742 
teorologists, tout It was not until tlie telegraph 
enabled Knowledge to outstrip ttoo storms that it 
was possible to make any use ot it In foretelling 
the weather By the admirable labors or the Unl- 
ted states Signal service this method of announc¬ 
ing the weather that la journeying towards any 
locality has been brought to a high point or per¬ 
fection, tout it has not to any extent helped us to 
foretell the creaMon of weather. When a weather 
area forms In the far West, it is now traced as 
clearly as the path of an army, until It passes 
away. Sometimes the state of the barometer will 
tell something about storms that have not yet 
gathered themselves for their eastward march, 
but beyond this there have as yet. been no means 
of foreseeing. The weather bureau Is ot no more 
use than a ground-hog or a goose-bone tor telling 
us whether our coming spring or Summer Is to be 
warm or cold, raluy or dry. Is this the end of our 
advance? Can we hope to do no more than lake 
the storms we find afloat, and trace them on their 
courses; or can we hope to look behind them to 
the conditions of their origin so clearly that we 
can foretell their time and place of working? 
—[n. s. sharer in November Atlantic. 
harper's Magazine.— Contents: saint Cecilia; 
Rabelais at Ilome; Around the Year, A Poem; 
Saline Types; Upon Spur, A Poem; Old Dutch 
Masters: The Broken Bars, A sonnet; The 
Level Land. A Poem; An Aulumu Pastoral; Pig¬ 
sticking in India; In Western Massachusetts; 
Midnight, June ao, 1879. A Poem; The Drift¬ 
wood Fire. A Story; White Wings. A Yachting 
Romance. (Concluded.!— Porcelain Painting; 
Washington Square. A Novel; securing a com¬ 
petence ; Rev. Mr. Bland's Wrestle with the Ches¬ 
ter White llog. A Story ; October. A Poem; 
A Scientific Common School Kducatlon ; The Bat¬ 
tle of King’s Mountain. A Poem written lor the 
Centennld Celebratlou of the Battle, October 7, 
1SS0 ; Editor’s Easy Chair; Editor’s Literary Re¬ 
cord ; Editor’s Historical Record; Editor’s Drawer. 
Will Education Yield subsisthncb?— An edu¬ 
cation, yes; but what sort ot an education? A 
bricklayer’s education, an artisan’s, a farmer’s, 
would Indeed help him to earn a living. A college 
eduoatlon would give him a social advantage, but 
It would not, In Itself, Increase his chance of 
earning a living; it would rather diminish 1r For, 
as was pointed out In an Interesting paper lately 
published In this Magazine, our colleges do not, 
like the French and German universities. Instruct 
a young man In the bread-winning pursuits; the 
American colleges are, on the contrary, Institu¬ 
tions tor general culture. I do not take up the 
question here of the amount and value of the 
culture they supply. The point lor us to note 1ft 
that the educated young American who has not 
a special education as a bread winner la worse off, 
as to his money prospects, than the young Amer. 
can who has no college education at all. Dig he 
can not, and to beg he Is ashamed. Two ot the 
professions at least are fatally overcrowded. The 
United States, with a population not greatly 
larger than that of the German Empires, gradu¬ 
ates every year live times as many physicians, 
for the German Empire limits the number of Its 
doctors, and we do not Umlt that of ours. Very 
many ot our physicians not only wait years for 
practice, but never get Into practice at all. It Is 
much the same with the profession of law. In 
both professions there are prizes fur a lew, and 
failures more or less complete, tor the many 
The engineering, mining, aud other seleuUIle 
professions offer a somewhat better chance, and 
public life, almost neglected as a profession, will 
attact a better class of young men from year to 
year. But upon none or these, save In favored 
and exceptional cases, as where a son succeeds 
to his father's practice, can a young man depend 
for fort une, or even for immediate support. They, 
too, offer a certain social dignity. But as a rule 
It Is the laborer, artisan, or tradesman that has 
the better Chance of supporting himself; It Is the 
educated man that has, more frequently, to wait 
before he can pay his way. Jr, therefore, we edu¬ 
cate sons, it Is all the bettor reason wuy we should 
provide, not indeed lor iheir independence, but 
some aid during the years which they are likely 
to spend In waiting before they can achieve their 
position. 
It la to be remembered, too, that these years of 
waiting may become, with such aid, years of 
scholarly or selentitte accomplishment., if not or 
money-making; years of strengthened prepara¬ 
tion ; years that might lnl roduce and brighten 
a career, instead ot wasted years that cloud or 
spoB it.—T. M. coan, In Harper’s Magazine lor 
November. 
Lippincoits magazine.— Contents: The Ruins 
of the Colorado Valley; The Arts of India; Adam 
and Eve. Chaps. 30-33; A Pivotal Point; The 
Mistakes ot Two People; Limoges, and Its Porce¬ 
lain; Three Roses; The Practical History of a 
Play; How she Kept her Vow: A Narrative of 
Facts; Heinrich Helue; Dawn; Mrs. MarceHus; 
Automatism. Two Papers.—1; Our Monthly Gos¬ 
sip; Literature of the Day. 
Limoges, and its Porcelain.— The traveler who, 
leaving Paris by express at 10 a.m., reaches the 
Orleaus depot at Limoges at six lu the evening, 
wlU see spacious boulevards, imposing buildings 
and a general air of stateliness and pretension, re¬ 
calling the metropolis he left behind him in the 
monhug. Ills omnibus will whisk him through 
streets crowded wltn promenaders, a picturesque 
panorama ot well-dressed people, with a generous 
sprinkling of the light blue jackets of the chas¬ 
seurs, Lbe gleaming helmets of the dragoons, the 
red kepis of the Infantry, the broad-brimmed hats 
and sable mantles of the prleoihood aud the red- 
and-oruuge headkerchiefs of the working- women. 
If it be late lu the (season and the days are short, 
he will see at every lurn cafes ablaze with light, 
and the wide sidewalks before them lined with 
tables at which, cool as it may he, crowds of 
loungers arc seated sipping beer, absinthe or cau 
sucree. But, looking up the dingy side-streets, 
here, a.ud there he may detect, by the lines of flick 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. NOV. 6 
erlng, straggling gas-lights, glimpses of another 
Limoges-glimpses of steep streets ending In stair¬ 
ways ; of narrow and darkened passages where the 
opposite hulldlrigs nod to each oi her from across 
the street until they all but touch; or courts 
where curious little enshrined images of the Ma¬ 
donna and lbe saints look down from niches In the 
corners, and where heads are peeping out from 
every window to catch a whiff of evening air; and 
somber alleys, each lighted by a single lamp 
suspended midway, under the uncertain rays of 
which swarms of children and dogs are vying to 
awaken the loudest echoes.—Geo. L. Catlln, in 
Llpplneott’s for November. 
The American Natukaust.— Contents: The is¬ 
land of Dominica; The Sand-hill Crane; On the 
Microscopic Crystals Contained In Plants ; On the 
Origin of the Lac; Botanizing on the Colorado 
Desert, I ; Editors’ Table; Recent Literature; 
General Notes: Zoology; Anthropology: Geology 
and PaUcontology; Geography and Travels; Mi¬ 
croscopy ; Scientific News; Proceedings of scien¬ 
tific societies; Selected'Articles in Scientific 
Serials. 
Botanizing on the Colorado Desert.—I n Feb¬ 
ruary of 1877, by way of the stage road bet ween 
San Diego and Fort Yuma, l made a little expe¬ 
dition across the Interesting region above named. 
a desert Is not nat urally supposed to be the most, 
eleglble locality, nor Mid-winter the best season 
for making botanical excursions, yet seldom has a 
week’s recreation ot that kind given me more 
satisfaction than that upon which I have pre¬ 
served the following notes: 
In passing from west to east across Southern 
California, the llrst glimpse one gets of the desert 
Isa flue bird’s-eyc view. From the San Diego 
plains, all treeless, brown and dusty, an easy two 
days'journey brings the traveler up to the level 
or that broad plateau which constitutes the sum¬ 
mit of the coast range. Across this forty-five 
miles of mountain top. one travels pleasantly; 
now through handsome groves of evergreen oaks, 
then among a succession or low, Tounded, stony 
mils, between which some bits of irosh, green 
mountain pasture spread themselves; here passing 
a settler’s cabin with Its newly ploughed fields and 
Its group of blooming pe&cn trees, an l there meet¬ 
ing a merry, boisterous gang of mountain herdsmen. 
Having thus come to the eastern veige of the 
plateau, the great wilderness breaks all at once 
upon the view, beginning u dizzy half mile down 
beneath your feet, and stretching away to the 
eastward for a hundred miles, It was past the 
middle of the afternoon when T reached this inter¬ 
esting point, and paused to rest a while and enjoy 
the novel scene, so desolately grand, which lay 
before me. The region lu quesrlon Is far from 
betng a flat, monotonous expanse oi naked sands. ! 
Its general level la broken by many abruptly 
rising knobs and peaks and by several prolonged 
chains or high and sharply denned rocky hills, all 
lifting themselves up like precipitous Islands 
above the even surtace of a sea; and although 
these peaks and ranges are destit ute of verdure, 
aud red as the sands that drlrt about their bases, 
they yet combiue to make a most impressive pic¬ 
ture when viewed at a distance, and from this 
aeria 1 elevation where the desert first appears lu 
sight. Aware that the stage station where l must 
pass the night was not more than two miles away 
by the steep, winding road, l lingered here unlit 
the sun was near Its setting, and the shadows of 
the peaks aud pyramids I sat among, were meas¬ 
uring their dark lengths upon the plain afar below 
and the purple evening clouds hod reflected their 
own almost gorgeous coloring to the vast, varied 
landscape that stretched eastward and northward 
so very far away This strange sunset scene was 
beauutul beyond all desciption, aud will be treas¬ 
ured for a lifetime In tho beholder's memory.— 
Edward Lee Greene, lu American NaturallBt for 
November. 
The KotKCTic Maoazinb.— Contents: The Lully 
of Nature. 1. General Deflnlilon and illustrations 
of the Unity of Nature.— What It Is, and What it Is 
Not; English, Rational and Irrational; The Bay¬ 
ard of the East; The seamy Hide of Letters; At 
sea, isso; Mental Imagery; An Artist on Art; 
Fiction—Fair or Foul.—III. Byron; Mr. Rusklnon 
Wordsworth; White Wings, A Yachting Ro¬ 
mance; A Colorado Sketch; Letters from Con¬ 
stantinople; Hypnotism; Tho Impending Crisis In 
Turkey; The Dreams ot Youth; Archibald Forbes 
(with Portrait); Literary Notices; Foreign lit¬ 
erary Notes; Science and Art; Varieties. 
Apparent Size of the Moon.—M. J. Plateau 
proposes a method of estimating approximately 
the apparent distances at which tho moon seems 
to different persons to be In the sky. This means 
constats in looking ai. the moon steadily until the 
retina Is sulllelentiy fatigued to produce au acci¬ 
dental’’Image or ghost. The observer must then 
turn his gaze to a blank wall, on which he will see 
the accidental Image projected as a tint'd patch 
of the same shape as the moon. lie ta then to re¬ 
treat from, or advance to, me wall until the image 
appears to him to be of the same size as the moon 
did itself. The distance measured off between the 
observer and the wall will be the same as that at 
which he unconsciously takes the moon to be. One 
oi the sons of the author having made this experi¬ 
ment, round the distance to be In his case about 
fifty metres. This seems a small distance, but It 
was the result of a single experiment under cir¬ 
cumstances which were not very favorable. M. 
Plateau concludes the brief memoir on the sub¬ 
ject, presented by him to the Academte, by cau¬ 
tioning all persons who may be Interested In the 
subject to take care, In repeating the experiment, 
lest the great brilliance of the luminary should 
damage their sight. 
■ ■■ »- 
An old sign Is, that a child grows proud If suf¬ 
fered to look in a mirror when less than twelve 
months old; but what the average infant can see 
In a mirror at so young an age to make it proud Is 
i difficult for any but Us parents to understand 
Jfor Momnt. 
CONDUCTED BY MISS RAY CLARK. 
MICHAEL’S MALLET. 
Long, loots ago lu the olden day, 
Ou u slope ot the Trnijoan hilta there lay 
A village with quarries all around, 
Aud blockK of morbid that piled tho ground; 
And h,' altered amouR them everywhere, 
With wod«o and hummer, rule and square. 
With the dust of the marble powdered white, 
Hat masons who chiseled from morn till niRht. 
The earliest sound that the baby heard 
Was neither tho whistle nor song of bird. 
Nor hlBAting of lambs, nor rush of breeze 
Through the tops of the tall old chestnut trees, 
Nor the lfmglnug of virls. nor the whoop and shout 
Of the school at the convent just let out, 
Nor tho tinkle of water plashinsr sweet 
From the dolphin’s mouth in the villnKe street. 
But foremost ami first, that sharp and clear 
Arrested the little Michael’s ear 
When he waked from sleep, was the mallet’s knock 
Ou the chisel that chipped the rough-hewn block; 
From the dawn of the day till the twilight came. 
The click of tho tools was still the same; 
And constant as fell the fountain’s dip. 
Was the (up lap-tap ■' aud the ohip-chiv-chh>l 
Aud when he could crawl beyond the door 
Of tho cottage, in search of a plaything more. 
Or farther could venture, a prying lad. 
What toys do you think wore llie first he had ? 
Why, splinters of marble white and pure, 
Aud a mullet to break them With be sure; 
Aud a chisel to shape them should he choose, 
Just such as he saw the masons use. 
Ho Michael, the baby, had his way, 
And hammered and chipped, and would not play 
With the simple and setiBHlesB sort of toys 
That pleased thf rest of tho village boys, 
Tin'll laughed at the little churches he 
Would daily build at his nurse’s knee; 
They scouted the pictures that ho drew 
on the smooth, white slabs with a coal or two; 
They taunted and teased him when he tried 
To mould from the rubbish cast aside _ 
Kudo figures, aud screamed “ Scuttori 1" when 
IDs bits of marble lie shaped like men. 
But who of them dreamed that; his mallet’s sound 
Would ever be heard the earth around ? 
Or his mirnle churches in time become 
The mighbmst churches of Christendom t 
Or the pictures ho painted till the dome 
Of tho HIstinc grandest of siRhts iu Home? 
Or the village baby that chiseled bo 
Be the marvelous Michael Angelo ? 
-Margaret F. Preston, In Wide-Awake. 
•-- 
THE GARDEN OF THE MIND. 
Hitting down to my desk last evening my eye 
was attracted to a paragraph in the paper lying 
pear. Drawing it. toward me i read—“ If satis re¬ 
quire tho warmth of sunshine, the gentle nest of 
showers and the roughness of storms, so do minds 
according to their different natures and conditions 
need orten to be rewarded by smiles, frequently to 
be assisted by good nature, and at times to be 
shaken and awarded by puuishment. They are only 
obstinate and sullen natures, however, that want 
the last, as they are the most hardy and stubborn 
plants and trees that require to be moved by the 
tempest to the very roots.” 
Ho then, l said, leaning back In my chair, so 
then, I am chief gardener of that bit or personal 
property commonly called the mind; not a very 
desirable piece of real estate l must admit, for 
(drawing my Rice down to harmonize with the 
doleful words of an eminent divine,) there are 
“ plenty ot weeds but no flowers,” 
W hat’s the reason V Because- I gave It up. 
I never puzzle long over conundrums at any time 
and this toeing one of the most difficult ever pre¬ 
senting Itself I tried to dismiss It at once. No use- 
II returned again and again with a persistency 
that at. last conquered, The mind is a garden or 
supreme value which we should seek with never I 
falling zeal, to cultivate. 
We marvel at the charms tn Nature; we mark 
Its growth and decay commenting upon its 
changes. Each iresh discovery we hall with de¬ 
light., going into ecatacles over a new flower found 
luour rambles, yet too Often forgetting that with¬ 
in the grasp of all lleth the opportunity to produce 
rarer blossoms than arc strewn upon earth. 
in our intercourse with the world we meet with 
people of whom we say: “ For some reason au 
interview with them always seems productive of 
good; we part with ihem feellog wiser and bel¬ 
ter." ts it not because their mind is one vast field 
of rich blossoms and wide expanse of living ver¬ 
dure, with never a decaying or uncouth plant 
intruding? Or If an objectionable seed has drilled 
within the enclosure It has been driven so far back 
In the corners that we seldom come tn contact 
with It. 
There are other conservatories that remain un¬ 
solved mysteries to us. We never get beyond the 
high, cold, marble wall and the entrance 1s opened 
to but few. Then wo catch glimpses of stalely ex¬ 
otics that are to be looked at only, never to be 
touched, not a blossom, or leaf even, ever given 
away. We turn aside, wondering within ourselves 
how much happiness such minds might create and 
yet how little good they really accomplish. 
Again, there are thorn-hedges surrounding the 
brightest, bonniest gardens. You get woefully 
scratched effecting an entrance, but once Inside 
you account that scratching one oi the happiest 
privileges granted humanity. The colors are duz• 
•/.lin g the fragrance is delicious and the designs 
unique. There la a sort of contusion in the whole 
which, though not commendable, Is certainly be¬ 
witching Everything grows In the rich, warm 
soil, weeds as well as flowers, but occasionally the 
gafdeuer Is seized with a reproachful sense of duly 
and wages war against the weeds for a season, 
then rests again. 
There Is another Held, yet so full of ugly sights 
is It that we recoil from its rank herbage, the vile 
weeds and huge thorns. We shrink from the 
poison odors and shudder when eompelled to pass 
near. Poor, unweeded. Ill kept gardens 1 should 
we pass them by ? Would It, not be better to tarry 
for a while and lend a willing hand to pluck out 
the weeds, even as we would from our own? 
What If a stain or scratch should be our portion, 
should we refuse assistance? No. a thousand 
times no! underneath t his mass of tangled briars 
and weeds may be found some little wild flower 
that Is dying tor the light a little plant that, 
under tho influence of cautious treatment and 
sunlight, will sprlDg up to notice and cause the 
gardener to feel Its worth, awaken to Us beauty, 
and make way tor its growth toy uprooting all the 
weeds which hitherto had choked It. 
I thlnlc that lu assisting others we are apt to re¬ 
flect too much upon how much good we might, do 
If we possessed more. Let us leave these thoughts 
and return to our work with Increased energy, up¬ 
rooting the weeds with the fond hope that soon 
there will be only the flowers left—blight blossoms 
that we can scatter broadcast. Estelle. 
VISITING. 
When guests arrive In response to an Invitation, 
the mistress and master or the dwelling, whether 
a mansion or a cottage, should spare no pains to 
make the visit an agreeable one. Many well- 
meaning people, from over anxiety to do so, alter 
the entire arrangement of their households, aud 
lu consequence fall io achieve their object; for if 
a visitor perceive-and Ue Is almost certain to do 
so—that you have changed your ordina ry routine of 
living, an uncomfortable teeliug that you are—to 
use a homely phrase—“putting yourself very 
much out d the way ” will prevent any true en¬ 
joyment from being felt. Therefore t he host’s first 
care should be to make a visitor aware that ids 
presence la not a disturbing element, and that the 
action of the domesilo machinery will not he de¬ 
ranged lu consequence. This la the truest cour¬ 
tesy, and aeourse which never lulls to put a visitor 
at his ease. Let whatever is performed bs done 
without apparent effort, so that tne effect pro¬ 
duced may be that the visitor finds himself a shar¬ 
er of your own homo-enjoyments- not that you 
have to tax your energies to afford him entertain¬ 
ment. 
There should, however, be no sort of neglect on 
tbo part of either host or hostess, aud the comtort 
of a vlsilor should be caroiully studied. 
For Instance, tho guest’s room should be made 
as comfortable and pleasaut as possible. If the 
weather 1a cold, a Are in the grate will he felt as a 
most welcome attention. Do not think it sufficient 
to ask. " Would you like a tire lu your bedroom 
this evening ?” such an inquiry could hardly fall 
to have a chilling effect., and a negative reply 
would most probably be given, it is quite easy ro 
judge wueiber the weather is sulllelentiy'cold to 
make a tire an agreeable addition. 
Pens, ink, paper, envelopes, matches and a few 
books and flowers, should find a place. Generally 
visitors bring their own writing-materials; but 
should these by chance be forgotten, it is pleasant 
for them to find that their wanes have been am ic- 
lpated. For the same reason, a properly'fur¬ 
nished work-box, with buttons, scissors, etc., 
should be provided, and especially U ihe visitor Is 
a lady. It would be Impossible to enumerate all 
these Utile conveniences, so much depending upon 
circumstances; but it is Just mese lime things 
which have tho most to do In making a visit an 
enjoyable one. 
While visitors are with you do not, if anything 
occurs to annoy you, trouble ihem with tho details 
of what has gone amiss. Such a coarse only I ends 
to make them feel that they are putting you to 
some luoonvenlence. 
on the other hand, the guest, perceiving some¬ 
thing to be wroug, should abstain from making 
any remark, upon It—anould appear, indeed, not 
to have seen It. Equally reprehensible Is it to sug¬ 
gest changes and alterations to the host—to criti¬ 
cize his taste or cull Ills judgment Into question. 
Or, If his children should be fractious or rude, ills 
out ot place ror the gueat to remaik upon u, or to 
find taull with what they Bay or do, if the parents 
do not see tit. to interfere. There is a w ide diver¬ 
sity of opinion upon some points as to what is 
agreeable or disagreeable—proper or Improper. 
It may be said that all persons have tuelrown 
particular Ideas; and however much a guest might 
disapprove of what he saw or Ueai d, It 1s bad taste 
for him to Interfere lu any way, or to attempt to 
effect a reformation; and any' such Interference 
would probably rati to efi’e- t any good result, and 
w’ould almost certainly be resented—If silently. 
The proper course to pursue In such a case Is for 
the visitor not to accept a second invitation to a 
bouse where he found the mode ot Hie adopted by 
the Inmates to be uncongenial to his taste. 
From llrst to last, a rigid observance of the law 
<• hear and for bear,” by host and guest, will be 
found essential to the preservation or harmony 
and enjoyment.—Correspondent, 
OUTDOOR SAFETY. 
The fear of the weather has sent multitudes to 
to their graves, who otherwise might have lived 
In health many years longer. The tierce north 
wind and the furious snow-storm kill compara¬ 
tively few, while hot winter rooms and crisping 
summer suns have countless hecatombs of human 
victims to attest their power. Except in localities 
where malignant miasmata prevail, and that only 
In warm weather, ouidoor life is the healthiest 
and happiest, from the Tropics to the Poles. 
The general fact speaks ror itself, that persons 
who are out of d >ors most take cold least. In 
some parts of our country, near one hall of our 
adult deaths are from diseases of the air passages. 
These ailments arise from talcing cold in some 
way or another; and surely the reader will take 
some Interest In a subject which, by at least ona 
chance out of tour, his own life may be lost. 
All colas we believe arise from one or two cause*’ 
