VOL.
REST,
Mv fwt are wearied, and my hand* are tired—
Mr eonl oppteeaefl ;
And with deeire have I lory; deaired.
Rest—only rear
Tie bard to toil when toil ia alnaoat uua
In tn&voo warn ;
-TV bard to ana. and never gainer grain
Id baorveat tor*-
TVe harden of my da a ia bard to bar.
But God know* ba it ;
And 1 have prayed.but vain baa beau my prayer
Bur teat—aweet real.
Tai hard to pbuA in spring, and uevei reap
The autmnu yield ;
*TBr tori to tilt, end whan \.a tilled to waop
O'er fru.Ueaa field
And ao I my. e week end human cry.
So beexv-oppneaeed ;
And ao 1 nigh, e weak and human sigh.
Bar real—for reel
My way baa wound acrtan the deeert years.
And carve infeet
Mr path; and through the flowing of hot toe a
I pnie for real.
Twee always an. when mil a child I laid
On mother'a breast
Mt weaned hula bead ; e'en than 1 prayed
Aa now. far reet.
And I aa rep-tlea* still ; 'twill soon be o'er
For. down the Weal,
Life's sun t setting, and I aaa the shore
Where I atoll rash
HAPPILY RUINED.
Arthur lion on aa: in a room in his ho
tel. He was a young man, six and twenty,
tail and slim frame, with a face of great
mTeliecttm! beauty, dressed in costly gar
ments. though his toilet was but indifferent
ly pttfinwd.
As tbr youth sat thus, his door was open
ed, and an elderly gentleman entered.
"Ah. donor, you are moving early this
morning." said Motion, as be lazily rose
trout h teal and extended his hand.
not early forme. Arthur."returned
WefiKm. with a bright smile, "I am an
early hod."
"Wrfi. have you caught a worm this
tiwel"*
tope k wiD prove a valuable one."
T tol know," ngtofi the youth. "I i
fear a thousand worms will inherit this poor
baefcr ere kmg. "
"Noaaense. youie worth half a century
yet,"' cried the doctor, giving him a gentle
siap on the shoe*der.. "But just tell mo.
Aa ihnr. how h it with Crosby f"
"Jaw as 1 toid you. All is gone."
"I dent anderstand it, Arthur. "
Stttbcr da L~" said the ycsing man.
ecrrowtulhr. ••That Matthew Crosby could
ha** done that thine. 1 would not, could
ML km bettered. Why, had an angel ap- {
Twared to ma two week* ago, aud told me
that Orodbv *n sbakv. I wooUi not have
paid a mcenems att ent ion to iL But only I
think. wb*j my father died, he selected
Itcmy guardian ht best friend, and such I
eve* now believe Matthew Crosby was. and j
In hisdnnds be placed his left lor
him to keep until 1 was of age. And when
1 did arrive at that period of life my money
where it was: 1 had no use for iL Several
times within three or four years has Crosby
aa kei me to take my money and invest it,
bat I would not 1 hade him keep iL and
use iL if b* wished. I only asked that
when 1 wanted money he would honor my
demand. I felt more safe, in fart, than I
should hcvt felt had ray money been in a
bank cm deposit."
"How much had he when he left I"
-He should have had $100,000."
—What do you mean to do t "
"Ah, you base me on the hip there."
"And yrt yu must do something, my
son. Heaven knows 1 would keep you if
1 could. 1 shall claim the privilege of pay
ing your debts, however."
"No. no—doctor —none of that."
'•But 1 tell yon 1 shall. I shall pay your
drtaa but beyond that I can only help you
to —"iff yourself. What do you my to go
ing to sea r
A faint smile swept over the yuith's pale
features at this remark.
"I should make a smart hand at sea, doc
tor. I can hardly keep my legs on shore.
Xa na I must —"
"Mian what, Arthur 1"
"Arts, I know aoL I shall die—that is
aii r*:
"Xoosrnae. Arthur. I say, go to sea.
Ton couldn't go into a shop, and you would
not if you could. You do not wish to re
main here, amid the scenes of your happier
iaya. Think of it—at an you would be
free from all sneers of the heartless, and
free from aS contact with things vou loath.
Think of iL"
"If I went to sea. what could I do f"
"You understand all the laws of foreign
•rede?*
"Yea Yon know I had a thorough
at that in my father's counting
* •Then you can ohtaia the berth of a
super-cargo."
"Are you sure 1 can got one V
"Yea."
**Dr. Weston. 1 will go."
Arthur walked home one evening to the
hoaseef a wealthy mcrchanL John Mel
burne. It was a palatial dwelling, and
many a hopeful, happy hour had he spent
beneath ia roof. He rung the bell and was
•hutted ia the parlor, in a few minutes
Grace Melburne entered. She was only
twenty. She bad been waiting until that
age to* be Arthur's wife.
Some words were spoken and then many
minutes of painful silence ensued.
"Grace. you know all, 1 am going from
mv native land a beggar, 1 cannot stay lon
ger now. Grace, did 1 know you less than
I do—or knowing you well, did I know you
aa 1 do many—l should give lck your
vows and free vou from all bondage. But I
believe I should trample upon your heart
did Ido that thing now. I know your
krve is too pure and deep to be torn from
your bosom at will. So I say—wait! There
are other feelings in the heart besides love.
That love is a poor, profitless passion which
puts aside all other considerations. We
must lone for tin nit v, and ao our love must
he free. Wail lan i going to work—aye
upon the tea *0 work."
"Alas! must It be V
"It must. You will wait?"
"1 will wait even to the gates of the
tomb."
"Thai heaven bless and preserve you."
The ruined youth was upon the ocean,
bis voyage begun, his duties as laborer for
GR DM! DIUVRN^
his own daily bread all fairly assumed.
Ah 1 it was a strange life for him to enter
upon. From the ownership of immense
wealth to the trade books of a merchant
ship was a transition indeed. But, ere he
went on dock again, he had fully resolved
that he would do his duty, come what
would, short of death. He would forget
that he ever did else but work for his live
hood. ith these resolves clearly determ
ined in his ndud. he already felt hotter.
At that our supercargo wai too weak to
do much. He was very sick, and it lasted
nearly two weeks, but when that passed
off, and he could face the vibrating deck
with a stout stomach his appetite grew
sharp, and his muscles began to grow
strong.
At first he craved some of the many deli
cacies he had long been used to, but they
were not to bo had, and ho very soon learned
to do without them. The result was that
his anpetite Ixx-ame natural in its wants,
and his system began to find itself nour
ished by simple fxxi taken in proper quan
tities.
For yean he had looked upon breakfast
as a meal which must be set out and par
taken of from mere fashion. A cup of
coffee, and perhaps a piece of dry toast, or
a seasoned or highly spiced tidbit, had con
si tuicd the morning meal. But now,
w hen the breakfast hour came, he approach
ed it witli a keen appetite, and felt as strong
and as hearty as at any other time of the
day.
By degrees the hollow cheeks became
full, the dark eyes awumoil new lustre, the
color, rich and healthful, came to the face,
the breast swelled with* increasing power,
the lungs expanded and grew strong, the
muscles became more firm and true, the
nerves grew strong, and the garments which
he had worn when he came on board had
to be let out some inches in order to make
them tit. His disposition became cheerful
and bright, and by the time the ship bad
reached the southern cape of Africa the
crew had all learned to love him.
Through storm anil sunshine, through
tempest and calm, through dark hours and
bright, the young supercargo made his voy
age. In one year from the day which he
left his native land he placed bis foot again
upon the soil of his home.
But he did not stop. The same ship with
the same officers, was going upon the same
cruise again, and he meant to go in lier.
He saw Grace Mclburne, and she would
wait. He saw Dr. Weston, and the kind
old gentleman pra ; sed him for his manly
independence.
Again Arthur Morton was upon the sea,
anil again he assumed the duties of his of
fice, and even more. He even stood watch
when there was no need of it, and during
seasons of storm he claimed a post on deck.
At the end of another year the young man
returned to his home again. He was now
eight and twenty, and few who knew him
two years before could recognize him now;
His face was bronzed by exposure, his
form was filled out to perfection, and ne
was greeted with great affection by old Dr.
Wert on, who would insist on his staying
with him during his leave on shore. One
day after Arthur's arrival, he suddenly
burst into the room and said abruptly:
"Well, Arthur, Mr. Crosby is here. Will
you see him ?"
"See him ? See Matthew Crosby? Of
course I will. He owes me an explanation,
aud I hope lie can give me a satisfactory
one."
The door was opened and Mr. Crosby en
tered.
He was an elderly man, hut hale and
hearty.
The old man and the young one shook
hands, and then inquired after each other's
health.
"You received a note from me some two
years ago," said Crosby, "in which I stated
that one in whom 1 ti usted had got yeur
money and mine with it, and that I could
not pay you."
"Yes sir," answered cur hero, not know
ing what was to come next.
"Well," resumed Crosby, "Dr. Weston
was the man. Hs had your money." .*
"How ? What ?" grasped Arthur, gaz
ing from one to the other in blank aston
ishment.
"Hold on, my boy," said the doctor,
while a thousand emotions seemed to work
within his bosom. "1 was the villain. It
was I who got your money. I worked your
ruin, and I will tell you why ; I saw that
you were dying. Your father died of the
same disease. A consumption was upon
liim —not the regular pulmonary affection,
but a wasting away of the system for want
of vitality. The min I was wearing out the
body. The soul was slowly eating its way
from the cords tlmt bound it to the eurth. I
knew that you could be cured, and I knew,
too, that the only thing in the world which
would cure you was to throw you on your
own physical resources for a livehood.
There was a morbid willingness of the spirit
to pass away. You would have died ere
you would ha\e made an exertion from the
fact that you looked u|x>n exertion us worse
than death It was a Strang state of bothi
mind and bcxiy. Your fortune rendered
work unnecessary, so there was no hope
while that fortune remained, Had it been
a wholly bodily malady, I could have argu
ed you into necessary work for a cure. And
on the other hand had it been a wholly men
tal disease, I might lrnve driven your Ixxly
to help your mind. But both were weak,
and I knew you must either work or die.
"And now. my boy, I'll tell you where
my hope lay. I knew that you possessed
such a true pride of independence that you
would work. I saw Crosby, and told him
my plans. I assured him if we could con
trive to get you to sea, and make you start
out into active life, for the sake of a live
hood, you could be saved. He joined me
at once. I took your money and his, and
then bid him clear out. You know th 6
rest. Your money is safe —every penny of
it—to the amount of -150,000. Poor Crosby
has suffered much in knowing how you look
ed upon him; but I know that he is amply
repaid by the sight of your noble, powerful
frame, as he sees it to-night. And now,
Arthur, are we forcgiven?"
It was a full hour before all the questions
of the happy friends could be asked and an
swered, and when the doctor and Crosby
hail been forgiven and blessed for the twen
iethtime, Mr. Melburne said. "Wait!"
He left the room and when he returned
the led sweet Grace by the hand.
Late in the evening, after the health of
our friends had fairly begun to grow tired
with joy, Arthur asked Grace whether he
need wait any longer.
Grace asked her father, and the answer
may be easily guessed.
—Rowell made abeut tnree dollars
\eiy minute ol his walk.
MILLIIEIM, PA., THURSDAY. NOVEMBER 20, 1879.
lluriiewueM in Florida.
On approach of autumn the Floridian
quakes with apprehension. It is the dread
ed season of hurricanes. Tearing through
the West Indies, they often strike Iheeoast
with deadly effect. With scarcely a note
of warning houses are overthrown, sail
txiats blown from the water, and orange
groves swept bare of leaves and fruit.
Some of the old settlers say that they can
detect signs of the storm a day before it
breaks ujx>n then). "You feel it in the air
long before it comes," says one. This is,
however, an indefinite sign.—The devast
ation linging its track certainly proves that
"you feel it in the air when l comes."
One of these typhoons visits the coast every
year.—The day may be bright and beauti
ful, and the flowers heavy with bees and
humming birds. The mudhens of the mar
shes pipe an ;,'arm. Not a blade of salt
grass moves. The blue sky grows hazy,
and the eastern horizon is milky white.
Fitful gusts begin to ripple the water and
handle the green leaves. A low tnoan
comes from the ocean. Smoky clouds roll
into the sky from the southeast, and a
strong wind whitens the ruffled water.
Every minute it increases in fury. An omi
nous yellow light tinges the atmosphere.
The sun is gone, and great drops of rain
are hurled to the ground. Within fifteen
minutes there is a gale, anil soon the full
force of the hurricane is felt. Groat eagles
and pelicans are swept through the heavens
utterly powerless. Sparrows and other
small birds are lashed to death by leafless
twigs, and the torn bodies of snowy herons
and wild turkeys lodge in the branches of
the live oak anil cypress trees. All living
things disappear.—Tall pines are twisted
asunder. The little limbs of willows ami
oleanders snap like cow whips. Lofty '
palmettoes bend their heads to the ground,
their great fans turned inside out like the
ribs of an umbrella. The force of the wind
keeps the tress down until ever}' greeu fan •
pops like a pistol-shot. Orange groves arc
ripped into shoe-strings. The leaves of the
scraggy scrub on the beach are wiped out,
and their stems whipped into little brush
es. The tough saw palmetto Is blown as
flat as a northern wheat field, and the dead
grass of the savannas lashed into fine dust.
Boards in the surf are struck by wind, and
sent spinuing hundreds of feet into the air.
The sand dunes are caught up bodily, and I
silted through pine trees miles away. The |
foam of the sea is blown beneath the houses
on the main land, and comes up between J
the cracks of the floor like steam. These
hurricanes last from seven to eight hours—
even longer.—Dining the lulls rain falls in
torrents. The tide rises to a great height,
carrying away wharves and boat houses,
and flooding the low country for miles.
The ocean leaps the sandy barriers of the
coast, and floods the Indian nnd other salt
water rivers, involving great damage. After
the storm centre-boards and jib stays arc
found in spruce pines, oleanders are loaded
with cordage, and dead eyes and peak
blocks drop from leafless orange trees.
Gardens are destroyed, fences swept away,
and the tormented Floridian lias three :
month's work and no pay to repair dam-!
ages.
t'aeful l'lauta. i ;
Often has a lake or stream been dragged
and cannon tired over the water to cause a
dead Ixxly to rise tlfat lay quietly on shore, j
Just so it is with many who are constantly
buying patent medicines at high prices, i
when they could get the same thing at their
own doors almost To commence jost here.
Not ten paces from my door prows the
plantain, a universal companion of tho tiller
of the soil, usually destroyed as a mean I
weed, which it is, but "give the devil his
due," as tbey say, and let us take out o ■
this plant what we can. If a shoe has .
rubbed a foot (and it often happens with us
poor clodhoppors.) just slip a clean fresh
plantain leaf between the sore place and the
leather and then think of this. I>ay the
plants on a hot stove until wilted and lay j
thein as a poultice, on a sore or Inflamma
tion and it will give relief. Not far off is
the detestable Jamestown with its showy,
trumpet shape flower, into which the sphinx ,
tobacco bird, delights to poke its long pro
boscis in the shade of the evening. Bruise j
its leaves and pour a little whisky on them,
strain it and you have a wash for nibbed
shoulders or back of a horse, and no other
wash can excel in the way of healing. The
seed of it fried in lard and the grease used
as an application for the piles will give re
lief equal to anything that can be bought.
The burdock and nettle both abominations
to the husbandman, have their good quali- ,
ties. The roots will make a tea that will i
purify the blood, and put a stop to the big
gest nest of boils ever batching on a man's
Ixxly. The tea is bitter and not pleasant to
take, but this is the case with nearly all
medicine. The leaves of the common
privet are a sure cure for sore mouths,
simply by chewing the leaves and letting 1
them rest on the sore in the mouth, and is j
not half as nasty as a chew of tobacco. If
this is not on the grounds, a piece of peach
leaf w ill be often quite a relief.
"Soila."
Soda water is simply carbonic-acid gas
soaked in water. The carbonic-acid gas is
obtained by pouring sulphuric acid over
marble chips or dust. The gas is passed
through water several times to free it from :
all trace of the sulphuric acid and is then
pumped into a strong steel receptacle, in
which i i pure water. The soda fountain is '
generally un elaborate marble affair, costing
from SSO to $5,000. Generally a soda
fountain in a drug store will pay the rent of
the store at least, and sometimes much more.
Fountains are fed from one draught tube and
Ave sirups to six tubes and twenty-two
sirups. At some places they have pure
fruit sirups, and at others—they say they
have. The first patent for soda water was
taken out in England in 1807, yet the soda
fountain in all its glory is only to be seen in
America. In this country there is at least
$12,000,000 invested in soda-water manu
factories, fountains, etc., and yet you can
get a drink for 5 cents. The tariff used to
he 10 cents, and then a young man with a
party of ladies dreaded the sight of a foun
tain or the sound of its sizzle, but bard times
had the same effect on soda as on every
thing else. If the price were further low
ered to 3 cents there is little doubt but a
great increase of consumption and profit
would result.
M. do Beaumont, the president of
the geographical society of Geneva,
pioposce that longitude, instead of be
ing reckoned from Greenwich, .Paris,
Ferro or Washington, as at present,
shall be reckoned Irom an initial meri
dian passing through Beliring's Strait*
between North America and Asia.
I'liiiiilhmii* of I is Walker*,
Nine cots with excelsior mattresses, stand
beneath the tents at the side of the track.
Weston and Ilowell sleep in nxms at the
eastern end of the Garden. Guyon rests
in the Putnam House, near the Fourth
avenue entrance. All the other walkers
i sleep in their tents. The hours of uncon
sciousness ore few. Up to midnight Mer
j ritt had slept only seven hours since tho
ojM'iiing of the tournament. They can
hardly lie called hours of rest. The weary
, pedestrian is sponged or has a bath. He
I pitches in his cot. He is wrapjied in his
| blankets. The lights in his tent are extiu
: guished. He closes his eyes and enters a
I world of phantoms. The cheers of the
crowd, the music of the band, the clapping
) of hands, the murmur of a vast hive of
1 bees, and the tread of many feet flit through
his sleep, llis Ixxly is racked with pain.
There is an appalling heat in his feet. His
temples throb. The blood becomes stag
nant and frequently nightmare follows.
The dreamer is still on the track. He sees
his competitors passing bim one by one,
and is unable to increase bis own speed.
O'Leary says that during his walk for the
j belt in London he never went to sleep with
! out the shadow of Vaughn before him. It
would follow him around a phantom track
j with looks of exultation in its eyes. At
times it would bar his way. It would
j stand fating him at the curves, making
J grimaces and contortions. Up to the mo
j inent of walking Vaughn's shade never left
• his sleep. Guyon lias a similar experience,
j On Wednesday night he slept the sleep of
the damned. The pain in his feet was so
I intense tliut it had turned his stomach.
Weston was ever before him. When he
| turned In Merritt had passed him and taken
I second place. Weston was doing splendid
work, and rapidly overhauling him. A
ghostly Weston pursued liim in his dreams.
Whichever way he turned Weston was at
| his heels. Nor was Weston the only phan
tom. The dials assumed the faces of the
other contestants, and taunted him as he
passed. A spirit Krohne fifty feet high
was walking over him. Although he was
in the Putnam House, far removed from
sight or sound of the garden, he heard the
murmur of the crowd, the roar of brass in
struments, the tread of a thousand feet, and
peals of laughter. When he awoko toward
morning he found a tumbler beneath his
pillow. The pillow was drenched. He
was unable to account for it until he re
membered that in his dreams he had a
spirited contest with Weston. The dreams
of the pedestrian are based on the condi
tion of his stomach. When the stomach
refuses nourishment threatening apparitions
frequently appear. In one ruse a pedes
trian fancied that he was rolling among old
logs covered with thousand-legged worms.
In another case the pedestrian thought hini
se'f on the track, but unable to walk.
Upon glancing at his feet he was shocked
to see that they had turned into hickory
saplings, and the saplings grcwjpjth such
rapidity that they raised the air.
The agony of these hours of unrest is in
creased when the hapless walker awakes.
His blood is still stagnant. There is a
prickly heat ujxm his skin, lie feels as
though he was lieing pricked by a million
of needles. Neuralgic pains throb through
his muscles. His joints are stiff. His eye
lids seem paralyzed. Worst of all, his feet
and shinbones are numbed. Every move
ment sends a thrill of pain tlirough the
Ixxly. He is oiled and rubbed. A swallow
of warm beef-tea, or some other decoction,
puts him into a little glow and infuses him
with a painful energy. He hobbles upon
the track, and the noise, the lights, and \
the dark shadows of his competitors confuse
him. The cold air strikes him unpleasant
ly. He makes one lap, and the impulse to
re-enter his cot is frequently so great that
he finds it irresistible. Before coming on
the track he lies upon his cot in a semi-un
conscious state while he is rublied and clad.
He hardly appreciates the situation lief ore
he finds himself upon the track. If his
shoos have been changed during his rest,
his feet feel like lumps of lead. The soro
spots smart more than ever, and It is with
the greatest difficulty that he can lift his
feet from the track. He occasionally feels
a nausea about the stomach, and his nerves
are strung to the utmost tension. The
snapping of a whip, a deformed face, a
wide-brimmed bat, or a peculiarly-shaped
Ixmquet excites his mind, and ho becomes
in a measure insane. Weston lias a peculiar
abhorrence of tobacco smoke. It probably
affects bis stomach. At times the sight of
a pipe or cigar throws him into a nervous
spasm, and ho becomes so'excited that he
frequently leaves the track.
Tea Culture In America
It is an established fact that the tea plant
will grow in the United States. Specimens
were flourishing in a Charleston nursery as
early as 1812, and in 1848, Junius Smith,
of Greenville, S. C., made an attempt at
cultivating the plant, which was, however,
abandoned before any conclusive evidence
was furnished for or against this industry
becoming a profitable venture. In 1858,
our Government, through the Commissioner
of Patents, imported 10,000 plants from
China, which soon increased to 30,000, and
these were distributed through the Southern
States. In 1862, the Department of Agri
culture continued to propagate plants and
furnished them to all who applied for them,
but under the prevalent lielief that so much
manipulation was needed in the manufact
ure of the article that we could not compete
with the cheap labor of Asiatics, no special
effort was made to disseminate the plants.
Reports of the success in India now began
to arrest attention, and the Department was
stimulated to secure more seed and begin
the propagation of the plants in earnest.
In 1867, it was found that an abundance of
seed could be obtained from the plants al
ready growing in the South. Since 1868
from 10,000 to 15,000 plants were distribu
ted every year until 1876, when encouraging
assurances from planters led to still more
extensiveo perations, so that 1,000,000 plant s
have been sent out during the last three
years, and the Department has some 120,000
now on hand. All this has been done with
the intention of rendering the cultivation of
tea popular as a domestic product, and with
the hope that public interest would be
ultimately directed to its cultivation as an
article of commercial value. One more
fact has been established on undoubted tes
timony. A good quality of tea can be pro
duced here. Even with the imperfect
knowledge of planters as to the proper time
for picking and the proper means of curing,
an article has been produced which experi
enced dealers pronounce very good. It has
been tested in Washington and other cities
with the same result. One lady in Colum
bia, 8. C., reports that she has obtained
five pouade of good tea from one plant.
Another lady makes an article which sells
readily for $1.50 per pound, and which
experts pronounce stronger and of superior
flavor to the imported article.
The remaining question to lie solved is:
Can tea be grown in this country as a pro
fitable market crop? The cultivation of the
plant is as sjinple as that of the gooseberry.
The plants only need to be set In rows,
thoroughly tilled and properly pruned to
induce a low, compact growth and ahun
dence of shoots. No leaves should be picked
until the fourth year from planting, to
insure a robust, healthy aud well-estublished
growth so that tliey will endure the strain
of successive strippings, for under the lx*st
conditions tho leaves are picked several
times each year. What ars these condi
tions? In the first place, a rich, loamy
soil is indispensable, and the strength of the
ground should be sustained by fertilizers.
The climate must be warm, for although
the plant will endure a zero chill, it thrives
best where tlio summers are long, anil
where the temperature is never lower than
six or eight (legs, below lreczing. The
last necessary condition is abundant moist
ure. In India the rainfall is from 80 to
100 inches per annum, anil it is doubtful
whether the leaves would form with suffi
cient rapidity to make this crop successful
in any part of ths country where the annual
rainfall is less than 00 inches, and even
this should be diffused pretty equally over
the spring and summer months. Of course
where irrigation is possible the rainfall is
of less importance.
There is only one way of learning whether
these and other essential conditions, if such
there be, exist together in this country to a
degree which would insure success. Per
haps the Governmant might occomphsh
something if it would cease to rely on in
direct methods of encouraging experiment,
which can only be desultory Hnd unsatis
factory, and begin some persistent trials of
its own on a scale of sufficient magnitude
to settle the question conclusively. An
appropriation of $25,000 would be sufficient
to purchase and stock a farm of ample size
in what seems a favorable location, and it
would cover all needful expenses for a
scries of experiments for a term of years.
It would then lie found what quantity of
leaves an acre would yield, and what would
lie the cost of picking and curing. Until
some satisfactory data on these points are
established, private enterprise will hardly ]
grapple with such an uncertain undertaking
and wait several years for results. Many j
acute observers have faith that the United j
States will j-ct produce its own tea, and ;
better tea than is now consumed here
Starvation In the Arctic Sea*.
If to the present time whale fishing in the
Arctic Ocean has been insuccessful. Fifty- ;
one whales have been taken by the fleet, ,
against thirty-two at the same time last
year, and the whales have run large, averag
ing alxmt one hundred barrels of oil, and, I
say, eighty thousand pounds of whaletxine
in all; also about eleveu thousand walruses,
against twelve thousand last year the wal
ruses making leas oil than usual, as fewer fe
males are killed, and a larger proportion of
male walruses than in years past. Not a
whale has been taken iu the strait or the
Arctic ocean, and only one whale has Ix-eu
seen, and that by the Helen Mar. Four
ships and several brigs and schooners got to
the eastward and missed the chance. A
great many w hales were seen, nnil more
than usual were struck and lost. The Helen
Mar struck fifteen and saved seven; the Pro
gress five, and saved two. Not a whale has
been taken by the natives of the whole
coast, and the whaling party, with their
rocket guns, which wintered at Plover bay
got nothing. The natives on Diomcde is
lands report seeing large numbers of whales
going north in May and early June last, east
of tha islands, and they struck over to Caj>e
Thompson and Point llope, where the na
tives took five (one one-huudred-barrel
whale —one of alout forty barrels, and three
small ones, without whalebone). There is
more ice, and further south this year, than
usual. Ships havifhccn in 69.40, and re- '
cently four or five ships were thirty-five i
miles east of Cape Lislmrnc, stopped by ice j
C'apt. Tom Williams started some days ago
with his little steamer, the Bouquet, toreaeh
Wainwright inlet, Point Belcher or Point
Barrow, if possible; he will trace the shore
around; his steamer draws only three and a
half feet of water, and can steam one hun
bred miles a day. Tho trading-vessels have
about six thousand pounds of whalebone
and a small quanity of ivory compared with
former years. Alxmt half the fleet are in
the West; the other half are all over to
Cape Seege and West walrusing, de
stroying them by the thousand; about eleven
thousand have been taken, and thirty or
forty thousand destroyed this year. An
other year, or perhaps two years, w ill finish
them; there will hardly lie one left, and I
advise all natural history societies anil mu
seums to get a specimen while they can.
Fully one-third of the population south of
St. Lawrence bay perish the past winter for
want of food, and half the natives of St.
Lawrence island died; one village of two
hundred inhabitants all died excepting oue
man. Mothers took their starving children
to the bury tag-grounds, stripped the cloth
ing from their little emaciated Ixxlies, and
then strangled them or let tho intense cold
end their misery. It is heart rendering to
hear them tell how they suflered. C'apt.
Cogan Ims taken very few walruses, he says
that for every one hundred walruses taken
a family is starved, and I concur in his
opinion. The season, or rather the ice,
does not look favorable to the success of the
Bennett expedition, for they can not pene
trate the pack with that or any other steam
er, as it is now packed by the constant
strong south,winds; but before long the
I whole ice-pack may be pushed north or
: east.
Ventilating Bedrooms.
A simple device is within the reach of
every one having an ordinary window in
his room, by which fresh outer air can be
admitted in small quantity with such an
upward current as will prevent its being
felt as an injurious draft by the inmates.
It is particularly adapted to sleeping rooms
when the weather is to" cold to admit of an
open window. Thus, start both top and
bottom sashes of the window half an inch,
which is not quite enough to clear the re
bate or stop-beads at the top and bottom,
but which leaves au opening of an inch be
tween the meeting rails, through which a
current enters, but diverted upward by the
glass as it should be, so as not to fall dir
ectly to the floor, as its coolness might
otherwise induce it to do. It thus becomes
well mixed with the air of the roem with
•ut being felt as a draft.
Outer Willows.
| To grow osiers successfully a deep, rich
soil is indispensable. The ground should
also bo moist and low, but not too wet.
The deep, moist black lands are good, but
the "made lands" arc the best. What I
mean by made lands are lauds made by
soil deposited by changes In the flow of
streams or rivers. These soils are the nat
ural home of the willow. The land should
be broken as deep ns possible (say ten
inches;, as late in th fall as the weather
will permit, and also thoroughly harrowed
before freezing commences. Planting
should commence as soon as the frost is out
of the ground and while the ground is still
very soft. The slips should be ready pre
pared. They should l>e about ten inches
long; tied up in bundles, with the buds all
one way, and eittier set in shallow water,
covered with earth, or placed in the cellar
until needed. In planting I think it l*est to
have a long cord and stretch it across the
plat, pushing the willow slips into the
ground alongside the cord. In this way
the rows are made perfectly straight Af
ter planting one row move the cord thres
feet and plant the next row. This can be
done quickly by having one person at each
end of the cord to move the pegs and stretch
the cord. The rows will be three feet
apart at every point, and it will be straight
enough to admit of easy cultivation. It
will be necessary in pushing the slips in the
ground to have n thick leather pail for the
hand, and no slips should be used except j
! those that are large enough to be shoved
into the ground without bending and break
! ing. The slips should lie set about ten
inches apart in rows. Closer planting
would not hurt, but they are easier culti- I
vated when at tliis distance apart, and will ;
get thick enough in a few years. As soon
as the buds commence starting, and the
ground gets dry enough, cultivation ought
to commence with hoe and cultivator. This 1
cultivation should be repeated through the j
season often enough to keep dowu the
weeds and keep the ground in a gixxi con
dition for the slips to grow. The slips will
probably grow about three to five feet high 1
the first season. Borne willow-growers cut
them off in the winter of the first year, so ]
as to secure straight shoots the next season,
but I think the best plan is to let them
grow two seasons before cutting, as the
roots will be stronger and the third year's
crop (which ought to bo the first market
crop; will be better. Besides, if not cut
the first winter after planting, the second
year's cultivation will be greatly lessened.
The first cutting (the second winter after
planting) is of little market value, and <
might as well l>e thrown aside, or what is i
letter, the best of it might be cut into slips
for planting more land. The cutting can i
be done at any time from the Ist of Decern- i
l>er until the buds start in the spring; and
tliey sliouid be cut while the snow i? off so |
as to cut as close to the ground as possible. |
A long hawk-bill knife, made for the pur- j
pose, is the lx?st to cut with. After cutting, j
lie up in bundles and put int shocks, in
order to keep the sun from the huts until
they are hauled to the ditch. The ditches j
should be made convenient to a spring ■
or small running brook, so as to lead the j
water from the spring or brook into them, i
The ditches should be made perfectly level I
on the bottom, and should be no deeper 1
than necessary to hold about three inches of
water. There should be forks or stakes j J
driven into the ground on both sides of the
ditch, opposite to each other, and about ]
five feet apart. Poles should extend across (
the ditch trom each fork to the one oppo- ; j
site, about four feet from the ground. The
willow bundles should be set in between
these poles as thick as they can be placed, j
and care should be taken that the huts are
even, or some of them will be out of water. (
If the ditch is wide, there* should aiso be
cross slats to keep the bundles from falling
over in case of wind. The object iu hav
ing the ditches so shallow is so that the
roots that will come out as the sap rises (
will be at the very ends of the cuttings.—
If the water is deeper, the root 9 will come
out near the surface of the water, and that
port cf the willow below the roots
would be hard to peel. The peeling should J
commence as soon as the buds put forth,
and be persisted in faithfully until all are
done, which should be in u month or six
weeks at the farthest. The willows
should be placed in the sun as soon as pos- '
Bible after peeling. If it is a rainy day
spread them thin until the sun comes out. (
One day's sun will generally be sufficient, if
not packed in too large quantities for some
few days after. Be sure tbey are dry be
fore bulking, or they will lose their bright
white color, and will also lose greatly in
value. Never let them get wet after peel- !
ing, or they will turn black, unless imme- j
diately dried. After they are thoroughly
dried, tie them up in seventy-five to one
hundred pound bu.idles for shipping or
hauling to market. The profit depends
upon how cheaply you get the work done, 1
and upon the demands of the market. Good
lands ought to produce five thousand
pounds of marketable willows per acre.
They are now worth about four cents per
pound. They ought to be put on the mar
ket at a cost of two cents, with gixxl man
agement, which would leave a net profit of
$ 100 per acre.
Our Kohln.
Our robin lives our of doora, but ho is so
tame that he enters the house at all times
and seasons. When Henny's duties keep
her at home robin shows himself a most
devoted husband: he carries her plentiful
supplies of oatcake crumbs, butter, bits of
caudle, and other delicacies of the same
kind. And when he has to cater for the
little ones as well, he is really to be pitied;
so busy is he that he neglects his toilet
nearly altogether, and we have to be satis
fled with hurried scraps of song. He gets
quite fearless in his anxiety for his family,
and will join us at breakfast and help him
self to buttered toast without the slightest
hesitation or invitation. It is no use to
break off a piece for robin; his way is to
hop on the plate and pick off for himself
what he considers the dainty bits. I have
known him to come in Ave times during
breakfast- At night, a window is left open
that he may come in for crumbs when he
pleases. Should all the windows be shut,
robin has a very pretty "Open Sesame; "
he sits on the window-sill and sings loudly.
Nobidy can resist that appeal, as he knows
from experience. And when he wishes to
get out, he has a very effectual way of
managing that point, too, by fluttering
from room to room, uttering a little fright
ened "Chick, chick 1" And as we know
the cat often lies in wait for him, some one
rushes to the rescue at once. He is a very
Mark Tapley of a bird—cheery under all
eireurastaaees, and a universal favorite.
FOOD FOR THOUGHT.
I '
I Human life is everywhere a state in
which much is te be endured,
t Lvery child walks into existence
[ through the golden gate of love.
A hopeless person is one who deserts
himself.
Ignorance has no light*; err©** follows
a false one.
A fine coat may cover a feol, but
never conceals one.
There is no grief like the grief whioh
does not speak.
He who Slackens others does not
whiten himself.
Genius is sometimes arrogant; know*
ledge is always diffident.
We are never so proud and so hum*
ble as when we are praised.
He only enjoys his passion who cam
make no use of his reason.
The pleasure of doing good is the on
ly pleasure that never wears ont.
Surely half the world must be blind;
they can see nothing unless it glitters.
If a dunce is short of some faults, he
only did not know how to acquire
them.
Virtue pardons the wicked, as the
sandal tree perfumes the axe that
| strikes it.
To be in love is nothing else but to
love more what we loved before we
were in love.
Heaven's gates are wide enough to
admit every sinner iu the universe who
is penitent.
Calumny and detraction are but
j sparks, which, if you do not blow them,
will go out of themselves.
—The wealthy miser lives aa a poor
man here; but he must give account
as a rich man in the day of judgment.
How contagious is the laugh of some
people, how jarring that of others, like
play'ng on a worn out plane.
What is styled timidity is probably
nothing but the fear of showiug too
little merit.
A good constitution is like a money
box—its full value Is never known till
it is broken.
Good taste is the modesty of the mind:
that is why it cannot be either imitated
or acquired.
Iu general, there is no one with whom
lite drags so disagreeably as with hiss
who tries to make it shorter.
You cannot dream yourself into a
character; you must hammer and
forge yourself one.
The heart that is soonest awake to
the flowers is always the first to be
touched by the thorns.
The miles to Heaven are few and
short and the glorious end will come
soon.
If the shoe of a monarch could do aa
much as the monarch himself, the court
would be divided between his majesty
and his shoe.
Without a belief in personal immor
tality religion surely is like an arch -
resting on one pillar, like a bridge eud
iug in an abyss.
The sweat of one's brow is no longer
a curse when one works for God; it
proves a tonic for the system and is
actually a blessing.
Charity toward the weaknesses of
human nature is a virtue which we de
maud in others, but which we find very
hard to practice ourselves.
Memory and hope are set like stars
above the soul—the one shining dimly
through the twilight of the past, the
other lighting the archway of the fu
ture.
e can easily manage if we will only
tak -, each day, the burden appointed
for it. ljpt the load wia be too heavy
for us 11 wo add to its weight the bur
den of to-inorrow before we are called
to bear it.
He that will put time aiid eternity
before him, and who will dare to look
steadfastly on both of them, will find
that the more often he contemplates
them the former will grow greater and
the latter less.
A young oUlcer thought to puzzle an
older one by asking him when two
uien of equal age and rank met, which
should be the rirst to bow. The elder
calmly replied, "The more iwllte of
the two." \ : . *. r
Want of goods Is easily* Repaired; po
verty of soul Is irreparable. Socrates,
seeing a great quant ity of riches, jewels
and lurniture of great value carried in
pomp through ihe city: ''How many
things," said he, "do i not desire?"
Men may as well expect to grow
stronger by always sitting, as wiser lyr
always reading. Too much overchar
ges nature, and turns more Into disease
than nourishment. It is thought
which is mental digestion, which makes
books serviceable, and gives health auk
vigor to the mind.
God led the Israelites to and fro, for
ward and backward, as in a maze or
labyrinth; and yet they were ail the
while under the direction of the pillar
ot cloud. He ltd them about, and yet
he ied them by a right way. His way
•n bringing his people home is always
the best, though it may not be the near
est.
Thou hast a double nature. Choose
betweeu the worse and the better that
is within thee. Thou hast it in thy
power to become the slave of passion,
the slave of luxury, the slave of sen
sual pleasure, the slave of corruption.
Thou hast it in thy power to become
the free master of thyself, to become
the everlasting benefactor of thy coun
try, and the unfailing champion of thy
God. 7
Habit is the deepest law of our nature.
It is our greatest strength and our
greatest weakuess. It can seise all pre
sent advantages and-blessings; appro
priate every particle of spiritual manna
that comes from heaven, eauslng the
soul to grow in g.ace and in commun
ion and in the knowledge of the Lord;
or it can put them away into the fu
ture, and let the soul get on as it may
in its low and starved condition.
As the snow gathers together, so our
habits are foi rued; no single flake that
is added to the pile produces a sensible
change; uo single action creates, how
ever it may exhibit a man's character;
but as the tempest hurls the avalauche
down the mountain, overwhelming the
inhabitant and bis habitation, so pas
sion acting upon the elements of mis
chief which pernicious habits have
brought together by imperceptible ac
cumulation, may overthrow the edifice
of truth and virtue.
NO. 46.