mi. i I t i fi iii,TrririnTmtiTlTiaMMf"trrtf1rtWllJTTtt wr 16 THE P1T1TSBUKG- DISPATCH, .SUNDAY, AUGUST 7, 189a 1 r word against her, but I think she is in some trouble if she would only trust me I would do anything for her. I am sure she Is in some trouble." At this moment Miriam was indeed in jreat trouble. She had opened the letter addressed to Ford, and saw it was dated as she had feared from the little inn at the Tillage of Strathloe. He wrote: Dear II mi am I have Just arrived. Ar rived to bid you a last goodby. Where shall we meet? If you are afraid to moet me in Cayllght, I will come nt night. Arrange the time and some signal when yon can see me; let me know to-day, for to wait is very ter rible. U. F. Jliriam wrung her hands over these few lines. She did not know when she might be free, and time was so precious to him; every moment was precious. She must try to see him this afternoon, but where"? 2ear the village bv Strathloe she remem bered there was a lSnelv glen Sir James had pointed out to her, could she go there? It was two miles off and she must walk; but that was nothing. But how was she to get quit of Sir James? "And he is so good," the thonght, re pentingly, "but it's the last time the last time, poor, poor, Hugh!" She finally made up her mind that she would send Ford with a note to the inn at Strathloe, and tell Ferrars that she would try to see him during ihe afternoon. She could not promise, but she would try, and if she could manage tp po out alone if he walked along the loch side until he came in sight of the house at Kintore, at 3:30 o'clock, she would wave a white handker chief from the second story of the house that faced the loch. This was to be tbe last signal that should ever pass between them, she told herself as she penned a few hur ried lines to Hugh Ferrers. But she must save him; she must give him the money to take him to another land, and bid him lare well lor evtr. At all events she wrote this, and then rang for Ford. The lady's maid soon ap peared looking pinker and prettier than ever. A handsome young gillie had suc cumbed to her attractions, and Ford had begun to find the Highlands endurable. She came into the room tripping and smil ing, but something in Miriam's lace, its pallor, its earnestness, made her expression change. "Ford, I want you to co an errand for me to take a letter," said Miriam. "Yes, my lady," replied Ford, inquir ingly. "Do you know the village of Strathloe; a Tillage about two miles distant from here?" "Ho, my lady, but lean find out anything; there's a young man called Donald about the place, and he will show me where it is." "Yes, Ford, an old friend of mine is in ' great, trouble, and I want to sec him to say goodby, and to take him some money be Jore he sails for one of the Colonies. Do you understand; I do not want anyone here to know, and and I want you to take him this letter, and if I can manage it I want to meet him this afternoon." Tes, my lady," said Ford, slowly and reflectfully. It was a pity, she was think ing, and yet, of course, if Lady MacKen non chose to rnn such risks in" all proba bility it would do Ford no harm, but good. Her "lady would be absolutely in her power, and Ford knew that power pays. "Then have I to take the letter to the inn at Strath loe?" she added, "and have I to give it to the gentleman?" Miriam's pale face grew suddenly crim son. She remembered she would have to address the letter by some name to Hugo Ferrars, and by what name? She hesitated; she looked at Ford; she knew not what to da "He he does not wish anyone to know that he is there," she said at length. "Just ask to see the gentleman or say Mr. Dare that will do, and give him this." "Very well, my lady," answered Ford, pocketing the letter; "shall I go at once?" "l"es, at once," said Miriam, and as she spoke she heard cr husband's footsteps outside the door, and the next moment Sir James rapped. "Come in," said Miriam in a faltering Voice. "It's not bad out," said Sir James, as he entered the room, "so will you come, Mir iam?" "i"es, in a moment,." she answered, "Ford, give me my hat and cloak." "Has Ford got her letter?" asked Sir James, smiling. "Yes, sir, thank you," said Ford, smiling also. But Miriam said nothing. She hastily Eut on her hat and cloak, and went out with ir James, and Ford also speedily attired herselt for walking. Then she sought out her young gillie, and learned lrom him the distance to Strathloe. He offered to escort her part of the way, as he also, he said, was foing on his rounds down by the side of the och. This exactly suited Ford, who al ways liked company it she could get it. In the meanwhile Sir James and Miriam were inspecting the kennels, and having the horses trotted out. The day had improved, and the sun presently broke through the clouds and shone on tbe wavelets of the loch. "It's quite fine isn't it?" said Sir James; "would vou like a drive this alternoou, deai?" "No, I think not," answered Miriam, "I think I will write to Juan aud to my mother this afternoon, if you don't mind." Sir James looked a little disappointed. "lou must just do as you like," he said, "but have you not time to do both." "I am afraid not" "Well then, in that case, I will ride OTer to see Harrv Duncan, at Rowan; he's an old chum of mine, and I should like to see him again betore Iieae here." "And where is Kowan?" asked Miriam. "Rowan Castle? Oh, it's about eight miles from here, but I'll be back in time for dinner." Miriam suppressed a little sigh of relief. T':s was the opportunity she had hoped for, and then alter to-day there would be no mere secrets, 110 more tears. Her spirits. theretore, rose, and Sir James caught the infection. They talked and walked to gether until the luncheon hour, and then vent into, the house, both smiling. But Lady MacKennon received them without a smile. 'I am going over this afternoon, mother, to see harry Duncan," Sir James said presently. "Have you any message lor Mrs. Duncan.?" "i"ou can give her my regards," answered the dowager. "And are jou going also to Eowau?" she asked, looking at Miriam. "No; I am going to write letters," said Miriam. Lady MacKennon said nothing more. She finished her luncheon and then retired to her own bitting room upstairr She was' suspicious; she resolved to wtch Miriam; but she gave no hint of this to her son. Sir James lingered chatting to Miriam, and it was nearly 2:30 o'clock wb;n he finally rang ior his horse to be brought round. He kissed Minam tenderly before ne lelt her. "1 wish you were going with me, darl ing," he said. "Xot to-day, Jam is," she answered; "but any other day I sh .11 be very pleased to go with jouanywh'rc." "That's all richt. Give mv love to them at Tyeford, a jd I hope your letter will find Mrs. Conray much better. Andnow goodby. Take eye, of yourself until I come back," and he took her hand and held it clasped to. a lew moments in his oivn. "In what direction is Rowan Castle?" asked Miriam, as he did so. "On the other side of the loch. You can not see the road lrom here for the hills. Do vcu see that point there?" and he led her the window, "I will ride round the head 'e loch there, and th;n across the hills tan. "Well, coodby again, darling." more he kised her and then left and a groom was holding his ior him to monnt outside. 'ed him go, and then with a 'roni the window and went own bedroom. There she - her with a face lull of the said in a half ' the door behind im, "I've seen te?" asked Jd scarcely ot in Om an; indeed, it's plain to see he is a gentleman, and handsome, and he read the note and said he would walk down by the loch side at half-past three, and hegave me asovereign," "Yes; and did he look well?" "He's a fine, handsome man," replied Ford, in the tone of a connoisseur on manly beauty, "but he looked sorrowful; I noticed he'd a sad smile." "Poor iellow," sighed Miriam. "Sir James has ridden out forthe'after noon, Donald told me, or at least that he was going," continuedFord. "He has gone." said Miriam, and then she went to the window and stood looking vaguely ont on the darkening waters of the loch, for the sky was overcast again, and its shadows gloomed the scene. CHAPTER XXIL THE LAST SIGXAL, But now let us follow Sir James as he rose briskly round the head of the loch, and then entered a picturesque defile be tween some rugged precipitous cliffs, which soon completely hid the house at Kintore from his view. But he was thinking very tenderly of the fair young wife he had lelt behind there. He was angry with himself tha; even lor a moment he had allowed his mother's insinuations to darken his mind. It should never be so again he told him self. He trusted her, and he would trust her always, and, please God, no shadows should ever come between them. He looked up and smiled as he came to this resolution; looked up the sides of the deep gorge where he then was, where dense clumps of tali fir trees grew, while higher up overhanging, indeed, in several places were smaller groups of oak birch, mount ain ash and hazel. Sir James knew this pass well, had known it from his boyhood, and it was his own. It was part of the in heritance which had come to him from his father, before he had been left a lortnne by his wealthy uncle. And he was prouder of these old hills than he was of the new wealth; proud of their beauty and of the ro mantic legends and tales which clung to them as a birthright Sir James hsd had an oln Highland nnrse in his childhood, and she had told him many a stirring story of the old days, before she herself had been borne away to sleep in the little kirkyard among thehills. He remembered her as he quitted the de file and he smiled again. He was thinking that he should have liked this quaint old woman to have seen Miriam. Then some of her superstitions and her strange readings of dreams and warnings passed through his mind. He was riding a fine, Spirited, young grey horse, and as the roadway grew less narrow he slackened his hold on the reins. Presently he 'reached some grass-land, and as he proceeded leisurely on suddenly his horse stumbled and fell. He had put'his foot into a rabhit-ho!e,and came down a somewhat bad fall, bringing Sir James with him. But Sir James was not hurt, and was upagain in a minute; but it was not so w ith the poor horse. In fall ing he had cut his knees against a piece of grey granite stone, which had been partly invisible from the treacherous moss which had nearly hidden It Sir James examined the horde's injuries and saw at once that the idea of proceeding to Rowan Castle on the animal was now im possible. He had, indeed, fallen dead lame, and there was nothing to do but to get him to a stable an soon as possible. Sir James thought of trying tq,get him back to Kintore, but quickly remembered that be was nearer to the village of Strathloe by at least a mile, and that a farrier lived there, and that he could be put up at the stable of the little inn. And no sooner had this thought struck him than he began to lead his limping horse very slowly and quietly in the direction of Strathloe. It took him some time to reach the village, and when at last he did so, he went straight to the inn. He was nearly at the open door when there passed out of it a tall fine looking man, who, however, ap parently did not see him, but tnrned the other way, and went toward a narrow path which would lead him to the side of the loch. Bnt Sir James had seen his face, and something in it its remarkable regularity and the clear darkness of the skin struck him as being familiar to (bim. But a mo ment later all the hangers-on abont the inn, the ostler, and presently the landlord, were round him, and bemoaning the accident to his horse. The iarrier was sent for, and while Sir James was waiting for his arrival, he asked the landlord ho the gentleman was who had just left the inn door. "He's called Mr. Dare, sir," replied the landlord, "and he arrived here to stay yesterday; I take him to be an army gentle man." "Dare!" repeated Sir James, wondering where he had heard the name and seen tbe lace, and then it suddenly flashed back to his memory. He was the soldier he had seen at Newbrough-on-the-Sea; the soldier who had been shot on the sands, and whose life Miriam was supposed to have saved. A strange feeling stole into Sir James" heart, a ieeling which made him Eomcn-h.it indifferent to the farrier's opinion as to the injuries of his horse. "What was the man doing here? Why was he dressed like a gentleman?" And then he also recollected that several people at Xewbroucli-on the-Sca had believed him to be one. Sir James bit his lips and pulled Lbis mustache, and then agreed that his horse should be at once taken to the inn stables and attended to. After this he asked the landlord another question about "Mr. Dare." "Did he say where he came from, land lord?" "2fo, Sir James, he did not; but I take it that it was lrae England, for.a lass brought a note for him here this morning and wad gie' it into his ain hand and some o' the lolks said the lass was frae Kintore. Sir James said nothing more; he put some money into the landlord's hand, told him to see afterthe horse, and that he would send a groom up to look after him, and then he strode away, going down the narrow pathway whiclj the stranger had taken, and which led toward the borders of the loch. As he reached the head of this pathway, he saw the man, whom he believed to be the soldier Dare, going on before him. All the country round was familiar to Sir James, and he walked on, the tall form in front preceding him with hasty footsteps. Sir James saw him reach the border of the loch; saw him begin to pass dounby its side, and still he went on. Another mile would bring him in sight of Kintore. "Was he going there?" Sir James asked himself with a fierce throb at his heart "I will see, at all events," he muttered under his breath. So he stalked the man for the next half hour. He did not follow him-directly by the border of the loch. At a little distance from it, and beyond it, there was a low range of hills, skirted by dark fir trees, and behind these Sir James gloomily walked on, keeping the man before him always in view. He had a field glass with him, as near Rowan Castle there was a deer lorest, and Sir James had thought when he had ridden out that perhaps he and his friend Mr. Duncan might have a chance of sighting the herd. He unslnng this glass now, but he scarcely needed it Before him was tbe tall figure, and he could see him very plainly. He went on and on; on until he came in sight of the house at Kintore; until he neared it, and then he stopped. m , Sir James stopped too. He raised his field glass; he looked at the house, aud as he did this he distinctly saw something white waved from one of the upper windows. Then he half laughed. "What a tool I have been," he thought; "it is that little idiot Ford, Miriam's maid, who has an intrigue with this iellow, and he has come to Scotland to see her as if Miriam "then he raised his glass again; the handkerchief was still waving, and Sir James began counting the windows, and saw the white signal floating -from one of the windows of Miriam's room. A sort of faintness came over him; and yet he still told himself it was folly. Of course it was Ford, but he would watch and see. The man by the loch-side remained standing, and then Sir James saw him wave his handkerchief alsol It was the answer ing signal; no doubt the next thing he would see would be Ford coming from the house to join him. He had not long to wait. Fire minutes :L.MMW& later he saw a female figure iss.ue from -the gates of Kintore, and go down the steps which lead lrom the grounds to the loch side. A female figure! Sir James' hand shook so it was few moments before he could steady his field-glass sufficiently to bear upon this' female form. When he did so he started; gave a suppressed cry, and his face blauohed. It was not the smart little figure of Ford, the lady's maid, but the tall, slender, graceful one of Miriam, his wife. Of Miriam! It was a terrible and bitter blow, and smote through Sir James' heart like a sharp sword. For a short time he stood overwhelmed, motionless, and then little by little, like a man in a bad dream, the past rose in a grim vista before him. His mother's story of General Conray's visit, the dead lover, suppoied to be slain by the man she had loved! Oh! it was hor rible, too horrible this was the shy. inno cent girl, so fair, so modest, that he had gathered to his breast! The woman receiv ing letters addressed to her maid, and mak ing excuses to remain at home, and then stealing out in secret from her husband's house to meet her lover. To meet a soldier a private soldier and Sir James clenched his hands in jealous rage, and the blood flew with hot passion to his head. What should he 'do? He raised his glass again; the two on the loch-side were ap proaching each other now Miriam dressed in some dark costume, and wearing the sables he had given her in Paris, was ad vancing slowly, but the man eagerly and hastily was going forward. Then they met; met with outstretched hands both hands and stood there handclasped, looking into each other's eyes! A curse broke from .Sir James' 11ns; a curse so loud and bitter that it seemed to rend the man's heart in twain. Still he watched them. They turned, they walked together side by side, by the waters of the darkening loch. Then they stopped, and again their hands clasped. Alter awhile they walked on once more, going in the direction from which the man had come, and away from Kintore. Sir James turned also. Step by step, he on the rugged hillside, they by the loch, the three went on. They went nearly as far as the village ot Strathloe; close to the Glen of Strathloe, aud then they stopped; and the man took her in his arms and pressed her to his breast Their lips met, and then the pale stern watcher turned away. It was all over, it had needed but this. A. great darkness fell upon his soul, ami hatred for the woman whom he believed had betrayed him. Hatred, stronger for the very love he had borne her. The wife ot his bosom, the love of his heartl He laughed aloud in his great bitterness and misery. -He remembered little things as he strode back fiercely to Kintore; remem bered the money Miriam had borrowed of him betore their marriage, no doubt to give to her paramour. Oh! the black bitterness of it, the shame! He had kissed her before he bad gone out, and she had shyly returned his kiss, and now she was Jdsslng another man. Her lips were foul lor evermore; the lving lips that bad seemed so sweet and fair. Sir James felt almost like a madman; the blood surged to his head and tbe veins on hts throat swelled. He walked at a great pace, but he took no heed of the ground. The world had sud denly become desolate to him; worse than desolate, filled with disgrace and shame. He reached Kintore, and as he entered the hall his mother, who had been watching for him, went out to meet him. "James," she said, and her face was stern and pale, "I have something to say to you come in here," and she drew him by his arm into the breaklast room. "James," she continued, "your wife is not in the house; she went out", I feel con vinced, lor some secret purpose, it is your duty-" He pulled his arm roughly from her hand. "I do not need yon to tell me," he said darkly, and then, without another word, he left her, left her and went up stairs to his dressing-room, and sat there in his misery alone. . "He has fonnd her ont," thought Lady MacKennon, with somber satisfaction; "she has played w ith fire too long." ' But now let as go back for a brief while to the two who had met by the loch; to the two who had once loved each other so well; but those lives had been rent apart by sin and crime. Miriam had gone to meet Hugh Ferrars with a sinking heart; had gone, feeling that to do so was to a certain exteut wronging the generous man who completely trusted her. But it was for the last time, she told herselt, and then she must think of Jpan; must save Hugh Ferrars if she conld. So she had given the signal the last signal and had gone down to the lone loch side. There was not a living creature to be seen, where the water lapped on the shore along a wide expanse, but one. She saw tbe rail figure stauding, and her heart beat fast and her breath came short Then he approached her, and they met with clasped hands almost in silence. It was Hugh Ferrars who spoke first '1 thank you for granting my last re quest," he said. "And you are going at once, Hugh?" said Miriam, eagerly looking up in his face. "You will make no delay, but leave Eng land at once." "I am going at once," he answered, slowlv. "I have brought the money," continued Miriam. "Two hundred pounds. That will take you abroad; and if you want any more " "I do not want any more, dear, nor that," said Hugh Ferrars, with strangejgentleness, as Miriam paused and hesitated. "But Hugh, you must require money do take it here it is, do not refuse." "I cannot take it I have as much as I shall reauire." "But how can that be? Oh! Hugh, I have Buffered such agonies of fear since General Conray came; poor, poor Joan, is it not a terrible thing that her mind should have wandered as it did?" "I cannot pity her; but for her, we might have been happy now, instead of about to part forever." "Still it is very sad," said Miriam, and heryes filled with tears. "Sad for ns; she wrecked our lives, and left us nothing but misery at least, she left me nothing." "But, but this may change; yon are going to begin a new life in a new land, let us hope it will bo a brighter one." "No!" said Hugh Ferrars, briefly and bitterly. "Oh! yes, we must hope," continued Miriam, pleadingly. "Let us walk on a little, Hugh, and tell me of your plans?" "I have none." "But you know where you are going?" "No, not even that" "Oh, Hugh, please do not talk thus; I should go to Australia if I were you and take some land there." "Yes," said Hugh Ferrars, with a melan choly smile. He was pale and worn, and his singularly handsome features seemed sharpened, and Miriam looked up in his face with her heart full of pity, and with an unconscions wave of the old tenderness and love swelling in her heart He seemed to understand this, for he took her hand, and for a moment or two they stood in silence, vaguely watching the water lapping on the'marge. "We loved each other very well," he said at length. "Yes, but but, we must not speak of it now you must think ot me as a sister, as a friend!" answered Miriam, struggling with her emotion. "No, I shall always think of yon as my love, my only love." "Oh, Hugh!" "It will be perhaps only for a little time that we shall be separated; a little space of time." "No, no," said Miriam, quickly, "we must never meet again, Hugh, this must be our last meeting." "Yes, on earth; but that is not for ever." "You you must forget me." "I never shall." "But, Hugh, it is wrong; it is wicked ot me to let you talk thus you forget " "No, I do not forget You are Sir James MacKennon's wife, but marriage does not make love, and your love is mine." To be continued next Sunday. AiroosxtTRA. Bittess, endorsed bv d hv Liiciani for purity and wholniomeneis. m-mdi BLACK BELT BELIEFS. Odd Superstitions That Obtain Among the Negroes of Alabama. VISIT TO A COLORED SCHOOL Characteristic Speech by an Ex-Slays That Closed With a Prayer. A DAUGHTER OF THE EETOLTJTION tconarsroKDiwcx or rax dispatch. Seljia, Ala., July 28. HE sunlight is to the earth, after a period of darkness, what superstition is to the Southern negro. In it he seems to "live, move and have his being." Even Ben, my faithful guide and storehouse of knowledge, is steeped in it For some days he has not appeared to be himself, and upon inquiry I learn that "de ole red mule done lose her slsoe in de cotton patch," and that is a sign that Ben will not be successful in selling the cotton products in the fall "Fie, fie, Ben, do not be so superstitious; that can't hurt you any. The idea of be lieving such n sign!" "Well, chile, yo' shuh doan knownolhin' about it Is yo' superstitious?" "No, Ben," I replied, and blushed at the fib. Would It do him any good to know that I had one or two pet "signs" which 1 cherished aud believed in implicitly? He would not.understand that to me supersti tion was "the poetry of life." "Doan yo' know I'm a Joseph, honey?" continued Ben; "an' would yo' know some of my signs? Yo' better write 'em down in yo" little book," and I obeyed him. The Mall in a Horsrshoe. "When yo pickup ahorseshoe an' it has nails in it yo' will sure have sickness in yo' fam'ly; if de nails am gone it means luck, but yo' bus' hang it up. "When yo' house is full of mice or rats yo' must write a letter to de mice and tell them wa' ter go. If dey doan go at once write another letter and dey sure will go." "But, Ben, the reason they go is because you are closing the holes, and they must starve or go somewhere else." "Chile, jes' keep quiet I sure know moh' abont it than yo'. When the house is hanted, an' de 'bant' dress in white, yo' mas' cut a lock of hair from de first nigger yo' meet an' put it over de front door. Ef yo' chile be afraid of hants, sit it oyer hot lard and say: 'De Lawd He put de debbil in de swine an' I done send de debbil in de lard, fo' swine and lard mns evil spirits keep, but de Lawd He save de chile.' " "But, Ben " "When yo' dream of a coffin yo' will heah yo' friend is married to yo' lover, but if yo' see de corpse yo' will marry him yo'self. When yo' scour a flo' always turn yo' bucket to de right; it save you manv shiver. When de debbil come in de sick room, burn de bed and yo'll have a live man ter keep." "Ben, don't yon " "When de white l&dy ask too many ques tions and 'rupt pore Ben he won't say any mo' " and with this quaint bit of wisdom he ended his seeming soliloquy. A Daughter of the ItevoTntlon. How sorry I was that I had interrupted him. I coaxed him to continue, but he was not to be coaxed. That evening we were all sitting on the veranda when Ben said: "Who is de daughters of Revolution yo talk so much about?" and we each gave' our view of the question and explained 'it simply, so that he would understand. "An' must yo' prove that yo' ancestors fought? I sure believe my o'ld woman is one of de daughters. Her gran'father, Massa S , wa' a General in de wah. He sure fought in de Rebolution; he sure wa' killed at de Bunker Hill." "Are you very sure about it, Ben; very, very sure? How did she come to.be so tar South?" "Someone carried her mother heah. Yo' com' ter de cabin an' ask de file woman yo'self; she knows." Again Ben had innocently raised a per plexing question. His wife, the quadroon and cx-slave, could boast of aristocratic blood. This woman, this negress, was the grandthild of a man whom the colonists loved and admired a daughter of the Revo lution 1 No, No I Her black blood, the negro blood, forbids that, and yet what irony of fate brands this woman a negress and counts her three-fourths of white blood as nothing? Is it not strange ? What in equalities of lite in a land where all men are declared free and equal What black and clouded skies for some, what brilliancy and snnsbine lor others 1 Martyrdom and freedom go hand in hand. Time must solve this problem. A Visit to a Black Belt School. Ben has taken us all to the village school. What humble boys and girls we see. As we go into the room the pupils lay down their well-thumbed spelling books and look at us in amazement The "professor" tells us to be seated and continues the lesson. "Sydney C give a sentence containing a conjunctive adverb," Sydney rises, and with quivering lips re plies: "O, the sun is running around the globe and I'm so cold." "Give another," says Ben. (The professor has told us to question his pupils). "The heavens declare the glory of God and Birmingham is a great city," replies Sydney, now thoroughly frightened. I look around the barroom and copy the questions and answers that are upon the blackboard: bones or articulation ore those Joint at wich tow (2) boras play on each other, come in contact, muscle are commonly cold flesh or meat moses or red mas. Blood is a read liqualnt called vertebre. Digestiongoes thiougha oanal oall aspa ragus into a pouch cull stomach. Nhiiio two Kinds of blood. Thick and thin, warm and cold, red and yellow. How is the air received Into the body? The air is received first by the throat, enters the boddy to a spungy bulk in our Doddles call llces. .. The organ of circulation is the nose. Ciiculatlon Is caused by the circulation of tbe ear. While I am musing upon the possibilities and the future ot these urchins before me I hear the teacher say:' "We will now hear some remarks from our visitors." How the changes ring in the gamut of fear. Even while I think I am called upon to speak. Don't ask me what I said, some thing about Cinderella and being good chil dren. They must pardon my abruptness. I never mace a speech, in fact wasn't pre pared, Then I get to talking about Joseph JSailu iP btwl-; Nail! in the Shoe Mean Sickness. and am suddenly disconcerted when a pick aninny says: "I know dat; Joseph was a prittyman'an' his brethren sheep heads." "So am I" is my inward thqugbt, and I sit down. The others of tbe party make brief addresses and then Ben comes for ward. I take a pencil from my pocket and slyly copy his remarks. Old Ben Slakes a Speech. Chlllen, yo' sure should be proud to live and go ter school. When I wa' a boy like yo', I used ter got a lash instead of the spellln' book. Yo' should be, glad to be In America, and, niggers tho' yo' be, yo' is as surely American as anyone else in it See what a fine city we live in; we HUs a bank in this city, we is. We are a great people. Yo must be good boys and girls, with hearts large enough to grasp do whole worl'; yo must hab sympathy fo' de lall'n an de lowly. Fo'get yo'self and live fo' others an' in others. Yo' nebber saw yo' poor ole mammy tied and lashed. Yo' nebber heard de houn's bay at night while yo' Knelt at her knee an' tried to say "Our Father." Yo' nebber heard Jy u ... vJ3S31aBflytju The Profeuor at Work. decry of de unfortunlt creatnre. Yo' hab nebber bin sold to de hlzhest bidder. Poro Ben remembers well de rust tim' he wa' sold, lie were free In soul tho' Called brute; free In thought tho' called ignorant I've heard yo sppll, an' it fill my soul with Joy. It make pore Ben glad ter know his boys and girls can read and write. And then, leaning forward, he prayed for them and theirs. What a simple prayer it was the very a, b, c'sl And yet who knows but in His sight it wascaore accepta ble than others that are more magnificent? Ben's prayer was from the heart They Know Abont Plttsburc Iron. On our arrival home the mail is dis tributed. I find bnt one letter for myself and that, too, from a stranger. Imagine my joy and delight when I find it is from one of the girls I met when at the "old Stack house." One sentence in it is amus ing and pathetic: 'Tap is goin' to marry agin fo' the third time. I'm glad, fo' I'll has a mammy, Amen. My granma is dead. Write and cumfurt me. Yours truly lover, Ella." I show Ben the letter and he says: "Chile, I doan understand dat letter. She isn't vo' lover, is she? Now, doan look cross. Yo' is a mighty little woman, but yo' sure has a heap in yo' eye. Lawd, chile, yo' eyes sure look sparks." "And are you afraid of me, Ben?" "Lawd no, honey. Women folks can't frighten Ben." Dear old Ben! you "are as wise as a ser pent! Wornen folks don't frighten any body. They are two sweet, lovely and lovcable for that, and I tell Ben all about our noble qualities, true worth and prove to him that we are treasures. Even while I speak I notice a queer twinkle in Ben's eyes and when I finish he says "I sure am glad yo' think so; I asked one of de boys how he would like yo' for his teacher and he said: 'Ben, I thank my God I'm not one of her pupils, for she would be tougher than pig iron.' " I have nothing more to say! O, thou Smoky City, how great is thy influence even here in this Southland, this Eden, this gardenland! I feel it and like the Arabs I shall lold my tent and steal away. Miss Jo Nabs; A BIOBY ABOUT BEECHES. How the Noted Oivinn f pent His Last Day In the Outer World. Upon the afternoon that the dear church parlor was elegant with the so much needed enlargement, and the carpet, which Mr. Beecher had selected, on the floor, and new furniture all in, nothing seemed wanted hut a new mantel over the simulated fireplace, which I was commissioned to select, writes Mrs. Henry Ward Beecher in her concluding paper on "Mr. Beecher As I Knew Him," in the August Ladies' Home Journal. IgreatlydesiredMr. Beecher's help in doing this, but his work on "The Life of Christ," was now progressing so fairly that I disliked to ask him to go with me, as I knew before we would be suited it might occupy a large portion of the day. But in the evening he inquired how much more of the work on the parlor I should exnect to do. I told him. adding. "If your work did not need all your time I should. ask your aid in selecting the mantel. He made no reply. That was sufficient, and I understood that he conld not go with me. But tbe next morning at breakfast he gravely asked: "Have you ordered the coupe?" "For what?" I asked. "Didn't you order me to go with you to select that mantel, and did I ever thsobey your orders?" And to my relief he went with me. On this, his last day in the outer world, we spent most of the- time looking through furniture stores, and were successful in our search. In this last blessed ride together I never knew him so inclined to talk when riding, or in such a tender happy frame of mind; everything he spoke of seemed golden col ored. Once he said laughing:' "I'm glad yon made me take this ride. I have been work ing so steadily for a day or two my head feels tired, but this ride quite brightens me up." SHAKES WITH I0HQ LIFE, After theFroaen Reptllos Had Been Heated Up They Brcarae Very Lively. The tenacity of life possessed by snakes is very wonderful, says a writer in the St Louis Oldbe-DemoeraL Last winter some men were digging a' well out in the county and close to the Meramec, when they came on a cavity in the ground which contained a nest of snakes. The weather was bitter cold and the snakes were apparently dead. They were all blacksnakes and harmless, so the men loaded them into the bucket and sent them to the top, just for a curiosity. They were thrown out on the ground and in a little while were frozen as stiff, as so many sticks. Their bodies became so brittle with the frost that in handling them several were broken like icicles. One of the men when he went home at night' took two or three of the largest along to frighten his wife. He succeeded very well, and, leav ing tbe snakes on the floor in the kitchen 'betore the fire, sat down to eat his supper, lorcetting all about them. While the meal was in progress his wife, who had lelt the room, suddenly gave a terrific scream that made him jump up in a panic and run to see what was the matter. As he opened the kitchen door she fell against him, almost tainting with fright, and too badly scared to tell what ailed her. He soon found out, for on going in he at first thought he "had 'em again," for the rorfm seemed fnll of snakes. Warmed by the genial glow of the kitchen fire the frozen snakes had come to life and were coursing round the room with soul-chilling energy. He did not care to tackle the job of kill ing them there, so he pushed the outer door open and they soon fonnd their way out, and had not gone a hundred yards betore they were stiff as ever with the cold. He followed them out and finished them with a pole, but says he will never trust a snake again, no Batter now nara lroxen. . Afc. -. -irtffb '.ni-rTtiy - -wKjaiL '(msTTTftimWEm TTITnniT''Tnwim h w Piwhw PiBasBsror -zm'ZisJ!me-'zBS23' WAGES OF BUILDERS. A First-Class Bricklayer Earns Ten Dollars a Week in London. THE OTHER TRADES WORSE PAID.. Opinion of a Toung Labor Leader of the WMtechapel District. " ENGLAND'S HOPE IS U ITS B0TS tcomusroxoracx ot the BisrjiTcn.1 London, July 29. To read in the papers that contractor for the erection of a long stretch of buildings in this city has just been granted an increase upon his bid amounting to the snug sum of 500, for the alleged reason that there had recently been an all ronnd increase in wages among the various classes of workmen he was employing,seemed to be so unusual and so very refreshing an item of news that-I at once marked it for further investigation. What made this instance all the more re markable was that "the concessions had come from a London vestry, our previous observations having fully convinced us that of all the numerous forms of local mis government by means of which, tbe in differ ent sections of this metropolis, the poor are oppressed, and ill-paid labor is ground as between the npper and nether millstones, the vestry, in any prize show of things un popular and odious, would have an easy walkover for the blue ribbon. Personified, the Vestry means bumble, and bumble, to the Londoner, is a synonym for fussiness, and petty oppression. Vestry wages in most parishes are a positive scandal. A long week of hard toil on the streets is compensated at Greenwich, we are told, by the pittance of 20 shillings, and the rate is only a little higher elsewhere. But here was an instance in which apparently some good bad come out of the vestry. Itwas the Battersea Vestry, by the way that sec tion of London which had just done another good thing in the retnrn of Mr. John'Burns as a labor representative to Parliament. Possibly these two events were not merely coincident, but were related to each other logically, and it may jjy, that both were prophetic of the dawnTbg"h"ere before long of a veritable workingman's era. The Increase Was Mot Tery Iiarge. But that feature of this vestry incident which I judged would specially interest readers in America was the statement that there had just been an increase of wages in all branches of the building trade. Thus I found myself before long within the in cisure at Battersea, where the new Town Hall and parochial offices were going up, and from the manager, who received me quite civilly and spoke as though he had nothing to conceal, I readily obtained the information which follows. It was true that Mr. Wallis, the contract or, had been granted an additional sum of money over and above .the price at which the job was taken, and it was also a fact that the grant had been made in view ot an unforeseen increase in wages, but this in crease, save only in a single instance, was not an actual, but merely, prospective one. For the trades generally the new scale would not take effect until November, and at present the only class which had enjoyed the rare sensation of an increase in the rate of pay was the bricklayers. These had just "gone up" from ninepence an hour to nine pence ha'penny. This is about equivalent to a rise of 1 cent, and in the snmmer week of S24 hours it makes, of course, a differ ence of about that number of cents in the amount, they take home to support the .family ripon. Eoughly speaking, therefore, the weekly earnings of a first-rate brick layer in London, providing he works full time, are S10 since the rise, as against $9 CO before. In winter, of course, both hours and pay suffer a diminution. At that sea son, when living is at its highest, he would get probably less than $9 ior a full week, even under the recent increase, and when it is remembered that if he finds only the apology of a dwelling within the populous districts of London his rent will cost him $2 CO or $3 a week, and that he will bare to pay about 32 cents i hundredweight for coal, and 10 cents for a 3-pound loaf, with meat of every kind still higher in propor tion, the lot of this skilled and worthy la borer will have figured itselt out to be any thing but a sumptuous or even a happy one. Nine Dollars a IVeelc an Average. Notwithstanding this, however, the Lon don bricklayer is better off In the amount of wages he gets than any other workers in the building trade, with two exceptions only. These are plumbers and what are called stone fixers. It is proverbial of the former in our own country that they walk off with the best plum in the labor pie, and they seem to do the same over here. Yet how little is this prize worth after all, when both Slumbers and stone fixers must work V2M ours a week to pocket on Saturday the meager sum of about 510 601 The superior wages which these get is sometimes earned also by plasterers, but the general run of the latter fall a dollar below that figure. The scale lor masons, carpenters and slaters is ninepence an hour. Painters get eight pence an hour. For such kinds of labor as scaffolding, hoisting and handling of timber, sixpence ha'penny an hour is paid, and for other grades of common labor only sixpence. Such at least were the figures given by the manager at the buildings visited in Bat tersea, and the best proof that they are not lower than are actually paid is thefact that the contractor for this work had just been voted an increase on his bid, solely, as the papers alleged, in view of the increased di mensions ot his pay roll. Perhaps, indeed, on this very account the scale of wages given above might reasonablybe discounted a little. But howfever that may be, the contrast between these and American wages in the same, lines of trade will be suffi ciently apparent for all practical' purposes, a..rl it ...ill a A.ialant M.an finm tllA lnt. BUU AW Dill K6I.IIU6III, OiaW, ItW.U .. f given in this and in former letters, that Ahis oiflcrence does not begin to be made yp to tbe poorly paid British worKman in s lie of the popular theory tothat effect b any advantage ne may enjoy in me living. st of Saturday Evenlnt in WhltechaieL From Battersea let us go toWhiteohapeh The name suggests at once1 loathsome, mys terious and still unpunished crimes. But it is also synonymous with grinding poverty, with ill paid labor, with tbe tragic battle of the masses for subsistence, witli rags and vice, with drink and ever gnawing hunger. For those whose instincts incline them to the vulgar occupation ot "slumming," there is plenty to be seen in Whitechapel. Scores of visitors go there every day and every night merely to view the localities of the late blood curdling murders.and others go to reek their imaginations in a so-called study of the degrading social conditions which made atrocities ot that sort possible. My own visit was made for a better pur pose, and perhaps, for that reason, I saw things with more hopeiul vision. It was Saturday evening and not yet dark. I did not'penetrate into the courts and alleys,ana candor compels me to report that w hat I saw on the principal thoroughfares was pleasing rather than otherwise. The appearance of the people was no uorse than that of the average Saturday night crowd in the poorer districts of London. One thing which specially struck me was tbe large number of well dressed Hebrews, with "their wives, cousins and aunts," who were on parade. Perhaps these representatives ot along favored race looked all the more attractive from the poverty and supposed disreputableness ot their surroundings. But they were very pleasant to see, and the lact which accounted for their holiday looks and airs of leisure, viz., that religious princi ple was sufficiently vital with a certain class of its leading merchants to secure a suspension ot bnsiness and. a putting up of shutters against gain on the best business night of the week even in sordid, strug gling and want-stricken Whltechacel. at'., forded us, as we reflected upon it, sensa tions which were still more pleasant. A Tounc Lradtr of Labor. It is Toynbee Hall we are seeking, a place of sweetness and light, an educa tional center, planted, happily, as so many such places are now in this citv, in sur roundings where it is much needed. We have an engagement here with Mr. W. Q. Pearson, a prominent lecturer on social topics, a leading official in the Dockers' Union and a member of the Executive Committee of the London Trades Council. He meets us in the Library, a trim, dark eyed young fellow of about 30, and as we adjourn for conversation to the court yard of the hall he waves with pardonable pride a hand still horny with the hard work it does, and says of the stately pile about us, '"This Is my Alma Mater." He is a man who has risen from the ranks and yet is still in tbe ranks. With no chance at all to get a day school education, he has at tended lectures and classes at Toynbee Hall, and has so employed his evenings in its splendid reading room that now he can speak with the best, and is more than fit to hold a conversation on almost any ubject with Her Majesty. He is often chosen to interview political leaders, and it was but recently that he was "talking back" at Gladstone. Still, however, does he toil as a common docker, aud he lives on dockers' wagas. He prefers to do this, because his aim in life being to lift up his fellow labor ers, he believes be can accomplish this bet ter by staying with them on their own hard level of toil and pay. x This gentleman confirmed what had been previously told me of the life and wages of the toilers on tbe Thames by Mr. Quelch. Their pay is nominally at the rate of six pence ha penny and seven pence an hour, but, leaving out the many who hardly ever get anything to do, their average weekly earnings will not exceed 10 shillings. Enough for a Sincla Slan's Living. He himself, by working when he could, would hardly average more than 18 shillings (M CO) a week. Having no one to care for but himself he managed to get along on that, but could not conceive how those lived who had families. Far ont from the center of London small dwellings of four rooms might be bad, he said, tor six and sixpence a week, but the railroad fare even on work men's trains would add to that a shilling or more, and in London itselt it would be hard indeed to get a house for less than 11 shil lings a week. As we sat there in the twilight of Tovnbee court yard, Mr. Pear son discoursed eloquently and with moving pathos upon the awful lot of the London laborers. He was not orthodox in the churchly sense, he said, yet his f work in their behalf he looked upon as the most religions work he could engage in. The mass of the men themselves moved only in great labor struggles like so many automa tons. They accepted poor pay and grind ing want as their natural inheritance, and not only did not know how to go to work to get anything better, but for the most part were so utterly without spirit and ordinary human ambition, that they hardly aspired after anything better. By this time a squad of Whitechapel boys had gathered in the court, and one of the Toynbee instructors were patting them, with somewhat comical results, through the, rudiments of a military drill. "There," said Mr. Pearson, pointing to this squad of gamins, "There is our hope for the final emancipation of labor in London. Those boys look rough, but they are going to school, to our ever progressing public schools in this city. They are learning of things about which their fathers know noth ing, and are being fitted to live in surround ings as different from those at present to be found by laboring people as paradise differs from hades. Ths Boys "Will Have Their Rights. "Will the Government," he said, "have nothing better for such men as they will be come than to turn them out on the streets to fight for a crust? Or, if it should have nothing better than that for them, how long do you suppose they would stand it?" This, we both felt, was a clincher, and onr conversation tnrned in other directions. "About clo'hing," I suggested. "In Whitechapel," he replied, "every trade under the snn is carried on, and as to clothes, you can get a suit in Petticoat Lane to-morrow morning for a song, al most." "But respectable and well-wearing clothes," I interposed, and then he became very personal and interesting. "For this coat and vest, I paid 36 shillings, and for the trousers 14 shillings." This made a total of a little below SI 3, and as well as we conld see, our judgment would be that you conld match the suit in "ready-mades" in any town in America at a figure not much, if any, above that. The darkening night, which admonished us that our interview mnst soon close, seemed to scatter our thoughts among- Lon don's toilers promiscuously, and from what Mr. Pearson said I jotted down that ordi nary office clerks were working here for 25 shillings a week; that men behind counters would get about the same, and girls assist ing in stores from 12 to 14 shillings. Street car men, he said, made about 24 shillings a week and were on duty 13 hours a dav. And a shilling is only a little more than 25 cents! Henry Tucklet. CREEPING MALARIA. INSIDIOUS AND STEAVyTHT IN ITS AT. FEOAdn. DEADLY AND tJNIIELDING IN ITS ,gK'SP. Extracts I"rom a Lecture nt the Surgical Ilotel,. 'Columbus, O., by Dr. S. B. Hrt snan. BEPOETED FOE THE PEESS. The onset of malaria is often so very in sinions that it is quite difficult to detect the nature of it until alter it has fastened itself thoroughly In the system. Malaria often will pester a person for months without making him sick abed, bnt making him genuinely miserable creeping rigors, coated tongue, appetite changeable, and many In describable sensation ot genuinely disa greeable kinds. Chills and hot flashes of very irregular duration and recurrence come and go without seeming cause. The hands and feet are usually cold and clammy, and the general tendency is to. dryness and coldness ot the skin of the whole body. Among the symptoms to which this class of patients are liable, but not always present, may be mentioned neuralgic head ache, nervous chills, hysteria, sinking or faint spells, distresting palpitation of the heart, defective eyesight, total inability to read, write or do any business; urine abundant, without color,"and loss offlesh. Melancholy feelings, a discouraged, listless state of mind, mental depression and con fusion ot the mind, surely indicate the presence of malaria. This form is called malarial biliousness. For this "walking malaria," which neither puts one to bed nor allows hira to work or study, Pe-ru-na should be taken as directed on the bottle. A course;of Pe-ru-na will entirely cleanse the system of every particle of the malarial poison. Therefore, if you have any kindof bad feeling which yon attribute to'malaria, by all means follow this treatment It at once restores the appetite, clears the be fogged senses and brings back the hopeful state of mind vwhich malaria is sure to de stroy. A thorough use of it will convince you of its wonderful power in all such cases. Pe-ru-na can be relied on to cure these cases and restore to perfect health as speedily as the clironic nature of the dif ficulty will allow.) Should constipation exist at the same tiire Man-a-lln should be added. The Pe-ru-na tones up the nervous system and enriches the blood, giving strength and vitality,while Man-a-lin re stores the activity ot tHe excretory glands, enabling the system to rid itself Of accumu lated poison, bringing back to this most un fortunate class of invalids the flush and good feeling of perfect health. Directions ior use accompany each bottle. For a comnlete treatise onosalsria. chills and fever and fever and ague,tyend for the Family Physician No. L BentUree by The Jfe-ru-na urag manuiaetunng ivo., uoium- bns,Ot ARTIFICIAL KUBBER. It Can Be Made From Oil of Turpen tine by an Acid' Treatment SIMPLE TESTS FOR DIAMONDS. Of ill Imported Wines These From Italy Irs Least Doctored!. HEW THINGS FOE DOMESTIC USE rwnimx tob tot dispatch, l About eight years ago the hydrocarbon "isoprene," which had previously been identified among the products of the de structive distillation of crude rubber, wis discovered among the volatile compounds obtained by the action of moderate heat upon oil of turpentine. Isoprene can be re converted into true elastic rubber by the action of strong acids such as muriatic. Dr. Tilden, who originally made the discovery referred to, not long ago produced from tur pentine a quantity of isoprene, which, after being kept for a fer weeks, became thiok J and syrupy, with lumps of hard, elastic substance floating in it. These lumps proved to be true rubber, and are supposed to have been formed by the accidental pres ence of acetic or formic acid in the solution. This rubber appears to be analogous In every respect to the natural product and is susceptible of vulcanization. The discovery has been followed by ex periments to ascertain the feasibility of manufacturing rubber from turpentine on a commercial scale. An interesting field for experiments has been opened np by this discovery, for if, as is possible, other resins are similarly susceptible of conversion into elastic compounds, products possessing properties of peculiar value may be de veloped, and in any case the dearth of rub ber which has existed for some time in con sequence of the wholesale destruction of rubber forests is likely to give no further cause for alarm. HONEY IK EAB3ITS, Australians, Can Blake Mors Killing tho Animals Than by Panning. The Government of New South Wales spends a large sum annually In the payment of royalties on the skins of rabbits killed, the aggregate royalties in the last seven years amounting to over $t,OCO,O0O. A killer gets 2 cents a head royalty from the Govern ment forllling the animal, the skin o which be can, then sell at from 1 to Scents, and for the meat he can get from 2 to 1 cents from tho canning factories. Tho skins are bale-pressed and exported to London. Tha skins, which are bought up in bulk in London by tho hat manntacturers. are turnod over to operators who plnclc off the pelt by hand, no suitable machinery for tho Eurpose having yet been Invented. A flns lue fur is then left on the nelt. The skin is then pared away from the fur by machinery so delicnte that when the last paring is cut off the fur sometimes hangs in one filmy section. This is worked up into felt. It is hard to understand why American hat makers do not import their skins direct from Australia, as they turn out prouably not less than 63 000 hats every year, as auainst the 40,000 of the English inanu.acturers. Tb Parity of Wine. It is questionable whether any wine con taining over 13 per cent of alcohol Is not "fortified" or "doctored." In strong ports and sherries from 16 to 23 per cent of alcohol is used; in clarets, bocks or other light wines, probably not more than 7 per cent. Italian wine is made of pure grape Juice, and consequently Is dependent upon tho quantity and quality or tho grapes of which it Is composed. German, Frencn and Span ish wines, on the contrary, are always doc tored. If, therefore, the crop Is insufficient in quantity, other wine is added, and if It is wanting in proper qualities chemical In gredients are mixed with It until tbe decoc tion acquires the desired body and taste. For this reason the Italian ine is infinitely the more wholesome beverage and ought to be more sought after. There is no doubt that greater care in its preparation would greatly Improve its character.butthe Italian oeasant is obstinately conservative. He will i go on using the same vats lrom year to year witU0.it ever tnorougn.y cleansing mum, and will otten mix all sorts of grapes together. The time during which tho me is lelt to ferment exercises also a great in fluence on its qnality, and hero again tha feaant proprietor, with his small cellarage imlts and his restricted capital. Is at a dis advantage. He cannot afford to keep his wine long: he ninst turn it over and make it into cash". Of all Italian brands Chiantl is most In request, and its superiority U due in a great measure to the quality of the grapes which grow on the spurs of the Apennines, where there is a great deat or sun and very little rain. It is not likely that the making of wlno In tho French sense will ever taka root In Italy. Tho Italian has a great dread of what he calls "vino nializiato,"orfalslfled wine, literally wine that has been made malicious. Genuine wlno he calls "si ncere.' Utilizing tha Heat of a Lamp. A device has b een patented for the ready boiling of milk, tea, coffee, etc., which la pecnliarly suited to tho requirements of a nursery. Tna device, which consist of winged plates connected together, their up per edges being flattened and extending at right angles to their vertical portions, can be attached to any lamp chimney. Tha lower edges of the plates are provided with notches or corrugations that constitute an extension which fits In tho opening at tha top of tho chimney. The upper edges of the obimney fit in tile notches In the edges of the plates and thns keep tho appliance steady. It can be placed on and removed from the chimney with rapidity, and does not interfere in tne least with tha illuminat ing qualities of the lamp. Something Abont Diamonds. Ample testimony has recently appeared in scientific papers confirmatory to tbe lact that tbe hardness of diamonds is not per ceptibly reduced by cutting an 1 polishing. G. f. Kunz, who takes part in the discussion on this subject, mentioned Incidentally that there is no difficulty In even the most inex perienced person dltlngnlshlng the real rrom tho imitation diamond. It tho stono scratches sapphire It Is without doubt a diamond, .whereas putting theirem into a flame would not differentiate tbe diamond from the white topaz, or the white zircon or tbe white sapphire or the white tourmallle, or any other white stone that is not fusible. Bnt the absolute and most simple test for diamonds is to draw the stone sharply over a piece or nnpainted board in a dark room. Every diamond phosphoresces by friction. Safety in Grindstones. Some means for the prevention of acci dents to workmen while grinding their toWs at a grindstone has long been needed. A new safety grindstone rest seems to fulill the requirement of such an invention. Tha rest, which works backward and forward, is fixed parallel nnd in close proximity to the lace of tho stone. When a tool is being ground tho downward pressure holds tha rest firmly, but in the event ot the tool or one or mora of the operator's fingers owing to some Irregularity or the surface of tho stone becoming drawn between the rest and tho stone, the impulse or the operator is tndraw his hand awav. This causes tho rest to fall away lrom tbe stone and release the fingers or tool. An Improved Clothes Wssher. Among lata Inventions for the improve ment or household appliances is a washing machine, tbe tody of which Is supported by and oscilates on a suitable frame and Is rocked by an upright handle, Jointed at tha center to facilitate packing. The bottom of the body is provided with adonble floor, tbe lower being smooth, while the upper con sists of alternate rollers andV shaped strips. As the body Is oacllated. tha clothes slip over the rollers and are drawn across the v shaped strips. Flogging Amons tho Russians. Flogging is so indispensable in Basil that some inventor has perfected a machine nMfi avp thft hnnin arm th infamous labor of blows. Under the flagellation of the machine, taxes and arrears are to be come speedily collectable. These latest fruits of civilization catch the arms and ftet, allowing the head to repose on a kind of Japanese pillow, while that portion of the body which Is to be operated on is raised to a convenient- position for the execa-tione&
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