THE CHARLOTTE MESSENGER
VOLj IU.JNO. 5
Charlotte Messenger
IS PUBLISHED
Every Saturday,
AT
CHARLOTTE, N. C.
In the Interests of the Colored People
of the Country.
Able and well-known writers will contrib
nte to its columns from different parts of the'
country, and it will contain the latest Gen
eral News of the day.
The Messenger is a first-class newspaper
and will not allow personal abuse in its col
umns* It is not sectarian or partisan, but
independent—dealing fairly by alt It re
serves the righ tto criticise the shortcomings
of all public officials—commending the
worthy, and rrcommending for election such
men as in itsopiiiion are best suited to serve
the interests erf the people.
It is intended to supply the long felt need
©f a newspaper tn advocate the rights and
defend the * iter sis of the
especially the Piedmont section of the
Carolina
SUBSCRIPT IONS:
(iff—y in Adranrr.)
1 year - - #1 .VI
* months - -1 00
6 months ... 75
4 months 541
9 months - - - 40
Address,
W,C. SMITH. Charlotte, N. C.
Mustard plants used to be theterror
and disgust of the California wheat
grower. Now they are a source of profit.
By ingenious mechanical harvesting both
crops are gathered separately, and the
mustard is worth more than the wheat on
the same land.
In Germany, says the New Haven Jour
nal, the hours of labor average per week,
in textile factories, 73; in machine fac
tories, 60. In France, in testile factories,
72; in machine factories, 60. In Aus
tria. $6 in each. In Russia, in textile
factories, from 72 to 04: in machine fac
tories, 72. In Switzerland. 66 in each.
In Belgium, in textile factories, 72; in
machine factories. 62. In Italy, in tex
tile factories. 67 to 90; in machine fac
tories. 72. In Holland,in textile factories,
72; in machine factories. 64. In the
United States, 60 in each. In Great
Gritain in textile factories, 56: in ma
chine factories. 52, In England factor
ies generally close at 5:30 o'clock in the
aavening and at 1 o'ciock on Saturday af
■fcrnoon, while in the silk factories of
■iortbern Italy the factories are open from
■ o'clock a. m. to 10 o’clock r. m.. the
Bands working 94 1-2 hours per week, or
■5 3-4 hours per day, exclusive of meal
K There are now eleven guides appointed
show visitors through the National
PBpitol and explain its wonders. No
price is fixed for their services, and they
leave their fee to the generosity of the
vialvor, generally receiving a fair com
kpensation for the long tramp through the
f Sailding and stereotyped descriptive
■eeches. Many members employ guides
i. take their constituents over the build
, «ai- as thev have not the time, and
t .Wully pay rather than be troubled
the tiresome task. One of the
■ hUs. Benjamin Stewart, of Virginia.
& fo>rought up on President Madison's
stead, and has a fund of anecdote
Madison, Monroe. Jefferson and
magnates of the Old Domin
stories told by the guides about
those to whom they show the
its inmates are very amusing.
Some of the hackdrivers who carry
■bangers about the city to Arlington and
to the Soldiers’ Home are well posted on
the public buildings and history of the
city, and receive a good many extra
“tips’’ from those who employ them.
Investigations are still going on, par
ficutarly in France, with a view to utili
zing the heat of the sun as a source of
power and warmth. One of the most
interesting and practicable methods in
this line is that devised some time ago by
Professor Morse, of Salem, Mam., the
limitations of mhich, it is hoped, may
be overcome future improvements.
Thie device consists simply of a shallow
box, the bottom of which is of corru
gated iron and the top of glass. This is
placed out<ide the building in such a
position that the sub shines directly
npoa it, the best rays of the son paas
through and are absorbed by
the iron, heating it tn quite a high tem
perature, and, by n system of ventila
tion. n current of air is passed through
| th' apparatus and into the room
[to be bested. By this means the air war
■tested, on pleasant days, to about ninety
■agrees in pairing over the iron. It is
ltd tt-rd, however, that the chief diffi-
Eulty in all these methods of solar beat
png, a* a substitute for the ordinary or sr-
KiSciai means, is yet to be overcome,
Keing available only in fair weather:
■though, in connection with the ruriom-
Pnry system, a solar apparatus may ef
fect a saving in the quantity of fool
u«ualiv ransomed.
CHARLOTTE, N. C. SATURDAY, AUGUST 7, 1886.
SELF REQUIEM, ft
IV
Another idle day is done, '
Another empty weak is gone;
Is aught accomplished, any deed
Performed to merit lasting praise?
Have these swift, gliding, restless days
Gained for me any future meed
, From act or word? Truth answers: “None!”
Alas! sad truth—alas! to hear
The hollow echo of the Past,
For aye that hopeless burden bear— * *
The mockery of blank Despair!— l "
To feel, as ghostly days flit past,
That we can count, when this brief race is
run,
Nothing of good or great, no laurels won.
The web of life is swiftly spun;
Each hurrying day, month, fleeting year,
All but so many fragile threads
That Time with nimble Angers spreads
In the vast woof he's weaving here;
Death throws the shuttles by ’tis done!
—Nelson Her ah, in Current
A CHAMOF HEART.
The school-directors of District No. 19,
Perry Township, were holding a meeting.
Nobody would have thought it. The
i chairman was leaning against his front
gate with his checked shirt-sleeves turned
j back and an axe in his band, surveying
the other two members of the board, who
■ stood outside the fence.
It was a meeting, nevertheless; and its
object was nothing less important than
the selection of a teacher for the fall
term.
“Lyman Doty spoke to me about hav
ing the school,” said the chairman, du
biously.
“Lyman Doty!” echoed Steve Tenney,
a stalwart young fellow, with thick brown
hair, white teeth and a square chin, to
make up for his lack of downright good
looks. “Why, Lyme Doty couldn’t
teach a baby. He quit school before I
did, long enough, and heka-n't studied
anything but potatoes and%inter wheat
since, thgt I know of. Better stick to
his farm—eh, Larkin?”
“Guess you’re right,” responded the
third member of the board, a little man
with a cheerful face and a tuft of gray
hair sticking straight out from his chin.
And the chairman nodded his agree
| ment.
j> “Well,” continued little Mr. Larkin,
with an air of importance. “I’ve had an
j application that I guess will suit. It’s a
j sort of relative of my wife's, and just as
, nice a girl as ever wis. Smart, too. She
, got a certificate for years, last exam
ination. She’d mAkea splendid teacher,
Molly Sanborn would,”
! “Sanborn!” said Steve Tenney, sharp
; ly- “Any connection of the Sanborns
; over on the river?”
“That's where she’s from,” said Mr.
i Larkin. “She's old John Sanborn’s girl
I —him that died last winter.”
Steve frowned.
“You won't put her into that school,
then, with my consent!” he said, deter
minedly.
“What ?” said Mr. Larkin, with a gasp,
while the chairman stared,
j “What would you think,” the young
man responded, “if a man sold you fifty
head of sheep, at a good price, and half
of them died of! in the next week, of a
disease he must have known beforehand?
That was the trick John Sanborn served
me. And he 'lughed in my face when I
wanted my 1 bney back. No, sir! I
can't conscientiously consent to putting
any of the Sanborns in that School. Baa
lot, in my opinion!”
Mr. Larkin's small, bright eyes
snapped.
“Old Sanborn wasn’t any too straight,
and everybody knows it,” he admitted.
1 “But what that’s got to do with Molly
is more than I can see. She’s as fine a
girl as you ever set eyes on; not a bit of
| her father about her. ”
“Well, well, fight it out between you,”
said the chains la, good-Daturedly, and
, returned to bis wood-chopping-
The tall young man and the little old
- one walked on up the street together,
talking briskly.
Mr. Larkin was hot and indignant;
Steve was cool and immovable.
“There don't seen - to he any mercy in
you, ” said the former, almost tearfully,
a* Steve was preparing to turn in at hia
gate. “If they'd been left well off, it
would be different; but they’re poor as
poverty, and Molly needs the place the
j worst way.” "
“You hadn't mentioned that,” said the
young man, taming hack. “If that’s
! the case—”
i Mr. Larkin walked away triumphant
j five minutes later-
But Steve Tenney had surrended with
a bad grace
“I couldn’t hold out after that, you
see,” he aaid to his mother, relating the
story over their tea; * 'but I don’t approve
of iL There’s not much good in the San
borns, or I lose my guess!”
9 * * A A *
School began two weeks later, when
the first cool wave was depopulating
front porches and increasing the attrac
tion of kitchen stoves.
Steve Tennny held to his oninion con
cerning the new teacher, and acted ac
. cordingly.
lie did not call at the school-house the
first day, as was his custom, to leave the
register and ace if anything was wanted—
■ the chairman having turned these duties
over to his younger colleague.
He sent the register by a hoy. and was
utterly indifferent as to whether anything
»*» wanting. He turned the aubjcct
when the new teachec was mentioned;
and he avoided Mr. Larkin's comfortable
home, where the teach'-r boarded.
T.ie little man made him a call, how
ever, a month or so after school had be
gun.
“Guess you'll have to own up to being
lin the wrong. Steve,” he began. “We
hain’t had a teacher for years that's given
j the satisfaction Molly d ies. The children
j rave about her—all of 'em.”
But Steve was unimpressed. i
“My opinion has yet to be altered,”he
said, rather stilly.
And Mr. Larkin looked discouraged.
4 ‘She spoke about needing a new broom
and water-pail,” he said, as he rose. “I
told her she’d better come to you about
“That school-house had a new broom
la»t term, and a water pail term before
last!” said the young director, emphatic
ally.
And Mr. Larkin took a discomfited
leave.
The next Sunday evening, the young
man, sitting in a pew of the small wooden
church with his mother, and allowing
his eyes to rove about during the rather
long sermon, suddenly discovered a new
face, and sat studying it for the re
mainder of the evening.
It was that of a young girl—not a re
markably pretty girl, but fair, and fresh,
and innocent, with a bright intelligence
in the dark eyes and a sweetness in the
full lips.
“Who is she?” was his first question,
after the services were concluded, ad
dressed, as it happened, to little Mr.
tarloin, who had come in late.
“That?” the latter repeated, in aston
ishment. “Why, that’s our teacher—
that's Molly Sanborn. That’s my wife
she's with, don’t you see? lam waiting
to take ’em home.”
Steve Tenney found himself wishing
quite frequently after that that the new
teacher would pome to him about the
broom and water pail.
Not that he should furnish them if he
should find that they were not needed;
but he felt that he should not object to
an interview with the teacher.
He even mentioned the subject to Mr.
Larkin, carelessly, when he met him one
day.
“Well, you see,” was the response,
“she sort of hates to come to you. The
way you felt about her haring the school
haß got all around town, and I s'posr
she’s heard of it. SJie can’t help what
her father was, Molly can’t, and she’s
real sensitive.”
The young man looked disturbed.
That afternoon he left his work at an
early hour—not, however, admitting to
himself his purpose in doing so—and
strolled down the street, turning off—
hut he persuaded himself that it was not
intentional—in the direction of the'
school-house.
“I might as well go in and see about
that broom and water pail,”’ he said to
himself, when he stood opposite the lit
tle bare-looking building.
And he went in accordingly.
The little teacher looked considerably
startled when she opened the door to
him. She dropped the spelling-book
she held, and her voice was hardly steady
a* she expressed her gratification nt see
ing him.
Evidently, Steve reflected, some idiot
had pointed him out to her at church the
other evening. He sat down in a front
seat, feeling unpleasantly ogreish.
She was hearing the last spelling-class.
Uow pretty she looked, standing there in
her dark-blue calico dress and white
apron! What a sweet voice she had!
though putting out “hen, men, peo,” to
a long line of fidgeting youngsters could
hardly show it to the best advantage.
When the class was dismissed, and the
last small student had ru-licd, whoop
ing, down the street, the teacher and the
young director stood looking at each
other with some awkwardness.
“I thought I’d come in,” said Steve at
last, apologetically, “and see if anything
w’bb Deeding.”
He did not mention the fact of his
being some six weeks late in the per
formance of this duty.
The girl dropped her eyes timidly.
“I—don’t think so,” she murmured.
“What a brute she must think me!”
Steve reflected, with some self-disgust.
He turned carelessly to the corner
where the broom stood.
“Isn’t this pretty far gone?” he said,
with a conscience-stricken glance at its
stubbly end.
And the little teacher nodded.
“Your water-pail seems to leak,” the
director went on, indicating the empty
bucket and the wet floor.
“Yes,” the girl assented.
“I’ll see that you have new ones,”
Steve concluded.
And he was rewarded by a grateful
glance from the teacher’s soft eyes as she
took her hat from its nail.
He took her lunch basket from her
hand as they started away together; and
having t .ken it, could hardly surrender
it short of Mr. Larkin's pate.
He was a little reluctant to surrender it
even then. For their first awkwardness
had quite worn off; their walk had bceu
fur from unpleasant; and they were feel
ing very well acquainted.
lie walked home in an agreeable ab
sorption, repeating to himself the things
she had said, and recalling her pretty
way of faying them.
He did not pause to consider that it
was old John Sanborn's daughter of
whom he was thinking; he was only
conscious that she was a bright young
girl, whom it was charming to look at
and listen to.
Ilis pleasant mood was rudely inter
rupted by little Mr. Larkin, who dropped
in that evening.
“Lyme Doty couldn’t have the school, ”
lie observed, with a chuckle, “but it
looks as though he was going to have the
teacher!”
“What?” aaid Steve, with a sudden, i
unexplainable sinking of the heart.
“lie's hanging around considerable,
anyhow,” said Mr. Larkin. “Went to j
visit the school lost week; and he was j
asking me to-day whether Molly’s got
any way of getting home Friday night,
lie said he’d ju t os lief take her in hi*
buggy as not. Molly generally walks;
but I guess she'll be glad of a lift.”
“You don’t mean to tell me,” aaid
Steve, warmly, “that she’d have any
thing to do with him?”
Mr. Larkin stared. What c ould Btev
tare with whom old John Sanborn’s
daughter had to do?
But he only said, deprecatinglv:
“Well, Lyme’s a good, steady fellow.”
“Hump!” was the scornful rejoinder.
The young man mused long and seri
ously when his visitor was gone, and
went to bed with a lighter heart, having
come to a firm conclusion.
When the new teacher closed school
the next Friday night, she was feeling
rather worn out, as she was apt to feel at
the end of the week; nor did the pros
pect of her four miles’ walk home serve
to cheer her.
She locked the door and started down
the path with a sigh.
A neat little buggy was coming briskly
up the road. Molly gave a start as the
driver pulled up the horse and sprang to
the ground.
It was the young director, and he was
coming toward her.
“I won’t make any exonses, Miss San
born,” he said, with a humorous solem
nity. “I won’t say that I’m going over
to the river on business, and happened
to think you might like to ride. The
truth is that it's a carefully laid plot.
Will you be an aider and abettor?”
The little teacher laughed apprecia
tively as he holped her into the buggy.
“I must stop at Mr. Larkin's and leave
my dinner-pail,” she said demurely.
Mr. Larkin was standing at the front
gate. He stood staring at the young di
rector ns the latter assisted the teacher
to the ground, and sat down on the
horse-block to wait for her.
1 ‘Lyme Doty was here after Molly just
now,” he said, almost gaspingly. “I
sent him down to the school-house.”
“We met him,” said Steve. “You
see,”he added, making a bold attempt
at carelessness, but speaking nevertheless
in a shame faced way, and avoiding the
little man’s eye—“you sec, I feel as
though it’s my bounden duty to keep
Lyme Doty away from her. Pure impu
dence, his hanging around her that way.”
The little teacher came tripping back,
and the young director's buggy whirled
away in a cloud of dust.
“Steve Tenney's taking Molly home in
his buggy,” said Mr. Larkin, joining his
wife in the kitchen, and sinking dazedly
into a chair. “I guess the world’s
coming to an end!”
‘'Steve Tenney ain’t a fool,” his wife
responded, practically. “I knew he’d
get over that ridiculous notion of his—
and especially after he’d seen Molly.”
“Says he’s doing it from a sense of
duty, - ’ pursued Mr. Larkin, chuckling
slowly as the humor of the situation
dawned upon him. “Wonder how far
his sense of duty’ll take him?”
“I shouldn't be surprised at anything!”
said Mrs. Larkin, mysteriously.
The Larkins—and. perhaps, Lyme
Doty—were the only people who were
not surprised when the new teacher gave
up the school at the end of the term, and
was quietly married to the young di
rector.
The chairman of the school board is
wondering over it yet. —Emma A. Ojiper.
A Tall American.
Pay-Director Murray, of the OTited
States Navy, is very tail, and is endowed
with a physique in full proportion to his
height. When sitting, he holds himself
very erect, and an ordinary-sized person,
if seated behind the genial naval officer,
would experience considerable difficulty
in obtaining a view of what was passing
iu front.
Several years ago, while in Paris, Pay-
Director Murray visited the Grand Opera
House, and was enjoying the perform
ance very quietly, when his pleasure was
suddenly interrupted by the mutterings
of an individual seated directly behind
him. Turning slightly around to dis
cover the cause of his annoyance, he
found a diminutive Frenchman in a per
fect rage over something which was un
intelligible to him. Raising his opera
glass, to obtain a better view of one of
the performers, his astonishment may be
imagined when ho felt his arm pushed
down, and a voice trembling with anger
hissed into his ear:
“Will you seet down, sair, if you
please?”
The request not only surprised the Pay-
Director, but amused him intensely, and,
with a most comical expression in his
eyes, he turned around, surveyed his ac
quaintance from head to foot, and slowly
arose from his chair, stood erect, and,
without uttering a word, quietly resumed
his former attitude.
The mingled look of dismay and dis
gust with which the little Frenchman
surveyed his hated neighbor, as he stood
before him, six feet and six inches tall,
caused a most decided laugh to go the
rounds, and, being a sensitive little
plant, he could not stand the awkward
position in which he had unwittingly
placed himself; so, with a desperate at
tempt at an apology, he hurriedly left the
theatre.
A Snake-Hnnting Bulldog.
In a N’ewburg (N. Y.) store was hang-
Ing recently a black snake six feet tines
inches long, killed on the Marlborough
Mountain near Fostertown, by a bulldog.
The snake was attacked by the dog be
low the centre of the body and dashed
to death on the rocks, not being badly
mutilated. An incision into the stomach
»f the snake was made and three large
thipmunks were taken from it. The
dog, although an ordinary bulldog, has
been trained to kill snakri, nrd has liceu
known to dispose of several black snakes
four and one-half feet in length. Copper
head anakea have also fallen victims to
him. The dog's teeth sro badly broken
in striking against rocks while snapping
at the reptiles as tbejr glided away from
him on the mountain, lie was ne; er
bitten but once, and then it was ]
feared he won Id succumb to the e.Tecti
of the poLon. The prompt application !
of mud to the wound, however, saved
him.— New York Timet.
Terms. $1.50 per Aim V Copy 5 cents.
A CITY’S STREET TRAFFIC
NEW YORK’S VAST ARUY OF PED
DLERS AND HUCKSTERS.
*
Verniers of Innumerable Article*,
and How They Work—Flower
Uirls and Newsboys.
A vast plodding army of people in this
city live by peddling all sorts of mer
ch nrlise in the streets and by keeping
stands at the street corners. The battia
of life constantly being fought in these
strange trafficking communities is full of
hardship, suffering and privation. Thou
sands of people thus engaged live from
hand to mouth, and a stormy Saturday
often means to them a dinnerless Sunday,
and a week back in their rent.
Most of the hucksters of the city start
on their perambulations early in the
morning, and ore untiring in tb« prosecu
tion of schemes to make a living. They
may be divided into four classes—those
who have horses, those who have hand
carts, thoße who hove to hire hand carts
xud those who have baskets. Early in the
morning, and before sunrise, appears the
milkman, who leads the vanguard of the
hucksters.
Next coma the dealers who live by
hawking all sorts of vegetables, fish and
fruit for the breakfast and dinner table. ■
They ore numerous and hard working.
Their trade is one of constant labor and
full of those discomforts and risks which
arise from the inclemency of the weather
and the losses resulting from the perish
able nature of much of their stockin'
trndc. They attend tho early markets
down town from 3 to 5 o’clock in the
morning, while others have to travel
from distant suburbs. Yet they are
regularly on their beats, going their
rounds in every part of mighty New
York, some even before the breakfast
hour.
You cannot fail to notice that those
who announce articles in season only for
a short time are more intelligible in their
promulgation than those who peddle the
same article all the year round. The
hucksters who sell vegetables, flowers,
and summer fruit have not time to be
come indistinct. One day they offer
rhubarb and asparagus, then strawber
ries, gooseberries, and the short-lived
cherry; whereas fish, clams, oysters, and
potatoes last longer, some being alweyr
in the market.
The fish business is both the most reg
ular and the moat profitable branch of
the trading industry of the street ped
dlers. But whether they deal in fish,
vegetables, or fruit, they are benefactors
to the great body of the working people.
They not only serve the people with wnat
they require at their own doors, but they
supply them at prices below what the ar
ticles can be purchased for in the stores.
The voices of some of the hucksters
can be heard all day long in the thor
oughfares of New York, in winter, in
summer, in fair weather and in foul.
Some of them confine their peregrina
tions to certain districts, while others go
where they think to succeed best. Oys
ters, clams, and fruit employ a goodly
number of people, both young and old,
who hawk these articles about in hand
carts and baskets. From the ups and
downs of fortune among them, not a few,
instead of having horses of their own,
arc obliged to hire them, and, as a con
sequence. the profits are reduced very
considerably by the sum paid for ths
horse and cart.
Other peddlers trade tin and iron ware
for old clothes. A very good cooking
pot may be had for a pair of old trousers.
The articulation of a man who frequents
the upper part of the city is admirable.
Hia respect for the consonants is very
great. “Any old-d clothes-es or boots
es; any umbrellas, however old-d 1”
He drawls the invitation out. but is al
ways distinct, walking slowly in the
middle of the street, and addressing the
upper windows of the houses ou eithei
side.
The neighborhood of lower Brodway,
Fourteenth street, Grand street, and Bow
cry swarms daily with a heterogeneous
tribe who deal in a variety of miscella
neous articles. Many of the things of.
sered for sale arc neatly gotten up, and
some are of ingenious construction. Few
of these, however, range above fire cent*
apiece, but how they can be made for tbs
money must seem a mystery to most per
sons.
The poor people who struggle for a
living by attending the fruit stands in
the streets have in most cases a hard bat
tle to fight to enable them to keep theil
souls and bodies together. They ars
obliged to attend to their business daily
in all weathers from year to year, until
they fall like withered leaves.
The traffic in buttonhole bouquets and
flowers is not solely in the hands of
women and girls, though many are em
ployed in it. Those among the latter
who are nest, clean, and good looking
command the best sale. The flower girls
who have a taste for a judicious arrange
ment of colors have their little flat
baskets very prettily decorated. Most
New Yorkers have a love for flowers, snd
it is pleasant to see the value put upon a
few feet of ground which can be turned
into a miniature garden by its holder.
The army of newsboys and newsdealers
may he classed as street peddlers. The
New York newsboys have the reputation
of being the smartest in the world. They
are brought up to no trade, and littls
capital is needed in their business. They
are often drawn from respectable circles,
many of the little fellows belonging to
families in which it is deemed the duty
of every member, however young, to earn
something. The remainder are usually
the orphans of laborers or mechanics,
who are compelled to choose between
this work and destitution.
The earnings of a newsboy on an aver
age day are amall. They seldom exceed
a dollar. In winter they are aenaibly
lower. An exceptional day comes now
and then, when profits are doubled.
Railroad or steamboat accidents, sensa
tional murders, and the death of notable
persons yield by far the richest harvest.
Os course such rases as the Ward, Jachne,
and Shaler trials make a little difference,
while the investigation by the Senate
rommittee of the booble Aldermen for
months materially augmented sales.
Many a little fellow, ’ with two or three
copies of an evening paper under his arm,
pursues customers with his importunities
late at night. If he fails in selling these
last copies of his little pile much of hia
two or three hours of previous hard work
is thrown away. His left-over copies are
a dead loss on his hands. To buy such
a copy of him, then, is no longer to give
him his few pennies. It is to give him
the whole price of the paper. It is all
profit to him, and is to encourage hard,
very hard work.
Much better are the venders situated
who offer the papers at fixed news stands.
These stands aro selected on distinct
principles, the chief of which is that the
foot passengers are very numerous and
are business men. Some of these stands
field a handsome income. A favorite
•pot of this kind is at the foot of the
staircases which lend to the elevated rail
road Btation at the City Hall Square.
Some of the women who sell papers there
are said to have accumulated a fortune.
At the west staircase entrance a mother
id daughter are stationed. “M ary,”
the daughter, a brunette of sixt eei sum
mers, is quite a favorite with the male
passengers. She sells more papers, than
ny other single street vender in ths city.
—New York tiun.
Letters Oddly Addressed.
Many oddly-addressed letters daily
pass through the post-offices. Several of
the rhyming kind are somewhat remark
able for the poetical skill displayed by
the writers.
A clever example is given in the fol
lowing, addressed to Sir Walter Scott
during one of his visits to London:
“Sir Walter Scott, in London or elsewhere;
He needs not ask, whose wide-extended
fame
Is spread about our earth, like light and sir,
A local habitation for his name.”
Charles Dibdell, the naval-song writer,
sent a letter to Mr. Hay bearing tho fol
lowing address;
‘‘Postman, take this sheet away,
And carry it to Mr. Hay;
And whether you ride mare or colt on,
Stop at the Theatre: Bolton,
If in what county you inquire,
Merely mention Lancashire.”
A letter addressed as follows was
mailed in the provinces, and was duly
delivered in London:
“Where London’e column pointing to th*
skies,
Like a tall bully lift* its bead and lies.
There llvee a citizen of sober fame,
A plain, good man, and Balaam is bis name.”
The letter was delivered without delay
to a Mr. Balaam, a fishmonger near ths
Monument.
Turning from poetry to prose, we find
the following vague direction;
“Mr. , Travelling Band, one of the four
playing in the street, Persha iPerahore),
Worcestershire. Please find him if pos
sible.”
Another envelope bore the following:
“This ia for the young girl that wears specta
cles, who minds two babies 30 Sheriff
street, oil Prince Edward street, Liverpool.”
Mr. J. Wilson Hyde, in his book,
“The Royal Mail,” says thst two letter*
directed as follows were dnly delivered:
“To my sister Jean, Up the Canongate, Donn
a Close, Edinburgh. She has a wooden
leg.
The other was directed:
“My dear Ant Sue as lives in the Cottage by
the Wood near the New Forest.”
“In the latter caae,” says Mr. Hyde,
“the letter had to feel ita way about for
a day or two, but ‘Ant Sue’ was found
living in a cottage near Lyndhurst.—
Home CMmee.
The Bread-Fruit Tree.
The bread-fruit tree grows everywhere
in Southern Central America, and is a
veritable forest king. It attains im
mense proportions, the trunk often being
from ten to twelve feet in girth, and the
branches reach out so to cover a circum
ference of perhaps one hundred and one
hundred and fifty Let. Its leaves are
very large and thick, of a rich dark
green color on one side and a silvery tint
on the other. In shape they somewhat
resemble a broad vase or flower pot
twelve or fifteen inches long and ten
wide. The fruit, with whi; n one tree
will supply a whole neighborhood, looked
like a small, oblong watermelon with a
rough rind, and takes a yellowish tint
when ripe. It forms an important part
of the food of the natives, who prepare
it by splitting it open, putting a small
piece of fat salt pork in a natural cavity
in the center of it, for shortening and
seasoning, and then baking it. Th*
teste suggests something like s cross be
tween bread and potato
A Remarkable Froze* Well.
Scientific men have been perplexed for
many years over the pheuom -non of a
certain well at Yakutsk, Siberia. A
Russian merchant in 1829 began to dig
the well, buthe gave up the task three
years lster, when he had dog down
thirty feet anil was still in solidly fre en
soil. Then the Russian Academy of Sci
ences dug away at the well for month ,
but stopped when it reached a depth of
382 feet.wlien the ground wns still frozen
as hard as a rock. In 1844 the Academy
had the temperature of the excavatioi
carefully taken at various depths, ami
from these data it was estimated that the
ground woa frozen to a depth of 512 seer.
Although the pole of the greatest cold i‘
in this province of Yakutsk, not eve.i
the terrible severity of the Siberian win
ter could freeze the ground to a depth of
600fiet. Geologists have decided thst
the frozen valley of the Lower hens is
formation of the glacial period. Th. r
believe, in short, that it froze solid f
1 hep, and has never since had a chat ■
to thaw out.