Rensselaer Republican, Volume 17, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 June 1885 — Page 2

▲ LITTLE BROTHER OF THE RICH. Top tit now shingles on old roofs. To give ohl wcrneu wadded skirts. To treat pi ©monitory coughs With reasonable flannel shirts, • To soothe the stings of poverty And keep th - jackal from the door— These are lb© works that ooeupy T he Little Sister of the Poor. ir She carries, everywhere she goes, K-ind words and chickens jam and coals, Poultici s lor corporeal woes. And svmi atliy lor downca-t souls; Her currant jetly—her quinine. . The lips of fever moved to bless. She makes the humble s eloroem shine With unaccustomed tidiness. A heart others the Instant twin And vivid counterpart is mine; I also serve mv fel ow men. Though in a somewhat different line. The poor, and their concerns she has Monopol zed, because of which It falls to me to labor os j A Little Brother of the Rich. For the'r sahe at no sacrifice Does my devoted spirit quail; I give their horses < xerc se. As ballast on yachts 1 sail; Upon their Tally Ho's I ride And brave the chances of a storm; I even use my own inside To keep their wines and victuals warm. Those whom we strive to benefit Dear to our hearts soon grow to be; I love my R eh, and 1 admit That they are very good to me. Succor the Poor, iny sister. 1 While heaven shall still vouchsafe me health, I Will strive to share and mollify The trials of abounding wealth. THE SINGING BEGGARS. I. I heard two beggars s'ng to-day; Two beggars, clutching from the throng Grudged alms. No s ul was in their song. Beasts hungered, scourged by cruel thoug, Were l.ke them as they shrunk along; Such wild, fierce choristers were they. ir. ■I heard two beggars sing again. They sang of love when nay was done; They sang to sleep their littl • one. Such sweetness through their vespers run As glorified their lay. • 1 won Song's best revealment made to men. —Edgar L. WaKeniatu in the Current

A FALSE FRIEND.

I returned only three months ago from Melbourne, where I had been in practice as a surgeon for about ten years. When I went out to the colony there were good openings in most of the larger towns for medical men, and as I was exceptionally fortunate in the introductions which the forethought of my friends at home had provided me, patients rang my bell in considerable numbers. Within three years I was making an annual income of nearly £3,000, and when, owing to family necessities, I was obliged regretfully to turn my back upon the new land that had treated nle so handsomely, I had saved £20,000, and had, in addition, obtained a very respectable sum by the sale of the good-will of my practice to a distinguished young Edinburgh surgeon, who went out expressly to succeed me. I give these details, not in order to encourage ambitious young fellows, fresh from the schools, to rush off to Australia under the imbression that it is still an Eldorado, but in order to show that I stood well forward in the front rank of my profession in Melbourne, and in some measure to account for the fact that when a gentleman who held very high political rank in "Victoria met with a severe and ultimately fatal accident, I was called in to attend.him. I suppress his name for reasons which will be obvious later on, but for convenience I will call him Sir James Reilly. Sir James was one of the largest land and stockholders in the colony.' I have ridden for mihas along the jjbanks of the river Murrumbidgee without going off his property; and whereas ordinary men count their possessions by hundreds of acres, he counted his by hundreds of square miles. He had worked hard, and his upward progress had been gradual, but it bad always been steady. When I knew him, no man in Australia was more respected or looked up to. He had been knighted as a small reward for his services as a colonial minister; he had received all kinds of gratifying testimonials from his fellow-citizens; his word in all the transactions of life was as good as another man’s bond; and yet Sir James, forty years before, had come to Australia as a convict, on account of the disgraceful crime of forgery. I never inquired into the details of his case, and indeed, I never knew them until he told them to me when he was on his deathbed.

Sir James lived in a beautiful and spacious house overlooking: the sea, and distant a few miles from the center of the city. In spite of his seventy years he was a good and active horseman; and one morning, as wsb his frequent custom, he rode into Melbourne in order to transact some business with'his solicitor. He had quitted the lawyer’s office, and was already half way home again, when his horse was frightened by some blastlngOperations which were being carried on in connection with the making of a new road. The animal became restive, and finally threw Sir James. He fell heavily upon a heap of stones, and his groom coming up found him insensible. The unfortunate gentleman, who was well known to every one in the neighborhood, was tenderly carried to the nearest house; and no sooner did he regain consciousness than he sent his servant,for his carriage, and dispatched a messenger to request me to go to his house. I rode thither immediately, and reached the place before Sir James’s arrival. I feared, of course, that he had met with an accident, but I bad not the faintest idea of the nature of it; and therefore I was greatly shocked when, a few miputes later, I saw him lifted from his carriage, helpless and well-nigh speechless. He was conveyed to his bed-room, which was upon the ground floor; and upon examining him I discovered that several of Iris ribs were broken, that the internal organs had been injured, and that there was, practically speaking, no hope of his recovery. Sir James was a bachelor, and had no female relatives in this colony. He might live, I knew, for some days; and as his housekeeper, though a kind and thoughtful woman, far too advanced in years to be capable of properly attending upon her unfortunate toaster, I sent the groom back ' to Melbourne for an experienced hospital nurse, and in the meantime remained with my distinguished patient, and did all that lay in my power for him. When the news of the accident was published in the city, is occasioned great excitement. Several of Sir James' former oolleagues immediately

met together, and one of them rode to the house to request that I would not leave it so lons as my patient continued to breathe. I was to summon any assistance that I might need and do exactly as I deemed best. “We would move heaven and earth,” said the gentleman, “to preserve his valuable life.* “I feel,” said I, “that there is not the slightest hope of saving it; but you may be sure that I will spare no pains. ” Sir James had fainted during his removal, from the carriage to the house and he did not regain the use of his sensed for some hours afterward. I, was sitting by his bedside when he opened his eyes.” “So I’m not gone yet, doctor,” he said, with a weird kind of humor. “Can this last for long?” “Who can say?” I replied. “You are sadly hurt. Are you in much pain ?” “No; thank God! In pain, but not in severe pain.” “I should warn you,” I said as gently as I could, “that if you have any worldy affairs to settle, you should settle them speedily. There is grievous danger.* “I know it,” he returned, with a sad smile; “but I have settled everything —everything, that is, that a* lawyer could help me in. Yet before I die there is something that I should like to confide to you.” “Will it agitate you to tell it?” “I’m afraid it will, a little,” he replied.

“Then wait until to-morrow, Sir James. The danger is great—even inevitable, I fear; but not immediate; and yon had better wait until you are calmer, anddet us hope, stronger. The shock has tried you terribly, and yon have not yet had time to recover from it.” “As you will,” he assented. “But do hot leave it until too late.” - I recommended him to the care of the nurse, who had by this time arrived, find retired to bed, not knowing how soon I might be summoned to him, or how long it might be befove I should be able again to quit his side. In the morning I returned to his room. He was sleeping, and the nurse informed me that he had passed an unexpectedly good night. After I had breakfast, therefore, when he once more referred to the subject which seemed to be uppermost in his mind, I permitted him to talk, but implored him to control himself as much as possible, and not to overtax his strength. What he told me was in substance as follows. I made exhaustive notes of it as soon as I left his room, and I am confident that I have succeeded in recalling many of Sir James’ actual phrases. It made a very powerful impression upon me, and I do not doubt that it will a qualiy excite the interest and sympathy of the reader. The names alone are altered. “Y was born,” he said, “in London in 1812. My father was the rector of St. —• —’s; and after putting me to a good school he sent me to Cambridge. I took my degree in 1833, and" then went to the bar. My chief friend both at Cambridge and at the Inner Temple was JHorace Raven, a young mah who possessed astonishing ability, remarkble good looks, great ambition, and the prospect of succeeding to a large fortune and to one of the oldest English baronetcies. In all these respects he was, I need scarcely say, my superior. I was a poor man; I had only my energies to depend upon; and I had no influential relations, no near relatives, indeed of any kind except my father, I being an only child, and my mother having died during my infancy. At the bar I was, for a youngster, fairly successful. Raven and I had chambers together; we had our law books in common; and we were on such terms of friendship that we were known on onr staircase as ‘the Brothers.’ For some years I lived a very happy life. I made enough to enable myself to live in tolerable comfort; and in time indeed I felt myself to be justified in looking out fora wife.

“One evening Haven and I went to a ball at Lady D ’s. We there met a Miss Mary Bagster, a young girl of surpassing beauty, and before the night was spent we,- had both—as I learned subsequently—fallen in love with her. Her father, like mine, was a poor clergyman. I had but little difficulty in establishing myself upon a footing of intimacy with her family, and pften when I visited them Haven accompanied me. Mary, though she was, as I have said, inexpressibly lovely, was of a somewhat cold disposition. She was unenthusiastic and self-contained tg an unusual degree; and yet, in her way, she was ambitious. She desired to marry a man who would make his way in the world, and it was only after some flattering hints about me and my ability had been let drcfjp in her presence by her father, wiio evidently favored me, that she consented to become my wife. Haven was not at Mr. Bagster*B house on that eventful evening. Next morning, when I met him at our chambers, I told him of what had occurred. He changed color, which at that time I attributed to the strength of his friendship for me, and then congratulated me in a somewhat extravagant manner. “ .When are you going to be married ?’ he asked.

“ ‘Soon,’ I replied. ‘There is no reason why we should delay. I could wish that I were a little better off, but our misfortune in that respect will, I trust, disappear in course of time. As it is, we shall, I think, be able to do pretty well.’ ‘I wish you joy,’ said Haven, as he rose to go into the Chancellor’s Court, where he had a brief that morning. “I had no idea that he also loved Mary Bagster, and that he had determined, even at that late hour, if not to wrench her from me for himself, at least to prevent my marrying her. His conduct toward me remained, so far as I could see, exactly what it .had been previous to my. engagement. He was genial and friendly, appeared to take an absorbing interest in all my plans for the future, and actually accompanied me to Brunswick Square to look over a house which was to be let, and which I thought of taking and furnishing. I found that the place would be rather, beyond my means, and regretfully told him so. “ ‘Never mind, Jack,’ he said; ‘you will find’ something better, perhaps. But I certainly should like you to have the house.’

“That evening we were sitting together over the fire. ‘Jack,’ he said suddenly, ‘we are old friends, and I want to give you a handsome weddiug present. “He had, I should explain, recently succeeded to the baronetcy and the estates, and was now a rich man. , “ ‘You are very good,’ I answered, ‘Anything that you may give ua will bo valued, not merely for itself, but for the sake of the giver.’ “ ‘We have been in chambers together,’ he resumed, ‘for more than seven years. I shan’t like losing your company ; for of course I shall be robbed of a good deal of it now. Be plain with me, Jack. Would not money be more useful to you than a mere present ? It usually is acceptible, I believe, in those cases ’ » “I thanked him feelingly for his forethought. ‘lt would be particularly welcome,’ I said. “Without another word, he drew his chair to the table, took his checkbook from a drawer, and filled in a draft, which, after he had carefully examined, he handed to me. “I took it. and gazed at it with astonishment—it was for a thousand pounds! ‘My dear Raven,’ I gasped, for I was overcome by this act of apparent and totally unexpected generosity, ‘it is too much; it is too good of you. I cannot think of accepting it.’ “ ‘Yon know that I can well afford it,’ he said curtly. ‘I insist upon your taking it. If you refuse, we cam no longer remain on terms of friendship.’ “ ‘Nay, Raven,’ I cried, while my heart seemed to rise to mv throat. ‘Do not misunderstand me. This is noble of you. I thank you with all my heart; but I cannot accept such a large sum.’ “He would not listen, however, to my refusal; and finally I pocketed both my pride and the draft. “Mary Bagster was at the time paying a short visit to her friends in the country; and thus it happened that I did not mention the fact of my having received Raven’s handsome present either to her or any one else. I looked forward to surprising her with the news upon her return to town; and in the meantime I sent the draft to my banker’s, a well-known private firm with which I had but recently opened an account. “A few mornings afterward I was sitting at breakfast in my bachelor lodgings in Chapel street, Bedford Row, when, without warning, a police officer entered my room, and showing me a warrant which authorized him to arrest me on a charge of forgery, took me into custody. “As you may expect. I was thunderstruck. ‘Forgery ? Forgery of what ?’ I exclaimed, half-maddened by the monstrous charge.

“But I soon learned a little, and guessed the rest. Raven, in order to dispose of me, and to effectually put a stop to my marriage, had written out ■the draft in an unusual manlier, and had appended his name in a way which had caused his banker to decline to cash the cheek, and to endorse it with the words: ‘Signature differs.’ “The draft had been returned in this condition to Raven, who witkout kesitation had pronounced it to be' a forgery. According to his story, which was only too plausTble, I alone could be the criminal. The check was payable to me; I had access to the drawer in which lie kept the book from which the form had been torn; and the clumsy signature had been written much as I might have written it. “You can guess the sequel, doctor. I was tried, and, although I was very ably defended by a leading counsel, who was a personal friend of mine, I was convicted and sentenced to transportation. How shall I describe to you the agony of those days! In due course I was sent out here with a shipload of cut-throats and felons. Th a few years, doubtless, I was nearly forgotten at home, for my conviction killed my father; and who else was there to remember me save Raven and Mary Bagster, whom he, to add to my wretchedness, soon afterward married?"

At this point Sir James was seized with spasmodic pains, brought on by his excitement; and I was obliged to temporarily forbid his continuing the painful narrative An hour or two later, however, finding him calmer, I permitted him to go on. “I served my time,” he continued, ‘'and then, having no friends in England, I decided to remain here. Like many others, I went to the diggings, and, unlike most, I was fortunate. I invested everything in land and stock; I tried to make myself publicly useful; gradually obtained the confidence and respect of my fellow-citizens, and two or three years ago, as you know, received the honor of knighthood. I can now say with truth, doctor, that there is no man in Australia who Vvouid refuse to grasp me by the hand because I'was once a convict.” “Has your innocence never been proved ?” I asked. “Never!” fie returned. “I might, perhaps, have made a second endeavor to prove it long ago; but I could not bring myself to make her unhappy—unhappier, that is. than he has made her. As I have told you, she became Lady Haven- You cannot expect me to be able do tell you that the man who so cruelly swore away my liberty made her a good husband. He systematically ill-treated her; and although she bore him several children, and was, I have heard, an exemplary wife until she was crushed by his brutality, he behaved to her as he would not have behaved to his dogs. Do you know, doctor, that I preserve my love for her still ? I have never ceased to love her, although she believed evil of me, and never sent me a single word of sympathy ; and I have left everything I have to her eldest son, who by this time has sons of his own. But I do not know whether or not she is dead. I have, however, provided that, should she be living, she is to have a life-interest in my estate. Poor thing, she deserves it; for sadly did she suffer,, and not infrequently, I expect, did she want" “And he?” I asked. “What became of Haven?” -1 - : “In time he deserted ’ her, and plunged into the lowest depths of drunkenness and dissipation. He had wasted his fortune; and not very long ago I read that he had been picked up in a fit in the streets of Paris and had . i ..... *

died before his removal' to#4he hospital.” t ' “I am shortly going to England* Sir James,” I saM, “and can be of any use in discovering this poor lady’s whereabouts, 4 shall be glad tq do my beat. ’’ “You are going to England? lam happy to hear it. You then can do what I feared would have to be done for ine by a third partjk I want you to find Lady Raven and tell her what I have told you. Tell her that, although we have been separated for more than forty years, I still think of her; that I die thinking of her; afid that I forgive her; and—yes, doctor, tell her, too, that I forgive him. I must forgive him. Yes; I do fully.” I not go on to describe the painful htfirs I spent at Sir James’ side ere death released him from his sufferings. Suffice it to say he bore himself, even in his moments of greatest agony, with becoming resignation. Until the last he was thoughtful for all about him rather than for himself ; and when the long sleep at last closed his weary eyes, I turned away, feeling that Australia had lost a man the memory of whom she might justly cherish. Two or three month? afterward I returned to England. Lady Raven, who for some time had been in impoverished circumstances, had meanwhile been discovered by my late patient’s solicitors; amd before I saw her, she had been apprised of the provisions of Sir James Reilly’s will. I introduced myself to her as his friend; and found her occupying a pleasant but not very well-furnished house in one of the best squares in Bayswater.

“It is all a mystery,” she said to me, when she had first for the disorder of her temporary \ aboder “Poor James I He was once very fond of me. It was many years ago. Wq should have married, you kn6w, but for an unfortunate circumstance! Perhaps you have heard of it ?” A I was slightly annoyed at the tone in which she spoke of her dead benefactor, “I have heard of it, Lady Raves?,” I returned, seriously. “But It did spoil his success in life,” she continued with a slight laugh; “and now at last he has made restitution. Well, it is only what we deserve I He robbed my late husband, you knojy; and it is fitting that we should be his heirs—is it not ?” I was beginning to feel angry. Eveij if Sir James had been guilty, she had no right to speak of him now in so light and scornful a tone. Already I saw she was recklessly spending her newly-acquired wealth, though she had not actually entered into possession of it, the will not then having b§en proved. Her misfortunes had not made a good woman of her. She was gaudily dressed. Instead of being in morning, she was covered with jewelry. Surely it was well for poor Sir James that this vain woman had never been his wife! “Lady Raven,” I said sternly, “we may as w ell end this. Sir James Reilly never injured you or any other living creature. It was your husband who wa? the criminal! He wrote his own name that to check which led to Sir James’ transportation. He denied the facts, and caused your benefactor to be sent tio the antipodes! And do you think that I, knowing all this, will suffer Sir James’fair name to be slandered?”

She turned pale, and ciung for support to a chair. “Gracious powers!” she exclaimed; “is it —can it be true ? I knew it, then—l knew it! My husband once told me all, when he was delirious with drink. God forgive me!” and she fell like a corpse to the floor. I summoned the servants, who carried her to her room. I then sent for a physician, and in the meantime did what I could to revive her. But my efforts were in vain; and soon after my colleague arrived she expired. An examination subsequently disclosed the fact that she had long been a sufferer from heart disease. I am glad to be able to say that her son, who is now enjoying Sir James Reilly’s munificent bequest, is worthy of the legacy. A week or two ago he sailed with his family for Victoria, and it is his ambition there to follow his benefactor’s footsteps. — Chamber’s Journal. «.

Bullet Wounds of the Heart.

Dr. H. L. Harrington, of Monmuth, Illinois, writes: “Under the title, ‘ls Death Necessarily Instantaneous after Bullet Wounds of Heart?’ you relate a very interesting case. Let me detail another very remarkable case, which came under my observation, while house physician in Cook County Hospital, Chicago, in the year 1875. One evening at dusk a man aged about 30 years, was brought in an express w»g‘ on, rapidly driven over rough pavements a distandb of over a mile, with a bullet wound of the left side; he was in a condition of profound shock, and was treated accordingly, by means of heat externally applied, stimulants, and morphia internally. Reaction ensued, and progressed sufficiently to admit of his moving about in bed, and talking in a loud voice, when he suddenly died, three hours after receiving the wound. An autopsy made by me the next morning revealed the fact that the bullet had perforated the apex of the heart, traversed the entire length of the left ventricle and auricle, and, after passing upward through the right lung, had become imbedded in the right shoulder.”—Medical Record. 1

Poetry or Nothing.

“See here,” said a citizen of St. Louis to the proprietor of a book stored “you’ll have to take the book back, 3} asked yon to give me a volume of poe- | try to put on the parlor table, but eyeryj durnedword in this book is straight prose.” “Why, man, alive, that was written by Shakspeare.” “I don’t care who wrote it, it’s prose; I’ve looked it all through. For instance, here’s a specimen: *• How silver sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, Like soft music to attendin ears 1 “Do von call that poetry, rhymin’ ears with night? Yon can take it back. I don’t want it.”— New York Times. Insult not misery, neither deride infirmity, nor ridioule deformity; the first shows inhumanity; the second, folly; the third, pride.

How Earthquakes Are Caused.

It has befn asked of late whether the hurricanes which folldwed the Spanish earthquakes were not produced by those subterranean disturbances, and all-explaining electricity has been called upon to explain how earth-throes might have caused atmospheric disturbances. I know of no way in which such consequences could have followed from a displacement of the earth’s, crust. To me it seems far more natural to conclude that the hurricanes and earthquakes were alike' produced (the hurricanes chiefly, the earthquakes partially) by the atmospheric compression which preceded the subterranean disturbances. This compression indicated a heaping of air over the disturbed region; the earth’s crust yielded undefr this increase of pressure, combined with the action of other forces, and earthquakes followed; the compressed air swept away to regions of less pressure, and the rarefaction following led in the usual way to the indraught which precedes a cyclonic disturbance in the air. Brit while the action of atmospheric pressure in helpin'g to excite subterranean activities must not be overlooked, the varying. pressure exerted by seas and oceans is a more potent disturbing factor. Atmospheric pressure is distributed in such a way that though the weight of air on anv given area is continually changing, there are no sharply defined lines, at any time, which separate regions of less pressure from regions of greater pressure. It is otherwise with the sea along a shore line. Here we have the sea acting with constantly varying intensity, as its level changes, on the seaward side of the shore line, while on the landward side there are no such variations of pressure. Let us consider what this means. Take a tolerably straight shore line 500 miles in length, and suppose shat along this shore line a region of ocean 100 miles broad rises through a height of three feet under the combined action of the sun and moon. -Raising a tidal wayo. and favflpifig'strong winds urging shoreward. Then we have 50,000 square miles of sea water three feet deep, added as so much deadweight to that part of the earth’s crust which underlies the sea along that shore. Each square mile contains in round numbeis 3,000,000 square yards, or 27,000,000 square feet. The additional weight corresponds, then (as the added layer is three feet deep), to 50,000 times 81,000,000 cubic feet of water, each weighing 64J pounds, or to 116,000,000,000 tons. It is clear that the addition of so enormous a weight as (this to the submerged part of the earth’s crust, outside of the shore line, biay well produce strains too great to he resisted. It must be remembered that the very existence of a precipitous line (as distinguished from one ■where the land above water and the palts submerged form one great slope) indicates the comparative weakness of thel crus t along that coast. It has yiel<Ud on one side to pressure thrusting i* upward above the sea-leVel, -and on tht, other side to the presure of the water forcing it down. It is true the actual ime of yielding may not coincide with the existent shore line. For the act; on 0 f the sea waves may (and generally must) have altered the position the coast Irom that which it occupied When first formed. But it may be taken f or granted that not far from every precipitous shore lino lies a line of weaki^ 33) where the crust has given way in tit p as t, and may give way again. JJh this consideration, undoubtedly, we find a part of the explanation of the observed fact that almost all the great regions of subterranean activity on the earth lie near the sea-shore. But whfie the changes of atmospheric and oceanic pressures are po“tent m the production of earthquakes, anq ar e probably in a great number of their direct occasion, it is, of course > to the subternanean regions themselves that we must look for the forces at work in upheaving the crust of the \p ar th. The forces acting from the outtide aro as the pull on the trigger; the Vnprisoned gases ana vapors generate by internal heat are as the powder whose explosion the missile is ejected. Yet even ireconsidering the earth’s subterranean ifctivities we still have to look outside fcM a part, at least, of the causes of distiM-bance. The air, perhaps, may in tK s respect be neglected, but the water It has been said, indecft and probably with a nearer approach to truth than usual in the case of gentalizations of the sort, “Without water! there can be no volcano,” and a similir rule (not quite so general) appliesl to earthquakes; few probably occur! possibly none, save through the actidp of water in some way or other. All active volcanoes except one (in midi Asia) are by the seashore. .Nearly afi the great earthquakes recorded hy history Jhavo taken place, and have apparently had their center of disturbance near the sea. There can be ve£ y %ttle doubt, indeed, that the di rec t cause of every great subterranean) disturbance is water in the form of sti eam —steam superheated, under gifeat pressure, and therefore possessing much greater expansive power than;gteam a t ordinary temperature.---lUc/^ Proctor, in Harper’s Magazine*

Beet Sugar.

The process of m^ QU f ac {;Qj-2Bg sugar from beets was discojv Qre( j i n 1747 by a German chemist. Jjt was not practically developed, hovever, until 1800, when Napoleon, having laid an embargo on the import of Great Britain’s colonial products, ordec e d the chemists of France to devote theijr especial attention to the making of sugar from beets. Under the pressure of necessity it was soon found possible to produce an excellent article, and begj sugar-making became a profitable industry. More than half the sugar no v used in Franoe is made from beets in h er own factories, a total of 60,000 tons, large amounts are made in Germany ( Belgium, and other continental couritvjfeg. The kind of beet preferred for ibis use is the white Silesian, of which there are several varieties, all of yielding a jnice very ri<,b in the saccharine quality. The pe r of this beet in Europe i B f rom twelve to fifteen tons; jt requires a light, dry .oil, and a dry atmosphere. Five \ tons of roots

produce about j 500 pounds of coarse sugar; about one-half can be made into the refined product, the rest is used for molasses. When their leaves begin to die the beets are dug, the heads cut off, and the roots are thrown together and covered to protect thejn from light and froßt but they should not berleft in the heap any great length of/time, as fresher the root the more re®slfPp aoes its sugar crystalize in manufacture. In the factory the beets are first washed clean in a cage revolving in water, then grated to a pulp by powerful rotating machinery, and the juice forced out of the pulp by hydraulic pressure. Another method is to cut by machinery the root into small squares and extract its saccharine element by infusion in hot water. When the juice is obtained, by either method, lime water is added to it and it is then boiled. To remove any excess of lime the liquor is then filtered through animal charcoal, or a current of carbonic acid is passed 4 through it, a chemical combination precipitating carbonate of lime. The liquor is then filtered ready for the refining process, Which is essentially the same as that used for cane sugar, that is repeated filtration, and concentration by evaporation until the granulating point is reached. —lnter Ocean.

An Army Routed by Locusts.

Of al) destructive foes none are more dreaded in most eastern lands than the locusts, whoso dire visitations may well be deemed national calamities. In point of fact, the lands which are exempt from their occasional presence are the favored few. A very few details- of their invasion of Southern Russia in the years 1879 and 1880, will give us some idea or their multitude. They fell upon the province of Caucasus, utterly destroying vineyards and gardens, blockading the streets so that traffic was suspended, filling the ovens so that for several days baking was quite out of the question, and so choking the water courses that not a cup of water could be drunk until filtered. In Georgia they fairly routed a detachment of Russian troops, who, not liking to turn aside on their march repelled by mere insets attempted to fate the locust army, although reports said it covered twenty square miles of the country. So the " soldiers advanced, but soon found themselves literally covered by the clinging, creeping insects, which crawled all over them, until finally the men fairly turned and fled, slipping and sliding as they ran over the crushed and oily bodies of their martyred foes. For forty-eight hours they were detained, taking refuge in a village, and assisting the inhabitants to kill millions of the invaders, whose corpses they carted off to manure the fields, which, however, were in the meantime stripped of every blade of grass or corn, and the trees shorn of every green leaf. . .. . --tt—

On the road from Tiflis to Poti the locusts lay so thick on the lino that the trains were obstructed. Large districts of Southern Russia were swept as brre of all vegetation as if afire had raged over the land, and hundreds of peasants, utterly beggared, abandoned their homes to seek bread wherever it might be found. In the provinoe of Chersom alone, 50,000 roubles was voted by Government for expenditure in the effort to free the land of this plague; in another district 20,000 persons were employed daily for three months in the same work; the Govern ment expenditure on the whole organization was estimated at 200,000 roubles, without any calculation of the loss on crops of all descriptions. Another scehe of locust plague was Algeria in the year 1866, when the damage done by these insects was estimated at 50,000,000 francs, and resulted in a famine so appalling that 200,000 natives died of starvation”— All the Year Hound.

"A Gum-Arabic Diet.

When a clerk in a Seventy-second street drug-store was asked for 5 cents’ worth of gum-arabic he picked up a little package from a drawer that was filled with similar packages. “You must have quite a demand for 5 cent packages,” said the customer. “Yes, we have a good many regular customers. People buy it first for soreness of the throat, or for cracked lips, and soon cultivate a taste for it that makes them buy it regularly.” “Gum-arabic fiends, eh?” •, “Not exactly. There is nothing injurious about it. Some people live on it entirely. Gum-arabic is nothing but the juice of the acaoia tree. SoOn after the rainy season, or in the middle of November, it begins to exude from the trunk and branches of the tree, which is found principally in Morocco, just like sap from a peach-tree. It hardens in little lumps and rivulets just as you see it in the package. In the middle of December the Moors begin to harvest it, picking it off by hand, packing it in leather sacks, and transporting it on the backs of bullocks and camels to Mediterranean poinfs. The , harvest lasts six wqeks, and during all this time and the subsequent fair at the ports where it is said, the Moors use it almost exclusively. It is a fact that six ounces is sufficient for a day’s rations, when no other food is eaten. \ —New York Sun.

Nature’s Invisible Workers.

Microscopic organisms not only destroy the plant and animal forms familiar to us, but they appear also to build up such forms, and to be necessary to their very existence. A Frenoh biologist, Mons. Duclanx, has just made some experiments which tend to prove that plants will not germinate unless microbes exist in the soil; and Pastettr had already been led to the conclusion that microbes are essential to animal life, as digestion cannot be performed unless they are present.

Those Shams Again.

Insanity, says a writer, is much more prevalent among women than among men. We don’t wonder at it, it’s enough to break down any woman to have a man night after night get into bed without taking off the shams.— Rockland Courier-Gazette. China, until recently, has been the only nation in the world out of debt. Her trouble with France forced her to borrow money frOnuthe outside for the first time in her history. "• ' , '.V 1 ' r *