THE SEA COAST ECHO.
CHAS. G. MOREAU,
EDITOR AND PEOPHIETOB.
' jft ■< 4
Xho new Smith College “rest home'*
.a to be called “Sunnyside.” Why not
be original Instead of plagarizlng
Washington Irving? suggests the Bos
.• 4 - , 1
"r ■ *
Vegetarianism is all the vogue
among those who take thought, what
they shall eat and what they shall
irink. Bridge and boiled cabbage
came in together, and who shall say
which hast the hrim r hold upon per
sons of fashion, ask u s*r Herbert Max
well in The Outlook,
The general question comes up for
consideration, in view of the repeated
theft* of jewels from private posses
sors to which we have referred, if the
constant fear of loss and need of pe
< iliariy vexatious safe keeping do not.
more tl*an compensate for the pride of
possession, especially when imitations
of little cost relatively may bo made to
b.rve the same purpose of personal
decoration. Not v( ry long ago a wo
man of the society of fashion, whose
necklace of supposed pearis received
admiration for its ! canty and perfec
tion. pirn-hed between her lingers two
of the ostensible jewels to demonstrate
that they were paste and that she was
unperturbed by fears cf their loss. Wai
she not a wise woman? Carrying
about on one's person a fortune In
jewels may he tributary to the van
ity of possession, but may it not also
be provocative of ir.< re than counter
balam ing anxiety, practically illustrat
ed. it may be, in th ■ employment of a
detective to wai* h over the portable
The Czar as He is.
I have Spoken to many men and
worn n who.know the czar personally,
and though there is disagreement with
regard to certain points in his charac
ter. all are agreed as to one thing. A
lady whose connection with the min
i-try of the imperial court is an in
timate one told me that on one occa
sion the Czar had paused suddenly
while talking with her, and then re
marked; “Do you ever feel as though
;V' ryo'.c pitied you?” She answered
munothing or otner .and he added,
‘The re are some people in this room
who be’, ave as if they thought me
mad.” It is that—the Czar's tempera
met lucks the calm balance, the level
rallousn* us, which are characteristic
of the noble Russian. At all times
nervous, an easy prey to gloom and
depression, he runs at whiles to the
opposite extreme, the very apex of
hysteria. Officers at court have seen
him weep like a weman, with fits in
which his voice trembles to an emascu
late treble and finishes in a scream.
Ho pokes always upon the edge of an
emotional crisis, and when he affects
. aim he gives it evidence In a reckless
? ithlessness which even De Plehve
c mid not excell. The doctrine of
di ine right, that tawdry shield of weak
monarch... finds in him the most absol
ute acceptance. The nature of tho
Res .an constitution imposes it, to
begin with One cannot conceive an
autocracy without this mental dark
necs. —Pall Mall Bagazine.
Occupations of the Future.
Three millionaires, as they walked
tV Boardwalk of Atlantic City, talked
of the business of (ho future.
“It is in the new things, always in
the new things,” said tho first, “that
the poor young men will find their
chance. The old things always are
monopolized. It was su in my day.
It will ho so in my grandson’s day.”
“True,” saiil the second millionaire.
“I made my money out of shoddy.
Shoddy in my youth was anew thing.
It seemed miraculous lu those days
(o turn old cloth into new cloth. Peo
ple sai l I was a fool to otter such an
“Antomobiling is ore of the new
businesses to lake up,” said the third.
“Automobiles, motor cycles, lamp*,
horns, tires, schools for chauffeurs —•
this big business i-aa many lucrative
“I om urging ray son,” said th©
first, “to go in for phonographic and
vitascopic entertaining. You have
seen those halls, like theatres, each
with 75 or 100 little phonographs and
vitascopes, where for a penny you can
hoar a beautiful sons or see a beautiful
dance? Well, these halls are popular,
and they will beet me more popular as
the entertainment provided in them
improves, I can imagine my son con
ducting in one city a dozen such halls,
each netting him a day.”-—Phila
No Great Woman Poet.
Though the quality and range of h^r
genius were deep, gt nerous and wide,
Elizabeth Barrett Frowning cannot h©
described, if language is to be used
accurately, as occupying a place
among the poets justly designated
In no tongue hitherto has any female
writer attained to that supreme posi
tion. and were this the appropriate
moment, which it i> not, it would
perhaps be possible to explain why
no woman is likely ever to do so. Not
a few female writers are in effect in
the front rp.nk of novelists. But. prose
romance is one thing and poetry quit©
another, and there is a chasm be
tween them; nor docs the circum
stance of novels being in this ag
mere popular than poetry affect in
any decree the inherent and immuta
bie ditt rence. Elizabeth Barrett
Browning was, “Aurora Leigh” noU,
withstanding, essentially and almost
exclusively a lyrical poet. It would be
easy to add almost indefinitely to il
lustrations of her being one of those
who “learn in suffering what they
teach in song,” not one of the greater
peels who pass through that experl
en e but end by getting beyond it.--
Alfred Austin, at the unveiling pf s
Jjugt cf Mrs. Browning,
AN IRISH MELOD
■ ■ I
BT JOHN 7BAIfC WjUXZ*. ?
•"Ah, sweet Kitty Neil! rise up from your wheel—•
Your neat foot Wll be weary from spinning;
Come, trip (5941! with roe to the sycamore tree;
Half the parish is there, ami the dance is beginning.
The sun is gone down; hut the full harvest moon
Shines sweetly and cOol oi> the devv-whitened valley;
"While all the air rings with The soft, loving things
Each little bird sings in the green shaded alley.”
With a blush and a smile Kittv rose tip the while.
Her eye in the glass, as she bound ner hair, glancing;
*Tis hard to refuse when a young lover sues, -
So she couldn’t but choose io go off to the dancing.
And now on the green the gjad groups are seen —
Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of his choosing;
And Pat, without fail, leads out sweet Kitty Neil-- . , ,
Somehow, when .he asked, she ne’er thought of refusing
Now Felix Magee puls his pipes to his knee.
And with flourish so free, sets each couple in motion;
\\ ith a cheer and a h-und, the lads natter the ground--
The maids move around just like swans on the ocean.
--Cheeks bright ns the rose —feet light as the doe's—
Now rosily retiring, bow boldly advancing;
Search the world all around from the sky to the ground.
No such sight can be found as the Irish lass dancing!
Sweet Kate, who could view your eyes of deep blue.
Beaming humidly through their dark lashes so mildly—
Your fairy-turned ; rrn, heaving breast, rounded form—
Nor feel his heart warm, and his pulses throb wildly?
Poor Pat feels his heart, ns he gazes, depart.
Subdued by the smart of such painful yet sweet love;
The sight leaves hi? eyes as he cries with a sigh.
‘ Dance light, for my heart it lies under your feet, love!”
I run j"ijrxT\jn_riJT_rLr uun r
I A Trust Fulfilled.
rJ i n n n rLTT ru
•G By Canning, t>
••<>•••?• .••••••••••••••••• >•£••••
HE people of Melstone were
not uncharitable, yet it
a ' 1 O would have been bard lo
I* p find three persons who be
'V’fOt’f' lioved there was any good
in - .cd Wildburn. A rude, ungoverned
hild; a lawless, vicious youth; a reck
less, dissipated man. In all his thirty
years of life ho bad done no good tiling
that anyone over remembered of him.
The people of Melstone were a very
moral sort of people, and did not hesi
tate to give this one Ishinaclite to un
derstand the impassable gulf that lay
between themselves and him, both in
tme and eternity. Perhaps it tended
to improve his heart and temper; but
I doubt it.
Among the inhabitants was a family
of the name of Upton. From time im
memorial (here had been a feud be
tween the Wildbnrns and Uptons, kept
alive and aggravated by each succes
sive generation. A great many years
before a Wildburn and an Upton had
married sisters, and through some nice
Id. of diplomacy on the part of Upton,
his wife was made heiress to the pa
ternal fortune, and Hie wife of Wild
burn cut off with a paltry hundred
Later, Floury Upton had succeeded In
getting the whole of a large legacy,
left by some distant relative, which
should have been equally divided be
tween Fred Wildburn and himself.
Nalurallly. this (ended io widen Hie
bnach, and fearful ami bitter were the
vows of vengeance which Fred
brealhed against Upton.
Indeed, his ungovernable passion
might have led him to some act of
personal violence, but for one restrain
Ten years before the commencement
nt our tale, when Fred Wildburn was
about twenty years -old. he had one of
h wrists broken in a fight lie had
himself provok'd. llis mother was,
ami bad been for years, a bedridden
invalid, with an intellect weakened
by lossg illness and abuse —for lief hus
band drank heavily at times, and liquor
made him wild and furious.
The broken limb was set by a sur
geon in a neighboring town; but Hie
prospect of payment being exceedingly
'inall, be paid very little subsequent
a (ten ion to bis patient. It was warm
weatlur, and Hie arm was badly torn
and bruised besides, and needed daily
attention. Hood, charitable, pious poo
dle, who gave munificently for the
aim deration of Hie heathen thousands
of miles away, turned with disgust
from this heathen at their own doors.
1 imid women shrank from entering
•he house, because, perchance, old
Wildburn might be on one of bis “ca
rouses;” and so Hie bruises became
inflamed, and the danger that tin arm
would have lo come off grew immi
nent. Fred wasn’t used to bearing
pam. and raved fearfully, while the
weak-minded invalid cried ami fretted
by turns, and Wildburn senior drank
more perscverlngly than ever.
Into tliis pandemonium there came
one morning a slight, delicate girl,
beardig a little roll of snowy linen in
“I have come io dress your arm.
1-red." she said, quietly, laying aside
her white sunbonnet, and revealing a
thin, j'.ither pale face, with steady,
fearless brown eyes.
“Who sent you here, Bessie Bran*
donV” asked Hie elder Wildburn, in a
“No one, sir. I came because 1
thought it right for me to come.
Frederick will lose his arm, unless it
is cared for speedily ”
“Let him lose it, then,” was the
“Not if 1 can liekr it, sir!”
And Hie brown eyes were lifted fear
lessly to his face.
Muttering somethin,gapout “meddling
neighbors,” he seized his hat and stag
gered of Hie room, and Bessie at
once s t herself to the work of caring
for the wounded arm.
It was a shocking sight, and tho firm
lips grew just a little white as she
stripped off the matted bandages; but
her white lingers were steady and cool,
as she carefully washed the arm,
bathed it in some liniment she had
brought with her. and swathed it nice
ly and carefully in the cool, soft linen
she had brought for the purpose.
“Why. it doesn't fro: like the same
arm!” Fred exclaimed, when she had
finish and; and involuntarily he glanced
at tho other hand, which he for tho
first time realized, with a faint emotion
of shame, to be almost as sadly in
need of Washing as the other had been.
When Bessie came the next day. she
noticed that it was almost as white as
Every day for fc.nr weeks Bessie
visited the Wildburn on her errand
of mercy, undismayed by old Wildburn.
or the ridicule of her friends.
h l should have lost it, I dare say. if
it hadn’t been for you. Miss Bessie.”
Fred said, (ho lasj day she came. “I'm
ft ipiserphle wretch, fcupwe;
but I shan't ov< i r forget this,” touching
“I am so glad I could help you,” she
“Well, you're the first one,” he said,
a little bitterly.
As I said, this was ten years before,
and, though the years had brought
many changes, the ameliorating iuflu
enees had been few in the life of Fred
Wildburn. The drunken father and
invalid mother had both died, leaving
Fred quite alone in the miserable,
shabby old house where he lived. He
had not improved with the years; on
the contrary, he had grown more reck
less and disorderly, until people said
lie was utterly and totally depraved,
without one good impulse in his heart.
One thing had happened during these
ten years. Bessie Brandon had mar
ried Henry Upton; hut no one ever
knew of the terrible night whieh Fred
Wildhuru passed when he heard of it.
“Nobody ever should know what a
miserable fool he had been,” he said,
He need not have feared lris secret
was safe—for no one ever was wild
enough to suspect him of frelmg nr
sentiment, particularly whore* the
petted daughter of Squire Brandon was
Henry Upton was an honored and
highly respected citizen. He was in
telligent. educated and wealthy, and
if he looked down from his sublime
height of virtue and attainment a little
contemptuously upon poor, miserable
Fred Wildburn, it was certainly no
more than his neighbors did. And if,
by any possibility, there had been any
little trickery or unfairness in the set
tlement of that legacy, he could easily
excuse himself upon the plea that it
would only he a curse to Wildburn if
he had it, leading him into deeper de
bauchery, whereas ho could use it
wisely, and for the benefit of morality
and religion. The fact that Wildburn
did tint see it in just that light was
only another proof of his innate de
pravity, people said, piously.
Upton had a mill some four miles
from Melstonc, by (he main road, but
scarcely three by a cut across country.
If was little more than a bridle path,
though Upton sometimes drove through
with his light drag. He started with i(
one wild, chilly December morning,
promising his wife to return early if
k came on to snow, a ; it promised to.
It was piercingly cold, and the wind
blew i.i fierce, fitful gusts all the fore
noon. Just after boon it began snow
ing- not ns usual, in fine, light parti
cles, but with a wild, tempestuous
force that carried all before it. Long
before night the streets were block
aded, and .he wind roared and shrieked
up and down them like a madman.
Bessie Upton paced the floor of her
pretty sitting room, more excited and
nervous that she had ever been in her
life before. She had, naturally, a cool,
“If only he had not started,” she said,
anxiously; “if he saw the fierceness of
the storm in season to stop at the mill,
instead of attempting to brave it!”
The night came down early; but the
mill owner came not, and his wife,
though still anxious, had settled down
to the belief (hat he would not come
Suddenly .a loud neigh, falling be
tween the pauses of the tempest, struck
“Henry has come now!” she ex
claimed; and, catching up a lamp, she
hurried to the side door.
Only a panting, terrified horse, the
broken harness dangling from his
foamy sides, met her appalled vision.
For a moment she sank, dizzy and
faint, in a chair. She was alone; her
one servant, having gone away for the
day. had been prevented from return
ing by the storm.
Fred Wildburn was sitting over a
smoldering lire, inwardly cursing the
storm that kept him in. It was not a
pleasant home —there was that excuse
for him. The walls wore dingy with
smoke, the floor was bare and dirty,
the chairs and tables were broken and
“flow the wind blows! This is the
third time ”
He paused suddenly, for. framed in
the door, the wind and snow whirling
madly about her slight figure, stood
“Great Heaven. Bessie!’’ he ejaculat
ed, and tlion stood gazing at her in
dumb amazement, while she closed
Hie door, and came and stood before
“Frederick.” she said, in her sweet,
firm voice. “Henry is out somewhere
in this storm. The horse has come
home alone. If ho came the forest
road, he can never find his way home,
and ho could not live till morning in
this storm. There is nobody I dare ask
but you to go to him. It is a great deal
to ask, I know; but I think I know
your heart better than anyone else
I aoes, and I shall trust to your courage
and LraverP'Js^Efl^.. dreadful emer
X spa tilt of pain crossed his
i'ar ft| Ttben he turned away without
Up caking and took down Lis hat and
ooaffand they walked together to the
door. He"parsed on the doorstep, look
ing wistfully down at her.
“How can you get homo?” he said.
‘*lt is dreadful, I know. Frederick”—
nobodi' but she ever called him any
thing but Fred—“but I think I can get
the wind nearly taking her
from her feet as she spoke.
"in n'iTghTaccompany yon." lie said,
.hesitating, ami atViiivg, “If. yqu nee not
afraid of, being contaminated.”
For answer, she put her hands lu his,
tVnile 'she lived, Bessie Fpton neve
forgot the close, nervous clasp with
which he held her hands; hut he took
her carefully and tenderly to her door,
and then turned away into the storm
One, two. three hours —and. oh. such
long, interminable ages as they
“Perhaps 1 have sent him to his
death, too.” she moaned, sadly. “Oh,
if I could only know and see just where
If she could, she wvnild have seen
a slight, determined figure, battling
with the strength of a giant against
tho winds that disputed his progress
step by step. Falling sometimes over
prostrate trees, anon borne down by
sudden drifts of snow, yet struggling
on with unabated zeal, till bo comes at
last to a still, white figure lying across
(he path, entangled and hold down by
the debris of broken wheels and tree
Two hours later, when poor Bessie
had nearly given them both up fop
dead. Fred Wildhnrn staggered into
the room, and laid her husband at her
‘•I have fulfilled tlio trust.” ho said,
faintly, ami sank down beside Upton,
who was slowly rousing from the ter
rible Hull and torpor that had over
‘‘Oh, Henry! he has fainted! t\nd
She grew suddenly white as she
pointed to a small stream of blood
that stained his shirt hosom. onissl
by a sudden hemorrhage from the
It was morning before they could get
a physician there. WPdbnrn had laid
in an unconscious state all night; but
the flow of blood had ceased, and they
thought it only the torpor of exhaus
“Poor Fred!” Henry Fpton said,
“there was some good in him, after all.
I owe my life to Jus bravery, and I
shan’t forget it in a hurry. I have been
thinking, F.essie, that 1 will take him
into the mill, and see if I can’t make
something of him yet- I intend to re
ward him handsomely for this.”
The doctor came at last: but his
grave face told the story before ho
opened his lips.
“There is no chance for him to re
cover.” he said.
A little after noon the dying man
opened h?.s eyes, and looked about him.
“Fred,” Mr. Upton said, feelingly,
“I’ve not treated yon as I should have
done m times past, and I didn’t de
serve this at your hands. I want you
to forgive me, and ”
“Bessie—tvliere is Bessie?” he in
terrupted. fulfil ly.
“Here, dear Frederick, here.”
And she took Ins hands in hers, ana
bent over bin. till he felt a warm tear
splosh on his face.
“Oh, Bessie! it’s a miserable life, 1
know: but it's all I have to give, and
I would give it a hundred limes over
to save you from sorrow,” he said,
with a smile that glor’fied his coarse
face. “It was my good right arm—the
arm you saved for me, you know, dear,
I told yell I should never forget, and
I never riW! Nobody but you ever
trusted to tire good there- was in me—
little enough there was, I know,” he
said, dreamily, his voice growing sud
Bessie was crying softly. He opened
Ins eyes, and gave one long, eager look
in her face, and in that wistful gaze
Bessie Upton rend the secret no one
else ever knew or guessed.—New York
Accord in?: to the Express, London
had a i'l;y of “blaring sunshine'’ June
14. which “sent tlie temperature up to
s1 x t y-ci gh t degrees.”
Shoerness. England, though an Im
porlaut i aval station and a town of
more than 15.000 inhabitants, does not
possess a single telephone.
A bee that works only at night is
found in the Jungles of India. If jS an
unusually*largo insect. The eornhs are
often six feet long and from four to
six inches thick.
The Prince of Monaco, a dov*otee of
deep-sea curiosities, has found lum
inous shrimps living at groat depth,
where all Is dark. When put in an
aquarium they lose their light-giving
While a small engine weighing fifteen
tons, used by the railway contractors,
was crossing the Victoria Falls bridge
Just after nightfall it ran over some
thing on the line, says South Africa.
The driver pulled up to ascertain the
nature of the obstacle, and was con
siderably surprised to find an enormous
leopard lying terribly injured between
the rails. The brute expired in a few
moments. It measured eight feet in
length, and a marvelous feature of the
incident is that the engine was not de
Tp an address delivered before the
Section of Anthropology-of tlie Ameri
can Association for tlie Advancement
of Science. Mr. E. 1.. Blackshear main
tains the proposition that the scarcity
of islands, peninsulas and bays along
most of the coast’ line of continental
Africa has directly exerted a profound
influence on the character of the inhab
itants of Africa, by isolating them
from all the great world movements of
history. Deprived of the stimulus of
commercial and maritime influences,
they have remained stationary and dor
mant with regard to the organic life of
the hrmau speejeg.
IN CANDY LAND.
w Tn Candy Land the little folks
Wear candy buttons on their cloaks.
And candy buttons on their shoes —
Indeed, on everything they use."
“Why, I should think the things would
“They do; and then the children lake
The broken pieces, great and small.
And eat until they’ve eaten all.
“In Candy Land the girls all know
With candy needles they must sew;
The boys who work have candy tools.
And they have candy books in school.
“In Candy Land they think it nice,
To go to skate on candy ice;
They rest themselves in candy chairs,
And go to bed up candy stairs.”
The candy-lover on my knee
In wonderment still questioned me:
“And if the candy stairs should break?”
“The children must tho pieces take.
And very quickly down must sit
And eat up every single bit.”
“What if the candy buttons break?”
“The pieces then the children lake.
And very calmly down they sit
And cat up every single bit.
“In Candy Land the girls and boys
Play every day with candy toys;
They always eat from candy plates.
And do their sums on candy slates.
“Sometimes the children eat all day
To get the broken bits away.”
“And must the children cat them all?”
“Yes, every piece, both great and small.
This is the law in Candy Land;
And you must own tis wisely planned;
For in that land, as you can see.
So many things must broken be
That bits of candy soon would strew
The sidewalks, roads, and houses, too;
So children must the pieces eat
That Candy Land be clean and neat.”
The candy-lover on my knee
In blank amaze looked up at me.
“Why, Candy Land's a dreadful place!”—
Then dawned a wise look on his lace —
“I used to think it would be grand
To go to live in Candy Land;
But now I only wish to go
Each day and stay an hour or so!”
FUN IN MAKING SMOKE KINGS.
Have you ever watched a smoker
blow rings of smoke from his mouth?
Here is a way to make smoke rings
without being a smoker, and it will
be found one of the prettiest experi
ments that you ever made.
You must have a pasteboard box
about a foot square at the bottom, and
in the middle of the bottom cut a
round hole as large as a silver dollar.
Pin a handkerchief tightly over the
THE SMOKE BINES AND THE SMOKE BOX.
open top of the box and then burn
touchpaper in the hole until the box
is full of smoke.
Now rest the box on its side, and
when you lightly tap the handkerchief
smoke rings will come out of the hob'
just like those from the smoker s
To make larger rings of smoke and
to perform little feats with them, get a
wooden box instead of the pasteboard
one and lot it bo about two feet square
at the bottom. Over the open top tack
tightly a piece of heavy muslin and
stand the box on its side, as beture.
The hole in this box should b three or
four inches in diameter. To keep the
box full of smoke arrange two bottles,
one filled with strong ammonia and the
other with hydrochloric arid, and sup
port them on asbestos so that they can
be heated from below by an alcohol
lamp. The corks of the bottles will
have to have cither rubber or bent
glass tubes fitted in thorn, the other
ends of the tubes entering the box
by means of two small holes.
When you beat the bottles with the
lamp the fumes will rise through the
tubes and enter the box. where they
will mix and form a. dense white
smoke. Having filled the box in this
way the bottles need not be heated
again until the smoke becomes thin.
When you tap on the muslin, largo,
beautiful rings of smoke will come out
of the hole, and you can bring them
out forcibly and fast if you tap the
muslin hard, or gently and slowly if
you tap it lightly.
You will perhaps be surprised to hear
that you can make one of the smoko
rings blow out a lighted candle that
is placed across the room from the
box. Of course the candle must he
placed exactly opposite to the hole,
when a quick, hard tap on the muslin
will send a ring of smoko that will
And your friends will ho surprised
when yon blow out the candle by tap
ping the muslin on the box, even after
the box has been emptied of smoke.
The tap on the muslin semis a current
jof air strong enough to extinguish the
! The accompanying illustration shows
how the box should he arranged. Any
boy can make it.—New York Evening
THE STRENGTH OF BIRDS.
Birds cap cat and digest from ten to
chlrty times as much food in propor
tion to their size as men cun. If a pran
could oat as mnch in proportion to In*
size as a sparrow is able (o consume he
would need a tvliolo sheep for dinner a
couple of dozen c.'ddkens lot >na • •
and six turkeys Lx’ W evening meal.
A tree sparrow has l' H ' u kn< ]" n
700 crass seeds in it dw >'■ lv ° la
the bird’s size/ these seek' ' uH ”
as an ordinary lunch baskv 1 " tUI
to a full crown man.
A bird’s strength is equally fUV “ £
says the Indianapolis Nays: A w
tailed each? weighing twelve poun.
with a wing-spread of six feet, inns
been known to pounce on a pig weigh
inc forty-two pounds, raise it to a
height of 100 feet and fly off with it.
The bird bad covered a distance of half
a mile before the pic’s owner succeed
ed in shooting the thief.
Birds can and do work far harder
than human beings. A pair of house
martins when nesting will feed their
young ones in twenty seconds—that is,
each bird, male and female, makes
ninety journeys to and fro in an hour,
or about 1000 a day. It must be re
membered that on each journey the
bird has the added weight of catching
Even so tiny a bird as the wren lias
been counted to make IIP trips to and
from its nest within 430 minutes, and
the prey it tarried home consisted ol
larger, heavier and bardcr-to-tind in
sects than were caught by the spar
rows. Among them were twenty good
sized caterpillars, ten grasshoppers,
seven spiders, eleven worms and more
than one fat chrysalis.
One of the most interesting studies
of insect life is the relationship be
tween ants and plant lice, or aphids.
These plant-lice supply honoydew
from the juices which they take as
food from plants. The ants are very
fond of this sweet substance, and care
for the aphids in a manner that seems
to us surprisingly intelligent. They
sometimes carry them bodily to a hot
ter feeding ground and drive away
certain of their enemies. It is claimed
that they even buiid sheds of mud in
the crotches of shrubs and small trees.
On account of this insect relationship,
one may truthfully call the ants ‘•farm
ers.’’ lilt* aphids “cows.” and these pro
tecting mud cases “cowsheds.”—St
MOTHER CHOSE GEOGRAPHY.
The old “Banbury Cross” familiar
from the Mother (loose rhyme was a
, real cross in the English town of Bau*
I>nry. For ;i lorg time it was in ruined
condition, but was restored some twen
ty years ago. possibly because tourists
would ask to sco it. Hut the "Old
Lady" upon tbe white horse, rvitli all
her bells and rings. is gone forever,
music and all. "Primrose 11< 11 is an
other r a I lo alily, Rung in London
near Regent's l*ark. "St. Ives," on the
road from which "seven wives ’ were
met. is the town where Oliver Crom
well passed live years iu farming.-"
riGKON CARRIED THE NOTICE.
A carrier pigeon, writes the Ridding
(Cab) eorrespoiident of the Sacramento
Bee. played a part the other afternoon
in the tiling of a mining location notice
and several amended notices with the
Comity Recorder hy < Minton Johnson,
manager of the Cold Kings Mining
The pigeon was liberated at tbe
mines, four miles west of tins city, and
reached Mr. Johnson just four minutes
later, bringing b> him the word that
the notices had all been properly posted
on the claims. Thereupon he tiled du
plicates with t ho County Recorder, and
was’ just in time to do so before the
office closed for ihe day.
The Jonah Woman,
Street car conductors regard inquisi
tive women passengers with supersti
tious dread. The other day a fuse
blew out in a Broadway car and that
car was hitched on as a trailer to the
one ahead. Presently a woman began
to ask questions.
"What would happen.” she said, "If
the fuse were to blow out in that car
ahead? What would become of us?
Would the car ahead of that he able
to drag both tl- ’so cars?”
"I don’t know,” said the conductor.
"But don’t worfy. Wc won't have a
chance t find nut. A double accident
of that kin! has m-ver happened to a
car of mine yet. and it isn't likely to
happen once in a hundred years."
Just then there was an explosion
ahead and both cars came to a stand
still. The fuse had blown out.
•'Confound that woman.” growled
the conductor. "That is all her fault.
This wouldn't have happened if she
hadn’t asked so many fool question
She’s a Jonah."—New York Press.
Russian officers in camp receive
money to pay (or their meals.
_ SCiOITIFIC SCRAPS*
Ammonia vajpor has proven a
crfnl (UsiwffcctAftt. a rdhm fißeh "kh
it being freed from cholera bajini.
pustule germs or diphVtyV r * a mierpbes
iu two hours.
The Chicago and Alton road has
just demonstrated, for the first time,
the entire practicability of telegraph
ing to and from moving trains by
wire It SB telegraph.
The now glove for surgeons Is an
imperceptible covering that does not
impair touch or the pliability ul the
skin. It is applied byjm me ring (he
hand in a weak solatium Of Rtto
percha In benzine or acetone, and it
is as effective as an ordinary rubb* i
glove in closing any crevice in the
skin against pus or secretions and it'
making the hand antiseptic for opera
Now facts concerning tfS* kt ob
lige nt insects, the ants, are t’ill com
ing to light. They keep aphides a?
we do cows, in order to milk them
and that they liavc slaves was discov
ered long ago, but now we hear of a
outh American variety making flow
gardens in the tops of trees. Iho
° 'f ns or baskets contain certain
C p!nM which arc duly tended by the
! : the insects plant the minute
nm! ;- an ;' ~ ,1,0 plants spring
seeds wheuc. 1
, , <r manganese is slow
ly ti.me.li violent y • I(mml ,i, a (
Sir William Crookes v , |aVB
radium prodnecs in it fa liy
oration as intense as tuai ~ n()w
the sun in years. F. Fischer * „it ra .
been studying the effects of .
violet rays and reports that the 1k
of a mercury arc lamp in a quarts
tube gave a slight color in !•> miiuw
to four out of eight glasses, and an in
tense violet hue in 12 hours, Ihe c" 1
or proved to be due to manganese,
Silicon, the most abundant metal m>
the world, has been unknown on ac
count of the difficulty of separating it
from oxygen, but the electric Inman
has now made ! t obtainable in quan
tities to meet any demand. B is ex
pected to have some importance in
iron alloys. It gives to steel valua
ble electrical properties, it imparls
such hardness as to make some alloys
possibly useful as abrasives, and t!.*
compound known as “caloritc a ( iv‘ 1
like the thermite for obtaining higu
It has long been suspected that tlie
master makers of violin in Italy in tin
17th and 18th centuries knew of some
remarkable gum which they employed
in making the varnish for their in
struments. Mr. George Fry of the
Chemical society of Umdon, who lias
carefully investigated the subject,
concludes, after showing that the var
nish exercises a decided influence ov
er the tone of a violin, that Stiadhur
ius and other famous makers proba
bly used only such familiar things as.
turpentine, linseed-oil and resin mill
er than some mystical gum. 'J lie
resin was oxidized with nitric acid. 11
is doubted whether the popular idea
that age is advantageous rather than
detrimental to a violin is well found
Mile. .T. Wery, a Belgian naturalist,
has just announced the results of new
experiments on the nature of the at
traction of flowers for bees. Sbe
finds that perfume, by itself, offers
little attraction. Artificial flowers an
as attractive as natural ones if both
are put under glass shades. Bid
!iantly colored flowers offer much
greater attraction when entire than
when (he petals or other part ; have
been cut away. Honey has no at trac
tive power. Both color and t rut
apart from scent, arc powerfully at.
tractive. The three combined exer
cise a maximum of r/traction. tour
fifths of is due to form and col
or. This l\V*t indicates that h- < s an
guided more hy sight than by mueU
when they go after honey.
There is really nothing distinctive
ly new in the idea of dessicatcd milk,
but anew process is now bring
brought out in London, by which much
more seems to be achieved than by
any process previously invented. It
is known as the Just-Hattaker sys
tem, and the following points are
claimed for it, and are said by inde
pendent experts to have been amply
justified by experiments. Thai the
evaporation is so carried out as not
to eliminate, or produce any essential
change in any of the nutritive ele
ments of the milk; that, the solidified
matter, which is made in cakes or
bricks, can be restored to its origin
al form by the addition of water; that
the milk will then produce perfect
butter or cheese as may be required;
and that the intense heat employed
in the evaporating process complete
ly destroys dangerous microbes, and
thus renders the milk safer for house
hold purposes than the ordinary dairy
kind. Some cakes of the solidified
milk were despatched on a voyage
round the world recently, and were
found to be in perfectly sound con
dition on being returned to London.
If, as the inventors state, the miik
will keep indefinitely in the hottest
climate, the process should prove law
ful during the summer months.
Just then the Ark came very near
“What on earth caused the comma
Mon?” gasped Mrs. Noah. “Earthquake
under the water?”
| “No,” replied Noah, “one of the el
| ephants just sighted a peanut floating
Icy and made a lunge for it.”
Which all goes (o show if is al
ways best to take a bag of peanuts
along wherever one goes.—Chicago
Aged Man’s Long Walk.
Samuel Hardy, celebrating his 77th
1 birthday, walked > -uies the other
day from Matawan to Freehold. N. J.,
to dine with Deputy Sheriff Charles
Close at the Belmont hotel. Mr. Har
ny is quick of foot and made the dis
tance In five hours. Ho also rt>
turned homo on foot.
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