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!ls WV $ '-' VS" m V THOMAS COUNTY OAT. JOSEPH A. GILL, Editor. COLBY. KANSAff THE PROGRESS OF MAN. Hard was the lot of our fathers, the men of the early -world, BeasMike scratching the earth for a niggard ly dole of her fruit, "Wedged in the clerts of the hills, in the hollows of tree-trunks curled Groping in the glooms of the cave, starving on berry and root. Shelterless, weaponless, weak, a haggard and wandering brood Scarred by the brand of the sun, by the whirl wind scattered and tossed, Buried in drifts of the snow, whelmed by the ri ers in flood. Flayed by the scourge of the storm scarred by the dagger of frost. JL wretched and barbarous race, unskilled, at the mercy of all. In haste to escape from its foes to the hiding place of the dead: IHunted of hunger and lean, whoso life was a piteous crawl From the dark of the womb to thp dark of the gra e through the shadow of dread. IBut we! we are cunning and strong, we have made all wisdom our own; "We ha e mastered all arts, we have tools and raiment and roof overhead. "Vc laugh at the shriek of the winds, we dance on the brute overthrown. With his sMn we have clothed us about, w ith his flesh we have tilled us and fed. Our fathers, the cowering men of the caves, were the cave-bear's prey; Thcj tied him. we seek him; the snows with his blood, not ours, shall be dyed. "YVe folio his tracks through the drift, ha! ha! we spear him and slay, TVe feast on the fat of his ribs, we comfort our loins with his hide. O marvelous progress of man! O race of un speakable craft? O strikers of fire from the heart of the rock in a fortunate hour! Who have fitted the sharpened flint to the won derful pine-wood haft; In the day of your weakness and want who dreamt of the day of your power? H. D. Traill, in Boston Transcript. BILL, THE LINEMAN. The Friend He Found at the Top of a Telegraph Pole. Bill was very well known in a cer tain quarter and not the pleasantest quarter, either of. a certain great city. He patrolled the wires of the Eastern Union Telegraph Company ior about half a mile along River street, a narrow, dirty thoroughfare lined with tail tenement-houses, whose very windows and stairways told of the poverty-stricken condition of most of the families that dwelt therein. Bill was a large, lanky fellow, with "big hands and foot and a face that was as hard as a rock and as brown as a berry, through years of exposure to sun, wind and rain. The clothes he wore were not made to order, and by the time Bill got to wearing them at liis work they were by no means new. Upon his head in the summer he gen erally wore an enormous ten-cent .straw hat, and in winter he pulled an -old rabbit-skin cap down over his ears. His ieet all the year round ho encased in monster-boots, to which he strapped his climbers. For the rest of his attire ho usually nore a heavy blue flannel shirt and jean trousers fastened by a "broad belt that held his tools, to which in cold eather he added a rough pilot coat. There really was nothing remark able about Bill the Lineman's appear ance, and yet a keen observer might have noticed a merry twinkle at times Jn his gray eye, and kindly lines play ing about his large mouth but then, the denizens of River stroot wore not in the habit of studying the counte nances of those who worked in their midst. So, to them, Bill was a com mon every-day workman, who minded "his own business up in the cross-arms while they attended to theirs in the -stores upon the street below. Indeed, all the store-keepers and their customers were so very busy that not one of them remarked the lact that there was a certain pole up 'which Bill the Lineman stayed every -day, except Sunday, for several min utes sometimes remaining aloft as long as a quarter of an hour al though the average condition of the wires, insulators and cross-arms at "that polo was as good as the rest of "them. The why and wherefore of Bill's strange predilection for polo number 774 was on this wise: The long cross--arins of the pole in question were very close to a window on the fourth story of a shabby tenement house. The tframe of this window was quito crooked and tho squares of glass were exceedingly small and full of cracks, while two at least of them had such large holes that brown paper had boen. pasted over them to keep out the wind and the rain. For nearly two years tbo- room which "that window dimly lighted had been unoccupied, and Bill had long since -arrived at the conclusion that it would never again be rented. But one day towards the close of a dreary winter lie noticed that the unbroken squares of glass had been rubbed bright and clean, and, looking through tho win dow. he perceived that the floor of tho room had been well scrubbed. "Ab!M thought Bill, "new neigh bors, eh!'' Bill always considered the folks who occupied rooms near his poles as his own especial neighbors. "Well," he muttered, " 'pears they ain't fond of dirt, and Pm glad of that!" . The very next day there was another surprise in store for Bill the Lineman. On the sill of the crooked window was 41 long, narrow green box, and, al though it held nothing but brown earth (it being tpo cold yet for plants). Bill judged that the new tenant 1 was -partial to flowers. And he was glad of that too, ior Bill liked flowers him self, because they reminded him of his old home in the Berkshire Hills. The lineman was now anxious to Bee who the new tenant might be, but his, curiosity in that direction was doomed to disappointment. Never, in all the many times that Bill after wards climbed the tall telegraph pole, did he once see through -the window the owner of the hands that scrubbed the floor and cleaned the glass and placed the flower box upon the window-sill. But before very long he did see a face at the window such a wee, wan little face it was, too so pale and yet so pleasing the face of a little girl, perhaps seven or eight years old. Bill saw that she was a cripple, lying upon an adjustable invalid's chair, and, as the lineman turned his head from the white face with its large, sad eyes, something fell from his brown and roughened cheek to the sidewalk be low, where it made a wet spot about as big as a twenty-five-cent piece. For the sight of the crippled child awakened memories in the heart and mind of Bill the Lineman that ere more bitter than sweet, and always very sad. Ten years bofore, when Bill was a strapping young fellow in Western Massachusetts, he had married one of tho prettiest girls in the village. Bill was proud of his girl wife and loved her very dearly. He was a happy fellow indeed when there came to his home a baby girl and his love for tho tiny thing was second only to his af fection for tho baby's mother. Soon after tho little one came Bill moved to the city, where he had obtained employment, and then all his bad luck came to him. His wife, who had been so neat a house-wite, gradually changed into a slatternly gadabout She read cheap story papers and went to the matinees at the third-rate theaters, while her homo and her child, as well as poor Bill, were altogether neglected. Bill was beside himself with grief, and had it not beoa for the baby, which he watched, tended and played with all through his leisure hours, possibly he might have done something reckless. One day while Bill was at work the careless wife and mother, engrossed in a dime novel, dropped the baby from her lap, and the little one was hopelessly crippled by the fall. When Bill came home and learned "the truth he cried like a child with grief. He fretted all the night, and in the morn ing remained away from his work that he might hold the baby, laid upon a pillow, in his arms. Often the tears would roll down his cheeks, but he never onco scolded or reproached his wife. At last, overcome with remorse and unable to endure the sight of her hus band's grief and her child's pain, tho girl (she was but twenty) put on her hat and went out, to return no -more to her home. For six years the poor follow tender ly cared for his baby, but when the littlo girl was seven years old she died, and Bill was left without any comfort at till. Tho lineman had been alone for three years when he beheld the face of the little child at the crooked win dow a face that opened old scars, but which none tho loss swelled Bill's tender heart with kindly sentiments toward the little cripple. Before he went down ho nodded cheerily to the girl, and it sent a thrill of pleasure through the big fel low when the wan face answered his greeting by a faint smile. For many days Bill nodded from the cross-arms to his littlo neighbor, and he felt as though they were really getting quite well acquainted. Soon the spring time came, and one warm, sunny day the lower sash of the crooked window was thrown up, while the child leaned forward as if to inhale and enjoy to the full the sweet balmy air of the May morning. Then the acquaintance of Bill and the small, pale-faced cripple was begun in earnest "That's good." said the lineman, after nodding as usual. "You waat some of this fresh air to bring back tho roses to those lily-white cheeks. How does my little neighbor feel to day?" At first the child only smiled, as shy children, will, in response to her strange friend's remarks and inquir ies, but before very long this bashful ness wore away and then the girl chat ted lreely to tho big man on the lofty pole. Dcwn in the street the people and the teams hurried to and fro, but forty feet above them Bill the Line man and the tiny child conversed to gether with as much privacy as though they had been in tho quiet and secluded parlor of a country house. From the child Bill learned that her name was Millie, and that her aunt her good aunt, she always called her was obliged to leave her alono all through the day because she worked in a big factory, where they made men's neck -ties and such things. The child seemed to know nothing about father or mother; as long as she could remember she had been with her "good aunt," who was with her every evening and all through the long Sun days. Bill, as may be imagined, possessed some fine feelings, though he was but a lineman. Nothing could have in duced him to intrude on the privacy of this good woman, who was evident ly poor, yet who, in her poverty, cared so well for the child that was, apparently, not her own. So Bill al ways timed his ascent of pole No. 774 in the forenoon, about ten or eleven o'clock, when it was tolorably certain that the woman would be at the fac tory, and on Sunday he never went-up at all except for a moment quite early in the day. The child from time to time asked Bill a hundred questions about his work and the telegraph, and she was particularly interested in the music of the wires, which murmured so sweet ly all the time, like an aeolian harp. And Bill, who was a splendid story toller having amused his own little girl in days gone by with his original tales told her that the' good fairies made the music on the wires. He ex plained, too, how messages are sent by telegraph and, for her amuse ment, would frequently place his ear to an insulator and relate a pretty story, which he made believe was passing over the wires. Yes, indeed, they were great friends, wero Bill the Lineman and little Millie, and after they had been ac quainted a few months it is hard to say which would have missed the other mo3t Bill was always taking the child something. One day when he swung himself up the pole his big belt would be bulged out with a flower pot containing a choice and fragrant plant. At another time his hip pocket would be filled with a pretty box of chocolate drops or ho would carry, by the handle placed be tween his teeth, a basket of ripe peaches. Sometimes it would be a picture book, but always on Saturday, if on no other day, Bill would take his little neighbor something. But it grieved Bill sorely when he noticed that the summer sunshine and the fresh air passing through the open window failed to bring the roses to the pale cheeks of tho crippled child, and he almost wished he might somehow get acquainted with the "good aunt" and propose in some way to send Millie to the seashore at his own ex pense. He spent many hours each day in turning over this idea in his mind, but Bill was very reserved and disliked to force his acquaintance upon strangers. One Saturday in September Bill, as usual, climbed pole No. 774, taking with him a basket of luscious pears. Ho had to stand at the extreme end of tho longest cross-arm to bo able to set tho basket in the window, and as he did this Millie, who was not feeling so well as usual, said to him: "Do you think you could reach over and kiss me? You're so good and kind I should like to thank you, sir, and all I can give you is a kiss." Bill wanted to say somothi ng in re ply, but he couldn't do it he felt too "choky." He managed to lean over, however his feet on the cross-arm and his hands upon the window-sill, while his lank body spanned the space between. He kissed the soft white cheek of the delicate child, while she whispered in his ear: 'I s'pose you never hear on the wires messages from the angels for me?" she asked, childlike, but, oh, so wistfully. How the words did cut into Bill's heart, for he had grown strangely at tached to his littlo friend. He feared that all too soon the angel of death would carry a message to the helpless little cripple but he hoped not just yet. He gulped down the lump that rose in his throat and answered as pleasantly as possible. "Well, my dear, they hain't sent no message to you, not direct; but often I hear 'em, those blessed angels what watch over all little children, and they says to me: 'Bill, you must try and make it pleasant for that there lit tlo Millie. She has a tough time of it a-lyin' there so quiet and patient day after day; so you must go up that polo o' your'n and see her every day and cheer her up a bit. And these blessed angels tells me, 'you'll find you're a happy man, Bill, if so be you can win the love of that there little gal.' " "Ah, well," said the child, as Bill finished, "I'm glad the angels think about me, and if I could I would tell them that you're very good to mo, sir. I do love you a great deal. Will you kiss me again before you go?" So once more Bill the Lineman kissed the crippled girl and then descended to the sidewalk. The next day, it being Sunday, Bill did not see Millie, but- on Monday morning, as usual, he climbed pole number 774. It was a bright, sun shiny day in early autumn, but the tenement house was on the east side of the street, so that curtains, where they had such luxuries, were never drawn in the forenoon. Up went BUI. eager to see the child, and he noticed before he was half-way up that the window was up to its usual height, but there was no pale little face to greet him. Perhaps Millie's "good aunt" wa9 at home? Well, Bill thought he would take just a hasty glance to satisfy him self, and then hurry down. He lis tened for a moment, but he heard no sound of footsteps or of voices in the quiet room. So he peered through the open window and there, only a few feet back, he saw a small, white coffin. He was unable to see the face in the casket, but Bill the Lineman, knew only too well that a message from the angels had como to Mlilie siuco he kissed her on Saturday morning. The truth flashed upon the poor fel low painfully enough and the shock was so severe that it was only force of habit that enabled him to retain his foothold on the cross-arm. He was dazed for several minutes and could not take his dimmed eyes from the lit tle white coffin all alone in the quiet room. He trembled with mental and physical agitation and was weak as a woman when he commenced his de scent of the tall pole. It was with much difficulty that he strnck the climbers into the hard wood. i to get a foothold, and his hands re- fused to give him the support of their usual firm grip. Half way down his feeble strength completely failed him, and he fell more than twenty feet to the stone sidewalk. Insensible, and with a broken leg poor Bill lay there, while a knot of idlers and passers-by gathered about him. "Bill the Lineman taken a tumble at last!" exclaimed the erocervman from the corner, while Bill's friend, the policeman, telephoned fer the hos pital ambulance. Bill the Lineman did not die, but he was confined in the hospital for many weeks. The pain of his bruises and his fractured limb did not hurt him nearly as much as did his grief when he thought of the littlo child at the tenement house window, and of the small white coffin which he had seen. He could not forget Millie and the kiss with which she had thanked him. One day, when he was getting along pretty well. Bill's nurse said to him: "Thero's a young woman would like to see you. She savs she's 'Millie's aunt' and that you will know her by that" "Millie's good aunt," murmured Bill to himself. "Yes," he added aloud, "I should like to seo her. nurse." When, a moment later, "Millie's aunt," stood beside the sick man's bedside, Bill could scarcely believe his eyes. Indeed, he was so doubtful of his own vision that he was afraid to speak hi3 thoughts. But the woman, who was still young and quite good looking threw her arms about his neck and sobbed as she kissed his rough, unshaven face again and again. "Oh, Bill," she said, "will you for give me, can you? I am Millie's aunt I took tho child, a little crippled waif, to. care for, in memory of our own baby that I oh, Bill, forgive me for that! "I wanted to come back to you and the baby many times, only I was ashamed. But I have Hved an honest life, Bill, and I am truly sorry for all the badness and wickedness of years ago. And now, dear Bill, for our baby's sake for little Millie's sake, too will you let me show you how good a wife I can make you?" And Bill the Lineman, whoso tears were by this time mingling with those of his wife, threw his big arm around her and forgave her tho easier, I think that she was Millie's "good aunt" Well, Bill the Lineman, is no more. But in a neat telegraph cabin on a railroad in tho Berkshire Hills there is a big-bearded operator whom his wife calls Bill, and whenever you see Bill, the operator, you may be sure that not very far away is his two-year-old daughter Millie. William H. S. Atkinson, in Philadelphia Times. CONSTRUCTION OF DAMS. An Art Quite Within tho Grasp of Every Intelligent Engineer. Most of the dams constructed for four thousand years have been in all essential particulars, like that at Cone maugh. Where, then, was the trouble? In the construction of the dam there was a total neglect to con sider the first and fundamental prob lem the duty the dam was required to perform. The works were not properly related to the natural condi tions.and so a lake was made at Cone maugh which was for a long time a menace to the people below, and at last swept them to destruction. When the construction of such a dam is pro posed, the first thing to be done is to determine the amount of water to be controlled and the rate at which it will be delivered to the reservoir under maximum conditions of rain-fall- or snow-melting. The proper method of proceedure is to determine, first, the area of the drainage basin supplying the reservoir; second, the declivities of the supplying basin. The very first thing, then, is a topographic survey. The second need is a hydrographic survey. The precipitation in rain and snow over the basin must be de termined as an average from year to year, and also the max imum precipitation at the times of great flood. This must be supplemented by the gauging of streams to determine their average volumes and maximum volumes. All of these factors are necessary and pre liminary to the construction of a safe and efficient reservoir system by mak ing mountain lakes. Before a reser voir dam is constructed, it is of prime importance to determine what will be required of it With these facts ascer tained, the engineer can easily plan works adequate to control the forces involved; he can readily determine how much water he can store and what waste-way will be necessary to dis charge the surplus. The art of dam construction is quite within the grasp of every intelligent engineer. In the case of solid masonry dams, the waste way is over the whole surface of the dam. as at the Great Falls of the Po tomac, where a dam has been con structed to divert the water into reser voirs that supply Washington. But masonry dams are few; earth dams and those related to thorn, are many, and with these special waste-ways must be provided, adequate to meet all possible emergencies. The rules for their construction are well known, and have been known for tens of cen turies. In American engineering that which has been most neglected is a precise determination of the duty of the dam the conditions which it must fulfill or else be destroyed. Major J. W. Powell, in North American Re view. Evergreens of all kinds are in vigorated by an application of ashes. RULES FOR SWEEPING. BlwtoVle Broom Without Exhanstln All Your Strength. The first requisite to easy sweeping is a good broom. When buying select one with a light, slender handle and long, pliant straws. A thick handle adds unnecessary weight, is clumsy to handle and tiresome to the hands. Coarse, heavy straws are too brittle, they break off easily, and the broom soon wears out To determine the quality of the straws it is neces sary to examine them carefully, push ing the outer ones aside with the fin gers, so that the inside may be seen, for frequently a layer of longer, slen der straws on the outside is used to set off a very inferior article. Having obtained a good broom, my first injunction is do not grasp the handle too tightly with the upper hand. Let the hold be light enough to allow the handle to slide up and down through the hand with each forward and backward swing of the broom. This will prevent your putting too much weight on the broom, which is an im portant matter, and, what is still more important, save much unnecessary twisting of the body and working of the arms. Care should be taken, how ever, that the hold be not too loose, as that will render the broom unsteady. Again, always work with the upper arm, never the lower, towards the di rection in which you are sweeping, changing your hold upon the handle, the upper hand for the lower and the lower for the upper, as frequently as you turn about to go in an opposite di rection. This keeps the broom in its proper position, which is as nearly perpendicular as possible, and, since it is the lower arm that supplies the power that operates the broom, this change is restful to the arms and shoulders by dividing the labor be tween tho right arm and the left, and frequently changing the po sition of the body. If you have not been accustomed to doing this, you will find it a little awkward at first, but it will soon become quite natural to make the change, and you will be surprised at the ease and thor oughness with which you can do your sweeping, as compared with the old method of retaining the same hold up on the handle throughout. Lastly, do not make too long a stroke with the broom. Nothing is gained; while, on the other hand, much labor is wasted by throwing the broom so far back that only the sides of the straws are at first applied to the floor, and by extending the stroke so far to the front that the broom rises into tho air, sending the dust flying in clouds through the room. Use the broom lightly and briskly, keeping it close to the floor, and making a stroko of but from two to two and a half feet in length; and if, while observing all the foregoing rules, you will in addition sweep crosswise of the strip of carpet, you will find the result to be a great saving in brooms, a saving in carpet and a saving in much valuable strength to the sweeper. Philadelphia Press. ARSENICAL POISONING. How to Discover It During the Life of the Victim. Dr. Brouardel, the dean of the Paris faculty, read before the Academy oi Medicine, Paris, a paper on arsenical poisoning particularly worthy the at tention of all practitioners. An im portant part of this paper touched upoa the discovery of the fact of arsenical poisoning during tie life of the victim. Occasionally a physician is called to attend some patient never really makes out what is the matter, gives a certificate of death based upon the most prominent symptom he saw, and subsequently is informed by the police that his patient was poisoned with ar senic. The Somerville cases in Massa chusetts passed in that way. Some times the doctor suspects the evil, but can not be sure by ordinary observa tion. What is he to do then? Examine the venal excretion. Dr. Brouardel says arsenic will bo found there in a few minutes after it has been given and if much has been given it may be found for many days after the dosing has stopped (forty days in a case watched by Dr. Gail lard). But the physician must takethe excretion himself to be sure against substitution. In addition the poison can in a cronic case be found in the hair a lock of which can usually be had without difficulty. Dr. Brou ardel classifies very exactly for in stance in these obscure cases the se quence of symptoms making four groups. First, come troubles with the digestive organs; next, catateous erup tions and laryngo bronchial ca tarrh; third, are troubles of sensibili ty, and, fourth, paralysis. If death follows rapidly it is because a paral ysis stops the heart But death may not follow rapidly. It may not be due to direct action of the arsenic, but to organic changes which the arsenic has produced, changes in the hepatic and renal cells and in the muscles so that the death resembles one due to chronic alcoholism. In such a case if the ar senic has been eliminated from all or dinary tissues it will yet be found in the bones. Accord ing to the researches of M. Pouchet, included in Dr. Brouardel's paper, arsenic accumulates Jvery rap idly in the spongy tissue of the bones, no matter by what method it is given, andean be found there when it is no longer possible to find it in the vis cera. N. Y. Herald. Prof. Flower exhibited at Lambeth recently the shell of a tortoise which had lived ISO years, outstaying eight Archbishops. At Peterborough there are the remains of another tortoise which .when it died, was 180 years oli. TEACHING PARROTS. Different Varieties or the Bird, and Where x Xher Come Ttoxm. ' As a reporter entered a bird fancier's establishment a few days ago he was greeted with a series of yells and screeches, a discordant welcome from the parrots of all sizes and colors which were ranged round the room,' and appeared to vie with each other in making the greatest racket "We have just received a fresh im portation of parrots," said the bird' man, appearing from the menagerie room in the rear of the store, "and from all prospects there are a good many fine talkers among them." "What varieties have you?" asked the reporter. ' "At the present we have but three varieties tho double-yellow head, the Cuban and the African gray." "Which variety leads in intelli gence?" asked the reporter. "I prefer the African gray parrot," replied the bird man, "yet tho Cuban and yellow heads make excelent talk ers." .5 "Where does the gray parrot-jcome from?" "He comes from the west coast of Africa. The colored men take the young birds from their nests and sell them to captains or sailors of trading vessels. The best birds como from vessels plying between Africa and Bos ton." "How does the trip across the ocean agree with them?" "Very well. They seem to get ac climated in their. voyage and gener ally know how to talk some when they arrive." "How do you teach parrots to talk and how long does it tako one to learn?" "That's a hard question to answer. Different birds vary in intelligence. A bird will get accustomed to a place in about two months, aud if given a lesson every day can talk fairly well in that time." "How do you give a lesson?" "Tho morning hours are the best for teaching. Cover tho cago with a cloth, and then in a clear voico say a word or short sentence until tho bird repeats it Then commence with an other, and so on. When onco it be gins to talk it is only a matter of time and patience before it improves. Ob ject teaching is a good plan," con tinued the bird man. "A parrot needs only to see and hear a barking dog, a crowing rooster or a mowing cat a few times before an exact imitation is given." "Suppose you have a bird that can talk and won't talk, is there any way to make it talk?" "There is no method that I am ac quainted with, unless it bo that of starvation, but that's cruel, and should not bo resorted to." Washington Critic. THE PRECIOUS RUBY. Interesting Facts About the Most Valua ble of Stones. To the question: "Which is the most valuable precious stone?" prob ably nine out of every ten, at least, would without tho slightest hesitation reply: "The diamond;" but tho value of a good-sized diamond can not ap proach that of a ruby of correct color and similar dimensions. The worth of small rubies stone.?, that is, of less than a carat is, if any thing, rather . less than that of diamonds of a like description; but the rare occurrence of large specimens of that dark carmine tint which is looked upon as the sine qua non of a good ruby causes the value of these gems ta increase in a far greater proportion than in tho case of diamonds. Bubies weighing mora than four carats aro so ex ceptional that when a perfect one of five carats is brought to tho market it will command ten times a3 high a sum as a diamond of the same weight; while a ruby of six carats without a crack or a flaw, and of the proper color, would, in all probability, bring as high a price as 1,00V pounds per carat, or fifteen times (is much as a diamond of like size and faultless ness. All over the East rubies are re garded with the greatest possiblf favor, and so it has been from tho ear liest times of which we hava any rec ord. The largest ruby known w.is brought from China, and forms part af the imperial-crown jewes of Kui3ia- It is the size of a pigeon's egg. and was presented by Gustavus IIL of Sweden to the Empress of Russia on his visit to St Petersburg. The finest ruby that has ever been brought (- this country was one which reached our shores in 1875. It was a blunt stone, drop shape, and weighed slightly more than 47 carats. No one in Englund could be induced to give the" price that its owner placed upon it, and it was, we believe, finally disposed of on tho continent for a sum between 20,000 and 30,000. The ruby is the hardest of all minerals except the diamond, and by its hardness a ruby may be told from a spinel, which is considerably softer. If. as is often tho case, it is not advisable to scratch or otherwise abrade the surface of a ntone which it is wished to test, the greater specific gravity of the ruby will show whethe it is entitled to rank as one of those gems or not Curiously enough, the ruby and the saprkire are absolutely identical in every respect except tha of color. They ari varieties of crystal ized alumina, whiih is usually known under the name f corundum. As a general rule the crystals of this sub stance are dull in hue and lack trans parency, but when they chance to 'be clear and bright-colored they give some of our most valuable gems. Loa ion Standard. fe i'.'AVSS V, I " l && &; M S-f " $ l?lMU'M&M szs j,----r : v ftSk&Li: Vf.lHpahaii " rt'-zl -8; 'liX-l