1881-06-18; Clare County Press

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$1.50 per Year, Always in Advance.
A Newspaper
[for (flare County.
D. E. ALWARD, Publisher,
VOLUME III.
CLARE, MICfflGA*;!^
NUMBER 21.
XiI'JCETLE   FEET.
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I
Baric I I hear the littlo feet
Of tho tiny Mayltln sweet
Pattering on the floor;
Baok snd forward, to aod fro,
How the; come, and now they go,
Keotleoo ever more 1
Tirst a pattering, then a peace,
Faster now, and now they cease,
Waiting at the door;
How renew their little pari,
yraotice all their tin; art
Freshly o'er and o'er.
Muslo spring* from every beat,
Comer so softly and so sweet,
Thrills \is through and through;
like a poet's soothing rhymes,
Or the evening's mellow chimes
O'er the waters blue.
Mow I hear them on the stab-1
Yes, the little feet are tlisre,
Coming sure and slow;
Now they patter, now they ntay,
Feeling out their little way
Xo the room below.
Now they safely reach the floor,
Come Ihey quickly through the door,
Opened for them wiilc;
Bring they in with roguish fjraoe
A little merry, laughing face,
To darling mamma's Bide.
There they gladly rest awhile
'Neath the Kunehlne of her emlle.
There we'll let them be;
But the echocB soft and sweet
Of those little pattering feet
Th.-ough the ceming years Bhall greet
Our loving memory 1
'TORPEDO JIM.
Tlie Story nf n Moonlighter—Life In tlie Oil
Flrlda of Sfoi-tliern Vriinnylvuni*.
"I am dying; yes, dying." _
Away up on the Bingham lands, in the
great northern oil field of Pennslyvama,
« man lay dying. The flare of a huge
gas jet "came struggling through the
wide crack of the. rude hemlock board
shanty and fell on the form of a man
upon whoso features the hand of trouble
wad sorrow had left heavy traces. He
wns alone, save tho writer of this, and as
the hours dragged slowly along he grew
uneasy, as if he feared and dreaded the
end which was inevitable. With an effort he roused himself.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Nine o'clock."
"Big Jack won't be home till half-past
12, and before tliat time I will be locating 'wild cat' wells in another world."
"Shall I go for him?"
"No, oh, no! Don't leave me. I
couldn't watch out the last tour and run
the lasfc bit alone. I want to tell Big
Jack something, but you will do just as
■well.   Can you keep a secret?"
lots of money in it, but it is dearly earned
cash. But I wasn't always a moonlighter. Oh, no; I usod to bo as promising a boy as ever walked, aud that waa
only a short time ago. I am only twenty-six years old now, but Ihave leit to be
nearly fifty for the past two years. What
made me a moonlighter? I'll, show you.
There, Uiat made me a moonlighter and
—&—murderer!" .
It was a picture, a small locket picture, of a beautiful young woman with
dreamy brown eyes, sweet pouting lips
and ft wealth of dark brown hair. A
most lovable young lady, surely, if the
picture might bo taken as a basis of calculation. j:iie features were strongely
familiar to me, for they resembled the
features of tho wifo of a prominent od
operator whom I had met several Umes
at private receptions and small parties.
The mau  continued without   iiiterrup-
timi: .-,     .,,     f
"Ah, you start," he said, with a fierce
laugh.     "You have  seen  the original?
Yes?   And vou will see her again, too.
Four years "ago I was  engaged to that
woman, and I was as happy as the day
was long.   I  had  bright prospects m
life then,   and  my father,   who was in
business iu Philadelphia, where we lived,
was supposed to bo pretty comfortably
fixed in life.    Bnt souie how or other,
after he died aud his affairs were straightened   out,   my   mother   and I hadu[t a
cent to give a beggar.    I tried clerking
and book-keeping in Philadelphia for a
while,  but it was no go, and to cap the
climax   of   my misery the young lady I
was engaged   to broke off  tho engagement, with the polite   excuse that she
thought too much of me to "hamper me
with an engagement,   and thafc 1 could
climb the ladder of fortune much better
if I were not bound by ties of any kind.
Verv tender and considerate, wasn't she.
Shi.'never cared for me as much as she
did fur my monev.bufc I just worshipped
lier, aud when she threw me over in that
cool way I wilted right down and left the
eity.    I landed in thc lower oil country,
anil tried to  do  something.    Aud then
when 1 saw my mistake it was too late to
get good bargains on leases in the. northern field, but  I came here all the same
and tried to make my way.    I  had  my
mother to support in Philadelphia all the
time,  and  it   was  through   her that I
learned of the marriage of the woman I
loved to a wealthy man from the oil regions.    I was sick for two weeks after
that,   stranger,   and when I came to my
senses I wasn't the same man.    I didn't
care to live, and if it hadn't beeu for my
poor old mother I should have killed myself.   I became rough and reckless and
did tho roughest work I could find.   I
drove team a while, and then built rigs
,'""   I tllWP'l
a bene,  and the next day as I B^to- j'
fore that brush pile,   by some powor
attraction that made me go there, I saw,
a great column of black  smoko rise up
near Bow Oity.   I knew   it   was an oi^
fire and I knew it would sweep   a large.,
area  of country and   leave nothing but
ashes and the casing in the oil  wells.
The ground  was sprinkled with oil all
over the field and the leave* were as imf
flammable as powder.   Well, I wntclKKJ
the Bow City fire grow larger and larger,
and all at once I became a fiend incarnate   and set the leaves and oil-soaked _
brush on firo around the big tinder puc .
that   hid the   body of   the unfortunate*!
pauper   I  had  killed.     Instantly  the (i
whole place was a blazing mass and the-
firo spread so fast I had to run for my
life.   Did you ever see an oil fire ?   v"°
And saw the  fires in Bow City,
mbers^teak  and groan,   as if every
bvohitipn. of the monstrous bull wheel
as attended with pain, and how the en-
no MJora and fiercely coughs forth ita
scoufc^nt lit such hard work.
Ab Rig'Jack Sanford turned on the
tcuiu that night and started the drill
rom lie Tocky bed, every piece of timber qud.tfyery bit of iron seemed to cry
wit stgiu0«fc,the proceeding.   Never had
|he thiekly^briiided cable shot out from
he holcr^jgth such lightning speed, and
'jovor; bjjjwro had tho  tool-drewor for-
ittoiV-tp/pour water down the hole as
eVwaymg tools came rushing to tho
irfaOe.- _ -How the dirty water ond bits
If sanA di&'fly about as the cable rattled
ryer tlie,boards of the derrick!   But the
Yes?mervo of I$ig Jaoknever faltered, and in
Trami^Kj midst of tho rush and roar he found
Hollow and Foster Brook on that awful jjfimo to order the tool-dresser to put out
day ? Is that so ? Well, then, you know
how fast they run and what a roar thev
make. It was just awful that day. X
never saw anything like it. It was reported that tiioTram Hollow fire was ^
accidental and that the fire startedfrom :
3 fire under the boiler and close up
_ * the jtfght.   At lost the unwieldy dril I
jiCood dripping on the derrick floor, and
4«nUy.fcltf> dpillerled the way up through
.e woo^d valley to  the lonely cabin.
twawwpd the place I gontlv held tho
  _     . , fctofypp's arm and allowedBig Jack
That's all non-sense, for I^| gd*OBj«i<l- enter the cabin alone.    All
some sparks that had been smoldering in j
a stump pile.      ---      , <,■--,.   *•& ■ - r—.-  -     —~
started the firo myself and had to runj JUgbut^fbe tool dresser was profoundly
for life to keep out of its way. Liko a Jgnorftnt^of tho whole affair, and as I
crazy old fool I ran down the valley with fcoke the'-news to him as gently as pos-
tho wind and the fire followed me liko a*ble, fche .usually thoughtless man so-
monster ready to avenge itself. Thero »^°rc<l down and said nothing for a long
were some houses   down in  the volley
'    "Yes.
\   ■■-. «?Well, it's a strange story Tvo got to       __ ,
-iliv 'is3&'&H& % want scfeebody-to know it   anddressecrt'^ls. Al^lSj^''^
,. *..-- waftu-e-- *   f-»   • Z7 •   -*--<--.-~*-*~*^|-btrtfei tencrtrrjet ta' ffi-tti mon
He paused a long time for  breath
The cabin or "shanty" iu which he lay
was situated iu a sheltered spot among a
and they used to call the place Oil Can
tre, and when I reached the first house
the  fire had caught   up   to mo   and I
jumped into tlie creek and ran down in,
safety out of fche reach of the fire.
" Pretty soon I came to a house that
belonged to a woman, and it was all she
hud  between   her and poverty,   and J/
saw her trying to carry out some things,
bnt before sho   could  do anything the
firo swooped down and caugnt up thafc,
house like a  whirlwind.   That vomim
turned to me, gave one unearthly, heart- 1
rending   scream and  fainted away.   I
took care of  her until she  was able to s
walk, and  then  put   her in   charge of j
somo   of  her friends.    Oh,   tliat w"
scream.   Ihave   heard it  many tir
since, and I heard ifc to-night while! j
were here.   It has haunted m6dayr
night; it has given me no rest   I s*j
times think that the pauper I killed W
some relative of hers, and that her sci'ean* _       ^
comes to me in punishment for the dwb^ gii^unck
ins,*;-   At  length,   with   a   suspicious
sltiness in his voice, he spoke.
"Poor old boy! his troubles on  this
rth are over forever.    And poor Jack,
o loved Jim liko a brother, although he
hew thai Jim was once  a high-toned
iiss,;fi;ci$;-jfTew York or some  big city,
"^ft&gj&had a mother, bufc ho was
'Jaj^fe&e her as ho was,  and none
, M&Wm_T&n -Big Jack, knows where
e^',^W^|f know she has been well
^vidQ^Jfe^bccause Jack told me Jim
Td giVeiij^r about twenty thousand
"Hats tlipi ho  made up  here.   She
ntcfyh|sfi,te como home and live with
ir," Wiffi-jfcf&l Say thafc when ho would
SA ?4|p^)ft|e6m her he would go out
"^MWj|-,by himself and stay till
lifesn he would burn  tho let-
"^M Strange, wasn't it?"
,J5tered the littlo cabin and
^
^-„
You know the result of that Tram Hollowy
firo ?   Scores of  people thrown  onj&l
world homeless and penniless; thonM
upon thousands of dollars lost; chi*^_
crying for bread about the skirts of tln
heart-broken  mothers.   I   hav^ WT.
dono what I could in a feeble,y[si$ip
.. that.Snjapftbomf4""-***^ W*t*d'*-
money Tor my
mother, butl didn't make it fast onough.
The longer I lived hi tho northern field
the mora wreckless I became, and it was
Veseuce of the dead.   It
igelythat death should
»y his hands on the sick
^alth-giving pines;   it
_ J»eecu ■ h»      ner haunts of death,
ianera)*- jn"«ruurches  and   grand
whfts sorrowing friends orowd
/>tjn4 the Jdlver-trimmcd casket   and
|ft«i last loofc'at tho tenement of clay.
-'aTit-wfaA pomp and wojrdly'sorrow;
t wn£,- poor,   un^ortymate Jaines
42? .^p^i^ 5^5ferj2S^rs*L
f*un
'Ue
fn,
way—dropped an arm round her waist.
No objection was mado for a while, and
the arm gradually relieved the side of
the carriage of the pressure upon it.
But of a sudden, whether from a late
recognition of the impropriety of the
thing or the sight of another beau coming never was known, the lady Btorted
with voloanic energy, and, with a flashing eye, exclaimed: "Mr. B., I,«.can
support myself !" "Capital!" waiTthe
instant reply. " You are just the .girl I
have been looking for these five gears.
Will you marry me ?" -?
MOTHS' BiTAGES.
H*w
cluster of giant pines, and was the only ! not long before I was a moonlighter.    I
habitation for miles around. Five meu
occupied the cabin—two drillers, two
tool-dressers, aud a male cook. Two of
tho men were, at 9 o'clock at night, busy
»t the test well a half mile away, two
others were ou a visit to Bradford for
provision supplies, and the fifth oue lay
fn a rude bunk above the gas stove,
tossing from side to side and waiting for
the "bilenfc summons.'
Jim, the moonlighter.
Jim had been sick for three days, sc
the head driller, Big Jack Panford, said,
and as I stood by the hide of his bunk
and watched the pain-contorted face I
wished I might lift the veil hanging over
this man's life and so learn the romance
and tragedy lying deeply hidden beneath
the blue shirt and heavy coat. As I
stood watching and waiting he started
np in a fright.
"My (Jud. did you hear that?" he almost shrieked.
"No; I heard nothing,
"A woman's scream,
before more than once,
listen."
Curiously wondering what the
could mean I opened the door
stepped out into the nij;ht. All
still and dark save a low whispering
among the pines and the fi:ire ol" the
burning gas. Away off down the valley
at the test well I could hear the puff,
puff of the laboring engine as it swung
the ponderous drilling tools up and down,
and the ring of the heavy hammer as the
tool dresser pounded the bit into proper
shape. No other sound broke the stillness of the night, and the little cabin
under the pine was as silent aB the grave.
Into the room again and by the invalid's
bunk was but a step,   and   as his eyes
mado torpedoes for shooting wells
against the law, and lived out in tho
woods in a little log hnt, and hated the
sight of man. I soon became the boldest
and most successful moonlighter in the
country, and every cent of money I
could get above expenses I sent to
Philadelphia. I got on the inside of a
lot of information some lucky speculators
It was Torpedo j had, and Ux>k a flyer on the'market with
| splendid result. I made money hand
I over fist, but fortune came too late to do
me any good, and though I was still a
young man, I looked forward to nothing
this world could give. A year ago this
winter I took ta drinking 'tangle-foot'
whisky, and after two or three sprees I
got to going at a terrible rat-1, and one
day hi the early spring of lssn, some
time m April, I think, I got into a row
with a mau at the head of Tram Hollow,
and we had a red-hot fight. We were
both drunk, and wheu I found I was
getting the best of him a wild thrill ran
through me, the devil took full possession of my actions, and before I could
think twice 1 had stabbed him to the
heart, and my bauds were stained with
the blood of a fellow creature!"
The dying man shook with agony as
the thoughts of that terrible deed came
upon him, and his pain-distorted face
was lifted in prayer for mercy and forgiveness. It was a solemn hour for a
stranger to that rocky country—thu
death-bed confession under the moaning
pines aud the long shadows of the giant
trees casting their sombre forms about in
tho flickering light of the gas jet. A
silence fell upon us suddenly; the moaning of the pines sank to the faintest of
whispers; while from afar down the valley came the whirr and roar of tlie bull
. What was it?"
I have heard it
Go outside  and
mau i
and !
was '
met mine the mute question was quickly i wheel as the cable of the heavy  drill at
answered
"I could hear nothing except the well;
all is still," was my reply.
"It must be tliat I am dying; yes,
dying," the man murmured orice more,
"and I cannot go with a secret on my
mind."
After haviug been propped np with a
pillow of old coats and boots   he   began:
"I s'pnse you have heard of Torpedo
Jim, the moonlighter? Yes? Well, that's
me, and I got the name because I'm the
only living man that took active part in
two glycerine explosions and lived. I've
handled hundreds of tons of the infernal
stuff, bolh in the employ of Roberts, the
torpedo monopolist, and working for
myself, skulking around the woods at
night and shooting wells against the
law. I've been a pipe line man, a tool
dresser and a driller nnd a heap of other
things liesides, but the worst business I
ever got into was this same moonlighting. A man will stay out of it so long
as'he fears God and regards man, and I
tell you he gets pretty well hardened
before he can sneak around nights with
enough dynamite to blow him into four
different townships in the wink of an
eye. When .' "5an gets so that he don't
care whether he lives or dies tho next
minute he goes into moonlighting and
makes a heap of money, Oh, yes, there's
the well ran with lightning speed over
the crown pulley down iuto the earth
two thousand feet.
"Hark!" said the mau whom death
was about to claim. "Big Jack is running the tools aud letting them slide so
that I can hear. It is thelast time I will
ever hear that sound. I have heard ifc
often and handled the bull wheel brake
many times. I never will again; no,
never again on this earth."
He was silent again aud so still was
tho night tliat I eould hear the. thud of
the walking beam and the rattle of the
for the necessaries of life;  bufc, oh, ttos lime little cabin a Jong While in suence,
Fhn, Buis, Belua and "Wrap*
Hay Be Sared.
In the matter of moths the traditional ounce of prevention ia worth many
pounds of cure ; the best way to prevent
their ravages being to lay away furs and
woolens just as the season for wearing
them is over. The worst month for
moths is said to be June, and bofore
that time all articles likely to be molested by them should be securely
packed away.
Fortunately furs, whioh are the most
difficult thing to proteot from the moth,
are also tho first which may be laid
aside for the season. Before this is
done have them beaten thoroughly, i,
o., whipped well with a small rattan,
which is what furriers use for the same
purpose. Then examine the felt carefully, and where you find tho hairs matted tightly together part them and wot
the spot thoroughly, yet daintily, so as
not to touch the adjacent,^air, with
spirits of ammonia. After this fold the
garment, with layers of newspapers between each fold, and gum camphor
sprinkled on tho fur, and, filially, either
sow tho bundle in an old sheet or wrap
it in nowspapers, pasting the edges. If
tliis is done carefully and speedily, you
may rely with comparative certainty
that your goods are beyond reach of the
small destroyer.
The best moth-proof chests are those
made of cedar, to the odor of which the
insect has  an unconquerable aversion,
and   the   camphor-wood  chests which
seamen bring from tho Eastlndies.  The
genuine cedar   chest  is a massive and
costly affair, made of inch cedar plank,
with walnut moldings and iron damps.
Fortunately  for  people   of    moderate
means, Yankee ingenuity has contrive^
cedar packing trunks- which anEVfer" all
purposes of utilityy.ftnd  which '.are fp^
less expensive.  ,'JJhese': are fche or|tiiiatefrj
packing trunk lin«d^^|fch. a th^Veiii^'j?
ing of. cedar,-w)iibi»;i' uiough- i"ew£|fcp*|i«
the eighth of aiLiiii^»]|;hi(Mijfi.fa Mo$iw±
.each man bnsy with his own thoughts
md strangely affected by the presence
if death iu the lonely forest. The night
wore apace and after awhile Big Jack
Sanford, the driller, rose and went out
of the room into tho early morning, elos-
He stopped as if stricken dumb, his i inff .^A00^ cnrefully, *ns if afraid he
remorse that has gnawed at my heart
since that fatal day! Why, oh, why did
I ever touch the acursed whisky that
made me a fiend ? Why, oh, why did
the woman I loved drive me to this ?
Oh, curse—"
eyes glaring wildly from  their sockets,
his faee a picture of horror and fear.
"My God!"he shrieked; "thatscream !
again!   Did you hear it?   No, how could I
you,  for it  comes only to   me.   I feel I
that I'm going   very   fast now.    Come |
closer.    Here, take the picture and keep j
it, aud—some—day show it—to tho woman it represents—and tejl her—aud—
tell her—I—I loved her—to—the—thelast!" j
The gaslight came struggling through j
the cracks in the  rough cabin and fell I
upon an upturned face, from which had I
faded sorrow and care and hate and fear I
and all things earthly, and which as the j
angel   of death   released  the   suffering j
spirit   reflected from  its cold form  the i
look of peace and love of the dead but |
unforgotten past.    Slowly, reverently, I
closed the door of the rude building and
left the dead aloue   with   the changing
shadows under the moaning pines. Down
the little valley to the test well I walked
as in a dream, and as T opened the door
of the derrick and stood before the giant
form of   Big Jack Sanford.   That large-
hearted man gazed at me  in surprised
silence.
"The man up at the shanty" I— began, and a lump seemed to come into my
throat all at once.
"Yes ?" said Jack interrogatively.
" He is—is—dead!" and I sat down on
the anvil hi sheer despair.
"What! Jim Barton ? Torpedo Jim ?"
I could only nod assent.
"Dead! Torpedo Jim dead! Poor
Jim!" A great sob shook the burly
form of the driller as he groped blindly
for lho throttle wheel.
With a creaking and jarring the ponderous machinery came to a standstill,
and honest-hearted Jack Sanford leaued
against the back biyte of the sand-reel
and wiped the moisture from his oyes
with a kind of a groun. Thu tool dresser
came rattling
into  the derrick with
(Jem Theater song on his lips, but as he ' ""f"^   Allc'in Her comfortji
his  fellow worker   the   soup died I delPma **!01*>° ^le patient, lovii
vorker tlie son<? died ,
away and he stood in amazement ^before j
his friend, nervously wiping his grimy I
bauds with a bit of waste. !
"What—what's   the    matter,   Jack? I
might disturb the corpse of his friend.
j Hours passed as one by one the stars
j faled away aud the sun came gleaming
I through the tree-tops and the tool-dresser
j and I dropped off to sleep, and when we
I were awakened by the sound of footsteps
we saw Big Jack coming   toward the
cabin with a rough hemlock box shaped
like a eoliin.
"It isn't so uice as I could wish," said
Big Jack as he deposited his burden on
the board table, '' but ifc is tho best we
can do."
With the loving tenderness of a
father, Big Jack gathered the inanimate
form of Torpedo ,iim in his strong arms
and laid him gently ill the narrow eollln.
And theu he and the tool-dresser lifted
the remains aud carried them through
the doorway aud down the path leading
past the well. It was the most sorrowful
funeral procession I have ever seen; it
wasn't mucli of a procession, to be sure.
Jack and his fellow-worker led the way
with the body and I followed: Yet there
was sorrow there; sorrow for the dead,
and aching hearts and broken sighs
joined with the moaning pines in chanting a requium for one to whom fate had
been a bitter enemy. Down past the
wall to a lightning-blasted giant pine
and at its foot was a newly-made grave,
the last loving labor that noble-hearted
Jack could do for his dead friend, and
then, as we lowered the blue-eyed man
into his last resting place, the sun burst
through a cloud and fell full upon us and
cast a halo of golden glory about the
scene, and when all was done the driller
raised his arms, and said slowly and
solemnly:
"Peace to his dust and ashes through
time and eternity.    Amen."
Poor Jim? Yes, poor Jim; for away
out in the Bingham forests sleeps the
blue-eyed man, who will always be in
the great army of thoso who dio unknown to home and friends, and who
will to the end of time be among the
And in her comfortable. Phila-
ig mother
cable against the derrick.    The silence   Lost a bit down  the   hole or has  she
became absilutely painful, until at last
the melancholy face of the dying man
was raised ngaiu.
"Stranger, come nearer; I'm going
fast and I niust tell you the rest. After
I had killed that man I hid the body in
a chimp of brush and searched him to
learn who lie was. I never found out
for he had on his oily clothes and tliere
was nothing in his pockets only this, a
little piece, of paper, and on ifc was written: 'Whftis life? "lis but a vapor;
soon it vanishes away.' True, isn't it?
At least I lave found it so. Well, after
I hid that man in the bush heap I wandered arouhd the country aud couldn't eat
or sleep. It was glorious weather at
that   time; everything  was  as  dry as
the rock?" inquired the
stuck fast in
tool-dresser.
No reply.
''A1"'* broke the temper screw, nor
nothm, hev ye?"
With an effort tho driller roused himself and started the heavy tools once
more Then nodding toward the bull
wheel ami then at tho tug wheel rope-
belt, lie soon liiid the tool-dresser busily
engaged in prepariw.' to raise tlie'to-'ls
from the hole two thousand feet under
the ground.
Have you over stood in an oil derrick
and watched a heavy set of drilling
tools being rui-iod from'the bottom of a
liole two tliMUsnnd feet deep? How the
cable   springs and   stretches;   how the
waits and watches for her boy, the boy
who will gladden the old, tried heart, and
brighten the old home never again on
this earth, and by-and-by she will put
away the well-worn Biblo and gold-
bowed spectacles and lie down to sleep
the sleep that rights all wrongs, heals
all wounds, and gives the beloved eternal
peace and rest.
And iu a little valley in the great northern oil field there stands a giant blasted
pine, with these words:
"Sacred to the memory of Torpedo
Jim, who died unknown, 1881."—Philadelphia Times.
*A true story.	
How He Proposed.
A bachelor too poor to get married,
yet ton susceptible to let tho girls alone,
was riding with a lady "all of a summer's day," and accidentally—men's
arms,   awkward things,   are ever iu the
INTEEESTINQ  PAKAGKAPHS.
TEo!'trunk a'fc'Tince^i&th^J^'Tma'aif-
tight. No camphor is needed iu such
a chest; only be careful to see tliat no
traces of moths are in the garments before packing, and lay away smoothly
with newspaper layers between each
strata of clothes as an additional precaution.
Paper barrols with olose-fitting heads
form another effectually moth-proof
case. The papor of which these are
made is thoroughly impregnated with
coal tar, and whatever is put into them
is practically safo from the incursions
of the moth miller. Tar paper is sold
by the sheet as a moth preventive, and
any ono may make for herself a mothproof chest by lining an ordinary packing box with this paper, putting a layer
also under tho lid.
Common newspaper is also a valuable
moth preventive. The moth-miller is
said to dislike printer's ink. For additional security it is wiser to lay the
parcel away in a closed trunk, but where
packing-chests run short it is generally
safe to put them on shelves in a mouse-
proof closet, the danger being that the
mice may cut tlio paper and the moth-
miller thus effect an entrance.
In the case of valuable furs, about
which there is cause for uneasiness, examine them three weeks after storing.
The eggs of the moth-miller hatch out
in from fifteen to twenty days, and the
moth begins at once its destructive work.
Therefore, by this second inspection assurance may "bo made doubly sure.
A oabih was first built to a vesBel in
1228.
Kitchens in South America have been
known to be furnished throughout with
utensils made of silver.
" Volummositx " and "funipotent"
are two now English words which have
just appeared. The last is applied to
spiritualists in Pollock's "Spinoza."
A new safety lamp for miners emits a
loud sound whenever an explpsive mixture of gas and air enters it, thus giving
warning of the presence of fire-damp.
The favorite day for marriages in Paris
is  Saturday,  on the morning of which
there may be seen on the streets landaus'
and barouches with white horses driven t
with white reins.
If a girl has pretty teeth she laughs
often, if she's got a pretty foot she'll
wear a short dress, and if she's got a neat
hand, she's fond of a game of whist, and
if tho reverse, she dislikes all these small
affairs. *
It is related that a California pioneer,
seeing a Chinaman coolly draw a "navy
six" and shoot a white ruffian neatly
through the abdomen, exclaimed with
much earnest enthusiasm: "Them Chineso is takin' on Christian ways surprisin'
fast!"
Young man, don't be afraid that hon-,
est, legitimate overwork will shorten-
your daj's. It is better to wear out iu a.
home, built up by your own efforts—atthe age of sixty-five, than ifc is to rust cut-
in the poor-houso five years later,—■
Whitehall Timen.
Whittier says that the first money he-
ever earned was paid for a copy of
Shakespeare, and that ifc proved to be
the best investment he evor made. ' 'Tho
long years since," he adds, "have only
deepened my admiration pi the great
creative poet."
A Montreati thief had thrown a bundle of goods out through the rear window
of a store, and would have followed in
safety, had ho not stopped to read a paragraph, which caught his eye in a newspaper lying on the counter, The delay
caused his capture.
Ralph Nickleby  was & hard, cold,
selfish man, without a grain of generous
impulse.    Newmap Nog'gs was -a kind-
hepi'ted man, without a grain of self in
: his- composition. ** Niokleby  was rich;
j'ifoggSj fcoor.'» The one was a wise man;
j.-th0ot»fer; a fool,. a Question for debate,t
j^SliicVwas the happier; of the two? .     ,\
&*^|Es? Ghbja literary property is oath^
iJijiBae footing as other pi-operfcy.   iyper-
'iijI-*''|naiiting and -Selling:! fhe wovksj.bf #j^|,
"-^ ,TOthoufc.hm;periai!ision!is^ial*r'"
boo and three years'/deportation. If he-
has stopped short at printing and not
begun to sell, the penalty is fifty blows
together with the forfeiture of books
and blocks for which it is intended to'
print.
"Dean" Buohaxan tells in his confession of a fortune-teller iu Philadelphia who reads destiny by the light of a.
candle mado of human fat, of a doctor
who goes to Europe annually aud brings
back love-powders, which he represents
are compounded at the shrine of Cupid,
in Minerva's templo, and of a concern
which sells tho pulverized gizzard of a
chicken as a compound to produce artificial digestion.
The site of an ancient camp of Indians-
at Cambridge, Maso., has ftf many years
been occupied by a Baptist Church. The-
spirits of the red men haunt the spot,
because they cannot rest under the wrong
done them by the whites, and three times
they have burned the meeting-house.
On each occasion an Indian war-whoop
was heard, mingled with the crackling of
the flames. Old residents tell this story
with great solemnity.
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A Poem from Bible Texts.
The following poem, formed from different Bible texts, is worth preserving :
Cling to thp Mighty Oar,
Chug iu thy (,'ncf;
Cling to tho Holy One,
He given relief;
Oliug tn the Graclm!* One,
C:liig in thy jmih;
Cling to the Faithful One,
Hu wi:isui.tiiin.
Cling io the Living One,
('.lug to thy \\w ;
O.ing to the Living One,
Tlm-uuh all be'ow;
C;ing to tin- Pardoning Ono,
Hti-iKMla'tli ii"»ce;
C.ini.' to the Healing One,
Ai.gui!*h bhall cea^e.
Ciing to the B ceding Oue,
C':ing t.i itis hide :
Cling to thi Risen One,
In Hiui ubiiU;
C'.ing to the Coming Olio,
Hopo pliull ante ;
Cling to thoKMgiiing One,
Joy lights thine eyos.
Pb. lxxiii: 19.
Hob. xii: 11.
Heb. vii: 11.
Pb. cxvi: 6.
Ph. cxvi: 5.
Pa. iv: -t.
1 TheuH. v: 25.
Pa. iv: 2i.
Heb. vii: 26.
Ps. lxxxvi: 7.
1 John iv: 10.
Rom. vii: a8-U9.
John xlv: 27.
John xiv: 23.
Vlxiid. xv: 25.
Ps. cxvii: 27.
1 Johu 11: 27.
John xx: 27.
Rom. vi: 9.
Joh^a xv: 4.
Rev. xxli: 20.
Titus li: 18.
Ps. xcvil: 1.
:?b. xvi: 11.
Married Infelicity.
It is a great pity that peoplo who are
infelicitously married cannot worry along
M best they may without making their
woes public. Most people who seek relief
in the divorce courts fail to find it. Instead
of gaining the peace and comfort which
they think is suro to follow on their legal
efforts for freedom, they succeed in
making themselves additionally unhappy
and intensely ridiculous. "Grin and
bear it," is, perhaps, a hard rule to follow. But it is better to endure than to
court the absurd situations and the
ridiculous criticisms which must follow
on publishing matrimonial misery to a
scandal-loving publio. — Philadelphia
Times,
New England Wages.
Mr. Carroll D. Wright, of the Massachusetts Bureau of Labor and Statistics,
who is said to be a careful statistician,
in his recent report gives some interesting facts about labor prices and compensation in New Euglaud. According-
to this report, in the mills of Maine men
are paid S7.50 a week, and women get
only §5. ."50, while the little children receive from §'2.25 to §5.40, in the woolen
mills, which pay the largest wages. One
paper mill in Maine pays men §10.50 a
week and women §5.50, working seven-
two hours a week. In New Hampshire
the wages are much lower than those
paid in Maine, aud the operatives are required to work sixty-six hours in the
week. In Rhode Island the wages are
a little higher, with sixty-six hours of
work diuing the week. In Connecticut
operatives work ninety hours a week—
fifteen hours a day for six days—and
the wages are §9 for men, §4.80 for
women, $5.10 for male children aud
$4.50 for female children. The highest
spinners' wages are §6. Tn Massachusetts from sixty-three to sixty-six hours,
of labor a week are exacted, and spinners only get $1.08 a day; the highest
class of labor iu the mills not exceeding
§10 to §12 for the men. Many of these
factories are ran by water power, and
much time is lost during the winter sea-
sous on account of freezes, and of course
fcho employes are not paid for the 'ame-
thus lost. The statistician remarks that
"long hours and poorly paid labor tend-
to brutalize," and he shows that one-
manufacturing town in Massachusetts
supports 400 bar-rooms. Such is the
exhibit of a gentleman who has no reason to misrepresent things, and it presents facts which are uot creditable tothe boasted civilization, wealth and generosity of the New England manufacturers.—New York Commercial Advertiser.
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Some of you may think it very funnv
that there is not a barber in all the Bar-
bary States.
:H