Various - Golden Days for Boys and Girls, Vol. XIII, Nov. 28, 1891

V >> Various >> Golden Days for Boys and Girls, Vol. XIII, Nov. 28, 1891

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Mexico is a land of different civilization from ours, and we know very
little about it. The ruling classes, numbering a few thousands, are
descendants of Spaniards, while the millions of people who are ruled are
descendants of the Aztecs. They are called Indians, but they have
nothing in common with our aborigines. They speak Spanish, but they have
their own tongues as well, and there are said to be a hundred dialects
in use. Some of the most striking men in Mexican history have come from
this class. Juarez was an Indian, and Diaz has Indian blood in his
veins.

It is a land of many climates. Along the coast is the tropics, with all
their rich vegetation, malarial diseases, fevers and poisonous reptiles;
in the higher mountain regions, intense cold and fierce storms prevail,
while between the two, and often within a few hours ride of either, lies
the plateau which constitutes the greater part of Mexico, and there the
climate is like a balmy June day all the year round. Clear skies,
perpetual sunshine and pure air combine to give this favored region the
ideal climate of the world.

This plateau is like a garden, and everything temperate or semi-tropical
grows with very little care. Yet Mexico does not figure as a great
agricultural country, because, like every other land where nature is
kind, man is lazy. Yet the people are picturesque, like all indolent
people.

In every hamlet and town the traveler sees stout, handsome men, their
dark faces shrouded by great sombreros, the crowns of which come to a
point a foot above their heads, and the brims of which seem to be a foot
wide all around.

These hats are gorgeous in their silver and gold trimmings. Some of them
have ropes of silver around them as thick as your finger.

The clothes below them shine with silver buttons and braid. The
pantaloons of some of the men are striped, with silver buckles, while to
the waist of each, fastened by a leather belt filled with cartridges,
hangs a big silver-mounted revolver.

The lower classes of the men of Mexico dress in cotton, but they wear
blankets of all the colors of the rainbow about their shoulders, and
they drape these around themselves in a way that adds dignity and grace
to their bearing.

The women are as peculiar as the men, though their plumage is less gay.
Those of the wealthier classes are dressed in black. In the interior
cities of Mexico the better class of women wear no hats, and their heads
are either bare or covered with a black shawl, out of which their
olive-complexioned faces shine and their dark, lustrous eyes look at you
with a strange wonder.

The Indian women are especially picturesque. They often wear dark-blue
cottons, and about their heads they drape a cotton shawl or reboso, so
that only the upper half of the face shows. Some of them wear bright-red
skirts and white waists, and many of them go barefooted.

The future of this great republic is difficult to foresee. At present it
is in a transition state, and is not making very rapid progress,
according to our ideas. But great results are expected from the railroad
which now extends to the City of Mexico.

As the "feeders" are gradually extended on either side it is believed
that many abandoned mines will be reopened, new ones discovered and a
great impetus given to agriculture and commerce.

Just now, however, the railroad is chiefly of value to the tourist, who
can, by its means, visit with ease and comfort a land as strange in many
respects as ancient Egypt.

SOMETHING ABOUT COAL-TAR.

by B. SHIPPEN, M.D.

Most people know and dislike the odor of coal-tar, which is distilled
from soft or bituminous coal in making gas, as well as in other
processes.

It seems to have been first collected by a German, named Stauf, in 1741.
Of course there was no question of gas-making then, and the German, who
was more of an alchemist than a chemist, was looking for other things
than the coal-oil which he obtained.

The coarse oil which Stauf procured had little in it to his eye, but it
contained, nevertheless, many bright and varied colors, delicate
perfumes, useful medicines and the sweetest product ever known to man.

From coal-tar is derived benzine and naphtha, and colors--especially
purples--which are used in dyeing. From one ton of good cannel coal,
distilled in gas retorts, there comes ten thousand cubic feet of gas,
twenty-five gallons of ammoniacal liquor, thirty pounds of sulphate of
ammonium, thirteen hundred weight of coke and twelve gallons of
coal-tar.

From this tar are produced a pound of benzine, a pound of toluene, a
pound and a half of phenol, six pounds of naphthalene, a small quantity
of a material called xylene and half a pound of anthracene, which is
used in dyeing.

From benzine are derived fine shades of yellows, browns, oranges, blues,
violets and greens; from the toluene are obtained magentas and rich
blues; from phenol, beautiful reds; from naphthalene, reds, yellows and
blues; from xylene, brilliant scarlets, and from anthracene, yellows and
browns.

Out of one pound weight of cannel coal can be produced dyes sufficient
to color the following lengths of flannel, three quarters of a yard
wide: Eight inches of magenta, two feet of violet, five feet of yellow,
three and a half feet of scarlet, two inches of orange and four inches
of Turkey red.

There are immense varieties of these colors, and the best part about
them is that no illness comes to the hands employed in mixing or using
them, as is the case with some other dyes.

Some years ago, quinine became very dear, but it had no equal as a
medicine for certain purposes, and so experiments were made to produce
artificial quinine by chemical means. In this way "kairene" and
"quinoline" were produced, at about half the price of quinine. But the
most important result of the search was the discovery of anti-pyrine,
which is extensively used in high fevers.

Coal-tar is about the last substance from which a sweet perfume could be
expected, and yet it gives many. All the "extract of new-mown hay" now
comes from it. This lovely scent used to be produced, at great expense,
from scented grasses. Then there is the scent of vanilla, and the
growers of the vanilla bean have lost greatly in consequence. There is
also heliotrope perfume prepared from coal-tar, and other extracts for
scenting toilet soaps.

But the most remarkable of all the products of coal-tar is _saccharine_,
which was first discovered by Fahlberg, a German, who was conducting
experiments in coal-tar under the direction of Professor Remsen, of the
Johns Hopkins University, in Baltimore.

This substance is infinitely sweeter than any cane-sugar--more than two
hundred times as sweet--so that the smallest drop sweetens more than a
tablespoonful of sugar. But it does not nourish like cane or beet sugar,
while at the same time it is not injurious, and it preserves fruit
perfectly.

Persons suffering from certain diseases, when sugar in any form cannot
be taken, can have their diet rendered much more acceptable by the use
of saccharine. The taste is very pure, and more quickly communicated to
the palate than that of cane-sugar.

It seems wonderful that from a substance which, a generation ago, was
used only as wagon grease and for kindling fires, such colors,
medicines, perfumes and sweetness should be extracted!

BE SURE HOW YOU BEGIN.

by GEORGE BIRDSEYE.

"When once begun,
The work's half done,"
So says the proverb old;
But even here,
You'll see it clear,
The truth is but half told;
For wisdom says
There are two ways,
One loses and one wins;
You'll find, young friends,
That all depends
Upon how one begins.

If wrong begun,
And work half done,
So much the worse for you;
If right--go on
Until you've won
The goal you had in view.
In life you gaze
Upon the ways
Of virtue and of sin;
Be led by truth,
And in your youth
Be sure how you begin.

ECLIPSES AND HISTORICAL DATES.

In a total eclipse of the sun the point of the shadow cone, which is
constantly projected into space by the moon, touches a narrow strip of
the earth's surface, from which region alone the sun is totally
obscured.

These total eclipses occur about three times in four years, but a total
eclipse for any given region does not occur oftener than once in two
hundred years.

It is therefore possible when an eclipse of the sun is described in
connection with some remote historical event, and the hour is mentioned,
to fix the period of the occurrence exactly.

Historical research is thus aided, and, to facilitate reference,
Professor Von Oppolzer, Viennese Astronomer Royal, has, with the aid of
ten assistants, fixed the date of 8000 eclipses of the sun and 5200
eclipses of the moon, extending over a period from 1200 B.C. to 2163
A.D., the calculations filling 242 thick folio volumes.

Two applications of these data may be cited. The oldest recorded
eclipse, which occurred in China 4000 years ago, is mentioned in the
Chinese book "Schuking" as taking place in the early morning, in the
last month of harvest, in the fifth year of Emperor Tschung-hang's
reign. Other sources show that this reign was undoubtedly in the
twenty-second century B.C., and the only eclipse that would apply took
place on October 22, 2137 B.C.

It is recorded that Christ suffered in the nineteenth year of Tiberias,
in which year the sun was darkened, Bithynia shaken and much of Nicea
laid in ruins. One writer mentions that a total eclipse of the sun,
lasting from the sixth to the ninth hour, occurred in the reign of
Tiberias, during full moon, and another adds that it occurred on the
14th day of the month.

Now, an eclipse of the sun at full moon is impossible. Reference to
Oppolzer's work shows that the only total eclipse of the sun in that
region, between eight years before our reckoning and 59 A.D., took place
Thursday, November 24-29 A.D.

This is not reconcilable with the scriptural account, which places the
crucifixion at the Jewish Easter. An eclipse of the moon, however, was
visible at Jerusalem on April 3, 33 A.D., so that it is most probable
that the ancient historians confused the two events, and that the
eclipse of the moon was the phenomenon which signalized the
crucifixion.

THE VOLUNTEER WRITER.

by EFFIE ERSKINE.

"To whom are you writing, Amos?" asked his mother, as she gave a loving
glance at the wasted form of the crippled boy, bent over his father's
desk.

Amos Franklin had never known what it was to be straight or strong like
other boys. From infancy his legs had been crooked and his back bent,
while pain and disease had shrunken his frame until, at fourteen, he
looked no older than nine. But, as if to make amends, his mind was very
active and his intelligence far in advance of his years.

"I will soon have finished, mother," he answered, with a smile, "and
then I will read it."

His pen scratched away for a few minutes, and then he held up the sheet
and read this:

"TO THE GIRL WITH THE BROKEN LEG:--I hope you will not fret or worry
too much over your misfortune, because it will not be many days
before you are out again, and in a short time be well and strong
as ever. You have many happy days before you, when you can romp and
run in the bright sunshine; and you must think of those days and not
of the present. I will write to you again, if you say so.

"Your friend,

"AMOS FRANKLIN."

Mrs. Franklin listened to the reading of this letter with an amazed
look.

"I don't understand it," she said. "Who is this girl, and where did you
hear about the accident?"

"I don't know her name, or who she is," replied Amos, with a quiet
laugh. "But I know that in the three or four hundred patients in the big
hospital there _must_ be one girl with a broken leg, and they will give
it to her, and it will make her feel glad."

Mrs. Franklin looked at Amos with a smile on her face, but without
speaking.

"Then I have written," continued the little cripple, "three other
letters to boys and girls in the hospital, directing them to what I
think they're most likely to be laid up with. And I mean to watch the
papers hereafter for the 'casualty cases,' so that I can get their
names. That will be so much nicer, won't it?"

Mrs. Franklin came over and stroked his hair affectionately.

"Is this your own idea?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered, brightly. "I got to thinking how lonesome the
children must be, even if the nurses are kind; and you know folks can't
always visit them. Then I knew no one would think of writing letters,
and it would be such a treat for them to know that a strange boy was
talking to them."

"My dear son," murmured his mother, fondly.

"Of course," he went on, "I'm not going to tell them that I'm an
invalid, because that would make them feel badly. And, then, I'm not in
the hospital; I'm home, and that makes all the difference in the
world."

"It is an excellent idea," said Mrs. Franklin, cheerfully, but with
tears in her eyes.

"Do you think so, really?" he asked, eagerly. "I am so glad, because, do
you know, mother, I have been getting so gloomy of late, thinking how
useless I am."

"Amos!" she exclaimed, reproachfully.

"Now, mother, I'm not complaining; but I know I am useless. I can never
earn my living by any kind of work, and I'm not talented enough to be an
artist or designer; but I thought if I could only do something to help
somebody, and all of a sudden it flashed upon me that there were boys
and girls worse off than I am, and I might make them happy. And you
think it will?"

"Decidedly, I do. It is a noble thought, Amos, and I am proud of your
idea."

"Then I will write some more," he said, simply.

A week or two passed and Amos had a dozen little correspondents, who
each and all wanted to see him; but he gently evaded their requests, and
only wrote longer letters.

"They must think I am well and strong," he said.

Then one day there came a handsome carriage to the door, and a
gray-haired gentleman called on Amos.

"I want to see my assistant," he said, in a deep, hearty voice. "I am
Doctor Parkerson. Where is the boy who has been helping me make my
little patients get well?"

It was a proud moment for Amos when the great physician, whose name was
world-renowned, took him by the hand and thanked him.

"You are a true philanthropist, my boy," he said, warmly. "Medicine and
care are well enough, but kind words and sympathy are great helps. And
you are a sufferer, yourself! Perhaps I can do something to make you
happy in return."

And I am sure you would like to hear that he kept his word.

[_This Story began last week._]

CAPTAIN CLYDE.

A Tale of Adventure in the Caribbee Islands.

by CHARLES H. HEUSTIS,

Author of "The Trio Club," "The Trio Club Afloat,"
"The Sloop Yacht Spray," "Facing his Accusers,"
etc., etc.

CHAPTER IV.

Uncle Ellis Cools Down.

The moment that Clyde had locked the door on his uncle, he felt sorry
for it. It was a mistake to push his uncle. True, it was a gentle push,
and Mr. Ellis would probably have reeled through the doorway of his own
accord, but, for all that, it was an act of defiance.

It was the first time that the boy had ever rebelled. He had stood much
from Mr. Ellis, and taken it all as a matter-of-course, but, for once,
his anger had got the better of him.

It was a blunder, also, to throw out that insinuation about the ten
thousand dollars. Clyde realized this perfectly. He wished now that he
not done it, and would have recalled his hasty words had it been
possible. But the deed had been done, and the consequences of it,
whatever they might be, were sure to come.

What was to be done now? Clyde asked himself this question as he stood
there before the bolted door, flushed with excitement. He looked at his
brother, who was almost as excited as he was, and had started to his
feet, only to remain there mute and motionless. It was all a mystery to
Ray, who now heard the reference to the ten thousand dollars for the
first time.

But there was little time for thought. Uncle Ellis quickly recovered his
self control, and, a moment after the door had been bolted on him, was
knocking vigorously for admittance.

His demand was not immediately obeyed, but it aroused Clyde to action,
if it did nothing else. The money was still lying on the table. What was
to be done with it?

"Here, you rascals, let me in! Do you hear?" thundered the angry man.

There was a vicious thump upon the door, which threatened serious
results if repeated many times.

"Open this door, or I will break it down!"

Clyde knew that his uncle could do this, if he made up his mind to it,
and the knowledge did not tend to increase his feeling of security. But
that money!

He looked around the room hastily for a hiding place. The house was
heated in the winter by a furnace, and there was a register in the boys'
room. This would offer a safe depository.

Quickly sweeping the money into his handkerchief, he tied the four
corners of it with a piece of twine that he carried in his pocket, and,
lifting the iron register from its bed, hung the little bundle in the
hole.

It was the work of but an instant to make the twine fast so that money
and all would not roll down the tin pipe. There was little chance that
the hiding-place would be discovered.

"I say! Are you going to let me in, or shall I break down the door?"
demanded the man on the outside again.

Clyde did not know what to say, and so he said nothing. This perhaps
proved to be the wisest plan, for, after another vigorous thump at the
door, Uncle Ellis suddenly changed his policy. He no longer demanded
admittance; he asked it.

"See here, you boys," he said, and his voice sunk from its high and
angry tones to a softer and lower key. "See here, you boys; I don't want
to hurt you. This is a mistake. I can come in there in about one minute
if I want to; and if I do have to break this door down, some one will
have to suffer for it. But if you will open it peacefully I will promise
not to touch you. I didn't intend to do that, anyway."

Clyde looked at Ray, who was still mystified by the proceedings, and as
yet unable to comprehend why his uncle had so suddenly collapsed.

"I think we shall have to do it, won't we?" he asked.

Ray nodded his acquiescence.

Clyde advanced cautiously to the door, and turned the key gingerly, as
if he still doubted his uncle's promise. Then he retreated quickly to
the table and sat down in a chair. Mr. Ellis opened the door and walked
in quietly. His face was still very pale, and Clyde noticed that his
fingers twitched nervously. It was evident that he was having a hard
time to control his feelings.

"I did not expect this treatment when I came up here this evening," he
began. "I came up merely to see you, and to find out how you were
getting along. I thought perhaps I had been neglecting you boys of
late."

Clyde looked at his brother in astonishment, and Ray returned his glance
with something like a smile playing around his lips. Such talk from
Uncle Ellis was unheard of.

The younger brother did not pretend to account for it, but Clyde quickly
got an idea. Lycurgus Sharp, the lawyer, had advised Mr. Ellis to treat
the boys kindly, in order to get their forgiveness, should the guardian
prove to be short in his accounts. Could it be possible that the harsh
uncle had determined to adopt this plan?

"I had very good intentions when I started," continued Mr. Ellis, trying
very hard to make his voice sound pleasant, "but when I saw you counting
that money I became excited. As I told you, sums of money have been
stolen from me of late, and I cannot account for their loss. This was
one of the things I wanted to talk to you about, and to get you to help
me find the thief. When I saw you with that money, I naturally supposed
that you had been helping yourselves occasionally."

"You thought we couldn't have come by it honestly, because you never
gave us anything," suggested Clyde, who could not refrain from giving
his uncle this sly dig.

Mr. Ellis smiled a dismal smile.

"But I find I am mistaken," he went on, not attempting to reply to the
bit of sarcasm. "I am glad to know that you made that money honestly,
for I shall take your word for it."

This was so much more than either of the boys had expected that they
began to look upon their uncle as an enigma hard to solve.

"There is one thing that I would like to speak of," added Mr. Ellis; and
Clyde thought that his face suddenly became whiter, and that his fingers
twitched even more nervously than before. "May I sit down?"

"Why, certainly," replied the boy, amazed at this mark of politeness.
"Excuse me for not offering you a chair. Take this rocker."

And he dragged up his favorite chair and offered it to his guardian with
a bow.

Mr. Ellis accepted it.

"You made some reference when I was in here--in here before," continued
the latter, "to a certain ten thousand dollars. Will you tell me what
you meant?"

It was Clyde's turn now to become nervous. He would have liked to have
escaped that, but he was in for it now.

"I--I didn't mean to say what I did," he pleaded.

"Yes, but you did say it, and I would like to have it explained."

And Mr. Ellis clutched the arm of his chair with his right hand, and
hung on to it, while he tried to push the chair into a gentle rock with
one of his feet.

Clyde looked his uncle straight in the eye. The latter avoided the
glance, and turned his attention to the floor.

"To be perfectly plain with you, uncle," said Clyde, "I must tell you
that you have never cared to enlighten us about the property you hold in
trust. But I know all about it now, and I have discovered that something
like ten thousand dollars is missing."

It was a bold speech, and Clyde was doubtful how it would be received.
But it did not bring out the angry storm that might have been expected.

Instead, Mr. Ellis merely rose from his chair and began to pace the
floor uneasily. He put his hand to his heart as if there was pain there
that he wished to stifle. His steps were unsteady.

Meanwhile Ray looked on in perfect astonishment. He stared at his
brother, then followed his uncle with open-mouthed wonder.

[Illustration:
CLYDE DREW A CHAIR UP TO THE TABLE AND SAT DOWN.
"NOW," SAID THE BROKER, "GO ON."]

"You have discovered _that_, have you?" said the latter, pausing for a
moment before the chair in which Clyde was sitting. "May I ask how such
a sum could be missing?"

"When a man speculates in wheat, and buys for a rise in price, and the
price suddenly falls, he loses money, sometimes as much as ten thousand
dollars."

Uncle Ellis staggered into his chair, and sat there nervously clutching
at the arms on both sides.

"Do you dare to charge me with losing in speculation ten thousand
dollars that do not belong to me?" he gasped.

"I have not made any charges, have I?" asked Clyde.

He could not help pitying his uncle in spite of the fact that he
detested him.

"I hope you _won't_ do it, either," and Mr. Ellis' voice sunk almost to
a whisper. "It is not so. What enemy could have told you this lie? It
certainly was not Mr. Sh--" Mr. Ellis cast a frightened glance at his
nephew and stopped short. "This is a very serious thing," he added,
impressively. "I trust you realize the enormity of what you are saying.
Since your father was drowned, I have been a father to you and Ray. I
have taken care of you in my house--"

"In _our_ house, you mean," corrected Clyde.

"Well, yes, have it so, if you like. I have tried to do my duty by you,
and this is what I get for it. I have watched over your interests and
have guarded the money left in trust with zealous care. This is
unexpected. Some enemy has been poisoning your mind against me. Believe
me, there is not a word of truth in it."

"Then the money is intact, is it?" questioned Clyde.

"Entirely so. See here; I will prove it to you. Since you have heard
these dreadful stories, I must clear myself. Should I take you to my
lawyer and let you read the will, show you just the amount of money left
and then let you see with your own eyes that everything is safe, would
you be satisfied?"

"Certainly I would, uncle."

"Very well; I shall do this to-morrow or next day. Meanwhile, you must
promise me that you will not talk about this to anybody. It would ruin
me should a whisper of such an outrageous charge get out. Will you
promise not to say anything until you have seen with your own eyes that
all is right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well; then you shall know all about it in a very little while."

Uncle Ellis looked much relieved. A bit of color was coming back to his
cheek, and he rose to his feet with a little more steadiness.

"I shall rely on you both to protect my good name," he said, in parting.
"Good-night." And he walked from the room.

Ray drew a long sigh when he had gone.

"Clyde, is it true," he asked, "that uncle has lost ten thousand
dollars?"

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