VOI. 1.111.
CLOUDS AID SUISHTNL
PT J. IHL \ \ NkHKK M. IV
ft Uunl not. my friend.
1W rw tMiyi CO fi
Brutal momcu of plmaum
And Jot 1 htr had ;
■(■ Mil of bncbtlHM.
Of |ciw. and of kv®.
As brig t and aa obeena*
Ac from above.
Hot will cocao
£wl JArMeu my brow,
And atora astro* cost
Om my heart lpn now *
But we tbr dcwit of tlac day *\
My grief mill depart.
And jflj iftiii cnjvtmr *
On may mid thro) As tig heart.
T>w hfc> ■ made np
Of cinh}a*iid shade.
# *ui4ijkwolß
To wither and fade.
IWwp cornea with a smile.
For a tame ho*atw near. * ,
Theu sorrow and nrw>f
hollow on wick a tear.
Hot the clouds break a war.
And the can beams so km ffct.
Gild shsdoara of SWtVW
W.th soft, holy light ;
We most never give way
To grief or te tears,
Oflife will be l*it
A lapse of dark years.
We can make It so bright.
So happy and true.
If we pas* over clouds.
And look for skv saft and blue.
Then never despond
Nor give sorrow sway.
And joy will be ours
Farih day.
Nearly Too Late. (
1 was left an orplian at the aire of four, !
lut wras brought up by a kind aunt and
unok*, My childhood pass* .1 r.iorrily
enough until 1 was aKml eight, when my
uncle, hearing of the Australian gold fields,
drternrned to s\k fortune abroad, in
stead of toiling for a men pittance at
home. ' ...
So I was transferred to a family by lite
name of Graham. They were middle class,
plain, homeiy people—wutiiag goldsmiths,
in fart—and lived in Northampton square,
tTfltenwdl . .. ..
They hid Imt one child, a daughter,
named Lily, w Ik < being only three years
younger tbaa teyielt, wr l>ocame great
friends. I: was natural also that as i grew I
up and went proudly Tut to ram my few j
shdhags a week, and do w nearer to man-1
hood, 1 fttonld learn to Jove my pretty little :
playfellow.
I "nramstaixTS went on thus happily un
til 1 was twenty and Lilly seventeen years
<f age, an.: then a communication from
my untax* in Australia informed xuc that
they had a capita: opening for roe.
1 was ioath to leave Lilly; yet. as I was
dtuug very lm.ffermuly and had beard of
snefc great fort unes acquired in such short
spaces of time by eniTgetic men, 1 sum
moned enough courage one day to-tell the
Graham* and poor little Lilly i was deter
mined to go to Australia.
I sJiaß never-Aorw* bit parting at Black
v*ail Pier. I shall never forget my pretty
little Lilly clinging to aay neck, and sobbing
aloud, and imploring m not to go, and I,
ar-uggUng between the influence of love and
enterprise, trying not to be a coward, when
I felt already that I was one.
It was in vain I tried to cheer her; I
flank I did not look an very comforting,
though, if I remember rightly, I recoiled
aayhtg:
*-Never mind. Lilly darling, I shall return
one day and make TOO a grand lady, I -
anall he sari to succeed, and shall return to
make you happy!"
.My tears. 1 knew, were threatening to i
I<r *L the feeble barriers that held them
back, and when dbe said:
*-Ab! but supptw you never do return—
-1 steal, break my heart. Robert!"
Why. th< n I think 1 <iia abed a tear or so
only te. keep her company.
At last the boat pushed off, and Mrs,
iazahaxr —good, kind old soul! —still kq>t
tttr Foa m- and ** sM wav .1 her
4*ai mum tHojrsrnhaa prutcgr.
TsstTtr Mcfbomrr. I wcifLi
dirties nveriand. and at last reached my
tiack-'ssetUciuußk but 1 bad no: long l*rn
Una n LZouari 1:1 c it. Australia 1-wwsy
fkau 1 bud —iiti|Uku I Stayed with him 1
itw a little time, until 2 took a dislike to
law nliar —for that mas what my cmlc bad
tua suoss of his money at—and joined a
party f young fellows starting for a new
le*4* bold Unit. :up tlx mway.
Throe years paascd slowly a may, and I
)<capa U> akuij nmrh better, ami had
w-TA many a nugget W Melbourne. 1 had
aaly Tarrived our <h-ar cherished letter from
JJiir. written on her eighteenth Ndkdaj,
t~" a*a. Jock i 4 her pt> tiy chest
cut: hair; m 1 thought I had no cause to
kw. as I knew that writing K iters do #
not g'fve young ladinc half the joy of re
oravTwc lhem. ami 1 wrou often enough.
Wrh, time went n. I had found a
caauarb. true rirrua a mil iqy omn age, u J
m mars ftkr brothers. M *a*w*yi worked
lop*km, and m~tr act had liucu out four
yrwv* and a ink, T<Tr. Thompson—for thet
m* ttte uarue of i:h •aoLfui friend —and I
) knew that 1 was aectrer tains and more
Iffcriy to cam my dear little Lilly every
psnutli 1 worked: tut 1 also was aware of
the crimes and terrible dccls
that mac leaiig iwmmined around us by
*heimtgvrsand other riflains. I knew that
our rvyunattOß was as r.Mit as gratifyt
mg: and mit was; perhaps 1 aboula pot
nrSMa the incident, as it scent# to pro
kmc a pan of the Sbwy tliat needs ntost
inrvsiT. Imt. as ft btars directly upon the
ohimcuuc of the tale. I siall trespass upon
jpaur kindaaai to fire it in full.
fine nigh: Tom and I bad retired to the
hodmscn w had both allow the basement
of car Vole house, and I was already doz
ing. while Tom. barlny carefully aecn to
the TWwhress I for I need M tall you bow
iwasacy they art in a county where jc*-
tioe h 'Lame.: in such s mupi and ready
fiansa> vas also yielding to the drowsy
gud. when we fancied we beard something
mow aa the room below.
Both wen quick y, tt**igb sjleuily, on
w iderL for we knew that, though not
nwL m- still some gold tiiat bad not
twea dwwtrbed to Mellioume. We knew
that siuai li i'i aoqoaintcd with its hiding
oiace, bad, earanrng onr notice, seeretec
. . . ... - . , - MM-
H H H H H
himself in the cabin to pun jxisscssion
of it
When we heard him move again, ami as
wc correctly thought, he had gained our
hiddo* nuggets, we crawled silently to the
hole that gave entry tv our little liedroom
ami looked down.
All was dark, yet we could see the dim
outline of & man moving hither and thither
as though lie knew every inch of the ground
he trod. Xow, we knew he would IK* cer
tain to cany arms and so wo had to IH> ex
ceedingly cautious.
J Tqin cooHy placed an old fur hat on a
stick he had Itcside him, and liuug it over
the hole shouting as he did so:
"Who's there
We received no answer, but thought we
saw the figure ruove nearer to the cabin.
"Answer,* coutinued Tom, waving the
old fur hat, "answer, or I'll tire."
lhit Torn had no time to do anything of
the kind, for the rascal tired directly, and I,
looking through a chink in the rough and
divided flooring, saw and recognized .the
thief as one to whom Tom and 1 had boon
the beat of friends. It was Simon Rail,
a man whose reputation had been of late
from, satisfactory.
Tom and 1 were unhurt, ami ere \fc
could get down, for we found that the vil
lain liad removed (lie ladder, Simon Rail
had escaped to' cover.
All the settlement was alarmed, and
search made; hot ho was not fonad uutil
afterward.
Well, three years' more of hard work
found IUC a rich man, and Tom and I
reached Melbourne, and sailtd with hope,
love' and joy for England's happy shores.
When I reached home no one would have
known me with my beard and peculiar at
tire—half settler, half nautical. I need not
tell you how eagerly I sought out No.
Northampton square. It all seemed the
same. Seveii years and a half hail very
little altered London, so far as 1-could see.
Yes, it all seemed the same until I reached
her house.
"How dirty and neglected," thought I,
as I gazed up at the dingy yet familiar old
place. "I am certain Lilly cannot l>e here,
or everything would look brighter and
cleaner. Perhaps they havo moved; I'll
knock and see."
So 1 gave the door a scries of loud raps,
just to enhance its wakefulness.
''Well, sir. what is it?"
It was an old. dirty-looking won tap that
spike, as she half Opened the door.
"Do the Grahams live here still t"
"Live here! bless yer no! They are rich
folks now." * • f
"Rich?" said I, and I-believe I looked
dreadfully angry; as thouirh 1 thought tliey
had no right to be rich.
"Yea, rich!" replied the dirty old gossip,
drawing nearer and opening the door wider
when she found my business was so simple.
"Yes, rich! and all through some gentle
man who started old Graham in business
some months ago. The old 'ouse 'as bin to
let ever since they left it—ten months ago.
Live—why. let me see—somewhere near
Reading, 1 think, a little village called
D . But that's .not the shop. The
shop's in town somewhere. A statiner's,
I've heard say, and—"
"Thank you, thank you, that will do!
Here is a trifle to drink success to my
search."'
I managed to get away at last, and.Waa .
soon being conveyed over the lines of the '
Southwestern Railway to Reading
It was a lovely afternoon when I entered j
the little village of D . I soon espied
the little cottage to which I had been .
directed, half hidden from the road by a ,
row of poplar trees, and it was with very ,
little hesitation I was soon walking up the
little garden path aud ringing the bell.
The Grahams were out, but I explained
that I was a friend of the family, and had
come a very loug way expressly to see
them.
Tins gained me the desired "open ,
nunc," and I was soon ushered into the
little parlor. Yes. this was Lilly's homo. I ,
gazed around tnc as though I was in the i
sacred precinct of some holy spot. As my j
eyes wandered around the sweetly scented ,
little parlor, they rested at last on some
milliner's boxes that lay upon the table. I
had seen such boxes in my youth, and knew ,
thorn to Contain the appurtenances of mar- ,
riage garments. ' ,
Yes, I read her, my Lilly's, name on (
them. I lifted the lute slightly, aud, alas! j
my fonts were too true; they were the j
I-ridai decorations of Lillian Gruhftin. ,
1 could only just manage to recover my- ]
self a* an open carriage drove up to the ,
garden gate. 1 could not see them ulight, j
but I s*on saw an old lady and geutlemau, ,
whom I recognized as Mr. and Mrs. Graham (
and then I saw the dear face of Lilly—saw j
It to notice it was pale, thin and sad—saw .
it to quickly tell that even prosperity, and j
perhaps the prospect of an advantageous }
marriage, had not made her lok better than (
the merry, laughing-eyed, little maiden of (
sweet seventeen. j
And then I saw a gentleman, tall and j
well dressed, with his hack toward me, (
giving some directions to the coachman. |
Mora tlian this I could not see tor the old
o>uple had entered the parlor. ,
•"Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Graham, I said, eager- j
!y, "doyou not know me?" ,
"I really haven't the honor," somewhat j
stithy replied ilic old gentleman.
"What? not know Bob Phillips, that
wliut to Australia eight years ago?"
"Boh Phillips! good God!"
This last was uttered by the tall gentle
man, in a tone of undisguised surprise.
My name had seemed to create a varied
impression upon them all. The little old i
gentleman looked petrified, while Mrs,
Graham appeared frightened and presently
broke out quite tragically;
"Ro!)ort Phillips! risen from his gravel" |
"Risen from his grave?" said I, growing
•till more confused and surprised at this
unexpected turn of affairs.
"Yes, sir, from his grave," said Mr.
Markham; "yes, sir, it no use of your try
ing to pass yourself off as that young man.
lie has been dead these three years. I was
present at bis funeral myself.
"Indeed,'' said I, smiling, but almost
chilling Mr. Mardham to death with the
scrutinizing glance I gave him. "Ah! I
recollect seeing you in Australia, I think."
"You are an impostor, and I shall be
forced to turn you out of the house if you
do not instantly leave."
"Very fine words, Mr. Simon Jiail, alias
Markh&ix. I shall turn you out instead—
thief, would-be murderer, and double-dyed
villain."
Amid the screams of the servant and
Mrs. Graham, and not heeding the feeble
expostulations of the old gentleman, we
closed and struggled to the passage. Here,
MIIJ.IIELM, PA., THURSDAY, OCTOBER 30, 1871).
with :i little muscular exertion, ami a wi*l
directed blow between the eyes, I soon
threw Mr. Mark ham (as he etfiled himsrlf)
senseless in the hull, just us Lilly, hearing
my voice she had not forgotten it; she did
not cure even it it was my £lmst, or if 1
had ooute for a transitory stay from the
other world—eatne and threw herself into
my arms, exclaiming:
Oh, my own Robert! I did not believe
it. Hut I waited two long, weary years,
and then father sAid it* was certain that it
was true, and it would make him happy if*
1 would, —if—"
licr tears explained the rest. 1 knew
what she meant, and I drew her fondiy to
mv heart, and said:
"1 knew you would not forget me, Lilly.
1 ;un rich, rich uow, and very unlike dead,
eh I But 1 will not at fh eseut,
darling. 1 will hasten to prove to you what
a thorough rascal you were near marrying
1 shall send some one to look after your
safety, and tuko thdt rascal away
you.'
The rascal did not move. I had takyp all
tlie "Mr. Markham" out of >, without
much notice of the terror-stricken Mr, and
Mrs. Graham, but taking one Idng, fond
kiss from the dear lips .of Filly, I departed
hastily from the house.
1 had determined to give this episode a lit
denouement, and 1 think you will admit 1
did so, when I tell you 1 went to the au
thorities of the parish and told (hem uot
to let the marriage take place next day (as
that wes the date fixed for it) upon any ac
count. After doing this 1 went to I.ondon,
and there met Tom, and told him that I had ,
found the robber of our nuggets nearly rob
bing njyo-of my most golden treasure in life, i
Torn and I next morning, fouud out that i
Simon Rail had come to England, after the
robbery, found my friends, reported iny
death (which my neglect in not writing
served to corroborate), obtained a place of
trust upon false representations, and ulti
mately made the acquaintance of the
Grahams, to complete lib villainies by mar
rying my botrothetL, "Wc, /ouod out also
that lib* employers had thift morning dis- 1
covered they were, short, and had
dispatched two detectives to tiud tho faith
ful Mr.' Murkham. "* , -
WeH/ifter all, wUqu 1 come to look back
to it, mid think hawl went down next dgy ;
how tlrcy tnld me allatyqut the dcccptioCfif ,
jLliat rttscal: bow T paid laiek
Rail's employers that he lmd advanced to
the Gmlmnu; when I was onoe more re- ,
• Cognized as tlie true, geiuiiuc Hob Phillips;
when the villain was sent hack- to Hie scene j
of his first exploits for several years"at iwr
•Majesty's when Thompson eipiie
down with his long lavtd Alice, I said io i
liim: "All, it is not our doing, Tonl, it is 1
God's ever-watchful care ihfit tests us, loves
us, and brings us always out of onr trials
just in time to be happy," and when Tom '
was married, he said: " Yea, Bob, and it was
you wlk> taught me to believe in womgu's I
faith and constancy; and I cannot feel quite j
happy until I own a part of my happiness
is due alone to you."
A lloat-rtde through His-Horn Canyon.
—* 1
Two adventure miners recently took a
ride through the Canyon, in the j
Yellowstone region, never before traversed j
by man. Had they been able graphically
to describe their adventure they would
have told a tale seldom equalled in thrilling
incidents. Wishing to save 200 miles travel
around the mountains they concluded to try
the canyon. With some tools they had in ;
their mining camp they built a frail craft at
the bottom of :tbe canyon, having previously
taken down or red cedar.
The boat was 12 feet long, 8 feet wide, and
upon trial was found to carry its cargo of j
freight and passengers admirably. So on )
the morning of the 23d of July, they untied .
ij and pushed into the current. The rush
of the river, which before starting was al- !
most deafening,- was terrible as the boat 1
started on its journey through this unknown
gorge. To go hack was impossible; to
climb the solid limestone walls which rose 1
600 feet above their heads, where a narrow J
.streak of light lighted up the'r course, was
not to be entertained as a means Of escape; '
through they must go, trusting to their i 1
ability io avoid rocks, and to the strength ,
of their craft to run the rapids, which they
met at every bend of the canyon. The loud- ,
est halloo was heard as a whisper. Grottoes,
Caves, unknown roe sses of naturo were
passed by these hard;, navigators. In places
tlocks of mountain sliccp> startled bv the
appearance of the curiosity rusliing by lie- '
low them, would run along a ledge of '
rocks, jump from crag to crag, where foot
ing for man would be impossible, and dis
appear. Evening coming on, they attempt
ed to tie up -for the night. They worked
the boat close to shore, jumped out, and '
away went the craft, carrying the guns and
provisions. With starvation behind them, •
and hardly a foothold before them, their
chances for keeping on were doubtful, when f
they luckily found two logs, which they
lashed together with their belts, and again .
trusting to the river and still more danger
ous rock, they set out to search for their
boat, which they found two miles below, 1
where it had stopped in an eddy. On the
afternoon of the third day, while wondering j
how much longer the Big Horn Canyon
eould possibly be, they suddenly shot out
into the beautiful Big Horn Vulley, with ]
Fort C. F. Smith on their right.
Alfonso's Summer l'uluce.
La Granja is a royal summer residence of
the Spanish family up in ; the Guadarrama •
Mountains, 8,800- feet above the level of the
sea, 1,470 feet above the altitude of Madrid,
and higher by 30 feet than the top of Vesu- .
vius, It was bought from the monks of El
l'arral of Segovia, who owned the lands for <
pcores of miles around and had here their 1
G range, by Rlfiiip V., the Bourbon Prince •'
who undertook to perpetuate the Hapsburg 1
dynasty in Spain as heir of his grandmother, 1
Marb. Theresa, wife of tlie "Grand Monar
chic," and bv the will and testament of
C'liarles 11., the last male of the Austrian
line. Philip V. built here a palace and '
laid out gardens in imitation of Versailles, !
employing his time from 1719 to 1749 with !
such disregard of the cost that tlie gardens '
alpne caused an outlay of forty-five millions
of piastres ($45,000,000). In return for .
this enormous expense the King had, as he
was heard to say, "his quarter of an hour's !
amusement," and the satisfaction of boast
ing a royal habitation higher up in the air
ami nearer heaven than any other sovereign
in Europe. The attraction for those who
are not of royal blood and who own neither
House nor laud in tliis place was in J'a?t that
while in Madrid the heat is at 83 degrees
in the shade, it only attains 68 degrees at
La Granja. '
The "Tower of Silenre."
Within the lust half century or more old
gossips have delighted in telling shrilling
stories of the l'arsi dead occasionally return
ing in their own bodies Mini llosli among the
living after their last remains had been con
signed to the Towers of Silence. An in
stance is related in which a male member
of an old Parai family, known in Bombay
as the Dhumta Pat ill family, reappeared
llk fore a female member of several years
after his death and claimed her as his own
| sister. Not many mouths ago complaints
| were made in the local Gujarali journals of
a corpse-bearer who was suspected of hav
ing with a large iron shovel like those kept
in the Towers of Bileuce, 'brained a man
who, having cme to life some hours after
being laid iu the Tower, was seen setting
up on the stone slab whereon his dead body
had been placed. It was stated that had
not the man liecn kilhil mercilessly he
might have sealed the Tower wuil and, es
j taping with his life, might have been re
stored to his family and friends. Disguise
is said to he n necessary precaution for jht
-Bons "conic from the dead," for a deep
rooted superstition associates their presence
among the living with a sure sign of nn im
pending public calamity or an epidemic.
Such stories of visits from the dead do not,
however, find general credence among the
Pursi of Bombay. In the Mofussil towns
where the walls of the Towers of Silence
are low and therefore easily scaled, where
tlie towers themselves are situated at con
sideruble distances from the habitation of
men aud favor the escape of any one who
might come to life after being laid among
j the dead, old gossips find a free scope for
their tongues in the narration ofjstories sim
ilar to those mentioned above. We now
i hear of a cast: the particulars of which
might be sufficient for a writer of the "sen
sational school" to weave a cluiptor of
blood-curdling romance. Eleven years ago
j Shapurjee t'ahanjeebho was a well-to-do
resident of Dehegaum, a village situated at
a shoit distance from Gandevi. A faithful,
obedient wife managed his household af
fairs. and the "even tenor of their ways"
was enlivened by the presence of two prom
ising sons. In the course of time the sons
were betrothed and married, and their circle
of relations, widened. While on a visit to
Gandevi on business, Shapurjee was attack
ed'with fever and died suddenly after an
illness of two days. His wife and relations
were present at his deathbed, the proper
religious ceremonies wCre hurriedly gone
through, and his last remains were in the
manner of "Zoroastrians, consigned to a
Tower of Silence. His relations mourned
their loss and went to their own village.
Some hours after being laid iu the Tower,
Shapurjee is said to have recovered from a
comatose state. He saw the awful position
assigned him among the dead bones of his
ancestors. Being a man of ready resources,
he looked through a small hole usually kept
iathe wall of a Tower of Silence and saw
some villiage people passing at a distance.
lle raised a cry of distress, which drew the
men nearer to him. Understanding what
he said, they assisted him in sealing the
walls of the Tower. They went their way
and connived at his escape from an awful
doom. He procured a disguise aud wand
ered from village to village as though pur
sued by a terrible foe. By turns he became
a beggar, a hakim, i. c., a quack. Wan
dering far and wide, he has at prese nt turn
ed up in Bombay in the disguise of a bair
aghe.t, i. ., a religious beggar, and dis
penses native drugs and nostrums. He has
recognized, or pretends to recognise, certain
Farsi residing at Mazgaon, and claims
kinship with them. I lis family and rela
tions at Dehegaum have liecn apprised of
his .reappearance in the land of the living,
and are proliably on their way to Bombay
in the hope of again greeting one along lost
aijd-fterply mourned. Truth and falsehood
will soon be seen in their own colors.
Phjliib a Dublin Cabby.
In Dublin the legal charge foi a short
ride in a public carriage is an English six
pence, but cabby expects you to give him
very much more, and he always gets some
thing in addition to the actual fare. If you
ask him what his price is, he invariably
"laves it to your honor;" hut wiien you
have paid him, no matter how many tunes
tlie lawful amount, he is never satisfied.
Two American gentlemen in Dublin, a
week or so ago, made a lict, one holding
Jhat he would give such a fee
that he would ask m> more. This his friend
declared was not possible. They took a
cab, the first they met, and r<xle a distance
of about two miles.
"llow much do I owe you ?" inquired
the gentleman at the end of the journey.
"Sure an' your honor can give mo what
ever you like," said the driver.
"But I would rather you would name
your charges."
; "Indeed an' I wont. It's not for me to
say what a tine gentleman like you will
give me."
Thus put to the teat the "fine gentleman" l
Handed him over half a sovereign in gold
for a ride tiiat should have cost sixpence at
most.
Cabby looked at the coin, then at the
gentleman, us if doubting the evidence of
his senses at this unexpected munificence,
but soon recovering from his surprise, he
put hia hand to hia hat in respectful ac
knowledgement of his gratitude.
"You have lost your bet," whispered
the friend as they tujrned to leave. But
before he and his companion had walked
half a dozen steps, the driver, leaving his
liorse and vehicle to take care of themselves,
was by their side, hat in hand.
"Well, what do you waut now; haven't
you got your fare ?"
"So 1 have," said the driver, witli an in
sinuating smile, "an it's yourself is the gin
tleman that gave me a fine one this blessed
day ; but, your honor, haven't you a spare
sixpence in your pocket; 1 don't like to
change the goold."
Faoe Powdering.
About the middle of the last century
powder for the face was used in such quant
ities that the Parliament of Paris declared
the practice of employing flour for its pre
paration to be one of the causes which
brought about the scarcity of food, while
patches and rouge were as fashionable as
ever. From this epoch, too, dates the in
troduction of the umbrella, the original
form of which was the Oriental parasol held
by pages over the heads of the great ladies
when they went out on foot. The parasol
could not be closed, but in 1768 it was mod
ified into its present form.
—Patterson, N. J., has flfty-flvd silk
manufactories, twenty-five of them
making dress silks.
Mi'taln of 1 lie Aiw-loutft,
1 licnd, a bluish-gray metal, was known to
r the Egyptians at an curly date, audismcii
. Honed by Homer, it was used iu Rome
p for pipes to convey water, and in thin sheets
. for rootling purposes. The powder (cerussu)
. used by the Alhenieu ladies to tint their
r complexions was their white lead. Lead
f owes its usefulness in the metallic state
j chiefly to its softness and fusibility. In un
-4 cient times tin was scarce, Hiid the chief
, supply was from India, Spain, and tlie
< celebrated mines of Cornwall, England,
f which have been worked uninterruptedly
. from tlie earliest historie jK'riods. Tin wus
I used by the Egyptians nearly 4,000 years
, ago. Mercury was well known to the an
r cionts and was then supplied from Spuiu,
r where il was obtained from einnubar by a
! process which api>ears to have been tlie
[ first crude example of distillation. The
. power of mercury to dissolve gold was
. known to Pfiuy in the first century. A.. D.
With us mercury is much used in various
. chemical preparations as a jiowcrful med
icine, and as a developing agent in the
, dagueio.eotype. It is also used to extract
gold from its earthy or rocky matrix. The
chemist uses is instead of water for collect
ing gases, which would be olworbed by the
latter fluid. For many ages no addition
was made to the seven metals which have
been tit Scribed in modern articles. It
was not even susjiocted that the number
could le increased, but towaids the end of
the thirteenth century antimony was added
to the metallic family. It was discovered
by Basil Valentine. It is found in Ger
many and also in India. It is of a silver
while color, with a good deal of lustre, and
neither tarnislies nor rust#, li is valuable
in tlie arts from its hardness iu making
alloys. A second metal, bismuth, has
been known since 1529. It is readily dis
tinguished by its peculiar reddish lustre
and its highly crystalline structure. Its
principal source is Saxony. It is largely
employed in the arts, hut rarely by itself.
Pearl powder, used to w hiteii ladies' faces,
contains bismuth. Zine is perhaps tlie
most important of the newly discovered
metals, afid may have preceded the others;
it was certainly described long before. An
obscure passage in Strubo seems to show
that a certain stone was found to drop false
silver when incite*), but there is little to
show* that this false silver was 2inc. It is
positive, however, that its alloys were
known to the later Romans, for numerous
coins have been found containing copper
aud zinc nearly in the proper proportions to
form brass. The origin of the term zinc is
lost in obscurity. It was first employed
by Basil Valentine, but Paracelsus, who was
foud of penetrating to the source of things,
was the first to associate the word with a
metal jMissessing the 'Character of zinc.
Platinum, discovered by Uloa, a Spanish
traveler in America, in l.Tis one of the
pure metals found only in its native state,
in small glisteuing globules of a gray steel
color, though occasionally in masses tlie
size of a pigeon's egg. It is tlie heaviest
form of matter yet known. It does not
oxidize in air at any temperature, no single
acid has any effect on it, and it is very in
fusible. It lias been coined into money in
Russia. Cobalt is the name of certain
demons who were supposed to haunt mines,
and to manufacture those ores which looked
weli to the eye but were really of little value.
Among these were supposed to be the ores
of this metal, aud hence its name. It was
discovered about the middle of the
eighteenth -centurj*. It is reddish-gray iu
color, and, is of no use in manufactures
and the arts, except tliat lieautiful blue and* •'
green pigments are produced from itsoxides.
Nickel was discovered by t'ronstedtin 1751.
Pure nickel is a brilliant silver-white, duc
tile, malleable metal. It is used as a whiten
ing agent in tlie manufacture of German
silver, and has been convented into coin at
the I uited States mint and has got laigcly
into use in plating various metals. Our
nickel cents contain 88 parts copper and 12
nickel. Manganese, made known in 1774,
is one ol the heavy metals of which iron
may he taken as a representative. It can
be liighly polished; and is so very hard that
it can scratch steel and glass. Arsenic was
produced as a metal aboqt 1733. It was a
very soft, brittle aud euiincully poisonous
metal of a steel-gray color. It is scattered
in great abundance over the mineral king
dom and is sometimes found in the free
state, but more frequent ly combined, chief
ly with iron, nickel, etc. It is used in the
arts and also as a medicine. In addition
to the above there arc at least thirty five
metals, most of them discovered since 1774.
The best known of these are jtmgsten, 1781,
palladium and rhodium, by Dr. Walluston,
who first fused platiiiHin; potassium, sod
ium, calcium, barium, and strontium, in
1828, magnesium, in 1829. The very last
in date is dianium, discovered in 1860. '
GIa.H l*alnt4sr' Studio. .
In the glass painters' workshops may be
seen devices, at a cost within tlie reach of
the" majority, which would brighten and
illuminate habitations large or small. Here
are medallion windows filled with medal
lions or panels, containing colored pictures
arranged in a systematical manner, and
imbedded in a mosaic ornmental ground
formed of rich colors, highly suggestive and
agreeable in sitting room, whatever lie its
principal uses. Here are pictures without
number, representing successive incidents
in a parable, a story, or a legend, prose or
verse, some even bearing clflgies, having
lighter colors fol- the edgings of the various
paneling and outer border of the windows.
Profuse in fancy are the groups of leaves,
the maple, oak, ivy, and the parasitical
plants, as well as the birds and insects, and
the scroll work formed of the twining ten
drils of plants, or boughs, or branches.
Borders with stalks running up the sides of
the lights, either in a serpentine manner or
straight, from which spring leaves, acorns,
nuts, fruit: the stalks may be of one color,
the leaves of another, and these introduced
on a clored ground. There is a very be
wilderment, of course, of heraldic emblems
and equipments, the shield, the helmet,
crown, coronet, crest, mantling, motto,
highly enriched with barbaric gems, At
hand are ranged coats of arms, or badges,
or merchants' marks, initials of a rich, ex
travagant form, and monograms highly
decorated. Attractive enough will the
,'common "decorated patterns" be found,
consisting of a number of narrow fillets and
bands, some colored, some ornamented, but
for the most part plain and white, disposed
in the forms of circles, lozenges, ovals,
quatre-foils, and other geometrical figures,
or even simply reticulated and curiously
interwoven with each other.
Some men cannot stand prosperity;
other never get a chance to try.
S> , l- j , l \ | ./J- '
Making Soap,
" In the first place, about six weeks be
forehand, the housekeeper must begin
s by tolling her husband that she wants
a barrel fixed tn the back yard to run
r oft'lye. Of course he won't pay inuch
I attention at first, but will merely say,
s "Yes, yes, I'll fix It," and go off to his
work as usual. In a week or two she
1 becomes more emphatic; she tells him
that every crock and old pot and broken
\ dish about the house is full of soap
, grease, and that if he don't put up that
i lye barrel the grease will certainly get
worms in it. Then he goes out and
looks around the yard and says liedou't
1 see any barrel and no place to put one
if he did. In about another week she
, tells hint that if she was a man she would
have had that lye barrel put up long
i ago, but it makes no difference to her
now, as she means to throw the soap
grease away anyway; tbat there is no
use anyway in a woman's trying to
save and economize; that it don't
amount to anything, us a man can
spend at the bung-liolo while his wife
saves at the spigot; that she will never
be any better off for her economy, and
finally she caps the climax by telling
hi in she isn't going to slave for some
other woman to enjoy afteY she is dead
and goiie, and then she begins to cry.
He goes ott in a nuff, but in about an
hour she discovers that he has really
fixed the lye barrel. Then she wants
tlie ashes put i:i it and there is not a
creature iu sight.to help, fiio she rather
sheepishly carries them herself aud
dumps llieui in, spoiling her clothes,
getting dust in her hair and making
herself generally unattractive i\nd mis
erable by the operation. When her
husband eomes to dinner lie looks agk
auce at her red eyes and disordered
dress, but never says soap. Then water
is poured on and tlie lye begins to run,
and then it is a constant worry to keep
the children away from it. A week or
more of constant and uneasy watching
and she has enough first-class lye to fill
a big iron kettle. The a- oae morning
she gets the hired , man to fix a
place outdoors for a fire, and gels the
kettle rigged on It and filled with lye.
Then she gathers the disgusting grease
together and scrapes It into the big pot.
The smoke hurts heV eyes, and her
children all have a daugerous fascina
tion for the spot. Bhe dare not leave
it and them, and so she watches and
stira it, occasionally with a spoon and
saucer, and scolds the children oil'aud
gets fearfully overheated, and in a few
hours has a great pot of scalding soft
soap that is "just splendid." If she is
so fortunate, by close watching, as to
keep the baby frem tumbling into- it
she will finally get it poured- Into tlie
soft soap barrel, and congratulate her
self that after all her trials and tribula
tions, and cares and vexations, she lias
luliy a half dollar's worth ol tho best
kind of soff soap.
Love.
The following is what some authors
have to say about love. **
Love seldom haunts tho breast where
learning lies.— Pope. . .
Hate makes us vehement partisans,
but love more so.— Goithe.
Love, one lime, layeth burdens; an- '
other time, givetli wings. —Sir P. Sid
ney.
Love is the virtue of women.—Dude
vaut.
In love, the deceit generally outstrips
the distrust.— HochsfmteanM.
Where love dwells is paradise-—-
liichter.
Love is precisely to.the moral uature
what the sun is to tho earth.— Malzac.
Words of love are works of love.—
Alyer.
When we love we live.— Concrete.
Gold does not satisfy love; it must be
paid In its own coin.'*-Madame Detazy.
Love Is an affair of credulity.— Ocid.
She that is loved Is sate. — Jeremy Tay
lor.
How shall I do to love? Believe.
How shall I do to believe? Love.—
Leiyhton.
•Love is an egotism of two.— A. de La
Salle.
The King nnd the Actor.*
Af ew days ago the King of Denmark
was being driven along the road by tlie
seaside leading from the capital to tlie
Palace of Bernstorff, when suddenly
the royul equipage came Into violent <
collision with a vehicle which was be
ing incautiously driven by a well- 1
known youtig actor. The King, hap
pily, was unhurt; but his carriage re
ceived such serious damage that his |
Majesty alighted in order to finish his
journey on foot. When the rising
young votary of Thespis discovered
that he had actually endangered the
life of his sovereign by the clumsy
way in which he he had acted the part
of a coachman, he became so confused
that he was unable to give utterance to
his feelings. Nor was his perplexity
much relieved when the King, before
pursuing his journey turned round and
addressed him to the following effect:
"My dear Mr. A , I would really
suggest to you the propriety of study
ing your part as coachman a little bet
ter next time. If you bad not prepared
yourself more carefully for previous
performances In which I have seen you,
I am afraid I should never have had
the pleasure of witnessing your per
formances at all; and if you continue
to appear in the role you have now
taken up with no better success than
lias attended you to-day, I feir that
may happen which will effectually
deprive me of the pleasure of seeing
I you again'!"* "•
FOOD FOR. THOUGHT.
n Seeming difficulties generally vanisli
i before faith, prayer and perseverance,
s All human virtues increase and
3 strengthen by the experience of them,
i There is no less grandeur In support- ,
ing great evils than in performing great .
g deeds. • •.
When things are plain of themselves.
a set argument dobs not parpiex and
1 coufotfnd them.
1 It is not-advisable to-get eat a# jeans ■
? without anything on your haad, nor, ip
t to cotii|>any without anything fii It. , ;
t As we must ( render an account of
1 every idle word, so must we likewise of
t our idle silence.
j Let friendship creep gently to a*
heiglit; if it rushes to it, it may soon-*
' run itself out of breath. ..
' There capnot be a greater treachery
C than first to raise a confidence, and
r then deceive it, - :
> Act well at the moment, and you •
) have performed a good notion to all
> eternity.
. It is our duty to be happy, because
happiness lies in contentment with all ~
1 the divine Will concerning us.
| A wrong done us may be forgiven, ,
but how we may forgive those whom
I we have injured Is a grave problem.
Virtue is au effort made upon our
i selves for the good of others, with the
intention of pleading only God.
Our own hands are heaven's favorite
instruments for supplying us with the
necessaries and luxuries ot life.
All men look to happiness in the
future. To every eye heaven and earth
seem to embrace in the distance.
Every. person lias two edutiNtfenis— - "
. one which he has received frem others,
and one, the more important, which he
gives himeelf.
The greatest evils in lite havk had
their rise from something which was
thought of too little importance to tie
attended to. < ;
"Knowledge is power." It is a truth
that is glorious, but at the same time
terrible. Knowledge is power, power *
for good or evil.
Our striving against nature U like
holding a wea. hercock with one's hand;
as soon as the force is taken off It veers
again with the wind.
When you are sick it comes easy to
promise ail sorts of fel'wmisst; end—
when you recover it isjugt a? easy to
forget them.
Nothing will make us so charitable
ancbtender to the faults of others as by
self-examination thoroughly-to
our own.
Relations always take the greatest
herties, and frequently give the least
assistance. 8 ' • ™ ; •
Avoid tedious circuinlocution in lan
guage. Words, like cannon-balls,
should go strafgTrcto their mark. - -—-
We trouble life-by the care oljlgath,
and death by the care of life;, the one
torments, the other frights us. -* t
Modern education top often covers
the fingers with rings, and at the same
t i iua e iflsJfl i in ewg
The remembrance of a beloved moth
er becomes the shadow of all our ac
tions; it either goek-before or follows.
The law should be to the sword what
the handle is to the hatchet; it should
direpf LUe stroke and temper the force,
Talk of fame mod romance—all the
glory and adyeuiuAiii world are
not worth one hour of domestic bliss ;
it is duugeroua for one to aiuuhhis <
familv>tracxffo high, ffir he is very apt
to get among dead ami decay edonSScn
es.
' Value the friendship of hiin who
stands by you iu the storm; swarinsof .... .
insects will surround you in the sua l
shine.
We hate to seo a boy with the man
ners of an old man, we hate worse to
see an old mau with the manners of s
boy
Love cannot fully admit the feeling
that the beloved object may die; all
pass ions feel their object to be as eter
nal as themselves. ' •
The man who violently hates or ar
dently loves, cannot avoid being In
some degree a slave to the person de
tested or adored.
Me a trust rather to their eyes than to
their ears; the effect of precepts is
therefore slow aud tedious, whilst that
of examples is summary and effectual;
My country is the world: my coun
trymen are all mankind; 1 am in ear
nest; 1 will not equivocate; I will not
retreat a single inch; and 1 will be
heard.
it is difficult, I own, to blend and
unite tranquility in acoepting, and
energy in using the facts of life. But
it is not impossible; If it be, it is im
possible to be happy.
A zealous soul without meekness is
like a ship in a storm, in danger of
wrecks. A meek soul without zeal is
like a ship in a calm, that moves not as
fast as it ought.
Get your doctrine from the Bible.
Get your example from Christ. A day
will not pass after you have closed with
Christ's promise, ere He will meet you
with a counsel. Embrace both.
Whether the minister feels the con
gregation or not, the congregation feels
the minister. Often the horse knows
the rider better than the rider knows
the horse. , ...
The remedy for the present thr at
ened decay of faith is not a more stal
wart creed or a more unflinching ac
ceptance of it, but a profounder spirit
ual life.
The modern, sentimentalism about
Nature is a mark of disease—one more
symptom of the general liver complaint,
it is well enough for a mood or a vaca
tion, but not for a habit of life.
No man can succeed in all his under
takings, and it would not be well for
him to do so. Things easily acquired
go easily. It is by the struggle It oosts
that we learn to rightly estimate the
value.
He who brings ridicule to bear
against truth finds in his hand a blade
without a hilt. The most sparkling
and pointed flame of wit flickers and
expires against the incombustible walls
of her sanctuary.
The damps of autumn sink Into the
leaves and prepare them for the necess
ity of their fall; and thus insensibly
are we, as years close round us, detach
ed from our tenacity of life by the gen
tle pressure of recorded sorrow.
NO. 43.
.. • 11. f t*i *