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About Oregon City enterprise. (Oregon City, Or.) 1871-188? | View Entire Issue (July 19, 1877)
I DEVOTED TO NEWS, LITERATURE, AND THE BEST INTERESTS OF OREGON. VOL. 11. OREGON CITY, OREGON, THURSDAY, JULY 19, 1877. NO. 39. THE ENTERPRISE. A LOCAL NEWSPAPER FOR T H t'ltriuer, IIolue Mini mill I'uiuil.t Cirri ISSCED EVERY THURSDAY PROHBrETOR AND PCULIRIIKK. Official Paper for Clackamas County. Onit-e: lit Eutrrpriwe Uuiltliiis;. Oue Jwr Stuth 01" Masonic Building, Main Street. IVruii or.Sukwriptlun: Single Copy, oue year, iu advance Si 50 SiukU Copy, Klx uioutiia, in advance -. 1 50 lrni of Ailtrrtioluv: Transient advertisements, including all leal notices, per square of twelve lines, oue week 2 30 Tor aoh subsequent msertiuu 100 Oo Column, oue year 120 00 Half Column, one year k CO 00 Ouarter Column, one year 40 00 Business Card, one square, cue year l'J 00 SOCIETY NOTICES. OREGON LODGE, No. 3, I. O. O. F. Meet every Thursday Evening, at 7S4 o'clock, in Odd 1'ellowB' Hall, Main Street. Members of the Order aoi-'' iu renown uau, , -v ar invited to atteud. Ey order of REBECCA DEGREE LODGE, No. 2, I. O. O. r., meets on the Second and Fourth Tuewlay Evenings of each month, at 7) o'clock, in the Odd Fellows' Hall. Members of the Degree are invited to' 3i atteud. FALLS ENCAMPMENT, No. 4, I. O. O. V., meet at Odd Fellows' Hall on the First and Third Tuesday of each month. Patriarchs iu good standing are invited to attend. MULTNOMAH LODGE, No 1, A. F. Il A. M., holds its regular couitiiuni- a ; cations on the First and Third Saturdays, j ': In each itintith at 7 nVlilr finm Mia will. V' of September to the '20th or March ; and ; 7 H o'clock from the 'Joth of March to the 'JOth of September. Urethreu in M'od standing are ; Invited to attend. Ry order of W. M. BUSINESS CARDS. J. W. NORRIS, l'li.vttician find .Surgeon. OFFK'E AND KEoIPfcSCE : Ou Fourth Slreet. at foot of CI iff Stairway. tf CHARLES KNIGHT, CAN BY. OREO ON. lIiyieiau and Druggist. K"Prescripti(ns carefully filled ut short notice. j7-tt PAUL DOYCE, M. D., 1'li.ysiciau aul Surgeon. Obuc.on City, Okthon. Chrouto Diaearies and Uiteastii i.f Women and Children a specialty. Office Hours day and night; always readv wlun duty calls. niiu'J5,"'7rt-tf DR. JOHN WELCH, DEXTIST.cig OFFICE IN OREGON CITY,; OREGON. Highest cash price paid for Counly Order. JOHNSON & McCOWN, ATTORNEYS aud COUNSELORS AT LAW OREGON CICY, OREGON. Will practice in all the Courts of the Slate. ' Special attention given to eases in the Tinted btatus Land Otlice at Oregon City. 3apr'7-2-tf L. T. BARIN, ATTOKXKY AT I, OREGON ,CITY, OREGON'. Will practice in all the Courts of the State, uuvl, '7j-tf W. H. HICHFIELD, . UMtuhlUhtMl Nlnee One dr North of Pope's Hall, MUX ST., UKKUO.Y fITV, OHKtiOX. An assortment or Watches, Jewelry, and Seth Thomas' Weight Clocks, all or which , w represemeu. G5 Kepalrlng done on sliort notice; andthauktiil ; fur past patrouage. ? VhhU lor County Orders. JOHN M. BACON, I BOOKS, STATIONERY, PICTURE FRAMES. MOULDINGS AND MISCEL LANEOUS GOODS. l'K tni:. .MADE TO OltUKIt. Orkgon Cm, Ohcuon. "At the Post Office, Main Street, west side. novl. '75-tf i J. R. GOLDSMITH, Collector. and Solicitor. PORTLAND, OREGON. i K7Be8t of references given. vlt e23-'77 I HARDWARE, IRON AND STEEL, f Hubs, Spokes, Kims, OAK, ASH AND HICKORY PLANK. XOHTIIKI l mar31,'70-tf THOMlK(t, Portland, Oniron. J. H. SHEPARD, boot axi siioi:stoiu; One door North of Ackerman Bros. aBoota and Shoes made and repaired a cljtv ' as th cheapest. novl, '73-tr MILLER, CHURCH & CO. : PAY THE HIGHEST PRICE FOR WHEAT. At all times, at the ' t OREGON CITY MILLS, i And have on band FEED and FLOUR to sell, at S market rates. Parties desiriug Feed must furnish i aeka. - novia tf i aT c.1ti7l1ncts I Vionoer ISook ISimlory I BuildiDg. cor. of Stark and Front Sts.. I'OKTLIXD, OICi:.O.V. f HVXK BclOES RULED AND BOUND TO ANY I Jldeaired pattern. Music Bocks. Magazines, kn-P?'!Lt,0 too in evenr variety of style USh ?he trde- rJers the country lOREGON CITY BREWERY. V wiabM to infnrm .... L.rr.7"." 'iahaa to iirZ"?. Brewer y. now . l'uu.uc they are lallty mnuracture iager beer te.V0Ucnened .r. in 'the State wuiuea and promptly tilled. ' i 4 cm nARWIMMM IX MORALS. High instincts, dim previsions, sacred fears, Whence issuing? Are they but the brains a massed, Tradition shapings of a barbarous past. Remodeled ever by the younger years, Mixed with fresh clay, and Vneaded with new tear6? No more ? The dead chief's uhost a shadow cast Across a roving clan, and thence at last Comes Clod, who iu the sortl His law nprears ? It this the whole? Has not the Future powers To match the I'ust attractions, pulsings, tides. And voices for purged ears ? Shall our light The glow of ancient sunsets and lost hours? Advance no banners up heaven's eastern sides ? Treuiblt s the margin with no portent bright? The JnTfr Lnfe, by Edward Dowdtn. i i.oivkks uii.1, i:lo AU.4I.V. The dreariest road that ever wound between Steep mountains, with their gorges dark and deep. At last will share the plain, and, lo ! a scene Of peaceful rest will lull each fear to sleep-. . Then wait, and let your heart still sing, Though every hour new dangers bring ; . The longest day must end at last. And joy can smile o'er sorrows past ! The darkest hour of nigut, when not a star Is seen to ive one ray of promise bright. Will end at last In joyous morn, and far o'er hill and dale the sun will send his light. Then wait, nor lose all hope of dawn " Because the hours drag slowly on ; The darkest night still brings the glow Of rosy morn o'er every woe ! The coldest day that Winter e'er can bring. With sleet, and fuow. and ice to swell his train. Must yield at last to balmy smiles of Spring. And all the earth with flowers will bloom again. Then wait, nor sigh midst falling snow For summer's warmth and summer's glow ; The days will flit, and, sweetly blest. Fair spring will smile on winter's breast ! WEDDED TO INSANITY. A corridor at tlie end of one wing of a large raniuling house, a barred win dow, and a closed door. In the passage a fair-haired girl with the light of in describable pity in her dove-like eves, kneeling upon the boards, and pushing biscuits and sweetmeats underneath the ill-fitting door, which disappeared as fast as they were placed there, showing that there were human hands to seize them on the other side. Within, an other girl as young as the lirst not twenty, certainly groveling on the lloor like a wild boast, with dark dis heveled hair almost hiding the spark of insanity that desecrated her glorious eyes, and devouring the precious mor sels that her visitant placed within her reach with the avidity of a hungry child. The room in which she crouched was not comfortless, but had evidently been prepared for tho reception of such in mates, and the carefully guarded win dow and cushioned walls showed that the mansion in which it was situated was occupied by one who made it the business of his life to receive such un fortunates into his professional care. Tn plain words, a private lunatic asy lum. "My poor Leah!"' whisiered the fair liaired girl out side, "do you know that I am here, and that I love j'ou?" The soft clear voice was not unheard, for Lea!) raised her head for a moment, and sat listening, with the dark cloud of tangled hair thrown back from the low forehead and deeply-shaded eye brows. Uut the look of attention passed away almost as rapidly as it had come, and in another moment her head was down again on the floor, and tho softly set lips, that seemed made only to shape love's whispers, murmured stupidly and hungrily: "More, more!" "I am going now," said tlie soft voice again, "but I will come and see you this evening, with the nurse. Do you hear? Do you understand?" There was nothing but an inarticulate murmur in reply, though she listened in vain; and tho fair-haired girl rose with a sigh from her knees, and passed from the desolate corridor into the more habitable and cheerful part of the house in which tho physician and his family lived, having learned from habit to look I lightly ou the empty human shrines of reason that were sheltered beneath tho same roof. "She is so beautifull" said the girl to herself as she went down the staircase. "J hope God does not let her know what she is now, or she would die, as I should do." "My dear Margaret," said her mother, looking up as 'her eldest child entered the room, "I do hope you have uot been among the patients again?" "I have been to see poor Leah," said Margaret Fenwick in the same soft voice, which was one of her gi'eatest charms. "I must do that, you know, if it makes her less unhappy." "Let the child alone," said Dr. Fen wick. She will do herself no harm, if she does nobodv else any good. Bat you did not work upon Brooker's feel ings to give yon the key, I hope, Madge? The door was locked, of course? "I talked to her through the door, that was all,' answered Margaret sim ply. "Papa, do you think she will be like other people again? It was only last week she was sitting here with us all, and I was teaching her to play the accompaniment to mr songs! "I know all that," said the thysician, "but she is suffering from an acute at tack of dementia now. She is very oung, and may get completely over it, out men sue will be alwavs liable to a relapse. A sudden trouble would do it at any time." "And she has money, too!" sighed Mrs. Fenwick half enviously, as if it was a sin that -snch good material for happiness should be wasted. "Didn't you say she had monev ?'' "One hundred and fifty thousand dol lars, 1 believe, said her rinaVinnrl 1rvlv "but I think there are one hundred and ty tucmsantl reasons why nobody outturn uer. it is live years since Margaret Fen- ;.neu at the corridor door, whis pering soft words of love and sympathy ipy gin insiue. She is liv iiig in me city with, her mother now, for xi. j. ejittii-K nas oeen dead some time ana the establishment at Ilorewood is orokeu up. ine gentle charm of her loveliness is sun in its first flower, and ""a-1 ci me icner wmcn is in her hand, the clear light of happiness is irradiating her brow and laughing back from the soft sweet eyes. The words that a man writes to his promised wife could be answered ra no more fit ting way. "My Dearest Child: I hare got al the wav to lrginia safelv, and the whole family is collected here under the paternal roof. I needn't say that one thing is wanting to me, and that, I hope, will soon be supplied, for of course yott -will come and spend Christ mas with us. My father and mother both want words to express their anxiety to see you, and receive you as a daugh ter. Write and say how soon you can come. We are very quiet here, but there are one or two new people in the village. A Mrs. Fourier has taken the White House, another daughter is a regular acquisition. The old lady is not much, but Leah Fourier plays and sings divinely, and is unusuallygood looking into the bargain. The girls are mad about her. You see how hard up I am for anything to tell you, when I am forced to write about strangers. I suppose you would get tired of it if I were to keep on telling you that I love you, but I have very few other ideas in my head just now at any time. Besides, isn't it much pleasanter to tell it with your dear hand in mine? Your own "Arthur Ashton." "Leah Fourier," repeated Margaret to herself dreamily; "I hope she won't remember me. I wonder whether mad people recollect anything that has pass ed, when they are well? That would be the most wretched part of it all." Leah Fourier is singing, " If Thou Kno west!" and Arthur Ashton is lean ing over the piano, looking into her magical eyes with an expression well, which would mean a good deal with some men, which is but a graceful cour tesy, Margaret tries to believe, with Ar thur Ashton. She has been at Allegan a fortnight now, and has found Leah Fourier almost as constant an inmate of the house as herself. But then, as Ar thur said, the girls are mad about her: and there certainly is an enchantment somewhere in her glowing face before which few are able to stand. "Certain ly, thou would'st love me!" she sings, and Margaret knows that the words would sound cold and passionless from her own lips in comparison. Is it won derful that there should be a reponse in Arthur Ashton's eyes? The song is ended, and Margaret Fen- wick's fiancee strolls after the singer in to the conservatory. "If I were you, Margaret, I should go after them, really," says Arthur's eld est sister, half laughing. "Leah would flirt with the footman, I believe, if there was nobouy else in the way. it was just the same when poor Charlie was at home." Margaret tries to smile, and to keep her wistful eyes turned away from the conservatory door, but she cannot help sj:eculatmg a little as to .the difference uetween "Foor Charlie and his broth er. As to Jjeah, herself, she can hartllv form a calm, rational opinion, so differ ent is this Leah from the girl with tho wild eyes, wuose poor uncertain fingers she had helped to find their old famil iar places on the 2'iano at Ilorewood live years ago. She feels rather than knows that the past is not all a blank in Miss Fourier's brain; but no word of recognition has passed between tho girls, and it is plain at any rato that nothing of that dreadful episode in Leah's life is sus2eeted by the Ash ton's. To Margaret herself, as she looks on the other's proud, ini2erious beauty, it seems a3 if her remembrance could be nothing but a dream : and yet it is almost a pain to her to think that so much of her pity in those bygone days was wasted. Ten minutes a quarter of an hour. goes slowly by, and Le?.h saunters back into the drawing-room, with a spray of maidenhair in her hand, and the passion of her song still half-slumbering in those deep, mysterious eves. " Mr. Ashton is going to be kind enough to see me Home, sue remarks generally for everybody's information, and Mar garet feels tne t;jie sudden chill that had come to her the night before for the first time, when her lover had undertak en tho same surely unnecessary duty. It is almost a relief to her to remember that this is her last evening with the Ashtons, and that next day Arthur is to take her back to the city. Leah Fou rier may take all the footmen in the country into the conservatory with her then, if she chooses. Nevertheless the chill comes back to her heart more unmistakably than ever the next night, for Leah Fourier, and the conservatory, and Arthur Ashton are all left behind. He found that he could take another week's holiday, he told her. and she could not be selfish enough to propose that he should spend two days in traveling, merely for the sake of taking her home. So their good-bye was said at the little railway station, but something fell out of his pocket as ho was taking her ticket, and she could not help seeing that it was a bit of maidenhair fern. It was a pity that it should be crushed under a stran ger's foot before he could recover it but then there was more in the conser vatory. Four, five days without a letter, and during that time the chill never leaves her heart and then there comes vhat she has been looking for. ne asks her if she is good enough, unselfish enough to forgive him; and adds, of course, that he can never forgive himself. Mar garet knows now what answer he made to Leah's song, and wonders if there is anything left for her in the world, or if it is all made up of such questions and such replies. Then she remembers that her father had said that there were one hundred and fifty thousand reasons why no one should envy Leah Fourier. Well, Leah is his, body and soul, reason and all, if he chooses to take her; and Margaret wonders whether the first will make up to him for all the others. Would he choose, if he knew of the corridor at Horewood, and had seen the lips he loved cloying themselves with sweets that soft, compassionate hands thrust by stealth within their reach? She puts away the thought from her with a shudder, calling upon God not to tempt her to come between him and his happi ness. If it can be hidden from him, it would be a sin in her, of all women in the world, to say a word which might dash the cup from his lips. . She would 1 drink her own cup, instead, and try to sweeten it by the thought that the man she loved was happy with the girl for whom she had once felt so divine a pity. The months go quickly enough by, now that Margaret no longer counts how many there are between the seed and the blossom of her happiness, and she knows that Arthur Ashton must have brought his bride back with him by this time to his city home. ' Does she sing, "If Thou Kncwest!" to him now, Margaret wonders, or does each know the depth and intensity of the other's love by heart and find it ' sufficient ? Margaret shudders as she remembers that there is still a secret hidden from Arthur Ashton in Leah's mysterious eyes a secret which she alone can read, and would give half her life to be able to forget. Would it ever happen that he should come to her and curse her for having hidden it from him to re venge herself ? That she is revenged, God knows how unwillingly, Margaret sees the first time she holds Arthur Ashton's hand in hers again. He has written to ask her if he may come to her and satisfy himself of her forgiveness, and her love is dead enough in her heart for her to be able to tell him "yes." She has even ceased to wonder at the dreariness of her own life, and is vaguely conscious, as he takes her hand, of the same great pity for him and the woman who had sup planted her that filled her heart as she went down the staircase at Horewood, leaving the old corridor and the locked door behind her. "You have found out how little I was worth your regret?" he says, forcing an uneasy laugh, as he Rees that the old quiver he remembers in her lips is there no longer. "No, not that," answers Margaret, simply, "but it is quite true that I re gret nothing; nothing at least that " She stops, knowing that it is too late to tell him now what she does regret, and what she tries to persuade herself she is mistaken in regreting. "You must be very happy you are happy, are you not?" she asks, anxiously. "How long do you ex2ect a bride groom's happiness to last?" he asks in reply, with an affectation of levity that tells Margeret she has been sacrificed in vain. " Leah has been talking of com ing to see you the last month, do you know?" "She is very beautiful." said Mar geret, irrelevantly. " Is she quite well?" "Well? of course she is," he answers in not quite so even a voice. "Why should she not be welll" Margaret's heart turns sick with the horrible a2prehension that he has al ready learnt to suspect a reason why. "I only meant that I should be very glad to see her," sho answers in what she strives to make her natural voice. " Will you tell her so from me?" "You knew her before that time you came to stay with us, did you not?" he asks, looking at her with a keen, in quiring glance. "Why did you never tell me that?" "Yes; that is, I met her years ago," answers Margaret, hesitating. "I did not think she remembered me; but I knew her again as soon as I saw her." "Did you ever quarrel?" the bride groom asks, a little puzzled by her manner. "Oh, no," replies Margaret, with a shudder, thinking of the crouching fig ure and the greedy, clutching hands that she had stolen up the long corri dor to soothe into content. "But sho was always a strange girl ; and I never understood her quite," she adds rather lamely. "Yes strange that is the word, is it not?" ho says, eagerly. "Sho is nerv ous and depressed sometimes, you know, but that is nothing. She used to be that that is what you mean, is it not?" It goes to Margaret's heart to see the wistful look with which he waits for her answer, striving to put away from his thoughts the awful fear which she knows has already overshadowed his life. "I think she was always nervous," she answers, wishing that she dared say something to comfort him, if she could do so without a lie. "But of course, now that she is happy, there is nothing to be anxious about in that." She does not offer to visit the bride herself, knowing what the sight of her must recall to Leah's mind, and not in truth believing, that her presence would be welcome, whatever Mrs. Ashton might say to her husband of her wish to see Margaret Fenwick again. "Tell iier how glad I shall be, if she likes to come," she says earnestly when Arthur Ashton takes her hand in his to again to say good-bj'e. "Yes, I-will tell her," he answers, but all the unreal cheerfulness has died out of his voice. "It will do her good to have a friend like vou some woman to whom she can talk." Margaret does not answer, for the tears are filling her eyes; but.it needs no words to tell Arthur Ashton that the heart he has thrown away is large enough for what he askes of it. The months go by, but Leah Ashton still only talks of coming to see the girl whose place in life she had taken from her; so that Christmas comes round again without Margaret having seen her rival since the evening on which Leah came out of the conservatory, with the S2ray of maidenhair in her hand. There is a reason why Mrs. Ashton should stay in her own house now, and Margaret is not surprised to see in the paper that Arthur Ashton has another cause for being "very happy." She almost persuaded herself that he may be by this time, and writes to him of her hope, with her dear love to his wife. She did not think that such a letter re quired immediate acknowledgement and opens his reply a little anxiously, hear ing that it had been brought by a special messenger. , "Come if you can at once she is asking for you. God Lave mercy upon me! A. A." He is waiting for her at the door as she drives up; and even in the gas light she can see upon his brow an aw ful dreed that his prayer will not be heard. "You are afraid to see her?" C0URT3SY OF BANCROFT LIBRARY, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, Margaret puts her hand in his by way of reply, and her very touch seems to give him courage. "She is not quite herself, you know not sensible, I mean but the doc tors say that is common. And your name has been, on her lips all day. She will be calmer when she sees you, will she not?" "Yes, yes, " says Margaret, choking back her tears. "Only take me to her at once." She kneels by the bedside, disregard ing the 2iresence of the doctor and nurse, and her soft arm steals lovingly round Leah's neck, as in the old day. " Dear Leah, I am here, " she whis 2iers. The heavy lids open, and the dark mystery of the wonderful eyes, blurred and scortched with the lurid fire that Margaret remembers so well, is turned full upon her. "Don't go away," Leah whispers, in a hoarse, exhausted voice. "They are shutting me up alone again." Her husband is standing at the foot of the bed, with horror-stricken face, but she has no eyes for him. "It is dark and miserable. Margaret, but I will be quiet if you stay. Make them let you stay, do you hear?" The weak voice rises almost to a scream, and Margaret tries in vain to soothe it. "Yes, dear Leah, I am Margaret. Dear Leah, you know that I love you! O, my poor darling, you know that I love you!" The surgeon, who is standing opposite Margaret, shakes his head solemnly as she raises her eyes to meet his, and the shadow of death begins already to steal over the room. Even tho lips are chill and iallid as Margaret touches them with her own, and the feverish grasp of the 2"oor weak hand dies into im 2JOtence in her warm fingers. Tho dark tangled hair falls over the shapely brow and thick curled eyebrows just as it used to do, and Margaret does not know, until she is told, that it is veiling the face of the dead. And there is no need for her to j)ity Leah Ashton any more. The Origin of Prairies. In a 2aper in the American Xaluralist, Prof. 3.1). Whitney, after showing the insufficiency of the ordinary theories to explain why tho prairies are not croached u2on by the bordering woods, offers tho following ex2lanation of his own: "Let us turn at 2Jiesent to the geo logical side of tho investigation. The whole of New England and Now York, and a large part of Ohio and Indiana, together with tho whole of Michigan and of Northern Wisconsin, constitute a region over which the northern drift 25henomena have been disjjlayed on a grand scale. Consequently almost the whole of this area is covered with heavy de2osits of coarse gravel and coarse bowlder materials. These deposits, if not at the surface, are near it, and the finer materials de2osited on them, by allnvial and other agencies, generally form only a thin covering for the coarse deposits beneath. But as we go soutli and west from the region indicated above, we find the underlying rock the "bed-rock," as the California miners would call it dee2"ly covered with loose materials, it is true, but we ob serve that these are quite different in character from what they are to the north and east. We come to a region where the drift agencies have been very limited in their action. The bulk of the superficial detritus has been formed from the deconqosition of the underly ing rock, and this detritus has been but little disturbed or moved from its original position. If erratic deposits exist, they are usually deeply covered with finer materials derived from close at hand. A great area exist? in Wis consin and Minnesota over which not a single dirt pebble has ever been found, either at the surface or at any de2tth be neath it. The strata have become chemically disaggregated and dissolved by the jiercolation of the rain through them, the calcareous matter has been carried off in solution, and there is left behind as a residium tho insoluble matter which the rock originally con tained, and which, consisting largely of silica and silicate of alumina, forms by its aggregation a silicious and clayey deposit of almost impalpable fineness. It is this fiue material which makes the bulk of the 2rairie soil; and, as the writer conceives, it is this fineness which is es2ecially inimical to the growth of trees. Exactly as we see the desiccated lakes in the midst of the forests graduilly filling up with finely comminuted materials aud becoming covered with a growth of grasses or sedges, which is not afterward en croached on by trees, no matter wheth er the ground becomes completely dry or whether it remains more or less swampy, so we have the prairies, which have certainly never at any time been overs2read with forests, and "which would always remain as they are, pro vided the climate underwent no Radical change aud tliev were not interfered with by man. It is for the vegetable 2hysiologist to say why this fineness of soil is unfavorable to the growth of trees; it is for the geologist and ihysi cal geogra2her to set forth the facts which they may observe within the line of their own professional work." To Improve the Contour of Tnn Chest. Loosen the clothing, and, standing erect, throw the shoulders well back, the hands behind and tho breast forward. In this position draw slowly as deep an inspiration as possible, and retain it by an increased effort for a few seconds, and . then breathe it gradually forth. After a few natural breaths, re peat the long ins2)iration. Let this be done for ten or fifteen minutes each day, and in six weeks time a very per ceptible increase in the diameter of the chest and its 2rominence will be evi dent. The lowest. boughs that bear most hang r A Curious Old Newspaper. There has lately been discovered (says the London Academy) in the li brary of the TJniversary of Heidelberg, a co2y of a newspaper which proves to be the oldest iieriodical of which there is any knowledge. It is a quarto vol ume," bearing the date 1609, and is sup posed to have been printed by John Carolus, of Strasburg. The paper was issued weekly, each number consisting of two sheets. It waa mainly occupied with letters from correspondents in adjoining States, which were contribu ted regularly. It is interesting to note that letters from ' Vienna were about eight days on the .route, from Venice from fourteen to seventeen days, and from Borne twenty-one days. When the matter contained in the W.ters, to gether with the news retailed at second hand, failed to fill the sheet, the re maining space was left blank. Intelligence of every sort found a place in the journal. Among the most interesting occurrences noted was the manufacture of the telescope by Galileo. The correspondent from Florence writes, on September 4th, to the effect "that the Government of Venice made a con siderable 2)resent to Signor'Galileo, of Florence, Professor of Mathematics at Padua, and increased his annual sti pend by one hundred crowns, because with diligent study he found out a rule and measure by which it is possible to see 2Jlaces thirty miles distant as if they were near, and, on the other hand, near objects to appear much larger than they are before our eyes." The news received from Prague af fords a disturbed picture of plunder and murder in the streets of the city. It ap 2iears that at this period men and wo men Avere daily seized by bandits, robbed, strangled and thrown into the Moldeau. Seven bodies were taken from the water in one day, and at anoth er time seven malefactors were a2)iro hended, "who confessed that, on the loth of the month, they threw about fourteen persons into the water, and that their band numbered about eighty, who were, for the most jmrt, natives of Prague." One Danger of Blue Glass. It seems that the excitement about the cur ative 25r02erties of blue glass, which filled up so much S2ace in the newspa pers little while ago, has been produc tive in certain instances of more harm than such 2eriodical epidemics, if we may call them so, usually are. That blue glass has any curative Yroi erties remains to bo proved; but that glass of that color will concentrate the rays of the sun. in a lesser degree, as the common burning glass does, was known before General Pleasanton's book was 2)rinted and made so much of in the news2)apers. A gentleman of Brook lyn suffering from weakness of sight was led by the adv ice of well meaning friends to use S2octacles of blue glass, such as certain opticians are selling just now. The result was that his eyes, already too weak lo be used much in or dinary circumstances, wero ex2Josed to a terrible glare and heat which in less than a week entirety destroyed tho eye sight of the sufferer. He is now totally blind. This is a fact, and the gentleman would doubtless be glad to have other sufferers from weak eyes know of this case and draw a moral therefrom. An other similar instance has come under our observation, a young lady being, in" this case, the du2e of the blue glass sn thusiasts. It is worth bearing in mind that the only ro2:erty of blue glass that has been proved is its power to concen trate the rays of the sun and produce extraordinary heat. One of the most efficient methods employed in Siberia to blind rolitical prisoners is to pass be fore the eyes of the captives a bright steel blade heated to a red heat, but it seems likely that with tho march of civ ilization the Russian jailors will adopt another method which will 2roduce ex actly the same result, that is, they will try blue glass. Neio York Eceninq Post. How to Choose Pictures for jl Room. Most people know that light colors make rooms look larger than dark ones, though it is probable that few can entirely realize the wonderful difference between them until they have eeen the walls 2'ainted dark or the reverse. A light lecture by the same law makes a room look larger, and a picture darker than the wall it is hung upn will re duce the size of the room, unless the lightness of the room is sufficient to condensate for the difference. Per haps the present decided taste for light pictures is partly due to this. A rule in the arrangement of interiors may be deduced from these observations, which is, that when a room is smaller than we should like it to be we ought to hang very light pictures in it, and when it is uncomfortably largo we should reduce it with dark ones. But there are other things to be considered. Pictures which represent narrow interiors do not enlarge rooms much, because they con vey a feeling of confinement; but land scapes with vast distances enlarge rooms immensely. In engravings and .water colors the margin has an important enect. Worcester Spy. Looking Ahead. From 1800 to 1870 the population of England increased from ten to twenty-eight millions, and that of the United States from five to thirty eight millions, and it is moderately es timated that among civilized nations the population now doubles in each period of fifty-fonr years, The advance made in hygenic science, and the comparative mildness of modern warfare are mainly responsible for this ra2id increase, frightful in view of future cocsequenceF. It is a subject of not a little anxiety among provident Englishmen of to-day, how the fifty-six. millions of mouths which, in a short half century, will be craving for food within the narrow bor ders of that country, can be satisfactor ily filled, and it is enough to keep a philanthropist perilexedty awake o nights, to reflect on the difficulty - of feeding the dense population of. the earth a couple of thousand years hence. Tne CzarV Wild Cavalry. . FREAKS OF the UNTAMED COSSACKS aow THEY BIDE AND PLAY HORSES THAT CAN MOUNT A TABLE. " A Kischeneff correspondent writes: " The Cossacks are divided into several corps the Cossacks of the Don, the Cossacks of the Ukraine, the Cossacks of ' the Caucasus, etc. Each of these divis ions has a chief, who is called an ataman , and holds the rank of general, and all the Cossacks of the empire are united under a single chief, who has the title of the " ataman general." This latter title . always devolves upon the hereditary grand duke. The Cossack clothes and equips himself, and his uniform and his horse belongs to himself. He wears, a "arge round lo Tap Hufrf -iiav-fnra -Astrakan, wide pantaloon, stuffed into , his boots and reaching just below his knees, the whole covered by a kind of overcoat, buttoning on tho back, and having three long flaps reaching to the feet and fastened on the full length. On his breast, to the left and right in verti cal cases, he i-Tries six can ridges at each side. In Lis belt he carries a poin ard. A baldaric hangs from his should-" er and passes to the left side, where it supports a long saber in a le thel scab bard. On his back, hanging from a ban-, doleer and wrap2ed in a case niade of goat's skin, he carries his rifle. The Cossack always carries in his hand a whip, with a short lash, which he calls Tcinjal. His horse is small and rather ugly, and, though he is made of good stuff, his form is somewhat angular. To form an idea of the Cossack saddle, im agine an ordinary saddle upon which would be fastened by a strap a square leather cushion about four inches high. This is the reason that at first sight one is as much surprised to see this curious looking cavalier perched up so high on his saddle. He sticks on his horse's back by sticking his knees into the ani mal's sides with all the strength, which gives his legs the appearance of a pair of pinchers. The stirrup is an equally curious thing. The bottom is round and thick enough, but from that up it re sembles very much one of those tin boxes in which preserves are sold. It has been already said that the Cossack's horse is his personal property, and it may be added that he turns it to busi ness account by hiring it out. Since the arrival of the troops at Kischeneff they have been the delight of the colleg ians, who, for a rouble an hour, have been enabled to make 2Jromenades on horse-back in bands on these valiant lit tle animals. At the time of my arrival the squad ron of Cossacks was massed in a heap in a corner. One of them started at a gal lop and threw his cap into the middle of the square. Immediately all the others precipitated themselves forward at a headlong galloj) and endeavored to pick up the cap either with the hand or the whip or by jumping to the ground. It was a scene of general confusion, during which the eye could scarcely distinguish horses from men. All this is accm 2anied by cries which do not cease till some horseman by an adroit maneuvre has managed to obtain possession of iho trophy. Then they all start off again, lashing their horses with all their might, for it is a curious fact that during the whole time that the Cossack is mounted he beats his horse without a. moment's cessation. The reader must not suppose that it is necessary that the Cossack must form one of a band in order that he may give j)lay to his fantasies. Sometimes when he is alone he lets himself run in to certain eccentricities, of which I will give an example. I was breakfasting in a restaurant when all on a sudden the door opened with a loud noise and a Cossack rushed in like a hurricane. After promenading noisily around the tables he pulled up his horse before one of the guests and placed the animal's nose on a plate of green salad which had just been brought out and which the horse ate with great celerity. Then man and horse departed just as they came, without any person, not even the proprietor of the establish ment, saying a single word. Perhaps it was because the Cossack held in his hand the kinjal, whose strokes would cost him nothing. Later on I spoke of this incident to the aid-de-camp of an ataman, who simply laughed and said: "What surprises me is that the Cossack did not make his horse get up on a table." Seeing that I was astonished he called a Cossack who was waiting in the yard. The soldier came in on horseback with out hesitating. The officer spoke but a sipgle word and in less time than it takes me to write it the Cossack made bis horse mount the billiard table. I insisted on no more, for this experiment was enough to edify me. As much will be said of Cossacks in this war it may be well to give an account of this peculiar cav alary. However astonishing may be the acts attributed to them the reader may accept the statement with confidence; for the truth of the stories can be estab lished by good evidence. Already they have made hitherto unheard of march es, and they will be the real heroes of the events about to commence. The reader has observed, no doubt, that in every war attention is concentrat ed on some one fact. In the Crimean war the Zouaves were the startling nov elty. In 1858, in Itlay, it was rifled cannon. In 1870 the Uhlans. In. the Bulgarian insurrection of last year the Bashi-Bazouks were the feature of great interest. This year the Cossacks will play leading part. They will encounter the famous Bashi-Bazouks, whom the Turks will not fail to put in the advance guards. We shall then see the Turkish irregulars exhibit as much readiness to meet ar d destroy an armed enemy as to butcher women and children. - There is a precocious six-year old boy in Auburn, Me., who is wonderful on S23elling and definition. The other day his teacher asked him to spell matrimony: " M-a-t-r-i-m-o-n-y," said the youngster pronqjtly. "Now define it," said the teacher. "Well," replied the boy. " I don't exactly know what it means, but I know mother's got enough of it."