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The Great Streaks in the Moon.
The moon’s face, says Mr. Richard A.
Proctor, tells ns of a remote youth—a time
of fiery activity, when volcanic action
even mere effective (though not probably
energetic) than any which has ever taken
place on this globe, upheaved the moon’s
crust. But so soon as we consider care¬
fully the features of her surface we see
that there must have beeD three well
marked eras of volcanian activity. Look
»t the multitudinous craters, for ex¬
ample, around the Metropolitan Crater
Tycho. They tell ns of century after
century of volcanic disturbance—but
they tell ns no more. They mark a sur¬
face which varies in texture, and there¬
fore in light-reflecting power in such a
way as to show tfet the variations were
produced long before the volcanic action
began by which the craters were formed.
For the variations of texture are such as
to mark a series of streaks—some of
them two or three thousand miles in
length, and many miles in breadth, ex¬
tending radially from Tycho. Craters
lie indifferently on these brighter streaks
and on the intervening darker spaces,
and some craters can be seen which lie
right across a bright streak with parts
of their ring on the darker regions on
both sides of the streak. Of course, this
proves that the craters were formed long
after the great streaks.
When the streaked surface was formed,
it must have been tolorably smooth; for
we see the streak best under a full illum¬
ination, and there is no sign of any dif¬
ference of elevation between them and
the darker ground all around; they are
neither long ridges nor long valleys, but
mere surface markings. Yet must they
have been formed by mighty volcanian
disturbance, such, indeed, as we may be
certain went on at the early stage of the
moon’s history, to which these radiating
streaks must be referred. It seems
dear that, as Nasmith has illustrated by
experiment, they belong to that stage of
the moon’s history when her still hot
and plastic crust parted with its heat
more rapidly that the nucleus of the
planet, and so, contracting more quickly,
was rent by the resistence of the inter¬
nal matter, which, still hot and molten,
flowed into tlfe rents, and spreading
formed the long broad streaks of
brighter surface.
Picking up Broken Cables.
The laying of telegraphic cables is non
so common that the description broken of the
machinery will for picking up a It consists one
be read with interest.
of a rope about an inch and a quarter in
diameter, made from the strongest hemp, The
with interwoven wires of line steel.
grapnel at the end is merely a solid
shaft of iron some two feet long, and
weighing about 100 pounds, which and much pro¬
longed into six blunt hooks,
resemble the partly closed fingers of the
human hand. In picking up the cable
in deep water the Minia, after reaching
the waters near the break, lets out her
rope and grapnel, then takes a course at
right angles to the cable and at some
distance from the fracture, so that the
broken ends may not slip through the
grapnel. The grapnel rope is attached
to a dynamometer, which exactly meas¬
ures the strain on the rope, and shows
unerringly when the cable has been
caught. If the grapnel fouls high a rock point the
strain rises very suddenly to a
but the exact weight of the cable being
known, the dynamometer signals by the the
steady rate of increase its hold on
cable far below. A while ago one of the
lines of the Anglo-American Company
was caught without trouble at a depth of
two and a quarter miles near the middle
of the Atlantic. Captain Trott, of the
Minia, who has won great fame for his
skill and ingenuity in cable matters, but
recently picked up the French cable 180
miles off St Pierre, and in four hours
from had the the cable time the spliced grapnel and in was working let go
condition. The splicing is a work of
great delicacy and skill, and when ac¬
complished by trained fingers the spliced
part can scarcely be distinguished from
the main cord .—Age of Steel.
The Mormon Question.
“Bill” Nye, the humorist of Laramie,
Wy. T., was recently interviewed rela¬
tive to the Mormon question. ‘ ‘The Mor¬
mons,” he says, “exert a more potent
influence in the Territory than most
people suppose, and they are spreading
so rapidly over the Northwestern States
and Territories that before long that en¬
tire section will be practically under
their control.” Mr. Nye thought the
Edmunds law a failure, because the Mor¬
mon women, by whom alone polygamy
cau be proven, would invariably declare
upon oath that their offspring would were criminate ille¬
gitimate before they belonged
their husbands. They body
and soul to the Mormon elders, and
were afraid to disobey the edicts of the
church. When asked what would be a
rational solution of the Mormon prob¬
lem, he replied: “To anyone who is
iar with their customs and resources all
talk of controlling or governing well drilled them
sounds absurd. Why, so
and thoroughly prepared are they to re¬
sist any interference, that it would be
amusement for them to annihilate the
whole Federal army. There is no use
in mincing matters, and the Government
can make up its mind without delay that
the Mormons have come to stay. They
have almost boundless wealth, and their
numbers are increasing from immigra¬
tion by the thousands every year. They
are iu a position to defy the Government,
and no one can object.”
Western Papers. —In an address read
before the Kansas Editorial Association
the other day Mr. F. G. Adams, its
Historical Secretary, said that State has
more State newspapers to the population than
but any east of the Mississippi river,
not as many as some States west of
that river. For, while Kansas has a
newspaper to every 3,000 persons, Ne¬
braska has one to every 2,400; Colorado
one to every 1,900; Dakota one to every
1,800, and Arizona one to every 1,500.
A Fair Warning. —The Erie Dis¬
patch savs:—An esteemed citizen, who
is sending about fifteen pages of original
poetry every if he' day, is respectfully in¬
formed that doesn’t let up, one of
Ills pieces, with his full name attached,
•will be published. This warning is given
in the interest of his family and friends.
COMPENSA TION.
She folded up the worn and mended frock
And smoothed it tenderly npon her knee,
Then through the soft web of a wee red sock
She wove the bright wool musing thought¬
fully:
“Can this be all ? The gTeat world is so frfr,
I hunger for jits green and pleasant ways,
A cripple prisoned in her restless chair
Looks from her window with a wistful gaze.
“The fruits I cannot reach are red and sweet,
The paths forbidden are both green and
wide,
O.God! there is no boon to helpless feet
So altogether sweet as paths denied.
Home is most fair; bright are my household
fires,
And children are a gift without alloy;
But who would bound the field of their desires
By the prim hedges of mere fireside joy ?
“I can but weave a faint thread to and fro,
Making a frail woof in a baby’s sock;
Into the world’s sweet tumult I would go,
At its strong gatesmy tremblinghand would
knock.”
Just then the children came, the father too,
Their eager faces lit the twilight gloom.
“Dear heart,” he whispered, as he nearer
drew,
“How sweet it is within this little room!
“God pnts my strongest comfort here to draw
Vi hen thirst is great and common wells are
dry.
Tour pure desire is my unerring law;
Tell me, dear one, who is so safe as I?
Home iB the pasture where my soul may feed,
This room a paradise has grown to be;
And only where these patient feet shall lead
Can it be heme for these dear ones and me.”
Re touched with reverent hand the helpless
feet,
The children crowded close and kissed her
hair,
‘Our mother is so good, and kind, and sweet,
There’s not another like her anywhere!”
The baby in her low bed opened wide
The soft blue flowers of her timid eyes,
And viewed the gronp about the cradle side.
With smiles of glad and innocent surprise.
The mother drew the baby to her knee
And, smiling, said: “The stars shine soft
to-night;
Jfy world is fair; its edges sweet to me,
And whatsoever is, dear Lord, is right!”
—May Rilley Smith.
Tli© Stolen Note
Except that he indulged too freely John in
the use of the intoxicating cup,
Wallace was an honest, high-minded
and extraordinary man. His one great
fault hung like a dark shadow over liis
many virtues. He meant well, and
when he was sober he did well.
He was a hatter by trade, and by in¬
dustry and thrift he had secured money
enough to buy the house in which he
lived. He had purchased it several
years before for three thousand dollars,
paying one thousand down and securing
the balance by mortgage to the seller.
The mortgage was almost due at the
time circumstances made me acquainted
with the affairs of the family'. But Wal
lace was ready for the day; lie had saved
up the money; there seemed to be no
possibility of an accident. I was well
acquainted with Wallace, having done
some little collecting and drawn up legal
documents for him. One day his daugh¬
ter Annie came to my office in great dis¬
tress, declaring that her father was
ruined, and that they should be turned
out of the house in which they lived.
“Perhaps not, Mis>B Wallace,” said I,
trying to console her, and give the “What affair,
whatever it was, a bright aspect.
has happened ?” replied, “had
“My father," she the
money to pay the mortgage on the house
iu which we’live, but it is all gone now.”
“Has he lost it ?”
“I don’t know. I suppose so. Last
week he drew two thousand dollars from
the bank and lent it to Mr. Bryce for
ten days.”
“Who is Mr. Bryce?’ My father
“He is a broker. got ac¬
quainted with him through George
Chandler, who boards with us, and who
is Mr. Bryce’s clerk.”
“Does Mr. Bryce refuse to pay it?”
“He says he has paid it.”
“Well, what is the trouble, then ?”
“Father says he has not paid it.”
“Indeed 1 But the note will prove
that he has not paid it. Of course, you
have the note ?”
“No. Mr. Bryce has it.”
“Then, of course, he has paid it?”
“I suppose he has, or he could not
have the note.”
“What does your father say?” received the
“He is positive he never
money. The mortgage, he says, must
be paid to-morrow. ”
“Very hesitated singular! Was your father—’
I to use the unpleasant word
which must have grated harshly on the
ear “Mr. of the devoted girl.
right when Bryce says father was not quite
he paid him, but not very
bad.”
“I will see your father.”
“He is coming up here in a few mo¬
ments; I thought I would see you first
and tell you the facte before he came.”
“I do not see how Bryce could have
obtained the note unless he' paid the
monev. Where did your father keep
it?”
“He gave it to me, and I put it in the
secretary. ” *
“Who was in the room w’hen yon put
it in the secretary?”
“Mr. Bryce, George Chandler, my
father and myself-”
The conversation was here interrupted
by the entrance of Wallace. He looked
pale and haggard, as ranch from trie
effects of anxiety as from the debauch
from which he was recovering.
“She has told you about it, I sup¬
pose ?” said he, in a very low tone.
“She has.”
I pitied him, poor fellow, for two
thousand dollars was a large sum foi
him to accumulate in his little business.
The loss of it would make the future
look like a desert to him. It would be
a misfortune which one must undergo to
appreciate it.
“Whai passed between you on that
day?” .
“Well, I merely stepped into his office
—it was only the day before yesterday—
to tell him not to forget to have the
-ioney ready for me by to-morrow. He
took me back into his office, and as 1
sat there he said he would get the money
ready the next day. He then left me
and went into the front office, where I
heard him send George out to the bank,
to draw a check for two thousand dol¬
lars ; so I supposed he was going to pay
me then.”
“What does the clerk say about it?”
“He says Mr. Bryce remarked when
he sent him, that he was going to pay
me the money.”
“Just so.”
“And when George came in he went
into the front office again and took the
money. Then he came to me again and
did not offer to pay me the money.”
“Had von the note with you ?”
“No, now I remember he said he stq
posed I had not the note with me or i>>
would pay it. I told him to come in the
next day and I would have it ready—
that was yesterday. it could When I be came found. to
look for the note not
Annie and I have hunted the house all
over. ”
“Yon told Bryce so?”
“I did. He' laughed and showed me
his note, with his signature crossed over
with ink and a hole punched through
it.”
“It is plain, Mr. Wallace, that he paid
you the money, as alleged, or has ob¬
tained fraudulent possession of the note,
and intends to cheat you out of the
amount.”
“He never paid me,” he replied firmly.
“Then he has fraudulently obtained
possession of the note. What sort of a
person is that Chandler, who boards
with you?”
“A fine young man. Bless you, he
would not do anything of that kind. ”
“I am sure he would not,” repeated
Annie, earnestly.
“How else could Bryce obtain the
note but through him? What time
does he come home at night ?”
“Always at tea time. He never goes
out in the evening.”
“But, father, he did not come home
till ten o’clock the night before you
went to Bryce’s. He had to stay in the
office to post books or something of the
kind.”
“How did he get in?”
“He has a night Chandler,” key.” said
“I must see I.
“No harm in seeing him,” added Mr.
Wallace, “ I will go for him.”
In a few moments he returned with
the young man Chandler, who, in the
conversation I had with him, manifested
a very lively interest in the solution of
the mystery, and professed himself
ready to do anything to forward my
views.
‘ ‘When did you return to the house
on Thursday night ?”
“About twelve.”
“Twelve,” said Annie, “it was not
more than ten when I heard yon.”
“The clock struck twelve as I turned
the comer of the street,” replied Chan¬
dler, positively.
“I certainly heard some one in the
front room at ten,” said Annie, looking
with astonishment at those around her.
“We’re getting at something,” said L
“How did you get in?”
The young man smiled as he glanced
at Annie, and said:
“On arriving at the door I found I
had lost my night-key. At that mo¬
ment a watchman situation. happened along and I
told him my He knew me,
and taking a ladder from an unfinished
house opposite placed it against one of
the second story windows, and I en¬
tered in that way. ”
“Good. Now, who was it that was
heard in the parlor unless it was Bryce
or one of his accomplices? He must
have taken the key from your pocket,
Chandler, and stolen the note from the
secretary. At any rate I will charge him
with the crime, let what may happen.
Perhaps he will confess when hard
pushed. ”
lawyer’s Acting upon this thought, I wrote a
letter—“demanded against
you,” etc.—which was immediately sent
to Mr. Bryce. Cautioning the parties
not to speak of the affair, I dismissed
them.
Bryce came.
“Well, sir, what have you to say
against me ?” he asked stiffly.
“A claim on the part of John Wallace
for $2,000,” I replied, poking over my
papers ferent. and appearing perfectly indif¬
“Paid it,” he said, short as pie-crust.
“Have you?” said I, looking him
sharply The in the quailed. eye. I
rascal saw that he was
a villain.
“Nevertheless, if within an hour you
do not pay me $2,000, and $100 for the
trouble and anxiety you have caused my
client, at the end of the next hour you
will be lodged in jail to answer a crim¬
inal charge.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean what I say. Pay, or take
the consequences. ”
It was a bold charge, and if he had
looked like an honest man I should not
have dared to make it.
“I have paid the money, I tell you,”
said he; “I have the note in my posses¬
sion.”
“Where did you get it ?”
“I got it when I paid the—”
“When you feloniously entered the
house of John Wallace on Thursday
night at 10 o’clock, and took the said
note from the secretary. ”
“Yon have no proof,” said he, grasp
big a chair for support.
“That is my lookout. I have no time
to waste. Will you pay or go to jail ?”
He saw that the evidence I had was
too stroug for his denial, and he drew
his check on the spot for twenty-one
hundred dollars, and after begging me
not to mention the affair, he sneaked
off.
I cashed the check and hastened to
Wallace’s house. The trader may judge
with what satisfaction he received it, and
how rejoiced was 4unie and her lover.
Wallace insisted that l should take $100
for my trouble; but I was magnanimous
to keep only $20. Wallace signed the
pledge, and was ever after a temperate
man. He died a few years ago, leaving
a handsome property to Chandler and
liis wife, the marriage between him and
Annie having taken place shortly aftei
the above narrated circumstances oc¬
curred.— Truth.
Nature never sends a great man into
the planet without confiding the secret
tc another soul.
A RUSSIAN GENERAL.
HbobelefT and His Soldiers.
Skobeleff was a perfect puzzle to me,
says his biographer. Is it possible, I
used to ask myself, that in that iron
heart there was no room for fear, dread
and the sadness which seizes everyone
before going into battle blank. ? I once asked
him the question point
“It is difficult to feel at one’s ease,
certainly,” he replied. “Never believe
anyone who tells yon the contrary.
But,” he continued, “it is not a time to
critcise or despair. You have said that
men of talent ought to take care of them¬
selves. It is better to die—and one
would gladly die—if thereby we brought
no shame upon Russia, and held high
the honor of our country. It is good to
die for one’s country. There is no better
death.”
While he spoke he was confronted by
a platoon of volunteers, under Lieuten¬
ant Tarashenko. They asked that they
might be the first to assault the Turkish
position.
I glanced at the figures of these deter¬
mined fellows. There was nothing re¬
markable about them. They were sim¬
ply ordinary gray-coated confident. soldiers, Skobeleff some
smiling naively, all
caressed one, talked to another. There
was no oration, no rhetoric. He chatted
as a man with men.
“Remember, my friends,” he said,
“to-day we are not going to take Plevna;
we are only going to turn the Turks out
of their trenches, and to occupy them our¬
selves; but understand, once that you are
in the trenches, you will stop there.”
“We will do our best.”
“And, look you, remember that it is
not a question of courage, but of obedi¬
ence. When your chief says ‘Halt, ’ stop
where you are standing, no matter how
you may be tempted to pursue the
enemy. As for the Turks, there is no
reason to fear them. ”
“We don’t fear them, excellency.”
“All right. Loftcha?” Do you remember how
we fought at excellency,” they
“We do indeed, an¬
swered without hesitation.
‘ ‘You remember how we chased them ?”
“They all ran together,” said asoldier,
smiling.
“Yon were there with me, then,” said
Skobeleff* “you ar§ probably one of the
veterans ?”
“I took three redoubts also with your
excellency before Plevna. ”
Skobeleff sighed. “Ah, well, my
friends, you see the affair is not difficult;
we have captured this hill once before.
It has already belonged to us.”
‘ ‘And we will take it again, excellency, ”
they replied. hold
And Skobeleff passes on, to a sim¬
ilar conversation with every battalion.
Skobeleff came up to us and began talk¬
ing. Sir Henry Havelock was there,
with his carious gutta-percha hat, Mr.
Mac.gahan and others.
“Do yon know,” said he, “I amrather
afraid, about affair. the young soldiers. night attack, It is a
very risky In a
during fog, even veterans might lose
them selves._ I will not remain with the
reserve, as I intended. I must lead them
myself. ”
His Triple Wives.
A mormon elder who had been on a
mission in Europe, was encountered on
his way westward with three newly affi¬
anced wives. He readily introduced them
to a reporter. hard-handed Emeline widow was a brawny, of
ignorant, be forty
or over, and her lot was to that of
drudge in the well-balaneedfamily which
the elder contemplated. She was to
“look after the domestic economy,” as
he expressed it. Sarah was a neither
handsome nor young woman, but some
refinement was discernible, and he said
that she had been a schoolma’am in
Wales. She was for practical use, too,
his plan being to make her a governess
for his children. The third, Lottie, was
a blooming Lancashire lass of twenty or
so, quite pretty in her coarse way, and
the reporter did not deem it necessary
to ask the elder why he had chosen her.
They were evidently in love with each
other, which was not surprising in him,
though marvellous in her, considering
that lie was sixty and ugly. She was to
be the queen of the reorganized estab¬
lishment. “Will there be a triple wed¬
ding ?” was inquired, “Yes,” the elder
replied; “we call the ceremony a sealing
and it is performed in secret. There¬
after I shall hold a more approved posi¬
tion before the Church, for we hold that
polygamy is not only a privilege but also
a duty, which no saint can be entirely
excused fiom fulfilling. There was some
hesitation about sending me out as mis¬
sionary, because I had taken but one
wife, and I don’t suppose I should have
received the appointment if I had not
given assurance of my intention to bring
back two or more wives.”
Married in Haste.
“The quickest marriage on record,”
said one old resident of St. Louis, “was
that of Dr. Nick McDougall, who, driv¬
ing along the street in his buggy one
day, saw' a beautiful girl standing at the
window. He immediately stopped and
hitched his horse, rang the bell, inquired
the lady’s name, was ushered into the
parlor, announced his own name, said
he ‘was pleased with her appearance 9
aud wished to marry her at once.
Nothing but the knowledge that she was
actually in the presence of the celebrated
physician kept her from fainting. To
her plea of ‘ surprise at this unexpected
announcement,’ he only replied ‘Now or
never. ’ When she asked to ‘take a week
to consider,’ he said, ‘I am going down
street to attend a critical case and have
no time to spare right now. ’
i ( i Give me a day, then.’
“ ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. When I
am through with this professional preacher. visit
I’ll drive round and get a If
you’ve made up your mind to marry me
by that time, all right!’ to and articulate he left her
breathless and unable an¬
other word. When he returned cards. > they >>
were quietly married. ‘ No
A Disease.— Dr. Felix Oswald says
that the dyspeptic who intends to be
cured has to make up his mind that re¬
covery cannot be hoped for until he has
not only discontinued drugs, but ex¬
piated the burden of sin which the
stimulant outrage has added to the cause
of the disease.
John Hopkins’s Start In Life.
A writer in The Baltimore American
contradicts the oft-quoted story that the
late John Hopkins first entered that city
a friendless and penniless youth, and
quotes kins’s life, the given following him by story that of philanthro¬ Mr.’Hop¬
pist himself a short time belore his
death. “When I was a boy,” said Mr
Hopkins, “my uncle Gerard T. Hop¬
kins, often came to South River to visit
my parents, and noticing that I was au
active boy on the farm, asked my
mother to let me go to Baltimore to live
with him, and said that he would bring
me up a merchant.
“At the age of seventeen I came,
stayed in my uncle’s store, who was a
wholesale grocer and commission mer
chant, and lived in his family. ‘ He was
an eminent minister in the Society of
Friends, and when I was nineteen he
was appointed to go out to Ohio to the
first yearly meeting, to be held at Mt.
Pleasant. My aunt accompanied him
with three others. They all traveled on
horseback, a great part of the way through
a wilderness with no other roads but
Indian paths.
“But they returned after an absence
of several months in safety. Previous to
leaving, my uncle arranged his business
affairs and calling me to him said: ‘As
thee has been faithful to my interests
since thee hes been with me, I am going
to leave everything in thy hands. Here
are checks which I have signed my
name to, there are upward of five hun¬
dred of them. Thee will deposit the
money as it is received, and as thee
wants money thee will fill up the, cheeks
which I leave with thee. Buy the goods
and do the best thee can.
“I lelt my responsibility to be very
great. But on his return, on looking
over his affairs, he was surprised to find
I had done much better than he had ex¬
pected. I had increased liis business
considerably, and it is with pride and
pleasure I look back to that time and to
the great confidence Uncle Gerard re¬
posed in me. I lived with my uncle nn
•til I was twenty-four years of age, and
one day he took me aside and asked me
if I would like to go into business for
myself. answered: ‘Yes—but uncle,
“I I have
no capital. I have only $800 which I
have saved up.’
“He said: ‘That will make no differ¬
ence, I will indorse for thee, and this will
give thee good credit, and in a short time
thee will make a capital; thee has been
faithful to my interests, and I will start
the in business.’
“So I took a warehouse near his, and
with his indorsements and assistance,
the first year I sold $200,000 worth of
goods, and soon made the capital which
my uncle said I would make. I suc¬
ceeded in business and realized largely,
and often think of my early days and
like to talk of them and Uncle Gerard’s
kindness to me.”
Slavery iu Bolivia.
INDIANS OPENLY SOLD INTO SERVITUDE
FOR BRAZILIAN GOLD.
A letter from the Isthmus of Panama
says:—Great lawlessness prevails in the
Beni, although there is a prefect and other
authorities in the department who are
appointed by the Bolivian government,
and the Indians are openly captured and
forced to work or sold into slavery in
other districts. A correspondent writing
from Beni says:—
“The manner in which the Indians are
disappearing from the department is
truly terrifying. It is heart-breaking to
hear the accounts given by sale traders and
travelers. The scandalous and traf¬
fic in these unfortunates continue and
will always continue, and there is no hu¬
man power to correct this terrible abuse.
Ail the decrees and efforts of the author¬
ities are powerless before Brazilian gold,
which can be easily obtained in return
for men and woman who are stolen from
their families.”
These Indians when not employed in
the immediate vicinity, are sold off in
droves to work on the plantations in the
heart of Brazil. It is a fact that regular
slaving expeditions visit many of the un¬
explored tributaries of the Amazon, and
that cruelties as horrible as were ever per¬
petrated during the days of the African
slave trade are of common occurrence in
the inland waters of the South American
continent.
The rubber fields of the Beni, are ra¬
pidly being destroyed, and it is antici¬
pated that very shortly there will be no
more t fees to chop down. President,
Campero, the Bolivian has
punished Senor Iraizos, editor of La
Pamela, for having written several arti¬
cles on behalf of peace. The mode of
punishment was worthy of Melgarejo
Daza or the others who have singnalized
themselves by their brutality.
Senor Iraizos was seized by the police,
his ears were bored and he was then
dressed in a suit of coarse cloth woven
by the Indians for their use.
How to Prevent Seasickness.
Seasickness is the result, says Mr.
Stevens in Scribner, of reflex irritations
arising from and shocks little surprises the to the
muscles, to nerves en¬
gaged in performing certain important
functions—notably vision—and of locomotion, res¬
piration and when the
groups of muscles thus engaged are once
educated to the surrounding circum¬
stances, the nervous revulsions are not
experienced. Proper' attention to the
exercise of these functions may so far
mitigate the trouble as to make it rather
an inconvenience than a distressing ill¬
ness. Let it be distinctly understood
that medicines can only prevent seasick¬
ness by inducing nervous insensibility,
and that such a stupefying process is
directly opposed to the object of the
voyage when this is undertaken for the
promotion of health. Every article of
diet likely to disturb the digestive or¬
gans should be avoided, and an abund¬
ant supply of oxygen should be inhaled.
The feet should be educated, the respira¬
tion regulated and the vision restricted.
If close attention is given to these di¬
rections, little fear of serious sickness
need be apprehended ; and remembered a voyage
which might otherwise be
with the most disagreeable of associations almost
may be rendered a season un¬
interrupted enjoyment.
pbeserting the iros.
WfcM Paint B
H «» to
nages, ttost protective farm ^pauq 11011 re< ff*e are t
watt on k r >i ci
m effectually color is it protects iron S , timt f' 1 m« &
on, as well suited consid’o^*- - v 4 tbat
.T a secondary paiS?/
wssasM easily overcome by 8 10n ’ a »
bi“sr "«^s:i ?**
Mchfa ' h
o. It imparts no oxvgen to it
'vhen constantly exposed to on, eve:
tact to which all farm ■wagon ciamD—
testify. makers ca
as a&g? "ion ft**
l T f of this ass f
cahco printers for red fimrre '
holding out against soap and pjjf water ^ b h
gas sist pipe fitters, as the best jCul 3
ammonia and tar : by the fe
iron of ship builders, for painting cofts the
lead iron and ships, namely, two 0 f
two of zinc white painting ; by “
and plow makers, for Wa „ °
fOTBMntu£°^d l fhS 1 2l Wage
< i?3^
res
For those among us who mrin
stracted how to mix are ";
pamt, it should pure'red lead
be made known that
pure red lead powder, after being sli»hdv
pure old linseed oil, and if possible used
up the same day, to prevent it combin¬
ing m quality. wl ^ the oil No before drier is it is necessary, applied, losina
the course of few days the as in
a oil fo rms ,
perfect, hard combination with the lead
American linseed oil is as good as aw
imported, where the manufacturer has
given it age, and not subjected it to
heat, as is the custom, by steaming it in
a cistern to qualify it quickly fir the
market. It deteriorates in quality when
heated above _ oue hundred and sixty de¬
grees F. This red lead paint spreads
very easily over a surface, and the best
of finish can be made with it, even by a
novice in painting.— Carriage Monthly,
A HOUSE OF MOURNING.
Wbat a Visiting Editor lias to say of a Den¬
ver Millionaire.
I suppose a letter from Colorado would
not be complete without something
about Senator Tabor, says Peck, of the
Milwaukee Sun, but there is nothing
new that occurs to me. I have not seen
Tabor, though he called at my hotel and
left his card in my absence. I learn
that he is living very quietly at the
Windsor Hotel, with his Oshkosh wife
and some of her relatives, who are in
mourning for the loss of three members
of the family within a year. Tabor haa
enemies here who do not respect the
period of mourning, but continue to
talk in a most disrespectful manner of
the little woman who wears crape a few
blocks from them, and wh se eyes are
red from weeping over the graves of a
loving father and two manly brothers.
The wife of the man, and who has
adorned Denver with some of its most
substantial buildings, and who is said to
be as beautiful as any picture loving ever
painted, and whose heart is most
and tender, has not the respect of her
sex at her Denver home, and the wealth
that is counted by millions, cannot give
her entrance to the society of this proud
little city of plains. I do not know a s
she cares a continental about the state
of things, though it would be strange if
she did not. It is possible that she so
loves the Italian-looking Crcesus, who is
her husband, that the little world of
their own is dearer to her than all of the
world outside. It is possible, I say, that
the sound of his footstep is dearer to
her than all else, and that she had rather
hear his voice say to her, “Darling, 1
love you,” than to have all the society
of Denver and the continent fall at her
feet and worship at her shrine. There
is a possibility that his sunburnt hand
brushing the golden hair away froni
her white forehead—if her hair «
golden—is to her a sweet peace that all
the society of the world cannot gave o
her, and that she had rather have lnm
look into her eyes, and read the love
that is as plain as though printed in let¬
ters as large as a circus poster, than to
see the carriages of all of Denver s s -
ciety ladies waiting at the door of her
hotel. I don’t know anything about it.
People say she married him for i
wealth, and he married her for he
beauty, and no questions asked on e,
side.‘If such was the case, both go
what they were after, and it is nobody- deed
business but their own The ■
done, and they are the ones to W
suited.
Why he had the Victoria Cross.
Macbean. one of lokn
himselfiu the breach at L ’ ° ^ ies
el ,
“SSS** iSsffi SSAi
*5* hr™”* up h»
friend, “T»tt=," quite «a forgettu o«r **“““? g at
and perhaps p i qU ed
parade, a of ^ a
twenty minutes.
aged ninety-seven. She ad P ji of
of her means on expeditions m
him. _