Freeiana rribime Established 1388. PUBLISHED EVERY MONDAY AND THURSDAY, BY TUB TRIBUNE PRINTS!} COMPANY. Limited Office: Main Stkeet Aeove Cestue. FKEELAXD, PA. SUlist'ltlf ilON' KATES: One Year 51.50 Six Mouth-: 75 Four Mori lis 50 Two Mouths 25 i Tho tlato which tho subscription is paid to (a on tae uddre.-s label of each paper, tbu change of which to a subsequent date be comes a receipt tor remittance. Keep tho tlgures In advance of tin* present date. He port promptly to this otflce whenever paper is not received. Arrearages must bo paid when subscription is discontinued. Ma'ealim m y orikn, eherki, etc,.payab! to ih Tribune J'rinl.nj Vcmpamj, Limited. Americans have been so confident from the beginning that affairs in Samoa would ho rationally adjusted | that they have had 110 great interest j in the means employed. A commis sion wirh plenipotentiary powers, sit ting on the ground, is as good away as any. The sea serpent has been caught once more. He has two heads, one,' at each end, probably, bnt is only i t sixty feet long. He went ashore in a tidal wave on one of the Solomon is- j ' lands. So the waiting public is foiled j again. Solomon's islands are too far | i Cor a view of the sea serpent. The state of Nebraska has marked ' an epoch in its history by repealing I the state bouuty law on tree-planting, | passed only twenty years ago. In tho ' interval Nebraska has been trans formed from a desert to a garden, and ; j the necessity for timber cultivation no longer exists. The corn-Be of this j western state in this matter is in J 1 marked contrast with the policy which ; in the state of New York has permitted | wholesale forest destruction. A tree- j less state is necessarily a desert, and ' < New York can afford to learn a lesson I: from Nebraska. There are many things in the Amer- ! j ican navy to be proud of. There is j nothing of which we may more justly I be proud, and which should more greatly inspire us with confidence in its efficiency, than the accuracy of i;s gunfire, whether in tar et practice iu time of peace or in the sterner service at Manila and Santiago. Today our navy, by the common consent of the world, is ranked above all others in j that respect, and the others are be ginning to try to rival it. We cannot j object to their doing so. But what we can do is to make sure that if they j ever do rival ns it will he because \ they have worked up to our standard, ! and not because our standard of effi ciency has been permitted to decline. It seems reasonable to argue, from the late extraordinary agitation over the illness of Mr. Kipling, that the writer's trade is iu a better ease than it used to he, thinks Life. What a first-class literary success means in money under the present international copyright arrangements is yet to be tested,and it is passible that Mr. Kip ling will be the first ta tost it. As yet no writer has come to the big new market with such a line of wares as Walter Scott or Dickens sold. Steven son had only half a chance. The man who in these days can go on for, say thirty years, producing annually one volume of fiction, which is indispensa ble to tho comfort of tho average English reading family, i 3 liable, ii he keeps out of the publishing busi ness and eschews real estate specula tions, ; ( , accumulate a very comforta ble estate. And besides the money, there is fame; and besides fame, there is the opportunity to make au impor tant impression on the contemporary mind. When the recovery of a popu lar writer from au illness is matter for world-wide rejoicing, we must consid er that the literary business is pretty good. Colon In r.nko Water. The lake of Geneva, at the western end of Switzerland, Is blue, while of the lake of Constance, at the eastern end of Switzerland, Is green. Bluer.es.. Implies purity, since the natural color of water is blue. A green lake has its water slightly clouded with Impurities, which may be .exceedingly fine parti cles. separately invisible. Prof. Spring of the university of Liege says green lakes sometimes become absolutely colorless for a time, and he has tound lhat this suden change cf hue is due to tue washing into the lakes of mud colorcd red by oxide of iron. Red is complementary to green, and the result pf the mixture is that the green color of the water becomes for the time be ing neutralized. Why She Dirt It. "Why Is it," they asked, "that you let your husband have his own way in everything?" "Because," she replied, "I like to have some one to blame when things go wrong."—Boston Jour nal. ■dlllfe HIS OLD YELLOW ALMANAC. C loft the fnrrn when mother died, and cbunsod my place of dwellln' To daughter Susie's stylish bouse, right in tho city street, Iml there was thou, beforo I came, that sort of scared mo tellin' Ho;v I would find the town-folks' ways so difficult to meet. They sai l I'd have no eomrort In tho rust lin' flxed-up thr tng. lad I'd have to wear stiff collars ovory week-day right ulong. [ And I take to city ways just llko a duck to water. I like the racket and the noise, and never tiro of shows; lud there's no end of comfort in the man sion of ray daughter, And everything is right at hand, and money freely flows; 1 And hired help is all about, just listonin' j for my call, jßut'l miss the yellow almanac off my kitchen wall. Tho house is full of calendars from attic to cellar; They're painted in all colors, and aro fancy-like to see. But just in this particular I'm not a modern \ teller, And the yellow-covered almanac is good enough for me; I'm usod to it, I've seen it cound from boy hood to old age, And I rather like the jokin' nt the bottom of each page. I like the way the "S" stood out to show 1 the week's beglnnin' (In those new-fangled calendars tho days seemed sort of mixed), And tho man upon tho cover, though he wasn't exactly winnln' With lungs and *liv?r all exposed, Ptill showing how wo are flxed; And the letters, credentials that was writ to Mr. Ayer, I've ofton, 011 a roiny day, found readln' very fair. I tried to find one recently; there wa'n't one ki tho city. Thoy toted out groat calendars in every sort of style; I looked at 'era in cold disdain, and an- 1 swered 'em in pity; "I'd rather have my almanao than all that costly pile." And, though I "take to city life, I'm lone some, after all, For that old yellow almanac upon my kitchen whll. ■—Ella Wheeler Wilcox, In the Century, i WHY THE PASTOR RE-1 SIGNED. Kv Mitchell ISronk. HE Reverend Rich ard Heatherton sat uS|."r? at his desk in the b nA richly furnished WtSnBL. r Bt "dy of the North Broad Street Church. It was late in " le k ut uo ! thoughts of a ser mon filled his mind; * " a dozen half read books were within i arm's reach, but ho had not opened ono of them all the morning; the street 1 bell had rung many times, hut no | caller had been admitted, nor had he even turned to notice the cards ana letters which the sexton had passed under tj>e locked door. Ho had been struggling with him ! self, this young man, or rather tho , 1 heart and the soul within him had | been struggling together, contending j for mastery, and just now it seemed-as ! though the heart would bo victorious, i A womaa was spiritually present hero i \ with him, was terribly present iu every | thought that came to his heated brain; and she was the canso of this inward conflict. A woman's photograph, in a - tiny gold frame, rested on the deßk be . fore him; hut it was his wife's picture, I and he had soarcely noticed that it was there, for of her ho only thought ' when ho remembored now the wicked i , ness |of his affection for tho other - j womnu. , \ He had beeu married to this wife of his for twelve years. Although he tried never to think so, deep down in e his mind ho know he had beeu rash and foolish, that ho had committed his B life's great mistake when ho irrevoca j bly joined himself, long before the completion of his theological course, 1 to this plain, small-minded girl. How he had ever come to imagine that he . loved her ho could scarcely remember ! now, it was so long ago. But since ' | then he had tried to love her, had tried e | mauy times, until he came to see tho ' j futility of such effort. After that he 9 j became a stranger to love; almost bc . j Meved that there was no such thing, j He and his wife had got on pretty well together. They both had eou • [ siderable capacity for adapting them y selves to the inevitable. At first he I had tried to lift her up, to cultivate j her mind, to make her have nobler i ideals and broader thoughts, to in -1 j terest her in his work, but this, too, f j he had long ago given up as useless ' I effort. | Thrown back upon himself he had r studied aud worked with uncommon s ! zeal, and his ten years' pastorate in a small city cf Western Pennsylvania - had been remarkably successful. That 3 success had beeu rewarded, seven i months ago, by a call to this North y Broad Street Church, tho mo3t de -1 sirablo position iu tho city that his 3 denomination had to offer. When he . first came to Philadelphia some of his 3 friends had thought that his wife . would bo a drawback and hindrance; ~ but she had kept iu the background, aud everything went well. Young, handsomo, brilliant, popular, and with aueh a church—surely the lines of the ministry had fallen unto him in j exceedingly pleasant places! So it i, seemed to Rjchard Heatherton him i self for the first month or two. But a then he had met Caroline Mason, and . this love for her, which was the breaking forth of a pent-up heart, this consuming, irresistible, hopeless, unlawful love, had come into his life. The other woman was everything that his wife was not; especially was she very beautiful, and Richard Heatherton worshiped feminine beauty. She was the niece and adopted daughter of his richest and most prominent member. Her activity in every branch of the church's work had thrown them, from the beginning, very much and intimately together. And he had learned for the first time what love is, and its pangs. So the inward conflict raged. The noon hour passed, but ho remained here in the stillness of the church and his study. Sometimes he would walk rapidly back and forth, then he would sit at the desk with his face buried in his bauds. Something must be done. This hopeless love was ruining his life; it was making him unfit for work of any sort; his sermons of lute had been miserable failures; he was neg lecting all his pastoral duties. Some thing must be done, but oh, God, what? He had many friends, but un der no circumstrnces would he ask their counsel, and thereby reveal this terrible secret of his soul. He knew that his circumspection had beeu so great that no one had a suspicion ol his love for Caroline. V f 'He tried to pray, but when he closed his eyes he saw more vividly than ever her fair fnoe. He prayed with open eyes, but that brought no relief. He reasoned with himself: Was he to blame? Had he not resisted this love with all his might? Had he not tried to keep away from the woman and tried to love his wife? Why must he suffer? But this reasoniug only made his case seem the more unfortunate and des perate. If Caroline would go away, that would make his lot more bear able; but she would not; that was the most pitiable circumstance of all, that she loved him as much as he did her. He had seen it, he knew it, and God have mercy on her! She was, not so wise and reasonable as he, and she would not go away, would not keep out of his sight. If he could only tell her to do this! But then he would have to confess hislovo, and he could imagine nothing more despicable than that; he would rather die than do it. Ho thought of his old life and work, out there in Western Pennsylvania. It had been very monotonous and commonplace, and yet he would give all the world if that life could, be his again, if he could blot the remembrance of Caroline Mason from his mind. Could he go back there, or to some other distant place? No, his ambition and pride and this splendid opportunity were too great. And to be away from her? It was what ho most devoutedlv wished, and yet did not believe he could boar it. The afternoon passed away, and it was almost dusk when ho left the church and wont down into the city. He had reached no definite decision; the struggle still raged in his breast. There was a half conviction in his mind that he ought to go away from Caroliue Mason, but as yet ho had not resolvod to do this, and he disbe lieved in his strength of will to do it. As he turned to go down Market street he met, face to face. Doctor Monson. Dr. Monson was the secre tary of one the societies of the denomi nation to which Richard Heatherton belonged, and was the young clergy man's friend. They talkod for a few miuutes together, and when about to separate the doctor remarked: "By the way, Heatherton, have you any old college friend or acquaintance who wants a position as teacher? There is a vacancy just now in our colored sohool at Atlanta. The salary is fairly good, and it isn't at all a bad place for a person who likes work of that sort." Quick as 'thought the young man's decision was made. Without a mo ment's hesitation he answered: "See here, doctor, let me have this place. lam resolved to loave Phila delphia, and for a while I should like to take a rest from L the work of the ministry. I have never been very strong, and I shall surely break down if 1 go on hero." This was only a half truth, hut his pride made him dare to say it. Tho doctor was astounded. Tlio clergyman's reasons for wanting to give up such a line field and such bril liant prospects were so vague and in definite that ha was half inclined to believe him out of his head; ho remon strated with him, but at length prom ised'.tbat the place should be his. When Richard Heatherton read his letter of resignation the next Sunday morning it created the most pro nounced kind of sensation; and not withstanding its statements and ex planations, there was only one person in that large congregation who really knew why he had resigned. Tho man himself felt he wasa coward to do what he did, and yet that his cowardice was the victory of his better nature.—Waverley Magazine. A Device- For Sleepwalkers. A device to prevent sleepwalking is to lay upon the lloor, by the side of the somnambulist's bed, a sheet of iron, zinc or other metal, wide enough to insure that he will step upon it. When the sleepwalking fits come upon liim, His foot touches tho cold surface of the metal, and ho instinctively draws that leg into the bed again. After two or three attomps tho som nambulist gives it up an d settles down in bed. England'* Oldest House. Close to the River Ver and only <a few yards from St. Albau's Abbey stands the oldest inhabited house in i England. It was built in the time of i King Offa, of Mereia, about the yeai ; 795, and i 3 thus over 1100 years old. It is of octagonal shape, the upper : portion being of oak and the lower I walls of great thickness. At one time i it was fortified and bore the name ol , St. German's gate ; | TALES 01' FLOCK jf I I ADO ADVENTURE. I II ; ' A Hero of the Windgor Hotel Ffro, i During the terrible fire which cle- I stroyed the Windsor Hotel, in New i York City, on March 17, there were performed a number of heroic deeds ' as splendid as any ever done in war. I ! All these can not even bo mentioned; I I but what was perhaps tho very bravest : ' deed of all should ba recorded. Edward Ford, a fireman of Exten i sion Truck No. 20, has the honor of ! having been tbe last fireman to leave i j the hotel, bringing down the last per son rescued alive. The brave man I : would not talk for publication himself, • | but a comrade who witnessed the res ■ | cue told the story partly as he saw it, j and partly in Ford's own words. ■ j It appears that Ford was going home on the elevated railroad, when 1 ] he saw the smoke of the fire. At the ' : Fiftieth street station, he broke from 1 the train and rushed to the scene of ' the conflagration. When he arrived ' the smoke was pouring out of every win ' i dow, audthe building apparently about ' !to fall. "I pushed my waythrcugh the ' ; crowd," he said, "and had begun ' ' work with the hose company, when ' < somo one shouted that there was an ' ' old woman in a room on the sixth 1 i story on the Fifth avenue side. I 1 could not see any one at the window. I I saw one fireman up there, but he 1 was in the room to the north of where ! the woman was said to be, and he | could not see her, or know that she i was there. I determined to go up my ! self. There was a scaling ladder j from the second floor up to the room where the fireman was, and I took a thirty-five-foot ladder and placed it inside the hotel railing, and started up." i In a few minutes he had reached the top, nud found a comrade there ! named Bill Clarke. The ,room was i full of smoke, and the men conld hear the fire roaring and crackling outside, j Thinking to get into the next room by ' means of the hall, Ford threw himself against the hall door and forced it open, bnt a storm of flames and smoke busrt into the room, almost suffocating ■ i him. He tried to force the door closed again, but the hinges were broken, and it fell outward into the flames. Then he tried the windows. "I stood on the stone lintel of the window below," he said, "and grasped the woodwork with my left hand. Then I reached for the next window, but it was too far oil'. I stood my feet 1 firmly on the lintel on which I was standing and made a jump for tho ! other one. Fortunately I caught the sill firmly, drow my body up, and looked in. There was a woman on the , floor on her knees. As I sprang in sho turned and grasped me convulsively, j 'Save me, for God's sake!' sho cried." i The brave fellow took her up and dragged her to the window, calling to Clarke for help. He grasped her firmly around the waist and climbed out on to the lintel of the window be low, holding himself close to the build ing. Clarke was already outsido of the window, and tried to reach, but the distance wa3 too great. Tho woman was afraid that she was going , to fall, and kept praying and shriek ing to be saved, at the name time grasp ! ing at everything within reach, and ; greatly hampering the movements of the men. "At last," said Ford, "I , shook her free from her hold on the j window-sill. She then became un -1 conscious, and was a dead weight on my arm." All this time the fire was ! eating on the woodwork of tho room toward the window, and the part to which Ford was holding began to scorch. "I shifted my hold," hesaid, ; "for another on the top of the sill, | and bent my bead and shoulders bo s low to get out of the range of the r flames, which wore already sweeping t out of the window. I called to Clarke to reach over to me, as I could not j hold any more. He leaned as far as i he could hold on with his left hand, 3 and reached out with liis right. I 3 lifted the wonuvu toward him with all ] the strength I had left, nud ho seized I her around tho waist. Clarke is a big, } : powerful man, and succeeded in get ting her to tlie top of the ladder. ' ! Clarke then took the woman down to the sidewalk and brought her to a 3 drug store. Sho was found to be Mrs, . Choisholl, a gray-haired lady of fifty or sixty years. This was the last per son taken from the building, and three or four minutes later the walls fell in. Helped Out by a Rear. V ! An odd although rather brutal story of a man's adventure with a bear, is told in tbe "History of Williams 3 County, Ohio." John Gilletlind made 1 ■ up his mind, from various signs, that j there was a nest of bear cubs some where in his neighborhood. One day, when he was out hunting for them, he j ! grew tired, and as his good luck had £ | it, sat down to rest beside the very . | Hearing the cubs scratching inside, ' ; he leaned the branch of a tree against 0 i the stump, v.-hie a was a very tall one, | climbed up, looked down into the ! ; hollow, and saw two cubs about the " I size of "full-grown rat dogs." With n | out stopping to think, ho jumped into j the hole, caught the cubs, tied their mouths so that -they could not squeal, I and fastened their feet so that they a could not scratch; but, then, Gillet v used to say, in telling tho story: a ! "I knew the old bear would be if along pretty soon and make it hot for ir i me if she found me in the nest; so I 1. 1 swung tho youngsters into my buck ir skin belt, preparatory to getting out. sr j "Get out? Did I get out? Land e | of love! It makes me shiver to think >{ j of it yet. I could no more get out of J that stump than I could fly. The ' hallow was boll-shaped, larger at the bottom then at the top—so large, ID fact, that I could not put ray back against one side and my feet and hands against the other and crawl up, as rabbits and other animals climb up inside of hollow trees. In noway could I get up a foot. "There were no sticks inside to help me up, and I made up my mind I had to die, certain. About the time I came to this conclusion I heard the old bear climbing up the outside of the stump. With only mv hunting knife as a means of defence, and in such close quarters, you may possibly imagine my feelings. "The old bear was not more than half a minute climbing up the stump, but it seemed like a month, at least. I thought of all my sins a dozen times over. At last she reached the top, but she did not seem to suspect my preseno at all, as sho turned round and began slowly descending, tail foremost. I felt as though my last hour had come, and I began to think seriously of lying down and letting the bear kill me, so as to get out of my misery as quickly as possible. "Suddenly an idea struck me, and despair gave way to hope. I drew out my bunting knife and stood on tiptoe. When the bear was about seven feet from the bottom of the hollow, I fastened on her tail with a viselike grip, and with my right haud drove my hunting knife to the hilt in her haunch, at the same time yelling like a whole tribe of Indiaus. "What did she do? Well, you should have seen the performance. She did not stop to reflect a moment, but shot out at the top of the stump like a bullet out of a gun. I held on until we reached the ground. Then the old bear went like lightning into the brush, and was out of sight in half a minute. "I took the cubs to Adrian the nest day, and got five dollars apiece for them." Brave Rernadon. Lieutenant Bernadou's classmate? say tliat he fears nothing on earth— or water. His fearlessness overcomes any consciousness of self. One afternoon in October, 1881, the United States steamer Kearsarge, Captain G. B. White, lay at anchor in Hampton Bonds. The weather had been stormy for a day or two, and the wind had kicked up a heavy sea. There was a strong tide running, and the vessel swung out on a long cable. A seaman by the name of Christover son, who was boat-tender in one of the outtors swinging at the lower booms, went out and down the Jacob's ladder. In stepping to the thwart his foot slipped, and those on deck saw him disappear under the gray water. There was a hoarse cry of "man overboard." Seaman Kobert Sweeny, who saw the accident, running out along the boom, plunged in without delay, just as the man came up the second time. Bernadou, then a cadet midshipman, heard the cry, and rush ing to tho gangway saw the terrible struggle of Sweeny with the drowning man as the tide swept them out toward the sea. Bernadou tossed oft' his coat and was overboard in an instant. Christoverson, in his fierce struggle, carried Sweeny down with him, the latter only breaking away to be carried down again. Bernadou by this time was within reach, and catching the drowning man from behind managed to relieve Sweeny until a lino was thrown him, and they were finally hauled aboard in an exhausted condition. For this act both Bernadou and the sailor re ceived the recommendations of their captain and the thanks of William H. Hunt, then Secretary of the Navy. A Cool-Hentletl Girl of Twelve. Twelve-year-old Bessie Kinney lives in Los Angeles, Cal. The other day her mother sent her to the market for meat. Mounted on her pony, she was returning from the market when a run away horse dashed past, dragging an empty carriage. Bessie gave chase. Her pony is a fast one, and she was soon able to catch hold of the bit of the runaway with her left hand, all the while tightly clasping the meat and the pony's reins in her right. Gradually pulling back on the fright ened runaway and quieting it tvitb soothing words, she finally brought it to a standstill, after a chase of fifteen blocks. Then she went home, leav ing the bystanders to publish her brave deed. The papers of her town tell it with wordH of praise. Attacked bvatVilil Cat, Bichard Wheeler, a Binghamton sewing machine agent, receutly had a thrilling experience near Melrose,says tho New York Tress. He was riding 0 horse along an old log road, on his way to nee a caEtomer, when a wildcat sprang from tho bushes with o growl, gave two or three leaps and seized the horse by the neck. Wheeler kicked at it as hard as he could until it let go and then dropped in front of the run ning horse. He didn't hear any more from the wildcat, and, after ho had quieted the horse and hitched him to a tree, he went back, struok some matches and searched for the savage beast. It lny in the road with a crushed skull, the horse having ap parently trod upon it as it fell. A Now Guard For Watolics. Watches can be securely held in the pocket by a new guard, formed of a two-piece snap button, having one portion of the button Bewed in tho fabric to the pocket and tho other at tached to tho chain, a slight pressure on the parts locking them so that the chain cannot be pulled out easily. The Substitute For Trecn. The latest in tho building line is the aluminum hut for Klondike miners. When paoked for carriage it weighs 110 pounds. It is composed of fonr sides and a roof of thin Bheets oi aluminum, and when pat up it con -1 tains 190 onhin feet. t3fceeife**)eieitimeieieieiek** ** PUZZLE DEPARTMENT, so******** aeiaeieieieieiui The solutions to these puzzles will ap : pear in a succeeding issue. 97.—Six Gulls of Europe. 1. A hoi bin. 2. No age. 3. Can I also? 4. Not a rat. 5. Hot line. C. Arig. OS.—A Pyramid. I 1. A consonant in girls. 2. Praoti | cal skill. 3. To slope. 4. To join. ! 5. A room. I Centrals clown—A great commander. | 99.—A Double Acrostic of Four Better Words. 1. Particles of stone. 2. A story. 3. A Norse name for a boy. 4. A pareut. 5. A kind of deer. G. The color of unbleached linen. 7. Close to. Primals and Finals—The given name and surname of a dead naval hero. 100.—An Octagon. 1. Equal to. 2. Serious. 3. Hav ing public favor. 4. Seurrilons. 5. To be lined anew. 6. A bird of the corvnsfamily. 7. A color. AXSWEItS TO PHEVIOUS qUESTIOXS. 93.—A Charade—Massacro. 91.—A Diamond— L LIP LINEN PEN N 95.—Four Pied Cities of South America—Pernambuco, Para, Bahai, Valaparaiso. 90. —An Hour Glass— DRUMMER BEAST ICE B BEE TITLE FASH ION Wliy There 1a a Postal Deficit. The United States is the only great nation in the world whoso postoflice does not pay a profit to tho Govern ment. In 1896 the total receipts of the postal service from all sources were less than 383,000,000; the total expenditures were over $94,000,000. The deficiency was in excess of sll,- 000,000. Tho chief reason for the deficiency is the liberal attitude taken by the nation toward second-class matter. But as this is construed as au educative power, the deficiency may bo justified. Many students of political questions declare there is no reason why tho Postal Department, serving the needs of the people, should be expected to pay, any more than Bhould other branches of the service. The immense domain of the United States is a factor that makes this invidious comparision in expense with other nations unjust. Uncle Sam carries letters for two cents over an area larger than all Europe. Great Britain's postoffice pays over $13,000,- 000 a year, but England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales could fit into one of our States—New Mexico. Germany makes nearly $6,000,000, but the em pire is only three-quarters the size of Texas. The profit of the French postoftico is nearly S10,000,000; Uncle Sam could surpass this if he could re duce his domain to his two States. Arizona and Wyoming. Italy comes out about even by carrying the mails poorly into a natiou the size of Mon tana. Considering the immensity of the amount of mail carried, the magnif ioeaoe of the distances and the com parative smallness of the force, the showing of the postal service of Amer ica is marvelous.—Philadelphia Post. The KfTect of ilxtreino Cold. intense cold has a stupifyiug effect upon the brain. Nearly everyone ex posed to cold for a long time experi ences a weakening of tho will power, aud often a temporary loss of memory. This fact probably iu its greatest measure was observed by the French in evacuating Moscow. Among the recently discovered papers of a Ger man physician who was one of the re treating party are accounts of this re treat, in which it is stated that the first effect of the cold was the weak ening of memory, which effected healthy men as well a3 those who had already suffered the hardships of con stant expose and extreme fatigue. When the mercury dropped to thirty six degrees below zero many soldiers could not name their accoutrements. Some of them forgot the name for food and perished from starvation. Very many could not remember their own names. Others showed decid ed symptoms of mental derangement, aud later became insane. The Bipraest Qtiririz Crystal. / Tho largest quartz crystal known Is that found by Mr. J. E. Burton last December in a mine of Calaveras 1 County, Cal. It is reported to be eleven feet seven inches in circum ference, four feet two inches long, ! three feet six inches wide and three i feet two inches high, and to weigh over 2500 pounds. It is thought that a largo point in the centre would cut a puro ball of crystal from twelve to fourteen inches in diameter. The CaHtltcKt Fur. A single fine Russian sable skin is | worth from SIOO to $250. It is a tiny j thing about fourteen inches long by I eight or nine inohes around. 1 FARM TOPICS! oooooooocooooooo oooooooocb Black Knot In Flum Trees. Before warm weather comes all the plnm trees should be looked over; and any that show marks of black warts that indicate black knot should be re moved with a sharp knife and the wound washed with a carbolic acid ' solution or some other antiseptic. In fact, it is a good plan to spray plum trees with a carbolic acid solu tion, made one part of carbolic acid to 2000 parts of water. This will re main on the spores which are dormant during the winter until they burst j their bounds and begin to spread the i disease over the tree. The solution ! named is much stronger than can be 1 applied after the foliage is in its ten . der growth. Purlfylnjr Sour Soil.*. Tho value of lime in purifying sonr soils is such as to make its general use very necessary. Lime is not a fertil izer in the strict senso of tlie word, 1 but in connection with manure it is : often absolutely essential to the fer tilizing of the soil. Laud gets sour from one cause and another, and some soils actually get "manure sick." It | is possible to so feed the soil that it gets indigestion, and the more that is piled on it the less it seems to pro duce. I have seen soils so rich that they could not produce more than very small crops. They were manure sick and sour. It is at this stage that lime comes in to correct matters. A top dressing of lime on such a soil will do more good than a thousand dollars' worth of commercial fertilizers. It is possi ble to raise abundant crops for several years in succession on such Boils by simply giving thorn a top dressing of lime every year. It is owing to this that some farmers have gathered the impression that lime is a good fertil izer. The action of the lime was not to famish any plant lood, but simply to correct the acidity of the soil, so that the abundance of fertility could be taken up by the crops. Lime is good sothetimes to kiil cer tain germs which multiply in the soil. Thus, the bacteria which causes club root in cabbage will be killed if tbe land is dressed in tho spring with lime. It has beneficial effects in other ways, too. It tends to loosen and dis integrate the texture of the soil, so that the drainage is better and the mechanical condition of the soil is im proved so that the roots of tho plants can extend downward for water and food. Lime is of value on the manure pile at times. Mixed in with the manure it will tend to sweeten it, and it will enter the soil in conjunction with the fertilizer to perform its work there. Where heavy dressing of manure has caused the potato scab in these tubers, it is wise either to dress the land with lime, or to mix lime with manure just before applying it.—A. 13. Barrett, in American Cultivator. Pencil Culture. If we expect to be successful in cul tivating peaches we mnst give the trees the very best attention that modern experience has taught us, to produce the moßt practical results. There is a good deal of unsatisfactory advice given to the farmers in one way or another. Ido not think that any one would wilfully publish anything for the purpose of mis'eading those engaged in agriculture; but too many give vent to half-formed ideas, or to conclusions too hastily reached. It is a common failing to draw sweeping conclusions from a few facts, and therein is our greatest danger in ac cepting the advice of others. Never theless, we cannot discard all advice, but simply try to select from the chaff the wheat that will be of value to us, and then to use oar common sense in the matter. There are many things about peach culture that we are still uncertain about. It is conjectural yet, auu cau tion must be used in accepting the ad vice of any one who attempts to settle these important questions from a few facts. But, on the other hand, there is so much known and repeatedly proved, and yet not practised by tboso who enter into the work, that a con stant repetition of tho facts seems nec essary. It is hard to account for this, except upon the theory that there is a large class who are so conservative that they will not accept anything un less it is covered with the moss of ages. In caring for peach orchards, culti vation, fertilization and pruning rau9t be considered. No peach orchard can be made profitable without good cul ture being given to it. Cultivation of the soil has an important bearing on the time of maturing of the fruits. The maturity of the trees can be postponed by giving a shallow cultivation. Early maturity of the peach trees means an early death, and it does not pay. Yet certain varieties hasten to their early destruction in this way unless checked. Even after bearing the trees need cul tivation. This should go on until August. Shallow plowing and pulver izing with the harrow will always ben efit the trees. Soil fertilizers of some kind must be added every soason. The trees are taking from the soil certain elements that must be supplied artificially. Wood ashes stand first for this, but some soils will do just as good if fer tilized with stable manure. Lime and potash are necessary for the peach soil, and they should be supplied in some form. An application of caustic potash solution to the trunks of the trees should be made after the frnit has set, that is, from the first to the middle of Jnne. Pruning and thin ning in their season should be at tended to also.—James S. Wilson, in American Cultivator,
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