If Not Silver, What?, by John W. Bookwalter (1896). This is a self-published essay promoting bimetallism. John W Bookwalter (1837-1915) of Springfield, Ohio, was a failed politician (he lost a bid as governor of Ohio), and successful farmer. He also owned property in Nebraska. He wrote a couple of other books, mainly on the political issues of the day (such as tariffs and the relations between rural and urban America), as well as a travelogue Siberia and Central Asia

A curious and interesting article on the subject of dreams appears in The Freeman, of London. The writer discusses dreams from a scientific, a sentimental, and a speculative point of view. An attempt is made to describe the process of dreaming in the following words:

“Imagine an organ, which it was essential should keep playing continually, so that when the organist ceased touching the keys they would be automatically moved at random. You would find therein a correct illustration of the human brain. From such an instrument, if listened to when the master was absent, there would be a succession of tones, perhaps at times giving forth a weird music, occasionally issuing chords rarely heard and possibly now and then a charming air. So in sleep. Or to take another musical illustration. The difference between thinking and dreaming is similar to that of playing a violin with a bow or using it as an Æolian harp.”

It is contended that the phenomena of dreams afford no evidence of the supposed dual nature of human existence. Neither, it is said, is there anything supernatural about it. Aside from the recorded instances in the Scriptures where God made use of dreams to convey His messages to certain men, there is no authentic record of dreams being used as agencies for communication from the unseen world, this notwithstanding many alleged happenings of this kind. On this point the writer says:

“In passing we may note some of the weird unauthenticated narratives which have somehow gained currency. Such stories as those of Lord Lyttleton forecasting his death at Pitt Place by a dream. Or Maria Martin, in which a dream is said to have aided in the discovery of a murder at the Red Barn. Or the strange tale of Mr. John William, of Redruth, and the assassination of Mr. Percival in the House of Commons. These legends are singularly tenacious of life, and are repeated again and again after having been shown to be all but destitute of truth. Could any of these narratives bear the test of thorough examination it would be most unphilosophical to found a theory on the coincidence of a chance. It is an evidence of the widespread prevalence of good sense that we have not a hundred times as many tales of dreams coming true as have found acceptance among a certain class, and are related by certain authors.”

Coming to the interesting question whether dreams have any prophetic power, the writer says:

“Some very serious stories are undoubtedly told on very good authority of what is called fulfilment of dreams. How can it be otherwise? The famous professor, Herr Teufelsdrock, when he looked out of his garret window in Weisnitchwo, down upon the town, at the midnight hour, reflected on the fact that upward of five hundred thousand two-legged animals without feathers were lying round about in horizontal position, their heads all in nightcaps and full of the foolishest dreams. It would be indeed a miracle if no event happened the next day that would correspond to one of the dreams in those five hundred thousand brains. If you dream but three dreams a night you have had one thousand every year you have lived, and as most of these relate to ordinary life many must by chance have, what is called, come true. Consider this. There are, say, fifteen hundred millions of persons in the world. Each of these has dreams, some one, some a score or more, each of the 365 nights of the year. Five hundred thousand million dreams every year at least! On the doctrine of probabilities many thousands must truly represent coming events. Every person has at least ten thousand nights every thirty years. Suppose an individual in good health, waking only once each morning, formed the habit of remembering his last sleeping presentation. Say the chances are a thousand to one against the waking dream coming true. Then the chances are that he will have ten remarkable dreams in the thirty years. Consider the probabilities as less, and add the experience of acquaintances, then each one might know of many coincidences of dreams and subsequent events. So that the fact that out of the countless number of dreams dreamed, now and then one strangely and even vividly forecasts an event, need be no mystery. The less so when the power of the imagination over the memory is taken into account.

“Representation with many persons is a growing thing; the plain green blade soon develops into a fine plant with abundance of flowers unseen before. Skilfully draw out a dream-teller. Get him to relate his vision on meeting him in the morning. Have the story retold later on in the day. Note carefully the difference between the narrative at breakfast and at dinnertime. You will find it budding into new forms and colors. Now introduce into conversation some circumstances you have just heard of — say, a death in the family, or some murder told in the newspaper, or some singular discovery which might in a faint way correspond with the vision. See how the remembrance alters even while you talk. By tea-time that dream has lost the feature which did not coincide with the fact to which it is about to be united as a very remarkable forecast, and has gained some additions which improve the resemblance. By supper-time it has developed into a very satisfactory vision, and the dreamer, with perfect good faith, declares that henceforth no one shall ever persuade him that there is no truth in dreams, and grows proud with the consciousness that he is the subject of functions which do not belong to ordinary mortals, and is the true successor of the patriarch Joseph and the prophet Daniel — a veritable Zaphnath Paaneah. We all are pleased to feel ourselves in some small point a little superior to our fellows, especially in supernatural revelation.”

“Did you ever think,” said an observing man lately to a reporter of the New York Tribune, “how much loose electricity there is around? It is brought to my notice especially every time I have occasion to ride in a trolley car on a wet day. I have frequently received a stinging shock by taking hold of the brass rail as I swung myself aboard. My feet are wet, you see, and water is so good a conductor that a ground connection is established with myself as part of the circuit. The sensation is quite enough to be disagreeable, I assure you.

“The metal doorsill, too, is another place where the current leaks out. Since I discovered that by personal experience I have often amused myself by watching the people who enter and leave the car. If they step over the wet threshold well and good, but if their feet touch it they are likely to get some of the superfluous power. Then the expression on their faces is ludicrous. Most of them look completely bewildered, as if they didn’t know what had struck them, and I suppose they don’t know for the instant.

“Those are not the only places where there is free electricity, either. In my own office I can get as severe a shock as I could from a battery. In one of the incandescent light fixtures there is a spot where the current escapes in great force. By touching this place with a key, a knife or any bit of metal and resting my other hand on the iron of the steam radiator near by I can take a shock of such power as to burn my hand and make me drop the experiment in a hurry. The other day half a dozen of us joined hands and formed a line between the two places. The man at one end held a key to the fixture and the fellow at the other end laid his hand on the radiator. You would hardly believe how strong the current was. Our hands seems suddenly gripped together and after we let go our fingers tingled for minutes from the effect.

“I have often thought that a computation of the amount of unused electric force there is around us would be interesting. There must be numbers of other places that I have never noticed where it escapes and I suppose there is no doubt that in the aggregate the power wasted would be sufficient to accomplish a tremendous amount of work.”

In spite of the latitude and Arctic current, Labrador is the home of much that is delicious in the berry world. Even the outlying islands furnish the curlew berry and bake apple in profusion, and upon the mainland, in the proper month, September, a veritable feast awaits one. Three varieties of blueberries, huckleberries, wild red currants, having a pungent, aromatic flavor, unequalled by the cultivated varieties; marsh berries, raspberries, tiny white capillaire tea berries, with a flavor like some rare perfume, and having just a faint suggestion of wintergreen; squash berries, pear berries, and curlew berries, the latter not so grateful as the others, but a prime favorite with the Eskimos, who prefer it to almost any other; and lastly, the typical Labrador fruit, which, excepting a few scattering plants in Canada and Newfoundland, is found, I believe, nowhere else outside of the peninsula–the gorgeous bake apple. These cover the entire coast from the St. Lawrence to Ungava. Their beautiful geranium-like leaves struggle with the reindeer moss upon the islands, carpet alike the low valleys and the highest hilltops, and even peep from the banks of everlasting snow. Only one berry grows upon each plant, but this one makes a most delicious mouthful. It is the size and form of a large dewberry, but the color is a bright crimson when half ripe and a golden yellow when matured. Its taste is sweetly acid, it is exceedingly juicy, and so delicate that it might be though impossible to preserve it. Yet the natives do preserve it with all its freshness and original flavor throughout the entire winter, merely by covering it with fresh water and heading up tightly in casks or barrels.

Tattooing as a fashionable fad has not reached New York as yet, but if reports are to be believed, says an exchange, it is still prevalent at the world’s metropolis. An eminent London physician, a specialist in skin diseases, is quoted as authority for the statement that the practice is much less general than has been supposed, yet he says that a number of peculiar and some very distressing cases have recently come under his notice. He adds: “As to whether such things can be effectually removed, I will only say here that much, of course, depends upon the extent and depth of the marks, but nearly all processes of removal leave a mark more or less unsightly. As to the utter folly in most cases of having these marks made, I can bear full witness. Only this summer I was consulted by the parents of a young lady who had been foolish enough years ago to have the name of a lover marked upon her arm. This fancy had wholly passed on and a new and brilliant matrimonial chance with a man she really loved had presented itself, but she dare not tell him of this marking, for he had never even heard of the other love, and was of a jealous disposition, and the young lady could not wear evening dress without a bandage around her arm. This is one of the common cases, and it seems trifling, but the bearer of the mark suffered great mental anguish and was made absolutely ill by it. But I can assure you that the disruption of a really happy marriage between two persons known to every one in society whose separation was a puzzle at the time to a wide circle, was brought about by a wretched and simple tattoo mark, for I was consulted by the lady, who was in an agony of misery. The two have never been reunited, I am sorry to say. Many of the persons who have consulted me have been men who have, as the expression goes, risen in life, and who have seemed to regard the marks upon their arms and hands as outward symbols of their former calling of mere laborers, but in certain of these cases the marks have been of a somewhat coarse significance. If I tried to recollect all the cases brought before me I could tell you some queer ones but I may mention one well-known peer–he got the title unexpectedly–who has the lobes of both ears tattooed.”

“That the monkey possesses intelligence to a considerable degree is probably true,” said a hotel proprietor who has a small menagerie on his premises. “I believe, however much of the intelligence with which the animal is credited is due to his love of mimicry. The other day two young men with two girls were at the monkey’s cage feeding him peanuts. One of the girls was chewing gum and one of the men suggested that she give the monkey some, expecting that if he took it in his mouth it wold stick to his teeth and he would make sorry work of trying to chew it. The girl at once parted with the sweet morsel she was so industriously chewing, extending it toward the cage. The monkey grabbed it instantly, and put it into his mouth, but instead of chewing it or attempting to, began pulling it out in small ribbons, as children are frequently seen to do. When he had it all out of his mouth he rolled it into a compact ball between his hands, threw it into his mouth and began the operation again. He appeared to enjoy the performance as much as his visitors. That was imitation.”

“That’s all right,” rejoined another, “but I had an experience with that same monkey, wherein he displayed intelligence. I was by the cage smoking one day and I thought to annoy him by blowing smoke in his face. I was much surprised to find that instead of being annoyed he enjoyed it, as was evidenced by his edging up as near me as possible to receive the smoke in larger volumes. Soon he began scratching himself at the point where most of the smoke came against him. When I had smoked one side for a few minutes he would turn squarely round to have the other side treated in the same way. Then he sat directly in front of me an received the smoke squarely in the face and neck. I don’t know whether he held his breath, but he did not cough, sneeze or wince a particle. To complete the job, he then sat with his back toward me and it would have done you good to have seen him scratch. It made me think of the kickers of a hay-tedder in motion. Now, that monkey knew through some sort of intelligence that nothing will send flees [sic] and other insects to the surface or stupefy them as effectually as tobacco smoke.” Utica Observer.