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NO. 32, TIONESTA, PA, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 1, 1886. $1 50 PER ANNUM ifi At the preso.it momont, so says an English papor, fortune telling is one of the moBt flourishing system of impos ture in that country, and there is scarce ly a town or village without its resident or risking cheat of this description. I'ntagonia has boon obliterated from the map of South Amoricr. To Chili lias been assigned all tho western elopo of tho Cordilleras to tho southern ex tremity of the Continent. Tho remainder 'becomes tho property of tho Argentine Confederation. Torra del Fucgo is parted equally, while Chili takes all the othor islands. James Tucker (colored) of Sandystono, Sussex County, has tho distinction of being the most extensive producer of eggs in New Jersey. His poultry yards contain fiOO hens of tho white Leghorn "brood, and from the e he obtains thirty dozen eggs a day. Mr. Tucker has been bo successful in poultry raising that his methods aro being widely adopted, and ho is quoted as authority on questions relating to tho business. A tea ship that recently arrived at Portland, Oregon, hud on board a very peculiar bird, called tho Japnncso tum bler. It has a habit of jumping from its perch, turning a somersault, and com ing down on tho perch all standing, and this trick it will perform dozens of times in succession, till beholders deem the bird demented. It is considerably larger than a canary, and of rather pret ty plumage, but not much in tho musi cal lino. There is real English thrift indicated in a recent tale from Cheltenham, which is a very enlightened town, especially noted for its many excellent schools. And yet the wholo town is worked up over the alleged appearance of an old I ladys ghost who wants to show some body where she buried 500 before the diod. Tho municipal authorities, undet tho advico of tho ghost, have offered 50 to any one who will find tho treasure; and regular ''ghost trains' are run in from the suburbs for the convenience ol those who want to see the old lady's shade. A Spanish shepherd killed by light ning recently was made the subject of a scientific post mortem to discover how the electric bolt had dono it) fatal work. His eyebrows and eyelashes were burned off, his eyeballs were dried up, all his left side was scorched and burned in spots down to the tinkle, while the right 6ide of tho body and right leg wore unin jured. Serious as these injuries were, none of theiu appeared suflicient to have caused his instant death. But as soou as tho breast was opened tho cause of death was apparent. The lungs were frightfully congested and the heart wag enormously dilated and filled with coagulated blood. With all this damage to tho man his clothing was very little injured, tho only traces of the lightning upon it being a small hole bored through tho rim of the hat and a slight singeing of the shirt collar. A representation of Marshal Bazaine as a stage villain has nearly caused a not in Faris. What long memories thoso Pa risians hive! If Marshal Bazaine had been an American, says the New York Graphic, he might have created and lost a dozen governments and been forgoiten in flvo years. Tne Mexican "expedi tion," on which tho play is founded, has moro of romance in it than anything else in cho continental or international poli tics of tho last thirty years. It has ma terial for an excellent play. It has not been half written up for Looks. There was never a more interesting character than Maximilian, tho only imported Em peror that Mexico has had; and tho heroism attending his execution has not been half celebrated. His wi.e, Carlotta, still lives in ono of tho sequestered estab lishments of the Ilapsburgs, hopelessly insane. The Princess Salm-Snlm, origi nally a circus-rider, was one of the most . brilliunt members of tho Court at "Qucrctaro. Tho misfortunes o' the lust Napoleon as a ruler began in Mexico, to bo eudoJ at Sod an. Marshal Ba.aino led the French forces that were to establish a French foothold in Mexico. His Emperor was exiled. Maximilian was shot. The Prince Impe rial died with a spear in his side in the country of tho Zulus. Of that imperial establishment only Eugenio remains, hcartsore and old. The only victory of Marshal Bazaine in Mexico was winning a young Mexican woman, who accompa nied him to France as his bride. In the war with Germany that followed the loss of Mexico, the death of Maximilian and the end of our Civil War, the Marshal was hopelessly disgraced for military in capacity and sentenced to confinement for a term of years. The Mexican lad helped him to escape, and since then he has passed out of te memory aud iuter gtt of thii busy world. THANKSOIVINO. Thanks, for the year's brave bounties; Thanks, for tho joys of life; Thanks, for our cation's glory; Thanks, for the death of strife. Thanks, that the roar of battle Comes only from afar; Thanks, that the lore of freedom StiU loads men like a star. Tbnnks, that the world is better; That the future seems so bright; That the strength of an age of reason Is teaching men the right CAPE ANN LIGHTS. A THANKSOIVINO STORY. Chenoweth farm lies close beside the ca. The meadows and tho pasture-lands are ba k n bit, sheltered from the keen east winds by the rise of rocks near the coast; but tho farmhouse, built of rough hewn stone, a hundred and fifty years ago, by tho rough, strong hands of Gard ner Chenoweth himself, stands in a nook formed by a whim of the sea's own a dent in the land where the waters rush in and out at the bidding of the moon now surging and roaring, and creeping end crashing, over and between the great irrcgulur piles of granite boulders; now curling and foaming and dimpling on sweet summer days away up to the Orchard-walls, and licking with its strong salt lips tho low fields where, in the hot weather, the cattlo lovo to stand up to tuuir minutes in tie aooi water. Dorothy Chenoweth has listened to tho roar and sob of tho breakers on the Capo Ann coast all of her life. She has watched the storms of twenty winters come looming grayly up from tho east; and she has seen twenty years of suns rise up to meet her glad young eyes from far aud away across the heaven-kissing line of tho Atlantic.. She hat learned to lovo the changeful moods of the "great waters' to love, too, and almost to live by, the varyings of tho deep. Dave Chenoweth, Dorothy's father, is master of ono of the largest of the Glou cester fishing smacks, and the farm is managed by her brother Joe. Dorothy is housekeeper, and takes charge of the dairy and tho p-iultry. and sends into Gloucester of a innrkrt-day the sweetest tubs of butter, and the whitest cream chcoses, aud the largest eggs of any one round about the country. And Dorothy a strong, straight, tall girl, with largo brown eyes, and braids of brown hnir, and red sweet lips mak ing tho ono touch of vivid color in her pale, round face Dorothy has ft lover. Indeed t-he has many, but Jack Kendal so the neighbors have it has made his mark on DonJiy's heart. Ie is a big, splendid, fair fellow, sun shine in his blue bright eyes, and sun shine in his curly gulden head. Jack is mate of 1 ave (henoweth's bout, tho Susan Jane, and besides owing a very good bit rf land inland, already has enough hid by in the batik at Gloucester to fit out a boat of h s own with next year. Juck had been courting Dorothy Chenoweth for over a year people said they were engaged when, one day in July Jack and her father were busy mending their sails on the porch and Joe was oil linying it came out that it fell to Dorothy herself to take the butter and the cheeses and the eggs into town. "Hey, Sis!" called Dave Chenoweth to his daughter, as she was starting off in tho old farm-wagon, her dark eyes shining under her pink sunbonnct. 'Ye, father V answered she, pulling up the gray mnro with a nervous jerk. "Stop to Squire liedlon's as you g'long; Mis' Redlon told me as she'd be a-wantin' butter an' eggs, come along 'bout now inorc'n they hed of thcir own. Fred's got home, an' there's lots o' company over yon.'' "Very well, father." Dorothy drove away, glancing back with siiniling eyes to Jack, mending his nets on th) porch: she did not forget to stop at quire led'.on's. Mrs. Kedlon a nt word by tho cook that she would take all the eggs and a dozen cheeses; and as Dorothy Cheno weth, with her firm, brown hands, un wrapped the white cheeses from the linen cloth, nud set them on the big E latter Mrs. Kcdlon's cook held up to cr at the wagon-side, Mrs. Kedlon's son came around to the back of the house, looking for his fishing tackle. Ho did not line it. lie found Dorothy Chenoweth inste id. It seemed to him that ho had never beforo seen auy thing so beautiful. It seemed to him that lie must have been unconsciously seeking, in all the far foreiuii lands that he find lived in for so ma'iy years, for just this tall, slight, strong young woman sitting there before him in a slip of summer suiishine, with a dismal brown frock and a terrible pink un-bonnct. It was only the beginning of July, but Jack Kendal's summer ended .that soft, warm clay. Ho knew it felt it--could swear that the winter's cold was gnawing ut his heartstrings, as, eagerly watching for Dorothy, he at last saw her drive slowly down the lane. Fred Kedlon was sitting beside her. Both were talking so interestedly that neither of them noticed him leaning ou the mossy wall, or saw that the lumps were already lighted in the lighthouse. i)orothy always had supper on the table juH as the lights were lighted, but to-night she had, ulas! forgotten alto gether about suppei. r're I had come to the farm to see Dave, to talk over his old childish days, when Dave Chenoweth was onlv a second mate himself, and not married yet, ami when Fred Kodlon loved to sit ou his knee and listen to stories of the Glouces ter gales and the bonny fisherman's life he made of it. So the suiiicr ended for Jack. And a it began fq; Lorolby. What now worlds Fred oponed to her! what books he brought her to read I what longings and cravings were born in her girlish brent 1 And the long walks on tho rocky beifch, where hand touched hand in mute, growingacqunintanceship; and tho twilight wanderings all across the Cape, threading tho narrow sheep tracks, and stopping to pull tho wild flowers as they vent. And the home comings when the stars were out, and all tho meadows shone with dew; when the sea lay locked in calm, melting into the great quiet of the summer sky, and when the Cope Ann Lights shone out in splen dor yonder on Thatcher's lonely island. Thoso lights always made Dorothy re member Jack. She knew not why, but in some sorry fashion they did. The lights were thcro for fishermen, Jack was a fisherman, and it always seemed to her as if in some inscrutable way they were bidding her not forget Jack Ken dal. She glanced over to the face of the man who, at the lane-gate, stood now looking into her eyes. It was the face of an artist, a poet, a dreamer one or thoso men wiio mar their lives through trying to make of them too much. The splendid black eyes, bespeaking his Spanish mother, were far handsomer than her own; the delicate dilated nostrils, tho thin selfish lip, the low stature and the beautiful white womanish hands. Dorothy sighed a sigh of curious con tent and discontent. This man, she felt, lillod a certain part of her future full. And yet and yet . She raised her eyes to the tea. There pointed the great gray finger, there shone the lights; and she heard Jack Kendal whistling softly to himself at tho barn, where he was help ing Joe put up the horse and feed the lambs. It was November. The Susan Jane had already been out and up to the Banks once and back again with u load. As Jack Kendal neared Gloucester Har bor, the strain was almost too much for him. Would ho have gone to Boston ? Surely, yes. Would she be glad to see him, or would she only be thinking of tho Summer lover, whose effeminate beauty Jack, in his big soul secretly despised ? lie left Dave Chenoweth pottering about the Susan .lane, chaffering with fish-merchants, and swiftly pulled him self in a boat around the bend in by the cove, and in fiont of the farmhouse. Jack stood up in the boat. For live years Dorothy had always been standing, after every trip, on that tall, square boulder, waving her handkerchief to him. Then the light spring from her perch, a run down the strip of beach across tho marshy meadows, along tho little pier, aud her hand lay in his. Not to-day. Instead, he descried Fred Rcdlon's horse tied to the gate-post, and two figures of a height pacing up and down the porch. Jack sitt down. He picked up his oars, and clinching his teeth together, pulled back against the tide to uioucester ana the Susan .lane. It would bo time enough to reach Chenoweth Farm when Dave himself went over, so he thought. "What a perfect night!" Redlon ex claimed, looking out to the starry sky. "There's a storm brewing, for all those stars, though," Dorothy answers, more weatherwiso than her companion. "See yonder red light in the west, aud all that bank of billowy clouds. We shall caich a gale to-morrow' or I am mistaken. I wish father were safe at home." Derothy shades her eyes with her hand, just in time to catch a glimpse of Jack Kendal as he rounds the point. "Thcro be Jack now I" cries she. "The Susan Jane must ba in, and father will be home lor Thanksgiving, after all!" The girl's face flushes with pleasure and excitement as she claps her hands to gether. "I wonder what Jack's pulling off to Gloucester for ?" she adds, pres ently. "Perhaps he caught sight of me and took fright!'1 Redlon says, stroking his dark mustache. "Took fright from you! Jack? You're too little!" the gill says, purposely misunderstanding Lira, and with a cer tain scorn of small things and small men implied in her curling red lips. Kedlon laughs. 1 . "So long, I lorothy, as I am big enough to have cut him out of your hoart, my sizo will suit mo well enough." "And have you ? " sho asks, stopping short, and staring at him with her wide, lovely eyes. "Haven't I?" cries the young fellow, passionately taking her brown hands in his soft white outs. ' Dorothy, if I thought you weren't to bo mine, I'd'' "Well, what;-twhat?" "I don't know, he responds, sullenly. "You torture mo to-night. Why is it that sometimes you make me feel that 1 am in your eyes lacking? Heavens!" cries he, angrily. "You are the only woman on earth who ever did make me feel so. Why is it?" "Do vou want to know?" she asks. "Yes" I do 1 Tell mo!" "Do you see the sea yonder, and the storm browing? when the great waves 'II be mountains high, and when the wind '11 howl, and when the clouds are like they're bu-tin' with the tumble of the fresh water as comes a-pcltin down to meet the salt! Well, there's where you're laekin'. You've crossed tho ocean aboard of a bteatjier, five times as you tell me, a-lyin' in a berth as snug as your own room at homo there, and as wife; but what do you know of viskin' your life for your bread," cries Dorothy, as her brown eyes gleam, "in a storm, say, like that one" that is a-crccpin' up over youi Nothing !" Kedlon looks at her. and his own poetic nature borrow something of the fervent flash of hers. "Doiothv!" cries he. catching the tall girl to. his heart. ' I'll, bu worthier of you. It may noOo for bread's sake, my darling, but it will lie lor yours." "What do you mean, Fred? what do you mean':" "Pshaw!" laughs Kedlon. I must be off now. The storm is gathering. Tell your father welcome homo for me, and I'll be over to morrow night." "Thanksgiving Night." muimurs tho girl, as she lays a timid finger in the white hand of her lover. The storm did gather, and by the next morning it broke in awful splendor up and down the coast. The cove crept up and licked all the green out of the marsh meadows, and sent the cattle shivering inland ; and tho waves crashed over the boulders, cracked and smote the reefs, turned the pier into a whirlpool, and moaned the requiem of all its wrecks. The dahlias and asters in the garden were all broken necked, and the long grass was beaten Mat ; and the birds' nest tumbled out of tin shaken trees, and a swirl of red and brown leaves blew and beat all day long against the window panes where Dorothy worked away, sing; ing, in the kitchen. What if it did storm? The Susan Jane was safe in Gloucester harbor, and her father and Jack and Joe were all at home, I nud it was Thanksgiving Day to-night wonld be Thankspjivina Nisht; and Dorothy had, In a certain vague fashion, promised herself that Thanksgiving Night must bring her affairs to a crisis that there and then she must decide finally to allow Fred Redlon to tell her father of all that there was between them. Tho three men stood warming their Chilled fingers at the kitchen stove, when Dorothy, with tho basting-spoon in her hand, run over to the east window to take a peep at the storm. "It be a terrible night!" the girl says, holding her hands up to see the better. "Guess it be; and 'twill be worse," Dave Chenoweth has scarcely time to answer, when Dorothy cries out: "Father! father I there's a boat out yon ? a small boot. Look ! look I" She pushes up the rash and leans out Into the night, the men crowding around her. It's bottom up I" cries Dorothy; "and there's something some one a-top of it!" "Git my glass, Sis!" Dorothy handed it him, and Dave Chenowcth's rough face pales as he, looks. "Who is it, father? Can you make out?" "It's Fred Redlon, Sis. Now I re member, when I met him, this morning, he said as how he'd be down to-night, and as he was a-coming in a boat. Of course I laughed thqught he was a jokin'. Fred's alters fondjof his joke." Dorothy put her hand to her head, she turns, sickened, away; her eyes met Jack's eyes fastened upon her face. He touches her a little roughly on the shoul der. . "Dorothy," ho says, hoarsely, "there ain' much time to lose. Shall I try to save him for you?" "Save him save him I" answers she, wildly. "Yes, yes; it's my fault, his bo ing out yon at all my fault! Hurry, hurry, Jackl Come, Joe father I Jack's a going to save him !" Jack doesn't flinch nor hesitate a sec ond; he, pays slight heed to Joe's re monstrances, or to Dave Chenoweth's oaths. In five minutes he has a boat out on the shrieking waves of the inlet, and with one catch at Dorothy's hand with his as she helps her father and brother push oil the craft, Jack Kendal is pulling for his life and the other's with a despera tion known only to such heroic natures as his. They watch the three from the shore. Now they can see the frail shell ; now they cannot. This moment a living speck upon the top of tho waters, leaping to meet and reach that other speck a mile and more away from it; the next, both loBt to sight in the great gray gulf. It did not take long not so long as it takes me to till it before Jack Kendal, making one last long lunge with his boat, holding his right oar with his strong white teeth, caught tho living, breathing body of Redlon in his arm and lifted it in beside him. Dorothy fell on her knees on the sand, clutchiig with tense fingers at the spray dashed rocks by which she crouched. Looking up, she saw tho Cape Ann Liglits, and then, with a great awful sob and a rush of long pent-up tears, she remembered Juck Kendal. Through all tho next fateful moments sho thought only of him-saw only, in her mind, his blue eyes, his sunny head, as the speck upon the waste of waters dashed nearer, nearer nay, now Joo and his father, reaching strong arms, caught at the boat's edge and huuled it, Dorothy help ing, up the sands. The three men they were not wordy people carried Redlon quickly into the farmhouse-kitchen and laid him on the old hair-cloth sofa. They gave him stim ulants, put dry clothes on him, and finally whispered that ho was "all right," aud sat down to eat. At last Dave Che noweth and his son sat down. Jack Kendal stood by the window; ho had refused to take anything, or to dry his clothes or change them; and Doro thy sat on a stool by the sofa, gazing at the sleeping man's pallid face. Jack turned away from the window. The two men were talking over their meal. Dorothy was well in the shadow, away from the flare of the candles, and Kendal went up t) her and knelt down beside her. "Dorothy," he says, brokenly, "I be lieve as how I've done about all I could for you" ho glances ut she sleeping uiau "and now I'm goin' away from the farm for good to-night now!" Ho holds out his hand. 1 'orothy does not lake it. She rises; she crosses to the window and pulls aside the thin curtain, and beckons Jack Ken dal to her side. "Jack," she soys, "when I saw you out yon, and taw thejights ajihjnin'Jprayed for "you to come balk sale." Jack shakes bis head sadly. "For you!" the girl cries, wildly; not him! It's all been a mistake with him; it it's been you, JacK, all the time. When I saw them light, I knew I couldn't love no landsman, Jack 1 couldn't marry no man as couldn't man age a boat bcttcr'n that. Jack," she adds, plaintively, "will you hev me?" And Jack makes little answer, save the fold of his wet young arms about her closely, the kisses of his ruddy mouth on hers. So these four, quietly, lest they wake the bruiscdand resting man, eat to gether their Thanksgiving dinner. And at the east window, where Dorothy left the curtain pushed aside, the Cape Ann Lights gleam in and Bhino on Jack's happy face. "I'll always love them lights," Doro thy whispers to her lover, later on. "Will he!" Jack asks. 'Yes," tho girl answers, thoughtfully. "Two of n kind is a fair mating," strok ing her lover's hand ; "but ill-matched it onlv marred." Fannie A. Matheic. DREAMS.: I dream of days now long forever fled A time when life was earnest; real and true Before the hope of happiness was dead; Before life's sorrows filled my heart anew With fleeting fancies wishes never gained Though oft they seemed close to my eager grasp; Ambition lured to heights I ne'er attained, To friends whose hands I always failed to clasp. I often dream of days that new are here; Of hopes that urge me on my toilsome way ; Of stars that shine, my wayward course to cheer, Up to the realms of longed-for famed day. The more I strive the farther o(I it seems This goal forf which I vainly dream and hope The sun obscured to me it hides its beams While I in doubt my rayless pathway grope. Then I have dreams of life not yet begun, Hidden away in years long years to be, On wheels of life where golden threads are spun; When toil is done the weary spirit free. This dream is one I fain would realize; To prove that life is not quite all in vain, But if it reaches far beyond the skies Before death comes oh, let me dream again. Clint L. Luce, in the Current. HUMOR OF THE DAY. Half the pepper sold in Boston consists of p's. Beacon. The darkest hour is when you can't find the matches. Nations of Eurie appear to have nary u trinee who is able to govern Bulgaria. Waxhingtun Post. Gems of thought Where is the win ter coal coming from? Waterloo Obser ver. If there is one thing that quicker than another will drive a man- to drink it ia thirst. Life. It is said that bees can predict weather. They can certainly make it hot where they arc. Bottm rout. There is nothing especially murderoui or ferocious about a gilded youth, and yet he takes life easily. Hamtiler. A farmer's journal says tomataes will ultimately be propagated from shoots. Planted with a gun, eh?. Sifting. Can a man lose anything he novel owned? Why, certainly; people lose railroad trains every day. Boston Putt. Light moves 192,000 miles per t,?cond. Sound moves 743 miles a sec. i d, and scandal travels around the world in no .time. Life' The West is said to be a great grain growing country, but it cannot raise its own bread without the assistance of the yeast. Dallas A'eics. E. Stone Wiggins, the late earthquake prophet, parts his hair in tho middle. For all that, his head does not appear to be evenly balanced. Graphic. It is stated that mosquitoes will nol sting grown persons if there is a baby in the room. They probably realize that tho buby causes them sufficient suffering. New Harm Seic. Two clergymen once hotly disputed on some knotty point of theology until it was time to separate, when one of them remarked: "You will find my views very well put in a certain pamphlet," of which he gave the tito. To his sur prise his antagonist replied: "Why, I wrote that pamphlet myself." The Churchman. The Emblematic Horse-Shoe. And now it is authoritatively stated that the horso shoe is not the emblem of good luck it has so long been supposed. On the contrary, it brings the reverse of luck to people who treasure it. The superstitious will please tako notice, a iu cease to pick up this offending piece of iron wherever ami whenever they chance to soc it, as has long been their custom. One of the grcutest scamps on record, a person who would havo sold his mother's false teeth if the "lit took him," once S lid nothing ou earth or in heaven would prevent him stopping to pick up a horse shoe, for, if he knew his fortune was at stake should he miss a certain train, he would rather lose both than pass this emblem by! It is melancholy to acknow ledge ho was always a lucky fellow till lie died, and theu, who can tell whether he was or not? At all events he left a large collection of horse shoes of all sizes aud conditions to mourn his loss, and henceforth exercise their thaumaturgical power in luuiu i neighboring juuk-hup. BusUm iltra.d. WORKING A CEDAR MINE. EECOVERITIO SUBMERGED TREES FROM A NEW JERSEY SWAMP. A Forest of Blr Cedars That Fell Arcs Ago Methods of Their Ko covery Their Uses. A Donnisvillo (N. J.) letter to the New York Sun says: The fallen and sub merged cedar forests of this part of New Jersey, which were discovered first bo neath the Dennisville swamps seventy five years ago, still afford employment to scores of people in their excavation, and are a source of constant interest, to geol ogists. There arc standing at the present day no such immense specimens of tho cedar anywhere in the country as arc found embedded deep in the muck of the Dennisville swamps. Some of tho trees that havo bcou uncovered arc six feet in diameter, and trees four feet through are comnvm. Although ages must havo passed since these great forests fell and be came covered many feet beneath the surface, such trees as fell, ac cording to tho general theory, while yet living trees, are as sound to-day as they were the day they were uprooted. These trees are called windfalls, as it is thought they were torn up by the roots during some terrible galo of an unknown past. Others are found in the muck which are called break-downs, as they were evi dently dead trees when they fell, antjt' have been held by the action of the mu? uuu wnier in uie swamp iu wie r-nmu - stage of decay they wcro in when thoj fell. Tho cedar forests, it is thought, grew in a fresh-water lake or swamp, tho action of which was necessary to their existence. According to Mr. Clarence Deming and Dr. Maurico Beasely, eminent geological authorities of south ern New Jersey, tho sea either broke in on the swamps or the land subsided, and the salt water reached the trots. This destroyed tho life of many of them, and in time the great windfall camo and leveled the forest. The trees now lie ' beneath the soft soil at various depths, and ever since 1812 the logs have been mined and are an important factor in the local commercial interests of South Jer sey. Tho cedars are cut up into shingles and staves, and the longevity of articles nmuo lruiu me, woou in suowu iu Biuugics, tubs, and pails whieh were made over seventy years ago, and which show no signs of decay yet. The working of a "cedar mine" is ex ceedingly simple. The log digger en ters the swamp and prods in the soft soil with a long, sharp iron rod. Tho trees lie so thickly beneath the surface that the rod cannot be pushed far into the muck beforo it strikes a log. That done, the miner soon informs himself its to the length of the trunk, and theu chips oil a piece which his rod brings up. By the smell of this chip tho logger can tell whether ho has struck a break-down or a windfall, and, if it is tho latter, he proceeds at once to raise tho log. lie works a saw similar to thoso used by ice cutters, down through the mud aud saws the log in two as licur the roots as neces sary. The top is next sawed off, hud then the big cedar stick is ready to bo released from its resting ptac . . A ditch is dug down to tho log, tho trunk is loosened, and it rises up with the water to the surface of tho ditch. A curious thing is noticed about these logs when tliey como to the surfaco, and that is that they invariably turn over with their bottom sides up. The log is sawed into proper lengths for shingles or staves, which are split and worked into shape entirely by hand. These cedar shingles command a price, much higher than pine or chestnut shingles. These ancient cedars aro of the white variety, and havo the same strong, aro matic fragrance when cut that the com mon red cedar has. Tho wood is of a delicate flesh color. One of the mysteries is that none of tho trees is ever found to be water-logged in tno slightest degree. It is impossible to tell how many layers deep these cedars lie in tho swamp, buf it 'is certain that there are several layers, and that with all tho work that has been dono in the swamp for seventy years the first layer has not yet been removed. At some places in tin: marsh the soil has sunk for several feet and become dry, nud there tho fallen cedars may b; seen lying ono on top of another in great heaps. No tree has been removed from tho Dennisville swamp from a greutoi depth than three feet, but they have been found at a greater depth outside the limits of tho swamp, showing not only tho correctness of tho deep-layer theory, but the great extent of the ancient forest outsido of tho swamp arear. Neat the shores of the Delaware, nearly eight miles from Dennisville, white cedar log- have been exhumed from a depth of twelve feet. At Cape May, twenty miles distant.drillersof an artesian well struck one of the trees when the drill was almost ninety feet in the earth, it was lying in an alluvial deposit similar to tho Dennis ville marsh. Another log was found at Cape May twenty feet b.low tho sur face, and a third at a depth of seventy feet. These logs wcro all of enormous si e. What it is in the umber-colored swamp water and red muck at Dennis villo that preserves thesi trees so that after n latise of centuries their ti' cr is as than and smooth as it was when tho green branches ot" the cedars were w iving over the swamp is a mystery tliat scieu tilie men have as yet been unable to jolvo. Iu France the number of suicides is alarmingly on tho increase. Iu ISH lliete were ten suicides to every lod.t'OI '.uhubitants.but in lf-l there were t wc-nty to the s.iiiie number, us the statistics show, "Guth" says that the city of New York is growing uiuio aud more like Paris every year. I
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