VOL I.lu.
TWET nil >0 MORE.
?Vr nm no aov!
TW hit* now* t bmx tisned it* taoruin s - eon,.:—
TW ifftio tM that pattered all dT long.
Th* little band* that m:n ao kv d to t*v
TW Ir.tit lij* wt><M* tci-di • a carts*. -
IV no '
TVo com# a.t .-*• '
The ne *yns that fondly looked in nun > -
TWhaby way* that You ad tb* heart- U in
twine
The owr r head that aestk* on nay breast ,
All. a 1 hat* left me for a TWtur re-t
They onw no extn !
. They rocn.- no norr !
At 4 yet. to wnochs my sorrow aud recreu
The MiSf; own my hoy m with mo yet
1 tu-s that wis day. wbaa this life ha* p* t,
b ,v ; "w ths aua with Joy at last.
Hl! .corns one* mors !
Who was Right.
Jok ton years aco 1 met the only otic I
ver kn-oii. ami. ilsmgh tin- years arc add
ing to oacL lu-r. 1 <ill rr;nenit<er tin* first
tunr we into each others' eyes and
clasped Ti iiand that usade us frieuds,
and true friends, indrtd. for life.
in the city of C , situated upm the
haik* <J k of beautiful blue rivers,
there bred a fare.by of wealth and culture.
* urr envied as they were by all that could
refine ana educate a young and gifted
mind. Miss Alice Marvenia, their second
.laughter, grew in girlhood s loveliness and
romantic sweetness, and long before the
age that fully dcvclopcs the womanly qual
ities. site had numerous lovers ready to do
her bidding
\ es. I remember the evening we met.
It was at the rink : upon the glistening cir
cle of kt ; the light shone down in chaste !
effulgence and its scintillations were like !
fire flies flitting in the silver sheen of a
summer night. In the gallery the band
pmmi forth its sweetest music, and seemed
to bathe all in its soft, voluptuous swell as
round and round the skaters quicklv
JMard.
Tins particular evening had assembled
together the youth and beauty of the city.
Among the ha hi* >nic aud attractive. Miss
Aiarvt :;i* was the acknowledged belle, at
tired in a velveteen suit trimmed with gray
i<x fur, a Turkish cap nestled among her
nut-brow r tresses—she looked a queen in- i
'rijfl. At last the moment arrived when
the long wished for introduction took place, j
It was generally known that wre were both
anvious to become acquainted, and as I
glided into the knot of skaters wnich were j
gathered in the furthest corner, prchanee
u. discus® a new figure or quiz some of the
awkward skaters. Miss Lulu Allison, a :
bright and pretty Miss, who had long !
known <ur desire fir an introduction, I
wiiii■ i jy plCtUl^l v n>ak< * the . ,
"Miss Marvema allow me to introduce ,
to you my frieri. Mr. Braleigh. He is a
charming skater, and I know you will have !
a splendid time. "
"Miss Marvenia, I am very glad to make
TOUT acquaintance, and 1 hope we will be
good friends. Can I expn-ss tne same
sentiments f.r vourself f"
"Why, certainly, Mr. Braldgfa. I>o you
k:wthat I havr noticed you time and time ;
•iqEin. and really, this meeting gives me the
•nvairs: of pleasure- Wm't it be nice?
now tiiU we know each other we can have
a cav time together. We shall • meet !
h*re even* evening, and as the band lias
now commenced placing, I am going to in- J
vile you to be my partner. Will you ac
cept?**
"i Vrtamly. Shall we skate backwards
or f<rwmrd!"
■"Oh. no: let us join hands and skate :
stwlv around. IV) you know that I so |
dislike this hurry and ruslu as tnougli one's
life depended upon going around this circle j
just so many time* in a fixed pe.iod? I;
prefer to go iiowly; am I not right V
As this question was asked our eyes met,
and it wm evident that we were both i
plraaed with each other's society, and 1
can truly say that the moments passed so
cjnicklv and yet so quietly, that it was to
ine m a pleasant dream. Her sweat, mu
aacal voice charmed tue and her innocent
questions awakened in my heart feelings of
the deepert respect and esteem. Her eyes,
dark as the night, sparkled with unusual
iirilliancy; and as 1 looked into their liquid
depths. 1 imagined hours of liapppmcss;
ve*. and days of comfort that could be
passed under their charming influence.
The hour, however, was fast approach
ing when skates wore bundled up and the
weary skaters sought their warm firesides.
So bidding adieu for a while to the awak
ened thoughts and feelings which were
arising in ray mind, 1 hastened to the room
where, around a large stove, the ladies and
gentlemen were busy taking off their
■t-ewi We were greeted upon our arrival
in the room by: 44 We11, indeed! and are
you through ? we had almost made up our
mind that you were going to skate all
night."'
'•Now, Miss Yilliers, you know that we
had an engagement for this evening."
"Yea, that is right, make an excuse.
You can depend upon it, aomething is
wrong."
4< Mr. Braleigh, lam not going to speak
to you again. No, you can not smooth it
over. You promised me a week ago that
tha first evening the band played you would
teach me the new figure. But to see you
this cvenmg while you were skating one
would naturally suppose you had forgotten
everything else in the world except her,
and I am certain that if the janitor, would
commenced turning off the gas you had not
have been skaimg there yet.* 1
"Came, now, Miss Yillicir, do not be s
cruel; vou are oerainly aware tbat my
acquaintance with tMiss Marrenia dates
from this evening, and, of course, i desired
to get along as far as possible.
"Indeed; I expect you were. lam per
suaded to say that you have gotten along
so far that you are already in love with
her."*
N<* wishing to continue the conversation,
and fearing perhaps, that her remarks
might be I turned aside. Has
tening to where she was, I proceeded to
unbuckle her skates. Thanking me very
kindly for so doing. I offered her my com
pany home, which was accepted. After
wrawing up snugly we stepped out into
the cold air. The moon was shining
brigiiilT in the heavens; and as we walked
ra;iidlv towards her borne, the snow crisped
ad crackled under our feet, so cold had
been the day.
Arriving at last at her home, and with
the pnmn# that 1 would attend the rink
next evening, we parted.
Well, I can remember my lonely walk
luuk that evening; how, as if a new lift
had come to my young heart—was it love?
Coukt it lie that in such a short priod 1
could tool the passiunatc thrillings of love's
sweetest depths As I lay in my bed that
night 1 felt as though my fate had been
sealed. I loved her, and 1 looked forward
to the day when 1 could call her mine. I
knew it would be a struggle to |>oaaeas her;
but w ho can doubt his weakness when love
has made him blind? Evening after even
ing we sjH'nt at the rink. We were the
happiest of all present, the olwerved of all
observers, h soon became the talk "that
when we were together no other society
was needed." We found so many ways to
entertain each other. It was simply an
obtrusion for any one to tarry with us.
W *ek followed week, and the months of
winter gradually warmed into spring.
The buds iqKn the trees were putting forth
their tiny green heads, aud over the grey
and dreary meadows the blue grass spread
itself and seemed like the magnificence of
the licautiful sky. With the return of
spring and its bright and sunny days, our
love grew stronger. Trusting in each other
our life was one of complete happiness.
Who can doubt the strength of confiding
hearts? WJO dare say they cannot be
true ? Who could believe that treachery
could enter into and take pifisessioM of an
honest and true heart, and break the silver
choidsof constancy? For it is constancy,
strengthened by love, that binds the hearts
and holds together the future happiness of
man and wife. It is said that youthful
love does not exist long—it is fickle, soon
aroused and easily forgot. Lot but a few
months of separation exist and all will soon
le forgotten. The sweet smile of the one
so ardently admired will become as a
mockery of by-gone days. The ringing
laugh that sounded like the notes of a song
bird. grow fainter and fainter as the weeks
grow longer and longer. The gifts which
were so kind and tenderly given soon lose
their favorite place in the room, and in
their stead perchance souvenirs from others
arc placed. Be that as it may, a separa
tum soon took place.
I was apprised of the fact one evening
j as we were sittiusr in the parlor playing
j cards. It was settled that Alice was to
| leave the following Monday for Philadel
! phi*, to attend a private boarding school,
to be gone one year, and as we tin ned from
the card table to the piano, I asked her to
play Millard's "Waiting," a favorite song
of ours, which she did with considerable
feeling. Our conversation then naturally
turned upon the subject of her going
away.
"Harry, I am so sorry tbat I have to
leave you," she said, "and would you be
lieve it, ma says I cannot write to you, or
you to me, during the whole year that I am
away."
"And you are willing to accede to this."
"Indeed. I am not; huL how can I he In
"C an t you arransie it so ti>° ** l ' van
delivered to you secretly :
"Olt, Harry! And would you have me
do this ? It seeius so wicked, aud if I were
to be found out, then what ?"
"Then what! Have you not told 111 c
that you loved me ; and do you thiuk that
in the time of trouble I should desert
you?"
"What, you desert me? Oh, no; 1 could
not believe" that, but then 1 feel as though
1 must obey. The time will be short.
Ouly oue year, and then I will be home
again. Please wait." As I took, my hat
to leave she passed into the hallway and
after promising to be at the train on the
day of her departure, I left.
Monday, 12 o'clock at noon, found me at
the depot stepping into the cars. Looking
hurriedly over the seats I saw Alice ami
her father in the farther end. With a
smile on her face she welcomed me, and as
1 I handed her a bouquet of flowers to be a
i companion during her travels, she ihanked
!me most cordially, Our conversation was
I soon brought to a cluse by the engine bell
j which was a signal for departure. Bidding
tier good-bye, 1 hastened to the platform.
As th® train drew out we waved each other
a last farewell.
A year had now almost passed away and
I looked anxiously forward to the day.
Aye, I longed for tiie hour, when we should
meet again.
Frequently I had heard from her, through
friends here, and the messages were always
of the best wishes for my welfare, and ex
pressed sentiments of deep regard.
Each thought expressed in my behalf
kindled anew the passion of my soul. It
would not be long, I thought, when we
shall see each other again.
The time now quickly passed away, and
the morning of her return had come —she
was home.
I called at noon, but was greeted upon
my arrival with the startling news, "Miss
Marvenia was sick and it would he impos
sible for me to see her."
"Impossible to see her!" I exclaimed;
"why, is slis so seriously sick?"
"Well, I think so," said the servant,
"but if you will step into the parlor, Mr
Braleigh, I will call her mother; she pr
it will be better for you to see her."
Stepping into the parlor I awaited her
coming, which was not long. After the
customary formalities, I enquired very
earnestly after the health of Miss Mar
renia.
"Mr. Braleigh, 1 am very sorry to say
that my daughter is ill and unable to see
you at present. It may be a week or even
three or four weeks before I can permit
you to call. You will, of course, consider
that I have my daughter's welfare at heart,
and you will please act upon the sugges
tion."
"Mrs. Marvenia, you astonish me; is it
possible that your daughter is so very sick
that 1 cannot welcome her home?"
"Yes, it is true."
What could this really mean; was she
sick ? What could have made Mrs. Mar
venia act so towards me ? True, she never
suspected our love as I had supposed.
What right had she to know of it ? Could
it be possible that Alice had told her, and
now she was seeking to sever the warm tie
which was binding us so firmly together?
As I wandered homeward, all this passed
through my mind. I was convincing my
self that something had evidently chilled
the feelings of Alice's mother towards me.
What it was, I knew not. But I resolved
to find it out-
It was fully three weeks before I had an
opportunity to see her. During this time I
understood that she had been kept closely
confined. Why, I could not discover.
! When she passed along in her carriage she
looked so sad and pale my heart sank with-
MILLIIEIM, PA., THITRSDAY, NOVEMBER 0, 1879.
in me. Her large black eyes, which were
wont to look so bright, now had a far away
look ; some one tiling seemed absorbing nil
her mind. There was no evidence of
physical disability. She hail not noticed
tne, for I stood under the shade trees by
the sidewalk, and as I stepped from under
their concealing branches 1 resolved to
know the cause of her sorrow. Hastening
to her home I arrived there just as she
stepped from the carriage to the door. We
met. Trembling with excitement, she wel
comed me, and invited me to a seal in the
parlor. Drawing u chair to her side, 1 in
quired the cause of such a change in her
face—why so sad and despondent. With
considerable hesitation she finally said :
"Oh, Mr. Braleigh, I cannot, cannot tell
you. lou do not know what a change 1
have experienced."
"A change, Alice If What do you
mean ?"
"llarry, I thought I loved you; but
within the bust few weeks I know that it
cannot lie so."
"Cannot be so, Alice? Why, what can
be the matter?"
As 1 asked this question I looked into !
her lace with straining eyes, as if to read
her inmost thoughts. 1 knew aud felt she
could not, did not feel what she was
saying.
"It is mother, Harry."
"Your mother? Speak then, Alice, and '
let me know all," I said calmly and with
deliberation.
"Mother says she hates you and will not
permit you again to see me. Why, 1 do
not know. She will not explain. Some
one, no doubt, who is an enemy to you, 1
has told her bitter falsehoods concerning 1
yourself."
"And do you believe them ?" I said,
trembling with excitement and indignation. •
"Believe them, Harry?" she replied. As
she spoke her manner was sufficient to con- i
vince me she did not. "Believe them,
Harry? No; and no most emphatically; 1
and if you say the word, I will be yours
and only yours" till death."
Kind reader, what would you have done
under the circumstances? Here was a
young and beautiful girl, whom I had loved
most passionately, willing to leave home
aud all to be my wife—reared in luxury
aud refinement, to go to a home, Heaven
only knows where, for 1 was poor; but,
thank God ! no one could point the finger
of scorn at any period in my life when a
single deviation from the right course had
been made. She, as I have said was will- ;
iug to be a partner of my joys and sorrows.
On the other baud, a proud and fastidious <
mother, who was anxious that her daughter
should occupy a higher position in life than
the one which I could command. She was
eager to have her daughter saTiSce all the
fine ami noble instincts of womanly love
to gratify a vain and ambitious fancy, I
took her hand in mine, and with the words
scarcely audible to myself, told her how I
had loved her, but to the honor of her
was Hastening away. Throwing herseTirn '
my arms, and with tears streaming dowu j
her face, she besought me not to leave her.
With an effort 1 gained the street. And to
this day a question whilst I have asked
myself a thousand times remains unan
swered. It is: "Who was right ?"
Liverpool Docks.
The Liverpool docks, as they stand at
present, are among the wonders of the
world. Since the formation of the first wet
dock, in 1719, the extension of these inland
basins has been continuous. Fifteen years
ago they covered an area of water space to
the extent of 277 acres, and the quays were
nineteen miles in length. Siucc then there
has been no cessation of dock extension.
To enumerate or describe them would fill
many pages. There are the Salthouse, Al
bert and Canning docks, the Clarence half
tide dixk, the Prince's half-tide dock, the
Manchester basin, the Wapping basin, the
Coburg, Brunswick, Union, Toxeth and
dozens of other docks, with the Gorre Pi
azzas at the bottom of St. James* Street, a
short distance from the Town Hall. Every
convenience and facility for the speedy
transaction of business surrounds them. A
broad open Mioroughfare, tapping at right
angles many of the principal streets, runs
along their whole length ; in this roadway
| is a double line of rails, which branch off
also and surround several of the basins and
docks; omnibuses and tram cars traverse it
perpetually during the day from end to end.
The scene is a busy one always. A hurry
ing polyglot multitude, constantly on the
move in and out about the sheds; great
vans and wains, laden with produce, cotton
bales, ores, Manchester piece cases
of every size and description, containing
cochineal, indigo, flax, jute, guano, ma
hogany, dressed hides and untanned, mo
j lasses, raw silk, and the thousand and one
articles of home, colonial and foreign pro
duce needed to carry on the manufacturing
processes of the world; the engines rattling
and putting impatiently, as they rub
along with their long line of attendant wa
gons, en route for the great terminus hing
er up in the town.
Exports of Manufactures.
The exports of American manufactures ;
during the fiscal year ending June 30, 1879,
amounted to $127,102,008, against S7O,- i
010.059, during the fiscal year ending June j
30, 1879. The changes in articles, whose
value exceeds $1,000,000, have been as fol
lows : Agricultural implements have in
creased from $1,008,470 to $2,933,388;
books, maps, paintings, paper and station
ery, from $912,003 to $2,030,814; carri
ages and railway caris, $970,542 to $1,273-
128 : clocks and watches, $589,008 to sl,-
090,433; manufactures of cotton, $3,787,-
282 to $18,853,959 ; manufactures of cop
per, $504,741 to $2,831,053; drugs, dyes
and chemicals, $2,495,156 to $3,098,506;
manufactures of hemp, except cordage,
SO7, 035 to $1,153,471; manufactures of
iron and steel, $5,940,881 to $10,921,194 ;
leather and manufactures, $003,331 to $7,-
769,009; mineral oils, not including crude
and residum, $20,429,057 to $37,914,110 ;
vegetables oils, $312,140 to $2,497,694;
ordnance and ordnance stores, $1,22,570 to
$1,960,689; spirits, $767,541 to $2,723,-
016 ; spirits turpentine, $1,257,302 to $2,-
045,673; sugar and molasses, $661,526, to
$7,118,673 r manufactures of tobacco, sl,-
604,805 to $3.057,876; manufactures of
wood, $11,326,860 to $12,765,032. The
only articles in the whole list which show
a decrease are sewing machines, which de
creased from $2,223,326 to $1,648,915,
and firearms, which declined from $5,015,-
732 to $2,160,230.
The Tale of the ProgM.
Tho IKIVS up in the luko country lowa,
• are remarkably agile ami IUOHI thoroughly
versed in the art of catching anything that
walks, crawls, hops or swims. About two
weeks ago there were, among other tourists
on Harvey's Lake, two gentlemen, one
from the Twentieth and the other from the
Sixteenth Wauls of Chicago. One day
they wanted some frogs for bait. They
found some boys.
" Bring us,'' said the tourists, "some
frogs. Bring them to us this evening,
fresh and alive, for we would fish on the
j morrow."
And the boys spoke unto them, "How
many frogs would they wont?"
And they said, "Go to; bring us as
many as you can catch."
For they wist not that the boys were
lightning on frogs.
Aud the boys were astonished, uud
marveled within themselves, and said,
j "So many?"
Aud the tourists were wroth and entreat
! Ed the lads roughly, and said, " Yea, so
! many. Up; get thee away, for the day
waneth," And straightway the lads got
■ up and got.
And it was so that the two fishermen
sought yet other boys, and sjroke unto them j
in like manner as they had said unto the
first, for they feared there would be no
bait for the morrow's spoil.
Now, the fishermen desired that they !
might have twenty-five frogs and no more,
but they withheld this matter back from
the lads, and said unto them: "Bring
unto us all the frogs you can catch. See,
is not here silver and uickles ?"
Now, when eve was come the lads
returned, and they brought with them frogs.
In oyster cans, in fruit cans, sardine boxes,
old bottles, in earthen vessels and tin buc
kets, in baskets and in gunny sacks, in
their hats and in their pockets, yea, in
everything wherein a frog might be con
tained, brought they frogs; big frogs, little
frogs, fat frogs, lean frogs, old frogs,
young frogs, male and female brought they
them.
And the fishermen were amazed, and one
said, " Ixs, what have we here ?"
And the latis spake unto them, savinc,
: 44 Frogs."
And the head fishermen entreated them,
saying, * 4 Lo, here are far more frogs than '
we want, but we will take them. We will
lump the lot at a hundred. Here is silver;
I let that suffice thee."
But the lads said, "Nay, we will count
them."
And they tallied the tale of frogs, mid
the number thereof was two hundred and .
three-score and ninq, And the people ,
laughed and clapped their hands and made ,
merry. . j
But the fishermen were wroth without i
cause.
And it was so that yet other lads came , y
in by ones and twos and threes. And they
brought with them each lad his full tale of (
'V* *** that ' : ''—of it had never been i
Lake. j
And tbey counted each boy his frogs, ,
and he said: 44 Fay me what thou owest. ]
Lo, is not there the frogs thou hast com- ,
main led ?" ,
And they paid them, and cutreated them 1 ,
that they would east the frogs into the (
lake.
But the luds said: 44 Not so. The frogs ,
arc thine; do with them as thou mayest ]
please." j |
And all the country round aliout the
lake was filled with frogs, for it was so
that they escaped from the earthen vessels
1 and the fruit cans and sardine boxes and
baskets and the empty lieer bottles and the
gunny bags, and spread themselves abroad
over the land. And they lifted up their
i voices and made great lamentation so that
: no man slept that night.
And the people sat at the windows and
at the gales and said with a loud voice,
j 44 Blasthe," which by interpretation is
i 44 frogs."
And when the morrow was come, the
fishers went forth to fish, and they took
with them, as was their need, twenty-five
frogs. And they used four of them.
But they had paid for three huudred and
, eighty-seven.
Wives of the Presidents.
James Parton tell us that Martha Wash
ington was a plump, pretty, sprightly little
woman in her youth, but settied down into
a plain, domestic wife, who looked sharply
after the servants. She was far from an
educated woman, and though she kept her
own accounts, was a very poor speller.
Parton quotes Mrs. Bremer, the authoress,
who relates a 4 'curtain lecture" of the great
man by Martha, which she overheard in the
sleeping-room, Martha was angry, and
j scolded a long time. The General listened
in silence till she was done, and then mild
ly closed the scene with 44 Now, good sleep
to you, my dear." General Washington
was very rich, Airs. Washington was very
j rich, and her three children by her first
' husband were heirs to great wealth. Wash
ington's mother was a plain, illiterate, en
| ergetic, strong-willed lady, who preferred
i her own broad acres, and declined to go
I and live with her great son. 44 1 thank you,
; George," said she, "but I desire to be in
depentent." And when General Lafayette
called, see was at work in her garden, with
her old sun-bonnet on; so she came to him,
saying: ,4 I could not pay you so poor a
compliment, Marquis, as to stop to change
Imy dress." Thomas Jefferson, like Wash
ington, married a widow, Mrs. Maria Skel
-1 ton, who had considerable property; but
that did not save her great husband, who
died deeply in debt, owing to his slavish
devotion to his country. She was a lady of
extraordinary beauty of face and form, and
singularly competedt to adorn and conduct
• a great household. A little above the me
• diom height, fair complexion, eyes large,
1 dark and expressive, auburn hair, and a
; daring horsewoman, and full of talent.
, She played, danced, and sung well, and
; had literary tastes. When Jefferson court
! Ed her he was twenty-eight, and she nine
- teen. He played the violin and sung well,
; and as he had money then, and a high po
; sition, he distanced all rivals. They had a
; great wedding. She had an immense re
) sponsibility managing her husband's great
- estate, had six children, of whom only two
- survived, and died before he rose to his
> great renown, mourned by him to the last.
- He remained a widower forty-four years,
f down to his death. Of course she never
2 saw him in the White House. Dolly Payne
r was a Quaker, and a widow when she mar
- ried James Madison, and the daughter of a
, Virginia planter, born in North Carolina.
- Her father and moiher set their slaves free
and moved to Philadelphia, and there Dolly
married a lawyer named Todd. She was
twenty, and he died three years after, leav
ing her with a son and no wealth. Her
mother kept hoarders while Congress sat
here, and she helped her mother to keep
the establishment. Among these hoarders
were Aaron llurr, then a Senator from New
York, and James Madison, n Member of
( digress from Virginia. Dolly was very
lieautiful and accomplished, and when she
married Madisou he was 43 and sic 25.
They hud no children. When he became
President, in 180N, the White House re
ceived its lovely mistress, who enjoyed its
attractions for eight years. She died in
V\ ashington in I84!t, aged 82 years, survi
ving her husband thirteen years. I have
| spoken of Mrs. Andrew Jackson more than
| once. She was the wife of another man,
Lewis Rohan is of Kentucky, when young
Jackson saw and loved her. Her mother,
Mrs, Donelson, was keeping a boarding
house at the time, having returned to Ten
nessee with Mr. and Mrs. R >bards, and
Jackson lived in her house. Result, a jeal
ous husband and a separation. A rumor
came that a divorce had been granted, and
then Jackson married the ''grass widow ; "
but the rumor proving false, they lived to
gether two years before a divorce could
he really granted, ami then they were mar
ried again. The tirst hushaud left early,
and these peculiar circumstances led to
many hitter quarrels between Jackson,
who grew into a great reputation, and his
many enemies. She was short and stout,
a great housekeeper and manager, very re
ligious, very illiterate, kind to her slaves,
and full of anecdvte and fun. She had no
children, and died in December, 1828, just
after her great husband was elected Presi
dent. She was the "Aunt Rachel" of
Nashville, and regularly smoked a pipe
with the General. When the news of his |
election as President came to her dying!
couch, she simply said: "Well, for Mr.
Jackson's sake (she always called him Mr.
Jackson) I am glad; for my own part, I
never wished it." Mr, Polk was in his
fiftieth 3*ear when he wus inaugurated Pres
ident, on the 4th of March, 1845, and his
stately wife could not have been less than
forty when I saw her at the succeeding in
auguration ball. She was a splendid au
tumnal beauty*, and her creamy complexion
and glossy raven hair gave her a sort of
Spanish loveliness. At present her snowv
curls and fine presence indicate that she is
over seventy, and her handwriting reveals
a lady of fine physical and mental health.
A Central African Sturua.
We continued sailing for half an hour,
and a" it was then near sunset, dropped an
chor in seventy-five feet of water. The
wind, which had swept in strong gusts
frora # the northwest, suddenly fell, for in
the northwest the aspect of the sky had
long been threatening. Clouds surged in
thick masses from that direction and cast
a gloom over the woodclothed SIOJXMI and
crests of Usuguru, which became almost as
U !9 ,ak _e grew
and a portentous zigzag line of deep sable j
hue ran through its centre, fi\ m which the
storm seemed to issue. 1 : "quested the
crew to come further aft, and fastening a
double rope to the stone ant hor, prepared
every mug and baler for the rain with which
we were threatened, The wind then fell,
as though from above, upon our bowed
heads with an overpowering force, striving
against the resistance which it met, as if it
would In'ar us down to the bottom of the
lake, and then, repelled by the force of the
water, it brushed into a million of tiny
ripples. The temperature fell to 62 deg.
Fahrenheit, and with this sudden cold
down dropped a severe shower of hailstones
of great size, which pelted us with great
force and made our teeth chatter. After
this the rain fell in sheets, while the light
ning blazed, proceeding the most dreadful
thunder-claps I remember to have ever
heard. The rain, indeed, tell in such
quantities that it required two men for each
section to keep the boat sufficiently buoy
ant to nde the crest of the waves. The
crew cried out that the boat was sinking—
that, if the rain continued in such volume,
nothing could save us. In reply, I ©nly
urged them to bale her out faster. The
sable mass of Usuguru— as I observed by
the bars of intense light which the light
ning flashed almost every second —was
still in front, and I knew, therefore, that
we were not being swept very far to sea.
Our energies were wholly devoted to keep
ing our poor petted selves afloat, and this
occupied the crew so much that they half
forgot the horrors of the black and dismal
night. For two hours this experience last
ed, and then, unburdening our breasts with
sighs of gladness not unmixed with grati
tude, we took our anchor on board and
stole through the darkness to the western
side of Ngevi Island, where, at a kindly
fire, we dried our clothes and our wetted
Ixxlies, and, over a hot potful of Leibig,
affected to laugh at our late critical position.
The tiermliiatlon of Mushroom Spores.
It lias been generally supposed, and in
fact it is asserted in all works on the sub
ject, that the spores of the common edi
ble mushroom cannot be made to germi*
nate until they have passed through the
body of a horse, or some graminivorous
animal. Mr. W. G. Smith, an eminent
authority denies this, however. He says,
in the current number of the Gardener's
Chronicle, that 4 'it is a mistake to suppose
that the mushroom spores will not germi
nate until they have passed through the
stomach of some graminivorous animal, for I
have several times seen the spores germi
nating upon clean grass. I first noticed
the fact by accident, after I had left a
number of freshly lallen spores under the
microscope all night. On looking at the
slide in the morning nearly every spore had
germinated, But then the spores were per
fectly fresh and alive. My observations
lead me to think that spores very soon die
in unsuitable dry air or when they fall upon
any unsuitable matrix. Many other fun
gus spores will germinate upon glass, it be
ing always remembered that for this pur
pose the spores must be perfectly fresh
from the hymenium of the parent fungus.
Fungus spores will grow freely upon damp
blotting paper; they cannot be seen
when upon this material, but they can be
easily transferred (by mere contact) to a
damp glass slide. Several dung-born aga
rics, (as they are often termed), including
the mushroom, are not uncommon on
the sea sands, in position where gramini
verous animals rarely disport themselves.
—About 30,000 telephones are now
iu use In this country, and about 500 In
England.
The Klcyele.
As now constructed the bicycle is a far
different thing from the clumsy i 'bone shat
terer" introduced in America alout ten years
ago. Great companies have been formed in
England which do nothing else but fabricate
these extraordinary vehicles; and you hear
young men talk about the superior speed of
H "Coventry," a "Sparrow," or a "Stan
ley." The fore-wheel being sixty inches,
the back-wheel is so small that when the
machine is in motion you can hardly see it.
It is, by regulation, not two feet in diame
ter. Indeed, the appearance presented as
these enormous flashing circles dart past on
the smooth road is that of a great hoop of
glittering steel with a human figure perch
ed on the top of it. The spokes are thin
cords of steel wire, trending into the tiro
from a very wide hub. The general rule is
that the vehicles shall be high—that is, the
saddle or chair of the person who rides it.
As a consequence, to learn to manage one
requires about such a training as an eques
trian undergoes in a ridir.g schooi, with this
difference and drawback, and even when
you have mastered ll e difficulty oi keeping
your perilous seat, y .u are unable to quit
it, or, having quit leu it you aic umule to
remount, without aid. This, as you will
see, neutralizes tl c value of these it.sciua
ting motors as n cans of journeying in
strange districts. Hut, in spite of all their
drawbacks, you will meet "mounts" of
them by the dozen on all the smooth roads
of Palatinate, wlicre the danger of sharp as
cents and incessant traffic does not seem to
discourage the adventurous Briton. The
accidents are not the least interesting part
of this charming steed. You may be ad
miring six feet of flesh and blood perched
far above you on the high road, when of a
sudden, like a flash, you see the small rear
wheel rise from the ground and climb the
backbone of the big one; then you see a
convulsive scramble of feet and legs in the
air, and your youug Hercules is shot sprawl
ing square over the handle or head of the
thing, and lauds with a somersault on the
hard roadway in front, while the machine,
a moment before so erect and glistening,
lies in a mess either on the rider or perilous
ly near him. His only care, however is to
save the frail mechanism—for a good ma
chine costs not less than $l5O and from
that down to SSO. At such a price it
would be natural to suppose that they would
be scarce, but, on the contrary, all classes
of the continental English have them. I
saw a company consisting of a dozen
young Oxford men set out from Strasburg
for Cologne—lso miles away. There was
a younger sou of a duke, the son of a cabi
net minister, a minister's son, and the rest
middle-class English. The captain of the
party was a city mercliant's boy and he
gave the command to the company. He
was elected because of his physical pre
eminence and his mastery ovar the bicycle.
rutting Plants to Sleep.
The idea of subjecting this remarkable
uuu XL.UJ me an inn uj n h t.
vapors of ether or chloroform.Kecentiy
M. Arloing has made some interesting ob
servations of the effects of chloral, chloro
form and ether presented for absorption by
the roots. The pots were sprinkled with
aqueous solutions of these substances, then
covered with care to prevent escape of the
vapors. After absorption of chloroform or
ether, one notes primary and secondary ef
fects ; the former are phenomena of exci
tation, similar to those arising from me
chanical irritation, and comparable to those
in animals when anaesthetized. They occur
successively from the bottom to the top of
the stem. In thirty to sixty miDutes the
common peticles (or leaf stems) straighten
and the leaflets separate, beginning from
the top of the stem; but the plant is now
found to have lost its sensibility. The sec
ondary effects consist of elimination of the
anajsthetic. The sensibility often does not
return for one and a half 01 two hours.
Chloral does not act anaesthetically cn the
: sensitive plant. These observations af
j forded M. Arloing an opportunity of ascer
i taining the velocity of liquids in the stem
; and brauches of plants under strictly physi
\ ological conditions, whereas past experi
, ments on the subject have been made with
j withered or mutilated plants. If the leaves
I are in a good state, the common petioles
bend down suddenly and successively from
below upward in the plant as the absorbed
chloroform reaches them. Hence, know
ing the dimensions of the the plant, the ve
locity of the cliloroformlzed water iD the
stem and primary petioles can be easily cal
culated. Within the stem, the velocity is
modified by the state of the tissues and foli
age, the temperature, etc. ; it was found in
different cases, at the rate of 0. yO metres,
2.22 m., 2.40 m., 2.76 m. per hour. The ve
locity increases from the base to the top of
the stem in the ratio of 1 to 1.25 or 1.50,
and it is 1J times to twice as great in the
petioles as in the stem. The time of ab
sorption by the roots was found to vary
from 3 to 61 minutes.
Arp of Glass.
The oldest specimen of pure glass heal
ing anything like a date is a little molded
lion's head, bearing the name of an Egyp
tian king of eleventh dynasty, in the Slade
collection at the British Museum. That is
to say, at a period which may be moder
ately placed at more than 2,000 yeas B. C.,
glass was not only made, but made with a
skill which shows that the art was nothing
new. The invention of glaaing pottery
with t film or varnish of glass is so old that
among the fragments which bear inscrip
tions of the early Egyptian monarchy are
bends possibly of the first dynasty. Of la
ter glass there are numerous examples,
such as a bead found at Thebes, which has
the name of Queen Hatasoo or Hashep, ol
the eighteenth dynasty. Of the same per
iod are vases and goblets and many frag
ments. It cannot be doubted that the story
prepared by Pliny, which assigns the credit
of the invention to the Phoenicians, is so
far true that these adventurous merchants
brought specimens to other countries from
Egypt, Or. Schliemann found disks of
glass in the excavations at Mycenae, though
Homer does not mention it as a substance
known to him. That the modern art of the
glass blower was known longer before, is
certain from representations among the pic
tures on the walls of a tomb at Beni Has
san, of the twelfth Egyptian dynasty; but
a much older picture, which probably rep
resented the same manufacture, is among
the half-obliterated scenes in a chamber of
the tomb of Thy at Sakkara, and dates
from the time of the fifth dynasty, a time
so remote that it is not possible, in spite
of the assiduous researches of many Egyp
tologers, to give it a date in years.
FOOD FOR THOUGHT.
I The memory of mischief is no desira
ble fame.
To him that lives well every form of
life is good.
The torment of envy islike a grain of
sand In the eye.
Those who hope for no other life are
dead even for this.
Do not suffer life to stagnate; It will
grow muddy for want or motion.
To the blessed eternity itself there it
no other handle than this lustant.
What the key is to the watch, the
prayer is to our graces.
The heart has its reasons, which Rea
son does not apprehend.
It is not life to live for one's self
alone. Let us help one another.
Many complain of their memory, but
none of their judgment.
A man seldom improves who has no
better model than himself.
Society could not long subsist if men
were notthe dupes of one another.
Consider no work completed that you
might hava performed more creditably
He is not so good as he should be w&o
does not strive to be better than he Is.
There is not a property in nature but
a mind is born to seek and find it oat.
Let us not imagine evils we do not
feel, nor Injure life by misrepresenta
tions.
The life of a solitary man will cer
tainly be miserable, but not certainly
devout.
No evil Is insupportable but that
which is accompanied with conscious
ness of wrong.
No indulgence of passion destroys
the spiritual nature so much as respect
able selfishness.
There are few doors through which
liberality, joined with good humor,
cannot find its way.
The mind hath reason to remem
ber that passions ought to be her vas
sals not her masters.
This is the present reward of virtu
ous conduct—that no unlucky conse
quence can oblige us to regret it.
All virtue lies in the power of deny
ing our own desires when reason does
not authorize or sanction them.
Even gentleness can be acquired af
ter a patient exercise of your better na
ture.
Clutch virtue as a priceless jewel,
and handle vice as you would a red-hot
coal.
How can we expect a harvest of
thought who have not had a seed-time
cf character t
Mankind worship success, but think
too little of t le mean* by which it is at
tained.
Man Judges of our motives by our me
lons. God judges of our actions by
>ur motives.
vHtcK"l eVll. "
If we could read the secret history of
cur enemies, we should find in each
man's life sorrow and suffering enough
to disarm all hostility.
Young men often fail to get on in
this world because they neglect small
opportunities. Not being faithful in
little things, they are not promoted to
the charge of greater things.
To put up with the world Is better than
to control it. This is the very acme of
virtue. Religioa leads us to it in a day;
philosophy only conducts to it by a
lengthened life, misery, or death.
When one flatteringly praises me,
always commends me, never rebukes
me, assists my faults, and forgives me
before I have repeuted—he is my ene
my.
Men must trust rather to their eyes
than to their ears; the effect of precept
is, therefore, slow and tedious, whilst
that of example is summary and effec
tual.
It is not tho strange sights that we
shall see in heaven that will so much
delight us; not the glitter and the
glory; not the diamond and topaz; no,
it is ~Gk>d. He is all and in all.
It is a great disgrace to religion to
imagine that it is an enemy to mirth
and cheerfulness, and a severe ex
tractor of pensive looks and solemn
faces.
Could yre but prevail with the great
est debauchers among us to change
their lives, we should find it no very
hard master to change their judgments.
It matters to us in life not so much
what part we play, as it does to play
our part well. In a drama it is not so
much a question who played the king
or the peasant, as who played the part
best.
Life is a stream which continually
flows on, but never returns. We die
daily; for each day takes away some
portion of life. The days which are
past are gone forever; the present mo-
is our own.
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 costs
to obtain that we learn to rightly esti
mate the value.
The love of glory, the fear of shame,
the design of making a fortune, the de
sire of rendering life easy and agreea
ble, and the humor of pulling down
other people, are often the causes of
that valor so celebrated among men.
The soul may be compared to a field
of battle, where the armies are ready
at every momeut to encounter. Not a
single vice but has a more powerful op
ponent, and not one virtue but may be
overborne by a combination of vices.
Never yet did there exist a full faith
in the Divine Word which did not ex
pand the intellect while it purified the
hearr; which did not multiply the aims
and objects of the understanding while
it fixed and simplified those of the de
sires and leelings.
People are apt to think that the hard
times which they experience are the
hardest times that have ever been; and
sothey are for them. But one only
needs to read the history of the world
to learn that hard times have been per
petually coming to all nations in all per
iods of their existence. And so have
good times, and so have chances for
honest people to better their condition.
There never yet was a night that waa
not followed by a day, nor a storm that
was not followed by a calm,
NO. 44.