1 Ratos of Advertising. OueSquaro (1 inch, )onc insertion $! OnoHijuare " ono month - -3 00 OneSquaro " three months - BOO One Square " ono year - 10 00 Two Squares, one veni - - J3 Co QuartorOol. - - - - 30 (10 Half -. - M) (0 One " '...- 100 CO Legal notices at established rates. Marriage and death notices, gratis. All bills for yearly advertisements col. lec.ted quarterly. Temporary advertise ments must be paid fur in advance. IS FUBU18IIED EVEKY WEDNESDAY, BY CTFIOE 15 ROBIH80N k BONNER'S BUILPIKO ELM STREET, T10NE8TA, PA. TERMS, 1.60 A YEAR. No Subscriptions received for a shorter period than tlireo months. Correspondence solicltod lrom all part oftlio country. No notice will betaken o anonymous communications. VOL. XII. NO. 19. TIONESTA, PA., JULY 30, 1879. $1.50 Per Annum, JocworK, tasn on Delivery. i Dentil of the Prince Imperial, i. Franco is snd to-day. Many a heart beats low j Words that the possor stops to soy Come liogoringly and slow. Paris weeps to-duy j London echoes her Bigh " lie went on a noble quost," they say; " Alas! that ho went to dio." II. Franco tor Knglaiid fights, A Frenchman forF.ngland dies Saddest ol all sorrowful sights ; Spring, quick tears, to the eyes! , The Prince Imperial diod, Not in the heat of striie, With noblo hearts on every side, Nor sword to sword in honor and prido, Hut gaspod awuy his life, Dono to dentil in the desolate land By a savngo and treacherous band. III. I'rono ho lies in tbe long, dank grass, ITis insignia ol rank ii gone; Stript and dying he lies, alas! In the wilderness land alone. What is tho thought that fills his soul As tho blue sky draws his last faint glanoo? Two words alono his thoughts oontrol, " Mother!" and " Franco!" IV. How tho knell swept over tho sen, Hoard with doubt and fear at first; When it was known a certainty " Who will tell it at Chiaelhurat?" They sent the word, tho dolorous word, To the stutrly mother who sate alone; Wue, oh, woo, (or tho tidings heard, , Who shall comfort her for her son T She has wept and lasted soro, Sitiing to weep and fast alone; Camo a lueouto her barred door, Fain with her would make her moan: Ah, great queen, on thy mother eyes Tho tears ot sorrow aro hardly diicd, Well ol yon, in fiiondly guise I To sit this sorrowing heart beside. Nauitht to aynd naught to do, , Sorrow's roots piorco far too deep; Only keep her closo to you Hold th li?t-cliniched hauls and weep. VI. Mourn, kind hearts, lrom shore to shore, For the brave young life that's fled. . Who o.m tnll wbut golden storo Ol hopes a id plans lie witli him dead T , H jvt "' glorv and deathless tame, Hopes ot fortune nobly won, A country's love, a well earned name, . Guvrdoiu given lor great deeds dono, FIAd like a dream when one awakes, Lrwt to thought, like a tale that's told. And still tho world the same roail takes, Changing ever the new time to theoid. VII. Princes ot earth return to dust, Kingdoms shake with rude alarms, Naught is there in which to trust Wisdom, strength or cunning arms. Turno 1 like tho dice by tho player thrown, Vain, and slight seem all earthly things; Ono doth guide and rule alone The Lord of Lords, the King of Kings! JVeiv York Champion. AN UNLUCKY DAY". Nell has come down to breakfast with Iter "grief muscles" in full piny. Per haps you do not happen to know what the " grief muscles " are, though. They are. on the authority of Mr. . Darwin. those muscles which, in some- faces, act upon tho inner corners of the eyebrows. drawing them up in a pathetic little curve, and giving to the whole face an expression of pathos which nothing else can impart. I have never seen a face in which these same muscles act as per fectly as in Nell's; and as I know the signs of tho times, I ask what is the matter, as an affectionate brother should " This is going to be an unlucky day," says Nell, witli a deep sigh,. and a more rueful expression tnan ever upon her pretty face. . It is a very pretty little face, round (lit j I f. 1 ? 1 VlUltt 1 II i 111 41 r A A rtrnt ft fclH 111.111 1 l) II uiipivu m ravir, lighted up by two deep blue inno cent eyes', and crowned by crisp waves of bright mown hair a very pretty lit tie face, and generally a bright and cheer ful one. When Nell makes her little Speech about tho " unlucky day," I know what has brought the cloud upon it." ' "My dear," I say, sagely, "you are too out for such lollies. Have your re peatrd youthlul perusals of Jtosamotul instilleti no wisdom into your mind? Do you not know that whether a day is lucKy or uniuuKy uepenus upon our selves?" "I wish you wouldn't be so deadly wise." says Nell, with another deep surh " That is tho last and bitterest drop in the cup of adversity. None of ruy ill luck this morning was of my own mak inir so. now!" "Suppose you tell me what these dreadful tribulations were?" I say, sooth ingly, for pathos is extremely unbe coming to Nell s style, and 1 am proud enough of mf little sister to like to see her always at her best. - "Well.V savs Nell, slowlv. "in the first place- I left my pet begonia on the winuow-siu, as l often do. it is broad sill, you know, and I thought it quite Safe; but the wind came up in the night and blf-jit down, and broke the pot." I "Shall I go yd see about HP" I asked half rising. "No," says Nelk shaking her head " I did it myself. But, don't you think Cyril, there was a great earth-worm in the pot. Of all things on earth, I hate (L'arth-woruis; and there was the great slimy thing wriggling about on the floor of my room. I had to take it up myself on the dust-pan and throw it out of the window. Ugh!" "If tho begonia was not severely in jured," I say, as Nell pauses for a little shudder, "it was a very good tiling that tho pot did break. The worm would have killed the- plant, sooner or later, if t had staid there. Then just think how uncomfortable the poor thing must have heen, all cramped up in that little placf? As far as I can see, your first piece of ill luck was very good luck for all three of you the begonia, the worm and you." 'Uh. the worm! ' savs Nell, scorn fully. " But that is only t he beginning. I thought 1 never Bhould bo ready lor breakfast, for. everything went wrong. in tho first place, i dropped oneot ruy et earrings, spent a quarter ot an hour n hunting lor it. and only lound it at last by setting my foot on it and smash- ng it. And only think. Cyril." cries Nelly, in a brisker tone, "while I was looking for it I found my pearl ring that I thought I had lost while we were out boating last week. It was under a orner of the carpet, where It micrht have staid until we clean house again if I hadn't just happened to see it." "(jood luck out of ill again." I say. ' Because, as this is a furnished house. it niiuht have lain there forever if we leave it next spring." " I wish you'd hush!" wails Nell, dis- ionsolately. "Can't you let me be mis erable if I want toP There is nothing more maddening than to have people persist in being cheerful over your mis fortunes. It's my ill luck, and I don't see why you need meddle with it." It will be my ill luck if you don't irivo mo mv breakfast, rtrettv soon." T say, laughing. Tor Nell's eyes are twink ling in spite ot tier savage words. Nell pours out the coffee while I carve our favorite dish beefsteak and mush rooms. Nell just tastes hers, and lays lown her knife and fork. "That is the climax!" she savs. with the calmness of despair. I taste, and then lay down mv knife md fork also. What is it?" I ask. " Bridget has put sugar upon the steak instead of salt, she says. "Perhaps you will be kind enough to evolve a lit tle good luck out of this also." No," I say, decidedly. " It is beyond my power to see any good luck in having your breakfast spoiled." "I thought so." says Nell, lauchins. "It is easy enough to bo philosophical over other people's woes, but when it omes to your own it is a diilerent mat ter. Suppose you see how you like it yourself?" I prophesy that somebody .vi 11 invite you to lunch at Delinonieo's. ind you will have all tho more appetite for not having had any breakfast. Oh ! I forgot, though. You can't lunch at Delinonieo's. for you must come home irly to go to the picnic. You won't forget?" I promise: and then,. as the whistle sounds, I catch up my hat, and, rush off to the station, which is only live minutes' walk or three minutes' run from our house. Nell and I, as you may judge from the above conversation, aro brother and sister, and we live alone together, the iolliest, coziest couple that ever was seen. So every one says, and if there is a little private worm gnawing at the heart of one of us, it is never confessed to any one, least of all to the other. The state of the case is this : I am a lawyer, with a tolerable practice for a young man. Nell is a " tocherless lass," and the in come which i make just avails, with care and economy, for the support of two. Witli no amount of figuring or calculating can I force myself to believe that it will avail lor more. Nell has never guessed my secret, never shall guess it until the day comes when it need be a secret no longer. But though she has never guessed mine, I have di vined hers long ago. I know that the pearl ring which Nell treasures so fondly is the gift of young Dr. Gaston, and I know that Nell's eyes are brighter and her smiles shyer and sweeter when he is here, lie does not come very often, for the town where he is striving to build up a practice is ten miles away. and a young doctor must be always upon the spot. The prospect before him and Vail id VfllillfW ini iwn na va ml A u u ,nv own. mere is just one possible spot of lisrht in our future. Aunt Jane Aunt Jane Humsey is an old, a very old lady. She is infirm, she is irritable, she is ca pricious, but she is rich. We scarcely know her, for she has never manifested any affection for us, hardly betrayed a consciousness of our existence, and Nell and I are no toadies. We are her only living relations, though, and everybody says that sooner or later her money must come to us. we never talk about it, never build upon it, never mention tho possibility to any one. Why should we talk of what may come to nothing? Only it it ever does; I lapse into thoughts of the little irirl who is waiting patiently up among the New England hills," in the old college town where I studied the little girl at whose existence Nell has never guessed Nell, at home, is dreaming of Miles (iaston, whom she is to meet at the pic nic this afternoon. I must not be late for the picnic, bv-the-wav. so I rouse myself, shake oft' my dreaming, and go to work with a will. When I reach home again, tired in mind and body from the effects of crowd ing a long day's work into less than half a day, Nell Is not watching for me, as I fully expect to find her. Vainly do I search every room of our tiny domicile. vainly do I shout Nell's name from the top to the bottom of the house; silence and echo alone answer. It is very strange, for I had made sure that Nell would le ready and waiting for me, worrying herself after her habit, with vain fears that I had missed tho train. We are to start for the picnic at half past three o'clock, and it now lacks only a quarter of three. I am just about to start out on a wild search through the neighborhood when, from the window, I see her hurrying up to the door. She has come, evidently, from one of the neighbors' houses, and her face has a flushed, frightened look, which for the moment alarms me. " Oh, Cyril!" she cries, at sight of me, " I had no idea that it was so late, but I couldn't help it. Oh, Cyril! After all, it was the luckiest thing. Those poor children! If Bridget had not made that mistake, we should have eaten them, and there would have been no picnic nor anything else for us." "Children? Bridget?" I exclaim, in utter bewilderment. " Is Bridget ofie of tho 'children' you are talking about P And why on earth should wo eat herP" " Not Bridget Mrs. Lrunsbury's chil dren. They have been so sick! And just think, only for Bridget's blunder we should have taken them, and then " " My dear Nell, do consider what you are saying," I cry, aghast. " I never eat babies never, I do assure you. And if you are in the habit of doing so pri vately, pray don't expose yourself in this way. Public opinion will never sustain you." " Now let me tell you straight ahead, and without any more nonsense, what I mean, and then I must run up and dress. About eleven o'clock I saw the doctor going into Mrs. Lounsbury's, and of course I ran over to see wiiat was the matter. I found that Teddy and Mamie had both been taken 'suddenly and vio lently ill. When the doctor came he asked what they had been eating. It seems that Mrs. Lounsbury bought all that I left of the lot of mushrooms which a man brought to our doors yesterday. You know how delighted I was to get them, and how vexeu we both were that Bridget spoiled the steak by her stupid blunder." Nell's face is quite white as she ends; and for me well, there are pleasanter ways ot departing this life, even if you are ready to do so, than by means of toad-stools. " How are the children?" I ask, after reflecting for a few minutes upon our es cape. "Uh. they arc out of danger now." says Nell. " I left Bridget over there to help them, for they have all been more or less sick. Now I must go up and dress. I'm going to dazzle vou when I come down ; but you need not he alarmed. JHy costume combines economy and splendor. You will be dazzled, but not ruined." " Perhaps some one else may be even more dazzled than I," I say ; and Nell laughs and runs away, blushing very prettily. Ten minutes afterward there is a crash and a shriek overhead. I fly up, four steps at a time, to find Nell lying on the lloor beneatli the ruins of a wardrobe, which she had somehow managed to pull over upon herself. The wardrobe is in such a state of universal smash that it is very easy to clear away the wreck and raise Nell in my arms. She opens her eyes as I lay her upon her bed, and asks, faintly: "What is it? Has the world come to an end?" "Not just yet," I reply; "but what have you been doing?" Then her senses came back to her, and she raises herself upon her right elbow. " It was the wardrobe," she says. " I remember now. The door stuck, and I was in a hurry, and tried to jerk it open. Then the whole thing seemed to jump at me, and 1 was so frightened that I screamed, and, I suppose, fainted. I'm all right now, though, and there's nothing to hinder our starting." " Loofc at your dress," is mv only reply. Nell looks, and nearly faints again; for the lovely dress is soiled and torn beyond all hope of restoration. " It is better for your dress to be torn than for your bones to be broken," I say, consolingly; but Nell shakes her head in dubious dissent. " Bones will grow together again, but clothes won't, she says, ruefully. "I you only knew the time and thought I have spent on that dress. Cvril. It was made out of three old ones, and cost absolutely nothing, except time and pains ; yet it was fresh, and pretty, and becoming. And my hat matched it pre eisely straw-color and blue, you see and Oh!" cries Nell, as she catches sitrlit of herself in the glass. I have not had the heart to tell her that the hat is an even more hopeless wreck than the dress. Such a forlorn, battered, dissipated-lookinz obieet it is. with one wheat ear perking up jocosely over tuo ion ear, anu one iorgei-me-not drooping dejectedly over the right eye, that even JNell herselt is loreed to laugh " It is hopeless," sighs Nell; and just then the whistle sounds, and w realize that the hist chance of the picnic is over. "The end of an unlucky day," says Nell, as the sun touches the horizon. It is not quite the end, though, for the evening mail is still to come in. It brings a paper for me and a letter for Nell, both of which bear tho same post mark. I open the paper while Nell is still studying the direction ot her letter. after the manner of all of us. The first thing upon which my eye falls is a para graph around which some careful hand hits drawn broad black lines. " Aunt Jane is dead!" I exclaim; and then, as 1 look at the date of the paper I add, "Buried too, by this time." Nell looks up with a stin t. "Aunt Jane: 'she cries. "And my letter is from Fanny Blatchford, who lives next door to her. She studies the direction no longer, but tears the letter hastily open. "Just what we might expect, coming on this day," she says at last, "bay what you will, Cyril, it w an unlucky day." " More than unlucky if your letter contains the news that Isuppose it does,' I say, gloomily. How the dim years stretch away be fore me as I speak the years that it will take Dr. Gaston to build up his practice, the years that it will take me to build up mine; and all the time the dear little girl, of whom Nell knows nothing, waiting patiently in the shadows of the old New England hills! I wrench myself away from such thoughts with an effort, and listen to what Nell lias to say. "lsnt it a shame.'" she is saying, when I come to myself. "If we never loved Aunt Jane, it was because she never pave us a chance; and if she never eared anything for us, at least we were her only living relations. We could hardly have expected her to re member us in her will, I suppose; but the least she could have done, for the ciedit of tho family, was to dio without one. Then we should have had it in the course of nature and law. But to go and leave it all to this man " "Whatman?" I ask, for, as I have said, my thoughts have been wandering wlnle Nell talked. " I don't know." Nell says, consulting her letter again. " Fanny does not men tion his name; perhaps she did not know it. 'They say that your Aunt, Miss Ilumsey, has' left all her money to the son of a man whom she jilted when she was young. No doubt she flattcied herself that it was a touch of " poetic justice," but I mvst say I think the plain prosaiu jusiicu ui leaving li. 10 ner rela tions would have been nearer the right thing.' Of course it is all left to some Crresus, to whom it will be but a drop in the bucket," says Nell, bitterly. "That's the way things always go in this world, while we Oh, Cyril, why don't you say something? Isn't it too bad, and isn t this an unlucky day r" " I suppose it is." 1 say. moodily. " I confess l cannot see how we are to find any good in this." We soend our evening gloomily enough, in spite of our efforts to cheer up and forget. I read a little to Nell from dear old " Eha," and we try a game of cribbage, of which Nell soon tires. At nine o'clock we bid each other good night in sheer despair, We are a little more cheerful over the breakfast table. Things cannot look auitesobad bv the morning's licrht as they did in the evening's shadows. Nell laughs a little as she ventures a hope that to-day will not be quite such a chain of misadventures as yesterday proved, i t r i . i i , t ; j x anu l ioroear to reouse ner. iiriuget is bringing in the hot cakes in install ments, and as she sets the plate contain ing the third batch upon the table, we notice that she is looking at us curiously. Evidently she would Iain speak, but respect restrains her tongue. "Wlnt is it, Mridget r" iseii asks, kindly. Then the Irish tongue breaks bounds. " Sure, miss," she cries. " an' haven't yoz heard ? An' wasn't it a blissid thing intirely that ye tore yer dress an' cudn't go to this picnic bad cess to it and its like! The milkman was just afther tellin1 me all about it. Ivery wan o' thim! niver a wan saved the purty dears! Och, wirra, wirra!" Bridget is on the point of breaking in to a genuine howl, but Nell's words, quick and eager, nip it in the bud : " What do you mean, Bridget ! What is it ? What have you heard ?" Bridget's tale is not easy to under stand, diversified as it is by comments, and embellished with interjections. By dint of painful and skillful question ings, however, we elicit the truth at last. That trut h concerns the picnic to which but for Nell's accident we should have gone. This picnic was gotten up by a small party of friends from our own town. We were to have gone by rail to a spot five miles distant, there pick up Dr. Gaston, and transfer ourselves to a huge wagon which was to meet us. This part of thelprogramme seems to have been carried out, in spite ef Nell's and my defection. The excursion cam to an abrupt conclusion, however; for, barely half a mile from the station, the horses took fright, ran violently down a steep hill and upset the wagon at the bottom. Two of the occupants were killed out right, so Bridget reports, but who they were she. cannot say. Of the rest not ono escaped without injuries more or less severe. I looked at Nell. She was white to the lips, and her eyes looked big and wild. " Another incident of your ' unlucky day' which turns out tho best of good luck," I say, not having as yet taken in the full sense of the catastrophe. " Aren't you rather glad than other wise now that you pulled down the wardrobe?" "Cyril!" cries Nell, in a shrill voice, which I hardly recognize as hers. " How can I be glad? Two were killed out right, and Miles Gaston was there." I pause in horror. Then I begin to argue. The names of those who were killed are not known. Surely a rising young physician like Dr. Gaston would be one of the first to be mentioned if he were one of the victims. But even as I speak my heart sinks, for I remember that Dr. Gaston and another young man were the only two who were not from our town," the two, therefore, whose names were least likely to be known. Nell seems frozen to a statue. She scarcely moves, scarcely speaks. Only her dry lips whisper: "ou will go and find out. will you not, Cyril, dear?" Of course I will go; but just as I reach the door I meet Dr. Gaston himself rushing down the street from the station. "You here? Thank God!" ho cried. " But Nell is she hurt? Is she" He pauses, unable to articulate the last word, but I hasten to put him out of his misery. " Nell is here, all right. We didn't go to tho picnic. An accident prevented. But you?" " I did not go either," says Dr. Gas ton. "I was called out unexpectedly for a professional visit. It was a criti cal case, and I could not leave until too late for tho train. I only heard of the accident this morning, and came down at once." It is good to see the rosy glow which chases away Nell's pallor as I usher Dr. Gaston into the dining-room. It is good to see the light of love and gratitude which shines lrom his eyes as ho sees her. I leave them alone as I catch up my hat and make my usual frantic rush for the train, which again as usual I barely succeed in catching. At night Nell meets me at the door of our house. On her face is a glow, in her eyes a tender light such as I have never seen there before. She kisses me softly, then follows mo into the house and hovers about mo daintily, with wistful looks and broken, half-whispered words. "Cyril," she says at last, and then stops. " What is it, little sister?" I ask, for the shy radiance of her faee moves mo somehow to fresh tenderness. "Cyril," she begins again, "do you want to get rid of meP" I stop short and look at her in amaze ment, feeling half guilty in mv own mind. "Get rid of you?" I say. "Who has been putting notions into your head, child? What should I do without my little housekeeper?" "That is just what I have been think ing," says Nell, shyly; "just what I told Miles when he wanted " "Well, what did 'Miles' want?" I ask, as Nell stops. "He wants," said -Nell, hanging her head low and speaking in a voice which seems half stifled by her blushes "he wants me to marry him in the fall." "Marry him!" I shout, in my first amazement. " Marry him on his present income? Do you meditate a diet on locusts and mild honey? You will find even those beyond your reach in winter, and " " No, but, Cyril," says Nell, softly. " Don't be angry, but it was to Miles that Aunt Jane left her money. It was his father that she jilted when they were both young. And so you don't mind, Cyril?" Mind? Why should I mind? It was not the money that I cared about. My income will still be enough for two, anil Nell will be happy, and ' " And, do you know, Cyril," Nell goes on, " Miles says that lie never would have married me to live on my money. Only for Aunt Jane's will we should have had to wait still; ai.d weren't you right P and wasn't yesterday the dearest, blessedest day of the whole year, instead of the unlucky one that I, like a little goose, called it? And so, if you can find a nice motherly old housekeeper to take care of you until vou can put some sweet girl, such as you deserve, in ruy plaei1 " I laugh out. I cannot help it. "Never you mind. Miss Nell," I say. "I will make shift to take care of my self. Go your way. nnd never worry your little head about your stupid old brother." Well, there is little more to tell. The report of the accident had been exagger ated, as reports always are. The two who were killed were the horses, while the passengers escaped miraculously. There was one broken collar-bone, and bruises, scratches and sprains innumera ble enough to break up thc picnic and make us thankful that Mre were not there (especially as Dr. Gaston was also absent), but hardly enough to cloud our happiness seriously. The days of waiting are now over for all of us for Nell and Dr. Gaston, for my little girl and me. Not the least talked over of our memories is the epi sode of the unlucky day, which, we fancy, brought about the happiness of all four of us. Haiycr's Bazar. Proving the Likeness. There lived in Brussels a celebrated painter named Wiertz, whose eccentric ities were such as to give him the name of the crazy artist. That there was method in his madness, the following anecdote shows : After having finished a portrait of the old aristocratic Countess de Arnos, who pretended to be only thirty when nearly sixty, she refused to accept the painting, saying it did not look anything like her self, and that her most intimate friends would not recognize a single feature of her on that piece of canvas. Wiertz smiled kindly at the remark, and, as a true knight of old, gallantly reconducted tho lady to her carriage. Next morning there was a grand dis turbance in the Hue de Madeline. A big crowd was gathered before a win dow, and the following was whispered from ear to ear : " Is the Countess de Arnos really in jail for her debts P" Wiertz had exercised a little ven geance toward his noble but unfair cus tomer. As soon as she had refused the portrait, lie set to work and painted a few iron bars on the picture, with these words : "In jail for debt!" lie exhibited the painting in a jew eler's window, in the principal street in Brussels, and the effect was instan taneous. A lew hours lattr the Countess was back at Wiertz's studio pouring invec tives on him at high pressure " to have exhibited her likeness under such scan dalous " etc. " Most noble lady," was the artist's reply, "you said the painting did not look anything like yourself, and that your most intimate friends would not have recognized a single one of your features in the picture. I wanted to test the truth of your statement, that is all." Tho portrait was taken away, the city laughed, the artist charged double price, and gave the amount to tho poor of the city. Where Did Shakespeare diet It. Several writers have disputed William Harvey's right to be called tho discoverer of the circulation of the blood, but in spite of all that lias been said the dis tinction first conceded to him has always remained. In the J une Atlantic a writer cites the interesting fact that while Har vey first publicly announced his dis covery in lb20, Shakespeare thirteen years eai lier (1507) has written in "J ulius Ca?sar," act II, scene 1, the following lines: Brutus (to Portia), Tou are my true and honorable wile, As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sud heart. Harvey himself owned that he was in debted in a measure to his former master, Fabricius, for his discovery, but Shakes peare could have known but little of Fabricius, since he was an Italian and his works were not published until 1617, the year after Shakespeare died. Baron Lionel Hothschild has be queathed to George Fordhani, his jockev, 10,(HKi, and an annuity of 1,500. SUNSTROKE. Its Causes, Prevention and Trentmcnl , Assistant Sanitary Superintendent Janes, of New York city, having been applied to for some information on the subject of prostration by the heat, said that the term sunstroke, or insolation, was commonly applied to all cases where persons were seriously overcome by tho neat of tho weather, which sometimes occurred at night, but that it was espe cially likely to take place when one was exposed to the direct rays of the sun, un less there was something to cool the sys tem by occasioning rapid evaporation from the body. The dryer the air -was, the more free was this evaporation, and therefore the danger of prostration was greatest on sultry days, when the air was filled with moisture. Sunstroke was often sudden, its effects being a con gestion of the brain, and perhaps of other internal organs, together with general nervous exhaustion. The more strength and vigor a person possessed, the less likely he was to be prostrated in this manner, and therefore old people, chil dren and persons of any age who were ill or wearied were especially liable to be affected by sunstroke. Persons who had been drinking much alcoholic liquor of any sort, or were in the habit of doing so, were also particularly exposed to this danger. As to the precautions to be observed in very hot weather, Dr. Janes said thnt the principal safeguard against injurious effects from the heat was moderation in all things in eating, in drinking and in exercise. Of course it was desirable to keep in the shade as much as possible, and men who had to work in the sun should keep a cabbage leaf or wet cloth on the head, inside the hat. As to diet, there were no particular rules, except thnt persons should eat what agreed with them and was easily digested. The appetite was usually not so keen in sum mer as in winter, and there was less need of meat or fat. Ice-water could be taken moderately without danger, but when drunk in large quantities it was very in jurious, as it was likely to check perspir ation too suddenly and cause too sudden a reduction in the temperature of the stomach. Cold tea was an excellent summer drink, as it was stimulating and readily quenched thirst. If a prson was in the habit of taking alcoholic bev erages, claret was as cooling and health ful as any. In regard to the treatment of persons overcome by the heat, Dr. Janes referred to the following, circular, which was prepared by the Sanitary Committee of the New York Board of Health several years ago: Sunstroke is caused by excessive heat, and especially if the weather is "muggy." It is more apt to occur on the second, third or fourth day of a heated term than on the first. Loss of sleep, worry, excitement, close sleeping rooms, de bility, abuse of stimulants, predispose to it. It is more apt to attack those working in tho sun, and especially be tween the hours of eleven o'clock in the morning and four o'clock in the after noon. On hot days wear thin clothing. Have as cool sleeping rooms as possible. Avoid loss of sleep and all unnecessary fatigue. If working indoors, and where there is artificial heat laundries, etc. see that the room is well ventilated. If working in the sun, wear a light hat (not black, as it . absorbs heat), straw, etc., and put inside of it on the head a wet cloth or a largo green leaf; frequently lift the hat from the head nnd see that the cloth is wet. Do not check perspiration, but drink what watci you need to keep it up, as perspiration pre vents the body from being overheated. Have whenever possible an additional shade, as a thin umbrella, when walk ing, a canvas or board cover when working in tho sun. When much fa tigued do not goto work, but be excused from work, especially after eleven o'clock in the morning on very hot days, if the work is in the sun. If a feeling of fatigue, dizziness, headache or exhaus tion occurs, cease work immediately, lie down in a shady and cool place; ap ply cold cloths to and pour cold water over head and neck. Ilany one is over come by the heat, send immediately for the nearest good physician. While waiting for the physician give the per son cool drinks of "water or cold black tea, or cold coffee, if able to swallow. If the skin is hot and dry, sponge with or pour cold water over the body and limns, and apply to the head pounded ice wrapped in a towel or dtl.er cloth. If there is no ice at hand, keep a cold cloth on the head, and pour cold water on it as well as on the body. If the person is pale, very faint, and pulse feeble let him inhale ammonia for a few seconds, or give him a teaspoonful of aromatic spirits of ammonia in two tablcspoonfuls of water with a little sugar. He Thought So. The man in charge of the big engine at the water works realizes that he has a curiosity for most visitors, and when callers express surprise nnd interest he feels pleased. The other day a stranger came, in for a look around, and his gen eral make up satisfied the engineer that lie was a person of deep thought and a man to appreciate the merits of monster machinery. The stranger viewed the engine from every side and angle, and sat down. Then he reviewed it and took another rest. Then ho walked around the building in a wise way and came back for another inspection. For two long hours he hardly had his eyes off the ponderous machinery, but was at last ready to go. Taking one last look he walked up to the engineer and said : "Sav. mister, this 'ere injine runs by steam," don't HP" " Why, of course," was the amazed answer. "Well, I thought so niore'n halt an hour ago," continued the man, " but it is just as well to be sure about these things. There are so many wind-mills around now-a-days that one can't be certain of nothing." liftroit t'rre l'ffs
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