion)—“ WeU |8ili
Countir^praqtitomer—“Then'^y don’t
pearls «f;
L 3f 5!
take 1 , one
Quack—“
fw~
16 feet toe
thence m
the distahe
ty of a falling body may ^
rst second, 48 the next, and
inversely as,the squared
twice the product of the
skin off*his nose in four places.
has reformed,
.mid will henceforth- eat pies no more.
He was employed by a bakery firm, and
they, missing various pies, baked some
with croton oil; The ’dishonest pie-
eater got sick; and, thinking he was
booked for .toe region whence no bone
>f any ifyaveler : returns,, confessed steal-
ng.|h^ipie|, and learned what had been
nit'in them. He was so mad that he
;ot well and Had his employers arrested
:or attempting to poison him.
lA Young .man from toe country
lasting McLeod's; tobacco store in St
rohii, saw a five rent piece on toe side
walk and immediately pnt his foot on il
until he could pick it up undiscovered,
andyon can hot. ithat rustic youth ex-
y of cuss word*
nly a tin tobacco
p. And tons throngh life do we
In 1833 “Mademoiselle de Manpin” chase phantom 'shadows and think them
was began. It was written in his room**real.
at his pints’ .Oh rthe Ptere ffMy deq^/’.she igaid, as they sat at
W ° rk ’ ^ fire > breakfast, “who is Hilo Pedro?” When
weaned Gantier exoesmvely. The jfeet, he asked an explanation, and she told
toen a lion, and a fashionable ptoteoff-' him'toalfhe had" talked in his sleep so
^gey muck ^preferred to^ rhymo gdlani ''about ' him, he tried to swallow
j mm Object in his toroat and
hing about reading
and being deeply in-
id^tr’toe Emperor, whose name is
'Hilo'Pedf#, and,-bless her soul, toe be-
ilievfecL-.? .sito I h> mu > •
yi There ii a remarkable, well in toe
’"■m' ' B’ ig what
»
bonnets to Air young damsels, and
promenade the bomevards with his
transcendent waistcoats and idOrreidtja
f^>re alamp to blacken sheets of papen
And betide, being a thorough roman-
tioiit, he detested prose, and looked open
it as toe prime accomplishment of a"
Philistine. So. when he went into the
house, bis tether would lock him np in
his rooib and lay out his task.
“ Tom are not to come outhe wenld
g r throrah the keyhole. until yo*
ve finished ton,pages of ’Haapim!* ”
Sometime .Theophue was remgned;
often he crept eat through the window.
At other times his mother, always fesr-
fql togt her son would fatigue himself
tnth so ainto work, came to wleaae him.
GOOD-NIGHT.
sra.z.x.4
Geod-nJght, the day la dead, : i
The myriad stan break o’arhead;
My Iots Ilea sleeping—calmly aleaplaz
Iha brook and till era weeping.
The blrd* h*T* M**ed and ran*,
And fond farewell begun;
The day has died, sood-nlaht;
. Night breaks rapturonalyl |
■ Good-nlghi,'a fimd ifiewalf;- 1 ^ t
JTarewen, (ood-nlght, farewell | \
Good-nisht, the stan above >
Are watching thee, fareweUr
The moan li on thanes; a ball-
' •*
Tar away the stan In space
Livht the splendor of thy facer !»d
And it catohea the beam of llghV . -
1 Andmy love breathaa good-nJght*
I, too, ni the stan pale above; >
I,‘too, watch my life, mjr love: ft
The wind aays to yon good-night,
And the see, “My love, delight.*
All the passes sleeping light, •»,'
Silvery radiance over all
Seep, my love, till.the morning break;
' , ’ fflt«p, my.lovei£tillr.ihe'biida awaked ; .. ;
ram good-night, my love,
The skt breaks white above.
own as the “River Road.” The
well is abont 3} feet in diameter at the
•top, and its depth has never been ascer
tained.' It has been sounded 555 feet
water is, clear and cold, and toe well is
always full. It was first discovered
about ninefy years ago, and its sides
Whre ; then walled np with stones, as
at the present time.—
eai
' labor that thought can
i " Wmm
be made healthy, and only by thought
thSt lahhr can he made happy, and the
two cannok be separated with impunity.
THE fonhdatxohof every house should,
be truth, the timbers virtue, the clap-
bqaids faito- and tos roof charity, while
London soot..
Soot is valuable enough t_ ; _
erated. Chimney-sweeps ( say*,
value of a hnshel of soot and the cost of. j
the quartern loaf alwayd'talfy.. Just
now this happens to be the cake, btit T 1 ' 'me
am not sure about the “ always." Ow
ing to the amount of i
monia it contains, soot
ported in ccmtiderable q.
West India sugar plantations, and it is.
still a valued manure at home; Sheep:
and cattle, feed greedily on. pasture tiie"
soot has fertilized, and it imparts
markedly bright green to grass and
grain. From it, moreover, bistre is
manufactured,'and coloring matter, for
paper-hangings. Lake, ji pyroHgrieohs
acid, it has been used for toe enring of
meat, and with a similar effect—the im
parting to the preserved provision a
taste as if it had been smoked.] The
best soot is said to be that swept from
kitchen chimneys, well impregnated
liAtmiloWn ‘forearfit.
Great for being able to
sew. v :;n ib’.
ickthe ‘
where a Fran
, now h® \
Rte
Or elsei
The «
Zt wffl. i
And oil
To meet I
And 1
you I
Df
^it is old or
heard a lady ask a friend, in
car,*the. other day: “Annie, is
improper to say this ’ere, that’ere?”
Why Ea.tej’of course, not,” was the re-
^ly.'’• J ‘-Weii7’ said-Eate, “Idon’t know
whetoef it is proper er not; hut I feel
cold.in- this ear, from that Mr.” The
conductor tainted,.
bHQEMA ker b wax has been used
vrito' success in . Glasgow to illustrate
of ndthxdl) yihilosmphy^.
_ _qdel v the flow of glaciers, it is
wonderful how. clotely the flow of this
wax resembles that of ire.% Sir . W.
ThoinsonhasAhlp employed this sort of
wax to toUw the motion of lighter
bodies, like cork, and heavier bodies,
like bnlleta.'terono'ha vicons substance.
the young-
moon xests-supinely, its horns in air,
itois .a sigmof'dryiweather, because in
U it holds all the water, tons
. Jits fall bo toe earth. This is
also a sign of wet weather; toe explana-
-v, waterful
soaked
’orget this sign of the
hew- moon: It-is ^rarely you will find
ipne-aq mpaxtially accomodating.
s “DAT.cullud pnsson on de.jury him’s
de man I object to,” said a negro when
put on tiial in the Marton (S. ; C.) Court
the other day. The black good man
and true was unseated, and then the
E ner given.acqnittal. After his re
tire darkey was asked whathe had
against a juryman of his own color.
“ Nuffiin'at all, boss,” he said, “ but ye
see I kddw’d ef T‘flattered de prejudice
oh de odder-jurymen dat I get off, avifl
golly I did.”—Winded Newt,
k
particular bottle of wine, was placed in
toe cellar. The same minute attention,
combined with vastness of design, was
observed in Henry 17. “He was so
extremely exact,” says Sntiy, “as to
make me give him an account once a
week of- toe money received aqp the
uses it had been put, to. He- does not ric
omit to remark that, in castine some Kir
cannon, they wanted to rob him of a
piece.” The only thing he neglected
was his own personal comfort and^quip-
ment. Once, calling suddenly on Ms
valet de chavibre for an account of his
wardrobe, he was told that ha had only
eight shirts three of which were toe
worse for wear; and five pocket hand
kerchiefs. In a. letter already quoted
he describes himself as frequently net
knowing where to look'for a dim
London Quarterly Review
en Miss Neilson was playiue
iseo toeate^dmipgherTSst a W
the “ S^artia,” the twin brother, was a
by ., the “ ost . artistic
skill nr making np, so disguised his-
«o i features that it was almost impossible t
om which.” Theorch
)articular fripnil