Newspaper Page Text
THE ORIGIN OF ANTHRACITE.
A Probable Solution of One of the Longe
Stanning Mysteries of Science.
The main difference between an
thracite and bituminous coal is that
the former is devoid of volatile mat,
ter. Heretofore the theory generally
accepted to account for this differ.
ence was that presented a half cen
tury ago by Prof. Rogers, while con
ductint the first geological survey of
Pennsylvania. Observing that the
anthracite beds lay in the eastern
part of the State, in close proximity
to the Archean axis of elevation, he
surmised that these coal beds had, so
-to speak, been "coked" upon the
elevation of the Appalachian chain;
,that is, he supposed that the heat
and pressure accompanying the Ap
palachian elevation, acting most vig
orously near the axis, had distilled
and removed the volatile matter of
the cross-beds nearest it.
To adjust the theory to increasing
facts, Prof. Lesley added the sup
position that the heat involved in
this theory was brought up by con
duction when the superincumbent
layers of rock was extremely thick,
which have since been mainly re
moved by the erosive agencies which
have been active over the regions for
million; of years.
The inadequacy of these theories
has led Prof. J. J. Stevenson of the
,University of New York to propound
another and simpler theory, which
was ably defended by h.m at the re
cent meeting of Lhe Geological So
ciety o! America.
He would account for the lack of
volatile matter in anthracite coal by
the simple fact that it had been
longer exposed to that kind of decay
which takes place in vegetable mat
ter when immersed in water; and
which consists chiefly in the loss of
the hydrocarbons which. constitute
the volatile elements in bituminous
coal. On this supposition the anthra
cite beds are those which were
formed earliest in the swamps and
lagoons of the carboniferious period
and remained longest devoid of the
covering of sedimentary depositi
which subsequently preserved them
from further change.
This theory is confirmed by the
fact that there is no such strict rela
tion of the anthracite beds to thp
Appa:achian axis of elevation as Prof
Rogers had supposed, and by mans
other considerations which Prof.
Stevenson is about to publish. This
simple case seems adequate to ac
count for all the phenoiren, and
probably solves one of the long-stand
ing mysteries of geological science.
A DETECTIVE'S INSTINCT.
ow Intuition Led to the Capture of r
Not many years ago an American
1etective had a long chase alter an
accomplished swindler. The fugitive
had escaped before his crime was
known. He had sailed for the
Isthmus under an assumed name and
established himself in business in
Lima, where he made many friends
by his handsome face and pleasing
manners. The detective followed
him to Peru after several months. As
soon as he arrived at Limia, and be
fore he was able to identify the man
under a new name, the fugitive
learned who he was, and immediately
took passage for Valparaiso.
The detective pursued him after a
fortnight's delay, and discovered that
he bad registered at a hotel under a
second assumed name, and had made
pretences of having business in the
interior. After a fortnight spent in
unraveling the skein, the detective
:ascertained that his man had sailed
under a third name for Buenoe
The detective arrived at Euenos
Ayres a month behind time. He
learned at once that the fugitive had
boldly taken passage on an italian
steamer for Europe under his real
name. The detective embarked for
Europe by a steamer of the same line.
The steamer anchored at Monte
video at the mouth of the Plate, and
the passengers went ashore for a
few hours. The detective suddenly
changed his plans. Instead of re
turning to the steamer and continu
ing his voyage to Italy, he sailed for
Eio de Janeiro by atother vessel.
There he found his man. The fu
gitive, aft er taking passage for
Naples under his own name, had gone
ashore the next morning at Monte
video, and after changing his dress
and shaving off nis whiskers had
sailed for Rio de Janeiro under the
fourth assumed name.
With the connivance of the Bra
zilian oficials he was arrested whi:e
playing agame of whist at the United
States Consul-General's house, and
taken on board an American steamer.
He offered no resistance. lie
seemed contented when the iong
chase had ended, and be was head
ing northward to be tried for his
".Lmprisonment," he said, "cannot
De worse than the suspe-nse of feel
ing that a detective is dogging your
steps and hunting you down."
"But why,'I he asked "-were you not
thrown off the scent when you found
me booked for italy under my own
"That was the first- honest thing
you had done," replied the detective.
"It looked like a mask. A detective
has to put himself in the rogue's
place. At Buenos Ayres 1 was con
vinced that you had started for-italy,
but I could not understand why you
haa resumed your own name. At
-Montevideo it came to me like a flash.
I knew that the rogue ha~d left his
ship, disguised himself and gone to
Rio de Janeiro."
It is the unerring !nstinct that has
made the American detective the
best in the world.
Mrs. Brush-Has the hanging com
mittee decided about your picture
yet? Brush - Yes. Mrs. Brush
Are they going to hang it? Brush
-Dubious: I heard the chairman say
he thought hanging was too good to
The Real Problem.
"i have enough to support you,
Ethel. Will you be my wife?'
"Well, Charley, you must excuse me
if I am cautious. But you say you
have enough to support me. Who is
going to support you?"--Rarper'5
jeme tread the boards In motley garb,
And some in 1ik attire;
'While some fQ tattpr, humbly plod
To phiy the y'putn or sire.
It matters not, or young or ola,
Or bcld or timid heart.
So we have courage to go
And bravely play our partI
Tho' others pass us on the wa,
-More heralded than we,
DBlled greater tban the grand old pay
Yet ne'er dospondent be:
Lift up the brave and gallant brow.
Let sadness e'er depart,
&nd speak our lives with purpose trua
To play the noble part I
The curtain soon will slowly fall,
The lights grow dim to eyes
That well havo borne the steady glare,
But stars still gem the skies I
What then? Within another sphc're
we'll live with lightened heart;
[t maters little if we here
Have played a hero's part !
What then, if hcro we be forgot?
Perhaps a grave unknown
Is all the sympatby tmat man
To us, at last, has shown
If but this worldless epit aph
Is left on one dear heart:
'He bravely strove from youth tol ao,
An. nobly played Lii's part!" -
"Do you really think there is an
thing in it?" asked Arthur Denton, t
looking down into the ftushed and in
terested face, with a half amused 3
"Why, yes, Arthur, I do," an,
swered Grace, hesitatingly. "I think
there s such a hing as though C
transference, but whether any prac
tical use could be made of it or not
I'm sure I don't know."
Arthur Denton and Grace Brayton
.vere afranced lovers. Their parents t
had been lifelong friends and for t
years had lived in the same block in
Cantonville. As children they had
attended the same school and had
never been separated except for the
few years that Arthur had been at
college and Grace had been at board- I
ing school. Everyone had a' ways ex- s
pected them to marry, conseiuently
their engagement soon after y.rthur
entered business hau created no sen
-ation, and they had fallen into the a
habits jof engaged couples so nat- r
urally that they hardly realized any
ditference themselves. They were
only waiting for Arthur's expected
promotion in business before settling
iown into a home of their own.
While at school, Grace had become
very much interested in metaphysics
and kindred studies and was inclined
to specuiate a good deal in physiology.
But Arthur's more conservative mind
hated mystery and dislikea new ideas,
so in their many discussions on the
suaect he usually made light of her
th ories and sometimes quiz. ed her
unmercifully about them. But to
night Grace, who had been reading
the report of the Society of Psychical
Research of England, was more earn
est than usual and had succeeded in
incitingr Arthur to a more serious 2
consideration of the subject than ever
before. Yet their discussion had 6
ended with the question and answer
with which our story opens.*
' Well, dearie," continued Arthui.
Ls he arose to go, "I won't tease you ~
any more. I'm sure, if thought ~
trarsterence were a possibility, it ~
would be very nice for lovers."
'-Promise me one thing," Grace
said, impulsively, putting her hands ~
on his shoniders as she stood in front.
of him and looking earnestly into his ~
face, "that if we are ever separated I
and you should feel me calling you ~
that you will come at once."
"I promise," answered Arthur,
gissing her good-night and feeling C
very sure that they never should be ~
separated very long if he could hinder ~
* * * * * * * t
A few months afterward Arthur'
Denton sat in his office late one af
ternoon feeling~ a bit lonesomle. (Gracel
was spending a few weeks with a
school frieni who had married a lum
erman and was living in a little
town called Beechwood in Northern
Wisconsin. Her enthusiastic do
scriptions of the woods and wild flow
ers had at last induced Grace to
make her a long promised visit. The I
long-expected promotion had come
and their jwedding day was fast ap
proaching, so Arthur's meditationas
were not altogether unpleasant as he '
drummed idly on the writing desk -
from which his afternoon's pile ofC
letters had just been taken by the
clerk. Suddenly he felt a shiver sz
down his back and creep over his r
nerves, followed by his name being a
called by some one, he thought, in
pain. He started to his feet. There
was no one in the room, and when5
for a moment he opened the door
and peered into the workroom every
thing was as usual there. Who could
have called him? The voi. e sounded
like Grace's, but Grace was 100 miles
away. It surely must have beent
imagination, Hie sat down and pres
ently the same sensation occurred
again, followed by the same call. But
this time he perceved that the voice
was not an audible one. It was onlyc
his own sensation which made it sem p
to t~e so.
He arose and began to walk the
floor trying to shako off the feeling.
But again and again he felt the a
strange shiver, followed by the im
pres~on that he was being called.
Suddenly he remembered his talks
with Grace and he stood stfil in his
walk-, as he wondered i f it coild l.a
that she were calling him now.
"I don't believe there's anythna
in it," he muttered, "and yet if it
should turn out that she is in trouble
I'd never forgive myself if I do not
o to her."
He locked the oflice and pansing s
only to give a few directions to the
cerk, he hastened to the house of
the Braytons to in:1uire if they had
heard from Grace. Yes. a letter hadl
just been received and she was tll I
right when it was written. Not ha- ~
ing the courage to tell her palren'ts of
the nameless fear that (oDpre.,sed himl
he burrit d to his own home. On hlis
way he came to a sudden diecision.l
"'i1lruln ill to li echodlt foP
ay or tw 2, anyway," he thoutght; "I II
viii do no harm egen iK she is n1!!
right. and1( as I foo'l now I certaimyv I
-oir tnj .cap un til I ltuow ho~w shec i
j ie hurr'ld hor..e. gc~t hisocr
o )t. and was soonl112 r isnin ini the a
i re-tion of ce'ch wood as fa4t as5 1th '
teaml cars could carry him. It wa~
long night to him. for his anxietv
kncrease~f with cverv mile, Hie looked rT
alt anld worn when he arrived ath
s destinaition ibetwen S and 9 the (
aext mlarning. t
"Wil youpeas dirc~ m to.Mr.I '
Sentiey's residence?" he asked of th
tation agent as soon as he stoud upo
"His house is over there," answere
,he young man, nodding to the onl
Ine residence in the little new town
ituated on a small hill a shcrt, dis
,anm-e from the deDot, "but there'
io one there now: everybody In tow
s out in the woods hunting for thla
"Is she lost-Miss Brayton?
"They say that she is."
"How did it happen? Tell me
"W.Vhy, you see, the ladies went on
torseback riding last night abou
undown and Miss Brayton's hors
ook fright and ran into the wood
rith her on its back. Mr. Bentle
.r1l some men followed her as quickl
.s possible, and after awhile the
ame upon the horse eating grass an
he was nowhere to be seen. The
ame back and organized a hunt
hey've been out all night and ha
Lot found her when last heard from.
"Oh, my poor Grace:" groane
Lrthur. "Please tell me how 1 ca;
nd the men and I'll go and hel]
hem," he added, to the agent.
"l'll go. too, in a minute," th
oung man responded, hastenin.
ack to his office as the train move(
way from the station. As they h ur
ied away he handed Arthur a bal
"Put that in your pocket," he said
'you nay need it. When a fellov
ets out in the woods he's liable t
>se his bearings and not be able t
ell the points of the compass or any
hing. so we generally take alons
ome string to use for a guide when
vtr wego oi the regular beat."
Arthur too the wine mechanicall,
nd they soon reached the edge o
he woods. Here they found Mrs
entley, surrounded by a group o
ympattizing women, crying and re
roaching herself by turns for havin.
lowed Grace to ride that particula
orse. Pausing only a moment t
reet her, Arthur and the agent hur
ied on in the direction she told hin
hat Mr. Bentley and the men ha<
aken, and in an hour or two cam(
pon them as they had paused for i
arley in a slightly open space.
"Denton, old boy, how did yo1
appen to come?" exclaimed Mr
entley, springing forward to mec1
rthur as he saw him approach.
"I came on the morning train an<
nuired for you, and the agent toi
e what had happened."
'Well, we art doing all we can, yo1
Then, in a few words, he detaile<
he plan of the hunt, asking Arthu
f he had any suggestions to offer
The theory the men were working or
ras that Grace had either jumped o
een thrown from her horse unhur
nd had then started to return to th
illage, but, missing her way, wa
till wandering in the forest.
If she had been hurt they argued
he would have been found near th,
orse or along tne path between hirn
nd the village. A rthur had no sug
estion to make, but was anxious t
e at work, so he fell into the plac
ssigned him, and the whole part
noved on, occasionally hallooing o
lowing horns and whistles to attrac
he attention of the lost girl shoult
he be with in sound of their voices an<
astruments. They moved, steadil;
n until noon, when they mnet anothe
arty of men who had been search
og in another direction. A halt wa
ailed, and after consultation though
hat it was no use to push the hun
urther in this manner, as all wer
ure that they must hax e overtaker
he girl ere this were she simpl;
Arthur lay on the grass with hi
at over his eyes and a great cry go
og out of his heart.
"ZOh, Grace: Grace:" he cried men
ally; "if there is such a thing a
hought communication do tell m
there you are, that I may come- t
He had b gun to think that sh
iust be dead, yet he could not ri(
imself of the impression that sh
ras calling him. 'Could it be tha
he was calling him from the othe
"If I1 only knew," he thought, ".
ould bear it better."
Presently he remembered that shi
ad often told him that in order ti
ceive a message it was necessar.
at the mind should be in a cain
nd passive state. With a stron:
iort or the will he controlled hi
elings, and remained perfectly quie
rhile he awaited the coming of
iessage. in the course of a few mo
ents the we 1-known shiver passec
ver his nerves, followed by a glimpsc
f A. open space in the woods, a darl
ole and sonmething lying at the bot
Like a flash it came to him tha:
race might have fallen into som<
ole and been hurt back near th<
"Have we passed any holes intc
hich she coulli have fallen?" h<
sked of Bentley, starting up sud
"I haven t noticed any," was the
nswer. "Yet we haven't lookec
articuarly, as we were so sure shi
-oud be found wandering around'
"Let's go back and look over the
r'ound you went over last night,'
:d Arthur.sprin;:ing to his feet, witi
-esh hope ini his face.
The men were nothing loth to gr
ithe direc'tion of home, so thel
rc soon ini readiness to start
~rthur walked beside J'entley Ii
lence for awhile, looking carefull:
>r every appearance of a hole. A
st he stopped still.
"i'm goimr~ to try an experiment
en tley," he said, taking some twi
romn his pocket and iastening it to
ree as he spoke. "I wish yo:
'ouldn't qule~tion me. but you and
w men wait here until I'm half a!
our ahe.adl of you, thcn follow no
'All iht," sai~d Bentley, so comn
tely ti couriaged that he woulc
a '.e f'aLow c .d a thing Arthur sug
ested, iilonly. to b~e relieved fron
je .jppressive responsiblity of lead
uz a hcoprlces hunmt.
Arthur phri:edc into. the forest
.;ing tihe ball of twine in bis banL
nw nd as he w~e:nt.
Wh1eun he had gone far enougi
yfr'om the rest to be unseen t;)
em and their vo ces unheard hj
i.he pvtccsed, leaned against a trec
id clo ed his eyes, wh;lc he waite.
>see ;ny inmre imipressioa, wou2E
The shudd.:' did not come tri'
time, but he felt strangely impele
to go in a certain direcion. It wu
as if something were pulling hiro
y lle followed the strange impulse ant
it led him through the most tanglet
portion or the tores t, in -a di.e -tio:
tranverse to the one taken by thi
t Some times it was with diicult.'
he maue his way over fallen stump
and through matted unaderbrush
then he would core to a compara
tively open space. where trogres.
was easy for a short distance. H(
made frequent stops, during whici
with closed eyes he waited for somt
I new impulse to come to him. bui
nothing more definite than the invis
r, ible pulling came. Sometimes hi:
r heart misgave him, but he pushed or
( in spite of his fears, and was sur
rprised after a time to find himseli
I hurryino, along, ap unconscious eager
r ness having taken possession of hi
i At last he came unexpectedly upor
' a little forest lake, and a lock o1
I wild ducks, disturbed by h's ap
i proach, tlew upward with a sudden
whirring sound. The June sun was
shining down upon the water with
3 an uncomfortable heat. Not a
r breath of air stirred its sarface, and
I around it, on every s'de, as far as
- Arthur could see, was dense, da k
I forest. Ie hesitated which way tc
turns but the unseen impulse seemed
to lead along the shore which he
r followed for a quarter of a m:le, when
> he came to a little clearing.
> A few trees h:id been felled and
-heir stumps were still standing. The
i remains of an old log cabin half fallen
to decay. showed that the place had
once b.cn occupie: as a home or a
r Ile was crossing the clearing, look.
. ng in every direction to see that n
C Ign of the lost one should escape his
eye, when he was startled by a low
moan. le listened and heard it
"Grace. Grace." he called, witL
- beating heart. "Are you here?"
1 There was no answer, but again he
heard that low moan, this time
quite near. He followed the sound a
few steps and came to what had
been a shallow well rudely stoned up,
but now perfectly dry and so over
grown with weeds and grasses that
he came near passing it by unnoticed.
le sprung forward, and gneeling
.it the opening, looked down and
ilainly saw a woman's form lying at
the bottom. while another moan
made assurance doubly sure. It was
the work of but a moment for him to
I clamber down the rough sides of the
e old well and tenderly lift up the
form of Grace. She did not know
him, and as he turned her face
toward the light her flushed check4
and restless eyes told him that she
was in the delirium of fever. Lifting
her up as high as he could and par
tially iesting her body on a projecting
stone, he succeeded in climhing to
the top and laying her tenderly on
the grass, with his coat for a piliow,
and ran back after the men, shout
lag as he went. lie had not gone
3 ar when an answering shout told hirir
i hey were already coming.
"I've found her. She's hurt. Come
Sand help me," he called.
I "Ay, ay,"4rom a dozen voices, and
i the crackling"6f the bushes in every
Sdirection gave proof that they were
Snot slow in coming to his aid.
-"Why, this is Jack Shaw's old
c abin," exclaimed alr. Bentley, as he
came in sight of the place. "it was
near here that we found the horse."
They made a litter of the savory
pine branches, tied together with
string and cushioned with men's
coats, and lifted Grace, still moan
ing, upon it Then strong arms car
ried her tenderly back to the village,
while the station agent ran on ahead
-to telegraph to the doctor, and a
Scrowd of small boys accompanied or
outran him in their eagerness to tell
Yes, she lived. Orne limb had been
broken by her fall, and fear and ex
posure had greatly shattered her
rerves, so the fever had a long run.
But careful nursing and a good con
stitution brought her through at last
As soon as she was able to sit up she
was taken home and while she was
still an invalid she and Arthur weri
"Grace," said Arthur one evening
0hat autumn, as he was reading an
article on psychic influen e aloud to
her from a magazine, "did you really
try to call me that night you fell ir
'Oh, yes," she answered. "1 knew
It was the only way I'd ever be found,
so as long as I had my senses I kept
calling and calling."
Well,1 don't understand it. My
Ilndingyou aslIdid may be armere
coincidence, but I never should have
gone after you as 1 did if I had not
believed you were calling me at the
"WV 11. I was." soid r"*i Cao
And Arthur, looking up into hei
sweet., calm face, wondered at the
simple faith of women.-Utica Globe.
The Crow as a Scavenger a Fraud.
A curiaus result of the rel~Ious
riots in Bom'ay has been the expios
ure of the hollowness of the plea
that has been put forth for the c ow as
a scavenger. Lazy governments in the
East have been wont to excuse their
sanitary short-ominas on the ground
th it "the crow, the pariah dog, and
the kite", may be relied upon to cleair
away the otfal in the streets, but the
smells of Constantinople and Smyrna
have. not i e ~n observed to be much
the less because the dogs eat of the
offal throwai from the houses, nor
hasJersalrnor Cairo been found to
beays.eter from the presence of
the muongrels who destroy the repose
IIn like manner the Bombay crow
aas failed to justify his ancient repu
tation. During the Bombay riots,
when the operat'ons of the city scav
egers were brought to a standstill,
dead varmin and offal accumulated
in extraordinary quantities in the
bazaars and slums of the native quar
ters, till the city became a "paradise
for the crows;"-but the Bom bay crows
entirely neglected this opportunity,
and thus have comie to be denounced
ais "shami sanitarians."-Londor
In Melbourne, Australia, there is a
barber named Taylor whose next door
nigbor is a tailor namerd Shavo.
WHYDOIUR TEETH DECAY?
4everal Theories Advanced'of Which Tou
Take Your Choice.
For a long time the question as to
tvhy the teeth decay has been the theme
of speculation. One of the theories is
that by bolting our flour we take out
of our food certain minerals which are
important for a sound structure, and
their absence causes the teeth to be
fragile, to easily crack and break, and
this process once begun, they soon go
to pieces. The remedy prescribed was
whole meal bread. There are a good
many people who believe their teeth
have been saved by this prescription.
Others, have, however, failed to save
theirs by it.
Another plausible story, which never
gained much recognition, was the op
positition; it was that the teeth are
kept from decay, not by mineral mat
ter, but by abundance of living matter
in them, the so-called protoplasm.
The living matter keep the teeth alive
and in repair.
A third theory is the one most dent
ists have adopted. It is that cleanli
ness will keep the teeth from decay
and nothing else will. A majority of
us have settled down to this as cor
rect, so far as it goes. Still another
theory was suggested in this journal
many years ago, that the teeth do not
get sufficient exercise on the soft food
eaten by a majority of people, and that
the remedy is more hard food. This
necessitates chewing, which brings
more blood into the organs, and they
are better nourished and so become
strong enough to resist decay. This
theory has also received favorable
recognition and acceptance by many
dentists and physiologists, but in prac
tice little has been done to realize it.
Still another theory has recently been
suggested. It is that the fifth pair of
aranial nerves which supples the teeth
and also supplies many other parts is
overworked in our western races, and
does not carry to them sufficient nerve
force to produce perfect nutrition.
The facts which support it are that the
Indians and negroes and other uncivil
ized races almost invariably have
splendid teeth. An examination of
the mouths of ten of the Indians in
"Buffalo Bill's" Wild West Show
showed no decay in them. It showed
more or less wear on the grinding sur
faces, which comes from eating hard
food. This gives them plenty of exer
cise, and so it is difficult to decide
whether it is the work that makes them
strong, or more abundant nerve force
from less overworked nervous systems.
There is, no doubt, some truth for
all these theories. Fragile teeth will
decay, no matter how well they are
cleaned. Strong teeth will often re
main sound with no care whatever.
Still, care of the teeth is useful. But
what is most needed is strong teeth,
and no doubt but exercise for them is
as beneficial as for the muscles. The
exercise cannot take place without a
supply of nerve force, and it certainly
will bring to the teeth abundant blood,
which, if good, will nourish them well
and help to make them strong.
It has always been remarked that the
negroes of Africa have very fine teeth.
There large jaws furnish abundant
space without crowding. One dentist
has toid me the reason why so many
children's teeth crowd on each other is
because the jaws are too small, from
lack of exercise, to hold all of them.
Negroes no doubt do exercise their jaws
a good deal more than the whites, else
they would not be so large. But the
negroes also clean their teeth careful
ly. A physician who has lived six
years among them in Africa writes me
that he thinks every negro in the re
gion where he lives spends forty min
utes daily in cleaning his teeth. He
probably has little else to do to help
him pass the time. I do not know
whether Indians ever clean their tpeeth
or not, but I will find out if possible.
The H~indoo cleans his teeth with great
care, and he never requires a dentist,
for they do not decay as ours do. In a
very old Hindoo medical book, one of
the oldest in the world, the "Charaka
Samhta," now being translated into
English, I find this sentence: "The
stick for cleaning the teeth should be
either astringent, or pungent, or bitter,
one of its ends should be chewed into
the form of a brush. It should be used
twice a day. Washing the teeth re
moves bad odors and tastes." There
is much more, but this will suffice.
Journal of Hygiene and Herald of
The Inland Empire.
Abundance, as far as the products of
elds, orchards, and hopyards can sup
ply it, is the largest of the season to
the people of the great inland Empire.
While the traveler, choking with dust
and languishing with the heat, peers
from the cars wondering at the tremen
dous amount of useless material that
nature found upon her hands ein the
construction of the universe, great
stacks of hay, waving fields of ripen.
ing wheat or huge piles of grain in
bags awaiting railroad rates that will
permit their movements without loss
to the producer, and sleek cattle, mind
ful of the fierce rays of the sun, borws
ing upon the wide ranges, refute his
impatient criticisms of the utter worth
'essness of this vast land.
While there are large tracts that must
remain arid until some system of irri
gation is devised to make the surplus
priitation of the winter months a
blessing to the upper country instead
of a source of mischief to the lower
lands, there are vast areas that have
been reclaimed to agriculture by tillage
and irrigation, and the product of these
is simply phenomenal. Passing through
the entire eastern section of Oregon
and Washington by rail at this season
of the year, one wonders how anyone
an be induced to make homes on its
seeming wastes. But halting at one of
the cities of the plains into which the
surrounding country has poured its
wealth of fruit and bounty of vegeta
bles and meats, the conviction of the
roductiveness of the region is forced
.pon the miost skeptical traveler. The
;)yalty of the people of the Inland
Empi:a to this section is unswerving,
;nd their confidence in its future great
ness is boundless.-Portland Oregon
Change Their Minds.
Men change the'r minds as well as
vomen, as evidenced by the fact that
he man wh> called his sweetineart a
turtedOVe after three years of mar
ried life may refer to the same in
lividual as a snapping-turle.-.fonk
HOW CONGRESS PASSES A BILL.
Its Journey from Inception to th%
Hand of the President.
We have been requested, says ths.
Youth's Companion, to describe the
process by which Congress changes a
"bill," that is, a measure in the form of
an act, into an "act," or a law. Before
we do so it will be well to remark that
all bills do not go through every step of
the process. There are short cuts, by
which the enactment of bills to which
there is no objection can be facilitated.
A bill, unless it is one which in
creases or diminishes the revenue, may
originate in either House of Congress.
In order to exhibit the process in full,
we will follow the imaginary fortunes
of a tariff bill, which can originate in
the House of Representatives only.
We will suppose that some membei
introduces a bill to put steel pens on
the free list The import duty is now
eight cents per gross, or one-sixteenth
of a cent each; and the revenue in 1893
was less than $75,000.
The bill is referred, as a matter at
course. to the Committee on Ways and
Means, and it will never be heard from
again unless that committee reports It
back. A motion is sometimes made t(
discharge a committee from the con
sideration of a certain subject, and to
ring the matter directly before the
House. But such a motion is rarely 07
It has been decided that the refet
ence of any part of the tariff to a com
mittee involves the reference of the
whole subject Accordingly the Ways
and Means Committee may report a
full tariff bill as a substitute for the
bill to make steel pens free of duty.
When the committee reports the bit
it is "read twice"-that Is, the title of
the bill is read-referred to the commit
tee of the whole, and ordered to be
printed. All revenue and appropria
tion bills go to the committee of the
whole, under the rules of the House.
In a day set for the consideration oi
the bill, the House goes into committee
of the whole. A chairman, appointed
by the Speaker, presides. The bill is
read by sections and clauses, after gen
eral debate has closed, and any mem
ber may offer amendments. All voting
in committee is by rising; the yeas an'
nays are not taken.
When the bill has been gone througl.
and- all amendments have been voted
upon, the committee rises and the
Chairman reports the bill back to the
House with the amendments. Thd
House then votes upon them, either
singly or in gross, and by yeas and nayr
if they are ordered to be taken.
The bill is then ordered to be engross
ed, that Is, written out in a fair hand
just as it is after being amended, and
to be read a third time. As it is usu
ally already engrossed it is at once read
the third time-by title, as before-and
The Clerk takes the bill to the Senate.
by which body It is referred to the Fi
ance Committee. In due time the com
mittee, if it sees fit, and not otherwise,
reports the bill back to the Senate,
with propositions to amend. In the
Senate the bill Is considered "as In
committee of the whole;" the amend
ments of the Finance Committee and
>ther volunteer amendments are ac
epted *or rejected; they are again
oted upon when the bill Is reported
to the Senate from the committee of the
whole, and the bill is passed.
As the two houses are not agreed upos
the bill, a committee of conference,
usually consisting of three members
>f each branch of Congress, Is appoint
ed. The committee, when it has come
to an agreement, reports to each House;
and the acceptance of the report is the
fial stage of the bill In its passage.
The measure is now "enrolled." that
is, It is printed In large, open type upon
archment, and is taken first to the
Fouse, where it is signed by the
Speaker; then to the Senate, where the
Vice President signs it; and finally to
the Pr esident, whose approval com
pletes the process, and makes the bill
Congress is notified that the bill has
een approved, and the original copy
f the act is deposited in the office of
the Secretary of State.
Possibly Had One.
A Georgia cattle buyer, who Is also a
g~od Presbyterian, was somewhat sur
prised recently to find out how utterly
nknown in a certain part of the Cohut
a mountains was the good old Presby
terian Church. It is said that he had
stopped at a humble cabin home, and
uring the absence of the man of the
house was negotiating with the old
woman for the purchase of a cow. In
the *:ourse of the conversation he re
arked to her that she lived very far
back in the mountains. She replied:
"Yes, but a leetle fudder up the roa4
hars several other families."
Wznderng what religious faith mighi
e here, he inquired if there were any
Presbyterians about there.
"I can't say," she said. "I never pal
ty attention to such things and
ouldn't know one If I wus to see it.
But John is a powerful hunter, and
you can look back of the house among
il hides and maybe you can tell me
If he has ever kilt one."-Atlanta Con
An Old Custom.
The nomination of Sheriffs according
o the present mode dates from 1461.1
rhe "shire-reeve" was first appointed
y Alfred the Great to assist the Alder
nan and Bishop in the discharge of
he5.r judicial functions in counties. In
Edward III.'s reign It was enacted that
hey should be "ordained on the mor
'ow of All Souls, by the Chancellor,
r~asurer and Chief Baron of the Ex
~hequer." The only instance of a fe
nale Sheriff is that of Anne, Countess
tf Pembroke, who, on the death of her
rather, the Earl of Cumberland, with
)ut male heirs, in 1643, succeeded to the
flice in Westmoreland, and attended
he Judges to Appleby.
Straining the Cold.
While in the show business ir.
Pensylvania, Artemis Ward was
ut to sleep in an attic where the
ah had b, en taken out for ventil a
ion. In the night it turned told.
Mtmus got up. and was busy at the
"What are you doing, Artemus?
is companion asked.
-'..'m so c-cold," he chattered: '6
was 1-anging up some of these hoop
kirts. I thought they'd keep the
oarnet of the old ont "
31ANTS IN SWAMPS.
pur Only Specimens of Extinct AntmaW
Preserved by ire.
It would perhaps be difficult to fin&
anybody who would speak a good
word for swamps. The man who
drains one and turns its marshy su1
face into productive soil Is univer
sally regarded as a public benefactor.
So the projected draining of the
Dismal Swamp of Virginia and the
Okefenokee Swamp of Georgia is re- I
garded only with favor, and few
could be found to regret the disap
pearance of those remarkable feature?
4f our American landscapes.
Yet, setting aside the strange pie.
uresqoeness of such marshy regions,
and the curiosities of plant life which
they exhibit, It is easy to show that
swamps have been useful in a man
ner that could hardly have been an
ticipated. They have very effectually
served the cause of science by pre
serving the remains of some of the
most remarkable of the former in.
habitants of the earth.
Here in America the skeletons o
several mastiodons have been found
embedded in ancient swamps, and so
perfectly preserved that no diml
culty whatever has been encountered
In restoring the bones to their nor
mal position, setting tne skeletons
on their feet, and thus exhibiting to
the eyes of modern men the monster
animals which were probably famil
iar sights to our ancestors nobody
knows just how many thousands of
In Ireland the ancient swamps
were equally efficacious in preserving
for us the gigantic elks which be
;ame mired in them.
Swamps have proved no less usefu.
agents of science in other - parts ot
the world, and particularly in Aus
tralia, New Zealand; and Madagas
car. What could be more Interest
ing than the bones of a giant bird
which was in all urobability the roc
described by Sindbad? Just such
bones have been discovered in the
marshes of Madagascar and New
Zealand, and there is plenty of evi
dence that the great birds which
owned them were the contempo
raries of men in the past history of
those islands. But for the swamps
we might have remained ignorant of
the fact that birds with legs larger
and heaver than those of the largest
horse once flourished in the South.
Lately these Madagascar swampt.
have yielded other remains of ex
tinct animals, hardly less interesting
than the huge bird, the epiornis, it
self. These are the skeletons of a
creature resembling a lemur of gigan
tic size, but remarkable for the
small quantity of brains which it
possessed, It is said that there - i
evidence that man was responsible
for the destruction and disappear
ance of this creature. If so it was
probably a simple case of brains
against brute force.
There is reason for thinking that
,till other discoveries remain t3 be
made in Madagascar, discoveries that
will possibly bring to light even more
interesting facts. concerning theI
former inhabitants of that part of
Suppose one of our ?wamps, whici.
we regard as utterly tseless, should
preserve to a remote future age the
only remains of some animal like the
bison or the tiger. now rapidly be
coming extinct. Then men of science
then living would have the same
reason for rejoicing that that swamp
had existed, that we have for beingI
thankful for the revelations'_con
tained in the swamps of ancient d'ays,
VONDERFUL FEATS OF MEMORY.
Some Minds Have a Facility for Retainin.
certamn Classes of Facts.
Among those who have performeL
reat~ feats of memory Cassell's Fam
ily Magazine mentions Dr. Fuller,
author of the "Worthies of England."
He could repeat another man's ser
mon after hearing it once; and could
repeat 500 words in an unknown lan
guage after hearing them twice. He
one day undertook to walk trom
Temple Bar to .the farthest end of
Cheapside and to- repeat on his re
turn every sign on either sid3 -of the -
way in- the order of their occurrence,
and he did It easily. In such feats
as this the eye plays a chief part: yet
blind people also, have good memo
ries. Rev. B. J. Johns, t(hal.aln of
the blind asylum, London, testifies
that a large number of pupils learn
the Psalter and that one young man
was there who could repeat not only
the whole of the 150 prayerback
Psalms and a large number of metri
cal psalms and hymns, as well as a
considerable amount of modern
poetry, including Goldsmith's "De
serted Village," but the whole of
Milton's "Paradise Lost," with marg
inal notes and a biography. Lord
Macaulay on one occasion repeated to
himself the whole of "Paradise Lost"
while crossing the Irish channel A t
another time. while waiting in a
Cambridge coffee-house for a post
caise, he picked up a country news
paper containing two poetical pieces
-one the "Reflections of a xile"
and the other a "Parody on a '1
Ballad"--looked them once through,
never gave them a further thought
for forty years and then repeated
them without the change of a single
word. Macaulay's mind, some one
as said, was like a dredging net,
which took in all that it enc untered,
both good and had, nor ever seemed to
feel the burden. Very much unlike a
redging net, and more like a
strainer, are the minds of some other
>ersons who carefully select what ttl~y
vill retain or hav-e a natural facility ,
or remem,bering special asso
ats-George Bidder for fgrs i
)alter Scott for verses, Mzoat
WHEN people say they have the
tomach ache, the ache is not in the '
stomach at alL.
M iss A rtless-I think the theater
s just heavenly, don't you? Mr.
B~lae-Wll-er-oh, I reckon so.
You know the stage has wiugs
Pr-dita-Ernest is awfully frank.
Penelope-And do you love him be.
ause he is frank? Perdita-No;
ecaue he is Ernest,-Trnth.