SULLIVAN REPUBLICAN. W M, CHENEY, Publisher. VOL. X. The nations of the Old World are now so well armed, avers the St. Louis Star Sayings, that none dares fire the firsl shot. In Australia no newspapers are pub lished nor railroad trains run on thi Sabbath. Telegraph offices are closed, and all business is suspended. The Guatemalans are evidently adepts in the arts of the ward politician, thinks the Sau Francisco Chronicle. In theii recent election the Cjnserv.itives at Esquitia are reported to have voted the soldiers iu the morning in unifor.n and again iu the afternoon in citizens' dress. It is estimated that the expenditures necessitated by the World's Fair will exceed *28,000,000. Over 818,000,000 of this will be expende I directly by the commission in the erection of buildings, pay of employes, etc. The remainder will be expended by the State i and for eign Governments. The production of pig-iron during the last six months of IS9I was unprece dented,but the output for January shows a further increase. It 100 ts to the New York Commercial Advertiser as if Eng land had been permanently passed in this line of industry. Except We3t Virginia the Southern States showed an increase iu production last year as co n pared with any earlier year. Pennsyl vania and Ohio showed a heavy falling off, due largely to stagnation in the rail trade. The consumption of those delicious Crustacea, crabs, in bota varieties, hard and soft shell, has grown so fast, de clares the Boston Transcript, that a goodly sum is invested in the fisheries. At Crisfieli, Md., which has been the principal point of production since some body there started the business about fifteen years ago, to the amusement of unbelievers, there are employed nine huudrod to a thousand people, over seven hundred boats are in use, capital umouuting to nearly *IO,OOO is required, and the catch foots up about 5,000,000 crabs a year,i valued at $150,000. Souther Farm, near San Leandro, Cal., has constructed and fully equipped a saltwater swimming tank, and it is be lieved to be the first ever built for the use of a horse-training farm. Experi ment so far have all gone to demonstrate the practicability of the swimming tank as a labor saving device for training, which will sooner ot later come into general use. Ilorses, like all other ani mals, require baths, and it is claimed that while taking his bath he indulges in swimming, which affords a different but as helpful exercise as does the track. Swimming is now clainie 1 to be a great assistance in developing speed, and the drudgery of track and road work is thereby wonderfully reduced. The tank at Souther Farm has a concrete basin, ninety leet long over all, twenty feet wide and eight feet deep. From each wall there is an easy grade to deep water, making it safe for a horse to walk down. A platform is constructed over the centre of the tank, which swings from the roof. Upon this elevation a mail stands and guides the swimming horses, giving them the required amount oi exercise. Pieuro-pneumonia is one of those things, admits the American Dairyman, that will not "down." We can keep it pretty well under control in this country, where the air is comparatively dry, but in moist England it keeps bobbing up serenely. Just now it is making consid erable trouble and great losses to the farmers in various parts of England and Scotland. Sixteen outbreaks have been re ported and 872 head of cattle slaughtered in the past eight weeks. This looks to us in this country as a fearful slaughter. There have been a few outbreaks on the Atlantic coast, where the air, we presume, is more moist than iu the interior, but this diseaso has never taken on an epi demic form heje, as it constantly threat ens to do in some couutries in Europe, and will do unless the most energetic remedies are constantly employed. Long Island seems tc carry the burden of these ills for the United Stages, at least such is t'ne frequent report of the authorities, but always denied by those who live there. It has the misfortune, so far as pieuro-pneumonia is concerned, to be entirely suriounded by water, thus mak ing the atmosphere damp and arousing the suspicions of the doctors. Like conditions, they think, are liable to pro duce like results. ACROSS THE SEA. Across the sea, the shining Southern sea, Is she with whom I am full fain to be, Though well I know her heart has turn ad from me. Fly through this wintry, rainy Northern air- Fly, Love, to herl Fly, eager Love, to where The purple South smiles, warm and flushed and fair! Stand by her. Love, when fast asleop she lies And drop for me, on her dear lips and eyes, A kiss, that for my longing shall suffice. Be thou to her as song, and scent, and shine; Let all thy dearest memories combine To turn once more her <[ueenliest heart to mine. —Philip Bourke Marston, in Lippincott. A SILK HANDKERCHIEF. BV EMMA A.* orPER. Corn had promised to go. '•She'll never on her' blue silk handkerchief to-day and don't I kuow by W experience that she wears it only when she's feeling dismal and thinking over all the troubles she ever had or will have, and that she never wants me to do anything when she's that way. Oh, dear! And I told him—" Cora paused in her reflections and turned to face, with a courageous smile, the stout and dignified lady who had entered. "There's a picnic at the Lodge this afternoon, Aunt Cecilia," she began— "just a little impromptu affair. They talked it up the other night at Bess Lang's party, and I promised to go. Of course I meant to speak to you first." "Certainly!" said Aunt Cecilia. The blue silk handkerchief was folded around her plump neck in a particularly un becoming way. "You should have spoken to me immediately. Who has in vited you?" "Mr. Pierce." Cora raised her soft eyes anxiously—"the young man who is here prospecting for the Bryan Valley Railroad, you know. They are think ing of putting a branch through here, and Mr. Pierce has been hero several times this summer. He's very nice and he's invited everywhere; and—and we seem to know each other very well now, for he always talks to me, you know." Cora spoke with pretty, eager rapidity, her cheeks flushing. "He wants to call, and he's coming this morning to see if it is all right about my going this after noon. 1 told him of course it would be. We want to start about one—" "Pierce?" said Aunt Cecilia. "One of the West Gainesbro' Pierces? ' "I don't know; presume not. No, I think he's from—" "I know the West Gainesbro' Pierces root and branch," said Aunt Cecilia, de liberately ' 'root and branch—and I would no more allow a niece of mine to associate with one of them than I would allow her to associate with—Never mind; i \vill not argue it, Cora. I know the Pierces. lam grieved and I am dis pleased that you have formed an ac quaintance so unpleasant to me, whom you should have considered. I hope not to hear of another—" "But he isn't one of the West Gaines bro 1 Pierces," Cora cried—"l'm sure ho isn't, Aunt Cecilia' I can't think of the place he docs come"trom. He told me, too. But ch, Aunt Cecilia, he's so gen tlemanly and—nice!" Helpless tears stood in her eyes. She had not quite realized before how much he had come to be to her—handsome, bright-mannered Albert Pierce. "I desire you to have DO more to do ■with him," said Aunt Cecilia, showing her niece a severe, straight profile. Aunt Cecilia was certainly good-lookiug; her niece resembled her. "A clandestine acqaintance of that sort, Cora! lam astonished! Even were his family worthy—" "It is—l know it is. And 'clandes tine,' Aunt Cecilia? How can you say so? And what shall I do? He's coming this morning to see about it, and—dear Aunt Cecilia—" "I should prefer not to have him come," said Aunt Cecilia. "We will end this undesirable acquaintance here and now, Cora. He is at the Lane House, I presume? I will send Matthew there with a note, if you will write it. My niece cannot attend picnics with a stran ger, and a Gainesbro' Pierce." Aunt Cecilia moved away. If she heard presently, from her seat by the sitting-room window, something like a faint sob, she persuaded herself that she had not heard it. For Aunt Cecilia had a heart and a warm one. Her niece knew that. Stand ing with her eyes hidden, childlike, on the back of her hand, which was wet with her tears—standing with indigna tion and real misery in her desparing heart—Cora murmured, dismally: "She never would have done it! Don't I know it? It isn't like her; she couldn't have! It's that blue silk baud kerchief." Aunt Cecilia had the phaeton brought LAPOETE, PA., FRIDAY, MARCH 25, 1892. wound early that afternoon and called to Cora. Cora, fresh as a rose in a pink cambric dress, with white lace flounces, was playing a new waltz in lively style. Cora did not believe in worrying or sulking. The gay gown and the music, and the bright look with which she greeted Aunt Cecilia, when she stepped into the car riage beside her, were the results of a sensible determination not to make mat ters worse than they already were. Aunt Cecilia wore her blue silk hand kerchief—that was enough. Perhaps— yes,surely—things would come out right somehow. Cora hummed the waltz a3 they drove away. "If I'll run back and get you a laco fichu, Aunt Cornelia," she ventured, "won't you put it on instead—instead of—" "This handkerchief does very well," Aunt Cecilia responded. "I have had it twenty-two years, and I wear it now and then for old times' sake, Cora." "Urn—yes!" said Cora, patiently. "What are you going to do with these two jugs, Aunt Cecilia?" "I am going to have them filled with boiled cider at Bently's cider mill," Aunt Cecilia rejoined. "Oh!" Cora murmured. Never, never would Aunt Cecilia have driven to Bently's mill for two jugs of boiled cider if she had not been wearing her blue silk hankerchicf for old times' sake. "Yes, Cora," said Auut Cecilia, gloomily. "I have had this hand kerckief twenty-two years this fall. I remember perfectly how I came by it. Your Great-uncle God frey had a store in West Gainesbro', and lived there—that is how I came to know the Pierces, Cora—and he gave me this handkerchief. His store burned that same winter, and the poor man lost his sight only the next year. Was it that year your Aunt Sarah died? No, that was late the next spring. An excellent worn,.n your Aunt Sarah was. She caught a terrible cold, and it settle' l on her lungs, and her death was painful and lingering. The next year—" Aunt Cecilia paused in her cheerfil reminiscences. "I wonder if Dan will be oil fidgety at that machine up the road? I think not. Can you make out what it is?" "A steam thresher," said Cora. "Dan wouldn't mind if it wasn't in the mid dle of the road." "We can manage him," said Aunt Cecilia,who was always plucky. "There are some men there to hold him if he is nervous." She drove on. "Nervous?" said Cora, anxiously. "I'm afraid he's more than nervous. If we could turn back—" But Dan was prancing rapidly on toward the monster which had startled him as by a frightened fascination. Dan was young, and somewhat skittish in his most soberest moments. He eyed the machine askant, whinnying anl pricking his ears and already trembling; ahd when its steam whistle was suddenly blown, he gave a neigh of wild terror threw up his head and his hind hoofs, and dashed on up the road, swervinj dangerously near the ditch at right of left as his frightened senses prompted him, and oblivious of all but his foolish equine fears. That moment seemed a lifetime to Cora. The roadside shrubs rushed ir regularly passed, the dust flew. Aunt Cecilia was pulling frantically at the lines, with no faintest effect. They would be overturned in the ditch and hurt—killed, perhaps. In which ditch? Cora found her benumbed mind con centrating itscll on that whimsical ques tion. On which side of the road would they be found with broken arms or necks? "Upon my soul!" said Aunt Cecilia twenty seconds later. Dan was stopped—caught by his bit? by a strong hand whose possessor had first brokfcn his speed by springing into his path and turning him aside. Th« hand was not so strong, though, but that it felt the powerful wrench; the young man looked pale, and was wine ing. Ilis hat was in the dust, and some dark curls lay very becomingly on hi* white forehead. lie was broad-should ered, strong-faced, tall, and ho was smilling pleasantly up at them, and bow ing to Cora, too. Auut Cecilia reiterated her ejaculation. "Upon my soul! Have you sprained your wrist? You certainly have. Well I never saw anything braver. I— Well,' said Aunt Cecilia, wiping her flushed, excited face, "I can't express myself at all! You might have been seriously in jured—were you awaro of that? It isn't every man that will risk his own life to save a stranger's. Who are you?" Aun. Cecilia demanded, her intent, admirinc eyes roving from the tall head to th« firm-set feet of the preserver. "Albert Pierce, madam. And don'! thank me!" Albert Pierce begged, "i am so glad to have been of service tc you and—and Miss Cora!" His comely face shone. "Oh, Sir. Pierce!" Aunt Cecilis echoed, mildly, studying him thought fully. "From West Gainesbro'?" "From Russell County, ma'ain—fron Saalsberg," said Mrs. Pierce. "You don't say so!" Aunt Cecilii cried. "I once knew u John Pierce win moved to Saalsberg, liussell County from my native town, Phrea—" "Phoenicia," said Albert Pierce, yei more stniliuglj. "Haven't I heard hid tell Phoenicia legends till I know soma of them by heart? John Pierce was my father, Mrs. Turner." "Dead I" said Aunt Cecilia, her face softened. "Yes, yes! I remember hear ing when John Pierce died. A fine man he was—a man in every sense, and of a fine family. And this is his son! And his son, "said Aunt Cecilia,beaming upon him with admiration and gratitude and warmth, "has saved two lives." "Nonsense!" his son protested. "Ex cuse me, Mrs. Turner, but—" "Two lives," said Aunt Cecilia, "which I risked by my own rashness. I will try to thank you, Mr. Pierce. Will you drive us home?" Aunt Cecilia quer ied, abruptly, there being a slight quiver in her voice and an eloquent look in her eyes. He was in the phaeton in a second, his feet among the jugs and his oyes on Cora. Hers were dropped, and the rap idity with which her breath came was not accounted for by her fright, which had passed over. "I thought you would be at the pic nic," she taltered. "Did you imagine I would go without you?" he whispered, reproachfully. "It wasn't you, Cora, I know it wasn't. It wasn't your idea, writing that note to mo—that miserable little note? I know better!" "You will come home to supper with us," said Aunt Cecilia. "I have a salve which is unequaled for sprains. You must let me bandage your wrist. John Pierce's son! How strangely things come about!" "I don't believe it's sprained," said Mr. Pierce; but he looked happy. Aunt Cecilia wore a beautiful white lace fichu at supper, and was in good spirits. She eyed John Pierce's son, and listened to him, and considered him from all points of view; and when he had gene, late and lingering, she pinched her niece's pink cheek, sighing and smiliug. "I suppose if it is to be, Cora," she said, "that I can stand it. I don't want to lose you for some years yet, and I don't think I should have looked with favor upon anybody else. But a son of John Pierce—" "You will burn up that awful old bluo handkerchief, won't you, Aunt Cecilia?" said Cora, laughing as she kissed her. "It's so—unbecoming! And you've had it twenty-two years already; and—" "Just as you say, my dear," said Aunt Cecilia, placidly. Life History of the Rattlesnake. Without attempting to enumerate the traits of character popularly ascribed to the rattlesnake, says a Florida corre spondent, T may hero sketch the promi nent fcatui in his life history so far as they are accurately known. The age of a rattler cannot be determined by the number of his rattles. Individuals in confinement have been known to acquire from one to four rattles in a year, and at any time they may accidentally lose one or more of these appendages. Rattles are a modification of the epidermis (a step in this direction is shown by some snakes which have the tail developed into a horny tip), and their number is added to from the anterior end of th/» "string." The longest "string" seen by the writer was comport of twenty-two rattles and the customary button, but there arc well authenticated records of twenty- ght rattles. The sound produced b» ibe vibration of the rattle has been • iriously described by different authori , the aptness of their descriptions ar d comparisons depends much on the et of the listener. To the writer it rese jbles the rattling whir of a mowing mm dine, heard in the distance, and one is also strongly reminded of the "song" of the common "locust" or ci cada. The rattle, however, lacks the musical quality noticeable in the note of the cicada. As a ruie a lattler does not sound his alarm v he considers him self threatened and . lo nger; it is then truly a note of warning, . d fortunate is the man who appreciates iu. significance in time to profit by it. The distance which a rattler can strike depends upon the position he strikes from. When stretched out at full length and with the muscles extended to the utmost, he could not strike one inch for ward, but it is said that from this posi tion the head can, in one movement, reach the tail. The typical position from which to strike, and the one assumed before the rattle is souuded, is the coil. This is not necessarily a symmetrical spiral, but the body is massed in more or less regular folds, the muscles are con tracted. and the reptile may then bo likened to a set spring. From this posi tion a rattler can spring about two-thirds of his length. The blow is delivered with a iapiditv which defies escape, and :'s much more likely to be received below the knee than above it. This is due not alone to the augle at which the snake ! strikes, but also to the proximity of the person struck at. The force of a rattle— | snake's blow as compared with that of a moccasin is remardable, and supplies the | chief reason why the former is so much ! more deadly than the latter.—New York Post. A French physiologist reports an in teresting experiment in preventive inocu ; latiou for consumption. About eight { mouths ago he inoculated two monkeys with the tubercular bacilli of the fowl, | and after six months they showed no ! signs of the disease. These animals and I a third were then inoculated with human ; tubercle, with the result that those first inoculated still continue well, while the third died after a few weeks. Terms—Sl.2s in Advance; 51.50 after Three Monti* SCIENTIFIC AND INDUSTRIAL. Glass coated bricks are annouueed. About 1500 years ago we entered the epoch of a more genial winter tempera ture. Common wheat bran, or any kind of mill feed is recommended for extinguish ing oil fires. A reverse of seasons is supposed- to take place upon this earth once iu every 10,500 years. In his own laboratory Mr. Aitken cal culated 30,000,000 of dust particles in a cubic inch of air. Experiments with two straight edges, separated at one eud by a sheet of paper, show that light can be seen through a clean-cut opening of not more than 1-40,000 of an inch. In some German telephone offices an electrically driven clock is attached to each telephone, which will work as long as the telephone is off the hook, and stops directly it is replaced. Recent experiments have shown that in the dog and the cat, as well as in the rabbit, the removal of more than three fourths of the liver is not followed by serious consequences, and that the or gan regains its weight within thirty-six days. Vaccine virus has been cultivated by a Russian physician, who finds that the artificially cultivated is as effective as the genuine product, while having the ad vantage of absolute freedom from germs of scrofula, tuberculosis or other dis eases. Mr. Haly, Curator of tho Colombo Museum, has discovered that carbolized oil is one of the most perfect preserva tives ot the colors of fish and other ani mal specimens. The most delicate frogs, snakes and geckoes retain their evanes cent tints when kept in it. The first white enamel factory in the United States will be located at Dubuque, lowa, and the plans for it have just been received from Germany. The process of manufacturing these goods is a secret, and that it may not be discovered the building will be constructed without doors and windows except those opening in an inner court. It has been decided to work the Liver pool (England) Elevated Railway by electricity, using motor cars, instead of separate locomotives. The line is six miles long, and the generating station is being erected near the middle of the railway. Thert are several bridges, and the structure is composed entirely of iron and steel, spanning for the most the existing dock railway, which will thus be left free for the goods traffic of the docks. Forest vegetation is much richer in North America than in Europe, and com prises 412 species, of which 176 are na tive to the Atlantic region, 10C to the Pacific, ten are common to both, forty six to the Rocky Mountain region, and seventy-four are tropical species near the coasts of Florida, as against 158 species in Europe. Six North American specie* of forest trees—the Judas tree, persim mon, hackberrv, plane tree, hop horn -1 .in and chestnut—are also indigenous in Europe, all now growing there natur ally south of tho Alps. Legends of the Maories. The Maories are sometimes generally, and even exquisitely poetical. One of them relates how the heavens and the earth were at the beginning of things united in marriage, and how the sky was torn away from the partner of her love by her own children, the storm winds. Every nigh; she weeps over her lost husband, and her tears are the dew. Sometimes the stories are very quaintly and oddly imaginative, as where tho tale is told of three bretheren who took a canoe to fish, and went far, far out into the open sea, when one of them, who prepared a magic hook, caught what was supposed to be a great fish at the bot tom, and, drawing it up to the surface, found that he had discovered New Zea land. That was how the land came in being, and the Maories point to three of the great mountain ranges as the stone sanocs in which their giant ancestors came from some far-off country to peo ple the land. The mixture of childish naivete and high imagination makes the collection actually fascinating.—Con temporary Review. How a Russia n Peasant Dies. Count Leo Tolstoi described thus recently to Octave Houdaille,who visited him at Jasnaja-Pojaua, how a Russian peasant dies'. "Death is dark and terrible on the the canvas of the painter, but here in this country it is almost a picture of mirth. I just came from a peasant's deathbed. The man knew that he must die and his pain lasted several days, jet not once did his serenity of soul leave him. When death was quite near, and, as is customary, a waxed taper was placed in his hand, his face sssumed an expres sion of unutterable happiness. It seems strange to me that after such a scene that I have felt so little emotion. Aside from all religious feeling, death is for these people a release from trouble; therefore, all absence of the cloud of sorrow seen elsewhere. It is the peace, the slumber which the peasant has longed for in tho depth of his misery, aud the sorrow of living is over." It is said that grip germs have been caught and photographed. Wonder if they "look pleasant?"— Statesman. XO. 24. MY LITTLE BIRD'S SONO. My little bird sings all the Jay, Sings of a magic land away Beyond the darkness and the gloom, 1 Where all is sunshine, scent and bloom Where buttercups and daisies play In fragrant meadows through the day; Where sloping hills and flowing streams Know only blue sky's happy sheen, And this my little bird tells me! My little bird sings in the night, Sings of that magic land of light Where never diamond stars arise To stud the shadow sprinkled skies. For there the hours go glancing gay— They know no other than the day. With bud and blossom blushing bright And dance of dainty sunbeams' light— And this my little bird tells me I I asked my little bird to-day, "This magic land doth lie which way? East? South? Where sunset's gates wide sweep? Perhaps the North star sentry keeps!' My little bird up in his swing Just pauses, nods, then blithely sings, "The olden road of love commands Sole entrance to the magic land!" —St. Louis Republic. HUMOR OF THE DAY. Under the rose—The thorn. A roll ol music—The drum solo. The'best thing out—A conflagration.— Drake's Magazine. "Docs giblets move in the best so ciety?" "Yes; ho has to move. He never pays his rent."—Yale Record. To begin at the top rung of the ladder and to end at the lowest one is the great combination of success in case of fire.— Puck. The old man in his second childhood is rarely as ridiculous as the young father' in his first babyhood.—lndianapolis Journal. A Vigilance Committee in Montana is gunning for a church organist because he passed off a false note. —Binghamtou Republican. Considering Mr. Gladstone's achieve ment with the axe, wouldn't it bo more appropriate to call him the "Grand Old Feller?"— Boston Post. A great deal of mystery attends the running of the cars to the summit of the White Mountains; they always go up incog.—Lowell Courier. Manager tt the Dime—"What's all that racket up there?" Attendant— "Why, a dog got in and has been gnaw ing the ossified man."—Minneapolis Journal. Richard—"l know people consider Miss Smart pretty, but there's something about her face that I don't like." Will iam—"Perhaps it is her noes."—Boston Transcript. A powerful example of moving elo quence is when the old gentleman put his head into the parlor at 2 o'clock and lays it is time for callers to j;o.—Binghamtou Republican. "AVhat do you think of a man who will deliberately tell you that his baby is no smarter than the general run of babies?" "I think he is a liar."—ln dianapolis Journal. , She—"Promise me if I die you will never marry again." lie—"What! And let people think my dear little first wife was such a terror that I didn't dare to? Never."—Brooklyn Life. Master—"Mary, I wish you would be more careful. lam very sorry to hear my wife has to scold you so often." Mary—"Oh, don't you ruiud me, sir. I don't take any notice of it."—Comic. Women are more faithful to a memory than men. All of them cling as tenaci ously and as long to their fyouth as they can, and yet with many of them it is a mere memory.—Philadelphia Times. The begsjar was a reckless wight— Perhaps it was las fate. I handed him a nickel bright, For to relieve his hungry plight; He sought the nearest slot in sight • And straightway tried his weight! —New Orleans Times-Democrat. Helping Him Out: Bingo—"Did you succeed in cutting down your shopping expenses this month as I requested?" Mrs. Bingo—"Oh, yes, indeed, dear. You know that nice woolen underwear you wanted? Well, I got something iu cotton much cheaper."—Cloak Review. Mrs. Shoddy—"l want to make my son's wife a birthday present." Jeweler —"Would you like to see our styles of diamond necklaces?" Mrs. Shoddy— "Yes, 1 want to get her something hand some to wear around her throat. Oivo me some of those diamond tiaras I have read about in the paper."—Texas Sitt ings. Captain's Wife (to her husband)— "Arthur, love, I want you to give Jack a good dressing down to-morrow." Cap tain—"What for? lam perfectly satis fied with the fellow." She—"Well, you know, he has got to bent the carpets to morrow, and he strikes ever so much harder when he is in a bad temper."— Swabische Dorfzeitung. "Scrawk! Scrawk ! Serawk!" Shovel the snow from your broad sidewalk; Wake up the neighbor who sighs for a snore; Rest for a moment; then give him some more "Scrawk! Scrawk Scrawkity!—Serawk!" Heed not the whirlwind of wild wicked talk That answers each burst of your snow shovel din. Piling up volumes of records of siu. Just when the dawn is beginning to peep, Just when we feel the true value of sleep, Get out the shovel and all slumber balk With a "Scrawk! Scrawk! Scrawk!" —Lewiston (Me.) Journal.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers