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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. _