Newspaper Page Text
$2 PER ANNUM.
JSelcct fotfrg. EVENING. The setting snu’s last rays Set earth and sky ablaze With beams of light; Far over mount and plain. Far o'er the dashing main. The dying beams again Are Hashing bright. Now twilight settles down O’er plain and hillside brown, While in the sky. High over wood and wold. Stretches a band of gold Where purple clouds have rolled In grandeur by. But soon it fades away, As each still fading ray Less bright is thrown, Till 'neath the horizon Sinks out of sight the sun; Clouds darken one by one- Thelr bright hues gone. Now like a sable pall Night's shadows darkly fall Gently and still: All nature sinks to rest, Dark grows the ruddy west. While moonbeams light the crest Of mount and hill. Select JSlorj. THE BACHELOR’S WOOING “Humph !” said Mr. Thomas Spencer to himself as he pulled a gray hair from his left whisker; “humph! I believe I’m get ting to be an old bachelor. Forty-one last birthday, and there’s my nephew Tom been in college for two years, and got engaged to Emma Marsden, whose mother, 1 be lieve, was in Jove with me once, and I should not wonder if I was just a little bit taken with her. Positively, I am getting along in life some. Now it seems but two or three years since I went to brother Har ry’s wedding; but it must be at least twen ty, for Tom is in college and Jenny has a beau. (Whew ! three gray hairs over the left temple !) Now, it was silly in Harry to marry so young, before he got anything ahead-chough he has done pretty well, considering he has had the drawback of a wife and family all along; yet he has not half as much money as I now (that stuff I got of Barton does not help my hair a bit, and there is a bald place coming). Well, It is rather lonesome being a bachelor when all one’s friends arc married, or dead, or something of the sort. I believe I must go and get married, too. Pity that the girls nowadays are so homely—not half so pretty aa they were fifteen or twenty years ago. “Let me see, whom shall I take? There is Mary Barstow —her father is rich and she is an only child. She is not handsome enough, tliough—l am pretty good look ing myself, and I must have beauty in a wife—her foot is decidedly too large, and her hands have rather a bony look about the knuckles—no, Mary won’t do. “There is Susan Ray, young and pretty, hut not rich; I suppose she would grow crazy, almost, with joy at the thought of marrying me; but I ought to make money when I marry. “Old Grayis rich and has daughters— let me see—-Fanny —O, she is too old— near forty, I guess, thirty-five at the least, and she has got some temper, too; and Bella, and Ada, the second wife’s children, are both engaged. “I think (plague take that gray hair, the fifteenth I have pulled out!) —-I guess I shall go and call on Susan Bay; ’twon’t do to be too pointed, though, in my attentions at first; I may want to hack out—-pity they are so abominably poor I shall have to support the jvhole family, I suppose.” Mr. Thomas Spencer, having pulled out all the gray hairs he could find in his head and whiskers, carefully shaved his upper lip, parted his hair with mathematical ex actuetw, put on an embroidered shirt, a faultless vest, elegant coat and white kid gloves, drenched his handkerchief in pat chouli, and started for Mr. Ray’s domicile. Susan Ray and Jenny Spencer sat at the window, deep in confidential converse, as Mr. Thomas Spencer came down the street and approached the house, for Susan and Jenny were inseparable friends and school mates. “There’s your uncle, Jenny 1” exclaimed Susan, “How nice and elegant he looks ! Which is the oldest, he or your father?” “Father, I believe,” was Jenny's un - swer. “Don’t you pity poor old bachelors ? I do; nothing to care for, and nobody to care for them,” said Susan. “Oh, Uncle Thomas doesn’t need any pity, Sue,” replied Jenny; “he is perfectly satisfied with himself, and thinks father was very foolish to get married; he cares about furniture and dress, and then he has got a tame parrot and a pair of rabbits to care for him. But, as I was saying, Henry Joaoi told me It was a fact about Charley Harcourt and Ada Gray that they were engaged, and would be married in spite of her father's opposition and” “Jenny, I declare your uncle has jut rung ! Do you suppose he has come for you ?” “I hope not; I won’t go down unless he asks for me,” Susan went down ip great amazement when told that Mr. Thomas Spencer had wked for her, and when he invited her to accompany him upon a grand sleighing ex cursion the next day she asked if Jenny was going. “I suppose so,” was his reply. “Then I shall be very happy to go !” said Susan. * Mr. Spencer took his leave, rather puz zled to know what Jenny’s going had to do with his escorting Susan. “Susan, too, was still more puzzled when she found, on returning to Jenny, that she was going with Henry Jones and not with her uncle, and the idea of riding with Mr. Spencer alone seemed too formidable to be entertained for a moment. Still worse did she feel about it when about an hour later William Clark, a young man whom she liked very much, called to invite her to accompany him with the same party. “Too bad, Jenny! too bad, isn’t it? Here I've been and promised to go with your old bachelor uncle, and can’t go with William !” and forthwith poor Susan began to cry. “Sue, you will make yourself sick,” said Jenny, “crying so.” “Good! So I will, Jenny; and you tell Henry just how it was, and Henry will tell William, and so I will stay at home, and it will all turn out right.” So Miss Susan, whom Mr. Thomas Spencer supposed to be wild with joy at the thought of receiving a little attention from so wealthy and distinguished an individual as himself, was actually crying herself sick at the thought of being obliged, on his ac count, to decline the pleasure of a drive with a homely, red-headed youth, with a genial heart and busy brain, it is true, hut not more than ten dollars in his pocket. When Jenny went home that evening she carefully placed upon her uncle’s table a note, the purport of which was that in disposition would prevent Susan having the ®he flcmttfratii? A tunicate. pleasure of lading with him the next day. “ ‘lndisposition,’ hey 1” almost shouted _ our bachelor friend; “what the ” We will leave the rest of his exclamations a blank, as they were hardly suited for “ears polite.” Suffice it to say that the next morning saw him on the way to invite Mary Barstow to ride with him. He was there rebuffed by the news that she was engaged. “Engaged, is she ?” said our hero to himself. “Well, so I heard a good while ago, but didn't belive it; on£ is indisposed and t’other engaged—pursuit of a lady under difficulties—now I vow I will get some girl to go with me on this sleigh ride, and I will get married, too, to somebody. Mary and Susan will both cry their eyes out when they find that one of them might have been the happy and fortunate bride; they think I am not in earnest, only flirt ing a little, I suppose; my day for that is over—too many gray hairs coming; haven’t time—hope those silly girls have not spied them yet; I pick them all out every morn ing. “I have it; I'll go down and talk with old Gray; he hates Harcourt like sin ever since he—well, I won’t call names —gotthe better of Harcourt’s father in that land trade; he’ll let Ada go with me, I know, rather than with-Chariey. After all, Ada , is prettier than Susan, and her father is richer than Mary’s. She looks a little as Emma Marsden’s mother used to, too.” Mr. Gray sat in his counting-room cal ; culating his gains. Mr. Gray was looking very cross indeed, because his daughter Ada was invited to the great sleigh ride by Charley Harcourt, and he did not want her 1 to go with him, although the only protest ; he could allege for refusing his consent was that he did not like him. Mr. Gray, how -1 ever, was always very affable and polite to Mr. Spencer, and welcomed him with great cordiality as he entered the counting-room on “private business.” Gray sent his clerk out of ear-shot, and then told Mr. Spencer that he was just thinking of calling on him to propose their going into partnership. “Yes, Mr. Gray,” said Mr. Spencer, “but we will talk about that some other time. I i have come this morning to confer about ! going into partnership with ope of your I daughters. I think it Is about time for me to get married." “Yes, Spencer, my boy, so it is,” return ed the old gentleman; “and my Fanny will be just the wife for you; just the right age, steady, and a capital housekeeper. She more than saves her board and clothes by her good management. To be sure she is a little prim, sort of old-maidish; but she’ll get over that, and will make a first-rate wife. Spencer, my boy, I congratulate you, I congratulate Fanny, I congratulate my self!” “But, my dear sir,” faltered Mr. Spen cer, “It was not Fanny that I had in my mind. She is a fine girl, I own, but Ada was the one I meant.” “Ada 1 0, well, that don’t alter the case much, only she wont be half so good a wife for you. She is romantic and sentimental. She’d rather read romances than stuff sau sages, and eat bread than make it; and then, I don’t believe she’d have you. She is bewitched by that young Harcourt, and I can’t compel her to marry against her will, you know.” “0, I will manage that; she won’t refuse me when she finds lam in earnest. I guess I shan’t suffer by comparison with Har court any day. Let her go with me to this sleigh ride, and I’ll fix it up. Stay, a bright idea has just occurred to me. You know our destination is to the town of Just on the State line, and one mile only from the place where we stop, across the line, is the village of , famous for clandestine marriages; give me your consent in writing, and I will engage to bring her home as Mrs. Spencer this very evening.” “Well, if you can do it with her free ) consent, you have mine and welcome. Here, I’ll write it, ‘I, Otis Gray, of , in State of ,do freely and cheerfully consent to the marriage of my daughter with Thomas Spencer,’ Will that do ?” “Yes, only you have not put in the name.” “Name? O, no matter for that. I consent you shall marry any of them as you please; you take your choice, or which ever you can get.” Mr. Gray went home at noon in a much happier frame of mind than he had left it in the morning, and informed Ada that Mr. Spencer would call for her at 3 o'clock to take her upon that sleigh ride she was so anxious for. Mr. Spencer went from Mr. Gray’s counting-room to his brother’s house, and confided his whole plan to Mrs. Mary Spen cer, requesting her to board himself and wife for a few days, until he could make some permanent arrangements, not notic ing Jenny, who was watering her flowers at the other end of the room. So engaged was he in making a dazzling toilet that he did not observe, as he might, from his chamber window, that Henry Jones was called in as he was passing the house, ac cidentally, of course, nor did he see him go out and join Harcourt in the street, nor that Harcourt soon called at Mr. Gray’s, nor that Jenny ran over there in great baste and soon came back, radiant with the conscious look of possessing some charming secret. Henry Jones was likewise dis patched to search out William Clark, who liad b<!en very much out of sorts ever since Susan’s refusal to drive with him, and the consequence of his interview with him was that Susan had another invitation from Clark, which she accepted. Jenny very properly deciding that if her uncle was going torwoo and marry another young lady during the ride he would not notice Susan’s sudden recovery from her indisposition. Three o’clock came; a file of single sleighs passed rapidly through the principle streets of , on their way to , for a supper and a dance. Mr. Thomas Spencer and Ada Gray preceded. Henry Jones with Jenny Spencer, Charles Harcourt with Fanny Gray, who, for the first time in a dozen years, condescended to join in any such “frivolous amusement,” as she termed such things; William Clark and Susan Ray, Harvey Lunt and Mary Barstow, and so on until twenty-eight sleighs, each contain ing two of the young folks, had passed the boundaries of , and were on their way to the scene of festivity. “Miss Gray,” said Mr. Spencer, as they rode merrily along, “I have come to the conclusion that it is about time for me to get married; what do you think about it ?” “Really, Mr. Spencer, I never thought of it before, but now you mention it, it seems very reasonable and proper.” “Spoken like a girl of sense, as you are; no foolish diffidence. Your father has given his consent to my marrying you. Will you hive me?” “What are you worth. .Mr. Spencer ?” “Well, that is a sensible question, too. Your father told me you were romantic and not practical, but I don’t know about that. What am I worth? Why, aboutßso.ooo.” “Is that all you are worth, Mr. Spen cer ?” “Bless us 1 What's the girl thinking of? Is not that enough ?” “To tell the truth, Mr. Spencer, I always expected to marry a man worth a great deal more than that; but I will consider, and give you an answer before we go home; WESTMINSTER, MD, SATURDAY, JANUARY S, 1885. •. I will marry you unless I have an opportu- I nity to marry somebody worth more—at e least some one who can make me believe he a Is worth more.” s “Yoii won’t sec anybody to-day worth t more than I am, I guess, for I could buy y up, soul and body, every young man in e this party.” Ada’s eyes flashed, and she seemed upon i the point of retorting; she, however, checked j herself, and the rest of the ride was achieved i in total silence. The sleighing party ar j rived at their destination in good lime par t took of an excellent supper, and after one , dance, in which Ada was Harcourt's part . ner, Mr. Spencer came to Ada for her de s cision. t “Let me see my father’s written consent ; first,” said she. He handed her the paper, which she s read and returned to him, saying ; t “I have no objection to make to it.” I “Then, if you have no objection, why - slap on your hood and cloak, and meet me at the front door, where 1 will have the i sleigh waiting. We will ride over the line r and get married right off, and be back be i fore they miss us.” 1 “But we ought to have witnesses to our , marriage, ought we not; or will the justice's i certificate he enough?” i “What a head for business! Yes, ask i Fanny and—well, Harcourt to come with her ; ask Harcourt and Fanny to come with ■ us for witnessess; or stop —you ask Fanny; ; I will ask him.” i Ten minutes afterward and two sleighs, each containing a lady and gentleman, rapid • ly traversed the road which crossed the ; State line and stopped at the tavern door i about a mile from the house they had left. Spencer and Harcourt assisted the ladies i into the house and Harcourt went in search ; of the justice, taking with him Mr. Gray’s certificate of his consent to the marriage, at Mr. Spencer’s suggestion, lest any ob jection should be raised by that functionary. “The worthy ’squire was soon on the ' spot, and married Mr. Thomas Spencer to Miss Gray before the ladies had removed their hoods and veils. Mr. Harcourt and the remaining Miss Gray signed the certifi cate as witnesses, and then, much to Mr. Spencer’s surprise, Mr. Harcourt requested the justice to perform the same service for himself and lady. He did so, and Mr. and Mrs. Spencer signed the certificate as wit nesses fop Mr- and Mrs. Harcourt. When the t\po couple peturped to the hall they perceived they had scarcely beep missed by their gay companions, so they joined them in their dance, which was kept up with spirit until quite a late hour, but Mr. Spencer was much annoyed by Ada’s dancing frequently with Harcourt and pleading fatigue as an excuse for al ways refusing him, and he was not partic ularly pleased with being obliged to pay so much attention to Fanny as etiquette re quired under the existing circumstances. The dance at last broke up, the sleighs came to the door, the bills were paid, the gentlemen helped their partners into the sleighs, and they soon reached their homes. “Sistep Mary, let me introduce you to my wife,” said Mr. Thomas Spencer, as he usheped a lady, closely hooded and veiled, into Mrs. Mary Spencer’s parlor. He left her there for his sister to make her feel at home, while he went to take bis horse to the stable. When he returned he found his brother, sister-in-law and niece chatting merrily with a lady, unhooded and unveiled, with the face of—Fanny. “Fanny,” said he, “I am glad to see you here; but where is Ada ?” “Ada? with her husband, I suppose,” replied Fanny; how should I know ?” “Where is Mrs. Thomas Spencer, Madam ?” vociferated the recent Benedick. “Here, my dear,” replied Fanny, cour tesying, at the same time handing him the certificate of the marriage of Mr. Thomas Spencer to Miss Fanny Gray, with the names of Charles Harcourt and Ada Gray as witnesses. While this interesting scepe was trans piring at Mr. Spencer’s, Mr. Harcourt had driven to Mr. Gray’s. Mr. Gray was im patiently awaiting the return of his daugh ters, in order to learn Mr. Spencer's success in his wooing. He was not-surprised when Harcourt appeared at the door, for he supposed Fanny was his companion. “Has Spencer married my daughter, Harcourt?” was his eager inquiry. “Yes, and I have married your other daughter; will you receive us, or will you disown us ? I can give her a comfortable home, even if you discard us entirely.” “What the—” Blank was the good man's state of mind at the announcement, and blank had better remain the space we might otherwise occupy with his exclamations. “Come, father, forgive us, and let me come in,” said Ada’s silvery voice from the sleigh. “Spencer concluded to take Fanny, after all, and now we are married it can’t be helped, you know; here is our certificate, witnessed by Spencer and Fanny.” “Well, children, come in,” at length gasped the old man. “Perhaps it is best as it is, after all; anyway, we’ll make the best of it. Come in 1” Mr. Thomas Spencer neither fainted nor died on account of his slight mistake. He made a most exemplary husband, a pattern of conjugal meekness, and Fanny was re nowned far and near as a wonderful house wife ; hut there are fewer brown hairs on his crown and cheeks than there were white ones in the days of his wooing (per haps it would be more critically correct to say to day), and he is observed not to ex press his contempt for early marriages. How to Keep Cider Sweet. Pure sweet cider that is arrested in the process of fermentation before it becomes acetic acid or even alcohol, and with car bonic acid gas worked out, is one of the most delightful beverages. The Farm, Field and Fireside recommends the follow ing scientific method of treating cider to preserve its sweetness. When the saccha rine matters by fermentation are being con verted to alcohol, if a bent tube be inserted air tight into the bung, with the other end into a pail of water, to allow the carbonic acid gas evolved to pass off without ad mitting any air into the barrel, a beverage will be obtained that is fit nectar for the gods. A handy way is to fill your cask nearly up to the wooden faucet when the cask is rolled so the bung is down. Get a common rubber tube and slip it over the end of the plug in the faucet, with the other end in the pail. Then turn the plug so the cider can have communication with the pail. After the water ceases to bubble, bottle or store away. Expressive.— There never was a bet ter example of the concise form of expres sion common to real Western Americans than the answer of the man of the Sierras, who, when asked about the character of a neighbor, replied: “Mister, I don’t know very much about him, but my impression is that he’d make a first-class stranger.” It is enough to take away your breath to hear of a California onion weighing nearly two pounds. i #i #lio. e ... . ... ■ '■— THE STONE FOREST. i From the N. V. Evening Fo.it. 1 Lithodendron City as yet does not figure i on the maps of Arizona. It dwells in the i mind’s eye of a mixed lot composed of lay i men and scientists, who have pitched sev . eral tents on the banks of the Lithodendron - river, and, baptizing the spot with the limpid 3 waters, have christened it Lithodendron - City, only to jump the claim on the follow - ing morning and found another city of the same name at night, perhaps thirty miles t away, so that Lithodendron is almost any where along the banks of that river that . flows quickly along, like some laggard that has fallen behind the times, and, as if abashed, is stealing on through scenes that r bear the stamp of long ago. > One evening, as Lithodendron had been > founded for about the fiftieth time, a Mile s sian gentleman, who formed one of the as . sistants to the scientific corps of investiga tors, was requested to bring in some wood • for the practical purpose of boiling coffee. ( Half-an hour passed, and then the wood cutter appeared with a wild look on his honest countenance. “Now ain’t it a , curious thing,” he commenced, pointing to the axe, that looked as if it had been dulled purposely with a file, “D’ye know, Gen’ral, forninst in the old dart, Father Malone, long life to bis worship, told me of a eoun . thry beyand the says where the trees and : the cattle were all turned to stone. ‘lt’s jokin’ye air,’says I. ‘Ye’ll live to see the day I’m not,’ says Father Malone; and, more power to him, I’ve done that thing. I’ll projuce me resignation av yer honor ’ll give me pin and paper and some one to write; I’m on the home track the very night. Matter ? Look at the axe 1 Divil a piece of wood hut’s turned to stone ! The first bit av a tree I found I laid off me coat an’ fetched it a blow, when it flew out av me hands, and the tree let out a stream av light half a mile long. I tried five, an’ each one was harder than the other, and in the bush was.stone birds a-sleepin’ on the limbs, and each twig weighed a ton.” Pat was thus the first to discover a feature of the valley that formed one of the quests of the party, namely, the famous fossil forests that have been the wonder of every one who has visited this region. The slope of thp fjver, here about fifty feet in height, presents a remarkable ap pearance. Not a green object is to be seen, but all about, strewn here and there, some erect and others prostrate, lie myriads of pieces of strong trees, limbs, trunks and branches of flint-like hardness—the remains of a once mighty forest. So thick are these in some places that one can almost imagine that this is the bed of some creek, with all its polished bowlders laid bare, only that the remains have all the structural beauties that characterized them when alive. The cause of the wholesale destruction of the stone forests is undoubtedly due to ex tremes of heat and cold that have snapped them off and hurled them to the ground. The soil here is soft and sandy, with some clay, perfectly adapted for the preservation of the remains, The size of some of the trees shows that many of them might have compared with the extant sequoia of the National Park. One trunk was 225 feet long and about five feet in diameter, and so finely preserved and photographed in the rock, as it were, that until the axe glanced from its flint-like bark and sparks of fire followed, one could hardly realize the change that had taken place. The trunks that are broken open show remarkable features, and a company, it is said, has been organized to cut them up into various articles of ornament, which, when polished, present a marvelously beau tiful surface. The color of the wood is preserved, and veins of the richest red run here and there, anon changing to yellow, gray or blue, The remarkable coloring has given rise to some curious and erroneous impressions in the mind of the noble red men (principally Navajoes) that summer in the locality. They have a legend that their forefathers were a vast and powerful race, and that they conquered a mighty giant that lived on the Lithodendron. The fossil trees they consider his bones or parts of the skeleton, and the red stains, and even the lava beds, the blood that ran from him. In Almost every case where the centre of these tftes is broken open or laid bare there is seen a magnificent display of quartz crystals, extending from every side toward the centre, that glisten like diamonds in the warm sunlight. The appearance of things when tons and tons of this material are lying about in chaotic confusion can better be imagined than described. The exact age to which this ancient forest belonged is not definitely known, but it is doubtless several hundreds of thousands of years old, dating back to a time prior to the glacial period. It was from this locality that the Smithsonian collection was taken. Some specimens were also found in the vicinity of Fort Wingate and on the Meusa river near the fort. They were hauled to the railroad at Santa Fe, New Mexico, and so shipped by rail to Washington. These stone forests form a feature of several lo calities in this country, as well as various parts of the East. A visit to the East Fork of the Yellowstone will amply repay the trouble in getting there, and in the vicinity of Amethyst Mountain will be found one of the most famous stone forests ever discovered. To reach it the trail leads up the valley of the East Fork, through one of the most attractive regions of the Western country. For miles the stream wanders through flat meadow lands, where one can imagine the beaver must have sported long ago, and from the sides the land rises in grassy terraces much as it does in some places in Connecticut. To the south rises the so-called Amethyst Mountain, and to the far north the rugged peaks of the Yellowstone range pierce the sky in never-ending variety. To the geologist the locality is one of extreme interest. The underlying stratum is granite, and upon the top of this are piled limestone strata to a depth of at least 5,000 feet. Amethyst Mountain is a part of this,amass of material deposited in what has been termed the volcanic tertiary period. Wherever this deposit has been cut into by rivers in vertical section the exposed part displays the various strata that constitute its make-up, and are so many leaves upon which the past history of the locality is recorded. At a point op posite the valley of Soda Butte Creek there is a section of such exposed strata, about three-fourths of a mile in height and nearly a mile and a quarter above the level of the sea, that shows with distinctness layer after layer of an ancient forest. From a dis tance the upper strata resemble the ruins of some gigantic temple, with myriads of columns rising here and there. Lower down the slope, in places, is fairly covered with the trees that are piled in heaps, broken up by frost and heat, as if some prehistoric loggers had been at work and had been suddenly called away. From the valley over twenty-five different layers can be counted in the two thousand or more feet. How long it has taken for these distinct forests to grow, die down, accumulate mould and earth for successive layers, this repeating itself for 2,000 or even 5,000 feet directly upward, the reader must conjecture. Each forest-layer to die . down and he covered with a deposit of, say, twenty feet, would take ages. A tree still lives in Tencriffe that was discovered in 1402, and was old then. Humboldt vis ited it in 179!), nearly four hundred years i later, and •it was then about the same as i when discovered—about forty-five feet around the trunk. AB this time there bad been little or no change in the level, and it is safe to say that the tree is a thousand ! years old; hut twenty feet of stratum would not build up in that time, nor in 5,000 years. 'Hie bare material is presented, and the reader can work it out. Of course the Teneriffe tree may he considered an excep tion, but allow the trees of Amethyst Mountain an age of only 150 years, and see what would be the result of the. computa tion. Near the base of the slope the hanks are more or less hidden by the growing vegeta tion, but raise the eyes four or five hundred feet and the display is wonderful; the trunks of large size standing out in bold relief, as perfect as regards structure as if they were alive. The sight of roots penetrating the solid rock, and winding here and there like stony snjikes, is curious indeed, and one can but wonder at the strange possi bilities that admit of such results. The trees of some of the levels are of gigantic size, and compare favorably with the largest of living forms. Some were measured that gave a diameter of twelve or more feet, and the roots were far below, so that this measurement may have been forty or fifty feet from the ground. Numbers of trees six and eight feet in diameter and fifty or sixty feet long have weathered out and rolled down the cliff, and examination showed that the thick bark and texture was perfectly preserved, and the circles of growth could be clearly defined. Submarine Cables. The aggregate length of submarine cables in existence, says the Ironmonger , is no less than 60,000 geographical miles, or about 111,000 km., or nearly three times as much as the circumference of the earth. Each of these cables consists, op an aver age, of 40 wires, core and jacket together; therefore it may be said that the length of iron and copper wire by which telegraphic communications are carried on at the bot tom of the sea is no less than 25,000,000 miles, or 10 times the distance of the earth from the moon. At the present day there are 17 submarine telegraph companies; and there are also four Governments work ing cables of their own, via., the British, the French, the Russian and Italian Gov ernments. England has laid down in the .Indian Ocean 12,018 miles of cable for the protection of her possessions in Asia. France owns about 12,018 miles of cable in the Mediterranean, Russia hits some cables in the Black Sea, while those be longing to the Italian Government are few and far between. Of the 17 submarine telegraph companies there are eight estab lished in London, four in New York and one in Copenhagen. The following are the most important of them: The Submarine Telegraph Company own nine cables that connect England with the Continent; among these, those of Dover and Calais, Folkestone and Boulogne, Beachy Head and Dieppe and Havre. The Eastern Tel egraph Company have a great many cables in the Mediterranean; they have also es tablished direct communication between England and Bombay via Lisbon, Malta, Alexandria and Aden. The aggregate length of this company’s lines is 8941 miles. The Eastern Extension Company carry their lines from Madras to Batavia, via Singapore, Saigon and Hong Kong, and connect Japan with Australia and New Zealand over a length of 6491 miles. The Anglo-American Telegraph Company own the original Trans-Atlantic cables, viz.; four between Valencia, in Ireland, and Cape Heart’s Content, in Newfoundland. Their lengths are as follows: 1, The cable laid in 1859, 1896 miles; 2, the cable laid in 1866, 1852 miles; 3, the cable laid in 1873, 1900 miles; 4, the one laid in 1874, 1900 miles. They also own the the line from Brest to San Pierre, 2584 miles; aggregate length 11,282 miles. The Direct United States Cable Company have a transatlantic cable which goes from Ireland to Nova Scotia and Rye Beach, United States, over a length of 3,050 miles. The Great Northern Telegraph Company connect Denmark with Great Britain, France, Russia, Sweden and Norway, and they are, morever, in possession of a cable proceeding from Vladivortoch, in Siberia, to Amoy and Hong Kong, via Naugasaki and Shanghai. Lastly, the Brazilian Sub marine Telegraph Company have laid a cable from Lisbon to Brazil, via Maderia and the Cape Yerd Islands. Give Them Trades. I am at a loss to understand why so many persons send their children to be clerks and assistants. The world is simply glutted with such persons, and yet still they come. Is it because they do not like to dirty their hands or double up their sleeves ? Is it because they like to assume the appearance of a gentleman ? Is it be cause they despise the anvil, the lathe, the chisel, the vise or the shuttle ? Is it be cause the desk and the counter are more profitable or more respectable ? If so, no greater mistake was ever made. A scholar can always become a clerk, and a sharp man or woman can always be an assistant. These occupations should be a last resort, and to know a useful handicraft trade should be the first aim of every youth. Parents should abandon false notions of gentility. A black coat in these days fre quently hides a sad heart, and clean hands often mean starvation. A man who can turn his hand to a good trade is always in dependent. and need be the slave of no one. I sincerely trust that parents will discon tinue sending their children to the desk or the counter, and make them useful me chanics or artisans of some kind; for, in the latter case, they may become prosperous manufacturers, but in the former they may probably be servilely poor all their lives and die prematurely into the bargain. We shall soon be an educated nation, and we should, above all, see that the increased in telligence is rightly directed. The ten dencies are unquestionably to avoid pro ducing wealth and to participate in its dis tribution. The factories and workshops —the real sources of wealth—are too often regarded as beneath the attention of per sons whose parents have prospered therein. I beseech every one having the custody of children to see that the education they possess is directed to the manipulation and fashioning of the products of the earth for the use and enjoyment of men, and not to the counter and quill-driving. Of course, there must always be clerks and assistants, but I have no fear of the supply ever being inadequate to the demand. There are, however, grave reasons why the energies of young persons should be directed into healthier and more profitable channels.— Thomas Suthursl in Death and Disease Behind the Counter. o—— r> Why is a successful investment like an entertaining book?—Because it gives great interest. r Chinese Lacquer. e ~ From the Courier de Saigon. j It was supposed for along time that the j lacquer was a peculiar compound of which _ the Chinese and Japanese carefully guarded s the secret, and the Catholic missionaries, s and especially Fere Incarville, we are told, t were the first to learn that this precious I varnish, which gives so much lustre to ( wood-work of all kinds, was simply a resin j of rather reddish color, extracted by incision j from a tree indigenous to some provinces ) of China and Japan, j The same missionary gives an account of j the mode of preparing and employing the varnish obtained from this resin. The first t operation consists in removing from the , juice of the tree all the water, and for this purpose it is exposed to the sun for two or three hours, being stirred all the time with . a wooden spatula. Without the evapora tion thus caused the varnish would not j possess its beautiful transparency. Certain . substances are added to produce the varie ties of varnish known in Chinese industry: ■ thus, to produce the fine ordinary varnish, , pig’s gall and Roman vitriol are dissolved in a little water; to produce the fine black Japanese varnish, of which the Chinese re mained long ignorant, powderetfMartshorrt',” charcoal or ivory black is mixed in certain proportions with tea oil, and added to the resinous liquid. An able Chinese artist, in executing or namental work in gold or colors, commences by sketching his design on the varnished wood with a brush and white lead; when satisfied with his outlines, he passes over them a very fine steel point, and then traces all the details. More often, however, the design is first sketched with pencil on paper, and finished with Indian ink. These latter - designs are then carefully brushed over by apprentices, with orpiment dissolved in water, and are immediately applied to the varnished wood, the hand being passed over the paper, so that all the parts of the de sign are transferred to the wood. When the paper has been taken off, all the lines are retouched with orpiment or vermilion in gum water, which fixes the design firmly on the lacquer, and then with varnish, mixed with a little camphor, which renders it more liquid; and this, when dry, is ready to receive the shell-gold in powder, applied by means of a puff or dabber over the whole of the design; the surface is then lightly wiped or rubbed; when every line of the original design becomes brilliant. When it is desired to bring portions of the design into relief, such as the inequality of the trunks of trees, the nerves and veins of plants, etc., the camphor varnish is ap plied over the gold, and the gold again over that, often many times, until the desired relief is obtained. All the important lines of the design, the eyes, lips, etc., of figures, the folds of drapery, and all the ornamental portions of the work, are touched up care fully with a brush. Beautiful as Chinese lacquered work is, that of Japan excells it; and one cause of j this is the superior transparency of the Japanese varnish, which is as limpid as the j purest water, while that of the Chinese has always a yellow tinge. Kang-hi, the famous Emperor, who was a great connoisseur and patron of art, ad mitted the superiority of the Japanese lacquer work, but he attributed it to the climate, stating that the production of the best varnish required a soft, fresh, humid and calm atmosphere; that that of China was rarely temperate, almost always hot or cold, and charged with dust and salts, while 1 Japan, being surrounded by the sea, had just the sort of air to dry varnish, without causing it to become wrinkled or discolored. This opinion of the Emperor is borne out by the practice of the lucquerers of the present day; and it is a known fact that the air of China is often loaded with dust, which the rain brings down in the form of mud. White lacquer is made by mixing silver leaf, carefully divided, with the ordinary varnish; red lacquer by the mixture of mineral cinnabar or carthamin flowers; yel low lacquer with the addition of orpiment only; green is produced by a mixture of orpiment and indigo; and violet lacquer by the addition to the varnish of a certain mineral of that color, reduced to an impal pable powder. The older the articles var nished with the above, the more brilliant and beautiful are the colors. Another compound_ lacquer of which the materials are not given is used by the painters for the richest Chinese ornamental work which is decorated with gold. The perfection of Chinese and Japanese lacquer work does not, however, depend solely on the excellence of the varnish, or the careful preparation of the various colors, for the application of the lacquer demands the most elaborate pains. In the first place the surface of the wood to be lacquered is prepared with the greatest care; when necessary, the joints are filled in with fine tow and then covered with thin strips of silk or paper. The surface is then dressed with an oil obtained from a certain tree which grows on the mountains and highlands of China; when the oil is per fectly dry the varnish is applied. With two or three coats of the varnish its trans parency is so great that all the veins and marks of the wood are - jerfectly distinct; to disguise the wood entirely many more coats have to be laid on, and finally the surface is made as smoothe and brilliant as glass. It is on such a surface that the gold and silver ornamentation is effected, and the whole, when finished, is preserved hya light coating of the varnish. Another kind of lacquer is produced by covering the surface of the wood with a composition made of paper, tow, lime and some other materials. This is laid in the form of paste, and produces a solid and uniform ground with which the lacquer amalgamates. The lacquer and varnish are laid on with flat brushes with exceedingly fine hairs, at first in all directions, but equally, and af terwards lightly and in one direction, each coat being allowed to dry perfectly before another is laid on. No single coat exceeds the thickness of the thinnest paper, other wise irregularities would be produced which could not afterwards be corrected. The workshops in which lacquered work is produced are closed in the most careful manner, in order to prevent the possibility of dust, the men even taking oft’ all their clothes except a pair of drawers. Contrary to all European practice, the lacquered work is dried in places which are rather damp than otherwise, and the workmen exhibit the greatest ingenuity in keeping the atmosphere therein in perfect condition. .When a coat of varnish is sufficiently dry the slightest irregularities are removed by burnishing with an instrument made of a hard composition of buck, extremely finely powdered, and mixed with a certain oil, pig’s blood, lime water and a peculiar kind of earth common in China. The last coat of varnish Is not, however, touched with the burnisher, which would dim its lustre. Upon the perfection of this last coat all the beauty of the work depends, and the greatest care Is taken that no particle of dust shall reach it, and no foreign substance touch it but the hair of the finest sable. It Is only under these elaborate conditions that the beautiful lacquer work of China and Japan can be produced. The Statue of Liberty. The N. Y. Herald recently contained an 3 article on the Bartholdi statue of Liberty, i from which wo extract the following; 1 While the funds were being collected M. , ( Bartholdi was steadily at work on the sta tue. The question of material had been 3 easily decided. Bronze had been selected ) on account of its malleability and its power i of resisting the elements. The metal was i not cast, but reponsec, or hammered into > shape. The method by which this was accomplished is exceedingly interesting. First there was a rough model, moulded in clay, for popular approval. Then a plaster cast was made, one sixteenth of the size of the statue. From this, another model, one fourth the real size, was constructed. All the measurements and creases in the drap ery had to be carefully gone over. After this model had been completed another full sized one was made from it, being construct ed in sections. In the immense workshops different parts of the floor were marked off for the various sections, and wooden sup ports built for them. Then a skeleton of laths was made for each piece. The sec tions into which the quarter-sized model had been divided were carefully copied by Skilled cVerynTeasSimffeWfeng four times as large. Upon the wooden framework plaster was first roughly spread, and then exactly in accord ance with the markings on the model. The detailed character of the work may be imagined from the fact that upon each of the nine sections of the model there were 300 measurements, besides 1,200 small marks which had to be copied in order to keep up the exact proportion. After all this had been accomplished, wooden moulds, i exact copies of the plaster, had to be made by hand. Every projection or depression of the drapery or figure had to be exactly fitted to the wooden mould. Then the sheets were placed in the moulds and ham mered into shape, all the hammering being done from the back or inside of the sheets. They varied greatly in size, according to their position in the figure, the majority of them being from one to three yards square. In all there are three hundred of these hammered plates, weighing eighty-eight ! tons. Besides this work on the outside of the statue, there had to be constructed an immense skeleton of iron and steel beams, to which the bronze shell could be firmly ! riveted. DELICATE MOULDINGS. The modeling is broad and massive, and, where necessary, exquisitely fine. There are parts of the drapery that have the deli | eaey of work on a statuette. This is en hanced by a wholly accidental effect—the way in which the metal is wrought by the hammer gives the whole surface of it a kind of mottle, which breaks up the light pre cisely as the light is broken up on silk. The huge robe has thus a perfect texture, and one forgets that its folds are in stub born bronze. This applies more especially to the drapery of the lower part of the fig ure just where the dress sweeps the ground. Beyond rises the mantle, or outer covering, in great majestic folds, treated with a per fect eye for the handling of masses in dra pery. Above this again there is more work of extreme delicacy, and the sleeve of the right arm would be a thing for any sculptor in the world to be proud of, and it is almost as great a credit to the artisan. How so much freedom of effect has been preserved through all the processes one can hardly ' understand. But all this beauty could be destroyed were it not that proper precau tions have been taken to prevent the attacks of the weather. The mere expansion by the heat of day, or the blaze of the summer sun would pull the statue to pieces in a very short time, if each of the plates had not been so arranged as to move slightly on the rivets which join it to the iron skeleton. The plates had to be thin enough to bend I slightly, under changes of temperature, so as to preserve their proper shape both win ter and summer. But copper and iron are dangerous metals to place in contact; an electrical current might easily be generated which would cause the copper coating to slowly vanish. Every joint and every rivet of the structure had to be isolated. Gen. Stone, who since his return from Egypt has conducted the scientific part of the preparations, believes that he has succeeded in obviating any dangers from an electric current. DIMENSIONS. Reckoning from the coronet to what might be called the foot-stool, the figure measures 104 feet 11} inches, and to the extremity of the torch 138 feet. The pe destal of granite on which it will stand is to be eighty-two feet high, giving a total of 220 feet as the height of the work. The head is fourteen feet high, and forty persons can stand within it. The circumference of the thumb measures twelve feet. The forefinger is eight feet long and four feet in circumference at the second joint. The balcony around the edge of the torch will j hold -fifteen persons. An electric light will be placed in the torch and points of elec tric light will encircle the coronet. The foundation, when completed, will be fifty two feet high, and the top of the torch will be elevated 309 feet above mean tide level. COMPARISONS. Thus it will be seen that the statue of Liberty is the tallest in the world. The monument at London, the next loftiest iso lated column, is but 202 feet high. The Porcelain Tower at Nankin was 200 feet high. The “Germania” statue, unveiled last autumn on the Neiderwald, Ls only 110 feet high. That of “Bavaria,” at Munich, is 01 h feet, with a pedestal of 28f feet. The statue of St. Charles Borromeo, at Arano, near the southern extremity of Lake Maggiore, is 06 feet high, with a pedestal of 40 feet. The Vendome Column in Paris is 144 feet high, and the Arc de Triomphe IGO feet. Trinity church steeple is 284 feet high. The torch will rise 22 feet above the Brooklyn-bridge towers. The statue of Memnon, celebrated in an tiquity, was only G 5 feet in height, and Trajan’s Pillar 130 feet. Pompey’s Pillar, at Alexandria, is 114 feet high. It form erly held a statue on its capital, of which only one foot and ankle are left. The most celebrated colossus of ancient and modern times previoug to the statue of Liberty was the Colossus of Rhodes. The city had been besieged by Demetrius Poliocetes, King of Macedon, but assisted by Ptolemy Soter, King of Egypt, the citizens repulsed their enemies. To express their gratitude to their noble friends, and to their tutelary deity, they erected a brazen statue to Apol lo. Charles of Lindus, the pupil of Lysip pus, commenced the work, but having ex pended the whole amount intrusted to him before it was half completed he committed suicide, and it was finished by Laches. The statue was 105 feet high and hollow, with a winding staircase that ascended to the head. After standing fifty-six years it was overthrown by an earthquake in 224 B. C., and lay nine centuries on the ground, and then was sold to a Jew by the Sara cens, who had captured Rhodes after the middle of the seventh century. It is said to have required 900 camels to remove the metal, and from this statement it has been calculated that its weight was 720,000 pounds. VOL.XX.-N0.8; NUMBERS. n How They have Affected the Forlnnes ’, of Enropeaus Dynasties. Certain numbers have been regarded . with superstition and certain events con , nected with numbers are of curious interest. ] The number 14 has often been observed r as having singularly influenced the life of s Henry IV. and other French princes. 5 May 14, 1029, the first king of France 3 named Henry was consecrated, and Maj id, KilO, the last Henry was assassinated. , Fourteen letters compose the name of r Henri de Bourbon, who was the fourteenth p king bearing the titles of France and Na , varre. December 14, 1553, —that is 14 [ centuries, 14 decades, and 14 years after . the birth of Christ, Henry IY. was born. . and the digits of the date, 1553, to gether give the number 14. May 14, 1554. Henry 11. ordered the enlargement , of the Rue de la Ferronnerie. The cir ■ cumstance of this order not having been carried out occasioned (as wifi be i^eenVlhe • murder of Henry IY. in that* strek Toiir times fourteen years afterwards; sfav 14 > 1552, was the date of the biftti "of Mar guerite de Valois, first wife of Henry IY. the Parisians revolted a gainst Henry 111, at the instigation of the Duke of Guise. March 14, 1590, Henry IV. gained the battle of Ivry. May 14, 1590, Henry was repulsed from the Fau bourgs of Paris. November 14, the same • year, the sixteen took oath to die rather than serve Henry. November 14, 1592, the parliament registered the papal bull giving power to the legate to nominate a king to the exclusion of Henry. Decem ber 14, 1599, the Duke of Savoy was rec- . onciled to Henry IV. September 14, 1006, the Dauphin, afterward Louis XIII., was baptized. May 14, 1610, the king was stopped in the Rue de la Feronnerie by his earrriage becoming blocked with a cart on account of the narrowness of the street. Ravaillac took advantage of the occasion to stab him. Henry IV. lived • four times fourteen years, fourteen weeks,- and four times fourteen days—that is to say, 56 years and 5 months. May 14, 1643, died Louis XIII., son of 1 Henry IV., on the same day of the same month as his father. When the digits of the date 1643 are added the result is 14, the same as in the case of the date of the birth of his father. Louis XIV. mounted to the throne in 1643; add these figures and you get 14. He died in 1715; add again and you get 14. He lived 77 years; add once more and the result is 14. Louis XV. mounted the throne the same year; he died in 1774, the extremes of which are 14 and the sum of means is 14. Louis XVI. had reigned 14 years when he con vened the states general, which was to bring about the revolution. The number of years between the assassination of Henry IV. and the dethronement of Louis XVI. is divisable by 14. Louis XVII. died in 1794; the extreme digits of the date are 14 and the first two give his number. The Bourbons were restored •in 1814, also marked by the ctxremes being 14 and by the sum of the figures being 14. Louis IX. was born in 1215; add the digits and you have 9. Charles VII. was born in 1402; the sum of the figures is 7. Louis XII. was born in 1461, and Ix4x6xl=l2. Louis XIV. was crowned in 1643, and these four figures give 14. He died in 1715, which also adds 14. He was aged 77, and 7 and 7 are 14. Louis XVIII. was born in 1755; add the digits and yon have 18. Robespierre fell in 1794, Napoleon in 1815, and Charles X. in 1830. The sum of the digits composing these dates gives the date of the fall of the successor. Robespierre fell in 1794; 1x7x9x4=21. 1794x21=1815, the date of the fall of Napoleon; Ixßxlxs=ls, and 1815x15 =IB3O, the date of the fall of Charles X. A singular rule has been pointed out, supposed to determine the length of the reigning pope’s life in the earlier half of a century. Add his number to that of his predecessor, to that add 10, and the result gives the year of his death. For instance: , Pius VII. succeeded Pius VI.; 6x7=13, add 10 and the sum is 23; Pius died in 1823. Leo! XII. succeeded Pius VII,: 12x7x10=29, and Leo XII.; and died 1829; Pius VIII, succeeded Leo XII.; Bxl2xlo=3o, and Pius VIII. died in 1830. December 2 is a remarkable day in Bona partist annals. December 2, 1804, Napo leon I. was crowned. The same day in the next year he won hjs chief victory of Austerlitz. December 2, 1851, Napoleon 111. made himself master of France, and December 2, 1852, he was proclaimed em peror. There is a tradition that the number 3 is stamped on the royal line of England, and that there shall not be more than three princes in succession without a revo lution. William I. and 11., and Henry 1., then the revolution of Stephen. Henry 11., Richard 1., John; then invasion of France. Henry 111., Edward 1., Edward 11., the last was dethroned and put to death. Edward 111. and Richard 11. dethroned. Henry IV., V., and VI., then the crown passed to the house of York. Edward IV. and V. and Richard 111., the crown won by Henry Tudor. Henry VII. and VIII., and Edward VI.; Lady Jane Grey’s usur pation. Mary, Elizabeth; the crown passed to the house of Stuart. James 1., Charles I. revolution. Charles 11., James II.; in. vasion of William of Orange. William and Mary, Anne; arrival of the house of Brunswick. Here the law proved faulty. The number 88 seems to have been fatal to the house of Stuart, and the date Sep tember 3 had influence on the fortunes of Oliver Cromwell. Robert 11., the first Stuart king, died in 1388; James 11. was killed at the siege of Roxburg in 1488, Mary Stuart was beheaded in 1588, James 11. dethroned in 1688, Charles Edward died in 1788. and with him the hopes of the Jacobites. Oliver Cromwell was born September 3, 1597, won the battle of Dun bar September 3, 1650, and that of Wor cester September 3, 1651, and died Sep tember 3, 1658. Saturday has been fatal to some of the later English princes. William of Orange died Saturday, March 18, 1702; Anne died Saturday, August 1, 1704, George I. died Saturday, June 10, 1727; George 11. died Saturday, October 25, 1760; George 111. died Saturday, January 30, 1820, George IV. died Saturday, June 26, 1830. There is a burden of care in getting riches, fear in keeping them, temptation in using them, guilt in abusing them, sorrow in losing them, and a burden of account at last to be given up concerning them, and yet foolish people sell their souls and sigh to be rich. There are many hard tasks set for women in this world, but few which they find it impossible to perform. Still there never was a woman who could keep a fur-lined circular from flying open and showing the fur. Folks who live by their wits live by the want of wits in other folks. Fortunes are made by long earnings and sayings.