Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 31, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 August 1893 — Page 4

SUMMER RIGHT, ' Oh, silent night! Oh. still nest That s tties Jcvu ou drooping bongh. Thou hold'st the ea ill i i breathless slainbor, Awake, but nc«’. Oray mists arise From duw-wct floivers, That lend th ir fngranca to the night: And languid float on breath of sumiuor An incense light. A pale moon shiues On weary grasses, That bend their heads with mourns il gr ice; Then sinks behind the white cion Is floating, And veils her faej. Heat quivers oft In lightnmg flashes Along the soil gray northern sty, And illuminates the grand old forest In shade near by. A b rd sings ont Iu broken stmzas From you tall bush with blossoms fair. Dream songs that, sung iu drowsy snatches, Ar„use tho air. And echoes find In hidden music, That soft descend fr mi r g'ons high. And wake the sleeping, sultry breezes To softly sigh. —[l. S. Ward, iu New York Independent.

THE LOST BRIDE.

BY MATT LAMAR.

TTtere was a great crowd in the hall. Everybody -was talking in a high key, and the orchestra iu the hack parlor was fairly convulsing itself in the throes of a pot-pourri. At the tep of the stairs was the bride. She was a symphony iu lavender. She was not a conventional girl, perhaps, but in the matter of wedding garments she had felt bound to follow precede it, and she looked so irresistibly charming that nobody who saw her could believe for the moment that a ‘‘going away’’ gown should be anything but lavender. They made way for her on the stairs, and for the groom, with a tan-colored overcoat on his arm. behind her. The women began kissing the bride, who submitted with flushed cheeks and daucing eyes. One or two elderly men near the dourcame in for a kiss, too. The groom was shaking hands with everybody, the young men all yelling “Good-by, old fellow,’’ as if the groom were GO instead of 24. For a time it was almost impotsible to get the front door open in the crush; and when at last they got the couple out on the steps twenty handfuls of rice bailed upon the retreating figures. A fresh chorus of giggling and shouts of “Goodby.” and the coach door slammed and the Wattcrson wedding had begun to be a matter of histoiy. They reached the station at 10:45. In fifteen minutes they were rolling away in a drawing-room car. The bride could still feel the sting of the rice on her neck —a very pretty neck, encircled by a narrow ribbon of lavender velvet. ’When the groom took off his silk bat several white grains fell to the floor, and the groom covertly scanned the cars to see whether the tell-tale sign had been detected.

Charming innoceucc! As if rice grains j were required to advertise the obviously | just-married condition of this radiant j pair! of the car had been made up as a sleeper, and only three human beings were visible in unmade-up sections. These charitably feigned to regard the new passengers as in no wise exceptional, and did not appear to be taking very much notice of them. When the train conductor and after him the Pullman conductor had been around to collect the tickets, and the groom had for the first time performed that interesting fuuction of introducing to the world, as it were, himself and wife, the pair tried to settle hack in the soft scat and appear indifferent. But the bride had 300 things she wished to say and so they got to talking in a low tone, until presently the white jacketed porter came along. The sight of this functionary startled the groom in an inexplicable way. “Make up the section, sir?” said the porter, with what might be called an invisible grin. “N—no,” said the groom, trying not to appear startled, “we are only going as far as Pittston.” The porter looked for a moment as if he disapproved of Pittston or of something else and went back into his den. ¥or half an hour their low talk kept in a sort of harmony with the solemn rumblo of wheels. Her gloved hand had fallen into the nearest of his. The pressure he gave it contained the essence of a mighty embrace. There was nobody to sec if their hands came very close together. • Suddenly the groom sat upright and darted at the inside pocket of his sackcoat.

“Great Scott!” he gasped; " I forgot to tell the baggageman about that satchel.” “Charlie!” She said no more, but there was a world of distress. in the tone. “I shall telegraph for it in the morning,” he said. “But, Charlie,” she protested, “don’t you know that we can’t go anywhere without the satchel?” A deep gloom began to settle about Charlie. The train slowed up at a station. “ I will get off and get the station man to telegraph back and we can have it by the midnight train.'’ She did not object in words, but she half grasped his arm as he started for the door. In a moment she could see him crossing the dim platform. It came into her thoughts that it would be areal tragedy if he should get left at the station. Her impatienoe developed into agony when it began to appear that the train would soon start again. She knew it was silly, but she got up and went to the door. One or two passengers were getting on. Then the porter climbed up with the stool used as a mounting step. Plainly she thought Charlie was going to 1 e lclt behind. She stepped out on the platform and caught the vestibule door. " Excuse me, tnadame.” said the porter, “ but the train is going." “I know it.” gasped the girl, “and •ny husband is over there.” The situation was grotesquely terrible to her. With no satchel and no husband it seemed simply absurd to stay on the train. She would not stay on the train. The wheels were already moving when she eluded the porter and sprang •o the platform. As she ran across the jdatform to where the station master’s • ; ght was glaring, her husband, who had "■ trriediy mounted the steps at the other *»«l of the ear, was wandering in some p-rplvilty through the aisle. Could ej be in the wrong car t No, here was *** lit*in traveling fan.

The porter came over. “Did you see the lady, sir? She was afraid you would get left, sir.” Charley Merrill rushed for the platform. But the vestibule doors were locked and the train was under good headway. At that moment life began to seem like a melodrama to poor Merrill. “When do we reach the next station?” he asked of the porter. “At 12. sir,” was the answer.

Merrill dropped into a seat in grotesque despair. The twenty-five minutes to Silver Hill seemed longer than the wait of a table d’hote. Merrill occupied the time with more or less torturing speculations as to what the girl would do when she fouud that he had not been left behind, and that they had been separated by another ridiculous mistake. He did not. blame her for her blunder, for this had been the result of a blunder of his own in forgetting certain necessary arrangements at the station from which they had started. He pictured her despair at the separation, and then he tried to think that the whole thing was comic, but did not succeed very well in the effort. He could como to no conclusion as to what she would do. She might have taken the midnight train and followed him if she had been supplied with the money to buy a tick t. As it was he did not see that she could do anything more than wait for him to come back for her, us she must kuow that he would. Merrill found that there was a train from Silver Hill back to the station of the mishap a few minutes after 12. lie could reach the girl, he calculated, soon \ after half-past 12. He sptaDg off the ; train at Silver Hill in a fever of impa- ; tience. The northern train was due in a quarter of an hour. Merrill hunted up the station master, without thinking it necessary to say anything about a wedding, yet he fancied that the station master took a degree of interest in the matter that might look as if he suspected a sentimental side of the case. Presently the telegraph instrument in the station was ticking a message. “I think I can find out whether she is still there,” said the station master. Merrill said nothing. He did not wish to delay for the space of a second the coming ot the reply, if there should be one. The auswer was now coming over the wire. For a moment the operator’s face ; was inscrutable. Then lie looked up quickly. “The station master down there.” he said, “fixed it up with the conductor of the midnight, and put her ou that train.” “Good! ” gasped Merrill, with a sense of relief that was abruptly terminated I by something in the look of the station master at his side. “The midnight does not stop here,” said the statiou master. Merrill was ready to faint. Ilis bride would be carried through to Pittston without him. “How soon can I follow that traiD,” he choked, as if with some - expectation that the station master might have the decency to modify the time table. The station master looked commiser- ! atingly a‘ him as he replied, “The next train stopping at Pittson is 5.30.”

Merrill sat down on the nearest bench. He could not think. The situation had become absolutely stupefying. lie would not be able to reach his wife for over six hours. What would become of her in Ijjat dreadfid interval ? And how could he live during such a ghastly period of waiting ? Merrill made up his mied that he simply could not stand the torture of such protracted uncertainty. He would have liked to hire a special train. People had done such things. Perhaps all of his honeymoon money would hire an engine to carry him to Pittston. He fancied himself riding madly aerrgs th? country in the cab of a snorting locomotivfl. Pretty soou he abandoned his thought and began figuring ou the distance to Pittston. They told him it was thirtyone miles. lie asked to be directed to a public stable. They didn’t know of anybody but Gibbs, and were very uncertain about him at that hour. After fifteen minutes’ delay Gibbs was found in a barroom half a mile from the station. At first Gibbs wouldn’t drive anybody anywhere for anything. Then he compromised by saying that lie wouldn't drive anybody to Pittston, at which Merrill took hope. “The fact is,” said Gibbs, ‘‘that I haven’t a horse tlmt’ll stand it. You will have to he driven like the devil.” “I will give you a dollar a mile,’’ said Merrill. Gibbs shook his head. Thou he said: “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll drive you to Mandy’s, that’s twenty miles, and you can get something at Mandy’s for the other ten miles. I’ll do that for's2s.” “It’s a bargain,” said Merrill, “if you’ll hump yourself and hump tliat horse. ”

The “midnight” went shrieking by them as the horse was getting down to a stiff trot. Merrill stared gloomily at the muffled “sleepers,” knowing that his heroine was being carried away from him by the thundering train. Gibbs’ horse was a good stepper, but Gibbs did not seem t > 1 e pressing him. After they were fairly started Gibbs admitted that the horse had been driveu rather hard the day before, and that he couldn’t afford to be harsh with him. As it was he did not intend to bring him back from Mandy’s until daylight. When about half the distance had been accomplished Gibbs suddenly said: “I guess you had better let me have some of that money. Of course I don’t know you, and this is a pretty heavy job. The horse is acting mighty queer, and I’m not sure this racket won’t do him up.” To Merrill there didn’t seem to be much danger. “ Are you afraid you won’t get me there?” he asked. “I’ll get you there,” returned Gibbs. Merrill gave him ten dollars. “The fifteen when we get there,” he added. Then the horse began to lame. Gibbs muttered an oath, stopped the horse and got out. Merrill saw that he was looking at the hoofs for a stone. Evidently he didn’t find anything of the kind. The limp continued and Gibbs kept the beast at a walk, a pace that made the sweat start on Merrill’s temples. Merrill wondered if ever a bridegroom was in such a plight before. If he had read of such a thing in a book he would have impatiently condemned the exaggeration of the author. It began to be a comfort that the Gibbs’ contract only extended to Mandy’s. At the sickening rate of the Gibbs’ horse the bridegroom calculated that he would reach the bride at about 0 A. M. which seemed like a preposterous thought. There could not be a worse horse at Manffy's.

Merrill twice asked Gibbs how much further they had to go, but as Gibbs each time seemed to allow the horse to walk at a still slower pace, Merrill concluded that it would be unsafe to say another word. At the foot of a long hill the horse stopped. It was a quarter to three. “I guess we’ll have to leg this,” said Gibbs, “if wo ever want to get there.” /. t the top of the hill Gibbs told Merrill to get I in, but he himself continued walking at i the hcsul of the hone. The sky had bc--1 come overcast. “ Going to be a had

night,” growled Gibb’s. Merrill mentally remarked that the night had already been pretty bad for him. They reached Mandy’s at four o'clock. The rain was falling. Gibbs called up a man who lived iu a white house, after having made Merrill wait until he had bestowed the horse and buggy in the barn back of the village store. “Giles,” said Gibbs, to tho head that appeared at a window, “this gentleman wants to get to Pittston. Have you got a horse y’ can let him have?" “Waal, I dunno,” responded Giles. “ Got to go south with my mare at six.” “Hain’t v’ got that bay ?” “Th’ bav ain’t fit,” said Giles. He ! added, “What’s it wntli ?” i “ Ten,” said Merrill, “if you’ll drive | me over iu a hurry.” Gibbs disappeared after getting the I balance of his money, ft was twenty- ! eight minutes later by Merrill’s watch when the secoud start was made, and it was at the end of the first mile that the second horse stumbled in the wet morning twilight and splintered the shaft of the buggy. Merrill sprang into the road. “Good morning!” he shouted, striding off through the soft olav. But when he heard a protesting suort from Giles he turned about for a moment and shoved a hill into the man's hand. For an hour he struggled on through the dim road, which grew but little lighter during that time, and became increasingly wet. At the fork of the road he had to delay for tea minutes until he could find a sleepy man with red whiskers who gave him instructions to keep to the left all the way. Morrill looked at his watch with a shudder. A quarter past 5. He kept to the left with a persistency born of a lover’s faithfulness and expeotancy, until hq came against a huge barn. When he appealed brokenly to a solitary woman at a well she yelled back at him that he would have to go back about three-quarters of a mile to where the quarry was, and then take the road just beyond the tobacco barn. Poor Merrill, who pitiably timed every turn, reached the tobacco barn at twenty minutes to six. He then put in a straight hall-hour on the right road, and at the end of this very muddy period hejieard the low whistle of a locomotive. It was the train he might have comfortably taken if he had kept out of the Gibbs contract. At seven o'clock he reached the outskirts of a town. “Is this Pittston?” Merrill asked of a boy with a pail. “East Pittston,” said the boy. “How do you get to the Pittston station?”

“There’s a horse oar down there,” the boy said, pointing through a side road. Merrill found the track. The car was not so easy to find. The bob-tuil car with a sad horse hove iu sight at the end of seven minutes. That this car could actually be going direct to the statiou seemed to Merrill too good to be true. He twice asked the driver abont the station, and was twice assured that the station was at the end of the route. Merrill was on the platform of the car when the station became visible. He rushed almost madly iuto the waiting room. No bride was in sight. Nor oould he see any welcome figure in the ladies’ waiting room. lie was almost running across the station to the inquiry window when the violent tapping of a pencil on the ledge of the telegraph office attracted his attention. The pretty girl behind the grating was beckoning to him. As he paused there the pretty telegrapher was asking: “Are you the gentleman—that is looking for the lady who—who was waiting for the gentleman.” “Yes, I am,” gasped Merrill. “Well, she is in here.” Merrill found her sleeping on a sofa. Her eyelids were red. As the bridegroom well wet and spattered with mud, knelt down beside tho sofa and took hold of one of her hands the bride awoke with a start and the pretty telegrapher turned her face away.—[Philadelphia Press.

Suicide not Heroic.

Suicide, as an escape from tha earthly consequences of one’s own misdeeds, is much affected nowadays, and it must be confessed that if escape is all that is desired no surer expedient could be adopted. But if one cares for character or name, it is the least worthy of all expedients. When a man loses his fortune which he has hnrdly earned, necessity compels him to go to work to earn another, or at least he tries to keep himself out of the poorhouse. But when he loses his character, which is worth more than fortune, he has a more imperative motive for reearning what he foolishly parted from. True it is easier to build up a shattered fortune than regain a geod name, but the greater prize is worth the greater effort. • Besides, to quit life at such a time is to repudiate every obligation imposed by natural affection to parents, wife and children, who have the right to demand that no taint be put upon them. The individual himself may escape by suicide. But the children he has brought into the world cannot. He simply handicaps them in the struggle for existence and slips away, leaving them a heritage of shame. To live down wrong-doing and right one’s self after having wandered so far out of the one true way is hard to do, but the manly man will not hesitate to live and undertake the task.—[St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

Tropical Roofs.

The natives of the interior of Ceylon finish walls and roofs with a paste of slaked lime gluten and alum, which glazes and is so durable that specimens three centuries old are now to be seen. On the Malabar coast the flat bamboo roots are covered with a mixture of cowdung, straw and clay. This is a poor conductor of heat, and not only withstands the heavy rains to a remarkable degree, but keeps the huts cool in hot weather. In Sumatra the native women braid a coarse cloth of palm leaves for the edge and top of the roofs. Many of the old Buddhist temples in India and Ceylon had roofs made out of cut-stone block s , hewed timber, and split bamboo poles. Uneven planks, cut from old and dead palm trees—seldom from living young trees—are much used in the Celebes and Philippines. Sharks’ skins form the roofs of fishermen in the Andaman Islands. The Malays of Malacca, Sumatra and Java have a roofing of attaps, pieces of palm leaf wicker work about three feet by two in size and an inch thick, which are laid like shingles and are practically water-preof. The Arabs of the East Indies make a durable roof paint of slaked lime, blood and cement. Europeans sometimes use old sails—made proof against water, mould, and insects by paraffine and corrosive sublimate—for temporary roofs —rScien '■s ' American.

THE JOKERS’ BUDGET.

JESTS AND YARNS 11Y FUNNY MEN OF THE PRESS. Lessons In Politeness Ailannmtliie— Her Preference-Cmbrellas, Too— New at the Business, etc., etc. LESSONS lit rOI.ITB.NKBS. Mrs. Wiekwire—Don't you think you might take off your hat when you are addressing a lady ? Hungry Higgins—Don’t you think, mum, when a gent calls on you that you might invite him in and offer him a cheer ?—[lndianapolis Journal. adamantine. “I never saw any one so set and obstinate as John is.” “You surprise me. ” “Yes, indeed. Why, only this very morning we had a dispute, but I stood firm and told him he might move the pyramids, but he couldn’t budge me when my mind was made up.” “And he admitted he was wrong?” “Well, about the same thing. He said: “Have your own way, Maria.” “Of coarse. What was it about?” “Ideclare I’ve forgotten: but it was the principle, you know.”—[Truth. lIEK PREFERENCE. “Now, which kind of music do you wish to become proficient in?” said the professor to the new pupil. “Oh. olassical, by all means,” replied the young woman. “I am very glad to hear you expreis this preference.” “Yes. When you play classical music hardly anybody knows whether you make a mistake or not.” —|Washiugton Star.

UMBRELLAS, TOO. Gus De Smith—Balloons are very unfortunate pieces of mechanism. McGinnis—How so? Gus De Smith—They are always used up. —[Texas Siftings. • NEW AT TIIE BUSINESS. Nurse —Baby has cut two of his teeth and Mother—Oh, dear! Do you think he has spoiled the lit of them.—[Chicago luter-Oceau. SUBTLE METHODS. “Do you feel sure, Tom, that you can win Nellie’s love ?’’ “Yes; not a doubt of it. Why, I proposed last night to Alice.”—[Chicago Inter-Ocean. NO ACCIDENT THEBE. “How’d the barbecue come off?” “Jes’ middlin’.” “Any accidents?” “No; three men killed iu a row, an’ two more dropped l'er pastime, but no accidents.”—|Atlanta Constitution. A NEW IDEA AT LAST. “That poet is a genius.” “Why?” “He rhymes raiment with payment. Tailors will tell you that that really is a new idea; the two go together so seldom”— [Truth. A WOMAN’S TASTE. Kate—l don’t believe this fountain was designed by a woman, do you ? “Why?” “Well, I think it would have been Dr ice cream soda instead of water.”— [Chicago Inter-Ocean. ‘ LOVE AND FINANCE. Alonzo (twanging the lyre) —I si-ieg to tbce-ee, my love Araminta—Yes, it’s very pretty, Aloor.o, and it pleases me; but papa says you can’t sing a “pretty tune” enough to please him. Please try it on the dog—or, let us talk about something else.— [Vogue. SF.EMS REASONABLE. “I don’t see what claim you havn to this accident insurance,” said the agent. “You were thrown out of a wagon, i admit, but, on your own statement, you were not hurt.” “Well, wasn’t it by the merest accident 1 escaped injury?” suggested the claimant. —|Puck. A WOFCL PLIGHT.

She met twenty men at a summer resort, At a summer resort on the shore of the sea, And nineteen of these were enslaved by her charms, And low to fair Adelaide bended the knee; Hut a cloud now hangs over her beautiful brow And pale are the cheeks that bloomed like a rose; Her soul is consumed with vexation—because One man of the twenty had failed to propose. [New York Herald. SOME LITTER EXPERIENCE. She —You are the first one who ever kissed me that way. He—You mean you never before felt a lover’s kiss. She —No, I mean that no one before ever missed my mouth, and hit my nose three times out of five.—[Good News. BREAD AND BUTTER. The poet had brought his poem in to sell to the theatric-looking gent, who sat in judgment on poems for the magazines with which he was connected. “I hope,” said the poet, trembling, “that you will be able to accept this for I sorely need what it wiii bring.” “I am sorry,” he replied, “that I cannot accept it. You see, we have certain rules to observe which are not met in this, and it is not meet for me” “Meat for you ? ” exclaimed the poet frantically. “What do I care for that ? It is bread and butter for me and I must have it,” and the editor asked him out to lunch.—[Detroit Free Press. A BONANZA. Parent—Now, what arc you going to charge me to cure this boy of the measles? Physician—Nothing at all, my dear sir. as it is an original case; and you get your ten per cent, commission for every child that catches them from him.— [Puck. it did not work. Little Brother —Grown folks don’t know as much as they think they do! Little Sister—Why? Little Brother —Mamma whipped me yesterday and said she guessed that ud teach me a lesson; and to-day I missed every lesson jus’ the same as before.— [Good News. BALLAST. “Why do you lug that big cane with you?” “For protection. If I didn’t my broad brimmed straw hat might catch a breeze and tow me into the lake by the string.” —[Chicago Hecord.

SRKAT SCHIHB. Briggs—The thermometer in my room is ninety degrees. Griggs—Don’t you want to borrow the one in my room? It’s only eighty-sis degrees.—[Truth. THE OH AM MAR CLASS. Teacher—" John returned the book.” In what ease is book Dull Boy (after long thought)—Bookease. A DIFFERENCE. City Editor— you've got the account of that woman’s suffrage meeting, have you? What’s that big roll of paper under your arm < Reporter— What they said at the meeting. City Editor—And that slip of paper you are twirling in your lingers? lieporter— What they did.—[Buffale Courier. OK EDS, NOT WORDS. Along the sands with her he strays When softly falls the summer eve, And many tender things he says, Which she feigns to believe. But though the youth may press her hand, Thtf period’s short of love’s young dream For him if he neglects to stand The soda and ice cream. —[New York Pres 3. A SUGGESTION. “Dear me,” cried Mr. Barlow, on the evening of the fireworks display, “the stick on our finest and largest rocket is broken, and we can’t replace it.” There was a moment’s silence, and then a voice from the dark piazza suggested: “Use Cholly.”—[Harper’s Bazar.

AMPLY QUALIFIED. Recruiting Officer—l’m afraid you are not heavy enough for a cavalryman. We want men who can ride right over everything, if necessary. Applicant—That’s all right. Cap. I’ve been a New York truck driver for seven years!—[Puck. THE LANDLORD'S OX WAS GORED. Cuinback—l was a guest of the Colorado Resort Hotel which was held up and robbed by a lone baudit, not long ago. Stayhome—What did the landlord do about it? Cumback—He roared unceasingly for two days about its being the worst breach of professional courtesy he had ever heard of.—[Puck. antidote for tragedy. Winks—Come along, old boy, I’ve got two complimentary tickets for a dramatic performance. Jinks—Tragedy or comedy? “Tragedy.” “I don’t like tragedies. They appeal so strongly to one’s sympathies that I always feel blue for a week.” “This one won’t. You’ll come home as jolly as if you’d been to a circus. It’s by an amateur company.”—[New York Weekly. ODDS AND ENDS. The fat man in the side-show is lying in wait for his victims.—[Galveston News. Perhaps if a pneumatic tire were put on the dollar of the dads it would circulate better. —[Johnstown Democrat. A man never discovers how hard his lot really is until he tries to put u spade into it and make a garden.—[Washington Star. A man will get mad quicker at being oalled a fool than at any other term you may use. It is probably because the allegation is so easy to prove.—Chester News. The boarding-house keeper often complains of the effort it costs to get up a meal, and her boarders maintain that it is more of an effort to get it down.— [Yonkers Statesman. Robbins—l’m just back from Chicago and— Dobbins—Really, old fellow, sorry, but I’m so tied up financially that I can’t lend you a cent.—[Philadelphia Record. Late revellers singing “There’s no place like home” always stop their melody just before they get there, and creep upstairs in their stocking feet. — [Boston Transcript.

The Diamond Cutting Business.

It was in 1456 that the cutting of diamonds into regular forms first began to be practiced. The business is now most extensively carried on in Amsterdam, although in this country, at the present time, are many excellent diamond cutters whose services are highly valued. Of more than 30,000 Jews now living in Amsterdam it is estimated that at least 12,000 are directly or indirectly dependent upon the trade of diamond cutting. In that city such labor is poorly paid, although the greatest skill and severest honesty is requisite. Diamonds are cut in three forms, namely, the table, the rose and the brilliant. The last has superseded the first two except for inferior stones. The brilliant is a double pyramid or cone, cut off at the top to a large plane or tahle, and at the bottom to a small one, called the collet. As for the weight of diamonds, it is calculated as follows: Four grains equal one carat, 1414 carats equal once ounce troy. From this it may be seen that a diamond grain is lees than an ordinary troy grain—five diamond grains are equal to four troy grains. [Philadelphia Times.

The Alexandrian Codex.

The “Alexandrian Codex,” often referred to in Scriptural studies, is one of the most valuable and important manuscripts of sacred writ known to be in existence. It is written in Greek onparehmeut in finely formed uncial letters, and is without accents, marks of aspiration, or spaces between the words. Its probable date is the latter part of the Sixth Century. As early as 1098 it is known to have been in the library of the Patriarch of Alexandria. It was sent to England as a present to Charles I. by Cyrillus Lycaris in IG2B. and is now in the British Museum. —fSt.Louis Republican.

Ocean Oddities.

The ocean at the depth of a mile has a pressure of one ton on every square inch. At the depth of 8,500 feet waves are never felt. If a box six feet deep of any size were filled with sea water and the same left to evaporate, there would be a layer of salt two inches thick left on the bottom of the box. Taking the nverage depth of all ooeaus to be three miles, there would be a salt stratum 230 feet thick over all the surface now occupied by oceans should the same evaporate.

THE BODY AND ITS HEALTH.

Prolonging Life.— A correspondent writes for some information concerning Dr. William Ivinnear’s recently published articles in one of the monthlies touching the question of prolonging life. The pith of Dr. Kinnear’s article is this: “Paradoxical as it may sound, certain foods which we put into our mouths to preserve our • live 3 help at the same time to hurry us to the inevitable gate of the cemetery. Earth salts abound in the cereals, and bread itself, though seemingly the most innocent of edibles, greatly assists in the deposition of calcareous matter in our bodies. Nitrogenous food abounds in this element. Hence a diet macLt up of fruit principally is best for people advancing in years, for the reason that being deficient in nitrogen the ossilic deposits so much to br dreaded are more likely to be suspended. Moderate eaters have in all cases a much better chance of long life than those addicted to excesses of the table. Hence, to sum up: The most rational modes of keeping physical deoay or deterioration at bay, and thus retarding the approach of old age, are avoiding all foods rich in the earth salts, using much fruit, especially juicy uncooked apples, and by taking daily two or three tumblerfuls of distilled water with about five or ten dropsof diluted phosphoric acid in each glass.”

Seaside or Mountains ?—Dr. George F. Shrady thus writes of the relative values of seaside and mountains in connection with the summer vacation: “At this season those who have not made up their minds where to pass July and August are in a quandary, especially if they do not happen to enjoy the pleasures of a permanent country home. The oftrepeated question, Where shall I go? Shall I go to the seashore, where I may bathe in the surf, or shall I goto a mountainous region, where the air is entirely opposite to that to which I have been accustomed: Constitution should enter largely into tho question. If one is subjected to bronchial affections, mountain air or spots where pine forests are obtainable, is not only beneficial but in many cases necessary to the maintenance of health. During the middle hours of he day at times when tho sun is very hot, the seashore is not an agreeable place to be. It is much more pleasant in the early morning or the late afternoon hours, and only these hours should he seleoted for bathing. Considered from every side, however, it is more healthful for the city resident, living as near the ocean as we do, to pass his vacation far away from salt water. In this way he secures a complete cliauge of air, and often the first is as important to the tired city man as the second. May and June and September and October are the most healthful months at the seaside. During these months the heat is not so intense, and a really hot day at the seashore is a day to be dreaded. July and August are the most pleasant months of the summer in the mountains, or in the interior for that matter, and those who can would do well to take their rest at this time. If it is only convenient for one to take a vacation of a week or so he had best pass it in the mountains. Vacations are necessary to the well being of all of ns, and especially to those who work with their brains.”

POPULAR SCIENCE NOTES.

A new glass for thermometers is unaffected by a heat of 1,000 degrees, the ordinary glass being unreliable above 750 degrees on account of its tendency to soften. A pneumatic tube connects Paris with Berlin. It is used for postal purposes, and makes it possible for a letter mailed in Paris to be delivered in Berlin in thirty-five minutes. Taking Electricity From the Ain.— Mr. Palmicri, in La Lumicre, describes an apparatus for collecting atmospheric electricity. It consists essentially of a revolving wheel having eight spokes, but no rim; each spoke is made of a conductor insulated from the hub and having a small metallic cross-arm at its further end; near the hub are nrrauged two brushes, one above and one below the center; these brushes are always in contact with the spokes pointing vertically ‘upward and vertically downward respectively, during the revolution, and therefore lead off from them the electric charges collected from the atmosphere at the top and at the bottom of the wheel; the brushes are connected by wires to two I.eyden jars and to sparking knobs as usual.

A Burning Glass Made of Ice. —A few years ago an English professor caused quite a little excitement dmong a party of skaters on Serpentine River by making a lens of ice and lighting his pipe with it. This reminds the writer that this curious experiment was first brought before the public by the great Dr. Scoresby, who, when in the polar regions, to the great astonishment of his companions, who did not understand why the ice did not freeze the solar rays, performed a similar feat. It may also be worthy of remark that Professor Tyndall, when a teacher in the Royal Institute, on several occasions set fire to little heaps of powder with rays from an electric are concentrated by a lens of ice. His explanation was this: although ice absorbs rays of certain waves of light and is gradually melted thereby, there are other kinds of waves which it does not absorb, and it is these that produce heat at the focus of the bar of light which passes through the ice. In short, it is wholly a question of the relative motions of the molecules of frozen water and those of the waves of the more penetrating rays of light.

Train Calculations.

Fast train calculations are the favorite pastimes with those who are mathematioally inclined nowadays. It has been figured, for instance, that the force of propulsion which a train of four oars with a sixty-ton locomotive, running at fifty miles an hour, develops, is equivalent to a blow delivered by a hammer weighing 50.000 tons, and that is almost exactly the force of the blow of the ram upon the Camperdowu as estimated when that warship struck the Victoria:—[Detroit Free Press.

A Lamb Among the Tenements.

One of the curious inhabitants of the far cast side tenement district is a lamb, which disports itself upon the low roofs in the vicinity. It capers about apparently at home and at ease, though there is nothing green in sight save some of the distant streets of Brooklyn. The lamb was apparently once white, but it is now a dingy gray, and east side associations promise to transform it into a veritable black sheep.—[New York Sun. ■ ' The first coining machine was invented by Brucbner in 1553.

FARRAGUT’S FIRST FIGHT.

He Was But 13 Wlica He Took Part In a Desperate Battle. Farragut obtained a midshipman’s conmission before he was 9 years old, which case has probably no parallel in the history of the American navy. He was 10 years and 1 month old only when he joined the Essex, a brave and selfreliant, adventurous, but dutiful boy, afterward emtninently fitted to command, because early accustomed to obey. The Essex was built at Salem, and paid for by the patriotic contributions of the citizens of that place. Capt. Porter took command of her in August, 1811, young Farragut being with him, and the frigate was then lying at Norfolk, Va. On the 18th of June, 1812, only about eleven mouths afterward, the Congress of the United States,declared war against Great Britain, and his declaration was read to the crew of the Essex on three successive days, so that no British subject on board i f there chance to be one, should be required to serve against his flag. There were none who were not liable to duty, the Essex sailed on her memorable cruise in the Pacific Ocean. She was the first American man-of-war to pass around Cape Horn, as she had been the first to double the Cape of Good Hope and her experience was a rough one; but It was followed by a series of almost uninterrupted successes and victories, until she finally encountered the British frigate Phoebe and the British sloop-of-war Cherub oarly in February, 1814, off Valparaiso, Chili. A combined attack was made upon her by these two vessels while hall the men belonging to the Essex were on shore (but upon a signal being given, the men were all aboard the Essex in fifteen minutes, and ail but one prepared for duty). After, one of the most desperate battles ever fought upon the ocean, under the adverse conditions of contending with two vessels of the enemy of greater superior force, herself disabled by a furious storm, all her officers but one killed, and the Essex on fire, she surrendered in a defeat, like that on land at Bunkei Hill, which was more glorious thau the victory. The commander of the British forces, Capt. Hillyar, was wounded and died before the engagement ended. In his note book young Farragut says: “During the action I performed the duties of Captain’s aid, quarter gunner, powder boy, and, in fact, did everything that was required of me. I shall never forget the horrid impression made upon me at the sight of the first man I had ever seen killed. He was a boatswain’s mate, and was fearfully mutilated. It staggered and sickened me at first; but they soon began to fall around me so fast that it all appeared like a dream,and produced no effect upon my nerves. “1 can remember well,” he continues, “while I was standing near the Captain, just abaft the mainmast, a shot came through the waterways and glanced upward, killing four men who were standing beside the gun, taking the last oue in the head and scattering his brains over both of us. But this awful sight did not affect me half as much . as the death of the first poor fellow. I neither thought of nor noticed anything but the working of the guns.” Such was the literal baptism of fire and blood of the young midshipman and future Admiral, as if fate or that Divine Providence which he always reverently recognized, intended thus signally to forecast his illustrious destiny. Later on in his journal young Farragut wrote: “After the battle had ceased, when on going below I saw the mangled bodies.of my shipmates, dead and dying, groaning and expiring, with the most patriotic sentiments on their lips, I became faint and sick, my sympathies were all aroused; among the badly wounded was one of my best friends, Lieut. Sewell. When I spoke to him he said, ‘O, Davy, I fear it is all up with me;' but when it was proposed to drop another patient and attend to him, he replied, 4 No, doctor, none of that; fair play is a jewel. One man’s life is as good as another’s; I would not cheat uny poor fellow out of his turn.’ Thus died,” continues the journal, “one of the best and bravest men among us.”

Funeral Ceremonies Over a Crow.

One of the most unique pages in Pliny’s “Natural History" is that which tells of the funeral rites performed over the remains of a crow (raven) at Rome during the reign of the Emperor Tiberius. The crow, or raven, thus honored by being “funcrally burnt” or cremated was one of the brood hatched on ihe temple of Castor. A shoemaker whose shop was near by was frequently visited by the bird, which soon learned to speak and • perform many odd tricks. The patriotic follower of Bt. Crispin taught the bird to lly to the top of the Rostra each morning and hail the Emperor Tiberius iu a loud voice and to proclaim Roman valor to the astonished populaoe in the street below. This was done regularly every morning, the bird returning to the shoemaker's shop after performing the duties of greeting the high and the low of the empire. Finally the accomplished bird was killed by a rival sandal maker who was iealous of the advertising his competitor’s shop was getting through the crow’s queer pranks. This act on the part of the heartless wretch so enraged the people of the Eternal City that they drove the “murderer” out of the empire, and when he returned actually put him to death! The [jird received the highest honors at its funeral, the body being “placed upon a litter carried upon the shoulders of two stalwart Ethiopians, preceded by a piper, and was borne to the funeral pyre covered with garlands of every size and description.” After giving an account of this queer ceremony. Pliny adds; “This happened in a city in which no such crowds had ever escorted the funeral of any one' out of the whole number of its dist nguished men.”—lSt. Louis Republic.

Throat Disease.

Doctor Thomas Weipham, who has charge of throat disease in St. George’s Hospital, says that the disease.is caused by the habit of hanging the bead. The orator who directs his remarks to the bottom button of his waistcoat is almost certain to have a sore throat. The bar looks up to the bench; barristers seldom have clergymen’s sore throat. But the clergyman in reading the prayers looks down upon his book; his chin is upon his chest. When he preaches his eyes are still upon his manuscript. Let him lift his eyes, praying with diligent observation of the roof, and preaching in a physical sense to the gallery, and he will escape the great clerical malady. —[New England Journal of Education. It is singular that so many Western banks should be swamped when the people have so thoroughly drained them. —[Lowell Courier.