Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 April 1894 — Page 4

RACE. i. Leave me here those looks of yours ! All those pretty airs and lures: Flush of cheek and flash of eye; Your Ups’ smile and their deep dye; Gleam of the white teeth within; Dimple of the cloven chin; All the sunshine that you wear In the summer of your hair, All the morning of your face; All your figure’s wilding grace: The flower-pose of your head, the light Flutter of your footsteps’ flight: I own all, and that glad heart I must claim ere you depart. 11. Go, yet go not unconsoled ! Sometime, after you are old, You shall come, and I will take From your brow the sullen ache, From your eyes the twilight gaze Darkening upon winter days, From your feet their palsy pace, And the wrinkles from your face, From your lock the snow; the droop Of your head, your worn frame's stoop, And that withered smile within The kissing of the nose and chin: I own all. and that sad heart I will claim ere you depart. 111. I am Race, and both are mine— Mortal Age and Youth diyine; Mine to grant, but not in fee; Both again revert to me From each that lives, that I may give Unto each that yet shall live. —[W. D. Howells, in Harper’s Magazine.

THE MINISTER’S WIFE.

BY WILLARD N. JENKINS.

The clergymen who had successively, but alas I not successfully, filled | the pastorate of Farmingvale, had had good reason to congratulate themselves when they left the place. They had all been married men; they had all had large families and small salaries, and they had never given satisfaction. After the first few months the trustees had groaned over the salary; the elders decided that Brother A. “wasn’t gifted in prayer;” the congregation complained of not being visited enough, of not being sufficiently edified, and wondered whether the minister couldn’t do more good in another place. And then ihatters came to a crisis, and thgre was a vacancy in the Farmingvale pulpit, and a succession lof ministers young and old, who preached by request and generally made a favorable impression. And finally another call was made, another pastor came, who was welcomed cordially, treated to donation parties, and then descended in popular favor until his light died out in darkness. Farmingvale was particularly unfortunate in this respect; it was in fact famed for its dismission of pastors without peculiar provocation. Many a grave, middle-aged man gave good advice to Arthur Bartlett, the newly-fledged clergyman, who had proclaimed himself ready to be installed as pastor of the church in Farmingvale. Men of much experience had failed there—able men, too, whose orthodoxy could not be doubted. Bartlett was a man of promise—why should he doom himself to disappointment at the beginning of his career? Nobody approved of the act; but Bartlett, ardent, hopeful, and only twenty-five, was all the more resolved to accept the call. He hoped to succeed where no one else had ever succeeded; to do good, to become beloved, and to end his days where he had begun his work. It was a pure and beautiful ambition, although worldly men might smile at it as being very humble. So Arthur Bartlett came to Farmingvale, and stood before the pulpit during the ceremony of installation, and received the charge with an humble determination (God being his helper) to obey it; and the next Sabbath stood in the pulpit and preached unto the people. There are some young men who have a woman’s beauty without being effeminate. Arthur Bartlett was one of these. He had soft, goldenbrown hair, which could not be called red by his greatest enemy, a broad, high forehead, white as flesh and blood could be, and a color that came and went, now the faintest tinge of rose, now deepest carnation. Moreover, he was neither puny nor ungraceful, stood straight as an arrow, and had a voice clear and singularly musical, and powerful enough to fill the church without an effort. That day bright eyes looked up at the young minister, and many a girl, if the truth were known, thought ’more of his fair face than of his sermon. But he preached with all his heart in the words he uttered, and thought not at all of any one of them. Perhaps they did not quite understand this; for that day the young ladies took a violent fancy to the new minister, and most of them resolved to do all they could to make Farmingvale pleasant for him. Of course he would marry soon. He needed a wife, they decided. Sewing societies, fairs and tea-drinkings followed each other in quick succession. Farmingvale, so to speak, caroused, though in a genteel and virtuous fashion, for the next three months, and Miss Allen, the dressmaker, took a new apprentice, and -superintended the fitting department herself, leaving the needle to vulgar hands, so great was the demand upon her skill. New bonnets, fearfully and wonderfully made, came by express from “the city,” and the five Misses Mardeji excited unparalleled envy by appearing in pink silk dresses. There never had been such a successful minister before; nobody dared to find fault with him, upheld by all the womankind of Farmingvale—young and- old, grandmothers, granddaughters, mammas, spinsters, aunts and school girls. By and by whispered rumors were set afloat. The young minister had paid particular attention to Miss Green, he was seen out walking with Miss Jones, he had taken tea thrice with Mrs. Adams, who had two unmarried daughters; in fact, he was engaged in turn to every single lady tn the village, if report said truly. Then “dearest friends” became rivals, 'and quarrels occurred which intarfered sadly with a religious frame

of mind, and young farmers were jilted, one and all, in the most ruthless manner, for the fair-haired young pastor, who had no more thought of aspiring to be king of hearts in Farmingvale than he had of being a millionaire, but was gentle and amiable to all alike. And so the weeks passed on. Spring vanished, summer followed in her steps, autumn came; and amidst its balmiest days, when a golden haze hung over everything, and the orchards were rich with ripened fruit, and the moon seemed rounder and more brilliant than it ever was before, Arthur Bartlett took the train to Portland one evening, and it was known that there was to be a strange face in the pulpit on the next Sabbath. There was a special tea-drinking at Deacon Green’s to discuss the cause of this; and stories started no one knew when or by whom, were circulated. His mother was ill. No; that could not be, for Miss Wood knew that he had lost his mother years before. Somebody had told Deacon Green that an old uncle had died, leaving the minister a large fortune. This was very favorably received and gained universal belief. It would have been firmly established but for Mrs. Thurston, who had neitherJ daughter nor granddaughter herself, and who enjoyed being on the “off side,” saying, with a wise shake of her head, “I don’t believe any such story. It’s my opinion that the minister has gone to get married.” Mrs. Thurston’s words threw cold water on the enthusiasm of maids and mothers, although they all declared that “it couldn’t possibly be so.” It was not the reputation of the Rev. Augustus Dent that drew so large a congregation at the little church on the next Sabbath. Curiosity led most of the ladies thither, and it was gratified to the utmost; for in his very first prayer the old gentleman uttered an earnest supplication for the pastor of the church, who during his absence would take upon himself the solemn obligations of married life. Might Heaven bless him and the young and pious lady whom he had chosen for his companion, etc. It was a prayer worth; hearing, but the ladies of Farmingvale heard noth-

ing after the wonderful revelation. They were lost in astonishment, and hurried away, after the benediction, t$ discuss the ag;p r by their own firesides. And on Monday, when it was known that Bridget O’Neil had been engaged to scrub and scour the parsonage, and that a piano had arrived, the certainty of the awful news became established, apd Farmingvale joined in denouncing Mr. Bartlett as a despicable flirt. “And,” said the indignant mamma of the five Misses Marden, “of all men, a minister of the gospel should blush to earn such a reputation. Why, I couldn’t tell which one of my girls he wanted, he was so attentive to all of them. I’m afraid he isn’t such a man as We thought.” The excitement lasted all the week, and was still strong on the next Sabbath, when a young girl walked up the church aisle with the minister, and the Farmingvale girls looked upon a face so lovely that none of them could resort to the usual course of declaring her “not a bit good-look-ing-”

They were decorous and prudent iu Farmingvale, and complied with all the forms of courtesy. Mrs. Bartlett was called upon by all the ladies of her husband’s flock, was invited out to tea, and was favored with a donation party; nevertheless a keen observer could have seen that something was wrong. The ladies did not take kindly to their pastor’s wife, and soon the clouds began to gather. At first, in whispers, Mrs. Bartlett’s bonnet was too gay, she felt above them, was not a good housekeeper, not spiritual-minded enough. At last there was louder, more serious fault-finding, not only with the minister’s wife, but with the minister himself. The women began it; the men were talked over by their wives and daughters ; finally the firt step was taken. Mr. Marden and his family gave up their pew, and found themselves more edified by the clergyman in the next town; others followed their example. The fault-finding and slander reached the parsonage itself, and Ann Bartlett, with her head upon her husband’s shoulder, sobbed. “What shall I do, Arthur ! I meant to help you and to make them like me, and you see how it is. It must be my fault, but I don’t know what to do.”

And the young man soothed his weeping wife, and hade her have good cheer, for matters would soon mend, and all would be well. He was mistaken; matters did not mend; they grew worse, and a year from the date of his marriage, came to a climax. The trustees waited upon him in his study, and bemoaned their wrongs. They paid a fair salary, and they expected the pastor to do his part; but he had failed. Besides, his wife should have been instructed in her duty . She was generally disliked: if the minister’s wife was not popular it was a very unpleasant thing. Could he explain? Of course the visit ended as they expected; there was but one consummation possible, and in a day or so Farmingvale knew that their pastor would soon leave the place forever. The winter set in warm and moist; instead of cold and bracing. Everybody declared that it wa,s ‘ ‘dreadful unhealthful weather.” At length rumors of prevailing ill health spread over Farmingvale, and the minister packing his books in his study, came to hear of them. Whole families of children sickened and lay low, and a dread cry arose—“lt is malignant diphtheria.” One day Arthur Bartlett left his home to perform the burial service over the graves of two children of one family; and the next the father called him to the bedside of his wife to see her die. And with these deaths the horrors of that time never to be forgotten by any who dwelt there, began in earnest. Men, women, and children sickened with the terrible disease. Horror seized those yet unsmitten, and they fled. Farmingvale became a great lazaretto, and Arthur Bartlett said to his young wife: “Let us go quickly, darling, before

l the scourge falls upon our household.” But she, as she spoke, left her seat, , and knelt before him, resting her head upon his breast, as he sat before their evening fire, in a child-like ! fashion all her own; and as he caj ressed her tenderly, whispered : “Arthur, do not bid me go, for I ! must stay here, and do all I canwatch with them, pray with them, nurse them,'strive to comfort the bereaved. I should indeed be all they think of me if I, their pastor’s wife, fled at such a time. Oh, I cannot go.” The man listened at first unconvinced. “Ann, my dear,” he said gently, “we owe them nothing. Remember, they have used us shamefully, and I am actually their pastor no longer.” But his wife pleaded earnestly; pleaded to stay amidst the danger, and touching his heart by her sweet Christian spirit brought him at last to consent. And at dawn the two went forth upon their mission. In their selfish horror kinsfolk fled from each other. Sisters shrunk from those who had been nursed at the same breast; children deserted their parents, and friends grew brutal to each other, but those two young creatures never swerved from their appointed task; like ministering angels they went from house to house, aiding the weary physician, supporting the mother’s failing courage, heaping coals of fire on the heads of the Farmingvale people. Sometimes they were together, but more frequently apart; there was so much to do. When they could they met in the old parsonage, but often they were separated for several days. But their prayers followed each other always. It was a trying time, but they were very faithful and courageous. Some of these who had been most cruel to Ann Bartlett were her patients now, and lay helpless as infants while she watched over them.

When, save for her, no friend had watched beside the couch of loathesome disease; when her own hands robed the dead infant for its last sleep; when she sat all night in the death-room, and it was known to all what mission she had taken upon herself, wonder filled the village, and in a little while there arose to heaven many fervent prayers for Ann Bartlett and her husbdnd. All through the winter the pestilence raged, then when so many homes were left desolate, it began to abate, and on May day the church bell was rung to tell the people that the dread disease was stayed. But before night sad news was carried around the village. She who had watched with the sick, who had closed the eyes of the dead, who had been so gentle and patient, was smitten, now that she was no longer needed.

The windows of the parsonage were darkened, and silence as of death reigned throughout its rooms, for the angel of the house lay trembling on the margin of the grave. Another pastor preached on this Sabbath in Farmingvale, and all knew well why he was there. Arthur Bartlett watched beside his darling’s bed, and never left it day or night. Then the hearts of those to whom she had ministered went up in prayer that she might be spared to them and to him; and their prayers were answered—Ann Bartlett lived. Arthur Bartlett is still the pastor in Farmingvale for the penitent people will not part with him. Through his wife, his cherished wish has come to pass; and in his parish there is only one more loved and revered than the minister—now white-haired and venerable—and that one is the minister’ wife.—Yankee Blade.

Farming in France.

The report of the Secretary of the English Legation in Paris has just been submitted to parliament. It appears from the report that no less than 14,000,000 of the inhabitants of France, i. e., three-quarters of the agricultural population, are occupied in small farming. There are 4,802,697 farms of twenty acres or under, which cover an area of 24,900,214 acres, or one-fourth of the total of the land capable of cultivation. Butter, eggs, chickens, grain, vegetables, fruit, milk, cheese, and in a certain degree cattle, sheep and pigs are the products they rely upon. Sheep, and, if we except a few calves, cattle, otherwise than for the dairy, are clearly not suited for production on such small farms. Grain may also be at an economic disadvantage, but everything else here enumerated would be suitable for small holders.in England. Producers in France suffer, as do those of England, from middlemen and heavy transit charges, for articles of commerce which are only worth from eight to ten cents each in Finistere are sold in Paris the following day for 50 cents; the difference is swallowed up by the railways, the brokers and the retail merchants. The transport system from Finistere to London via St. Malo, is also unsatisfactory, both as regards cost and speed, and attention is being directed towards establishing a direct trade with Manchester. In Normandy, however, producers are better treated, as they realize three-fourths of the price paid by consumers. In some parts of Brittany they do well, but in others they only get one-fourth. The system of association for the mutual protection of agricultural interests is making great strides.

Dust Particles in the Air.

The atmosphere is at all times charged with dust particles to a degree difficult to realize. The most pure air tested by Professor Atkins previous to his celebrated experiments at the Observatory at Ben Nevis, contained about 94,000 such particles to the cubic inch, which would give 85,232,000 particles to every cubic foot, or 85,232,000,000 tb a horizontal column of such air extending but 1,000 feet high. It would be interesting to see a calculation on the number of deadly# microbes in the same proportion of “the air” we breathe.—[St. Louis Republic.

THE LIMEKILN CLUB.

Bad DmUi a Brother Who Was "Looking for Light." As the heading of “miscellaneous” was reached in the regular order of business, Brother Gardner arose and said: “My frens, I hev a letter yere from a pusson in Kentucky who axes what I thinks of the cull’d man who owns thirteen dawgs an keeps ’em in luxury and lets his wife go widout shoes de y’ar roun*. At de fust send off a pusson might call it a brutal exhibition of de sentiment which prevailed in de dark aiges, but de mo’ yo’ tinks of it the less yo’ feel like pitchin into dat nigger. Dar am many things too be token into considerashun. Mebbe dat man raises dawgs to sell, an as de dawg market is purty flat jist at present he am holdin on fur a raise. Dat would be only bizness. Mebbe dar am thieves an robbers around dar. an he finds it necessary to keep thirteen dawgs to protect his family. “Dis letter doan’ say dat de wife has made any complaints. Even if she had we all know dat wimen are mighty onsartin. I’ze met up wid some of ’em who’d chop out cotton in white kid shoes, an’ agin I’ze found cases whar dey insisted on gwine barefot in Jinuary. Things like this yere must be left to a family. If a family prefers thirteen dawgs to sealskin sacks, diamond earrin’s an’ silk dresses, dat’s deir bizness. I has wisited at de cabin of a cull’d man whar dey had three dowgs under ebery bed in de house, and fo’ cats howlin’ at de back doah, an’ I has wisited at a cabin whar not a cat or dowg could be found. Happiness ’peered to reign in one place as much as de odder. Dis Kentucky woman may injoy gwine barfut. It may be dat she got six pa’rs of French heel shoes in de house, but doan’ keer fur style. Until all de facts in de case am befo’ me I should not like to gib a decided answer. “It am also my painful dooty at dis time to announce de death of Brother Rainbow Johnson on de Stait of Tennessee. Brudder Johnson war ’lected a member of dis elub ober five y’ars ago, an’ hasorften met wid us, an' ailus took a vivid interest in our proceedin’s. Many of yo’ will remember him as de inventor of ‘de Johnson kerosene method,’ as he called it, an’ it was dat werry method which finally brung about his death. His method, as he explained it to me arter I had lent him fifty %ents an’ won his confidence, was to rise from his bed at midnight, take his trusty kerosene can under his arm, an’ under kiver of darkness, an’ steppin’ very high an’ softly, purceed to de nightest grocery. In many small towns, as yo’ perhaps know, de grocer leaves his bar’l of kerosene outdoahs. When Brudder Johnson reached the bar’l, he was purvided wid a gimlet an’ a funnel. If de bar’l had been tapped, it was all right; if it hadn’t been, he used de gimlet, and .in de co’se of a few minits transferred two gallons of ile from de bar’l to de can. Den he plugged up de hole an’ walked softly home an’ made all de dark corners of his ole cabin as light as day. De nayburs used to wonder at his extravagance, an’ de grocers used to do some terrible kickin’ agin short measure to de merchants of Cincinnati. “A few nights ago Brudder Johnson riz up from his bed at de usual hour. His kerosene can was emoty and must be filled. He left his wife and children sound asleep an’ kissed ’em goodby. As he skated softly frew the darkness he invented two other methods—one to get his vinegar and de odder to git his ’lasses in de same way as he did his kerosene. He knowed’ zactly whar he was gwine to, an’ in due time he got dar wid boas feet to once. A fresh bar’l of kerosene sot by the back doah of Misser Stebbins’ grocery, an’ as de bells struck de solemn hour o’ midnight Brudder Johnson might hev bin seen fussin wid dat bar’l. In fact he was seen. Misser Stebbins had got on to his method in some way, and hid hisself in a nearby shed. Misser Stebbins had a shotgun wid him and was wide awake. Bout the time Brudder Johnson began to bore wid his gimlet Misser Stebbins began to shoot wid his shotgun, an’ it am needless fur me to add dat de places which once knowed our fellow member now knowed him no mo’. He was shot with a handful o’ birdshot, and when Misser Stebbins got to him his soul had winged its flight fco odder lands. “My fren’S, in de midst of life we am in death. The torpedo chicken an de shotgun warn us dat we know not w hat a night may bring forth. We will set aside a page in memory of de deceased, but we won’t pass any perticklar resolushuns on de subject. De widow ob our late brudder has written to ask us fur de sum of $25 with which to buy a gravestun. While we sympathize with her in her great bereavement we can’t forward the money. It’s agin our constitushun. De secretary will advise her to erect a headbo’d and paint on it, ‘He steeps well!’ and let matters stop right dar. Perhaps Misser Stebbins hisself would be willin’ to furnish de bo’d, being as he will save at least two bar’ls of kerosene a year from now on. We will now put out de fiah in de stove and go home.”—M. Quad, in New York Recorder.

The King’s Pleasure.

Louis the Fourteenth once remarked impatiently in the hearing of the Duke d’Antin, superintendent of the royal buildings, that he hoped that some time a forest which he had always disliked, because it obstructed one of his favorite views, would be cut down. Unknown to the king, Duke d’Antin had the trunks of all the trees in the objectionable piece of forest sawed through near the ground in such a way that they still stood, though a slight pull would bring them down. He removed every evidence of the work, and fastened ropes to the tops of the trees, and concealed more than twelve hundred men in the forest to manage the ropes at a signal from him. .The duke knew on what day the king would walk in the wood, and planned his work accordingly. The king took his accustomed promenade, and, as usual, he expressed his sentiments about the hated fbrest. “Your majesty, the

forest shall be removed whenever you like,” saidD’Antin. ‘‘lndeed,” said the king, “then I wish it might be done at once.” At that moment D’Antin blew a shrill blast from a whistle, and, to the utter amazement of the king and the royal party, the forest fell as if by enchantment.— [Argonaut.

A FIELD FOR EXPLORERS.

Ruins of Great Cities in Central and Eastern Asia. In Central and Eastern Asia there lies an unexplored region full of interest, and to the archaeologist in especial. A great traveler and clever writer, the Russian General Prjevalsky, speaking of the oasis of Tchertchen, situated in the great table lands hemmed in by the there unbroken wall of the Himalayas, says that close to it are the ruins of two great cities, the oldest of which, according to local tradition, was destroyed 8,000 years ago, and the other by the Mongolians in the tenth century of our era. “The emplacement of the two cities is now covered, owing to the shifting sands and the desert winds, with strange and heterogeneous relics, with broken china and kitchen utensils and human bones. The natives often find copper and gold coins, ingots, diamonds and turquoises, and, what is most remarkable, broken glass. Coffins of some undecaying wood or material are there also, within which beautifully preserved embalmed bodies are found. The male mummies are all enormously tall, powerfully built men, with long, wavy hair. A vault was found with twelve dead men sitting in it. Another time in a separate coffin a young girl was found by us. Her eyes were closed with golden disks, and the jaws held firm by a golden circlet running from under the chin, across the top of the head. Clad in a narrow woollen garment, her bosom was covered with golden stars, her feet being left naked.” To this the lecturer adds that all along the way on the River Tchertchen they heard legends about twenty-three towns buried ages ago by the sands of the desert. The same tradition exists on the Lob-nor and in the oasis of Kerya. Mme. Blavatsky, who was in the earlier part of her life a great and indefatigable traveler, covering more ground in a given time than is usually accomplished by even those of the sterner and more enduring sex, bears witness also to those ancient ruins, which she openly avers are prehistoric ; the pages of her works also make frequent reference to other ruins of ancient character scattered throughout the desert regions of Central Asia. She hints, too, at buried crypts and underground vaults in the desert of Gobi, in particular, in which are stored many of the preserved records of the ages. However this may be, the ruins described are certainly in place awaiting the organized efforts of science to recover for the world a longforgotten page in the history of the peoples of the globe. Or, as in the case of Troy, private enterprise may step in, and continuing the investigations begun by the Russian traveler, read this riddle of a bygone civilization aright. [Pittsburg Dispatch.

“ Powerful Playful.”

Wrestler Muldoon, who is a lover of horses, is telling an amusing incident about a biting horse he once owned. It was in Belfast, N. Y., his summer home. This horse was a splendid equine specimen and he had paid SSOO for him when he was a colt, As he grew older his vicious tricks began to show themselves and several hostlers had felt his teeth, as well as his heels. One day Mr. Muldoon said to a colored man that if he would dispose of the animal he would give him all over S3OO he got. The helper jumped at the proposition and sought eagerly for a purchaser. The hotelkeeper told him a city gentlemen had seen and admired the horse and he thought him a very likely buyer. An appointment was made to show the animal that afternoon. When the horse was in the barnyard he behaved himself admirably, but just so soon as he was driven to the street he began to cut capers. This was a point the colored man well knew, so he made arrangements to show him in the barnyard. The city gentleman was there at the appointed time, and the horse was led forth looking the picture of amiability. The hustler jogged him up and down before the prospective buyer, all the time expatiating upon his quiet qualities. Just as the man had made up his mind to take the horse, he gave a snort, jumped into the air and viciously grabbed the colored man by the shoulder and literally lifted him off the ground. “ I thought you said he was quiet,” demanded the city gentleman of the hostler. 11 Oh, he’s all right boss, he’s a powerful playful animal; he’s just playing, that’s all.” But the sale was declared off then and there. —[Rochester Herald.

Russian Firemen.

In a Russian village there is not even such an organization as we possess in this country in the small volunteer flTe companies. In their stead is a _ log stable with thatched roof containing an old-fashioned hand pump and three casks mounted on wheels. These are kept filled with water and each is drawn by a single horse, The horses are the property of the commune and they are kept tethered outside the cabin, ready for duty at a moment’s notice. A place is also set apart in the hut for the mughik who serves as watchman, an office that is held, turn by turn, by the inhabitants of the township. The location selected for this cabin is as near as possible to the residence of the pristav, or the district Captain of Police, and upon an alarm of fire he drives to the scene in his telega at the head of the procession of carts and peasants.—[San Francisco Examiner.

A SUGGESTION.

Mamma Remember, Frankie, what the dentist said about candy ruining your teeth. Frankie—Yes; but wny don’t you let me prove it like we do in 'rithmetic?—[Chicago Inter Ocean.

MONKEY MANNERS.

Some Surprising Accomplishments of the Anthropoids. Speaking of the intelligence of apes, says a naturalist in the Washington Star, anthropoids are capable of acquiring some very surprising accomplishments, though their limitations are distinct. Chimpanzees have been taught to wait on the table and to sweep out rooms. A distinguished Frenchman published a book a while ago, in which he expressed the opinion that chimpanzees would, sooner or later, take the place of domestic servants. He owned one , of these animals, which he trained to light the fire and to wake his master when the oven was hot. Buffon, in 1740, had a chimpanzee which ate at the table, opened a napkin and employed it rightly, used a fork and spoon, poured out wine and clinked glasses, poured out tea and put sugar in it, washed windows and tried to imitate its owner in writing with a pen. A young gorilla at the Berlin aquarium slept in an ordinary bed, covering himself with the and ate at table with the keeper. He drank water from a glass, carrying the latter steadily to his mouth without spilling the contents, and setting it down carefully. He died of consumption, unfortunately. This melancholy fate seems always to attend gorillas and chimpanzees in confinement. Thus there is not any hopeful prospect for the plan which has been suggested for developing the intelligence of apes by keeping a number of them together'and mating the most intellectual specimens together, with a view to securing by such artificial selection a survival of the fittest in the course of generations. By this means it was hoped to obtain a highly developed typejof anthropoid which might be attractive socially, and, perhaps, even subject to missionary influence. About one year in a cage usually winds up the existence of a gorilla or chimpanzee. Gorillas, by the way, often gather about fires that have been deserted in their native forests, greatly enjoying the warmth. But the limitation of their intelligence is very plainly indicated by the fact that it never occurs to them to prolong their pleasure by putting on more wood. When pillaging a field of sugar cane, they never think of trying to pull up the stalks one by one, but gather as many as they can in their arms and try to wrench all together out of the earth. It is understood that the ancient Egyptians made use of baboons, which they employed to gather oranges. At all events, many carvings on the tombs exhibit scenes in which monkeys in trees are picking fruit while people stand below with baskets.”

Table Oils.

While this country has turned to a considerable extent, either knowingly or by the prevalence of adulteration, to the use of cotton-seed oil for the purposes for which olive oil was formerly thought to be the only article suitable, in Germany they have been led to look to other sources to find a substitute for the olive, which they had difficulty in obtaining pure, and they think they have found it in an oil from the seeds of the linden tree, and at lower prices than the olive oil. Dr. Muller reports to the German Botanical Society that these seeds have fifty-eight per cent. oil. The oil has the appearance of olive oil, and is said to have a very fine flavor, free from any bitter or aromatic taste. It does not evaporate, it never becomes rancid, and has no tendency to oxygenate. It has been exposed to a temperature three degrees below zero without showing any change in the way of hardening or chilling. They have used the oil of the beechnut with good satisfaction for several years, and the nut has nearly twentythree per cent, of oil which coiild be obtained without any expense, but a simple pressing process, but there is one drawback to its becoming in general use, which is the well-known uncertainty of the tree in bearing, often not yielding freely for years at a time. The linden, on the contrary, is a regular bearer, and a large amount of the seed can be gathered each fall. —[Boston Cultivator.

Chinese Minstrelsy.

When I had finished eating my evening meal, the beggar’s son told me that his father was a noted minstrel, and wished to regale me with one of his songs. Having received leave, he tuned a dilapidated banjo, and broke out in a wild screech, accompanied by many grunts, much sniffling, and the most horrible grimaces, rolling his sightless eyes about. In a nearly unintelligible jargon he told of the life and exploits of a great, good, and honest official—a mythical personage of whom one often hears in China. It was long, very long, and very painful to listen to.” When he had finally brought his song to an end, and the good official had received from the emperor a coral button of office, a yellow riding-jacket, and a patent of nobility with retroactive effect, ennobling his parents and his grandparents to the third and fourth generations, he asked leave to sing another ditty; but I bribed him to desist, and he went to another hovel, and charmed the inmates with his songs far into the night.—[Century.

Death by Strangulation.

“Death by strangulation,” said Dr. E. L. Henry, of Baltimore, to a St. Louis Globe-Democrat reporter, “is supposed to be the most pleasant way to die. Hanging, drowning, opiate poigoning and asphyxiation with gas, to the person in a normal condition bring pleasant dreams, usually a most beautiful panorama of landscape views floats through the brain, and there is a sensation of floating through space in luxurious ease. But should the person recover, the pain is the most intense of any that could be suffered, and (there are people who are so constituted that this pain is all that is realized, even during the process of strangulation. To these people the sensation is that of being pierced by thousands of sharp needles, and their head seems to be bursting with blows upon the inside of the skull. With such persons it is the most horrible form of death.” i

THE CAR SEARCHER.

Borrowed Cara, Like Umbrellas, Often Go Astray. If you want to get an idea of the immensity of American railroading, talk to a car searcher. The United States cover a pretty large area, as some one has observed, but the railroad men, and particularly the car searchers, know their way about it as a policeman knows his beat. A car searcher, be it said for the benefit of the uninformed, is an official sent out by one of the companies to look for cars which have been borrowed by other lines and treated like borrowed umbrellas. Of course these officials are experienced men, a great trust is reposed in them and they have a great weight of responsibility to carry on their shoulders. One of these men whom I met a few evenings ago talked of one car “somewhere around by Eagle Pass,” or a chance of finding another at Portland, Oregon, as if these places were only a few squares the other side of Broadway. He had been sent out by one of the big lines that cover the territory between New York and Seattle to find certain freight cars that had been running up long bills for “demurrage”* against their borrowers. “Demurrage” is a charge made by the owners of a car, at so much per day, for the time the car is kept away from its own line. “They’ll take a car,” he said, “somewhere down South, and, instead of sending it back when they’re done with it, will use it for some other work. That goes on and on until, first thing you know, the car gets in a smashup.” ‘ ‘ Then you have no more chance of finding it,” I interrupted. This was where I displayed my ignorance. “Haven’t I, though? I go to where the car was sent and make them show me the books. Let me tell you about one car belonging to our line that got away down South, and nobody could trace it. The agent at that depot was a little bit of a man, all beard. When I showed him the entry on his books and asked him where that car was he said he didn’t know anything about it. ‘One night,’ he says, ‘I left it here on the siding, and when I came next morning it was gone. Some of those freight conductors must have come in here in the night, and looking around for a car, they just took thatone.’ ‘You’re a liar,’ I said. ‘l’ve been railroading all my life, and I know that conductors don’t go rawhiding about a yard at night time looking to get cars. They ain’t so anxious to find extra work as all that. Now,’ I said, ‘you just tell me where that car got to, or, I will report that you lost it.’ Well, he commenced whimpering about his family, and how he’d lose his job if I got him into trouble about that car. At last he owned up that one day they were short of cars in the yard; they took and loaded, up our car with agricultural machinery for Atlanta, Ga.; the train was wrecked and the car was all burned up. ‘lf you had told us that at the time,’ I said, ‘you would have had to pay S3OO or S4OO. Now you’ll have to pay about $7,000 for demurrage, and serve you right. As for your family, I’ve got a family, too. If Igo back and tell the company I can’t find that car, what is my family to do?’ And I was right. They had to pay about $7,000.” — [Louisville Courier-Journal.

TRICKS OF TIPSY RABBITS.

Bunny Behaves Pretty Much Like ■ Man When Under Alcoholic Influence. A number of experiments are being tried in the pathological department of the John Hopkins Hospital to ascertain the effect that alcohol has on rabbits, says the Baltimore American. Six rabbits were several weeks ago started on a diet of alcdhol and whisky and were given a dram each day, diluted with water. The object of the experiments is to ascertain the amount and degree of fatty degeneration that follows the use of stimulants, and interesting results will probably be attained. The process is something like this: A rabbit is selected which ’is apparently thoroughly healthy and is given little to eat. When ready for his first dose he is taken from his cage by the ears or back and placed flat on his back on a small piece of plank, with slipknots to hold his feet firmly extended. In the meantime the little animal begins a sharp, shrill cry, not unlike that of a child screaming from temper. It is during.the process of these cries that the rabbit will bite and painfully wound his tormentors if he gets a chance. As soon as his cries cease, however, forceps are put over his mouth and held open by an assistant, while the operator passes down through the mouth and gullet into the stomach a soft, hollow rubber tube, into the outer end of which is placed a small glass funnel. By this siphon-like arrangement the dose of alcohol or whisky is administered. It takes but little more than a minute for the effects to become manifest, and unmistakable signs of bunny on a drunk are witnessed. These drunks, as with men, differ according to the nature and disposition of the subject. In one case a lively mood supervenes, and, if the rabbit could get out, he would show how much of a sport he could be. He jumps up and down in his little cage, and is pretty lively in showing the stage of excitement from his drink. He will then become stupid and heavy, his breathing will become fast and deep and he will stagger like a drunken man and fall down as fast as he gets upon his feet.

NO MUSIC THERE.

Stranger in town (to hotel clerk}— Where can I go and hear some music? I haven’t heard any in two years. Hotel Clerk —Great Scott 1 Where have you been? In darkest Africa? Stranger—No; director of a traveling Comic Opera Company.—[Raymond’s Monthly. The celebration of the twenty-fifth wedding anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. Frank Kendall, of Granby, Conn., recently was noteworthy on two accounts. Mrs. Kendall was attired in the dress in which she was married, and cake, which was left over from their tenth wedding celebration, was served.