KCillJ INTERNATIONAL PFESS ASSOCIATION. |
CHAPTER IL ( CoNTiNonB. )
\ "I fancy I shall never marry , " said
• Carriston , . looking at me with his soft ,
' 'dark eyes. "You see , a * boy who has
waited for years expecting to die ,
• doesn't grow up with exactly the same
feelings as other people. I don't think
I shall ever meet a woman I can care
for enough to make my wife. No , ' I
• expect my cousin will be Sir Ralph
: I tried to ' laugh him out of his mor
bid ideas. "Those who live will see , "
I said. "Only promise to ask me to
your wedding , and better still , if you
live in town , appoint me your family
ik doctor. It may prove the nucleus of
• that West end practice which it is the
'dream of every doctor to establish. "
I have already alluded to the strange
lieauty of Carriston's dark eyes. As
Boon as companionship commenced be
tween na those eyes became to me ,
from scientific reasons , objects of curi
osity , on account of the mysterious ex
pression which I at times detected in
them. Often and often they wore a
look the like to which , I imagine , is
found only in the eyes of a somnam
bulist a look which one feels certain
is intently fixed upon something , yet
upon something beyond the range of
one's own vision. During the first two
or three days of our newborn intimacy
WO I found this eccentricity of Carriston's
f [ positively startling. When now and
t
ft then I turned to him , and found him
§ ri staring with all his might at nothing ,
§ mk my eyes were compelled to follo\v Hie
WfJ direction in which his own were bent.
| It was at first impossible to divest
j one's-self of the belief that something
) should be there to justify go fixed a
R gaze. However , as the rapid growth
\ of our friendly intercourse soon showed
j ] me that he was a boy of most ardent
poetic temperament perhaps even
| & . more a poet than an artist I laid at
JP the door of the muse these absent looks
U \ and recurring flights into vacancy.
i } t We were at the Fairy Glen one morn-
r ing , sketching , to the best of our abil-
k ity , the swirling stream , the gray rocks ,
and the overhanging trees , the last just
Y growing brilliant with autumnal tints.
So beautiful was everything around
. • that for a long time I worked , idled , or
, " dreamed in contented silence. Carris- |
s. ton had set up his easel at some little
gas distance from mine. At last I turned ]
N& ) to see how his sketch was progressing. |
Wf He had evidently fallen into one of his
vAj * brown studies , and , apparently , a hard- j
raC er one than usual. His brush had
ft fallen from his fingers , his features ;
ni were immovable , and his strange dark
a ? eyes were absolutely riveted upon a
Ep large rock in front of him , at which he
I gazed as intently as if Ills hope of
ii , heaven depended upon seeing through
|
I
*
| " % • He seemed for the while oblivious to
k' y * things mundane. A party of laughing ,
L chattering tourist girls scrambled down
the rugged steps , and one by one passed
m\ \ in front of him. Neither their pres-
W ence nor the inquisitive glances they
Re cast on his statuesque face" roused him
Jt from his fit of abstraction. For a
9 moment I wondered if the boy took
\ opium or some other narcotic on the
Is sly. Full of the thought I rose , crossed
1 over to him , and laid my hand upon
m his shoulder. As he felt my touch he
R came to himself , and looked up at me
I * in a dazed , inquiring way.
jfL "Really , Carriston , " I said , laughing-
Hf ly , "you must reserve your dreaming
fits until we are in places where tourists -
ists do not congregate , or you will be
l\ thought a madman , or a least a poet. "
\ a % v Ho made no reply. He turned away
from me impatiently , even rudely ;
m then , picking up his brush , went on
E ) with his sketch. After a while he
B seemed to recover from his pettishness ,
R and we spent the remainder of the day
W as pleasantly as usual.
1 As we trudged home in the twilight ,
K he said to me in an apologetic , almost
mk
penitent way :
ffe , "I hope I was not rude to you just
It now ? "
5 . "When do you mean ? " I asked , hav-
W ing almost forgotten the trivial inci-
| k dent.
A "When you woke me from what you
* * railed mv dreamine ? "
BP i "Oh , dear no. You were not at .all
HLX rude. If you had been , it was but the
t penalty due to my presumption. The
| H flights of genius should be respected ,
Hft not checked by a material hand. "
Htf "That is nonsense ; I am not a geu-
HE [ ins. and you must forgive me for my
HB rudeness , " said Carriston simply.
HfW After walking some distance in
Hp silence , he spoke again. "I wish when
HK you are with me you would try and
I H1 stop me from getting into that state.
H It docs me no good. "
Hk Seeing he was in earnest , I promised
HF * to do my best , and was curious enough
H to ask him whither his thoughts wan-
Hfs > " < lered during those abstracted mo-
HV ' xnents.
i J'"I can scarcely tell you. " he said.
H Presently he asked , speaking with
Hf liesitation , "I suppose you never feel
HK jthat under certain circumstances cir-
HB cumstances which you cannot explain
H you might be able to see things
H -which arc invisible to others ? "
H "To see things. What things ? "
H "Things , as I said , which novone else I
Ht can see. You must know there are
B * jL - people who possess this power. " !
Et L " * now that certain people have as- |
HI L sorted they possess what they call sec-
nl 7ondeight but the assertion is I
7\ ond-eight ; too ab-
Hi surd to waste time in refuting. "
HJr "Yet , " said Carriston dreamily , "I I
Hl' know that if I did not strive to avoid
M it some such power would come to me. "
B "You are too ridiculous , Carriston , "
H I said. "Some people see what others
i
don't , because they have longer sight.
You may , of course , imagine anything.
But your eyes handsome cye3 they are ,
too contain certain properties , known
as humors and lenses , therefore in
order to see "
"Yes , yes , " interrupted Carriston ; "I
know exactly all you are going to say.
You , a man of science , ridicule every
thing which breaks what you are
'
p 'leased to call the law of nature. Yet
take all the unaccountable tales told.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine you ex
pose to scorn or throw grave doubts
upon , yet the thousandth rests on evi
dence which can not be upset or dis
puted. The possibility of that one
proves the possibility of all. "
"Not at all ; but , , enough for your
argument , " I said , amused at the boy's
wild talk.
"You doctors , " he continued with that
delicious air of superiority so often
assumed by laymen when they are in
good health , "put too much to the credit
of diseased imagination. "
"No doubt ; it's a convenient shelf
on which to put a difficulty. But go
on. "
"The body is your province , , yet you
can't explain why a cataleptic patient
should hear a watch tick when it is
placed against his foot. "
"Nor you ; nor any one. But perhaps
it may aid you to get rid of your rub
bishing theories if I tell you that cata
lepsy , as you understand it , is a disease
not : known to us ; in fact , it does not
exist. . "
He seemed crestfallen at hearing this.
"But what do you want to prove ? " I
asked. ; "What have you yourself
seen ; ? "
"Nothing , I tell you. And I pray I
may ; never see anything. "
After this ho seemed inclined to shirk
the subject , but I pinned him to it. I
was really anxious to get at "the true
state of his mind. In answer to the lead
ing questions with which I plied him ,
Carriston ( revealed an amount of super
stition i which seemed utterly childish
.
and out of place beside the intellectual
faculties which he undoubtedly pos
sessed. *
Yet I was not altogether amused by
his talk. His wild arguments and
wilder beliefs made me fancy there
must be a weak spot somewhere in his
brain even made me fear lest his end
might be madness. The thought maae
me sad ; for , with the exception of the
eccentricities ( which I have mentioned ,
I reckoned Carriston the pleasantest
friend I had ever made. His amiable
nature , his good looks , and perfect
breeding had endeared the young man
to me ; so much so that I resolve 'd , dur
ing the remainder of the time we
should spend together , to do all I could
toward taking the" nonsense out of him.
My efforts were unavailing. I kept
a sharp lookout upon him , and let him
fall into no more mysterious reveries ;
but the curious idea that he possessed ,
or could possess , some gift above
human nature , was too firmly rooted
to be displaced. On all other subjects
he argued fairly and was open to rea
son. On this one point he was im
movable. When I could get him to
notice my attacks at all , his answer
was :
"You doctors , clever as you are with
the body , know as little of psychology
as you did three thousand years ago. "
When the time came to fold-up my
easel and return to the drudgery of life ,
I parted from Carriston with much re
gret. One of those solemn , but often
broken , promises to join together next
year in another sketching tour passed
between us. Then I went back to Lon
don , and during the subsequent
months , although I saw nothing of him ,
I often thought of my friend of the
autumn.
III.
* / W N THE sprias o
' tt _ J / / ) \ 1865 J went down
rBniM/Ji to Bournemouth to
jSfrlf V\ # } see , for .the last
MU | | / time , an old friend
* | &S / | l who was dying of
( JM consumption. Dur-
crSHmCO >
ins a ereat nart of
/i$2HJPV ? $ * e i ° urneJ * - down I
/itaPftr a 01 a traveling
/ ffMLj | companion a well-
dressed gentleman-
'ly man of about forty years of age.
We were alone in the compartment ,
and after interchanging some small
civilities , -such as the barter of news
papers , glided into conversation. My
fellow traveler seemed to be an intel
lectual man , and well posted up in the
doings of the dajHe talked fluently
and easily on various topics , and , judg
ing from his talk , must have moved m
good society. Although I fancied his
features bore traces of hard living ,
and dissipation , he was not unprepos
sessing in appearance. The greatest
faults in his lace were the remarkable
thinness of the lips , and his C5"es being
a : shade closer together than one cares
to see. With a casual acquaintance
such peculiarities are of little moment ,
but r my part I should not choose for
a friend one who possessed them , with
out due trial and searching proof.
At this time the English public were
much interested in an important will
case which was then being tried. The
reversion to a vast sum of money de
pended upon the testator's sanity or
insanity. Like most other people , we
duly discussed the matter. I suppose ,
from some of my remarks , my com
panion ] understood that I was a doctor.
He asked me a good many technical
questions , and I described several curi
ous < cases of mania which had come
T
mn ii nwiWtf. 'iMMw ' mmammmmmmmktmmmmmmimm
* * mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
under , my notice. He secrnqd greatly
interested in the subject.
"Yon must sometimes find It hard to
say where sanity ends , and insanity
begins , " he said , thoughtfully.
"Yeo. The boundary line is , in some
Instances , hard to define. To give , in
'
such a dubious. c sc , an opinion which
would'satisfy myself , I.would want to
have known the patient at the time ho
was considered quite sane. "
"To mark the difference ? "
; "Exactly. And to know the bent < if
the character. For instance , there is a
freind of mine. He was perfectly sane
when last I saw him , but , for all I
know , he may have made great prog
ress the other way in the interval. "
Then , without mentioning names ,
dates or places , I described Carriston's
peculiar disposition to my intelligent
listener. He heard me with rapt in
terest.
"You predict he will go mad ? " he
said.
"Certainlynot. . Unless something
unforeseen arises he will probably live
and die as sane as you or I. "
"Why do ycu fear him , then ? "
"For this reason. I think that any
sudden emotion violent grief , for in
stance any unexpected and crushing
blow might at once disturb the bal
ance of his mind. Let his life run on
in an even groove , and all Avill be well
with him. "
My companion was silent for a few
moments.
"Did you mention your friend's
name ? " he asked.
I laughed. "Doctors never give names
when they quote cases. "
At the next station my companion
left the train. He bade me a polite
adieu , and thanked me for the pleasure
my conversation had given him. After
wondering what station in life he oc
cupied I dismissed him from my mind ,
"
as one who had crossed my path for a
short time and would probably never
cross it again ,
short time and would probably never
Although I did not see Charles Car
riston I received several letters from
him during the course of the year. He
had not forgotten our undertaking to
pass my next holiday together. Early
in the autumn , just as I was beginning
to long with a passionate longing for
open air and blue skies , a letter came
from Carriston. He was now , he said ,
roughing it in the Western Highlands.
He reminded me of last year's promise.
Could I get away from work now ?
Would I join him ? If I did not care to
visit Scotland , would I suggest some
other place where he could join me ?
Still , the scenery by which he was now
surrounded was superb , and the accom
modation he had secured , if not luxuri
ous , fairly comfortable. He thought we
could do no better. A postscript to his
letter asked me to address him as Cecil
Cannot Charles Carriston. He had a
reason for changing his name a fool
ish reason I should no doubt call it.
When we met he would let me know it.
This letter at once decided me to
accept his invitation. In a week's time ,
my arrangements for leave of absence
were complete , and I was speeding
northward in the highest spirits , and
well equipped with everything neces
sary for my favorite holiday pursuit.
I looked forward with the greatest
pleasure to again meeting Carriston.
I found him at Callendar waiting for
me. The coach did not follow the route
we were obliged to take in order to
reach the somewhat unfrequented part
of the country in which our tent was
nitched. so my friend had secured the
services of a primitive vehicle and a
strong shaggy pony to bear us the re
mainder of the journey.
; to he coxtisus : ) . )
A College Student as Blacksmith.
At Cornell all the mechanical engi
neering students have to learn seven
trades. One of these trades , that of
blacksmith , is very distasteful to some
of the students , but it has to be learned
all the same. One young fellow , who
was unusually averse to soiling his
hands , begged hard , to be exempted
from wearing the leather apron , but
the profesor took special care that there
was nothing lacking in thoroughness of
his training at the forge. Last fall the
student went to the professor and
thanked him for being compelled to
learn blacksmithing. "You see , " he
said , "I am now superintendent of a
mine awav back in Colorado. Last
summer our main shaft broke and
there was no one in the mine but my
self who could weld it. I didn't like
the job , but took off my coat and weld
ed that shaft. It wasn't a pretty job ,
but she's Tunning now. If I couldn't
have done it I'd have had to pack that
shaft on mule back and sent it 300
miles over the mountains tobe fixed ,
and the mine would have had to shut
down till it got back. My ability to
mend that shaft raised me in the eyes
of every man in the mine and the boss
raised my salary. " Pittsburg Dis
patch.
A Rural Humorist.
"My friend. ' ' said the traveler , "have
you a'knife about you ? "
"Naw ; but you'll find a fork in the
road yander. "
"You're bright , ain't you ? "
"Naw , I'm Brown. " Atlanta Consti
tution.
Strength of a "Web of Spirtor Silk.
Size for size , a thread of spider silk
is decidedly tougher than a bar of steel.
An ordinary thread will bear a weight
of three grains. This is just about
fifty per cent stronger than a steel
thread of the same thickness.
Patents.
To have an invention protected all
over the world it is necessary te take
out sixty-four patents in as many dif-
"erent countries , the estimated cost ef
which is about $2,500.
I
-TALMAGE'S SEBSFON.
"HEAVENLY RECOGNITION"
LAST SUNDAY'S SUBJECT.
Trom the rollovrlnsr Text : "X Shall Cote
to 2Um" Second . Book of Samuel ,
Chapter xll , Verso 23 The x'aturo
Xilfe of the Just.
is a very
" • sick child in the
abode of David the
king. D 1 s e a se ,
fHERE stalks up the
, dark lane of the
poor and puts its
smothering hand on
lip and nostril of
the wan and wasted
also mounts the pal
ace stairs.and bend-
/ng over the pillow , blows into the face
of . a young prince the frosts of pain and
death. Tears are wine , to the King of
Terrors. Alas ! for David the king.
He can neither sleep nor eat , and lies
prostrate on his face , weeping and wail
ing until the palace rings with the out
cry ' of woe.
What are courtly attendants , or vic
torious armies , or conquered provinces ,
under such circumstances ? What to
any parent-is all splendid surrounding !
when his child is sick ? Seven days
have passed on. There , in that great
house , two eyelids are gently closed ,
two little hands folded , two little feet
quiet , one heart still. The servant
come to bear the tidings to the king ,
but. they cannot make up their minds
to tell him , and they stand at the door
whispering about the matter , and Da
vid hcais them and he looks up and
says tb them , "Is the child dead ? "
"Yes , he is dead. " David rouses hhn-
self up , washes himself , puts on new
apparel , and ilts down to food. What
power hushed that tempest ? What
strength was it that lifted up that king
whom grief had dethroned ? Oh , it was
the thought that he would come again
into the possession of that darling
child. No grivedigger's spade could
hide him. The wintry LJasts of death
could not put out the bright light.
There would bo a forge somewhere that
with silver hammer would weld the
broken links. In a city where the hoofs
of the pale horse never strike the pave
ment he would clasp his lost treasure.
I ' He wipes away the tears from his eyes ,
and he clears the choking grief from
his throat , and exclaims , "I shall go to
him. "
Was David right or wrong ? If we
part on earth will we meet again in the
next world ? "Well , " says some one ,
"that seems to be an impossibility.
Heaven is so large a place we never
could find our kindred there. " Going
into some city , without having appoint
ed a time and place for meeting , you
might wander around for weeks and for
months , and perhaps for years , and
never see eacn other ; and heaven is
vaster than all earthly cities together ,
and how are you going to find your de
parted friend in that country ? It is
so vast a realm. John went up on one
mountain of inspiration , and he looked
off upon the multitude , and he said :
"Thousands of thousands. " Then he
came upon a greater altitude of inspira
tion and looked off upon it again , and
he said : "Ten thousand times ten thou
sand. " And then he came on a higher
mount of inspiration , and looked off
again and he said : "A hundred and for-
tv and four thousand and thousands of
thousands. " And he came on a still
greater height of inspiration , and he
looked off again , and exclaimed : "A
great multitude that no man can num
ber. "
The object of this sermon is to take
this theory out of the region of surmise
and speculation into the region of pos
itive certainty. People say , "It would
be very pleasa.it if that doctrine were
true. I hope it may be true. Perhaps
it is true. I wish it were true. " But
I believe , that I can bring an accumu
lation of argument to bear upon this
matter which will prove the doctrine of
future recognition as plainly as that
there is any heaven at all , and that the
kiss of reunion'at the celestial gate will
be as certain as the dying kiss at the
door of the sepulchre.
* * *
What dees my text imply ? "I shall
go to him. " What c6nsolation would it
be to David to go to his child if he
would not know him ? Would David
have been allowed to record this antici
pation for the inspection of all ages if
it were a groundless anticipation ? We
read in the first book of the Bible ,
Abraham died and was gathered to his
people. Jacob died and was gathered
to his . Moses
people. died and was
gathered to his people. What people ?
Why .their friends , their comrades , their
old companions. Of course it means
that. It cannot mean anything else.
So in the very beginning of the Bible
four times that is taken for'granted.
The whole New Testament is an arbor
over which this doctrine creeps like a
luxuriant vine full of purple clusters
of consolation. James. John , and Peter
followed Christ into the mountain. A
light falls from heaven on that moun
tain and lifts it into the glories of the
celestial. Christ's garments glow and
his face shines like the sun. The door
of heaven swings open. Two spirits
come down and alight on that moun
tain. The disciples look at them and rec
ognize them as Moses and Elias. Now ,
if those disciples standing en the earth
could recognise these two spirits who
had been for years in heaven , do you [
tell me that we , with our heavenly eye- J I
sight , will not be able to recognize
those who have gone out from among I.
us only five , ten , twenty , thirty years
ago ' ?
You know very well that our joy in
any : circumstances is augmented by the
companionship < of our friends. We can
not ; see a picture with less than four
cyes , or hear a song with 'ess than
" n in i . j , m mil i dfri
four cars. Wo want some one beside
us with whom to-exchange glances and
sympathies ; and 1 suppose the joy of
heaven Is to bo augmented by the fact
that wo are to have our friends with ua
when there rise before U3 the throncsj
of the blest and when there surges up
in bur ear the jubilate of the saved.
Heaven is not a contraction. It is
an expansion. If I know you here ,
I will know you better there. Here I
see you with only two eyes , but there
the soul shall have a million eyes. It
will bo immortality gazing on immor
tality ransomed spirit in colloquy with
ransomed spirit victor beside victor.
When John Evans , the Scotch minister ,
was seated in his study , his wife came
in and said to him , "My dear , do you
think we will know each other in hea
ven ? " He turned to her and said , "My
dear , do you think we will lie bigger
fools in heaven than we are here ? "
Again , I accept this doctrine of fut
ure recognition because the world's ex
pectancy affirms it. In all lands and
ages this theory is received. What
form of religion planted it ? No form
of religion , for it is received under all
forms of religion. Then , I argue , a
sentiment , a Reeling , an anticipation ,
universally planted , must have been
God-implanted , and if God-implanted ,
it is rightfully implanted. Socrates
writes : "Who would not part with a
great deal to purchase a meeting with
Orpheus and Homer ? If it , be true that
this is to be the consequence of death ,
I could even be able to die often. "
* * *
There is a mother before the throne
of God. You siy her joy is full. Is it ?
You say there can bo no augmentation
of it. Cannot there be ? Her son was
a wanderer and a vagabond on the
earth when that good mother died. Ho
broke her old heart. She died leaving
him in the wilderness of sin. She Isj
before the fhrone of God now. Years
pass , and that son repents of his crimes
and gives his heart to God and be
comes a useful Christian , and dies and
enters the gates of heaven. You tell
me that that mother's joy cannot be
augmented. Let them confront each
other , the son and the mother. "Oh , "
she says to the angels of God , "re
joice with me ! The dead is alive
again , and the lost is found. Hallelu
jah ! I never expected to see this lost
one come back. " The tsioie says na
tions are to be born in a day. When
China comes to God will it not know
Dr. Abeel ? When India comes , will it
not know Dr. John Scudder ? When the
Indians come to God , will they not
know David Brainerd ?
I see a soul entering heaven at last ,
with covered face at the idea that it
has done so little for Christ , and feel
ing borne down with unworthiness , and
it says to itself , "I have no r'ght to be
here. " A voice from a throne says ,
"Oh , you forget that Sunday school
class you invited to Christ ! I was one
of them. " And another voice says ,
"You forget that poor man to whom you
gave a loaf of bread. I was that man. "
And anothei\says , "You forget that sick
one to whom you gave medicine for the
body and the sou ! . I was that one. "
And then Christ , from a throne over
topping all the rest , will say , "Inas
much as ye did it to one of the least
of these , you did it to me. " And then
the seraphs will take their harps from
the side of the throne , and cry , "What
song shall it be ? " And Christ , bending
over the harpers , shall say , "It shall bo |
the Harvest Home ! "
One more reason why I am disposed
to accept this doctrine of future recog
nition is that so many in their last
hour on earth have confirmed this the
ory. I speak not of persons who have
been delirious in their last moment/ /
and knew not what they were about ,
but of persons who died in calmness
and placidity , and who were not nat
urally superstitious. Often the glories
of heaven have struck the dying pil
low , and the departing man has said
he saw and heard those who had gone
away from him. How often it is in the
dying moments parents , see their de
parted children and children see their
departed parents. I came down to the
banks of the Mohawk River. It was
evening , and I wanted to go over the
river , and so I waved my hat and
shouted , and after awhile I saw some
one waving on the opposite bank , and
I heard him shout , and the boat came
across , and I got in and was trans
ported. And so I suppose it will be in
the evening of our life. We will come
down to the river of death and give a
signal to our friends on the other shore ,
and they will give a signal back to us ,
and the boat comes , and our departed
kindred are the oarsmen , the fires of
the setting day tingeing the tops of tha
paddles.
Oh , have you never sat by such a
deathbed ? In that hour you hear the
departing soul cry , "Hark ! look ! " You
hearkened and you looked. A little
child pining away because of the death
oi its mother , getting weaker and weak
er every da- , was taken into the room
where hung the picture of her mother.
She seemed to enjoy looking at it , and
then she was taken away , and after
awhile died. In the last moment that
wan and wasted little one lifted her
hands , while her face lighted up with
the glory of the next world , and cried
out , "Mother ! " Do you toll me she did
not see her mother ? She did. So in
my first settlement at Belleville a plain
man said to me , "What do you think
I heard last night ? I was in the room
v. 'here one of my neighbors was dying.
He was a good man , and he said he
heard the angels of God singing before -
fore the throne. I haven't much poetry
about me , but I listened , and I heard
them , tco. " Said I , "I have no doubt of
it. " Why , ve are to be taken up to
heaven at last by ministering spirits.
Who are they to be ? Souls that went
up from Madras , or Antioch , or Jerusa
lem ? Oh , no ! our glorified kindred are j
going to troop around us.
mi
j EVOLUTION OF THE UMBRELLA * f | H
From the OM-Timu AVImloliono .Spreader M | | | |
to thu How Channel Stitch Ai \ H
Forty years or so ago umbrellas wcro I , | |
made with stretchers or bows of v/hnlo- jj ] |
bone. These bows wcro rather bulky I W M
In themselves , and they were apt to get IflB
a little permanent bend from long use 1 1
so that they bulged when the umbrella ' | |
was rolled up ; making the big , bnggy ' - |
umbrella , familiar to middle-aged and r l
older people , and occasionally still H
seen , though on the stage oftcnor than. f H
in real life. With the introduction of , / H
petroleum oil into general use as an ' 1
illuminating oil , and the consequent ' M
very general abandonment of the use of M
whale oil came the decline of the what- M
Ing industry. Fewer and fewer vcsselH M
went after whales , because there was M
less and less demand for the oil. Of H
course , the supply of whnlebone decreased - M
creased with the supply of oil , but the H
price did not , nor did the demand. M
There arc still some uses for which M
whalebone is considered most deslra- H
ble , and with constant demand and dc- H
creasing supply the price of whalebone H
steadily advanced , as it has continued H
to do. Whalebone soon became too H
costly to permit of Its further use for ! H
umbrella stretchers. At first a slender , H
round , tempered steel rod. With these H
slenderer bows the umbrella could bo H
more snugly rolled and the old baggy H
umbrella began to disappear , and the H
modern tight roller to take Its place. H
Then came umbrella bows of light steel H
rolled in V shape , and then , in the H
quest for a still tighter roller , umbrella | H
handles were made of metal. The first ' H
tubing handles were made of brass. H
Steel would have been cheaper , but H
there had be2n discovered no satisfnc- |
tory method of brazing steel tubes such |
as are used in umbrella handles. There |
is such a method now , however , and i |
umbrella handles of steel tubing are j > H
now made in great numbers. And |
nowadays many spreaders are made of H
steel , rolled channel-shaped. In cross H
section this spreader is shaped something - H
thing like a capital letter E without a H
tongue , and the ribs of the umbrella H
the steel rods that run from the slid- j H
ing ferrule , or runner , as it is called , H
on the handle of the umbrella , by ) H
means of which the umbrella is spread < H
are so attacned and adjusted to the < H
spreaders that thev shut into the chan- |
nels when the umbrella is closed. B l
ITS LATTER-DAY DEGENERACY. H
The Umbrella Is No Longer a I'ortly , fl
Kespectuhle Instrument. |
The real old family umbrella has H
gone out. Call that slim , stuck-up , affected - ' H
fected , attenuated thing a family urn- H
brella ? Go away , says a writer in London - ' H
don Queen. I remember the genuine J |
family umbrella ; it was kept in readi- ij H
ncss behind every front door ; it was a jj H
large , portly , heavy instrument. As an i ] M
emblem of respectability it was highly I !
esteemed in middle-class society ; it was j H
serviceable as a tent in rainy weather ; ' 1 1
it could be used as a weapon of offense , H
and defense on occasion. I have seen a H
picture of an elderly gentleman keep- 1
ing off a footpad by means of this lethal H f
umbrella. He made as if he would ' H
spear or prod the villain. Why , one H
prod would alone make a hole of six B
inches diameter in that murderous carHH
cass. The nurse used to carry it , with. H
difficulty managing the baby and the
umbrella ; it went out to tea with the j HJ
young ladies ; the maid who "fetched" HHH
them home took the umbrella with her. H HH |
It succeeded the lantern and the club H
formerly carried by the 'prentice when Hj
he escorted his mistress to the card H
party after dark. I remember it , I say. H
There were three brothers who came to S Bv
the same school where I was but a' ' H
tiny little boy. They lived at some dis- j HH
tance and had to pass on their way to H
school through a stratum of inferior H l
respectability. Every morning brought1 mH
to these three brothers the delight and H
excitement of battle with the boys beBaHHaHH
longing to that inferior respectability. I H
To the eldest brother , who carried the Hl
really important weapon , the umbrella |
was exactly what his battle-ax was to |
the Lion Heart. So he raised it ; bo K H
he wielded it ; so he swung it ; so he 1
laid his enemies low to right and left H
of him , before him and behind him ; H
whilfi the other twn rplvinpnn the HVH1
books tightly strapped , brought thera 1
to bear , with shrewd knocks and H
thwacks and poundings , on heads and H
shoulders and ribs. h
'Twas a famous family umbrella H
green , too , if I remember aright. j H
Life the Georgia Mountains. |
From the Ellijau Mountain Sentinel. | |
Mr. Henry Shepard was in town H
Monday , and showed us the head of a | l
squirrel which his little boy killed that |
was quite a curiosity. It had only one |
ear , and its lower teeth had grown H
upward into its upper jaw and the upper - H
per teeth grown downward through its |
tongue into the lower jaw. It ' is a H
mystery how it lived , as it was impossible - H
sible for it to have opened its mouth. |
Cripple Crcck'H Output. H
The total output of the Cripple Creek B
district from 1392 to 1895 , inclusive. |
was 313,700,000. It is expected thri H
this year's output will reach $10,000,000. H
making a total of $23,700,000. It is H
claimed that of this year's output $3 , - j H
500,000 will be net profit to the owners. H
for Railroad Ties. M
It takes each year 200,000 acres of |
forest to supply crossties for the railroads - |
roads of the United States. It takes. j H
15,000,000 ties to supply the demand , for H
which the contractors get on an aver- j H
age 35 cents apiece , making in the ag- H H
gregate $5,250,000. 1
The Apparel H
Little girl : "Do children keep on Hj
growing after they get to heaven , H
Mamma : "Yes , I suppose so. " H
"Then where do they get theii H
clothes ? " New Yprk World , j H
