Rensselaer Republican, Volume 22, Number 6, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 October 1889 — Page 6

THE MARTYR OF PRODIGAL MINE.

I don’t wish ter be understood as ter expressing any opinion fer publication as ter Who is right and who is wrong in this er war, but I kin affirm without fear of contradiction, that it ain't no sixty-day, nor a oneyear Job, Sabe!” The speaker paused for the aforementioned “contradiction.” “I might add without fear- of contradiction,” he continued, that if Abe Lincoln trusts sich men as Grant, Sherman and Butler, and overlooks Fremont and my old comrades of the Mexican War, he kin prepare toearry this fight on until Gabriel blows his horn.” After the delivery of this weighty prophesy, the Colonel reached for a match, lighted it and his well-colored meerschaum, and sent forth a cloud of smoke that wrapped the five occupants of the rough board shanty in semi-obscurity. The speaker, as he affirmed, expected no contradiction. None was proffered The “Cripple'' proceeded to drowsily place the greasy euchre deck on. the bottom of an empty cracker barrel for a “solitaire.” Sam White, the only man in camp who went by his true name, continued to wind with the wire taken from an old broom, a strained shovel handle. The “Count” and the “Prodigal,” for widely dissimilar reasons, were stretched at full length on opposite bunks, presumably listening to the Colonel's mendacious criticism of the way the war was being conducted, and the American Government in general administered. Of the two last named occupants of the whin, the Prodigal was seemingly the best listener. He never grew restless. He maintained the most respectful silence during the longest harangue, calmly gazing at the speaker with wide-open dreamy eyes. He seldom interrupted, but if perchance he did, it was with some remark that was so foreign to the subject matter in hand, that it fairly took the speaker's breath away. The Colonel feared the interruptions, and was consequently always more or less hurried in his arguments.

The Prodigal did not mean to be discourteous, but bis thoughts were far away. He was home sick, and had been so since the day he struck California, five years before, in’s6. Unlike his compjn ons, he had a home to be sick for. Not only did he have a home, but what appealed more powerfully to tho hearts of the miners, he had a "gal.” A girl that he wrote to and who answered his letter, which letter about mado up the epistolary matter of the office at Snake Fork. The Prodigal, like every gold-hunt-er in those balmy days, had expected to become rich in a few months. Many a time had he planned how he would return home with his wealth and placate the scruples of his sweetheart’s parents with rich gifts and a large bank account Bat fortune had proven a fickle goddess. He had worked early and late, gone through all the ups And downs of a miner’s nomadic life. Luck had not been with him. At home on the old farm he had been taught that there was no such thing as luck, but he had since learned by bitter experience that truisms are local, not general, and that luck was the real molten image before which the miner sacrificed his burnt offerings. Porhaps it was because of his neglect to the California god that he at no time si nee his advent, had been possessed of more than enough to barely pay his pa ssage back to Vermont. It was the oftimo repeated story of his leaving home to go in search of a fortune in strange lauds, and of the anxious parents awaiting his roturn, 1 that had suggested to the Cripple the name of tho Prodigal for tho quondam farm boy. The other members of the camp did not understand this appellation until tho Cripple, who Was a MetUojtat minister’s son, repeated to the n the Lord’s sad parabie of the prodigal son, which recital so deeply impressed them that tho Prodigal, invested in the new title, in some measure took upon himself the personality of the original, and was ever after considered an object of pity. Though the Colouel often said to the Count as he would look up from his work and see the Prodigal seated on a rock, his eyes filled with a far away look: “If that ’er boy only knew what his dad had awaiting for him 1 Think o’ ut, Count, a whole fattened beef.” The story, by frequent repetition, got so twisted that in the eyes of the miners he became the real prodigal, and bis story was often told at tha grocery on Snake Fork as —ftveritable fact. “Why, sir,” Sq. DjolitWe c postmas.er and merchant, would say, rais-~ ingon his toes in his earnestness; “why, sir, this yere same Prodigal,.arter whom the mine on Bellevue F6rk war n.uno l, had ter live with the nogs and eat cactus. Right in this free country. Fact, sir.” The Prodigal took all of these stories seriously, and began to believe theta himself- At least he never tiok the trouble to dispute them. Oaiy at times, when the boys were puncturing him with questions a; to his past life, he would wander away from tho camoandupthe gradually sloping Little Mountain, to a great bowlder, whose immensity made it a marked objeet for miles around. Here they would find him, seated under its shad i, his eyes turned away down the valley of the Sucrameuto. Here he would sit for hours, oblivious to all else save his own thoughts. The squirrels learned that they had nothing to fear from the intruder* and whould whisk merrily past, bearing nuts to their winter c.icht. Two brilliant humming-birds flew close to his head in quest of the sweets of the syringa that grew in the crevice of tho rocks. In the sky above piping flame colored orioles circled undisturbed by the drooping figure below. The breeze that cooled his heated TaA was laden with the aroma of the flowers irf the gulch

beneath. AU nature seemed to extend a soothing hand. Tbe Cripple once asked him j what he was doing up there all alone, and he answered so iunoeently that it stopped the jeer on h s lips: “Talking with Annie.” So ever after when he was missing the boys would say: “Off talking with Annie.” The rough natures of the miners respected this sentiment, and Annie became the tutelary Goddess of the cathp. Whenever they would speculate in the illusion* of hope, however they might differ as to the best methods of disbursing their expected wealth, they agreed perfectly on one score, namely: to give to the P.odigal and Annie arousing wedd nr. “ >Ve kin do it Jest as well as not,” the Colonel said one Sunday afternoon, as he stood carefully propped up against a bowlder, contemplating with wide-otien, dreaming eyes a pool of tobacco Juice a few feat in front of hi n. “ A hat's a few thousand more nor less,” he went on with a magnificent wave of bis badly soiled hand, “when that ’ere placer is reeking with dustl” Whereupon, with a sigh and a parting salvo of Juice squirted with mathematical accuracy into the placid depths of the p: 01, he picked up his pick, cast a benevolent glance on the unconscious object of hts remarks and resumed the motions which out of politeness were denominated work. The Prodigal Mine was about played out

not worked out, for it was still rich in p ossibilities. The present proprietor had taken it up two'yeara before. They “had never made out of it anything but Chinamen’s wages,” as the Colonel often sneeringly remarked. They would have abandoned tbe mine long before hut sacrificing their pride. Their last claim, two miles down the run, had been sold for a song to a company of “tenderfeet,” and greatly to their astonishment had panned out big. S 5 the proprietors of the Prodigal had stuck, out of “sheer cussedness.” In two years they had gone through all the epochs of a tainer’s life. By days they had been millionaires—hopeful; had seen the bottom of their pockets and the bottom of tbe pork-barrel; had lost heart, and had put in a farwell blast more than a dozen times. For the last two days they had done nothing. The Colonel was on a strike. Even Jim White, the controling spirit of the camp, could not keep him at work. . The Count, who originally had been styled “Nocount," cut down for every day use, to Count, di£, not have the nerve to join boldly in a strike, but instead complained of a lame leg, which he kept carefully wrapt in a canvas shot-bag, and which lameness he accented by a spasmodic limp whenever the thought occurred to him. . . ■' : ;

As work ceased the Prodigal became uneasy. Ho would spend hours up on Little Mountain, or wander aimlessly about the slucices. He could not entertain the thought of breaking camp. V hile hanever asserted himself, or even took part in the discussions, tho pleading look in his babyish blue eyes told only too plainly what his feeiings were. On this particular afternoon it was raining—a cold, drizzling rain. For that reason the Colonel had listeners, even if they were unwilling ones, to his mendacious war stories. The rigors of xylhter were giving place to a greenness of verdure that in any other country would herald spring. But in California it stood for no such happy denouement. The month of January had given place to February. The snow under the spell of the midday sun had slipped away down the many canyons, and had left behind the harsh, abraded lines of a landscape that was as yet barely covered by the tender grass. The misty glimpse of this picture through the dirty 2x3 window, the chilling dampness of the weather, the lowness of the larder, all conspired to depress the spirits of the five. Even Jim White found himself acquiescing in tho clamorous wishes of tho Count and Colonel. The Cripple said he didn’t care a , and went on with his game. The Prodigal,alone stood uncommitted by speech. The mine had been named in his honor, and was the basis of all his hopes. Around it were gathered the brightest dreams of his life. For two long years he had worked unceasingly. With every “clean-up” he had expected that the next would send him home to Annie. His faith had never lagged. His silent determination had kept up the spirits of the others. Life was a serious matter with him; he never laughed; he seldom smiled, and paradoxical as it may seem he never blasphemed, but ou one occasion, and that was one afternoon when the Count came running and shouting into the shanty with a panfull of black sand and iron pyrites, the Prodigal took one look at the shining specks, jumped into the air, knocked both feet together and screaue.l: “Married, by God!” although the Colonel afterward remarked, in discussing the matter with Jim White, that it sounded more like a prayer than an oath. So on account of his paramount interest the final decision a 3 to breaking up was left ta him. The Colonel ceased his monologue, and turned to tho Prodigal. “Shall we vamose the ranch, old man 1” The Cripple threw up his cards with a disgusted air. Jim White let the shovel slide from his kuees. All eyes were turned upon the Prodigal. He glanced uneasily from one to another, blushed, picked up his hat and left the camp. “Gone to talk with Annie,” said tlfte Colonel, with a shrug of his shoulders, and all lapsod into a despondent silenoe. Two houre passed. The Count with a badly affected limp, put over the coffee-pot, with the remark, “That’s tho last of it.” Jim White went to the door and looked out. “Raining yet; some one ought to look up the Prodigal.” Another hour passed. The Cripple knocked the ashes from his pipe, took his hat and started across the cheerless gulch and up the mountain. When the Prodigal left the cabin, his life

teemed to have gone-out froia -hinfc —Tfaetalk of throwiu" up the claim on the one hand had bcnuined him; enfeebled him. On the other, it- had awakened him from a : dream that had lasted uninterrupted for two years. Never for a moment had he doubted of ultimate succcsk. Not a partial success, but one grand and overwhelmingone that would give him Annie and home. As bo ascended the mountains side, perhaps, for the last time, his thoughts became in- ( coherent, flighty. They went back to Ver. ! mont. Ho knew it was winter there with | all its rigor. He knew the snow lay deep on I the rugged hills and narrow valleys of his [ New England state. He could see tne low, 1 old farm house, the ram-shackle barns, the straw st ick, the crumbling fences, all alike, made beautiful by their mantle of white. He pictured his father, his younger brothers and sisters happy around tho glowing arch-fire. A little later be know he would I be remembered in their evening prayers. Then he thought of Annie; of their childhood days of unalloyed companionship and innoi-ent love. Her sweet girlish figure; ! her timid delicate face; her great confiding t blue eyes ; her pure generops love, all passed before his half-crazed vision. Ho pressedhis claroy hands to his feverish brow, and

a half articulated sentence escaped him: “My God, ami going crazy 1” Gradually, from the chaotic mass of his thoughts and hopes came a full realization of the problem before him. With aloving, almost caressing glance, he gazed about him—on the ragged scams of the gulch beneath, filled with its wild sonorous music—on the freshly born foliage, drooping under its burdens of moisture—on the little cabin far below, just visible in tho last shimering rays of the sunup at snow crowned serrated folds of the Nevada’s, and then he looked above him for tho great moss-covered bowlder, under whose shade ho had spent so many hours communing with his loved ones, liis eye sought the familiar spot, but found ino bowlder. He looked farther up. It was gone. But where! Ho took a step. Ho paused. A gaping chasm was at his feet. He dropped on his knees, regardless of the pools of water that hud ”ullectfid in tho fissures of the rocka. fur below he could disi- tinguish a vast mass of debris. He realized what had happened. The bowlder stood i but a few rods back, and a! ovo the canyon | in whose bod they had been vainly washing for gold. The sapping aotion of winter's rains and its own great weight had loosened the gravelly slope, causing a landslide, com- : pletely obliterating all traces of their feeble efforts in the riverbelow, ...Unbidden, a groan came to his lipKiand the word “busted.” He fell fiat upc* his body, hie head

hanging over the precipice. An hour passed The rain beat down ©a him, unnoticed. 11 helped to still the heightened beating o' his temples. Consciousness slowly returned. His eyes opened. Gleams of light seemed to flash before them. Bright star shaped points claimed their attention. A ve;n of yellowish dirt ran along the clear surface of the bed rock. He put out hi! hand and picked up a pebble that shone yel iOWifi the fading light. It was a nugget ol virgin gold. With it tightly clasped in his hardened palm hand he fainted. The knowledge that the great end wished for was attained; that after having allowed all his hopes to collapse he had reached tha goal of his ambitions, ahd that all things were now possible was too much for his weakened intellect.

Thus the Cripple found him two hours later. The Cripple, whose title was one of those fictitious misnomers indulged in in California at that time, took the poor wasted formen his broad shoulders and bore bim to the camp. All thoughts of breaking up were at once forgotten. Willing hands stripped the clothing from him. Tho Colonel, in endeavoring to take off the right arm of his shirt, discovered the nugget. Ha gave one look and ran shouting and jumping about the cabin: “Gold, boys, gold. Tho Prodigal has struck it. Didn’t I alius say he was a lucky cuss? I never gave up for one moment. Didn’t I say I felt it in my bones all along? Hurrah!” This exhibition of mendacity passed unchallenged. The nugget was certainly gold. The Cripple explained where he had found the Prodigal. A hurried explanation showed that, the main bar bad been washed out and loosened the great bowlder above the gulch, which in its descent had smashed the rim rock and exposed the glistening gold in the old riven bed seventy feet above where they .had been tunnelling. The excitement of that night was intense. With visions of untold wealth on one hand, and the Prodigal as death’s door on the other, the men spent a night that was remembered to the longest day they lived. Just at daybreak Jim White awoke the Count with a kick and sent him off to the Snake’s Ford for a doctor. The Prodigal remained unconscious. There was not a particle of color in his face, and it took the united efforts of the three to keep him warm. Then he went into a delirious fever; he reared and fought, with the desperation of a maniac, By the time the doctor arrived the Colonel dropped on the bed completely exhausted. For two weeks the Prodigal recognized no one. A Chinese nurse was imported. The young physician staid by him night and day. The first day of the sickness Jim White took him one side and said in a voice husky with emotion: “Doc, you stand by us. Bring the lad around and your fortune is made. Vt by, he can’t die. Damn it, man he is rich, and has got to go home and mar-, ry Annie.”

The Prodigal Mine was a success. New placers were discovered along the entire length of the gulch. In a few weeks the whole place was transformed. A town sprang up. Miners flocked to the gulch. Claim stakes could be seen at every available point. A gambling hall was opened. A half dozen bars were soon In full blast. License ran riot. Law was unknown. Only one restri tion was imposed on the ungovernable spirits of Prodigal. This, the one law on the unwritten statutes of the town, was set forth by Jim \\ hite in a speech before the “Little Innocent Saloon.” “In conclusion, gentlemen,” he said, “let me add, the man after who m this claim is named, and who discovered the placer that has made this town what it is, lies at the point of death in yonder shanty." The speaker's voice trembled. “He may never get well, hut while he lives he is going to have the best these ere diggings can give. Around that shanty I want absolute silence, and the man that don’t take off his cap when he passes that ere door, his got to tight Jim White.” A rousing cheer wound up the speech, and all went to drink the health of the Prodigal. The rude chivalry of the town exhausted itself in ita attention oh the Prodigat. Rough miners vied with one another in sitting up with him, and the shanty was transformed into a bit of the tropics by the abundance of flowers brought in every morning by even the roughest frequenter of “The Little Innocent.” Yet skill and nursing had no effect. The spark of life had been gradually dimmed by five years of toil, hardships and brooding. He lingered two -months: One ttiornmg |u'st as tlie“llfst sounds of life were heard in the new town, the Prodigal awoke from his long sleep. A look of intelligence came into his big bluo eyes, as they rested on the great manly faeo of the Cripple. The young'doctor placed his finger on his lips to enjoin silence, but the sick man heeded it not. Ho put out his thin emaciated hand and grasped the strong palm of his wat her. “Old man, I have been sick.” The Cripple nodded. “I have not long to live.” A sob escaped the lips of tne Cripple. “Don’t feel so, old man; was the claim a success? 1 ’ He continued going back to the day he became unconscious. The Cripple nodded again, and placed his finger on his lips. A smile lit up the sufferer’s mouth. “We aro rick then; thank God. Crippio give me your hand again. When I die, bury me here on top of Little Mountain where I can look down in to the valley of the Sacramento and talk —with—A-n-n-l-e." He paused from sheer exhaustion. The doctor gave him a strengthening cordiaL “Write A-n-n-i e, Cripple, and tell her I died with her name on my lips. Where-are-the-bovs?” The Colonel, Jim White, the Count, and a number of tbe'new miners stood by bis side. “Good-by, boys; you have been kind to me. Don’t forget the P-r-o-d-l-g-a I.” A smilo passed over his face; the first rays of the morning sun shown aslant over the barren tops of Little Mountain, and bathed the face of the dying man in a rich warm color. For an instant, it seemed to bring a new lease of fife—then the struggle was 6ver7~HßT gentle spirit had spanned the mountains, desserts and valleys and was back among tho green bills of his home—back with Annie. A month later a letter was received in a little Vermont hamlet, bearing the postmark of an outlandish California mining town. With trembling fingers is was opened by a gray-hairod old man. It ran as follows: Prodigal, Cal., April 12,1803. Mil Joiih Peahck. Drab Frirnd:— Your son died April the tenth. We buried him here as he wished. He had the biggest funeral ever held in this town and was buried by a regular Elder. His last words were: “Tell Annie I died ! with her name on my lips.” Enclosed, find draft on Miners’ Bank, of Sacramento, for 810,000, to be dividod between you and Annie. Tell Annio we all love hor, and . have named a new mine alter her. If thers is anything more we can uo, wo uro you* humole servunts. Yours in sorrow, 1 Wm. Sparrow, “The Cripple- ' ! Jim White, l Col- IcnAiion Ames, Henrv Long-, “The Count." Proprietors of tho Prodigal Mine. —Koiuweviile Wildman in Idaho Statcsuii a.

FARM AND HOUSEHOLD.

c Harrowing Wheat. A good many farmers have not the nerve to harrow their wheat in the spring any more than th ey have to run , a harrow broadcast over tbe corn-field I after the crop is up. Next spring is a good time for those who are timid on ! this point to gain some wisdom by (personal experience. If you have never tried harrowing your wheat, try some of it next spring and institute a comparison by comparing results of one kind of treatment with the other. W ith hardly an exception in the whole line of agricultural products, universal experience has proven that cultivation is essential to the best possible results. General analogy would be sufficient of itself to suggest the beneficial results ■’ of tillage applied to wheat, but the matter has not been left to analogical inference. Many experiments have been made by thoroughly cultivating the crop, when so planted, as to make it possible and with wonderful results as to increase of product; but in to that, the practice of giving wheat a thorough harrowing in the spring has come to be quite general in many localities. The best harrowing for the purpose will probably be a “smoothing” one, but any harrow not having too large teeth will answer. Of course a few plants will be jerked out by the roots, but tho sm.illness of the number of such will be remarkable. The loss by this will not begin to offset the gain made by loosening the soil, so as to give the roots a chance io penetrate the greatest possible distance. Then, too, the benefit from preserving moisture in the soil, by this loosening of the surface, may be great in case of drouth about the time the grain begins to fill. The packing process by the continual fall of rains for seven months makes the wheat field a pretty solid surface by the time the plant begins fairly to grow in the spring. In addition to the good it does the wheat, this harrowing also very greatly aids in getting a good catch of clover or grass seed. Where the fields are seeded down harrowing for this purpose alone more than pays for the trouble. It is always best, if possible to time the harrowing just before a rain, and the ground should be just-right when it is done.

Improving the Farm, The best "and shortest way to improve a farm is to reduce the stock, plow your fallows in winter so that the soil will be warm and dry and the subsoil decomposed early in the spring. Harrow well and then sow ten or twelve quarts of grass seed to th« acre when you put in your oats. If all take, your chance is good for obtaining from five to ten acres of oats and a field seeded down to grass. Then prepare as many acres for rye sowing, provided your Imd is not good enough for wheat and the two crops will give you all the straw you need and the corn-field, with usual good luck, will produce enough to fat stock. At the end of the season you will have the produce from fifteen or twenty acres of land, represented in oats, corn and potatoes and as many acres sown with rye and wheat. Keep just stock enough to eat up the produce in grain and hay, and after gathering your next year’s crops of hay and grain, covering say fifty acres of your farm of 100 acres, you may think of-adding as many head of cattle as your farm will sustain without purchasing very heavily of foreign supplies. By the end of the fourth year you are ready to put in a crop of wheat and save plowing up your bottom meadow, you have re-seeded the whole farm and are now ready to enlarge your dairy— aDd at the expiration of ten years your land ought to be m a condition to double your crops ead-the- nnmber-of~yotrr cattle; —Thisis rotation.—Practieai-Farmer. Farm Notes, No succulent food is more greedily eaten by pigs at any ago than beets. They may be fed any time from the first thinnings during the growing soason to the fully grown roots in winter., They are especially valuable as a part of the winter food for breeding sows, and some beets should always be saved for that purpose. / A scythe will pull the buckwheat together in bundles that will need no binding except a slight twist of straw around the head, sotting each bundle by itself on its butt When dried by cold weather, the flail on a smooth floor will tako out tho grain better, cheaper and nearly as quickly as it can be done by thrashing machines. This is the old-fashioned way, and it is as good as any. We do not understand why cheese is hbt more generally used as food by all classes. In England it largely takes the place of meat, which it supercedes, not only because of its cheapness, but its superiority. The poor quality of much cheoee offered in market is pribably the reason for the popular prejudice against it We eat more meet in this country than any people in Europe, and cheese ought largely to take its place. Sometimes when a very heavy grain crop has been grown the field is more easily prepared for wheat seeding by burning over the stubble. A few furrows should be plowed next the fences, to prevent the fire spreading where not wanted. Oat stubble, however large, does not burn as easily as that of wheat. Its 6talk is not so firm. In burniii? wheat stubble many Hassian flies will usually be destroyed, thus making it safer to sow wheat after wheat , Sometimes after threshing cows turned into the barnyard at night, with access to a fresh straw stack, will pick at the chaff and eat enough to diminish their milk flow. It is this often, rather than the diminished pasture, that lessens the milk ylel? at this season. We have known farmers to put a fence around the stack, so as to keep their cows from injuring themselves at it, as a simple minded person is said once to have put a fence around a very poor lot to keep his stock from grazing on it. — American Cultivator.

The Household.

Traveling Lunch.--Chop together sardines, ham and a few pickles; mix with mustard, pepper, catsup, salt and vinegar; spread between butteredj bread. This is to be cut crosswise, like! jelly cake.; » To .Mato Salad. —Take nearly ripe tomatoes, .slice in a dish and set on iqe to get hard and firm, then just before using chop a large onion fine, and sprinkle over them, and add salt, vinegar an d pepper to taste. Bread for Soup. — Cut slices of stale bread in small squares, throw them in boiling lard and fry till brown. Skim out, drain and put in a soup tureen before serving the soup. For oyster soup, crackers crisped in the oven are nice. Cheese Scallop.—Soak one cup of dry breadcrumbs in fresh milk; beat into it three eggs, and add one tablespoon of butter and a-, half-pound of grated cheese; strew upon the top sifted breadcrumbs, and bake in the oven a delicate brown. Corn Pudding.— Two cups of corn boiled and cut from the ear, one pint of milk, two eggs, skit to taste. Beat the eggs until very light; add the other ingredients; put the mixture in a buttered pudding dish and bake about forty minutes. Apple Tapioca Pudding.— Soak over night one cup of tapioca in six cups of water. Next morning add one cup of sugar, one egg and beat well together. Then pare, core and chop fine six or more apples, and stir with the tapioca in a pudding dish, and bake slowly.

A Noisy Han. Although a noisy man may be A nuisance worth abusi njj I rather like the fellow. He Is, somhow, so amusing. It’s fun to hear the end ess flow Of senseless sound he’s dropping And think that he is wound to go Forever without stopping. While others writhe in pain because l ie's making them so tired 1 watch the motion of his jaws And wonder if they’re wired. Though ho is called a “windy bag ” And other names as tunny It's worth. 1 tn nk, to hear him brag About one cen. of money. While people hate his vain conceit And think he isn’t witty And sadly snub him on the street 1 feel for him a pity. Born without brains he cannot see Himself as others see him; Besides he's very good—to be A freak in soma mu-sea-um. Because I pity him, in such A proper place I’<l Shove him For, while 1 iike him—rather much— I cannot say I love him. Still, though he’s suctrarnuisance cool That, gladly, wo’d destroy him, He doesn’t mean to be. The fool —H. C Dodge. _ • __l

Electric Car Brakes.

The expression, electric brake, is now often heard, and requires a word of explanation. There are various forms of so called electric brakes which are Dracticable, and even efficient working devices. In none of them, however, does electricity furnish the power by which the brakes are applied; it merely puls in operation some other power. In one type of electric brake the aetive braking force is taken from an axle of each car. A small friction drum is made fast to the axle. Another friction drum hung from the body of the car swings near the axle. If, when,the car is in motion, these drums are brought in contact, that one which hangs from the car takes motion from the other, and may be m ide to wind a chain on its shaft. Winding ia this chain pulls on the brake levers precisely as if it had been wound on the shaft of the hand brake. The sole function of electricity in this form of brake is to bring the friction drums together. In a French brake which has been used experimentally forsome years with much, success an electric current, controlled by the engine driver, energizes an electric magnet which forms part of the swinging frame, in which the loose friction pulley is carried. Thi9 electro magnet being vitalized, is attracted toward the axle, thus bringing the friction drums iu contact. In an American brake lately exhibited on a long freight train a smaller electro magnet is used, but the same end is accomplished by multiplying the power by the intervention of a lever and wheel. The other type Of so called electric brake is that in which the motive power is compressed air, and the function of the electric device is simply to manipulate the valves undereach car, by which the air is let into the brake cylinder or allowed to escape, thus' putting on or releasing the brakes. All of these devices have this advantage, that, whatever->the length of the train, the application of the brakes is simultaneous on all the wheels, and stops can be made from high speed with little shock.— H. G. Prout in Scribner’s Mugazine.

Animal Life In the Gulf Stream.

The surface waters in the Gulf Stream teem with minute life of all kinds. There the young of larger animals exist, microscopic in size, and adult animals which never grow largeenough to be plainly visible to the naked eye occur in immense quantities. By dragging a fine silk net behind the vessel, these minute forms are easily taken, and when placed in glass dishes millions uncounted are seen swimming backward and forward. When looked at through a microscope wa see young jelly fishes, the young of barnacles, crabs and shrimps, beside the adult microscopic species, which are very abundant The toothless whale finds in these his only food. Rushing through the water, with mouth wide open, by means of his whalebone strainers the minute forips are separated from the water. Swallowing those obtained after a short period of straining, he repeats the operation. The abundance of this kind of life can be judged from the faot that nearly all kinds of whales exist exclusively upon these animals, most of them so small that they are not noticed on the surface.—Ralph S. Tarty in Popular Set* •nee Monthly.

AM ANTIQUE SNAKE.

Probably the Progenitor of a Fam-, lly of Great Serpents. “I know that den of big black-snakes over in Potter county that Simon Kent talks about in the Sun, but I never knew about the fourteen foot snake that tided to capture the mule, “ said d man from Wellsville to a Hammondsport correspondent of the New York Sun. “I haven’t any doubt of it, though, for a bigger one tried to get away with Charley Wolfling, a blacksmith from Pike Mills, one day last summer, and two others, one ten feet long and the other twelve, waylaid old Mr. Compton and his daughter and were bound to earry them off. That den has been there from time out ol ,mind. It is in the southwestern pari of Potter county, along .the Young Woman’s creek, in a stretch of deep, dark woods known as the Black Forest. A year never goes by that a number ol “immense black-snakes'are not overpowered in that locality, as they are always prowling around looking for unwary te rasters and unsuspecting pedestrians. I don’t suppose there is another spot on this continent where such monstrous black-snakes can be found. I don’t know what it is that makes them grow so big there, but my opinion is that it is heoasisn the jncalitywhere they dwell is so wild and.hard to get at that the snakes have undisturbed opportunity to reach a patriarchal age. and take on their size with •years. I believe black-snakes would get just as big elsewhere if they could, only get the time. “There is no doubt in my mind that some of those Black forest serpents were born long before this country was settled. I have seen them with their faces as wrinkled as a walnut and with long gray hairs on their Upper lips. 1 killed one once down there that had a funny looking lump on its side. I cut down into it four or five inches, and found a flint arrow head at the bottom of the lump. There is Only one explanation for the presence of that arrow (head there. The snake had been 'sh-ol by an Indian sometime, and as there hadn’t been any Indians hunting with bows and arrows in that country for a good many generations of course the Snake must have been a lively native •before the days of the white men, and nobody knows how mauv years before, either. I’ll bet anything on that snake’s being 100 years old at least, and it was as hale and hearty a serpent as I ever saw. I say I killed It, biit that is h irdly true, either, although it owed it 3 death to me,. J: was lumbering along Young Woman’s creek, and had a lot of logs banked ready for rolling down the steep slope into the creek. Accidentally I let a log get away from me in unloading it, and away it wont down the hill. It had gone maybe half way down and had acquired a tremendous momentum when I saw one of tho big black-snakes of that region come tearing out from some place where it had been hiding and rush right out in the way of the flying log. I don’t know what the" snake thought the log wnS, but he was evidently in a state of fury at it, for he stopped and raised his head up and awaited the coming of the log. The log kept right on and struck the snake full force. The crush was a good one, and the log was stopped as still as if ii had brought up against a rook, “ ‘Well,’ I said to myself, that’s pret-' tv good. There’s a snake with a constitution, or there never was one.’ “I went down the hill and found the log canted up against the snake, and if a man unused to that country had come along just then I’d have said to him: “ ‘Just look at that snake and thal log!’ “He’d a looked and then said: “ ‘Which is the snake?’ “But the snake was dead, and ] very foolishly, after cutting into tha lump on his side to satisfy my curiosity, and finding the flint arrowhead, pried him out, and rolled him down 4&toHto~gFSek with the log instffStfbiP measuring him and reporting his death and 9ize. Consequently I can’t tell how long he was. but he was a dandy. But I actually believe that if he could have been seasoned and sawed up he’d have cut up into as nice a •bill of 16-inch boards as any one ever bought. “That Bnake was an exception to the ordinary run of Black forest snakes. I may be wrong, but I believe he was the founder of the black-snake family there. There wasn’t a gray hair on him, though, and his teeth were as sound as a pebble.

The Vestibule as a Safety Deviee.

Closely related to the coupler is the vestibule, which within the last two years has beeome so fashionable. The vestibule is not merely a luxury, but has a certain value as a safety device. The full measure of this value has not yet been proved. Occasionally lives are lost, by passengers falling or being blown from the platforms of moving trains. Such accidents the vestibule will prevent, and further, it decreases tfae osttiltation of the cars, and thus to some degree helps to prevent derailment It is also Borne protection against telescoping. A few months ago a coal train on a double track was derailed, and four cars were thrown across in front of a solid vestibule train of seven Pullman cars approaching on the other track. The engine of the vestibuled train was completely wrecked* Kven the sheet iron jacket was stripped off from it The engineer and fireman were instantly killed, bul not another person on the train was injured. They escaped, partly because ■the cars were strong, and partly, doubtless, because the vestibules helped to keep the platforms on the same level and in line, and thus to prevent crushing of the ends of the cars.—H. G. Trout in Scribner’s Magazine.

Waterphone.

Chattanooga has received a “waterphone." This is an instrument shaped like an ordinary iron rod which, when placed on a stop-cock, will convey the sound to the ear in case the water it running. In this way it can bo determined whether or not the water is shut off in a house without entering the house. V— f./iV