F0R GOD, FOR COUNTRY' ND FOR TRUTH."
W. F1.KTCHEB AUSBON, EDITOR.
C. V. W. AL'SBOX, BUSINESS MANAGER.
VOL. III.
PLYMOUTH, N.C, FRIDAY, JANUARY 22, 1802.
NO. 36.
Published by Roanoke Publishing Co.
LIFE.
O Life, now slight!
A Jittld BWPOt,
A brief delight,
And then we meet!
O Life, how vain I
A ! ttle spite,
A lit t m pain,
And thrn-goodi-night !
Charles 0. D. Rob. rte, in Independent.
A'WHITE ONE.
Thauir was thick with steam and im
pregnated with (ho smell of soap, and
the temperature was by no means low,
moro especially as the sun was stream
ing in through the uncurtained windows.
But the laundry girls wero used to theso
inconvcuieucos and thought nothing of
them. They chattered continuously over
their work, not because they were happy
or because theyjiad anything particular
to Bay, but ltecausc they had no concep
tion of the dignity of silence. The con
versation was, perhaps, not of the most
edifying description, and the language
employed was forcible, garnished by
slang, and not free from superfluous ex
pletives, for these girls were not of the
highest type. There was a curious taw
driness or rather gaudiness about their,
for the most part, ragged dresses; they
Wad Big, heavy fringes, which the steam
had taken out of curl, so that in nearly
every, instance they straggled into the
bold eyes beneath them; their faces, tro,
were in a striking contrast to their hands
in the matter of vlounliness, for it was
not compulsory to jiut them in the water
in order to earn a livelihood; but they
were better in this respect than they
would bo nearer the end of the week, for
to-day was only Tuesday.
The only exception to the universal
untidiness was manifested in the person
of one whom the girls called '.Liza (the i
being pronounced as if it was the diph
thong ai). This 'Liza, the preliminary
"e" of whose namo was invariably
dropped by her acquaintances, was a
hunchback, and her face, though it pos
sessed the merit of cleanliness, was al
most repulsively ugly. The complexion
was sallow, the mouth badly shaped, the i
cyeorows entrust veiy dark and heavy;
very sad were the eyes beneath them,
had there been any one to note their
wistful look, but 'Liza did not cneourago
scrutiny, and, indeed, the brown eyes
were not. remarkable in themselves, and
were moreover half hidden by the droop
ing lids, from which she glanced in a
sideways, half-sinister manner. 'Liza
was not very popular among her compan
ions, partly becauso she chose to be ex
clusive, and partly because she could on
occasions say unpleasantly sharp things.
But there was one1 oerson whom she
loved, and that was Miss CalJender. 1
By and by the ringing of a bell ere-
ated a diversion among the workers. !
Almost simultaneously eight pairs of !
red, soapy arms were drawn out of the ;
wash-tubs, eight pairs of red, crinkled j
hands wero wiped on some port'ou of ;
convenient apparal, and eight pairs of
ill-shod feet tramped into an adjoining
room.
At a table in this room stood a young
lady, very sweet in appearance and pret
tily dressed. She nodded in a friendly
way to the girls, and shook hands with
each one as they passed. She had their
interest at heart, and made it her duty to
come two or three times a week and pro
vide them with dinner. This dinner con
sisted usually, us on this occasion, of a
plate of soup and a largo slice of pud.
ding, for which they paid a penny; a sec
ond helping of either could be had for a
,farthing, so the payment was merely
nominal; but the girls were exempt from
the feeliDg that they wero the recipients
of charity.
The coppers were "dabbed" down on
the tabic in a little pile, and Miss Cullen
der ladled out the stup, which was quickly
and noisily consumed. Tho young lady
watched the other women, smiling. Per
fectly dainty herself, their roughness did
not seem to repel her.
"Girls," she said presently, in her
quiet, clear voice, "I am going to give a
party in the Mission Hall. Will you
come?"
There was a chorus of delighted assent,
accompanied liy a,. general clattering of
spoons on the almost empty plates.
"Lor, Mis; what sort of a party
might it be, now?"
"Oh, friendly,' said Miss Callender.
'Music, and plenty to eat, and you
may bring your sSveethearts."
This caused a prolonged giggling.
"Might wo bring more than one?" in-
3uired Folly Blaines,' who enjoyed the
istinction of being the prettiest of the
girls.
Miss Cullender shook her head disap
provingly. "You oughtn't to have more than one,"
she said, smiling.
"Oh! as for that, Miss, I don't want
any, I'm sure; but there, the more you
draws off, the moro they comes on.
That's how it is with men. and that's why
them as don't want 'em, always has the
most admirers.'1
And 'oily, conscious of a fascinating
retrousse nose and a dimpled chin, tossed
hor head in the air.
Whereupon all the girls, not to be out
done, and by no means reticent on the
subject of their love affairs, fell to talk
ing about thorn, finding tho topic emi
nently congenial, and treating it in a
.minner which displayed no more vulgur
ity of heart than is concealed by certain
ladies. Miss Cullender rather encour
aged than checked them; she liked them
to bo perfectly natuml before her, and
was glad of anything which gave her an
insight into their lives? ami characters.
Two there wero who kept silence; one
a little newly married woman to whom
love was too sacred for common speech;
and'Liia,
The pudding she had begun to attack
seemed to stick in 'Liza's throat, uim ue
had great difficulty in gulping it down,
for the other hunger of which she wns
often conscious, the hunger of the heart,
now so asserted itself as to make her on
livious of bodily needs. Something there
was, too, of bitterness in her mind as she
listened to the talk of these others. Per
haps Polly's words did more to cause it
than anything else; "Them as don't
want 'em always has the most admirers."
Looking up, she suddenly met tho eyes
of this girl. To her morbid imagination
they expressed pity, perhaps scorn. She
crimsoned.
There was a momentary lull, so that
they all heard her when she said in a pe
culiarly loud.hnrsh defiant voice:
"Mine isn't livin'; mine isn't."
j "Yours? Did you have a sweetheart
once?" asked the married woman, not un
! gently, thongh there was the slightest
perceptible accent on the pronoun.
"And why not? asked Liza, and her
voice was louder than before. "It isn't
only pretty girls as has people-caring for
em. There's other things besides
looks."
"Of course there are, dear," said Miss
Callender, soothingly, for 'Liza's eyes
flashed ominously. "Goodness is worth
much more to a man."
"What was his name, 'Liza?" asked
Tolly Blaines.
Polly was conceited, and 'Liza, hyper
sensitive, scented patronage.
"I ain't going to tell yer," she said.
Then, with swift contradiction, "his first
name whs Charlie."
"Was he handsome?" asked Polly,
pinching her reighbor under the table, so
that tho latter, a high-colored, coarse
looking girl, gave a little squeak.
"I never see anybody better looking,"
said 'Liza, with promptitude. "He wasn't
any of your pink, dolly men." (Polly's
favored suitor happened to bo fair.)
Ho was dark and his nose was straight,
like a gentleman's, and his teeth was
white, and" ('Liza warmed to her sub
ject) "he used to wear ared silk tie,with a
pin in it And," she went on, "he always
gave me lots of presents lots, and lie
loved me so, as ho couldn't bear me out
of his sight. Oh," she cried, excitedly,
"ho did love me, and we was bo happy,
keepin' company, and he was a-goin" to
marry me " She paused abruptly.
Indeed, her shrill voice had got almost
beyond her control.
"What did he die of?" asked one of
tho girls, with genuine compassion in her
tones.
'Liza looked at her gasped hesitated
a moment then rose and pushed back
her chair.
"That don't matter to no one," she
said, in a hard voice that yet had a catch
in it. "He's dead, and that's enough;
and you needn't any of you ever talk to
me about him. So therel" And she
went back into the laundry.
There was a moment's silence. .Miss
Callender sat looking thoughtful; .then
she rose and followed 'Liza Into the next
room, closing tho door. The other girls
regarded one another with some surprise.
'Liza was usually silent and was consid
ered morose, but her affliction had made
thern kind to her in their rough way,
though she was certainly not a favorite
among them. But now that they real
ized that she had a romance in her life
the love of Bentiment, which is in every
woman, made them feel a sympathy for
her hitherto unknown.
'Liza was standing by her wasbtub,
and she had already plunged in her hands
and begun to vigorously soap one from
tho heap of towels she had to wash. Her
lips were, set tight together, her bosom
wus heaving, and a tear had rolled down
her cheek and dropped oft' it on her
coarse apron. She put up her arm, her
hands being eoapy, and laid her elbow
across her eyes for a minute.
"Eliza," said a soft voice, in accents
more tender than she was wont to hear,,
so that her name sounded quite musical.
She looked up.
" Eliza," said Miss Callender again,
and then she came close up to the girl,
and drew her toward her.
'Liza was unused to any such demon
stration. Perhaps that was why she
half-pulled herself away.
"My dear," said Miss Callender, " we
must be great friends.' you and I, for we
have a sorrow in common. Nothing
binds people bo close together as to be
linked by mutual trouble. Two years
ngo I was engaged to be married, and he
who was to have been my husband was
was shot, in Afghanistan."
" Oh, Miss ! " cried 'Liza, " Oh, Miss !"
"So you see," said Miss Callender
softly, "yon and I must be a comfort to
each other.''
'Liza did not speak. She began to
pull at her apron-strings, then getting
them into a knot, busied herself undoing
it.
"It don't seem as I could do anythink,"
she said presently. "You always seems
happy and bright-like. You're mostly
smiling. I don't see how you can bo it
when any one as has cared for yer has
died.''
"God helps me to be happy, said Miss
Callender simply. "Besides, I have
many things to bo grateful for."
"Ah, ihereyer are," cried 'Liza, al
most passionately; "you ain't poor and
lonely and hugly. You could havo love
if yer wanted to; you don t go longin
and longin', and a puin in your heart
mostwhiles. I wouldn't tell any o'
them," (pointing to the door) "for they
wouldn't understand, but you ain't like
them, and vou won't make a mock at me
. . . - . .11 - .t . . .
j..ii.i.imiv.,..v
ings. when I ache tor some one to a.v
quite gentle-l.ke to me, Liza, and just
ft. ti.iiDH cnAim tv in f nn fivfii-
to look at me a bit lovin'.
Why shouldn t 1
.. . ,
I have what others do? 'Cause I ain't
nrettv? Ain't mv heart as eood as
Pollv's there? Wouldn't I be truer than I
her? Maybe I won't mind later on, but
I ain't bo old now us all that come to.
And natur's natur, whether we're ladies I,
or poor girls. Ain't it nat'ral to want
to be loved?"
"Most natural, dear," said Miss Cal
lender to whom 'Liza was just then a
revelation.
"Then," went on tho girl, emboldened
by the sympathy which was rather in
manner than words, "when folks are
kind to me it's mostly pity as makes 'em;
and I hate to be pitied. It ain't be
cause they wants me with 'em; there's
even some, I suppose, as wouldn't care
to keep company with me in case folks
should stare. And, oh, I'm proud, I am
I'm awfully proud. There's none so
proud as them as is despised, you
know."
"I don't despise you, Eliza," said Miss
Callender, spontaneously. "And I'm
sure others don't."
"If I thought you liked me a bit, not
because you pitied me, I'd be uncommon
glad," said 'Liza, shyly. "I s'pose,"she
went on, half-ashamed at her own confi
dences, "it wouldn't make no manner o
difference to 3-ou, me likin' you?"
" Indeed it would," Miss Callender an
swered, and she bent forward and kissed
'Liza on the forehead.
' 'Liza turned away quickly. "I reckon
I'd better get on with my work," she said,
huskily.
And at that minute the door was open
ed, and the others came trooping in. Miss
Callender exchanged a few words with
them and then went back to get her
things.
From that day began a new era for
'Liza. Whether it was that Miss Callen
der singled her out for special attention,
or because they were really capable of a
lasting impression themselves, it is im
possible to say, but jt is certain that she
was differently treated by the other
women and equally certain that this
treatment had a salutary effect upon her.
Kepellant at first, she grew daily more
approachable, less suspicious, more gra
cious, and her better qualities came into
play. Perhaps the influence of Miss
Callender had not a little to do with this,
for from the beginning 'Liza had loved
her, and now her feeling was little less
than worship. And to love another is so
good for a woman's soul that it works
like magic on her whole being. It made
possible to 'Liza the comprehension of a
love higher than Miss Callender's; and
the little London heathen, being taught
by her dear lady concerning those things
of which she had been ignorant hitherto
became what the girls called "religious."
Toward the end of the summer, she con
sented to be confirmed, and went to
classes, and this seemed to the others to
make 'Liza more important, especially
when she explained that "there was
ladies at the classes."
'Liza was nearer being happy now than
she had ever been in her life, and vet she
seemed sadder too. Often she heaved
great sighs that made her neighbor turn
and look at her, and frequently there
were marks of tears on her face; so that
bye-and-bye it grew evident to the others
that there was something weighing upon
"her.
As the time for her confirmation drew
near 'Liza looked graver than ever, and
more worried At last it caino to the
day itself. She had obtained a holiday
from the laundry,through tho influence of
Miss Callender. What was the surprise
of that lady and the others, therefore,
when, in the midst of the mid-day meal,
in rushed 'Liza. She had on a clean
print dress, made for the occasion, but
her hair was disordered, her face pale
from fatigue and excitement, her eyes
shone brightly.
"Hullo," exolaimed the girls in abreatb.
"My! ain't she a swell." They thought
she had come to show off her dress.
"Eliza," exclaimed Miss Callender.
"What do you want? You will be late
for your confirmation."
"Oh, Miss," gasped 'Liza, almost
breathless, as she was, "I had to come.
I've tried and tried to say it, and I never
could; and at first it seemed a white one.
But, lately7, it's come 'at ween me and
God. And I've thought on it at night,
in bed, and when any of you bud been
kind to me, it ha' cut me like a knife.
And, oh, Miss, when you've spoken of
him, I've been a near fallin' down and
explaining to yer, but somethin' held me
back". And I told God, but he seemed to
say it wasn't any use my just tellin', un
less I undid it. Ob, please, all of you.
I don't care n w what you think of me,
or if you despise me. I can't go to
church until I've told yer. Him as I
talked of was only what I dreamed about
when I was lonely, evenings and times;
and there wasn't no Charlie, really, and
no one ain't never loved me, nor
wanted to marry me." Lndgate Month-
Jy.
Preventing Coal Dnst Explosions.
A successful method of preventing
coal dust explosions has been adopted in
various German mines. The usual
method of sprinkling water in dusty parts
of the mine has only a limited value, as
much of the dust generated in the mining
of coal is hereby unaffected. Water is
now forced under a pressure into the coal
to be mined, thus not only setting the
dust in advance but facilitating the re
moval of tho coal. Holes one meter
deep are drillel at a distance of about
three meters. Hero wooden plugs are
inserted and through them are run iron
pipes from to 1 meter long, with open
ings between 2-J and 3 millimeters large
and connected with rubber hose. Im
portant factors in the successful appli
cation of this method are the water pres-
nuiw "'J
sure ontamupie, me quantity 01 wvier
. . . -
in ected and the firmness or tno seam,
the lagt itern depending to somo extent
, DiHars in the ork.
. rr,, . x-
infra I .hicacn iNftWfl.
ings.
L 0
Customer Isn't that a pretty gooC
price for a porous plaster?
Druggist Yes, but think how long it
will last.
"THE GREAT HUNGER"
FAMINES ARE PERIODICAL
CURRENCES IX RUSSIA.
0C
Some Account of the Present Famine
in That Conntry and Other Noted
Starvation Crises.
Famine in Russia is periodical like the
buows, or rather it is perennial like the
Siberian plague. To be scientifically ac
curate, one should distinguish two dif
ferent varieties of it, the provincial and
the national, the former termed golo
ilovka, or tho little hunger, and the latter
golod, or the great hunger.
Now not a year has elapsed this
century in which extieme distress in some
province or provinces 01 tho empire has
not assumed the dimensions of a famine,
while scarcely a decade has passed away
in which the local misfortune has not
ripened into the national calamity.
Nor is the nineteenth century an ex
ception in this regard. If we go as far
back as the year 1100 and follow the
course of Russian history down to the
present year of grace, we shall find that
while the "little hunger" is an annual
occurrence, as familiar asthe destruction
of human lives by wolves, the normal
number of national famines fluctuates
between seven and eight per century.
It is curious that the circumstance that
we can thus speak of the periodicity of
this terrible scourge, much as the as
tronomers and meteorologists discourse
of that of a comet or an abnormally
wnnn summer, should be balm to tho
hearts of Russian shinovniks who are
delighted to shift to tho shoulders of
Providence or Nature responsibility for
the fruits of their own mismanagement.
The present century, which has yet
eight years to run, has already had its
full share of these visitations which somo
optimists regard as automatic checks on
over-population; in 1801, 180?, 1811,
1812. 1833, 1840, 1860 and 18'Jl. These
are tho national golods.
The provincial famines frequently
equal them in severity if not in extent,
and so complete and child-like is the
people's trust in Providence nnd the
Cznr, who, it is ljpped, will utilize in
good time tho abundance of the harvest
in tho neighboring provinces to relieve
their needs, that the crops are allowed to
lie rotting in some places until the
x ? ..I i . a il. l
peasants in others are beyond the reach
ot hunger and or human help.
The fifth and six decades of tho present
century ushered in sceneB of misery
which would havo provoke:! a bloody
revolution arnongpeoples in whote breasts
dutv had implanted that spirit of manly
resistance which is proportioned in most
men to the wrongs they are destined to
endure.
Travelling some five or six years ago
through a large district affl'cted by tho
farnine of the godolovka variety, I found
myself behind the scenes of the lowest
theatre of human existence which it is
possible to conceive.
Multiplying by an enormus figure the
frights one seen in the lugubrious wards
of a typhus hospital and intensifying the
horror they inspire by substituting hunger
for disease, criminal neglect for inevita-
hi,. ...vnitv mtf fnrm .n,n i.inn f
a state of thWs which should have ren-
dered the system that produced it forever
after impossible.
Kazan Mas then the center of, tho
famine-stricken district and the country
folk round about journeyed hundreds of
miles on foot, dragging themselves feebly
along in search of food and finding only
graves.
Many of them lay down by the road
side;, in ditches, in the yards of deserted
houses and gave up tho ghost without a
murmur against their Little Father, the
Czar. "It was touching and edifying to
witness their Christian "submission un,l j
unshaken faith in Ood." exclaimed many
of the higher tshinovniks, who seemed to
feel that nothing in their life became
thctn like the leaving it.
In 1887-1888, when the abundance of
the harvest in Russia seemed to partake
of the nature of the miraculous, the dis
,.,.a ,.f..;.. .Kh.:., ..... 4-!... . . 1 1
n !ntMn m..I (licn.ln.n. n. nt nrnn
"In many villages tho people are abso
lutely destitute of food, "run the accounts
published at the time; "largo numbers !
navc to mice to uegguig, nut as tiio samo
monotonous misery reigns all round, after
having crawled from neighbor to neigh-
bor, they have nothing for it but :
to drag themselves back to their hovels
and sicken of hunger. !
In the Government of Smolensk the
peasants lived during the year "on bread j
made partly of ryo and partly of the ;
husks of rye, often eaten with the worm-
eaten bark of the oak or the pine, which j
stills without satisfying the cravings of !
hunger." Lack of fodder killed tho cat-
tie in thousands, but not before a reso- 1
lute effort had been made to save them !
by feeding, them on Mie straw-thatched
root's of hovels.
Last year, writes E. B Lanin in tho
London Fortnightly Review, there was
another partial famine of considerable
pr portions, scarcely noticed by the
English press, the progress of which was
marked by the usual concomitants: merci
ful homicide, arson, suicide, dirt-bread,
typhus and death.
The evil is undeniably chronic; the
symptoms ure always tho same, and the j
descriptions m them published ien or
fifty vearsnso might bo served up afresh
to-dav or next war as fuithfuf nhoto- !
graphs of the life in death of millions of
Russian v hristiauw.
Scarcity of foot
has long sincecomoto
be looked onus a necessary condition of
the existence of the people who manage
t" supply a ureal part of 1
airopo with j
'
jorn.
Tho Czars Irne been aware of it for
ceniu ie. an 1 have done all that the
could- at ected to do to prepare for
it. 1
In 1721 Peter I. decreed the establish,
mcnt of district granaries to reserve corn,
and Catharine II.. thirty years later,
commanded her Minister to set about
putting his ukase into execution.
There is a leap year in the annals of
distress; the famine extends over a much
larger area, but is not a whit more in
tense than it Mas last year, five, ten, or
fifteen years ago.
The district affected extends from
Odessa on the shores of the Black Sea
throngh Little Russia, athwart the rich
black loam country celebrated for its
marvellous fertility, straight through the
country watered by the Volga, across
the Urals, growing wider and wider till it
reaches Tobolsk ; in otherwords.it covers
a tract of land 3,000 miles long and from
500 to l.CKK) mil s broad, which supports
a population of only forty millions.
These Atlases on whose shoulders a
great part of tho weight 01 the Russian
empire rests, are, in a gradual way,
undergoing the process of petrifaction
which their prototype experienced on a
sudden when he gazed at the countenance
of Medusa.
SURPRISED THE DEALER.
How a Dead Chicfien was Made
Astonish Its Owner.
" How do vou sell these chickens
to
ne
weight ?" asked the man with the twinkle
in his eye. putting his hand on a fowl
which had its throat cut and its feathers
plucked, and was apparently as dead as
a chicken can be.
" Haven't any live chickens, sir," re
plied the niarketman.
" Why, what do you call this ? " As
he spoke a low, dolorous squawk came
from the bench where the chickens lay.
The marketman started and turned a
trifle pale. "W-what's that?-' he
gasped,
" I say," repeated the other, " you
don't call this a dead chicken, do you ?
Hear that?" And again came the squawk.
I The marketman fairly trembled. "I
1, no began, nnu then, as the squawk
was repeated, he stood motionless, unable
to say a word.
"Strikes me it's rather cruel to pull off
a live chicken's feathers and leave it
lying about in this way," continued the
other. "I suppose you have to lo it to as-
! sure your customers that the fowls are
f.v. u.,i ,ts...'A i u a,.
fresh. But you'd better not let the So
ciety for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals catch you at it."
"I thought it was dead; honest I did!"
cried the marketman. "I bought it for a
', dLe.ad chicken. Why, I wouldn't have had
this thing happen for anything. Sup
pose there had been a lady inhere. She'd
have fainted away."
"Oh, you thought it was dead, did
you ? I'm not so sure about that. On
the whole, I don't know but it's my duty
to report you to the S. P. C. A."
"Please don't, sir; please don't ! I'll
kill tho thicken myself and you can have
it for nothing if you won't say anything
about it."
"Oh, I'm not to be bribed; but, as it
may not bo your fault, I'll let you off if
ns you say, you'll cut the poor chicken's
; ,10a" on ana "w u, anu wniio you re
: 1 (f .1 T . . . a T 1
: uDout it yon a ocuer iimao sure mat
.' these other chickens are dead by treating
! them 111 th saln0 wav
I don t care 1 1
you send one of them to my house when
! you e killed and drawn them.'
! "Yes, sjr; yes, sir; 1 will," exclaimed
the marketman, eagerly.
I Tho wise-looking man walked out,
j smiling softly to himself.
I "That's a trick that everybody doesn't
I know," he said.
J " How did you do it?" I asked.
j "Why, it is simple enough. You can
! make any dead chicken squawk by press
ing its breastbone just right; that is, it it
hasn't been dead too long. I suppose the
movement forces the air out of its lungs
in such a way as to produce the noise. J
startled that" fellow a little, but if I've
scared him into selling drawn fowls I've
done a god thing for tho health of his
customers." Buffalo (X. Y.) Express.
MOVlIlg .MdeWallfS.
There is now in operation in tho Ex-
position grounds at Chicago an experi-
mental movable sidewalk ,iW reet in
length, the same except in length as will
bo exhibited during tho World's Fair,
This encircles an oval patch of ground
and consists of two movable platforms
running side by side, and both going the
game way. The first or slow platform
runs at a. rate of three miles an hour
which makes stepping on while in motion
extremely easy. Another step puts the
passenger on the fast platform which
runs six miles an hour. It has been
working two weeks and has carried as
many as T00 persons at one time. Tho
inventor claims for tho invention a carrv-
hr' capacity of 40.000 an hour past a
criven point. One advantage claimed for
the moving sidewalk is that it can be put
up 011 a level with the second stories of
buildings, increasing the capacity of the
streets. St. Louis Star-Sayings.
A Strange Material.
A prospector in Montana has found
a slraniro mineral that takes fire and con-
"Suincs itself when exposed to the air.
When taken from the ground it. has much
tho appearance of hvn ore und is quite as
heuvv. The hrst that was taken out was
piled up near tho shaft one evening and
the next morning was found to be smok
iiitr. It continued to grow hotter until it
a rrived at almost a white heat.rematuing
in that condition several days, after
which it gradually o!iId o. It was
i then found to be but half its first weisrht,
and resembled much tho fragments of
meteors that ere found on the surface.
NOTES AND COMMENTS.
A recent traveller in Morocco says that
for people who dress in white and love to
be very neat ia their personal appear
ance the Moroccans are very indifferent
to the cleanliness of their towns. Around
the most beautifully furnished houses are
heaps of refuse and the bodies of dead
animals. All the care of the people is
centred upon the interior of their houses.
They furnish them as expensively as
their means permit; but what is outside
their walls does not trouble them.
The Seattle (Washington) Telgraph
says that a good, practical example of
rain-making by concussion was seen in
that town recently. Some men who were
clearing up Alton street put a heavpr
blast of dynamite under a stump that it
was desirable to get rid cf and touched it
off. A tremendous concussion followed,
and although the sky was comparatively
free of clouds it began to rain atonco
and howered heavily for some while.
But it rains occasionally in Oregon and
Washington.
Not more than half a mile from Port
Pcnn, Delaware, in a sheltered copse be
tween two tidewater streams Mowing into
Delaware Ray, there are within an area
of five acres more than fifty dugouts, or
rude earthen houses, used by the Indiana
of the region more than a century ago.
The mounds are fast disappearing, but
the earth thereabouts abounds in arrow
heads, tomahawks, mid other Indian rel
ics, while the bones of many savages lie
buried hard by'. Some of the neighbor
ing farmers hold the land that was grant
ed to them in the earliest colonial days,
and one of tho oldest inhabited houses in
the United States, a substantial brick
structure, is still standing near Port Penu
and in good repair. Probably three
fourths of the white inhabitants aro de
scendants of colonial settlers.
Dakota, which claims everything bo
large that it appeals to the imagination
of the discoverer us well as that of the
man who is told all about it, now an
nounces thHt it has the most wonderful
artesian well in the world. The water is
said to spout from it a distance of 100
foot in the air, and the supply is 10,000
gallons a minute. The pressuro is 200
pounds tothi- square inch. A land-boomer
calculates that this well, which is at
Huron, would furnish to each man, wom
an and child in North Dakota four gal
lons of water every hour.
The fact brought out at the late Prison
Congress that crime has increased rela
tively in tho United States and decreased
tslsewhero has naturally caused unfavor
able comment, and encouraged inquiry
into the cause of this unpleasant show
ing. The statement is based on the
great decrease shown in the number of
f)risoners in Europe and their increase
ieie. In twenty years the prisoners con
fined in England and Wales havo fallen
from 19.318 to P,00f, although there has
been a largo increase in population.
Whereas in the United States in t en years
our prison population has grown from
12,6'Jl to 19,538.
The southern part of Washington
County, III., is said to be peculiarly rich
in Indian relics, which may be iiound on
almost every farm. The banks of the
Elkhorn. Locust, Hcauconp, and Mud
Creeks, which flow through the region,
wero once favorite camping-places of the
red men. Among tho relics which have
been recently ploughed up are a battle
axe of hard Mint, pink in color and
weighing six pounds, which is now in
tho possession of Mr. George Martin, of
Nashville, III.; a pipe-stem, embellished
with raised scroll work, a great variety of
arrow and spear-heads, and an axe-head
of green stone. More interesting than
the remains of the Indian tribes is an
oddly shaped piece of stone which a son
of Farmer llalbert ploughed up on the
bank of Locust Creek about a month
ago. Observing some faint lettering
upon the stone, he carried it home, and
when it was washed, the inscription stood
out: "D. Boone. 1785." Above the in--Bcription,
which seemed to have been
made with a knite or somo other sharp
instrument, was tho faint outline of a
rude attempt at picturing an arrow, and
above this an indentation the size of a
largo bean. It appears to be a bona-fide
relic of the great hunter, Boone, who
made several hunting trips to southern
Illinois, and passed through the country
when he moved west from Kontucky.
It seems that Christmas, as the anni
versary of Christ's birth, was observed
as far back as tho fourth century. Bat
we have few details of the observance,
and it b not until wo come to tho era
whoso customs aro preserved to us in
song and ballad that we can discover
many details of the festivities attendant
upon the time. We learn that the good
King Arthur and his Knights o be
Round Table made merry at the (. t
mas season, feasting being their princi
pal method of observing the day, as be
came such a body of worthies. William
the Conqueror duly observed Christmas,
and since his time tho mora or less formal
observance of the day has been uninter- ;
rupted. In the olden times, before the
Christian era. tho innumerable gods and
goddesses of my thoiogy had played im
portant parts in tho festivals of their
believars. When the belief in thoir ex- '
istnce and influence on human affairs
was swept away, popular fancy trans
formed them into legendary witches,
elves, and good spirits, and in the earliei
musks, or pi iys, which became a part of
the Christmas observance, we find thea
mythical beings curiously interwoven
As early as the twelfth century pectacu
lar plays were presented nt Christmas
time, and for halt a dozen centuries they
and their successors held sway in Ilng
land. In Germany somo form of page
ant, spectacle, or play has be in common
in connection with th festivities for
hundreds of years.