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About Ashland tidings. (Ashland, Or.) 1876-1919 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 29, 1879)
INDEPENDENT ON ALL SUBJECTS, AND DEVOTED TO THE INTERESTS OF SOUTHERN OREGON.
ASHLAND1 OREGON, FRIDAY, AUGUST 29, 1879.
VOL IV.—NO. 12
J. M. McCall & Co
Issued every L^ritley,
Main Street, Ashland.
OFFICE -On Main Street, (i i iecuiiJ story <>( McCall
A Baum', new building i
Ui all desci ipciun. done on .hurt notice. Legal Blanks,
Circulars Business Cards, Billheads, Letterheads, P<*s
tvrs, etc., gotten up in good style at living prices.
The undersigned from and after April
18th, propose to sell only for
CASH IN HAND
Or approved produce delivered—except
when by special agreement - a short
and limited credit may be given.
Teriu« ot Subscription:
U *e copy. une year...............................
•• •• b ¡ x tuoulhs ........ .................................... 1
•• “ three month».............................
Club rales, six copies for ....................................... .12
It rm* in a<J vanee.
They have commenced receiving their
New Spring Stock, and that every
day'will witness additions to
the largest stock of
Terra« of Advertising:
One square Hen lines or less) 1st insertion........... 32 50
Each uüditmnal insertion............
Local notices per line .
Regular advertisements inserted upon liberal turma.
Ever brought to this market. They de
sire to say to every reader of
this paper, that if
DR. J. H. CHITWOOD,
Sold at the Lowest Market Prices, will
do it, they propose to do the largest
business this spring and summer
ever done by them in tin-
last five years, and
they can posi
it to the
of every one to
call upon them in
Ashland and test the truth
of their assertions. They will
spare no pains to maintain, more
fully than ever, the reputation of their
House, as the acknowledged
OFFICE- At the Ashland Drugstore.
JAMES R. NEIL,
ATTOR N F. V - A T - I. A W ,
J. W. HAWIAKAR,
I.inky ¡lie, Lake Co., Oregon
OFFICE-- In 1‘mt Office building. S|>eeul attention
Iven to eon eyancing.
M. L. M’CALL,
SURYEYQR A CIVIL ENGINEER,
For Staple and Fancy Goods, Groceries,
Hardware, Clothing, Boots, Shoes,
Hats, Caps, Millinery, Dress
Tin Ware, Shawls,
W rappers,Cloak 3,
And, in fact, everything required for the
trade of Southern and South
b prepared to do any work in his line on short notice.
DR. W. B. ROYAL,
Has permanently located in Ashland.
Will give hie undivided attention to the practice ot
medicine. Ha. had fifteen years' experience in
Oregon. Office at hi. residence, on Main street,
opposite the M E. Church.
DR. WILL JACKSON,
A full assortment of
For Blacksmiths* and General use.
Will visit Ashland in May and November,
and Karbyville the fourth Monday in Octu
ber, each vaar.
Ashland, Sept. 15, 1873.
A Full Line of
Ashland Woolen Goods I
ASHLAND MILLS I
Flannels, Blankets, Cassimeres, Doeskins,
Clothing, always on hand and
for sale at lowest prices.
The highest market prices paid for
We will continue to purchase wheat
Wheat, Oats, Barley, Bacon, Lard.
Come One and All.
The Highest Market Price,
J. M. McCALL A CO.
And will deliver
Flour, Feed, Etc.,
W. H. ATKIN8ON,
Anywhere in town,
E. K. ANDERSON.
Wnfner JL Auilertou.
MANU FACT J
ARE NOW MAKING FROM
MORRIS HAI M
The Very Best
1 have constantly on hand the very best
BIWUILM AND CARRIAGES,
And can furnish my customers with a
tip-top turnout at any time.
Ou reasonable terms, and given the best
attention. Horses bought and sold
and satisfaction guaranteed in
all my transactions.
H. F. PHILLIPS
4 KMARBLEM »
J our patrons !
OLD AND NEW,
J. II. RUSSELL, Proprietor.
Are invited to send in their orders and
are assured that they
Having again settled in this placo
and turned my entire attention to
the Marble Business, I am pre
pared to fill all orders with neat
ness and dispatch. Monuments,
Tablets, and Headstones, executed
any description of. marble.
OTSpecial attention paid to or-
d«rs from all parts of Southern
(SUOregon. Prices reasonable.
SHall Receive Prompt Attention !
At Prices that Defy Competition.
ASHLAND WOOLEN MILLS.
J, H, Bussell,
W. H. Atkinson,
lu the sultry time of mowing
When the fields are full of hay,
Pretty Janet brings her sewing
To the gate, at close of day.
Do you wonder that she lingers—
Often glances down the lane?
Do you ask me why her fingers
Seem to find their work a strain.
Love dreams hold her in their tether;
Love is often (as we know)
Idle in the Summer weather,
Idlest in the sunset glow.
Now the toil of day is ever;
Janet has not long to wait
For a shadow on the clover
And a footstep at the gate.
How is this? The slighted sheeting
Has been taken up anew;
Very quiet is her greeting,
Scarcely raised those eyes of blue.
Now he leans upon the railing,
Tells her all about the hay;
Still his pains seem unavailing —
Very little she will say.
If yon think it strange, my reader,
Learn a lesson from the rose,
From the garden's queenly leader,
Fairest flower that ever blows.
Not at once she flaunts her petals;
First a bud of sober green,
By and by the stretching sepals
Show a dash of red between.
Breezes rock her; sunbeams woo her;
Wide and wider does she start,
Opens all her crimson treasure, .
Yields the fragrance at her heart.
Ab! the rose bnds will not render
All their secrets in one day;
And the maiden, shy and tender,
Is as diffident as they.
Just, Before Generous
“I wish you would leave me fifty
shillings for Alary Brown, Joe,” Mrs.
Hammond said to her husband, as he
stood putting on his overcoat before
starting for business.
“Fifty shillings, Nettie !” he cried,
while a look of displeased surprise came
over his face. “How can you owe her
so much ? I gave you the money for
the washing everv week.”
“Well, it slips away; I scarcely know
how. There was the little impromptu
supper we had the evening/the Elliott’s
were here, last week, and 1 saw some
bargains in ribbons the week before, and
—oh, I can’t remember every penny !”
“She must need her money, ami need
it promptly. Women don’t work for
amusement, Nettie, as a general thing,
but for a living. There is the money,
but don’t let this happen again. Noth
ing is more contemptible, to my mind,
than owing small sums of money to
those who depend upon daily labor for
Then, as if to make a mute apology
for the severity of his words and tone,
Joe Hammond gave his little wife an
unusually tender kiss, and started out
for his office.
They had been only a few months
married, these young people, and rented
a wee cottage, where they kept house
after the pattern only too common to
young married couples.
Nettie was the youngest of five
daughters of a merchant, and would
probably be something of an heiress
when her father died. In the mean
time her only idea of housekeeping was
founded upon that of the large house
where she had lived all her life, and
where she never had a care.
Her mother, foreseeing the difficul
ties in the way of the petted girl, had
spared one of her own most valued ser
vants, and Nettie had given into her
charge all care. Every week Joe hand
ed his wife such a proportion of his in
come as he felt he could afford forhouse-
hoid expenses, fully satisfied that it was
more than sufficient for the results he
Bridget was a treasure, and there was
no fault to find with the well-cooked
meals, or the orderly arrangements in
the little cottage.
After the master of the house left,
Mrs. Hammond, having a dainty piece
of sewing to finish, was busily stitching,
when one of her dear friends, Mrs. Mer
ritt, came in. She was older by ten
years than Nettie, and a childless
widow. A good woman in every sense
of the word, she gave the time that
hung heavily on her hands, after her
husband died, to the cause of charity.
Her Qwn means, which were ample for
her support in luxury, were freely given;
but many of her charities were on a
scale that required contributions from
This was not the first time Nettie
had been called upon to give to some
cause in which her friend was interested.
She looked up brightly’.
“Don’t speak till you are warm,” she
said, drawing a chair toward the fire and
taking her friend’s furs and hat. “You
look half perished.”
“It is a bitter day. God help the
poor 1” Mrs. Merritt said taking o the
“What brings vou so far this cold
“I called to see if you would help us
in a fair we are getting up for the suf
ferers at the fire last week. I have been
amongst them, Nettie, and they are
utterly destitute. We have raised some
thing toward the sum we think necessary
to start the fair, aad I thought you would
help us ”
Nettie’s purse was already in her hand
Beside the money for the washerwoman
there was only a little change, and for a
moment she hesitated. Then, thinking,
“I will tell Joe, and he will give it to me
again,” she took the gold and handed it
to Mrs. Merritt.
“1 wish it were more,” she said gently,
her heart full of pity for the sufferers,
‘•but 1 will begin to sew for your table
at the fair at once. Suppose I make
some of those wax crosses you admire so
much ? 'I’liey sell well.”
“Anything you make will sell. By
the way, if you are going to buy wax, 1
am going down to L’s now. Suppose
you dress while I warm my feet, and we
can go together.'’
“After lunch. You will stop to lunch!
“I can’t, indeed. You see, dear, w e
want to strike while the iron is hot. A
month from now some new horror will
crowd this out of memory, though the
poor sufferers will L? no better oft’.’’
“Then I will be ready in five minutes.”
And it was very little more when she
stood ready for her walk.
The wax was purchased,and a quantity
of other material bought for fancy work;
and then, as she was so near her old
home, Nettie took lunch there, and in
terested all the ladies of the family in
the good work.
The Winter afternoon was closing
when she came home, tired, to meet
Bridget, whose face was very long.
“Please, ma’am, Mr. Hammond’s sent
word from the office that he won’t be
home till late this evening. And Mary
Brown’s been here, ma’am, with the
clothes, and she’s in sore trouble, ma’am.
The landlord is pressing her for a mouth’s
rent, and there is two of her children
sick. She was awfully disappointed not
to see you, for she said you promised
her some money today. If you are
willing, ma’am,” she said, hesitatingly,
“I’ll take it after dinner, for they are
badly off when she complains—.she ain’t
one of the whining sort.”
“I’m sorry, Bridget; but I can't send
it till to-night, when Mr. Hammond I
Bridget went to her work,
very heavy, for Mary had told her more
than she liad repeated to her mistress.
And Nettie ojiened her packages, and
thought of the many pretty things she
could make for the fair.
Dinner over, she stitched busily at
dainty bits of silk and ribbon, till the
latch-key rattled in the «loor, and she
sprang forward to meet her husband.
There was no smile on his face as usual,
and he asked her harshly—
“What did you do with the money 1
gave you for Mary Brown
Half frightened at the expression of
his face, Nettie told him of Mrs. Merritt’s
visit and the result. His face softened
a little, but he said, very gravely—
“ You should have waited to conti ib
ute to the fair until you liatl other
money; that was not yours to give.
Willie Brown met me. He had been
waiting, on this bitter night, three hours
for me, and asked me, humbly and piti
fully, for one shilling on his mother’s
bill. Sure that you hud paid her while
the boy .was out, I went home with him.
Nettie, the room was fireless. The poor
nother, wrapped in a shawl, was crying
bitterly, while she tried to warm her poor
Nettie by this time was weeping hit
ter tears, and sobbed out—
“Oh, Joe, I never thought she needed
the money so much ' Oh, what did you
“ I paid her ; and 1 told her in the
future to send to me every week for the
money she earns by hard, honest labor.”
“ Oh, Joe, it shall never happen again.
I am so sorry ! But I did not use the
money for myself, and I felt so sorry for
those poor people Mrs. Merritt told me
“But justice should come before gen
erosity, Nettie. I would not stay your
hand from any charity we can afford ;
but the money you owe to a hard-work
ing woman is hers, not yours to give or
use in any way. And, Nettie, remem
ber another thing: if you had paid the
woman every week, you never would
have owed her a sum that is large to her,
although it may seem small to you. I
wonder you allowed a bill to stand,
knowing, as you do, my liorroi of debts.”
A burning crimson suddenly flooded
his wife’s face.
“ Have vou deceived me al>ont others?
Do you owe money in other places ?"
“A little, Joe,” she faltered. “ I
don’t know how it is, but I seem to run
short so often.”
Joe looked so pained that Nettie,s
tear’s started again.
“ I don’t spend a great deal on my
self, Joe—indeed I don’t. I gave five
pounds to the orphan asylum last month,
and there was that poor family Mrs.
Merritt told me about, whose father was
killed on a railroad.”
“ And the money was due for some
bill you had hidden from me ?”
“ I didn’t mean to hide it exactly, Joe ;
only each week I thought I could save
“Well,” he said, wearily, “you must
bring me an exact account to-morrow
evening of all we owe, and it must be
paid. After this I will pay the bills
“ No, Joe, no! you shall not take that
care in addition to all your business
duties. Trust me once more, and I will
not let this happen again. I will be just
before I am generous—just to you, Joe,
as well as to others.”
He was ready to kiss heri‘and accept
'The statement of her^debts her hus
band required caused her another fit of
sobbing and fright. She had no idea
that a little charged here and there at
the butchers could mount up to iv large
bill; that the little accounts start«?*1 on
a few shillings could run up to pounds
so fast ; and when the sum total of fifty
pounds stared her in the face, she felt,
penitently, that she did not deserve any
further trust or confidence from hei hus
It was a large sum for a struggling
man to raise unexpectedly, and doe de
nied himself many things to meet it;
but it was the last time he had to do so,
for Nettie kept an account of every shil
ling, amazed to find that when all just
claims were promptly paid, a’.l extrava
gances cut away, and the week’s money
carefully divided to meet the expenses,
she had still many shillings for charity,
given far more happily when her con
science was clear, and she had practiced
being just before she was generous.
Teasing children is at best a doubtful
amusement; but when sensitive child
hood is made the object of it, it degen
erates into cruelty. Yet there are some
very good people who indulge in this
outrage against the innocent and help
less. We know people who never miss
an opportunity to torment a child.
It seems impossible for them to come
near one without making it miserable.
They cannot be at their ease, unless the
child is suffering fiom heartlessness. As
a consequence, children soon learn to
hate as well as fear them, and no won
der. It is true that these people would
shrink from inflicting needless bodily
pain on any little one; but they never
think of the keener torture which their
senseless teasing inflicts on the sensitive
child. They would tell you that they
do nothing which should give pain; that
they are only in fun and the child ought
to know it. When they threaten to
swallow a child, they don’t mean to do
it, vf course; but the child is irritated
or frightened all the same. Do they
know how very real all such things are
to a child, particularly to one that has
never been hardened to such cruelty ?
They may mean nothing by their silly
threats, but the child that has learned
to rely implicitly on what its parents
say—and all children should learn this
—will accept as truths what its tor
mentors mean as lies invented for its an
noyance. It is true that the child will
in time learn to doubt the truthfulness
of those who thus abuse it; but while it
learns to distrust the false, it also learns
to distrust the true. A child cannot be
expected to exercise discrimination; and
you, sir, who give it its first lessons in
falsehood, are to blame for such subse
quent distrust of things that ought to be
Childhood should be a period of joy
ous innocence. It is no time for doubts
or misgivings. They come soon enough
with the entrance of the youth upon the
scenes of busy, practical, anxious strug
gle for self-maintainance. Then, good
friends, you who thoughtlessly mar that
innocent enjoyment and implicit trust
which characterize the uncorrupted
child, stop to think what you are doing.
You are committing a grave offense.
Y ou are ruining the temper of one
whose mind is yet so plastic as to yield
to every touch. You are darkening the
days of one whose life should yet be all
sunshine. You are inflicting the keen
est of pains on one whose innocence
should shield it from the tortures even
of barbarians. You are poisoning the
morals of one that is yet too young to
resist your evil influences, You are do-
ing wrong for which you can never
atone, a wrong whose evil effects
may follow that child to the grave.—
How Rain and Hail are Formed.
When the particles of water or ice
which constitute a cloud or fog are all of
the same size, and the air in which they
are sustained is at rest or is moving uni
formly in one direction, then these part
icles can have no motion relatively to
each other. The weight of the particles
will cause them to descend through the
air with velocities which depend on their
diameters, and, since they are all of the
same size, they will move with the same
velocity. Under these circumstances,
therefore, the particles will not traverse
the spaces which separate them, and
there can be no aggregation so as to
form raindrops or hailstones. If, how
ever, some of the particles of the cloud
or fog attain a larger size than others,
those will descend faster than the others,
and will consequently overtake those
immediately beneath them; with these
they may combine so as to form still
larger particles, which will move with
still greater velocity, and more quickly
overtaking the particles in front of them,
will add to their size at an increasing
rate. Under such circumstances, there,
fore, the cloud would be converted into
rain or hail, according as the particles
were water or ice. The size of the drops
from such a cloud would depend simply
On the quantity of water suspended in
its descent, that is to say, on the density
and thickness of the cloud below the
point from which the drop started.
This is the actual way in which rain
drops and hailstones are formed.—
82 50 PER ANNUM
The Pope’s Garden
Let me relate, says a Roman corres
pondent, a visit to the Pope’s private
1. Primarily the Unknowable moved
garden, which is supposed to be inac
cessible to the outside world, Its par upon cosmos ami evolved protoplasm.
2. And protoplasm was inorganic and
ticular interest is in the fact that for
’erential, containing all things ip a
eight years the Popes have not stepped
out of the Vatican Palace except to go potential energy; and a spirit of evolu
tion moved upon the fl •lid mass.
into this garden, and naturally it is
jealously secluded from profane intrud I 3. And the Unknowable said, let at
ers. However, we bribed the officials oms attract, and then contact liegat
and were let into the garden surrepti light, heat and electricity.
4. And the Unconditional differentia
tiously with permission to remain an
the atoms, each after its kind; and
hour, ami we improved the time to the
combinations begat rock, air and
Until recently it has been their
only a place io stroll about in on foot.
5. And then went out a spirit of evo
But now the Pope is having a carriage
from Unconditioned and working
road made through it, and has just had
an elegant landau constructed in Rome, in protoplasm, by accretion and absorp
tion produced the organic cell.
with the papal escutcheons upon it, es
6. And the cell by nutrition evolved
pecially to drive about the garden in. primordial germ, and germ devekqied
The principal avenues are bordered by protegene, and protegen? begat eozoon,
flat hedges, and in passing along you and eozoon begat monad, and monad be
get glimpses, through green arches, of gat animalculie.
the sweetest little sylvan retreats that
7. And animalcula? begat ephemera;
you can imagine; birds singing, fountains and then began creeping things to mul
bubbling, light and shade playing tiply on the face of the earth.
through the flickering leave.;, the air
8. An earthly atom in vegetable pro
full of the scents of orange blossoms and toplasm begat the molecule, and thence
roses, shady paths winding in ami out, came all grass and every herb in the
up and down in the most distracting
way, the ground covered vuth a thick
9. And animalcula? in the water
matting of deep leaves, the accumula evolved tins, tails, claws and scales; and
tion of years. Here an ancient sarcop in the air, wings and beaks; an I oil the
hagus, with sculptured figures in relief, land they sprouted such organs a ¡ were
there a marble statue gray with age, necessary as played upon by the envir
and a something inexpressively weird in onment.
the twilight gloom, the solitude and air i
10. And bv accretion and absorption
of neglect and decay. Again you emerge came the radiata and mollusca, and mol
upon open, snnny spaces, and the prom
lusca begat articúlala, articúlala begat
enade skirts a quadrangular space sunk
en fifteen to twenty feet, with perpendic
11. Now these are the generation of
ular walls, originally, perhaps, the walls
the higher vertebrata, in cosmic period
of some ancient construction. This is from which the Unknown evoluted the
laid out in an immense dower garden, bipedal mammalia.
and in the midst the gorgeous papal ! 12. And every man of the earth,
monogram traced in lit ing verdure.
while lie was yet a monkey, and the
A pretty surprise was a small grotto horse while be was a hipparion, and the
in rock work, representing that of “Notre hipparion before he was an oredon.
Dame de Lourdes,” in which stood a
13. Out of the ascidian came the am
little fancy figure of the Yirgin, at her phibian and begat the pentadactyle, by
foot a little grating through which offer inheritance and selection, produced the
ings were dropped, and three tiny hvlobate, from which are the siuiiada* in
streams of water flowing from the words:
all their tribes.
“Drink and be healed.” Of course tinv
14. And out of the miniada? the lemar
streams spout into a little basin, and prevailed above his fellows, and pro
above these we applied our mouths to the
duced the platyrhine monkey.
little streams and drank the consecrated
15. And the platyrhine begat the cat-
water. We thought we had explored arrhine, and the catarrhine monkey be
everv nook and corner of the garden, gat the anthropoid ape, and the ape be
but had failed to find the place we were gat the longimanous orang,and the orang
especially in search of, the famous Casino begat the chimpanzee, and the chimpan
where Pius IX. used tj sit on runny zee evoluted the what is it.
days, and which is said to be a famous
16. And the what is it went into the
resort of the present Pope for study and land of No«l and took him a wife of the
writing. We met a servant who went longimanous gibbons.
with us to show the wav, and gave us a
17. And in process of the cosmic |>er
bouquet of exquisite damask roses. The iod were born unto them and their chil
casino is completely enclosed and bidden dren the anthropomorphic primordial
by high hedges, entered by a single arch.
Following a path through shrubbery, we
18. The homunculus, the prognathus,
passed under a deep stone archway, lined the troglodyte, autochthon, the terragen
with mosaics—three inches each side —these are the generations of primeval
filled with ancient statues—and came
upon a small circular esplanade with the
19. And primeval man was naked ami
mosaic pavement, enclosed by two semi not ashamed, but lived in quadrumanous
circular loggias or porticos supported by innocence, and struggled mightily to liar
marble columns, the ceiling and inside monize with the environment.
walls covered with beautiful but faded
20. And by inheritance and natural
frescoes and curious mosiacs and shell selection did lie progress from the staole
work, with niches occupied by busts and and homogeneous to the complex and
statues. All around was a wilderness of heterogeneous—for the weakest died and
flowers and shrubbery, and close by’ the the strongest grew and multiplied.
great dome of St. Peter filled in the view.
21. And man grew a thumb for that
Finally, through a distant arch, we .saw he had need of it, and developed capaci
a vista of trees, and following it up came ties for prey.
out upon an elevated terrace, where,
22. For, behold, the swiftest man
under the shade of old trees covered caught the most animals, and the swift
with purple blossoms, was a large basin, est animal got away from the most men;
of water upon which was a man-of-war wherefore the slow animals were eaten
in bronze, eight or ten feet long, the and the slow men starved to death.
rigging complete, rows of cannons pro
23. Ami as the types were differenti
jecting from its sides, the mariners at ated the weaker types completely disap,
From this terrace was a view of the
21. And the earth was filled ‘with
city, the castle of Si. Angelo prominent violence; for man strove wi^i man and
in the foreground, and Monte Marie on tribe with tribe, whereby they killed op \
the left, the valley of the Tiber beneath, the weak and foolish and secyte.1 th
and the Campagna stretching out to the survival of the fittest.
Alban range in the distance.
Bedstead Superstition in Germany
Having ordered a neatly-constructed
single bedstead, says a correspondent of
London Notes and Queries, with some
what high and ornamental sides, I v as
surprised when it was brought home to
find that the ornamentation of one side
of the bedstead was not repeated on the
opposite side, it being, in fact, quite
plain. I expressed my surprise and dis
satisfaction to the maker, saying that
when a bedstead was placed with its
head against the wall of a room, the
-sides, then showing, will appear quite
unlike—one ornamented and the other
plain. At this the maker expressed Lis
surprise that I should be ignorant of a
German custom and prejudice ; “ for,'’
says he, “ in Germany, single bedsteads
are only placed sidewise against a wall
or partition, and only removed from this
position and placed with the head against
the wall to receive a dead body.” And
the worthy maker assured me that no
where in Germany could a native be in
duced to sleep on a single bedstead which
had not its side placed against a wall or
petition. The same objection does not
hold against placing two single bedsteads
------------------ »<«i»----------- -
side by side, with their heads against a
A wife «anted her husband to sytnpa* wall.
thize with her in a feminine quarrel, but
A Boston clergyman speaks of “a
he refused, saying: “I’ve lived long
enough to know that one woman is as mustached gentleman holding a piece of
good as another, if not better.” “And wood to his shoulder and frantically
I,” retorted the wife, “have lived long drawing poor horse-hair over the dried
enough to know that one man is as bad viscera of a dead feline.” Hang up the
as another, if not worsdr’
fiddle and the bow.
What Becomes of Our Bodies.
With a very near approach to truth,
the human family inhabiting the earth
has been estimated at 700,000,000; the
annual loss by death is 18,000,000.
Now, the weight of the animal matter
of this immense body cast into the grave
is no less than 634,000 tons, and by its
decomposition produces 9,000,000,000-,
000 cubic feet of gaseous matter. The
vegetable productions of the earth clear
away from the atmosphere the gases
thus generated, and decomj>osing and
assimilating them for their own increase.
This cycle of changes has been going on
ever since man became an occupier of
the earth. He feeds on the lower ani
mals and on the seeds of plants, which
in due time become a part of himself. *
The lower animals feed upon the herbs
and grasses, which, in their turn, become
the animal, then, by its death, again pass
into the atmosphere and are ready once
more to be assimilated by plants, the
earthy or bony substance alone remain
ing where it is deposited, and not even
there unless sufficiently deep in the soil
to be out of the insorbent reach of the
roots and plants and trees. It is not at
all difficult to prove that the elements of
which the living bodies of the present
generation are composed have passed
through millions of mutations, and
formed parts of all kinds of animal and
vegetable bodies, and consequently it
may be said that fractions of the ele
ments of our ancestors form