The “pretervation of the peace’ in Europe by means of naviesand stand ing armies costs $950, 000,000 a year. When Spain gets ready to rehabili- tate her navy she ought to have ships Built in this country. She has had convincing proof that we Know how to construct such things over here. Black powder has seen its last days. The American troops at Santiago, with their black powder, made a target for the enemy, which gave them great ad- vantage in locating our soldiers. With smokeless powder and modern guns of hizh penetrative power the Ameri- can regular will be more than a match for any soldier in the world. As American soldiers go out from Porto Rico American business men are going in, and the islanders are al- ready feeling the good effects of the Yankee methods and Yankee ‘‘gohead- itiveness.” The Porto chant is said not to be wholly lacking in shrewdness, and he may be safely expected to share in the benefits his American ican mer- island is to receive from rule. Boarding-house keepers will rejoice to know that the war with Spain will not cut of’entirely the supply of their Cali- fornia has come to the rescue with a crop of 84,000 tons this year from or- chards which aggregate 55,000 acres. At least 10,000 more acres will be in bearing next year, and a crop of 100,- staple table delicacy—prunes. 000 tons of green prunes is prophesied for the first year of the next century. The assumption that a majority of criminals would reform if they could but secure hcnorable employment forms the basis of a new movement in the interest of ex-convicts, says the Omaha (Neb.) Bee. While there is no doubt that many can be thus reached, it is certain that all of them cannot. It has been ascertained that the average age of 82,359 criminals in American penal institutions was under thirty-one, nearly oue-half under thirty,and about a third under twenty- five, and nearly one-eighth under twenty. The average age of American paupers, on the other hand, is about fifty-seven. The fact that profession- al criminals are as a rule young per- sons shows that many of them are bred to crime, and since young per- sons find it easier to secure employ- ment than older ones, it is fair to in- fer that but few of them are driven to crime by hard times. The name leather has long since passed from the exclusive vocabulary pertaining to animal skins and hides in their prepared state. Recently, says the Zeugdrucker-Zeitung, a Ger- man inventor has brought to public notice an improved kind of asbestos material, and the method of its manu- facture. first divided into very fine fibres of the greatest possible length, then im- mersed in an india rubber solution, the whole being then thoroughly in- termixed until every fibre is coated with the solution; the solvent—for in- stance, petroleum benzine—is there- upon evaporated. By this treatment the asbestos fibres cohere perfectly, and the mass may then be pressed The asbestos is at into any desired form, or may be rolled. factured product asbestos leather, and The inventor calls the manu- it is said to resemble leather very closely in its peculiarities and struec- ture and in its industrial adaptation. The total number of public libra- ries in Connecticut is 131, of which 77 are absolutely free and 54 subsecrip- libraries, the Hartford (Conn.) Times. Forty one of these libraries are under the control of the state. ganized during the year, and move- ments are on foot to institute others. Within a few years there will be a li- brary in every town in Connecticut, The total number of volumes in the 131 libraries of the state is 593,221, and the total circulation during the past year was 1,598,195. The num- ber of new books added for the twelve months closed was 52,365. The total amount paid out in salaries dur- ing the year was $50,197.93, and the amount expended for books was $23, - 015.81. All of these figures are large- ly in excess of those of the previous tion says Three new libraries were or- year and show an increasing interest The annual report of school libraries shows 683 in libraries everywhere. in all. The amount expended on new books was $24,885.79, and the total number of books is 136,899. During the year several schools were equipped with libraries, and 803) books were The New Britain Normal school library is the largest public school library in the country, the to- tal number of volumes being nearly 12,000. purchased. THE ONE WHO WON'T BE THERE. I don’t think I'll goin to town to see tho boys como back; My bein’ there would do/no good in all that jam and pack; ¢ There'll be enough to welcome them-—-to cheer them when they come A-marching bravely to the time that’s beat upon the drum: They'll never miss me in the erowd-—not one of "em will care If, when the cheers are ringinw' “loud, I'm not among them there. | I went to see them march away—I hollered with the rest, And dide’t they look fine that day a-marehin’ four abreast, With my boy James up near the front, as handzome as could be, And wavin® back a fond farewell and to me' I vow my old knees trimbled so when they hud all got by, I had to jist set down there and ery. to mother upon the curbstone And now they're coming home agen! The record that they won Was sich as shows wa still have men’s work's to be dono! There wasn't one of "em that flinched—each feller stood the test— Wherever they were sent they sailed right in and done their best! They didn’t go away to play; they knowed what was in store: But there's a grave somewhere, today, down on the Cuban shore! men when I zuess that I'll not to town to sce the boys come in ~Idon’t jist feel like mixin’ up in all that crush and din! There'll be enough to welcome cheer them when they come A-marehin’ bravely to the time that's beat upon the drum And the hovs'll never notice—not one of "em will care, T'or the soldier that would a-zoin’ to be there! -(leveland Leader. them—to miss me ain't Bx 28x Bx Bc Fh Bc 20 30 38x 38x 3c 2c 2c 28% 2B 20x 2c Bc Fc 2B 2B 2c Bc sBeai3 Her hair was drawn back in little waves from her brow. Now and then she would raise her gentle eyes aud glance out through the pantry window toward the patch of tall, waving hollvhocks that Jim had planted four summers before. “She was kneading dough, and two or three times she stopped to scrape the clinging batter from her fingers with the back of a case-knife. She hummed a little old-fashioned tune, emphasizing the ‘‘tum te tum” with savage jabs at the- rapidly hard- ening dough on the shelf-board before her. : ‘‘Jane!” No reply. “Jane!” The ungainly figure of a young girl in gingham, her hair escaping in strands the loosely tied knot at the back of her head, appeared in the pantry doorway. “What d’ye want?” “JI want ye t’ git them biscuit tins out o’ th’ kitchen cubboard an’ bring ’em in here t’ me.” The girl slowly turned and.sham- bled across the kitchen floor, the run- over heels of her old slippers clatter- ing on the white scrubbed boards as she walked. ; “I never see sich a girl,”” muttered Mrs. Springer to herself. ‘Seems like a impossibility t’ git any decent help out here in th’ kentry. All th’ girls that’s good fer anything gits up an’ gits t’ teown ez soon ez they're th’ right age t’ be good fer anything. Only them as is too lazy t’ live 1s lef’ fer us out here.” From the great lump of dough on the board Mrs. Springer pulled little lumps and rolled them into flabby globes, which she placed in regular lines on the bottom of the biscuit tins. She had patted the last little lump into a ball and wedged it into a cor- ner of one of the pans and stepped back to survey her work when through the open doorway of the kitchen floated to her, on the cool September air, the call, ‘‘Missus Springer! Oh, Missus Springer!” “Neow I'd like t’ know who that is,”” she exclaimed as she crossed the floor and pushed open the screen door. “Fer the what be you a-wantin She had stepped out on the back porch, all green and blue with cling- ing vines and open morning glories. The little man in the light ‘‘rig” wiped the perspiration from his brow and clambered out of the vehicle over the wheel. He advanced toward Mrs. Springer and extended a yellow envelope. “This kum las’ night,’’ he said, ‘‘jes fore th’ ten twenty arrove. Th’ op- erator asked me t’ fetch it. At fust I thought I'd bring it right over, not thinkin’ but what it might be from Jim. Then I sez t’ myself, sez 1, ‘Missus Springer’ll be t’ bed an’ better wait till mornin’,’ so I fetched it over on my way deown.” At the name ‘Jim’ Mrs. Springer clutched the bit of yellow paper and, with fingers that wavered a little, tore open the ‘envelope. Zeke waited. The envelope dropped to the floor of the porch. Mrs. Springer held the dispatch in her left hand aud followed the scrawled writing with the fore- finger of her right. One glance at the words, and she cried out: “‘It’s Jim. He’s comin’ home. It’s from his capting sayin’ he has been sent home sick in th’ care o’ two other soldiers. He lef’ th’ camp yesterday afternoon an’ll b: here axly tomorrer mornin’.’’ “Is they anything IT kin do fer ye?” asked Zeke, a little tone of anxiety in his voice. “No, they ain’t nawthin’. An’ 1 don’t believe I even thanked ye fer bringin’ me this telegram, Zeke.” Zeke blushed and stammered that ‘that was all right’’ and turned to clamber over ¢he wheel again into his pig, Matilda Springer went back into the kitchen and through the little passage way into the front room. There by the half-cnrtained window, through which the sun rays had filtered on another September morning, long be- fore, and lighted the face of a man in a coffin, she read again the telegram: “Jim is sick, and I have sent two members of the company along with him.” Mrs. Springer laid the telegram on theo table and went over to the old hairecloth sofa. She sat there in the semi-darkness for nearly an hour, aud when she arose she lifted the corner of her checked apron to her eyes and wiped away the -moisture that had gathered in them. A littlesmileof happiness, too great even to give itself full expression, lan’s sake, Zeke Evans, 19) # i she went down to curved her trembling lips, and as she climbed the front stairs and went along the hall to the door on the right, at the end, she murmured to herself so softly that the words were lost in the noise of her footfalls: “Jim’ll be here tomorrer. Heow I wish Ezry had a-lived till neow, to see his boy a-comin’ home from th’ war t' me like he come t’ me more’'n thirty year ago.” ; She hesitated an instant before opening that last door, and then, as though it were an effort, she turned the knob and stepped into the room. Everything was just as he had left it. The pin cushion top on the dresser was a little dusty, and there were flecks also on the woodwork of the old bed and on the commode top. His brush and comb lay on the bu- reau, just where he had left them when he went away with the Thompsonville company. A vest, even, hung over the back of a cane-seated chair, and at the head of the bed on the floor three pairs of shoes and one of rubber boots were ranged in a straight line. The September sun: entering the room through the east window fell upon the face of Mrs. Springer. It was not the old face that had hung over the dough downstairs. It was a younger face now. The eyes were not so tired. Maybe the moisture made them look brighter. And she smiled sweetly through the gathering tears as she looked around that room —Jim’s room. She stood there by the head of the bed for a moment,silent and unmoved; then she laughed aloud and going to the closet door threw it open and peered inside, From the pegs she took down a black cassimerve suit, Jim's best suit. ‘‘He’ll needit neow. Tain’t nothin’ but homesickness, I'll bet, an’ he'll be all right in a day or two.” She laid the garments out on the bed and brushed them with the stubby whiskbroom that had hung on the wall, over the washstand. It was a labor of love. When dusted, the clothes were folded and laid on the spread at the foot of the bed. Mrs. Springer covered them with a newspaper and going down stairs for the broom, stopped a minute in the doorway to smooth the ‘‘sham’ that hung from a frame over one pillow. Returning, she swept the room thor- oughly, then dusted it and opened the window -and pulled back the chintz curtains. Then she went back downstairs. All the rest of that day there was no sharp word spoken to Jane, and as a consequence the girl walked even slower than was her usual custom. Budd came up from the spring lot be- fore the biscuits were ready to be slipped into the oven, and his mother met him in the kitchen doorway. ¢“Jim’s comin’,”’ was all she said. “Who tol’ ye?” ‘Zeke brought a telegram t’ me beout an hour ago. It said Jim was sick an’ two soldiers wns comin’ with him an’ that he’d be here on that six thirty-eight train in th’ mornin’.” The younger brother of the soldier thereupon relapsed into a dream of the stories that would be told him ere another week had passed. ‘‘Dew yew suppose he’ll bring any Spanish bal- lets?” hie asked, finally. That night when the rest of the family and all the help weve asleep Matilda Springer lay in her bed and dreamed awake. In her mind the years unrolled be- fore her like a panorama. She thought of the day Ezra Springer had asked her to be his wife, of her acceptance. It was under tne big shag hickory tree down by the spring lot, and they had gone a-nutting together. And then the war and his return. And then their marriage and their long, happy life thereafter. And Jim —the boy who twenty-two years ago had come to them. And then the war-—she thought longest of that. Four months before Jim had come to her, inflamad with enthusiasm. All the boys in the Thompsonville company had signified their willingness to go to the front at the call of the president. There were ten vacancies in the company, and could he go? It would be all over in a month, and then he could come back. Yes, he could if his country needed him. She remembered how Thompsonville one summer morning with Budd to see Jim off to camp with his company. He wrote her the night before the regiment left for Cuba. Letters came to her regularly for a while,and then, of a sndden, they ceased. She thought of those endless days of waiting for just a word from him, her boy, her Jim. And then at last, after centuries it seemed to her, came the letter say- ing he had been in the hospital with the fever. | the other. She remembered how near- | !1y crazed she was after she read that letter. Then came others saying he was better, and then day after day without a word. save once, when a short note, scrawled on a bit of wrap- ping paper, came to her with the news that his regiment was again in the United States and encamped some- where on the eastern coast. And at last the dispatch of that morning— “Coming home—"" and sleep closed her eyes. At four o'clock Matilda Springer arose. She hurriedly and called Budd. He went out and hitched up the two horses to the old democrat wagon and removed the back seat. He knew he would have to sit on the bottom of the vehicle coming back from the station, for Jim would be on the front. seat with his mother, and there would have to be room behind for the baggage. Budd thought of all the implements of war that would be dressed { loaded into that wagon and wondered Re 1 PRIVATE JI'S RETURN. b : ; } { porch and called -to his mother. ag YE TG Sg gg MC SP Gg Sg SOT Sg Tg Ng Sg Ig ge ag WE Wr Ry | | and on her wavy gray hair rested her | best bonnet, a little affair of | violets on one i under the chin. | ders she had wrapped a shawl. if Jim would canteen. He led the give him his gun and horses up to the back She came out dressed in a brown poplin, jet with side and strings to tie Around her shoul- *‘I—I—can’t hardly wait,” she said, | half to herself. Budd helped her and climbed in after her. He drove over the dusty country road and across the old wooden bridge with one hand holding the reins, for she clasped She did not speak often during that drive. There are times when the heart is too full to allow of the forming of words. This was one of those times. The mother’s heart was filled to overflowing with love for into the wagon { that boy whose face she had not seen for so many, many weary weeks, whose brown eyes had "not looked down at her for oh, so long." The wagon rolled down the last hill in the road and around the curve at the bottom. Budd drew up the horses at the depot platform. ‘Yew stay here an’ hold ’em,’” said his mother. *‘I’ll go over there an’ sit on that truck til’ th’ train comes.” She got out of the conveyance and walked around the station house to the other side. Unobserved by Budd she wiped her eyes, and then she sat down on the truck. By and by the young agent came and unlocked the door of the building and went inside. Out upon the cool morning air was wafted the ‘‘click, click” of the telegraph instrument. Mrs. Springer rose from her seat and entering the building walked over to the ticket window. “I's th’ train from time?’ she asked. “Three minutes late at Silver Lake,” was the answer. ‘‘Heow long afore it’s due?” was a little tremor in the voice. ““It’ll be here in eighteen minutes,” the operator replied. By and by from away up the track came the rumble of an approaching train, Nearer and nearer, and then around the curve above the station the engine swerved. The bell clanged, stopped. Mrs. Springer ran back to the passenger coaches. One or two sleepy heads were poked out of the windows, but no one got off. The woman’s jaw fell. No, there was no one in the rear cars for Evans Crossing, the brakeman told her. ““Ain’t they some soldiers?’ she cried, her face all white. ‘Oh, soldiers,”” he said, some up in the baggage car.” The woman turned and ran down the platform. As she reached the forward end of the first passenger coach two soldiers lifted a long pine box from the car ahead and laid it on the platform. The woman cried out to ‘““Where’s Jim, my boy Jim? comin’ on this train! Where is he “Who?” asked one of the men in uniform, quietly. ‘My boy, Jim Springer.” The soldier did not answer. He stooped and glanced down at the little white card tacked on the lid of the long pine box. “I can’t tell her, Bill,” he whispered to his companion. The engine bell rang. The train was moving. “Why —why-—why don’t- you tell me?’’ cried the woman. She rushed toward the two men. She glanced down at the box. The card caught her eye. She leaned over and read the words written there. Then she stood up straight, her face white, her mouth open, her eyes star- ing at nothing. A cry cut the air—a keen, piercing, gashing cry—and the woman fell upon her knees beside that box and throw- ing her arms over the top sobbed and beat her head against the lid and scratched the rough boards with her nails. And just then the sun broke through the clouds, and the dew drops on the grass, the leaves, the trees and every- where sparkled like diamonds. All nature seemed to mock a mother’s agony.—Detroit Free Press. th’ There and the train ‘‘they’s them, 91 Pike and Eagle at One Catch. Dr. Charles Woodward of New Egypt, N. J., went fishing for pike in a pond near that village the other day. The fishwere not biting freely and the doctor had about concluded to go home when he felt a bite on his line. Just as he got the fish out of water an eagle flew over his head and the next instant had the pike in its grasp and started to fly away with it. By hard pulling Dr. Woodward drew his donble catch to the boat. The eagle showed fight and Dr. Woodward attacked it with an oar, finally killing it. It measured seven feet from tip | to tip of its wings. Dr. Woodward got the pike also. —New York Sun. north on - He was VV VW WCW VO OW Mildred’s Cups of Cold Water, . 3 Mildred sat under the shadiest tree y ? she could find that was near the pump. CHILDREN S COLUMN, 9 The shade and the pump were both | indispensable, it was such a sizzling : hot day. The sun had baked all Mil- dred’s mud-pies ‘to a turny’ and they stood in little, uneven rows, parched and browned and crisp, wait- ing to be eaten! : *‘Oh, deary me! how hot it sighed Mildred, trying to cool warm little face on the But even the grass under the shade tree was hot. “But I'm glad I'm me instead of a horse,” mused on the little voice; while Mildred watehed a wagon come toiling up the little hill toward her. ““That’s Mr. Cooper's horse guess he’s most melted the ) looks.. He's all covered over with soapsuds.. I'm glad he isn't me.” The poor horse toiled on with droop- ing head and steaming sides. When he got to Mildred’s pump, he stopped wistfully; but the trough was empty. ‘““G’lang, Dobbin! You can’t have any!” Mr. Cooper ealled crossly. “I'm too worn out to get out 'o this wagon again, to say nothin’ of pump- in’ a mess ‘o water! You've got to wait! G’lang!” : ‘Yes, oh, do wait!” cried Mildred, jumping up suddenly. For Dobbin had looked down at her with pleading eves. And, then, s’posing she’d been Dobbin! ‘‘I can uncheck him. T'll stand up: on the edge ’o the trough,” she said cheerfully. “And I'll pump. He looks so thirsty!” Every time the pump-handle went up, Mildred went up, too, and then came down again on the wooden plat- form with steady little thuds. She could get more water that way. And so Dobbin had his long, cool drink, and actually went off at a brisk little trot. After that a good, many other pant- ing horses came plodding by, with wistful side-glances toward the pump; and Mildred's clear, pleasant, little voice offered them all drink. People rarely stopped at Mildred's pump. It wasn’t a public watering-place, and the trough was small and usually empty; and perhaps people had found out how hard the pump-handle worked up and down. It was hot, hard work. DMildred’s face got very red and wet, and her feet ached with the thuds on the plat- form; and her arms,— oh, deary me?! how they ached with the pump-handle! Between times she rested under the shady tree, feeling so thankful in her heart that she wasn’t a horse! Aunt Winnie watched her from her invalid chair in the window, ‘‘Girlie,”” she said softly, when Mil- dred went in at supper-time, ‘‘do you know what you have been doing?” ““Yes’m: resting-—and pumping, Mildred said promptly. ‘‘And giving a ‘cup’—a great many beautiful, kind cups—of ‘cold water,’ | dear!” Aunt Winnie added with a grace and speed and power. He cer- | hug. —Annie Hamilton Dounell, in tainly has small reason to forego his | Zion’s Herald. southern trip; when the arctic winter te ro comes on breadths of latitude can be | nothing to him. A few days, or a fortnight at most, will allow him to | once for all by Lord Coleridge in a pass over the stretch that separates | leading English cause. His lordship his arctic home from us, and still give | held: him time to stop for rest and feeding | “Umbrellas, properly considered, by the way. His natural vigor and | gre a part of the atmospheric or me- power of wing is so great that the teorological condition, and, as such, severe cold of the sub-polar regions, | there can be no individual property and the passage of the great distance | right in them. In Sampson ; that separates it from us, are both | Thompson defendant was charged sustained with ease, evidently, by this | with standing on plaintift’s front steps magnificent bird. — From ‘Winter during a storm and thereby soaking Birds,” in Vick’s Magazine. up a large quantity of rain “to which | plaintiff was entitled. But the court t held that the rain was any man’s rain, no matter where it fell. It followed, therefore, that the umbrella is any man’s umbrella, In all ages rain and umbréllas have gone together, and there is no reason why they should be separated by law. An umbrella may, under certain circumstances -—the chief of which is possession—take on the attributes of personal property, just as if aman set a tub and catch a quan- tity of rain water, that rain water will be considered as his personal belong- ing while it is in his tub. But if the sun evaporate the water and it 1s rained , down again, or if the tub he upsetand “birch horse” is preserved as a curi- | the water spilled, the attribute of osity: a high, wooden frame shaped | personal ownership disappears. So, like a saddle, on which the delinquent | if a man hold his umbrella in his hand was strapped to receive his lashes. it may be considered a personal be- Watson, in his Annals of Philadel- | longing, but the moment it leaves his phia, tells us that girls as well as boys | hand it returns to the great, general, were whipped 1n the ‘‘academies for | indivisible, common stock of umbrel- the gentry” a hundred years ago. | las, whither the law will not attempt Other punishments than. whipping | to pursue it.” were common. Talking in school | So far as we know there has was sometimes punished by fastening | been a successful appeal from a frame over the mouth, from which | decision.—Chicago News. lolled a huge red flannel tongue. Al- | : most every school had its dunce’s cap, and some of them had a ‘‘clog,”’ which was a block of wood that was strapned to the leg of a truant and worn out- side of school. Dull scholars were often made to stand open-mouthed under the clock, to be pointed at by their comrades as they marched past. In certain Eng- lish schools a large wicker cage is pre- served in which the delinquent wan fastened, the cage being then drawn by a pulley to the ceiling, where it remained until the ill-doer was sup- Sweet Reasoning, On tiptoe, very wide awake, Drawn for a moment from her play. Watching grandmother frost a cake, tots Wee Mabel stood one day. 18. A 1 of i il hoy A spell of pensive silence passed, orass 4 ; ass, When by a sudden impulse led, 2 “My papa says I's dwowing fast,” With artless pride she said. soft Then pausing as the future glowed With promise in her childish view: “An’ dwan’ma, when I dit all dwowed, Den I tan fwost cakes, too.” Gradmother stooped, and with a kiss Mabel was folded to a breast Whose longings for her future bliss Love-moistened eyes expressed. “Dwan'ma,’ she murmured, nestling there, Her sense of fostering love complete, “I dess dey’s fwostin’ on ‘ou’ hair, Betause "ou is 30 sweet.” — Washington Star. What “Sing a Song of Sixpence’’ Means. You all know this rhyme, but have you ever heard what it really means? The four-and-tweunty blackbirds represent the twenty-four hours. The bottom of the pie is the world, while the top crust is the sky that over- arches it. The opening of the pie is the day dawn, when the birds begin to sing, and .surely such a sight is fit for a king. The king, who is represented sitting in his parlor counting out his money, is the sun, while the gold pieces that slip through his fingers as lie counts them are the golden sunbeams. The queen, who sits in the dark kitchen, is the moon, and the honey with which she regales herself is the moonlight. The industrious maid, who is in the garden at work before her king—the sun—has risen, is the day dawn, and the clothes she hangs out are the clouds. * The bird who so tragically ends the song by ‘nipping off her nose’ is the sunset. So we have the whole day, if not in a nutshell, in a pie.—New York Tribune. The Great Snowy Owl. The winter or late autumn brings, at times, a visitor from the far north, the great snowy owl. TI came upon him the other day crouched in the long, dead grass, which whistled in the cold wind, while the snow squalls swept along the far horizon. He turned his great black eyes on me for | a moment and took wing. No bird | that I ever saw has such motive | power; the first flap of his broad | wings sends him far forward or up- | ward. He bounds up and down, turning in any direction with all the ease and lightness of the swal- low. ye A few seconds and his great bulk is a speck at the horizon, a mo- | ment more and he has vanished, while | | | you stand gazing in wonder at his Tord Coleridge's Umbrella Decision. The law as to umbrellas was settled VS. School-Days in the Old Times. Boys and girls of the present day find the road to learning a much | smoother and pleasanter pathway than did their forefathers. A hundred ! years ago the favorite text in almost every family was, ‘‘Spare the rod and spoil the child.” A rawhide or bunch of birch hung over the mantel-shelf in many houses, to be used upon the boys of the fam- ily, the usual ruie being that a whip- | ping at school must be followed by | one at home. Those given at school | were usually the more severe. In many old schools in England the never this Electric Torpedo Boats. Among the advantages to be looked | for in electric torpedo boats are the lack of flaming funnels and noisy ma- | chinery to give notice of approach, freedom of risk from cut steam pipes | or wrecked boilers, diminished upper works to serve as a target and ease | and rapidity of manipulation by the commander with one hand on the con- troller. A writer in the Electrical World suggests the possibility of pri- mary batteries. Tor a 140-foot boat, | with a displacement of 110 tons, en- posed to be sufficiently punished. gines of 2000 horse-power are mneces- The tardy scholar was sometimes | sary to give a speed of 25 knots,and a forced to march through the streets | weight of 75 tons is all that could he preceded by an usher who carried a | allowed for batteries and motors. lighted lantern, to the amusement of | Four motors of 500 horse-power each the jeering crowd. | would weigh about 12 tons. This These punishments seem barbarous, | would permit the carrying of 200 and were barbarous when applied to | cells consisting of 13 zine plates 18 most school delinquents, but there | inches square and 12 plates of like are some natures, almost or quite de- | size of copper oxide compressed on void of moral sensibility,-—gross men- | copper with an electrolyte solution of tally and physically,—that can only | strong caustic alkali. Glass jars of be made to see their wrong-doing by | 19 inches cube, with water-tight cov~ severe corporal punishment. They | ers, would contain the elements. If are like animals. Their comprehen- | such battery would work satisfactorily sion of guilt is only vitalized and | it should drive the vessel at full speed measured by the acuteness of the paiu | for one hour, or about 100 miles at 10 inflicted as a penalty. knots.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers