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ABBEVILLE PRESS & BANNER.'
BY HUGH WILSON AND H. T. WARDLAW. ABBEVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1880. NO. 23. VOLUME XXV. :|
. ? .*
Work and Wait.
A husband who for many years
Hail plowed his fields aiul sown in tears,
Grew weary with his doubts and lears.
" I toil in vain! These rocks and sands
Will yield 110 harvest to my hands;
The best seeds rot in barren lands.
" My drooping vine is withering;
No promised grapes its blos-soms bring;
No birds among its branches s!ng.
" My flock is dying on the plain,
The heavens are brass?they yield no rait
The earth is iron?I toil in vain
While yet he spake a breath 1 ad stirred
His drooping vino, like wing ot bird,
And Irom its leaves a voice heard:
" The germs and fruits ol ltfe must be
Forever hid in mystery,
Yet none can toil in vain for me.
"A mighter hand, more skilled than thine,
Must hang the cluster on the vine,
And make the fields with harvest ?hinc
" Man can but work; God can create;
But they who work, and watch, and wait,
Have their reward though it come late.
" Look up to heaven! behold and hear
The clouds and thunderings in thy ear?
An answer to thy donbt and fear."
He looked and lo! a cloud-draped car,
With trailing smoke and fames alar,
Was rushing to a distant star.
And every thirsty flock and plain,
Was rising up to meet the rain
That come to clothe the fields with grain.
And on the cloud he saw again
The covenant of God with men,
Rewritten with his rainbow pen
" Seed time and harvest shall not tail,
And though the gates ol hell assail,
My truth and promise shall pievail."
"So this is the end of all your
romance, Madeie! this is the ' hero' you
vn nftpn vnn -would rimrrr'
Well, I confess I ana surprised."
' And disappointed, too?why don't
you add that, Nellie?'' Mrs. Bentick
said, as she led the -way to a cosy little
sitting-room where a clieery fire was
burning. "Sit down, dear, and drink
your tea, f:nd have a little rest brfore
dinner. Some day, perhaps, ycu'il have
a halter opinion of Phil, and even learn
to admire him?who knows?"
"Hut, Madgie, he really isn't a bit
handsome, hor romaniic-looking, nor
poetic, nor any thine; and I did so hope
and expect he would be? different."
and Nellie Grahame paused for want of
a word to express fully all she expected
Madgie Mason's husband to be.
Nejlie and Madgie had been friends at i
school, and when they parted?the
former to join her father in India;
Madgie to take up hf;r abode with
her uncle, Captain Mason, at the
Woodiands?they had vowed eternal
constancy and exchanged schoolgirl
pledges of affection and remembrance.
Scarcely six months after leaving
school Madjjin was alone In the world,
heiress of Woodlands and all her uncle's
wealth, and with Doctor Philip Bentick
for her sole guardian. Nellie was
in India, and there seemed no immediate
prospect of Major Grahams returnin?,
and as Madgie had no other " dear
friend," to Nellie she poured out all her
heart on paper, dwelling at great length
on uer aengntiui, solitary, romantic me
at Woodlands, and her unalterable
resolution to marry a real bona-fide
hero or remain forever Madgie Mason.
And Phii Bentick was the end of all
"He's decidtdly ugly," Nellie said,
glancing at h photograph which sto->d
on the chimney-piece. "I'm sure iflliad
the misfortune to marry such a man, I
wouldn't have his likeness in every conspicuous
piace in the house. I'm surprised
at Madgie,with her love of everything
beautiful and her own pretty face
and fortune. She surely might have
done better; and yet she seems happy
and contented enough, though she was
such a hero worshiper."
Nellie had come in accordance with a
long-standing promise to pay Madge a
visit. It was their first meeting since
they had left school, five years before,
and she had exneoted tr> tind her friend I
just the same as ever?gushing, sentimental,
lover husband, fond of poetry, and
with a decided air of mystery about him.
Nothing could be more unlike her preconceived
idea than Phil Bentick, with
his rough, seamed face, cheery voice,
hearty laugh and burly frame? a busy,
active, energetic, hard-working, practical
country doctor, ten years older than
Madgie if he was a moment, and, oh! so 1
And yet Phiiip Bentick had had his
romance, too. He had been old Captain
Mason's medical attendant, and after his
death Madgie's sole counselor, 44 guide,
philosopher and friend." Woodlands
was a roomy, old-fashioned house, <
buried in pleasant woods, five miles
rom a village, thirteen from a town. !
he nearest neighbors on one side were !
nly rough and ready farmers, on the j
other side poor fisher-folk who tried to
wring a wretched' subsistence from the
sea and barren westerly shore.
But Madgie was not lonely. She loved
Woodlands, loved to wander all day
through the gardens with a volume of
poetry or an old romance in her hand,
loved the distant glimpses of the sea,
i j i:4^ I.* i, ~i.~
iovea iue ureaiuy suuiuuc, wuiuu sue
p-jopled with heroes and heroines of her
own crc-ating?very delightful but
wholly impracticable Individuals.
But with all her sentiment Madgie
was very charming, and it was not surprising
that Dr. Bentick?despite his
being her guardian, and a poor, struggling
country doctor into the bargain?
should fall in love with her. It was
what every one expected, and Madgie
herself was the only person astonished
or unprepared " rhen one day, ia plain
honest fashion, ne told her of his love
And asked her to be his wife. It was as
if Madgie had been awakened from a
very pleasant dream by a rough shake
During the two years she had been at
Woodlands she had become accustomed
to the doctor. He had always been at
hand to consult, to confide in, and take
all responsibility off her shoulders. She
was used to hi? honest face and kindly
voice, to his constant attentions and
occasional lectures, and in a way she
liked them; but the first idea of loving
or marrying had never entered her head,
for the doctor was commonplace to the
last degree, and entirely devoid of all
sentiment and romance, and Madgie had
set her whoie heart on a hero.
But Phil Bentick was not destitute of
feeling; and when Madgie,more plainly
than politely, declined his proposal, the
look of pain and sorrow in his clear,
honest gr-y eyes would have accorded
with the most extravagant protestations
of despair and misery. But he did not
give way to them?only apologized
gravely for having troubled Miss Mason,
and was taking his departure in the
most matter-of-fact way, when Madgie
burst into impetuous explanation.
" It's not that I dislike you, Phil, or
like any one el?e better, and I know
you're twice too eood for me; only?"
" Only what, Madgie?"
Down went her brown head in confusion.
It was not easy to tell a man
to his face that he was not a hero, and
that waa the sole objection she had to
"Omy what, Madgief'.he repeated,
steruly. " Is it wealth I lack, or am I
too old?too ugly, or have I simply th<
misfortune to meet with \our genera!
disapproval? Tell me what my failings
ar<\ tliat I may try and mc-nd them."
Madgie looked up into the grave, earnest
face that bent over her, and hurst
into tears. " It isn't unvof those things,
Phil," she sobbed. " I'm sure you'ic
handsome enough " ("just like 'Lara,'"
sheadded,mentally), "and richcrough,
and?oh, Phil, if you could only do
something!?something great, I mean.
I do so want my husband to be a hero!"
" Ah. is that it? Madgie, dear,"after
a long silence, ' don t you think a man
may be a hero without his name being
familiar in men's mouths, his fame
blazoned abroad by newspapers? Must
he se<-k ' the bubble reputation even at
the cannon's mouth?'"
"I love a hero. Phil!?a great, brave,
famous man! I should like the whole
world to know and respect my husband.
Can't you do something?anything,
"Can't you love me just as I am,
Madgie? I don't want my wife to be a
heroine, only sweet, and true, and lovable
, just us you are, Madgie, dear. I
was not' born great,' and it is not given
to every man to 'achieve greatness.'
My duty seems to lie straight before
me here iu this quiet little village, and I
fr*7 tn Hr* it +hof r?rm?f fnr nntii.
v? j vv ?v/ ?k* JU'vvm kuv*u vvuuu iv&
"Yes, yes, I know. But, Phil, I cannot
marry a mere country doctor whom
no one ever heard of. It you really love
me, prove it. Do some brave, noble
deed?even try to do something. You
know how immeasurably
' high failure oversteps the bounds
01 low success.'"
"You do not love me Madgie. Forgive
me for having troubled you.
" Phil, you know I do care about you
?a little, but I love honor more."
Doctor Bentick smiled sadly at the
girl's silly fancies.
" It all comes of living so much alone,
and reading nocsensicul romances," he
mused. "Madgie's heart is all right,
but her head is sadly wrong, poor child!
She'll be wiser one day, perhaps."
But a? the months passed by Madgie
showed no signs of improvement; indeed
slip hoPMnie. if noasible. mow; enn
j firmed in her " heroic" ideas, avoiding
I all society, and feeding her fancies with
j all sorts of poetic visions. The doctor
no longer visited Woodlands in the old
familiar, friendiv way, lor he felt that
Madgie avoided him, and, when that
was impossible, treated him with constrained
44 I'll go away for a time," he said one
evening, the last of his cuardianship,
for Madgie would be of age 011 the morrow.
44 I'll volunteer for few months'
service on the Gold Coast. During my
absence she may meet with her ideal
:' hero,' or forget me?poor Madgie!" '
I The next day ho went up to Woodlands
to corigrntulate his ward on reaching
her majority and have a final inter|
view with her lawyer, and mentioned
incidentally hisintention of going abroad
for a few months.
44Going abroad, Phil!" Madgie cried,
the color rushing to her pale cheek,
44When? wliere? why?"
441 have not been feeling very bright
lately, and I fancy a change may do me :
good. An old college chum of mine,
surgeon on the Aphrodite, has just mar- j
ried, and w-j're trying, if it can be managed
for us, to exchange for a few
months. His ship is ordered to the
gold coast and I10 can't possibly have
his wite either precede, follow or accompany
him there. He'd enjoy a few quiet
iL onths here in Broadbay, and I should
not mind having a peep at King j
"And when are you going, Phil?"
" If it can be arranged in about, a fortnight.
Cieracns thinks there will be no
difficulty, as he has some lriends high
up in the admiralty, and he has married
the daugh'.er of the captain of the Aphrodite.
I have no doubt it. can be managed;
and if not I'll take a cruise to
Ashantee on my own hook. I fancy I
Wunt a holiday."
"I hopp you wiil enjoy it very much,
doctor," Madgie said, her ardor considerably
dampened by his cool, careless
way ot speaking. JUvidently lie was not |
going to make a hero or a martyr ol !
himself on her account; and yet in her
secret heart siie was d"lighted. An adventure
was the only thing Phil required
to make him perfect in her eyes; and an
adventure, even if it were only a touch
of yellow fever, could scarcely fail to
befall him on the gold coast.
" Good-bye, Madgie. I thought a few
weeks ago I should be taking a longer
journey; but our separation will be no
]e3S effectual though only a few miles
instead of a few thousand separate us."
"What do you mean, Phil? Aren't
you going on the Aphrodite after alii1"
and Madgie glanced despairingly at the
huge chest and the numerous small par- ;
ceis 6he had packed with such care for !
Phil's comfort and consoJntion on the j
voyage. " You have not changed your i
mind at the last moment, have you?" !
"Yes, I have, but not altogether
without a reason. You know poor I)av- !
" Yes; what has he to do with it?"
"He's iil?down with the smallpox,
poor fellow! He has worked like a
giant night and day this lost fortnight at
Mlllbay, where smallpox is rasing.
Daventry's wife is down, too, an ! their
only child was buried yesterday. I mu3t
go over at once."
"Into the very middle of infection?
You shan't?you mustn't, Phii! Why,
it's frightful in Milbay?every house infected!''
' And no doctor to look after the poor
creatures; think cf that, Madgie. Daventry,
poor fellow, faced it all by himself?never
so much as let me know the ;
outbreak was serious; and it was only
by the merest accident I heard of his
illness. Now I must go, deir; every j
moment is precious. It, may be long be- I
fore we meet again, Madgie; we may 1
never meet in this world. Heaven bless j
you always, dorunjr; may you be as
happy as I wish you."
"Phil, you musn't go! What have
you to do with Millbay? Phil, Phil!
But he wa3 already far down the
avenue, obeying a far more j owerful I
voice than Madgie Mason's?thf voice j
Millbay was a remote fishing village,
about eleven mile3 from Kroadb&y,
situated in a low marshy inlet of tiie
sea.and surrounded by stagnant swamps.
The people were poor, ignorant, ill-fed,
worse-clad, a.id the low, unhealthy
situation of the village, and undrained,
unventilated houses, made them peculiarly
liable to diseases ol all sorts. It
was there Phil Bentick turned his steps
unhesitatingly. With a brave heart he
entered Doctor Daventry's residence,an .i
took his duties on himself. For weeks
the disease raged with unusual violence;
whole families were carried off, young
and old alike; and with want approaching
famine and virulent disease, Doctor
Bentick struggled alone. No hejp came
from any quarter. The inhabitants of
Millbay were always secluded, and the
place was shunned as if plasue-stricken.
Even the postman who toiled through
the marshes twice a week forsook the
place. Rank grass grew thickly in
the middle ot the long, straggling High
street; the boats dritted out with the
tide unheeded; and the stealthy tread of
some stricken parent or child, seeking
assistance to bury their dead, was the
only sound that broke the awful sultry
stillness of the Ion?, scorching August
"This is terrible!" Phil said to himself
one evening as he walked wearily
along the seacoast, gasping for a breath
of fresh air. " Thank heaven, Daventry
is nearly well, for I feel I cannot stand
it much longer. Mentally and physically
lam worn out, and more likely to
do harm than good. It I could only
shutout this frightiul picture for an hour
and get one breath ot untainted air, I
should feel better."
- I unman
! At that moment a low moan soundec
I somewhere near, and pausing he leaner
i over the wall to see from whom it came
Unconsciously he had reached the vil
lage graveyard, a lonely spot by tin
. shore, only distinguished from the sur
, rounding marshes by a few rude head
' stones and rugged wooden crosses, anc
iuvv ufji/ii luw ui iifw-iiittuc uj
one ot them a woman was kneeling
i scratching with both feeble hands at s
small fresh mound of earth, while now
and again a low moan burst from hei
lips. She was ill, weak, emaciated, and
the doctor recognized her as a woman
who had suffered severely?recoverine
as by a miracle, liavine: lost her husband
and live children. Three days before he
had seen her with an infant in her arms,
the only living thing left her,; now it
lay beneath the ragged cloak, the last ol
all her llock.
Vaulting over the low wall, the doctor
approached her gently.
"My good woman, what are you doing
here?" he whispered, laying his
hand on her shoulder.
"Let me bury my dead," she cried,
fiercely, pointing to her cloak. "Go
away, and leave me with my people."
" No, no?let me;" and taking a spade
mat lay near, ue ciug a grave, ana reverently
placed the tiny form,wrapped in
its mother's cloak, in it; then he covered
it over hurriedly, and taki-..7 the
wretched mother by the arm, i her
from the spot.
" Heaven forever bles3 you, sir," she
said, bursting into tears, as she took a
last look at the little grave. "Now I
am indeed alone, the hist of my name
md race?father, mother, husband,
children, friends, all gone," and she
sank down by the open gateway, and
refused to move further. " Let me die
here, sir,"she cried; "here beside my
j loved ones. What have I done that the
I Almighty should leave meP"
fii .1 of i.oort Hip tlimPfl fiWRV
i Such sccncs had noi been uncommon in
I Millbay ill ring the preceding month,
| hut he i ad never witnessed anything
iike it, and the horror of it was on his
mind during the weary weeks that followed,
lor he, too, was seized with the
frightful illness, stricken down as with
a sudden blow. For weeks he lay hovering
between life and death, and when
he awoke to consciousness the first far;
ho saw bending over him was that of
the poor mother he had seen before his
illness. Day and night she had tended
him with unceasing care, and seemed
to forget her own il!ne3s and sorrow in
! watching over him. It was the end of
August when he was taken ill, it was
the" middle of October before he was
able to creep feebly out of doors and sit
in the sunshine. Once only had he
looked in a mirror, and then the reflection
of his seamed, scarred, livid face
staggered him. On no one had the
disease made such fearful ravages; yet
not a soul who survived in tho village
of Millbay but blessed every seam, and
reverenced every purple scar, and found
a beauty in them that might be coveted
by an angel. Surely it was their prayers
and blessings, their looks of love and
tear3 of gratitude, that reconciled him
at last to his terribly altered appearance.
" If my love was hopeless before,
Jf'o cr* rtfwxr " QQirl frt him-wnlf
one day. " Did any one ever hear, i
wonder, of a pock-mocked here? and yet
it was all wisely ordained. My duly
jay straight before me, however it may
end for me."
It wa9 Christmas before the doctor
thought it perfectly safe to return to his !
cottage at Broadbay. His own had been
the last case of the disease in Millbay,and
all signs of infection had long since disappeared.
He had recovered his strength,
too, his steD was as light and free as of
old, his voice as cheery, his smile as
genial; but the deep discolored scars
were stiil on his face, indelibly printed
there, and it was only those to whom he
had ministered in their sore need that
saw a radiant beauty in t hem. For himself,
he had almost forgotten Miem.
What was a scar or two on his faco to
the deep, deep, sore scars on his heartP
Who would care a jot whether a poor
solitary country doctor was ugly or the
reverse? Such were his thoughts as he
drove up to his cottage, with Mrs Norton,
the p. or solitary widow, beside him.
She insisted on following him aud solving
him, and she was so utterly alone
that he had not the heart to say her nay.
A blue line of smoke curled from the
chimneys, a cheery glow of firelight
danced on the window-panes, the door
stood hospitably open, to his unbounded
"Ah! this is like coming home. What
good fairy has been at work, I wonder,"
ho said, stepping into the light and
"Madgie! oh, my darling, is it indeed
" Me, Phil? Wiiy ot course, who else
should it be?" Then drawing closer.
"Dear Phil, can you lorgive me?"
"Forgive you, Madgie?" lie said,
huskilv. "forgiveyou what?"
4*My folly. I'm wiser now, Phil, and
I think I know the value of the treasure
I once despised."
44 Come nearer to the light. Madgie,
and look at me. I'm I033 like a Hero
44Phil, I wouldn't have oue of these
changed," and she laid her hand lightly
on his cheek. 411 would not give one
unsightly scar for the cross of the legion
of honor. You are the hero of my heart
now; long ago I wanted the hero of my
fancy and imagination. Forgive me,
Phil, and let us forget all my lolly, tor
I'm heartily ashamed of it."
Just then the bells of Broad by church
rang out a joyous peal, and friends
gathered ronnd to welcome back the
doctor and wring h;.s hand heartiiy,
looking the praises they could not
speak. To go forth bravely in search
of honor, and returu victorious, is a
great tiling; to g<; xorth una brave
death at the call of d aty is a good thing.
And as Phil Bentick glanced round at
the kindly faces about him, he felt he
had his full reward.
A few weeks after, Madgie and Phil
were married; and when Nellie
Grahamecame to pay her long-promised
vifit iu the summer, and heard by degrees
the whoic story, she was forced to
admit lliat Mad?ie"s hero was real
iiero after all, and 0112 " whose " like
we do not meet with every day.
Insurance for Women.
There is an insurance company for
women, writes a New York correspondent.
Mrs. " Jennie June " (Jroly and a
few other public-spirited ladies are organizing
it, and great things are expected
of it. The capital stock is, I
believe, ?1,000,000, and considerable ol
it is already taken. David Dudley Field
and Governor Dorsheimer are among
I he sponsors of ttie new company, and
have S 10,000 worth of stock apiece.
Henry Ward Beecher takes an earnest
personal interest in the scheme, and a
uoort deal of stock will be raised in
Plymouth church. I asked one ot the
ladies most interested in the company
the reason for its organization.
" Because," she said, "the current insurance
companies will not insure
women's lives if they can help it. They
declare women to be undesirable risks,
wb' nthe best physicians in the world
dechrc that women's chances in life are
better than men's."
" Your company will not insure the
complacent free white male citizen at
all?" I asked.
"Probably not. We may take somt
healthy specimens, but the objects of
the company will probably be promoted
by making it a monopoly?confining its
advantages exclusively to women."
" What is the reason that existing
companies will not insure women, if
they are really good risks?"
" Well, to tell the ex:tct truth about
it, there is a good deal ol nonsense and
sentimentalism ia it. Your haughty
sunerior sex seem to think that it is unmanly,
or something or other, for a husband
to insure a wife's life for his benefit.
It is absurd, and we propose to get
rid of that morbid tenderness."
I DEAD MEN RESUSCITATED.
, What nan Been Accomplished bv Alcana
of an Electric Battery, Heat and Artificial
lte?plratlon -- Almoit Too
j Strange For Belief.
f " Do the medical men ever resusci>
tate people who are apparently deadP"
i This question was asked by a reporter
r, of Dr. John C. Bennett at the Bellevue
Hospital Medical college.
I " Yes, sir; such instances have taken
1 place, but they are exceedingly rare,"
: was the reply.
"Will you Itll me whether anything
! of the kind has been done in this col.
j "Yes; I will give you all the infor
mation in mv power. I do not suppose
a single really dead person was ever
1 made" to live, but when there is the
smallest vital spark remaining it can
' sometimes be fanned into a flamo."
1 " Please relate a few instances."
"About five years aco I was called to
attend a sick man in Astoria. When I
readied his bedside he was sinking very
rapidly, and had become so weak that
there was scarcely a perceptible flutter
of his heart, and his respiration was so
faint that it just moved the down of a
feather and that was all. Well, the man
10 an appearances aiea. iue undertaker
was notified to come and lay him
out, and I started for my lodging in N ew
York. 1 had not walked twenty rods
from the man's house when a little hoy
came running after me with a message
that the undertaker wanted me to return
forthwith. I made all haste back, and
the undertaker met me at the door, exclaiming
: ' My God! Do you want me
to prepare a living man for the grave!'
I asked what he meant, and he told me
that the supposed corpse was warm, and
that in his opinion the man was not
dead. I was inclined to believe that the
undertaker had lost his senses; but I
irr mediately examined my late patient.
Sure enough, the body was slightly
vvnat course am you pursuer"
" I sent for Doctor William Halsey,
who at that time resided in Astoria and
was the owner of a small but powerful :
elec'.ric battery. He came, bringing his I
battery with him. We applied the
electricity to the corpse. It was in the
winter time, and there was a hot fire In ;
he parlor stove in the house. We '
called for some woolen blankets, which ,
were brought, and after heating them :
upon the stove we wrapped them 1
about the patient. We also chafed the |
patient's hands and feet. After a few :
minutes we held a mirror before the 1
supposed dead man's face, when to our 1
great surprise and joy there appeared !
upon its surface a dewy moisture, which '
was caused bv a .'light respiration from 1
the patic-nt. Well, sir, to make a long 1
story short, I will tell you that wc (
worked all of that day find night, and,
the next morning the undertaker was J
informed that there would be no funeral,
and consequently no need for his ser- '
' Did the patient enjoy good health \
" Not very good health. He was
weakly for about a year, when he died, !
and this time he was so very dead that 1
we thought it would be a hopeless task 1
j to attempt to resuscitate him a second 1
: time." '
" Now, doctor, as you have given me J
a history of a case where a man was ]
supposed to have died a natural death
and was made to live again, will you 1
tell me about criminals who have ^been ]
banged and then restored to life?"
"I have read of such cases, but never j
had one come under my own personal 1
"Did the professors or students of j
the HeJievue Hospital iviecucai college
ever bring a liangca murderer to life?" 1
" Not within the past twenty-tive
years at least. I have heard one of the ?
old professors say that the body of a man
named Jackson, who was) hanged at
Trenton, N. J., in 1830, was brought to
New York and given to the medical
studentB for pxperimenting upon. The
body was put into a box and taken to a
room over a stable on Second avenuee
where it was subjected to all the
methods known to medical science for
infusing life into a supposed corpse."
44 Was the man brought to lifeP"
44 Well, yes, and no."
44 How was that?"
441 will explain: When the electricity
was applied it caused the muscles ol
the subject to contract, aud his limbs
moved. The doctors tried artificial respiration,
such as is brought into use for
persons who are nearly arowned. They
had an idea that they made him gasp
two or three times, but if they did
actually bring the man to life at all, he
died again right away. I believe that
he skeleton of that murderer now occupies
a glass case iu the anatomical
museum connected with the Albany
Dr. Bennett invited the reporter to go
with him to the Gilsey house, where
several of his medical friends were to
take dinner. The gentlemen composing
the party were waiting in one of the
parlors of the hotel. Dr. Bennett told
the party that the reporter was in quest
/ r A. ! 1 A ~ .A ~
OI IQIOl'IUilLlun uuuut uc.m puupiu uciug
brought to life. J
One of the gentlemen, who was intro- *
dueed as Dr. H. D. Sarle, s.tid: " I can '
tell you how an undertaker of my ac.
quaintance was once frightened "almos
out of his five senses when he though
Lie had brought a corpse to life. Tht ]
undertaker was called upon to prepare *
the body of an old gentleman who had ]
died for buiial. The poor old gentle- J
man, who had suffered terribly from ]
rheumatism, was bent in the form of a <
I letter N. Of course it would be impos- *
sible t j put the body in a coffin unless it ]
could be straightened. So the under- :
taker put the corpse upon a board and ?
tied a bandage about the knees of the t
corpse so as to draw them down to the 1
board. When the bandage was tied the <
effect was somewhat startling. The old
gentleman, who whs supposed to oe as i
dead a- a doornail, actually sat up and <
iookcu tne undertaker rignt in me race, i
"Was that a case of resuscitation from l
"Not exactly, but the undertaker 1
would not have been more frightened t
hud the corpse actually come to lite." i
Dr. .Bennett said that he had read in 1
a medical work about a man in Lanca- ?
shire, England, who was kicked on the
head by a horse, and, as the doctors <
thought, instantly killed. The supposed <
dead body was carried into a house and <
laid out upon a board in a room in '>
which there was no fire. The weather I
was very cold. Several young men and i
women, who volunteered to act as :
watchers of the dead during the niglit, 1
occupied an adjoining room to that in ]
which the supposed corpse had been
p.aced. It was their duty to see that a 1
wet cloth, placed on the face of the man, :
was changed once each hour and kept i
well saturated with a solution of salt- '
Nothing unusual took place until 1
along toward morning, when one of the i
young women, who had entered the
apartment where the body was placed
to change the cloth,was heard to scream.
Her associates ran in to see what was
the matter. She was as pale as a ghost
and terribly frightened.
"What is the matter?" inquired one
of the gentlemen.
"The dead man has come to life,"exclaimed
she, pointing to the supposed
Sure enough, the man' who was
thought to be dead was alive. His
limbs were ail of a tremble. Doctors
were at once sent for. The patient was
removed to a warm room and subjected
to proper medical and surgical treatment.
Within a fortnight lie was able
to lea re his bed.
" How do you account for the sup
posed dead man coming to life P" inquired
th0 reporter of Dr. Bennett.
" Well, in the first place the man was
not really dead," was the reply. " He
was in a comotose condition. The blow
upon his head from the horse's foot bad
deadened all action of his brain and
nerves. The factttiat he was placed in
a cold room undoubtedly saved his life.
The freezing atmosphere, in his case,
had a revivifying effect. His brain recovered
from its numbness and he received
a new lease of life."
Another case of resuscitation that attracted
considerable attention from the
medical fraternity was that of a sailor
in the United States navy who fello^erhnnrd.n.nd.
flin?ularlv enouffll for a 8Ca
faring man, was unable to swim, and
was, to all appearances, drowned. He
was fished out of the water, and his
comrades, believing that he was u
corpse, wrapped him in a blanket preparatory
to the last rites for the dead at
sea. The surgeon of the vessel had an
electrical battery on board, and with it
he gave the supposed dead man several
such severe shocks that the " corpse"
came to life, and the chaplain was saved
the trouble of reading the funeral
service.?New York Star.
The Silk Industry of America.
To most of the children of the present
generation in Massachusetts a silk
cocoonery wauld be a novel sight; but
there are many older persons who remember
the time when numerous farmers
and several enterprising clergymen
throughout the State had "a few silkworms
in their houses or barns, v/hose
care was sometimes intrusted to the
women and children of the family. For,
although at the beginning of this century
the silk culture in this country had
almost died out, yet strong efforts were
made to revive it. Indeed, for 250 years
this branch of industry has been seeking
ll lUUtllUiu in a. uicl itii. I'uiuu^a <? oti ito i
of periodical and enthusiastic revivals,
ef.cn of which has been followed by a
reactive failure. Such a revival took
place some fifty years ago. It extended
over all the Eastern and Middle States.
Congress even wan atFected by it, and
appointed a committee to report on the
culture of the mulberry with reference to
the silkworm. Massachusetts took fire.
Its legislacure, in 1831, appropriated
$000 for the publication and distribution
of a manual on silk which was prepared
by Jonathan H. Cobb, of Dedham, who
was one of the most earnest silk culturists
in the State. We are reminded of
the enthusiasm of the author of the
"Virginian Silk Worm," when we read i
in the report of the legislative committee ,
that they were "satisfied beyond a doubt '
that we have power to produce and
mnniifaot.nrn sillr in this commonwealth
to an immense extent, and that no diffijulty
is to be encountered either from
soil or climate." The argument for the j
cultivation of silk was enforced by the ,
ilarming fact that about this time, 1825, ;
the export of breadstuffs was only about
one-half the value of the silk imported.
Silk culturo soon took the form of a
feverish speculation, and grew into a
surprisingly large bubble. This infla- ;
tion was brought about through the
purported discovery that the morus
multicaulis, or many-branched mulberry,
was the best of all trees for silk- ;
worms. An intense rage for this tree j
sprang up. The most extravagant '
prices were demanded. Dr. Brockett
;ells us, in his " Centennial History of J
;he Silk Trade," that young trees or cutlings
came to be worth $*25, ?50. ?100,
8200, and even $500 a hundred. Im- t
nense numbers were imported from
France. But suddenly, in 1839, the j
aubble burst. Not a few nursery men J
arere utterly ruined, and the next spring
'multicaulis trees were offered in vain
? the neighboring farmers at a dollar a f
aundred for pea brush?"" This branch
)f ths industry has never recovered
rom that disaster, and to-day there is \
ess silk raised in the United States than .
,here was in Georgia 120 years ago.
The result of many experiments in 1
lilk culture in this country has been to
)rove that as fine a quility of silk can be *
aised in the United States as in any }
)art of the world. But it has also as J
positively proven that the silk cannot ,
je raised here and reeled as cheaply as "
he raw silk can be imported from China
ind Japan. It may be done in " ultinate
America," but w'.th the present re- ,
ations of labor and capital it cannot (
easily be done now. Silk raising mus
jreferably be confined to countries where t
here is a dense population. In the feed- ]
ng season it requires an immense
imount of labor, which comes all at j
)iice. To give wages for feeding silkvorms
anything like the wages that are
jiven for work in our mills, would not <
>ay any more than it would to set men
o feeding chickens. Wherever the exjeriment
of raising silkworms on a large J
icale lias been tried, it has failed. They
ire too liable to get diseased. They do .
)etter in isolated communities or fannies.
The only way in which silk rais- :
ng can be carried on without loss in this
sountry is for each farmer, where the (
ilimate will permit, to raise a moderate i
luantity of cocoons yearly, sending them
o laree filatures, where they may be ,
mccessfuUy reeled. Years ago, reeling
vas done in the family where the silk
v;is raised. It is now, fortunately, a
lepsrate branch of the business. Even
n China and Japan this has come to be
;he case, the large filatures, with improved
machinery, doing the work biter
than it could be done at home.?
3. J. Barrows, in Allanic Monthly.
Queer Facts About Animals.
I begin with crabs and lobsters. If
Mr. Crab or Mr. Lobster loses a, limb,
md wants another in the place of it, the
process is easy enough; by waiting, the
oss is repaired by nature, for a new
imb grows out in due time. If, on the
iontrary, a man ioses a leg, the best he
:an do is to get an artificial one. Sup- :
josc our legs and arms hung on so ten- i
ierly lis those of the lobster?a terrible 1
;tate we should be in, unless we could ?
jet new ones as easily as he does; lor |
i,he report of a cannon will sometimes
iismember a lobster.
The starfish parts with a ray without
.-egret, and feel3 the jaws of a codfish
;hewing off his legs,without a sigh; for
Lie knows that kind nature will soon realace
them. Now and then, on the <
ijeach, you way find starfish, four ol
whose legs feet have been amputated by 1
;he eurgical cod. The loss of a finger
vnnoys man more than the loss of four <
legs does our astronomical friend, the
The eft or newt will lose its tail with- 1
)ut suffering any permanent loss; for, in
iue time, out grows another. No toe |
jomes in the place of a boy's toe; but <
Squire Newt gets anew tail in a short '
imo Tim ann.nnpmrmp PYppprls prilhs
ind Jobstera and newts altogether; for j
you may cut and slice it, and every p&rt 1
becomes a brand new anemone. Chop a
baby up, and you get only mince me at ,
The hydra?the small green slime that j
lloats on the surface of stagnant poolsmay
be divided and sub-divi'Jed in the
3ame way as the anemone, and with the
3!ime result. If an adult loses a tooth !
even, he has to go -ill through the pain
of the dentist's chair, in order to get
another, aud then only gets a make-belleve
one. But here are no less than
five animals that acquire new tails, legs, ;
und arms, and bodies even without difficulty.?GoMcm
Yes, He Conld.
" My case is just here," said a citizen
to a lawyer the other day?"the plaintiff
will swear that I hit him. i will
swear that I did not. Now what can
you lawyers make out of that if we go
" Five dollars apieoe!" was the prompt
reply, as the attorney extended his
hand.?Detroit Free Press.
One o: the steel works at Pittsburg,
Pa., has just cast the largest anvil
block ever made in this country. It is
eleven .feet high and eight by ten wide,
and weighs 160 tons. It took seven
hours to run the metal into the mold,
and it will be four months before the
metal is cool enough to move.
FIRM, GARDEN AND HOUSEHOLD^
About Manaelng llaw Soil.
Although it is known that raw soil
brought up to the surface in large quan
titles is nurttui to tue crop upon it, yet
to what extent, and especially with the
different kinds of soil, is not so well understood.
More or less immediate harm
is the result. And yet to make use of
this undersoil is a benefit, in that it
deepens the tillable land, affording a
chance for the better extension of the
roots and for circulation of air, developing
also new available fertility, which is
so much gain, but which, in its original
state, is of little use, and, when compared
with the upper aerated and worked soil ,
is a damage, as it lessens the crop, the '
degree of which is dependent upon the ,
amount brought up. If the plow runs ;
deep, so as to bury the upper soil, bringing
up the other lo form in its place the !
seed bed, and for slight rooting plants to
get their nourishment from, there wili
be a failure in clay soil, or where there j
is less chance for air to circulate or water to
pass through?in other words, in a (
hard or dense soil, which is also, in
general, a cold soil. ,
Where there is free ventilation and
good drainage, as in sand and among ?
the shales, there is little difference be- (
tween the upper and lower soils. Indeed, j
we often find it the case that to plow ,
Hnon i a or* or! nowto rrd r? nf o Inn a fXi* fhfl
UV.LJJ XO HU UU | UVU UlUUb Ivi IUV/ .
reason that the undersoil is well aerated
and warmed, but the fertility in such
oil gradually works down, there being a
lack of clay or absorbent to hold it.
Hence the lower soil becomes enriched r
?sometimes richer than the upper?
suggesting the remedy at orce?light and i
frequent, rather than large and less fre- ,
quent applications of manure, which, of t
course is to be kept as much as possible
at the surface, every rain lowering it in n
the soil, and a wet season or a few
drenching rains washing it out, so that ^
only the deep-rooling plants, like the /
clovers, and notably lucern, get the bene- g
fit below. The small creeping blue
grass, timothy, and others show the de- ?
privation of nntriment by a stunted t
growth and bleached appearance, simi- t
lar to the effect of a drought, which, oc- v
curring after the rains, speedily puts an j
end to the grass^ This is well known in
Bandy districts. When the rains are J
ilfcUL, &.CC}J1L1? LUU SULiatU UiUlSl YVitUUUU r
washing nown, the best result follows.
This was the case in this section in the h
summers of 1877 and 1878. With sufficient
manure (at the surface) the growth e
was rapid and maturity early.
Raw soil, therefore, concerns us very t,
little in land of a leachy character. The a
?reat care to be exercised in this respect
is in all hard or densely-packed unaer- 8
soils. Such land is usually given shai- i.
low culture, which excludes from sue- c
cessful cultivation most of the deep- ?
rooting plants, such as corn, root crops,
berries of all kinds, trees and shrubs, i.
the grape, and in extremely dry and wet 0
weather all the crops that the farmer t]
raises. It is only by the plentiiul use of
manure and care in cultivation that the g
land can be made to pay, and then not r,
satisfactorily. The evil?raw soil?is .1
loo near the surface. To bring up this
soil is worse: to bury deeply the surface ~
joil is to spoil all for years till the elenents
have had their action upon it, ?
jided by the plow. Then there will n
)e a decided improvement for the bet.er,
and with continued deep culture a a
Dermanent character will be given. The .
jlowing is to be continued deep, or 1
,he subsoil plow is to aid, to be used u
whenever the land is tilled, when
leither too wet nor too hard, so sis to ^
jreak in lumps, leaving hollow places, j
But it is better, instead of inverting
1 large body of soil which will lie years j
without benefit, to bring up a little at a j.
,ime, eacii plowing aeepening cue tinible
soil till the depth wanted is reached,
riiis is acknowledged the best practice, c
is it admits of crops being grown right :
Uong without diminution, and after the
irst year or two increasing in yield. _
Hie plowing should be done in the full,
so as to have the raw soil in a thin layer -r
;xposed to the frost. A coat of manure (
ihould be given so as to have the layer
>f wild soil between the good ground
jelow and the manure above, with the
rost and the elements operating, and
with the spring cultivation making a
ieed bed that seldom fails to be satis ?
'actory. The next plowing buries this ?
nellowiand rich surface soil, deepening |
ind enlarging the root bed below, and
aew soil is again brought up and treated
is belore. It will readily be seen that it
;nkes only a few years to completely
jliange this soil, and make quite a superior
one of it. But this cannot be
lone successfully in most of our clays J
without first draining the land, this
x-ing worth more than all the plowing, r*
md it is the more necessary to its sue- "
jess, as often the soil is hurt without !!
t, and in some seasons it is impossible ^
o plant it on account of the wet. "
But it will be a long time before j'
)ur clays are drained, this important V
ivork ot the farm being put off or ignored, ?
ind bad made worse, for wet land (clay) zl
;an be worked only to its injury, and 7
jannot be much benefited by deepening, jj
is manure has not much effect on wet ?
and, and the soil, not only below but J*
nore or less throughout, is of a raw na- "
,ure and cold and sour in the bargain. ?
It is a pity to continue to work such
land in this condition, and no other can ?
oe reached without drainage.
Drainage will entirely change its .
character, and eminently fit it for that jj.
jther change of deepening and enriching.
Meanwhile, on land where the water "
ine is lower the work of improvement ?'
nay go on until the whole is reclaimed,
[f farmers only knew what advantage
ny within their reach, the work would
it once be begun. There is no excuse;
iny one may begin on a small scale, the a
jenefit increasing the means for further ti
idvancement, till the task is accom- n
plished, doubling the value of the farm. E
?F. 0.. in Country Gentleman. n
Household Hint*. Si
Keep tea in a close chest or canister. ^
Keep coffee by itself, as its odor affects v
ither articles. v
Bread and cake should be kept in a tin p
w nw nf A
JVJ*\ KJL OLl'UVJ JlitL
Butter that is made in September and 0
October is the best for winter use. a
Oranges and lemons keep best wrapped r
iloso in sott paper and laid in a drawer i\
Lard should be hard and white, and P
;hat which is taken from a hog over a v
year old is the best.
Soft soap should be kept in a dry place n
in a cellar, andi should not be used till p
;urce moniutj oiu. s
To select nutmegs pick them with a ^
pin. If they are good the oij will in- ^
stantly spread around the puncture. 11
Meals of any kind should not be tl
washed, but wiped with a towel to pre- b
3erve the juices and quality. c
Not for Joe:
Joseph was a scoffer and a " bad lot"
generally. Meeting an officer of the 3'
American Bible society the other day, is
he chucklingiy asked: " You give out a h
good many Bibles in the course of tl
year?" The officer said: "Yes, very v
many." "And what do you suppose a
becomes ot them?" "They fall into c
hands that need thera, I doubt not." C
"Well," said Joseph, producing a b
fcook with the look ot a man who would e
say, " Now I've got you," " where do J
you suppose I got that?" The man of o
Bibies couldn't say. " Got it in a rum s
shop. You gave it to a sailor and he u
sold it tor a glass ot rum!" "Well," 3
Sitid the other, " I am glad it has fallen li
into your hands, Joseph. I don't know t
any one who needs it more." Joseph c
doesn't know as he made much of a e
point after all.?Boston Transcript. c.
"Uneasy lies ttie head that wears a t
crown;'1 but tar more uneasy sits the 1
amatucr on horseback. 1
' / - .?
A FATAL LANDSLIP.
Detailed Accounts of a Terrible Disaster
at the Hill-Town of Nalnl Tat, India.
A Calcutta dispatch to the London
Times says: Naini Tal, a hill station in
the Kumaon district, and the summer
headquarters of the northwest provinces
government, was, on the afternoon
of the 18th, the scene of a terrible
catastrophe. In order to understand
the details, it is necessary to explain
that the place differs in one important
respect from other Himalayan sanitoria.
Instead of being perched on a series of
bill-tops, like Simla, Mussoorie and
Darjeeling, Naini Tal lies for the most
part in a atnau oasin, me greater pari oi
whL:h is occupied by a lake, a mile long,
and which is dominated on all sides by
lofty mountains. Landslips on a small
3cale have been matters of not infrequent
occurrence there, and it has been often
pointed out that many of the houses
were most unsafe. No serious measures,
however, have ever been taken tt>
prevent accidents, and up to the end of
the week before last the regular inhabitants
and a crowd of summer visitors
lontinued to live in a fool's paradise,
rhe station has the reputation of being
;he prettiest in the Himalayas. It is the
snly one in which lake and mountain
jcenery is combined. Naturally it is a
favorite resort of visitors, and up to the
noment of the accident their numbers
were being daily increased by people
running up from the plains to spend the
lutumn holidays in the hills. Rain be;an
to fall heavily at Naini Tal on the
ivening of Thursday, the 16th, and
sontinued almost without internission
till noon on the 19th.
)n Saturday morning the <1 anger nrst
jecame apparent to the most careless,
k small landslip occurred near the Vicoria
hotel, carrying away an out-buildng
and killing an ayah and child. Mr.
raylo*, the magistrate in charge of the
tation, with a body of police and a
working party from the depot, under
Captain Balderston, Twenty-fourth foot,
tation staff officer, immediately retired
to the spot and commenced to
dear away the debris, and try to divert
he source of a torrent which threatened
he hotel and some other houses. The
lotel was full of visitors, including Mr.
rustice and Mrs. Straight. The waning
in the morning gave them all time
o seek safety elsewhere, but some, unortunately,
sought shelter in the library
-a portion of the assembly rooms
milding close to the lake. About 1:30
'clock the catastrophe happened. An
ye-witness thus describes it: "A noise,
, vision of parting earth and moving
rees, a rush of matter toward the lake,
roar water and of falling material,
nd then a deep brown smoke, rising in
low wreaths through the gloom and
iirious rain. A great wave of water,
aused by the precipitation of part of the
ssembly rooms and an immense mass
f earth into the lake, swept across its
mgth some five feet high. It dashed
ver the sluice gates at the entrance of
[ie gorge with such power as to sweep
way several persons standing by ttiem.
ir Henry Ramsay, commissioner of
oimanon, was all but carried away by
ie wild rush of the waters.
A correspondent of the Pioneer gives a
lost graphic account, which I abridge
9 lollows: At one o'clock allseeir/id
rell, and the working party were busy
t their task at the bottom of the precip;ous
ascent which overhUDg tbe hotel.
,t about 1:30 o'clock Naini Tal was
;artled by a sudden and sullen roar,
mder than the simultaneous crash of
eavy guns, followed by a prolonged
ambling as of distant thunder, and then
y an ominous silence. Vast clouds of
ust arose heavenward through the
lurky atmosphere, enveloping in one
ense 3hroud the track of land from the
otel to Bell's shop, and onward to the
ssembly rooms and the lake. The whole
lace shook as though an earthquake
n . \ nnnnn/4 TKrt mntniia e\f flin ltilru r an
au f;ao3v;u. XiiC naicioui uno iuav jiwog
I a moment far above their usual limit,
ad swept in a massive wave toward the
reir. Then all was still. From the
ap of the lower spur, under which the
rictoria hotel had stood a moment bejre,
down to the edge of the cricket
round, nothing was to be seen but a
asfc expanse of loose earth, beneath
rhich lay buried hotel and garden, road
nd orderly room. It was as though
ame giant had dropped half a mountain
n the spot, blottiDg out in a moment
very feature of the scene, tilling up the
ollows and reducing to one dead slope
II that laybel^w. Deep below lay the
rorking party. Not a vistage of them
ma tr> hn aupn nnlv Hie Innfi hillside.
iient and dark. Meanwhile, the cricket
nd polo grounds presented a strange
ontrast to the gentle sweep above
'ow^rd the pavilion they were intact,
ive for the streams of water pouring in
1 every direction, but on the other side
ras simply an enormous mound of vast
xtent and varying height, a tangled
lass of broken walls and roofs, fallen
rees and heaped up earth in horrid conlsion,
with spoils of the shop ando:
er.y room. Saddest of all was the
pectacle of the few corpses that were
isible among the ruins. Never was
ttvoc more sudden, more awful, or
lore complete. Without a moment's
rarning, without a premonitory rumble
) awaken suspicion, down came the
normous lundslide, buryiug in deadly
mbrace the hotei and the working
arty beliind, engulfing orderly-room
nd shop, assembly rooms and library,
rith almost every living soul they conlined.
Of the number of people in the
liop all save four, of whom three were
romen, were swept away. A sadder
jene I never saw. It was worse than a
The Fortunes of War.
Turkey's constant wars have offered
rich field to foreign soldiers of forme,
whose adventures would afford
laterial for many a sensation no\el.
larly In the present century an Englishlan
of rank picked up a homeless boy
1 the streets of Edinburg, sent him to
chool, and finally apprenticed him to a
unsmith in the High street. Years
assed, and he had almost forgotten the
rhole affair, when, while serving as a
olunteer in the Russo-Turkish camaign
of 1829, he was captured by some
Llbanian irregulars. The latter plundred
him of all he had, and seemed
bout to take his life, when a tall, liandnmn
vrinn hlazitipr with ripcnratinns.
ushed forward and sternly ordered
liem away. Then, turning to the
risoner, be greeted him in broad Scotch
srith, "IIoo arc ye, sirP I'm varraglad
o see ye!" The astonished captive then
ecognized in the magnificent comlander
before him his ragged little
rotege, Tommy Keith, of the High
treet, now a Turkish general, with the
itle of Ibrahim Aga. The Edinburg
Iussuiman laughed heartily at his
mazement, and adding several valuable
resents to the plunder which he forced
be Albanians to restore, sent back his
enefactor in safety to the Russian
The Japanese Islands*
The area ot Japan is about 150,000
quare miles, comprising nearly 3,000
?::inds. mostly small. Of the four large
siands Yesso is mostly mountainous,
hough having some extended plains
rell adapted to the productiou of wheat
nd rye. The island of Sagalian was
eded to Russia in 1875. Yesso and
Jurule islands are full of valuable tirn er.
The forests of Japan are mostly
vergreen. In all about one-tenth oi
apan is cultivated, and only one-fourth
f that adapted to cultivation?an area
carcely greater than the State of Illiiois.
Y?;t the population sustained is
3,000,000. Of course the population
urgely depends upon iish, ot whicn
here is a surprising abundance, At;riiHure
has hardly made any advancenent.
In three centuries the total proluct
of the country hits scarccly been
ncreased. The tea culture now amounts
o nearly 25,000,000 pounds annually.
Che vield of silk is something over
The house of Peleg Barker, in Pembroke,
Mass., is supposed to be the Oldest
house i? the United States. In the
spring of 1629 Mr. Barker's great-grpat
great grandfather and Frederick Davis
built a fort of stone and mortar, with
portholes from which to defend themselves
against]the Indians. The fort has
been used as a dining-room by the
Barker family for years. The main
house ;s a two-story building, and is
only ten years younger than the part
that formed the fort. The house is furnished
throughout with old furniture.
Sir G. W. Des Vceux, governor of the
Fiji islands, talked with a Chicago
Twits reporter while on his way across
the continent. Des Voaux is an Englishman,
but for years has been one of the
2,000 whites who live among the 150,000
natives on the eighty islands forming
the Fiji group. He said that until three
yesrs ago the mountain region of Ovalan
was occupied by ferocious cannibals
numbering about i0,000, and given beyond
question to man-eating in their
festival ceremonies. These savages are
now under effectual subjugation. The
governor predicts prosperity to enlightened
The nation that may advance with
liUoLiic mirunuuo agamob uau>iu u n w
years hence must be prepared to count
the cost. In 1872 Japan established an
arsenal at Tokio, Osaka and Oji, on
plans furnished by French artillery
officers. Three years later, so well had
the native workmen learned their duties,
the Tokio arsenal turned out 93,000
caps, 41,000 ball and blank cartridges,
101,000 Snider cartridges and 20,000
rounds of artillery ammunition. Al
the Osaka arsenal during the first year
of its completion 200 four-pound bronze
field-guns were finished, and 100 fourpound
mountain howitzers, besides the
wood and iron work of several field
batteries, and 3,000 sets of harness and
While a congregation of 500 persons
was leaving an upper room in which
the thixd mass had been concluded near
Manchester, England, a short time as?o,
one of the beams running from wall to
wan coiiapsea. a large portion 01 me
floor gave way. i recipitating eighty or
a hundred persons into the schoolroom
beneath, a distance of nearly twenty
feet. A woman died directly after being
recovered from the ruins, and twenty
other persons were conveyed to the infirmary,
five or six of them having
fractured legs. There being only one
way of egress from the room, those in
that part of the church nearest the altar
had to he rescued through the windows
by means of ladders. Subsequent examination
showed that the accident occurred
through the giving way of an
iron column supporting the beam.
An interesting copvrieht case has just
been dccided at New York. After the
death of Washington Irving his nieces
enjoyed the revenue from the sale of hi3
writings, and controlled their publication
under the copyright. This copyright
having expired a firm of booksellers
prepared to issue a volume of
selections from the great writer's productions,
under the title of "Irving's
Works." The Misses Irving and their
publishers at once sought to obtaui a
permanent injunction, claiming that
after the expiration of his copyright an
author, or his heirs, has, or have, a
common lavr right to control the publiffttinn
nf liia works. Thev also claim a
trade-mark right in the title " Irving's
Works." The suit was tried in supreme
court, special term, last summer. Judge
Miles Beach has decided the action in
favor oi" the defendants.
Some one inquired the other day why
peopleshake handson meeting, and why
the greeting wouldn't be more expressive
if they rubbed their noses together.
The satro iconoclast probably writes in
the One fir All on "Substitutes for
Kissing." " Some rude races," he tells
us, "have strange substitutes for kissing.
Of a Mongol father a traveler
writes: 'He smelt from time to time
the head of his youngest son, a mark of
paternal tenderness usual among the
Mongols, instead of embracing.' In the
same way, according to another traveler,
' the Burmese do not kiss ench other in
the western fashion, but apply the lip
and nose to the cheek and make a (
strong inhalation.' Moreover, the
ramoans salute by 'juxtapositions ol ,
roses, accompanied not by a rub but a ,
hearty smell.' There is Scriptural pre- ,
cedent for such customs. When blind j
Isaac was in doubt whether the son who .
came to him was Jacob or not, ' he i J
smelt, the smell of his raitnent and ,
blessed him.'" L
The actual strength oi the Turkish ,
army is, owing to the impossibility of
obtaining accurate information respecting
its distribution, the effective of the
several units, etc., extremely difficult to
estimate, but according to a calculation '
made by a Prussian officer, there were ,
altogether from 150,000 to lfiO.OOO men
under arms at the end of 1879 Aaother ,
Prussian officer, however, esti mates that (
at the close of the last year there were
not more than 110,000 Turkish soldiers in
European Turkey, and still anoiher ,
estimate puts the number at between "
95,000 and 100,000; but of these more ,
than halt may be set down as recruits. ,
On the Greek frontier, however, a large
number of irregular troops have assemnled;
but the strength of these, as
well as ot the Albanian league, cannot
be even approximately estimated. The
men of the regular army are well-armed,
but a large number of them, being recruits
called to the colors during t! e
past summer, are only very imperfectly
trained; while, as officers, non-commissioned
officers and men alike have
received no pay so i o speak of for two
years, the discipline of the army is
Almost every New England village of
much prosperity now ha3 its Society for
Promoting Rural Improvement, the
work of which is to induce and direct
tasteful architecture and gardening.
Kishop Clark, of Rhode Island, in a
Ledger article, emphasizes the value of
these societies by describing Footbridge
in 1870 and in 1880. This is Fortbridge
as it was: The houses bordering the
main street are all inclosed by rail
fences, picket fences and dilapidated
stone walls, with creaky turnstiles and
gates half unhinged, and drunken posts
leaning against an old stump for support;
patches of unshorn grass and weedy
gravel, faggots of bark and wood and
brush, fragments of ancient carts, and
broken plows and disabled harrows,
Leaps of mortar and stones, piles of bottles,
and all other conceivable forms of
rubbish dumped Into the gutter. The
barn9 and sheds and dwelling houses are
all much of the same pattern and the
same color, if they can be said to nave
any color at all; cold, bare, dreary,with
no piazzas or porches, or window hoods,
or any other attempt at ornamentation.
This is Fortbridge a3 it is now: Most
of the old bouses reappear, but with
broad piazzas, tasteful porches and bay
windows peeping out from the vines and
flowers; with altered roofs and fancy
chimnevs, and rich coloring. The ugly
fences are gone, tlowers bloom in front
of all the houses, the streets are all reformed,
the weeds and rubbish are seen
there no more. Good, clean sidewalks
have been laid lrom one ? nd of the village
to the other, and the roadwjiy is so
line and smooth that even Mr. Bonner
would not hesitate to drive the marvelous
Rams or any other of his swift
footed steeds through the town at auy
pace of which they might be capable.
The barren common has been converted
into a park, the duck ponds \r.-o roui.wijtic
l ikes, with a swan or two sailing
A Romance in Skeleton.
A calm, delightful aufumn night? '
A moon's mysterious, golden light-A
maiden a: wuaiow Height,
In robea ol pure and fleecy white.
The little wicket gate ajar? ->
A lover tripping irom afar,
With tunetul voice and light guitar,
To woo hia radiant guiding star.
A lute with bolt, insidiou twaagOh,
how the doting lover sang!
A bulldog, with remoneleea fang? -' ?
/* a gnfj ? ucnuuy paug* >. r. ..
A maiden lainting with affrightA
lover in a sickening plight?
A bulldog chuckling with delight?
A wild, delirious autumn night!
?Kansas City Timts, ^
HUMOROUS.. ' ; . rf
An upstart?^miwhroam. - g
Kissing is "fne Wt preservation'of
all hearts." * ;s" ?
The potato masher is considered a good *
The barber's apprentice i?*usaally a
strapping fellow.?Boitcn Tmi&fipt. .
The Philadelphia BuUeiiv -"calls, a ;
stolen suit of clothes a lit of abstraction.,*
How to turn people's heads?Come td *1 .
a concert late in a pair of squeaking
An individual who boasted of'mov-* j,
ing in select circles " was afterward as-.
certaintd to be the clown in a circus. *
Some people are so constituted as to J
be unable to see anything beautiful in .
this life. They cannot even see anything
beautiful in a .uirror. ^
The only time a girl uoesn't see eveq[ . other
fellow on the street is when she
has j ast got a letter froqfciier own fipllota *
and is reading it as she. goes along.?-^
Kentucky S'ate Journal.' "
An elephant traveling out West drank
up all the water in the tender of the
locomotive, and the train was obliged to *
stop. His trunk should have been
checked.?New Haven Register,
The man who seeks to win a renutation
for prodigal generosity by publicly
astonishing some poor oeggar wita tne
presentation oi a .lollar, rarely surprises
iris washerwoman in that way.?Otndn- "
noli Saturday Night. /.
When Doctor H. and'Lawyer A..were
walking arm in arm, a wag said to a
friend: "These two arejust equal tp one
highwayman." " Why,"' askpd bis . "
/riend. "Because," rejoined the wag,
"It is a lawyer and a doctoj>-your.
money or your life." ..'
Gloomily the merchant sat. looklng
over the books, and through the fe* remaining
papers in the same, the morning
after the junior partner had $ot
away to South America with alacrity *and
$42,000 ot the firm's money. A con-.
soling friend says to the merohant;
" Ah, well, you'll work out all right.
There's no great loss without eorfe?
gaio." "True," sighed the man.of
trade with a bright light dawning in
his face: "true, my wife went with
him "?Burlington Haw key t. * *
Baby's Bow Legs.
These need not cause anxiety in all
cases. If the child is healthy, and has
good, nourishing food and pure air?the
two great essentials for making good
blood?it wi ll probably outgrow its bow
legs naturany enougu aa na Birengm increases.
Rubbing the legs with your
hand in the morning may help to
strengthen and straighten them, hold- *
ng them straight as you rub theui. If
the child is still quite young, it may be
ki pt from standing on its feet for a few
month?, giving nature time to straighten
the crookedness while the limbs are
growing stronger. A carriage and high
chairs are helps toward carrying cut
this plan. All the things' that have
been mentioned as curative agencies
may well be used as preventives. A
healthy child, without wholesome food,
and pure air to breathe, if kept from
standing and walking, while too young
and weak, will not have, bow legs.
Scrofulous children are more Jikely to
suffer in this way, and -those that are
very fleshy. Don't talie" pride in"your
fat baby. Excess of fat is really a disease
instead of a sign of health. Fatten ydur
pigs as much as you fancy, buf do not
deliberately fatten your children/ Give
them plenty of good growing food, and >
they will be plump enough for symme- I
try, and not too heavy for comfortable
ictiVity. It is no wonder that the lit tiff
legs bend under the heavy wefjftt of
jome fat little toddlers. Such^fchildren
should not be encouraged to stand or
walk until they have grown strong
enough to.do so of their own'accord,
md then should not be allowed to walk
too much. ' .
Horse-Meat as Food. ' .
The Parisian, an Eng'ish pajper pub
lished in l'aris, says: Some very interesting
statistics have bef-n published by
the society for promoting the use of
horse-flesh and the flesh of asset* ?nd
mules as food, showing how steadily the
consumption of these articles of diet
liave been increasing in Paris and the
provinces since the foundation of the
society in 1866. The weight has increased
from 171,300 pounds in 1866 to 1.982,020
pounds in 1879. In the princi; al cities
of the provinces the consumption of
horse-flesh may be considered to have
fairly taken root. At Marseilles, in
1870, there were 599 horses eaten: 1,031
in 1875 and 1,533 in 1878. At Nancy,
165 in 1873, over 350 in 1876 and 705 in
1878; at Rheiras, 291 in 1874. 423 in 1876
and 384 in 1878: at Lyons 1.839 in 1873,
and 1.313 in 1875. In both the latter
cases some difficulties had been thrown
in the way by the town authorities, as
was the case recently at Chalons-surMarne,
where the mayor fixed the price
of horse-flesh at s higher rate than that
of beef. The average price of horse- y
meat is from twenty-five to thirty cents
per pound. Each horse furnishes about
200 kilogrammes (400 weight) of meat,
which is capable of being prepared in
many by no means unappetizing ways,
such as pot-aufeu boiled, roast, hashed,
haricot, jugged, filet, etc:
According to the Buildina News a , i
piece of linen has been found at Memphis
containing 540 picks to the inch,
and it is recorded that one of the
Pharaohs sent to the Lydian king,
Croesus, a corselet made of linen and
wrought with gold, each-fine thread of
whicn was composed of 360 small
threads twisted together! The ancient
Egyptians wove a fabric called the
"linen of justice," or "justification." *
So beautiful and valuable w:is it that It
was esteemed the most acceptable offering
to the " Restorer of Life." A few
hand loo?ns can still be seen at work in
the Eastern bazars of Cairo, the cloth
woven in which rivals in texture, color
and design the finest glass screens of
An event, probably without precedent
in railway annals, has happened at Proving.
A passenger train leaving Paris
at 5:30 p. M. and due at Provins at 8:20
p. M., arrived safeiy at its destination,
but on getting down to let the passengers
out of the cars the guard was
astcunded to find neither passengers nor
passenger cars. They had forgotten to
hook the cars on in Paris.
A gentlemen traveling in a railway
carriage was endeavoring, with considerable
earnestness, to impress some
argument upon a fellow passenger who
was seated opposite him, and who appeared
rather dull of apprehension. At
length, being slightly irritated, he exclaimed,
in a louder rone: " Why,sir,
it's as plwin as A B CI'' "Thatmay be,"
quietly repii?d tolhcr. " but I am
1) E F!"