Decatur Democrat, Volume 39, Number 44, Decatur, Adams County, 17 January 1896 — Page 8

(The democrat DECATUR, IND. >■ BDACKBXTRN, - - - Pußiasnro. • \ “Why did he splclde?” asks the Boston Globe. We don’t know. It would have been just as easy to arson or to burglary. "What has become of the fld-fash-loned rail fence?” Inquires the Atchison Globe. Perhaps you are printing your paper on it, brother. Now that it has been settled that the Monroe doctrine was put up by Canning there Is no longer any doubt that it must continue to be preserved. A man In Houston, Texas, who murdered his wife, was sentenced to the penitentiary for ninety years Saturday. Such a fellow should have been sentenced for life. A Boston paper Indulges In a fling at the size of the Chicago girl’s stocking. The Chicago girl’s stocking Is about the size of her Boston sister’s, but when she ppts it on she fills it. Rudyard Kipling long ago anticipated Gen. Miles* discoveries as to our seacoast defenses. He declared, it will be remembered, that along the Atlantic seaboard Uncle Sam was “temptingly spankable.” Spain is now bristling up and threatening to join forces with England against the Monroe doctrine. Spain isn’t able to whip the smallest part of Itself. Cuba will keep the dons too busy to worry about Venezuela. If American missionaries have been conspiring against the king and the crown prince of Corea these soldiers of the cross must expect to be treated as conspirators. Their mission is to establish a reign of the Lord of Hosts, not to interfere with the imperial sway of temporal rulers. It Is not generally known that the author of that stirring ballad, “Yankee Doodle,” was a young surgeon of Albany, named Dr. Richard Shuckburg. “Yankee Doodle” has probably had more influence upon the course of public affairs than many more ambitious pieces of literature. A florist is paid $5,000 a month to keep the vault decorated in which lies the body of the late J. W. Mackay Jr., son of the bonanza king. A hundred families might be maintained on this sum that is worse than thrown away. Such an ostentatious display of grief ceases to be foolish. It is selfish and cruel. ‘ .... Those who take the position that war between the United States and England would be one of the greatest crimes of history seem generally possessed of the idea that this fact calls upon our Government to yield. As Britain has waged a great many wars, and some of them are condemned by her own historians as cruel and atrocious, the chance that she may again be wrong* in her claims should receive attention from these men who are so quick to condemn, a, country that has never a noble cause and as a last resort. Well, well, well! Here is an English delegate to the labor convention who believes and enunciates his belief that America is not so free a country as, England because it has a written constitution, which may be on demand interpreted by the judges! The constitution is as our mistaken critic appears to suppose, to nullify the expressed wishes of the whole people of the nation, but only when one section wishes to stray outside the limits of the instrument which all sections have agreed to accept as a joint llmitaB tion. The American constitution covers in its operation a group of sovereignties, some of which at times need to be recalled into the traces. The constitution works no tyrannies. The Sultan may flatter himself that he is causing Europe a very large sum of expense. Nearly forty or fifty firstclass war ships are assembled in ports convenient to the Dardenelles, with steam up and with a host of launches jflying to and fro from the shores. Vast quantities of provisions are sent out to these ships from their own countries, and the bill that the Sultan will pay will astonish him. It is to be observed that Great Britain has a larger fleet than any other three powers interested in the demonstration. Russia, however, has a large fleet in the Black Sea, also with steam up and ready to proceed at a moment’s notice. This “armed reserve,” as Russia calls it, consisting of seven war ships and nine tor pedo boats, added to the four big ships which the Russians now have in the Mediterannean, to the five firstclass naval fighters which France has sent, and to the many others which she could easily send from Toulon, places .the Franco-Russian\alliance on a very creditable footing as opposed to England. Germany does not seem to have made any formidable naval demonstration, but the influence of the German Empire in the negotiation is by no means small. The announcement comes from Washington that Secretary Olney has directed Minister Terrell at Constantinople to demand from the Turkish Government an indemnity of SIOO,OOO for the benefit of American missionaries who suffered property IdSses in the outbreaks at Kharput. This is a commandable move on the part of the Gov-

ernment of the United Slates. As t<| the troubles In Armenia, in accordance with our established policy, we can do nothing directly, however much oui! sympathy may be excited. But this much we can do and are bound to do for the honor of our flag: We can see that the rights of American citizens are re-> spected. This m|ich all governments are supposed tb do, although at the present time the powers, made cautious by mutual jealousy, seem to be dere-; Hot even In this respect, in which they are usually so prompt to act. The action of the United States in forcing the payment of the Indemnity doubtless will have a salutary effect on the sultan and his bloodthirsty subjects. The territorial census taken this year credits Utah with a population of 247,824 persons, being an increase of more than 14 per cent over the number as ascertained from the Federal census taken in 1890. The males outnumber the females by 6,000, and nearly fourfifths of the population is American born. The valuation of the State is 98 millions, of which nearly half is land, 17 millions personal property, and 11 millions railroads. The total value ol property assessed is stated separately at millions, against nearly 121 millions four years earlier, and 6,387,000 acres of public lands have been disposed of by the land office in the last quarter of a century. The number of acres under cultivation last year was a little less than 500,000, about ninetenths of which was under irrigation. These lands were irrigated during the season fronj three to twelve times, the duration of each wetting ranging from an hour and a half to twenty-four hours. The area of unimproved farm lands is stated at less than a million acres, and the area capable of irrigation with profit to the cultivator is about three and a half millions. The number of farms last year was about 21,000. The census of four years earlier showed only 11,884 families living on farms, of which 85 per cent were owned free Os incumbrance, 5 per cent owned subject to incumbrance, and 10 per cent hired. The 3.000,000 bushels of wheat grown last year averaged 21% bushel? to the acre. There are in the soon-to-be State nearly two and a half million sheep valued at more than 12 million dollars, though wool was worth only 6to 8 cents per pound last year. Manufacturers are credited with the use of five and a half millions of capital and more than 11,000 horse power. They employ 5,000 hands. There are nearly 2,000 stores, with more than 11 millions of capital and annual sales of 33 millions. The bank capital is five millions and the deposits more than nine millions. The silver production decreased from more than eight million ounces in 1890 and 1892 to 6,660.000 ounces last year, while the gold production has increased from 5,000 ounce* in 1884 to 56,427 ounces in 1894. MEAT AS A FERTILIZER. Many Plante Thrive Surprisingly on a Flesh Diet. It has been proven time and again that the so-called “cannibal plants.” of which the Venus flytrap is the type, are much more healthy when allowed theirregular insect food than when they are reared under netting or in any .other manner Which excludes them from their regular meat diet The above is an oddity of itself, especially when we consider the fact that there is a certain school of botanists which teaches cannibal plants make no use whatever of the Insect prey captured by them, but it is nothing compared with the bold assertion made by Francis Darwin. That noted gentleman brave_ly meets the “vegetarian botanists” with the assertion that all kinds and classes of plants, whether known as meateaters qr not, bear more and heavier fruits and seeds when fed on meat than those that are not allowed a flesh diet. He grew two lots, comprising various varieties of the different common plants. One lot was regularly fed (through their roots, of course.) with pure juices compressed from meat, the other with water and the various fertilizers. 'The final figures on this odd experiment proved that the plants which were fed pure meat juice bore 168 fruits of the different kinds, while the unfed plants of the same number and original condition bore but Seventyfour. Also, that the pampered plants bore 240 seeds to every 100 borne by the plants that were not given a chance to gratify cannibalistic tastes. This is certainly a discovery worthy of much careful study and extensive experiment—St. Louis Republic. John Smith the World Over. The well-known name, John Smith, a good, strong and honest English name, is sometimes transformer! into other languages. It seems to climb the ladder of respectability, thus: In Latin it is Johannes Smlthus, the Italians smooth it off into Giovanni Smith!, the Spaniards render It Juan Smithus, the Dutchman adopts It as Hans Schmidt, the French flatter it into Jean Smeets and the Russian sneezes and barks Joulouff Smittowski. When John Smith gets into the tea trade at Canton he becomes Jahon ” Shimmit. Tfhe clambers about Mt. Hekla, the Icelanders say he is Jahne Smithsen. If he trades among the Tuscaroras, he is known as Ivan Schniittiweiskl. Should he wander among the Welsh mountains, they talk of .Tiliom Schmidd. When he goes to Mexico he is - booked aS Jouth F’Smftr. If, of classic turn, he lingers*among Greek ruins, ho turns to Ton Smikton, and ly Turkey lie js utterly disguisefl as Yoe Sees.—Scottish Nights. , Married women should admit that men are desirahlo ln at“ledst one particular: they are desirable to get di voices from. She who poses for artist* always leads a model life.

SCATTER YOVR CRVMBti. Amid the freezing sleet and snow, The timid robin comes; In pity drive him not away, But scatter out your crumbs. And leave your door upon the latch .For whosoever comes; The poorer they the more welcome give, And scatter out your crumbs. , All have to spare, none are too poor, When want with winter comes; The loaf is never all your own, Then scatter out the crumbs. Soon winter falls upon your life, The day of reckoning comes; Against your sins, by high decree, Are weighed those scattered crumbs. ALFRED CROWQUILL. fl Break Iq- Tlie Levee. I. Clang! clang! clang! rang the big plantation bell, and Jeff started up, springing out of bed before he was quite awake. Lights flitted back and forth in the yard below, lanterns waved and flickered high up on the embankment at the river’s edge, and beneath the clang of the bell came the confused shouts of .many voices, and in all and through all the ominous roar of .rushing water. As Jeff slipped into his clothes he heard the lap of the water when It reached the house, and by and by saw the light stream through the window below, gleaming far out across the flooded fields. “Are you awake, Jeff?” asked his mother, coming in softly, shading the candle with her hand. “Ah, you know then? The break was just in front there, by the big cottonwood tree.” “By the big cottonwood?” Jeff repeated, breathlessly. “My God, mother, not there, not there!” “What is it, lad?” she asked, gently, putting the candle on the table ana taking his hand in hers. “What Is it, Jeff, dear?” she repeated, when he did not answer. “Oh, mother,” he cried, tearing his hand from hers and covering his face. “How can I tell you, even you? Do you remember last Wednesday—my birthdaj, you know?” he went on, speaking rapidly and clutching his mother’s hand- again, helplessly. “As I started off to go hunting that morning. riding down the river road there just below the cut-off. I met Colonel Sheatham. He stopped and came back witii me to show me a. weak place in the levee just there by the old cottonwood in front, and he said I must be sure to tell father, and, oh, mother, what shall I do? I forgot, I forgot!” “Oh, my poor, thoughtless lad!” 5 said his mother, soothingly. “You’ll tell father for me, won’t you, mother?” the boy cried. “I think I’d better not, dear,” answered his mother, but there were tears in her eyes. “This is your first great trial, and you must face it like a man.” There were tears in the boy’s eyes, too. “I’ll do it. mother, so help me,” he said, firmly, and turned at once to leave the room. “Mother!” he cried, suddenly, coming back and flinging his arms around her. “God help you, my child,” she said, kissing him, and he was gone. Jeff scarce recognized his father in the bowed and broken man whom lie found in the chamber below. Every lap of the water without was like a sword thrust into the boy’s heart, but he made his confession quite bravely. His father listened, seeming to Understand, but when it was he said, in a voice Jeff never had heard before: “You forgot, and I may be a ruined man. You had better go now, I think, until I, too, forget.” '' The words, the tone, smote the boy like a blow, stunning him. He set hialips firmly together and left the room. “Go, until I, too, forget.” He heard his father’s words over and over again in the sound of his own footfall on the bare floor. The. hall door stood open, and the swinging lamp within sent Its gleam far out over the waste of water. Above the submerged steps a little row of boats rose and fell an the lapping waves, tethered to the posts of the veranda. Jeff scon found his own little green skiff moored among the rest, apd it needed but a moment to reach' his hat and coat from urn spreading antlers behind the door. He heard the sound of his mother’# footfall in the hall as the oars cut the water, but above that, above the beating of his heart and the rush of tlw waves he heard his father’s words, and a moment later his skiff skimmed out of the lantern’s gleam and the darkness swallowed him up. At Saunders’ big Texas ranch. In the early morn of a scorching October day, all was bustle and stir and commotion. Qn all the parching, prairies, not a blade of grass was left for the hungry herd; tanks were empty, streams were dry, and the men were making ready to drive the cattle out ot the land of drought to the flush of waters and green pastures of the Indian Territory. In the dusty yard, around the cab ” ' spurs rattled, saddles creaked, ponlt neighed, men shouted and hallooed, and beyond, in the great corrals, the cattle bleated and bellowed with their thousands of thirsty throats. “You’ll have to go an’ he’p Mason git up a bunch of cattle in the north pasture, Little Partner,” said Saunders to a boy who stood near the cabin door fastening his spur strap, with bls arm through his pony bridle. “All right, sir,’ , said the boy, springing into the saddle. “Tell Mason to fetch a thousan’ an’ head, an’ meet us at the river

to-morrer night, or—bust. We wanter start fur the Nation in the mornin*. A thousand an’ fifty-two head, don’t furgit." “I shall not forget,” said the boy firmly, but a shadow crossed over his face as he spoke—a shadow that did not leave It fts he galloped off over rue prairie. The sun streamed down, blistering his back through bis flannel shirt, and the fiery alkali dust burned into every pore of his body. Heat and dust were everywhere, with now and then the gleam of a white, shaly river-bed. dry and glistening like a silver thread winding across the brown prairies, which the dead and dying cattle had turned into vast charnol houses, where the buzzards held full sway. STORY TWO. By daybreak the next morning the cattle in the north pasture were bunched and ready for driving. “You’d better lead with me, little ’un," Mason said kindly, when the boy 1 galloped up for orders before the march j began. “There’ll be less ridln’ in j front,” the man added to himself as! the boy swung through the gate, “an’ the chap is sore to the touch now.” Mason had watched the boy narrowly with his kind, womanly brown : eyes, ever, since the day of his com-! ing to the ranch, and he knew, no one i better, how the lad’s bones ached from ; the constant fatigue which the short j snatches of rest were not long enough ■ to remove; he knew how his temples ■ throbbed when the hot, dry air almost boiled the blood in his veins and stifled his nostrils. “The young 'un’s got grit,” he told Saunders in his lazy way after the boy's first round up, and he kept his eye upon Idm. “We must make the river to-night or bust,” Manon yelled, as the herd swept out of the pen. The men answered with a shout, and the boy, galloping along at the head of the mighty procession, felt like a warrior going into battle, and heard Mason’s musical halloo as a clarion cry. Behind him came the heavy tramp of hoof beats, the bellow of thirsty throats, the crack of whips and the shouts of the men. The sun was almost down when the distant smirch of trees against the horizon showed where the river lay. Mason’s horse had gone lame toward the middle of the afternoon, and now jogged ilong, stiff and painful, but a short distance ahead of the herd. “Poor nag, maybe I can spell you a bit,” he said, preparing to dismount. Ab he slipped his foot from the stir nip a noise in the rear startled him, and he cast a quick eye over his shoulder for a moment. i “My God, the cows have smelt water!”, be said, breathlessly. “Fly fur year life, little ’un,” he went on, almost gently, as he rose in his saddle, and leaned forward. “Bear to the northward,” he cried. “Now ride hard and God he’p you!” The boy’s hand tugged at the bridle and he felt the pony bound forward stung by a blow from Mason’s quirt. Another moment and he would be I safe; But Mason? Jn one quick, backward look the boy raw his spent pony rear on his lame legs, and gave one | wild leap forward. Heheftrd a heavy thud as they went down, and. man and horse were lying in a heap together on the dry grass in the path of the stampeding herd. “Oh, God! Oh, mother!” cried the boy, and his voice was a prayer. The pony wheeled in his tracks and bore ’ him back in the face of the oncoming i death. „ There was one moment of breathless, eager energy white lie slipped the loose end of hia riata under Mason’s helpless arms, and wound it round the limp bodyjanother, and he was in the stirrup again, with the lariat’s loop held hard and fast on the saddle's horn. He felt his spurs cut deep into the pony's hips' as the poor beast-sprang forward, he I felt the tugging of Mason’s impotent bodj- as it dragged behind; he heard the swell and surge of mad voices as the infuriated beasts swept on in the dust cloud, he felt their hot breath in his face, and heard the wild neigh of his pony when the hoofs struck him; then a fierce, sharp pain, and all was over. “Mother.” The boy opened his eyes for a moment, but the whitewashed hospital! walls, the narrow cot and Saunders ■ bending over confused him. The eye- * lids quivered and closed. Slowly it all came back to him—the long ride, the hot suit, the dust and the stampeding cattle. “Where is Mason?” he asked by and by, looking up again into -Saunders' kind blue eyes. “He’s all right now, poor old chap,” said Saunders gently, and there was more in the tone than in the words, but the boy understood. He lay quietly for a long while, with the bed clothes pulled up over his eyes, and the sheet was wet when he looked out from under it again, “Mason was kinder to me than anybody in the world had ever been—except my mother,” lie said, by and by. “1 wish I had been the one to go.” he added, wearily. “Don't you say that, lad, don’t you ! now,” Saunders said, stroking the i ay’s hand with his own brown palm. “It’ll all come right.” “But you don’t know, Saunders, you don’t know,” and the boy turned his head over on the pillow wearily. “Maybe I do, mo’ll you think fur,” Saunders went on soothingly. “You’ve been lyin’ here prit nigh two months now. you know, aif durin’ that time I’ve been here, off an’ on. sorter constant. an’ you’ve said tilings as maybe you wouldn't a’ said to me, confidential like, es you'd bin at yourse’f, but. I reckon they ain’t no harm done. I was only waitin’ tell you got strong

enough to travel to Mt yoa rs wanted to go home.” o “Gfi, no; I can’t. Saunders, I cant, the boy cried. , “You mean ’bout the levt-e, don t you?" Saunders asked gently- 'YntL see, you’ve tol’ mos’ ever'thlng, »»' I jest pieced out the rest, little chap, an’ blamed es I ain’t felt mighty sorry for you. That’s straight, uow. an’ no mistake, but the mo’ I study erlxiut it the mo’ it sevlns to me there was a kind of a hitch soniewhur. Don’t you misondeistan' me now, little ’un. I ain't never had no call to preach; 1 ain't even been a good man, but somehow, "when a feller’s spent the best part er ' his life addin’ over these here ol’ pari aras where they don't seem to be nothin’ but Jest God and the universe, he natchelly has time to do a deal er thinkin’. An’ anyhow, seems to me the Lord puts dlffunt thoughts in a head after it begins to turn gray to what He did when it was young. Now, little i chap, maybe so i m wrong, but it seems i to me that the blgges’ forgettln’ you j done warnt erbout that break in the ' levee. I know it looked mighty big to you that night wnen tlie overflow come, an’ you knowed a word Finn you an’ a few san’ bags maybe could a’ kep’ it out, but what I aim to say is ! your furgettin’ didn't stop there. 1 j ’spect I would ’a done the same thing myse’f twenty year ago, an’ maybe so i I’d ’a felt jest as proud an’ jest as hurt an’ jest as brave as you did. You I thought erbout all them that night, didn’t you. little partner, an’ how you’d do somethin’ great to make up fur furgettin’, didn’ you? I bet you did, an’ you thought erbout yourse’f an’ you thought erbout your father, too, some, maybe, not jest as you would es you'd ’a waited tell nex’ dny or nex’ week, but wasn’t there somebody you furgot? Somebody, too, as was wuth the whole wort’ to you, somebody as would ’a gone down into her grave to ’a saved you, somebody as waited an’ watched after the waters went down, an’ who is waitin’ an’ watchin’ yet, please God, when everbody else has give you up. Ain’t I right erbout it, little man?” “Oh, Saunders, Saunders,” said the boy, taking his friend's hand, while j the tears streamed down and wet the pillow, “what shall I do?” “There ain’t no trouble ’bout answerin’ that question now,” Saunders said, “hard as it is to go back of our wrongdoing an’ make things straight, but mothers is mothers wherever you put ’em, an’ maybe so I’d a been diffunt es mine had been left to me longer. But your way is clear enough, an’ It ' ain’t sech a powerful long journey f’um Texas to Louisiana.” “Do you mean it, Saunders,” said the boy with a smile on bis wan lips, “and can I go to-day?” "No, but it won’t be very long bef’re you start es you keep on like this.” Saunders answered, “an’, somehow, ol’ chap, you’ve made it mighty easy fur me to tell you somethin’ I’ve jest been bustin’ to tell you ever senee you’ve been lyin’ here,” and Saunders cleared his throat, while the boy looked at him eagerly. i “You see,” he went on slowly, “Ma- ! son warn’t quite gone when the boys I picked him up, tho’ he was done fur ' befo’e you got to him, lad; the pony had I fell acrost him, ah’ he’d jest breath enough left to tell me all erbout it. Po’ old Mason. They was a smile in them big, dyin’, woman eyes er his when he looked up at me an’ said:— ‘Didn’t I tell you thq little chap had grit?’ An’ then he tol’ me somethin’ else, poor ol’ partner. lie tol’ me he ! didn't have nobody in the wort’ but jest [ hisse’f, but you could 'a knowed that ! by the lonefulness in his eyes, an’ he said to let his sheer er the cattle go to you. Seems es he kinder ’specioned things was pretty bad with you one way or ’nuther. tin’ he tol’ me to let the cows go the fust chance I got, an’ turn the proceeds over to you. What do you say now to a little wad er ten thousan’ i dollars to start home with?” “Poor old Mason,” the boy said, and his eyes were brimming with tears as he sat up in bed. “I can make it up to father now, Saunders, can’t I?" Two weeks later, when the Valley Queen steamed through the drawbridge at Shreveport, Jeff stood on her upper deck, glad with the prospect of home near at hand. How dear and familiar everything looked! Behind were the broken red hill slopes uotted with cottages, the slender church spires, the crouching, cavernous ware- ! houses of the little city; beyond were • the black plantation lowlands, the i great sprawling, grass grown levees, and the dark, treacherous river winding between, shrunken now within Its muddy banks, waiting calm and quiescent for the swell of the spring rains to send it sweeping on in its work of destruction. When the whiste blew, and the boat rounded the curve, Jeff saw with a little pang of bitterness the old coEtonwood which marked his own home landing, but he sprang ashore joyfully before the wavering stage plank had touched the bank. He wag not the only passenger for Steel Dust Plantation ho found, as the men who crowded after him pushed by, hurrying up to the house. Jeff followed eagerly. Was this the homecoming he had pictured so often as he rode over the dflsty prairies, or lay on his hospital cot in those sweet days of convalescence?” Surely something was wrong. About the yard the stablemen were hurrying to and fro. while others were sampling cotton from the bursting bales under the big gin house shed. T'Camless wagons blockaded the broad avenue which led to the house, and, under the spreading oaks, mules were bunched or stood in long lines tethered to the lot fence. Barn doors were wide open, and ploughs and hoes and scrapes, in desolate heaps, littered tlm lawn. Jeff saw it all In the brief interval which it took to reach the house, and the noisy chattering of the crowd in

the hallway suddenly ceased, ev<fn the blatant yell of the auctioneer broke confusedly, and his hammer fellM» the floor with a bung us a bright young voice from the doorway shouted clear ••hove, bobbin k heads; ••I forbhrnnTsule!” Jeff elbowed his way to the crier’s desk, unbuckling the leather belt train beneath' as he went. . “What is the amount of your attach-l inent, sir?” he asked. "Eight thousand, seven hundred awR fifty dollars, with costs," replied the astonished auctioneer. "Then dismiss the crowd and count your money,” Jeff said, pulling a roll of bills from Ids belt pocket. And was that the end of the tri* umph? Is there no more to be told? Some one was calling his name from the stairway, the crowd fell back fefl him to pass, and the boy bounded !’■ the steps with u glad llglyt in his ey«M “Father, mother," he cried, and they folded him in their hearts. The victory was won, the breach was healed. Cast Up by tha Waves. Edwin B. McClelland, of thftclty, has received a letter from J. B. Burke, of Crolby, Alderney Channel Islee. which he prizes very highly. It contains two visiting cards, his own an<L that of a friend which had tossed] about on the waves of the Atlantic for ten long weeks in a bottle, and which Mr. Burke writes he picked up on the shore October 28. ** Mr. McClelland told a most Interesting story about the cards, which werei thus cast up by the sea and returned to] him. Said he: “The other card besides my own, yon see. is that of David McGowan, Jr., of Newton, Kan., whom I met on board the steamer St. Louis, bound for Eu* ropn last August. On the morning of Avgust 12 we were somewhere in the middle of the ocean, and he to me in his state room that wq_ptk our cards in a bottle and throw it into the sea. A smsll, four-ounce bottle was soon obtained, and you can see how our cards were crumpled in putting them in. The address of etfch was written below the names. It waa about 10 o'clock in the morning when the bottle was cast overboard. I am sure I never thought of the affair again until I received this letter, showing that the bottle had been washed ashore just eleven weeks later on the Alderney Islands. “As near as 1 can judge the place where the bottle was found is about ItH.K) miles from where we dropptyj it. The little craft held the cards well. There is a brown weather color on the edge of each, but that. I figure, cainc from the' sun beating through the glass as the bottle rode the waves. ( Ore thing I yet want, and that is the bottle. I shall write Mr. Burke to* 1 night, thanking him for his kindness and asking him to send the bottle in’ case he did not break it in getting-out the cards. My friend in Kansas, of course, will get his card and a photograph of M.r. Burke’s letter as soon as I can get it fixed up.” ’’ A Color Tost on ■ Largo Seals. A color test on a large scale occurred recently near Geseke, Germany. The Volmed, the Wald, and the Heder are three brooks which have their source near Geseke, and according to tradition their waters had subterranean connections with the Alme, a mountain stream whose bed is some five miles distant. Millers located on the lower Alme dumped refuse certain eddies of the upper stream? and the millers on the Volmede, the Wald, and the Heder claimed that by doing tills the water supply of the latter streams was materially diminished. To determine this connection, about four pounds of potassium fluorescinate was dumped into one of the eddleq live miles from the source of the Heder. This substance is marvelously powerful, and a solution contAtaing one part in 10,000,000 shows a dlstlnci fluorescence in transmitted light Twenty-five hours later the Hedei took on a beautiful dark greed showing conclusively the counecfU'ii between the two streams. An experiment at another point showed wltli equal clearness that there was a sub terraneous connecton between th< Alme and the Waid and the Volmede though in this case forty-four houii elapsed between the depositing of th' dye-stuff in the Alme and the appear ance of the coloration in the otb.ef streams. Facts About tha South. A recent pamphlet by Mr. R. H. Ed monds, of The Baltimore ManufactuT ers’ Record, gives in a condensed shop so many interesting facts about th South that we would like to see it ex tensively circulated. i The South produces more than 6 per cent, of the world’s cotton, but tlu| statement is exceeded in value b U grain crops, which H (’-50.0(10 000 bushels a year. I More than one-half of alFthtf iug timber in the country is W s-uih. \ Iron and coal exist in tities, and pig iron can be made h'eiß cheaper than anywhere else in thl world. Pittsburg and Chicago ail now using Alabama iron and basil steel making. I Nearly every Southern State has al abundance of the best water power. I The Earth and Man Compared. I If it were possible for a man to cow struct a globe 800 feet in heigbt-B much, less than twice the height' <■ Washington's monument—and to placl upon any portion of Its surface al atom i-4380th of an inch in diametcß and 1-120th of an inch in height, I ! would correctly denote the proportion man bears to the gigantic globe upn ! which he stands. A