ALAS!
Alsa, «la*. cfcru!
That the sky is onlv b'.ue
To gather from tho grass
The rain and dew!
Alas! that eyes nro fair:
That tonrs may gather tloro
Mist nml the breath of sighs
v From the marsh of cure:
’ ■ Alas, alas, ehou!
That wo moot but to bid adieu:
That the sands in Timu’s auclent glass.
Are so swift ami few!
Alas, alas, chnu!
That the heart is only truo
To gather. where fulso fcot pass
The thoru and rue!
■f
The Actor’s Story.
RY JOHN rOLI.tlAN.
1 CIIAPTER XVII—Ci>ntim:ed.
'•Well. I never! Who'd have
thought it? Talk o' tho Uoll! An’
how a aw' wi' ye, Curly?”
« •: Mr. Cnrapboll—for it was ho—drew
' himself up tor a moment, coldly; then,
recovering himself, replied with a
pleasant smile;
•■What, l’iko! Still on the road, old
man? Don't you begin to fool tired
of it nnd wish it were all over?
Home times I'm of Antony’s mood
after Acttuin, and feel disposed to
cry— |
•"•Unarm. Eras, the long day’s task Is I
done.'
But no, no. I suppose I've not cour
age to taka olf my own armor. And. I
After all we’vo only got to wait a lit- !
tla longer for the good time comlrg' i
at the end of the journey; and then, j
you know, as Cato puts it ‘My bano j
and antidote aro both before me.’
■■Hut -what a rogue and peasant
alave am I' to go wool gathering thus!
Who’s tho boy?”
l'ike introduced me to Mr. Camp
bell as "the juvenile hero of tbe com
. pany. the coming man. tho future Ko
bhu ” ate.
Kilo oid gentleman said, with a
aweot smile:
‘■Excuse me sip. old men will still
fee talking: It's the ,pr!vilego of ago.
You nre youDg and sanguine Ah! I
kras young and san^uino once mysolf.
1 hope you will have bolter fortune
(ban befell mo. You have an open
brow and a frank eye Y'ou cun look
a man in tho face; I'm sure you’re not
afraid. It is a bad thing to be afraid
One moment of fear blightod the life
of a man 1 know as well as I know
myself. Clean linos*, they say, is
aext. to godliness but manliness is
above everything. If a man insults
jroa if he is as big as Goliath, don’t
wait to talk, hit him first; hit him if
your heart is quaking, if your nerves
ans shaking; hit him if ho
kills you afterward A bravo man
can only die but once but tho coward!
Ah. God help tho poor miserablo
coward for ho dies every day, every
hour he lives!’' He paused, and
looked strangely round as he took off
hU hat passed bis hand through his
toeautifu; hair; then ho stooped took
Up a handful of snow, and rubbed it
On his brow, mopped it dry, and said
with a low despondent moan;
‘Oh. God; I could bo bounded in a
nutsholl and count myself a king of
infinite space where it not that I
Jhave bad dreams." Then ho con
tinued lenr you will think me
rather eccentric, and so I am; but I
was not always thua was 1 l'lko? I
was—-what was I? I’m sure { forget
1 Well, and bow is Madame la Pika
and the young fishesP And the stock
debt And do we still dolight the
lieges with Sir Edward Mortimer, aud
Pizzara and tho Bailtle and Cabcl
Bladersione? And yet glorious ss of
yoee on the mountain dew. fresh
Cram Glenlivat?" Then In an altered
(one and with a touch of sadness in
his voice -Of all things else avoid
(bat young gentleman. Remember,
^There's death in the pot’ Only
begin with that and 'Facilis des
«ensus AvernL’ All tho rest is easy;
aiap, bang, down you go through the
primrose path till you get to tfce
abyss at tho bottom."
P At this moment Pike cut in with
We saw Lang Willi* last night at
Ihlsley."
-Old you." responded the other;
, “then you saw one for whom
v •• -Nature might stand up
"Andsay to all the world_-Thu
• nutn!' ”
v Alter a moment’s pause ho began
. *» hum "Annie Laurie" hnif aloud
and half to bimselL At last Pike
whispered him. then he changed
■ altogether, and said:
"You' re a good fellow. Pike. What
> hi It’ the Baillle says to Rob Roy?
You’re a sort of a kind of honest
t segue. ’ but as to money, ‘Keep your
' trash Baillle; keep your trash.' Sea
although we have got to our last
Koborlo, yet," and he sent a bright
> new shilling spinning in the air and
oaughtit deftly— • -what is it Cleo
vatra’a mailed Bacchus says? "Yet
3 have we a brain that nourishes our
aervea ’ not by and by. and he could
? hare bad much brains to spare when
* ha made such an ms of himself for
’ the sake of that promiscuously
. amorous and decidedly dissolute old
JOrpsy. Good-by. good-by; good luck
to you at Kilmarnock. May your
ehadow never grow less; may your
stock debt never Increase; may you
■ever share less than half a crown a
night and candles to boot. Ta ta.
Wo pray heaven to have you in its
3: holy keeping!" And sa throwing
hie head aloft he walked rapidly
down the hill singing as he passed
/ ant of sight the song of Autolycus:
if- ’ on, Joi on, the footpath way,
And merrily hont the stile a—
- M . A merry heart goqs all the way j
-j” Your sad one tires in a mUe a.”
\>vThat, was how I made Curly's
acquaintance; and. indeed, that was
:the first and last and only time I ever
\yoaw Donald Campbell until—but ]
. must not anticipate, , A ■
With reference to the rest of out
v journey— *■ •3'*?
$: “As in a theitro. the eye of man.
■ After a weU-srnoed actor loaves the stage
' Are idly bent on him that enters next,
H. ;■ Ttilpkiiig his prattle to be tedious."
’ y viween so would the reader regard, out
H‘V •
adventures at K Imarnock a* tedious
and Irrelevant, so I passed them by.
and lOuvo tho record (or another
time and plnro.
In the next chapter I will take up
the thread of Curly's and Willie's
story ns It came utmost under my
personal cogni/unce many a long day
after poor old Pike und 1 had patted
company forover.
CHAPTER XVIII.
End of the Journey.
Nearly tlvo years hud elapsed since
tho day Curly and I met and parted
on the queen's highway.
I had emerged from tho •'crowd.”
and was 'starring" at tho Theatre
Royal. Glasgow, from whence 1 had
! to go to Aberdeen for six nights. I
| closed in Glasgow on Saturday, and
; had to open in Aberdeen on Monday.
Railronds wero now more or less all
over Gotland, but through some
prejudice, derived from the Darx
Ages, there was still no communica
tion between Glasgow and Edinburgh
on Sunday. Sorely oxercised in my
mind as to how I was to get through
in time to open at Aberdeen. I strolled
down Argyle street on Saturday morn
ing toward the railway station, when
1 perceived In the crowd in the op
posite direction, and o'er-topping
every one around, a stately, white
beardod man. with the head and
••front of Jove himself.”
_ Although' I had never seen him
since tho night in Taisley I could not
be mistaken—it was "Lang Willie.”
For years I had pondered on tho
nobility, the beauty, the self-sacrifice
of that manly nature—the misfortunes
of his unhappy friend. 1 knew the
prolonged struggles they had en
countered with poverty, and I was
really delighted at the though', that
the prosperity of the poor lad whom
he had holped in adversity might
enable mo now. perhapa to befriend
him, so I made my way toward Mr.
jnraieson unu. sans ceremonial re
minded him of the circumstances of
our slight acquaintance five years
back.
•<Jood heavens," he said, "you
don’t mean to say you are that slip of
a lad who was with old Pike in
Paisley five years ago? Weil I
should novor havo thought it” Then
ho told me he had been to the
tbcatra had seen my Hamlet and he
said somo civil things about it
It was getting nigh dinner-time and
I persuaded him to come to the hotel
and dine with me- After dinner the
conversation turned on my journey to
Aberdeen, and the difficulty I an
ticipated in getting through to Edin
burg. To my astonishment and
delight ho said:
"Well, this meeting is as fortunate
as it is pleasant. Mot an hour before
I met you I received the welcome
news that the final decision in tho
case of Jamioson vs. M’AUistcr and
others had been given in our favor.
1 am only awaiting a telegram to
enable mo to start for Aberdeen and
take possession of the estate at once.
I’ll tell you what i’ll da I’ll call for
you hero at twelve o’clock to-night
with a coach and pair, and we’ll drive
to Edinburgh together and catch tho
express for Aberdeen in tho morning.’’
At twcl vo o'clock he came, according
to promisa Wo caught the mail at
Edinburgh and arrived at Aberdeen at
about twelvo on Sunday night. Al
though wo were fatigued the journey
was a pleasant one for me.
before we parted for the night Mr.
Jamieson said, ‘Of course you know
my poor friend’s sad history. To
morrow is the anniversary of the
great misfortune of his life. Every
year ho regularly disappears at this
time for a month or more and as year
succeeds year he seems more broken
down, and Pm getting very anxious
about him. For two years I have
been out of an engagement, and wo
have had very hard times, but now
that brighter days ure in stopei poor
follow, it would be hard if he could
not share this good fortune, and 1
hope I am not selfish when I say it
would be hard for me, too, to be left
alone in my old aga without a
friend."
I was up early, having a ten o' clock
rehearsal. As I had only my scenes
to run through in "The Lady of
Lyons ” and as both Pauline and tho
piujcu uiuu jJiirfcb wiiu
me before^ I had finished by 12
o'clock, when Jamieson called lor mo
to accompany him to the house of his
co-executor. Dr. Miller. •
The two old friends met with effu
sive congratulations us to tho final
result of tho protracted lawsuit. It
was quite touching to see tho tearful
delight of Jcannie M’ Pherson at the
sight of Willie but more touching
still it was to see the welcome accord
ed him by the doctor’s only daughter,
a lovely, fair-haired girl of eighteen.
I thought then, and I think 3tilL that
Maggie Miller is altogether tho most
charming, guileless and beautiful
I creature I have ever seen in ray life.
| Accident—sheer accident had led mo
I to my fate. If I hadn’t gono to 1‘ais
! ley with lhke I shouldn’t have known
| Willie Jamieson—perhaps I should
! have known nothing about Curly,
| most certainly I should have never
known Maggie Miller. Ah. my
darling! I loved you from that mo
ment, and—but 1 am becoming per
sonal—and the interest of this story
centres in its unfortunate hern not
upon a mere tty on the wheel.
Presently Willie Inquired of the
doctor if he had seen. Curly, for ho
was due that very day. For years he
had never failed to present himself at
Breadalbane Terrace by noon on this
sad anniversary. Wo waited until
about 2 o’clock, then everybody got
anxious. Although it was in the
•merrio month of May”—by one ol
those strange freaks of the -clerk ol
the weather." by no means unusual
in Scotland—snow had fallen heavily
overnight. Jamieson feared that his
poor friend might have been over
taken by the snow storm. At last he
could endure the suspense no longer,
so he proposed to go out and see il
they could obtain any news. Th<
doctor told Maggie to slip on her hai
nna cloak and accompany us. As w«
woro leaving the bouso JoannU came
into tbo ball, equipped for walking
and said:
‘■Doctor, let me gang: too, and
fhow you the way. I ken where to
find tbe puir laddie. I ken woel
enuch—I saw him thrice yestreen.”
••Saw whom?” said the doctor;
••Why did yo no tell us, then, ye daft
old gowk?"
“liecause I hoped my dream would
na hold; but it’ll be ower true.
I'm gey sure; but — the: e —step
out; and see for yourselves.”
So saying, she stepped rapidly be*
fore us. Tho doctor and Willie walked
side by side, talking to each other in
anxious undertones und my—I mean
Miss Miller and I brought up the roar.
It was a lovely day; tho sun shone
brightly, melting the snow on tho
tree-tops which stood forth green
and bright tho glowing beauties of
the chestnut blossoms contrasting
vividly with the green leaves and tho
sparkling white of the crisply frozen
snow which lay upon the ground, and
which as yet deflod tho sun. The
birds wero singing, a haro and a half
dozen rabbits crossed tho road be
fore us, and, turning round, confront
ed us fearlessly. A squirrel gam
bolled about in a tree over our heads;
then we heard a squeaking noise,
and the coneys scurried away, just in
time to escape a hideous beast of a
weasel, which slid across the road
and rapidly wiggled through tho co
vert in full pursuit.
At longth wo had reached a little
mountain chupol on the hillside.
Jeannio led tho way through the gate;
wo followed hor rapidly.
As we turned the corner to the loft
a man lny at full longth amidst the
snow upon tho grave whero Flora
M’ Allistcr lay sleeping.
Ho was slooptng, too.' His right
arm was iwinoa round the slender
cross at the head of tho grave his
hands wero clasped together, and
his head lay In profile rusting on his
shoulder. His faco was fair and
beautiful as in his youth; his silvery
curls glltterod m tho sunshine and
formed au argentine beauty around
his whito brow; his oyes wore closed;
a smile was on his lips.
He had reached tho end of tho
journey, whero she was waiting for
him. So; best. For him no moro
trouble now—no moro weariness—uo
more lamentations—only rest.
THE END.
THE SINISTER-FACED MAN.
Ho DecUncd to Contribute! to Any Ncjll*
gonco lu the Cue.
It was just after tho first sickening
crush of the collision, and tho air was
filled with shrieks and groans, min
gled with tl:e hiss of escaping steam.
Tho dark, sinister man with a
smooth face, lay motionless whero tho
shock had thrown him. Around him
were scattered broken timbers and
twisted iron rods, but by a scorning
miracle tho debris liau not fallen
upon him and his limbs wcio free.
••He’s dead,” sadly whispered the
rescuer who saw him first.
Tne lips of tho dark, sinister man
moved.
••Not by a jugful," ho observed
audibly.
Tho rescuer hastened forward.
"Are you hurt?" ho anxiously in
quired.
••Nope."
The dark man was pbsitlve.
••Not a scratch." ha dcclarod.
The rescuer was unablo to repress
an exclamation ol surprise.
■-I ain’t hurt a bit," reiterated the
dark man.
••Well, why don’t you got out of
tho wreck?”
The sinister man gozod at tho
twinkling stars above him.
••I just about know my business.”
ho calmly replied. "I vo boon in
collisions before. I’ll slay right hero
where they throw mo until I’m moved.
Then perhaps—’’
A faint smilo played about bis lips.
••The company can’t work tho con
tributory negligence racket ou mo
when I sue for damages. Oh. r.o. I
don’t objoot to your carrying mo
away if yon like, but 1 call you to
witness that I lake uo active part iu
tho process myself. 1 know my busi
ness."
And the man with the sinister face
laughed a hard, metallic laugh.
WHERE TEETH COME FROM.
Xul Artificial Ones. Ilut the White,Souud
Nut-Cracker* of Our Youth.
An eminent dentist is authority for
the following: It would lake too long
to describe the formation of the teeth,
but it may interest you to know that
the onarnel is derlred in the first place
from the epithelium, or scarf skin,
and is, in fact, modified skin, v. hilo
the dentine, of which the bulk of the
tooth is composed, is derived from the
mucous layer below the epithelium.
Lirao salts are slowly deposited, and
the tooth pulp: or ••nerve," is tho
last remains oi what was once a pulpy
mass of the shape of the future tooth,
and oven tho tooth pulp in the old
people sometimes {rots quito obliterat
ed by calcareous deposits. Tho thir
ty-two permanent teeth arc preced
ed by twenty temporary dociduous or
milk teeth. Those arc fully cruptod at
about 2.} years old, and at about 6
years of ugc a wonderful process of
absorption sots in. by which tho roots
of the teeth are removed to make
room for tho advancing permanent
ones. Tho crown3 of the former, hav
ing no support, become loose and fall
away. One would naturally suppose
that the advancing permanent tooth
was a powerful factor In the absorp
tion of its temporary predecessor, but
we have many lacts to prove it has no
influence whatever; indeed tho inter
esting phenomena of the eruption und
succession of tho teoth aro very little
understood. I may remark in pass
ing that a child of 6 who has just lost
any temporary tooth has in its jaws,
either erupt or non-erupt, no lest
than fifty-two teeth moro or lost
formed.—Philadelphia Times.
* ‘ < ; V , . .* i , r’ . . ■' '. 1
FAKM AND HOUSEHOLD.
j -
'building up land by hog
ging DOWN RYE.
A Valuable Crop for pigs—popular Ma
ples—DUeued Plains — Tuberoaloas
Cows—Salt for Bees—Sheep Shearings
and llousehold ilelps.
Rye and Hogs.
Wc built up our land pretty well a
few years ago by hogging down rye
and clover, and at the same timo
made, as we calculated, $10 per acre
for our crop changed into pork. The
soil was all run down from excessive
| drain on' It by heavy crops, and
something had to be done to bring it
back to good fertility. At the same
| time it was such valuable land, on
| which heavy taxes had to be paid,
! that wo did hot feel as if we could
afford to spend several hundred dol
laas in turning under green crops,
and not get a dollar from it for a
couple of seasons. We concluded,
finally, on the advice of friends, to
give the land over to rye and clover,
and turn the hogs in the field, and
see what we could make in the pork
lino.
We planted rye and clover, and
then allowed the hogs to eat alftrat
half of it, taking care not to let them
eat it too slose. To prevent this, we
constructed a moveable fence which
we transferred from place to place so
as to shut the hogs up in certain
portions of the field, and keeping
them from othei parts. Rye is a
valuable crop for the pigs, but its
value is greatly enhanced by having
clover or other grass growing with
u. inis comuination of rye and
clover la unexcelled as a food for
hogs. If the animals have nothing
but rye to eat, they will be apt to
swallow the grain whole, and not get
any nourishment from it, but the
clover helps thorn to digest the grain
heads without chewing them.
We let the pigs on tho field when
the rye began to ripen, and then the
clover was well up in the field, and
all through the summer and late in
the autumn they found sufficient to
make them grow rapidly. The rye
straw left on tho field acts as a good
mulch to the clover for the first win
ter, often protecting it from severe
freezing, so that a good catch is
easily obtained. All of this straw,
and the clover roots, go to make the
soil rich in the very substances that
most worn out lands demand. In our
case, two successive summers of hog
ging down the land with ryo and
clover brought the soil up to such a
condition of fertility that wo could
grow the heaviest crops on the land
again with little trouble. Meanwhile
we sold our hogs, and the whole bus
iness paid us, wo thought, at the rate
of $7 to $10 per acre.
The fact is, too little attention is
paid to rye, and especially those who
raise hogs for the market, says the
American Cultivator. For late fall
and early spring pasturage there U
no crop that can equal it, and gener
ally rye is a safe crop. It will in
one season prepare poor land so that
a good catch of clover can bo ob
tained following, and the two grow
together like twin brothers. After
the rye is cut, if so desired, in the
proper season, the clover will be in
such a condition as to furnish excel
lent pasture to the farm animals for
the rest of the season. When rye is
hogged down from two to three good
crops can be grown from one sowing,
and this is really the best plan to
adopt—to hog down. It is a heavy
and unpleasant crop to harvest.
Popular Maples.
The maple family is a deservedly
popular one, for there is no other
family of trees drawn on so much as
this one is for shade and ornamental
purposes, says a writer in* Practical
Farmer. No doubt their eafee of
growth helps along their popularity,
for a tree must not be an expensive
one that is to be generally planted.
Fashion is a little capricious in re
gard to trees, as it is in other mat
fora firvmo ion itoono ortA thrt oiin.ni>
maple was the principle tree de
manded of all other maples. Before
that the sycamore maple had beep the
favorite. Then the Norway’s turn
came, and to-day it is the favorite,
though it has by no means displaced
the sugar, which is still very much
j planted. There is again signs of re
turning atTcction for the European
sycamore. It is really a good tree,
is of quick growth, has clean, smooth
bark and large leaves. The only
valid objection to it, and it is not a
great one, is, that the seeds do not
drop at once when ripe, but hang on
the better part of the winter. The
common silver maple, or white
maple, used to be a favorite tree
for the city, bat its very large growth
when of some age unfitted
it for the purpose, and to-day it is
not so much used as it used to be.
But it is a fine tree for wide avenues
or for pasture lots or elsewhere
where the free growth will not be
undesirable. The led maple is the
one usually found in low situations
and which is so much admired be
cause of the fine display its red flow
ers make in early spring, and the
brilliant hue its foliage assumes in
the fall. It is a slow growing tree,
but makes a largo and handsome one
in time. There are many other medi
um sized ones and shrubs, but the tree
kinds are embraced in those named.
The sugar maple is planted as much
for fine autumn effect as for its shade.
The bronze yollow of its foliage in
the closing days of autumn is most
beautiful. In this respect it much
surpasses the popular favorite, the
Norway, which changes its color but
little at all, keeping green up to the
time it fails from the tree. This
tree is more round headed than any
of the others, and has larger leaves
^ --iv -
also, excepting the sycamoro. Whfle
some trees are particular as to season
of planting, the maple is not, doing
well set in spring or fall, and fairly
well in almost any situation.
Diseased plums. -
P. P. writes in Farm and Fire
side: “What is the matter with my
plum trees? Quite often they are
full of bloom and bid fair to bear
well, when lo, what ought to be a
plum is a large, spongy mass, swel
ling out in a few days to three or
four times the size of the plum. Of
ten the small leaves and twigs swell
in the same manner. These swel
lings soon dry up, leaving the trees
unsightly and unthrifty for the sea
son. Have sometimes found a worm
in the center of the swollen plgm,
but often nothing. Is the cause
known, and what is the remedy?”
The swellings are caused by a
fungus growth (Taphnna prunii)
which is supposed to live over in the
wood of the tree. It shows itself,
soon after the blossoms fall, by the
abnormal swelling of the fruit, which
becomes large and bladdery by the
first of June. This disease does not
spread rapidly, but is rather con
fined to certain trees. Some varie
ties are much more subject to it than
others, and when a tree becomes
diseased it is apt to remain so sev
eral yeara The treatment of it should
consist in cutting and burning tne
infected parts. In doing this, cut
considerably below the place where
the disease shows plainly, so as to
taxe off the parts of it th^t may be
inside the wood and not visible.
This treatment has often resulted in
much benefit.
The Colt'i Feet.
It is' a great mistake for any one
to attempt raising a colt to horse age
when obliged to keep it stabled on a
plank or stone floor all the time. It
will most likely go lame from some
cause. A run in pasture through
the summer gives not merely needed
exercise, but the cool, moist grass
keep’s the colt’s feet add legs in
sound condition. Even in winter it
is wiser to let the -colt run out of
doors at least in day time, and if
there is a shed for shelter he can bo
out night as well as day. With good
feed a colt treated thus will be much
surer to make a sound horse than he
will if most of the time stabled.—
American Cultivator.
Sheep .Shearing,
Feed the lambs even before they
are weaned all the grain they will
eat
The future of wool may be uncer
tain, but the future of mutton will be
all right
Lambs cannot be left to shift for
themselves and produce a profit for
the breeder.
Old ewes run down rapidly if the
lambs are allowed to run with them
longer than necessary.
The meat cf castrated lambs is
better than that of those upon which
the operation has not been per
formed. ,
A shelter that is dark, yet cooled
by arrangements by which the air
can get through it, is relished by
sheep in hot weather.
Tests have shown that sheep will
eat nearly 630 different plants,
which gives an idea how easily sheep
may be kept,and how useful they are
as weed destroycra
When sheep have scab it is not
enough to dip the sheep. The
fences, stables, everything that the
sheep have touched should be,
washed with some such mixture as
carbolic acid.
The cost of producing a pound of
wool depends upon the circumstances,
says a writer. If we raised no lambs
and wool was the only product it
would cost in the neighborhood of
fifty cents per pound With well
selected and well cared for stock the
wool will cost nothing The lambs
are the medium of profit
Household Helps.
Towels will give better wear ii
overcast between the fringe before
they are washed.
Never put patent fasteners on
shoes until they have been worn and
stretched for a couple of weeks.
Wnen you are packing your pretty
dresses put soft paper between the
folds, and they will crease very little
when you reach your journey’s end.
When the eyes are tired, or in
darned from loss of sleep, apply an
old linen handkerchief dripping with
water as hot as you can possibly bear
it.
In ordinary burns and scalds the
only remedy required is to thorough
ly exclude the air from the injured
part Cotton batting will do this
most effectually.
Ink stains on cloth may be taken
oat by washing—first with pure
water, next with soap and water,
and lastly with lemon juice; but if
old they must be treated with oxalic
acid.
A blotter can be made that will
remove ink spots from paper. Take
a thick blotting paper and steep it
several times in a solution of oxalic
acid. While the Ink is moist apply
the blotter and the ink will be en
tirely removed.
Three lengths are now modish for
capes—one barely to the hips and
made very full; another to the waist,
and likewise very full, and a third
half way to the knee, made less full.
The fullness falls from the ahoulder,
the cape being either shaped or set
full on a yoke.
Isinglass and gelatine are entirely
different articles to produce the same
effect in the thickening of jelly.
Isinglass is a little the more expen
sive. It is said to tie mado from the
bladder of the sturgeon, and tho best
is that brought from Kussia. It is a
little more delicate than gelatine.
DICKENS* ^LONDON oON.^
rndltloM AuocUtcd wth *■
no Lancer B»»« ». ®* wHth,
a matter of f«„» u V?**
As a matter of fact iT**?“"• 1
the early books of ChaMo.^0*!
is practically. as Mr^Curti Dicke«
the drama. . '"I®
the drama, “goM"*IiL\Urai9 *»id<
Bays the North ’aZZ*1* «J
“ >ry little ****«■ KrU
Very little even remZS *"S
| the places descrlK in t^‘
- works. Dickensland in U? >*N
deed, has nowadays h^i0®' \
real existence than the J/rd‘“yH
Hesperides or the island®*, luH
But what does that
transatlantic pilgrim to the sin-i J
the master clamors to be ^ M
house in which Mr. Plckwkw*,
i tho court in which Mr. KrcJk
such very uncomfortable eZ ',
the actual public house ll- v
played Mr. Samuel Welw‘Ch
sive and peculiar knowfteV3
Why should he not be mtin J
It is true that a great many r.uj
hl? klDd !Were abs°lutely £"*
able of certain identification at
a,“lthat almost allot the ori
inals of those which were actui
portraits have been swept from (
face of the earth in the course o! a
extraordinary changes which ha,
practically given us in fifty year,
new London ori the ruins of the old
But the demand inevitably cre»2
the supply. Old illusions die W
Dickensland lives again in tho vi
imagination of the guidos, and ti
truth of the old saying again asser
itself—populus vult dedipi ot decit
atur. 1
A curious instance of the wav 1
which people are sometimes quit
unconsciously and innocently le
into error in these matters is to b
found in John Forster’s life of Chatle
Dickens. Mr. Forster gives a pio
ture of Tavistock house, which is, n
doubt, accepted as a faithful repn
sentation of the house as it w«
when Charles Dickens lived in it
But, as a matter of fact, it is not
later tenant added a portico, o
porch, to the street door; and thi
portico, of which Charles Dickon
knew nothing, figures in the picture
This is, perhaps, a trivial matter
but many of the Dickensland traili
tions have received credence on ver
similar, and equally inaccuratt
grounds.
Thus, for instance, to take a cas
outside London, local tradition a
the little seaside village of Broad
stairs, in Kent, has given the nam
Bleak House to the house on the elil
above the harbor, in whicl
Charles Dickens lived during two o
three summers, and which, in hi
time, was known as Fort House: an
the legend, implicitly believed ii
those parts, is that “Bleak House
was written there. In point of fact
although much of Charles Dickcn
work was done at Broadstairs. note
bly as regards “David Copperfield,'
it so happens that “Bleak House'
was one of the books on which n
work whatever was done at For
House.
TALL HAILSTONE YARNS.
Oae Piece of lee as Uls as a Mllliton
Said to Have Fallen.
During a storm at Alorbihan Jun<
21, 1846, the hailstones in some in
stances actually attained the size o
a turkey’s egg, and one measured 8
inches in circumference. May 4,
1697, a hailstone was found in Stif
fordshire, England, which was 11
inches in circumference. VoiM,
tells of a storm at Ponchartrain ii
which hailstones fell which were ai
large as a man’s fist, and one whicb
he found himself weighed five ounces
Volta records a hailstone found h
the neighborhood of Como whic!
weighed nearly nine ounces, am
there is good authority for the state
ment that hailstones weighing »
much as a pound fell at Constanti
nopie Oct. 5, 1831. But there have
been still more remarkable mswm.c»
says the Pittsburg Dispatch, ii
accept the statements coming “P
parently from reliable sources, bui
lug a hailstorm at Cazorta, in Spain
June 15, 1829, some of the blocks °<
tee weighed four and a half penn »
It' is the general - opinion amon,
scientists that for hailstones to a
tain such proportions several nu9
have been fastened together, ei c
when they reached the groun
while in descent. Under no otne
circumstances can the possibility
the above and the still more won
ful phenomena to follow be adnu ■
Even so. there is good re®**® ,
doubt Flammarion’s statemon
during the latter part of Oewoe
1844, an awful hurricane devasww
southern France, in which hai s ;
weighing eleven pounds fell, 0
of Dr. Foissac, who cites an in
in which hailstones measuring
feet in length and width, “
thickness of two and om-Q
feet, fell to earth. When Dr. i
was accused of esagg®ra ,h 0f
emphatically insisted on tJ16 ^
his statements, and to bette ^
tain them added: “M. Hue, a ^
missionary in Tartary. ,r,;, a often
hailstones of a remarkable s _ 0[
fell in Mongolia, and that ,yi
them have been found to weig ;
pounds. During a heavy s
1H43 a noise as of a terrible
was heard in the air, and soon
after
was uearu m ~y ,_„m ouf
there fell in a field not far ,
house a piece of ice large 4
millstone. It was broken u" tjwr
hatchet, and though tee t0
was very warm it took thio
melt it completely. ”
Whispering Across rav1*
In the cast-iron water pip®
in tne caswrou r-, .
which forms a continuous 5
crooks, tee
only two slight crooK., ,stiECtly
whisper at one end may 0 ' j, the
- p other, althouge
heard at t
pipe u 3,120
ieet long.
