THE I HERALD. VOL. IV. DARLINGTON, S. C., FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1894. NO. 41. •TWAS FAR A U'A Y. Twas far away where skies are fate And sweet with song and light; When I had hut my scythe, my dear. And you your needles bright. Bo far away ! and yet, to-day, For a 11 the distance drear. My heart keeps chime with that sweet time And dreams the old dreams there. There, where love learned its sweetest words And built its brightest bowers; Where sang the rarest mocking birds And bloomed the fairest (lowers! And fields wore golden-rich, and clear The streams flowed in the light— When I had but my scythe, my dear, And you your needles bright I How soft and sweet across the wheat Your dear voice seemed to roam, When stars of love peeped pale above And I went dreaming home! Life had no sweeter joy than this— To rest a little while . There, where you met me with a kis-T And blessed me with a smile! So far that sweet time seems to-day, Here ’nenth these darkened skies; And yet, across the weary way You light me with your eyes ! And I would give earth's gold to share Once more that day, that night, W r ben I had hut my scythe, my dear, And you your needles bright! —[Frank L. Stanton. II DflSilESTfill PflTTEI. Fhoebo Jane Breck luing the little rug over the arm of the old hair cloth rocking-chair, and Mrs. I‘on- Bonby Ten Broeck gazed at it criti cally. “It’s a real Daghestan pattern,” said the great lady, who was a sum mer visitor at East Palestrina; and Phoebe Jane colored high with pride and pleasure. Being only fifteen years old, and not the capable one of the family, it was a great satisfaction to have her handiwork admired by a lady from New York. “You really have a knack at rug- making,” said Phoebe June’s older sister Eunice, when the visitor’s car riage had gone. It was at that very moment, while Phoebe Jane was washing the best thin glass tumbler in which the lady lyid drank her cream, that a great idea came to her. She did not tell Eunice at once; Eunice was trying to Jtritp Pauleny as SheSlva83|ISrffjf^6trfVith n'ew 'fal teeth, and was anxious not to look too “flighty.” When Eunice had something on her mind was not the time to talk to her. Besides, it was such a great idea that it almost took Phoebe Jane’s breath away. If she coaid have told her Cousin Luelia, that would have been a com fort. Luelia went to the Oakmount Female Seminary, and knew almost everything; but Luelia and she were forbidden to speak to each other, be cause her father and Luella’s mother, Aunt Cynthia, had quarrelled long ago. Aunt Cynthia’s boys, Jerome and Albion, -and Fhoebo Jane’s brother, Llewellyn, had always scowled at each other, but Phoebe Jane and Luelia had wanted to be friends ever since the day when Luella’s bull kitten got lost in Wingate’s woods, and Phoebe Jane climbed a tall tree, In the top of which it was mewing piteously, and restored it to its mistress’s arms. That had happened long ago, when they were little girls; but ever since they hud shown themselves con genial spirits. So Phoebe Jane longed to ask Luella’s advice about her bright idea. But as that could not be, she allowed it to rest awhile in her eager brain, and then pro ceeded to develop it. Phcebe Jane s;ole softly into “the shepherdess room”—they called it so because the oid-fashioned paper on the walls was covered with shepherd- essss, with their crooks and their flocks of sheep. It was the best room, the parlor; but although Phoebe Jane’s father and mother lived in that house ever since they were married, the room had never been furnished. They had always been planning to furnish it; that had been one of Phoebe Jane’s mother’s hopes as long as she lived, and now Eunice, when ever she was able to save a little money', said that sometime, perhaps, they could furnish the parlor. Eunice had made a beautiful lounge for it out of an old packing- case, and Mrs. Tisbury, when she moved to Orland, had left them her base-burner stove to use until she wanted it. But Eunice said the great difficulty was the carpet—it was such a large room. Phoebe Jane stood in the middle of the room and surveyed it with a measuring eye. “Llewellyn will paint the edges for me,” she meditated, “and it is very stylish to leave half a yard all ’round.” “Then we could have the choir re hearsals here,” said Phcebe Jane aloud to herself. The choir rehearsals were held in the church before the service on Sun day mornings, which was a very in convenient time for those singers who lived away up beyond Pigeon Hill down at Wood End. These re hearsals seemed a little like profan ing the Sabbath, too, to some of the singers; and, anyway, it was not pleasant and social, us it would be to have them in the evening. But it cost too much to heat or even to light the church for evening rehears als; it was a largo, old-fashioned church, and Palestrina was poor. The Brecks had n large parlor or- rfan ; it almost filled the little sitting room. Mary Ellen, the slstor who died, had bought it with her school teaching money. No one else in Pal estrina had such an organ, and Eu nice had often said, with along sigh, “ How delightful it would bo to have the choir rehearsals here, If we only had the parlor furnished 1 ” Phcebe Jane decided that if she had a “knack” it was high time she used it to accomplish something worth the while, especially as she had an uncomfortable sense of hot being good for much. Eunice was a famous housekeeper, and could trim bonnets so well that people preferred her work to that of the village milliner. She was so use ful in sickness that every one sent for her; and she could play beauti fully on the organ, too, although she had never taken any lessons. Even Llewellyn, who was thirteen years old, and only ft boy, could be trusted to get dinner better than Phoebe Jane; he could draw delight ful music out of the old fiddle that they had found in Grandpa Pulsifer’s garret, and could puzzle the school master himself when it came to mathematics. Phoebe June couldn’t play on any thing, except a comb, and she was obliged to go to the barn to indulge in tliat musical performance because it made Eunice nervous; she said she could bear it if Phoebe Jane could keep a tune. And Phoebe Jane was very apt to be at the foot of the class at school. Never mind ! Mrs. Ponsonby Ten Broeck might flatter, but Eunice certainly never did, and Eunice had said that she. Phoebe Jane, had a “knack.” Phoebe Jane slipped away that af ternoon without giving any account of herself. She called first on old Mrs. Prouty, who had been the Pales- trinii dressmaker for fifty years. Old Mrs. Prouty had the reputation of being “snug;” she had a great store of “pieces” in her attic, and she had never been known to give any away, even for a crazy-quilt. * But she and Phoebe Jane were very intimate. Phoebe Jane had brought up Mrs. Prouty’s tender brood of tur keys, hatched during a thunder shower; had always stood up for Ginger, the old lady’s little lut-ter- rier, that was voted a nuisance by the neighbors, and had twice rescued him from cruel boys. Moreover, old Mrs. Prouty’s niece Lorinda sang in “the seats,” and longed for evening rehearsals. The pile of “pieces”, in Mrs. had so good a memory that she knew to whose dress almost every piece had belonged. Phcebe Jane made two or three other calls, and before she went home the success of her plan seemed assured. Eunice said, “I don’t see how you’re going to make a rug that’s large enough,” and “I hope you won’t get tired of it before its half-done ns you did of the bed-spread you begun to crochet." But she helped; Eunice would always help, though she was practical and saw all the difficulties at once. Llewellyn got the Corey boys to help him make a frame that was large enough, and he helped to make the rest too. By dint of hard work it was finished and laid upon the parlor floor the first of December. As Phcebe Jane said, if you don’t believe it was a siege, you’d better try one! Areal Daghestan pattern, nine by twelve feet. Then, alas! when the rug was down, and the parlor furnished, all the pleasure of the choir rehearsals was spoiled by a church quarrel. It arose us church quarrels and others often do, from what seemed a very small thing. Old Mrs. Tackaberry, Aunt Cin- thia’s mother, had the old-fashioned New England habit of suspending all labor on Saturday evening, and be ginning it again on Sunday evening; and being a very obstinate woman, she would knit in the Sunday evening prayer meeting. No matter how loud the minister and the members prayed and exhorted, no matter how night when the choir had been In vited to hold its first rehearsal in tha newly-furnished parlor. It wasarnin, following a heavy fall of snow. Tha roads were almost impassable, and most of the singers lived a long difr- tance from the village. The town-hall was opposite tha Brecks’ house, and Phcebe Jane looking out of the window, saw that the choir of the new society was as sembling in spite of the storm. It was to be a great occasion with the new society to-morrow; Jerome, Aunt Cynthia’s oldest son, who was a student in a theological seminary, was going to preach. But a great volume of smoke was pouring outof the doors and windows of the hall, and Llewellyn, who had been over to investigate, announced that “that old chimney was smoking again, and they would haVe to give up their rehearsal.” Then Llewellyn, who was a strong partisan, and didn’t like Aunt Cynthia’s Jerome, turned a somersault of excitement and de light. “It is too bad!” cried Phcebe Jane, whose soul was sympathetic. “Fath er—Eunice—don’t you think we might ask them to come in here?” Father Breck hesitated, rubbing his hands together nervously. He said he was afraid people would think it was queer, and if any of their choir should come it would bo awkward. Then Eunice suddenly came to the front, ns Eunice had a way of doing quite unexpectedly. "I think Phcebe Jane has a right to use the parlor ns she likes, she worked so hard for the rug,” said Eunice. “Well, well, do as you like, Phoebe Jane. Maybe it’s a providential leading,” said Father Breck. Phoebe Jane threw her waterproof over her head and ran out. There were Cynthia and Jerome, and with them a professor from Jerome’s sem inary. Phoebe Jane had a lump in her throat when she tried to speak to them, but behind, oh joy! there was Luelia. “If you will come and rehearse in our parlor — you know about my rug!” said Phoebe Jane; and then she drew her waterproof over her head again and ran back. There was a consultation, evident ly. Phcebe Jane heard old Mrs. Tnck- aberry's voice, and was afraid they would’nt come. But they did! It seemed aImo«t the whole of the new society came pouring into the parlor, and by that time Alma Pickering, and Jo Flint, and the Hodgdon girls, of their own choir, had come 1 It would have been a little awk- wiwd-Mold Mrs. TUckaberry had not THE JOKER’S MIDGET. been immediately struck by the new rug, and begun to ask questions about it with a freedom that made every one laugh. Soon they were all talking about it. Phoebe Jane remembered, as she had meant to, where she had put almost all the "pieces” of which Mrs. Prouty had told her the history. Old Mrs. Tackaberry cried about the pink delaine that was her little granddaughter, Abby Ellen’s, who died, and about the brown tibet that was her daughter Amanda’s wedding dress when she married a mission ary and went to China, and died there. Then they all laughed.j^t an ara besque in one corner which was Je rome’s yelllow flannel dress—Phoebe Jane had been a little'afraid to tell of that, Jerome was so imposing In white necktie. Aunt Cynthia would not believe that she had let the dress maker make that dress until she re membered that it was the time when she scalded her hand. People kept coming in. Phoebe Jane had an inspiration, and made Llewellyn go and invite them. It became a good old-fashioned neigh borhood party—“just like a quilt ing,” old Mrs. Tackaberry said. Ev erybody found some of their “pieces” or their relatives’ “pieces” in the rug, and smiles and tears and innu merable stories grew out of this. The new-comers found the two fac tions apparently so reconciled that they were surprised out of any ani mosity that they might have felt; and when they came to rehearse their music it happened, oddly loud the congregation sang, old Mrs, j enough, that both parties had chosen Tackaberry’s knittingneedle seemed to click above everything. Some people were shocked and some had their nerves affected, while others declared that “a mother in Israel,” like old Mrs. Tackaberry, should be allowed to indulge in such a harmless eccentricity. At this time the church was divided into two parties, one insisting old Mrs. Tacka berry should cease to knit or leave, and the other declaring that if she left it would leave with her. So the church was rent asunder. The supporters of old Mrs. Tack aberry hired the town-hall for their services, and a young divinity stu dent for their minister. The funds that had been barely enough for one church were sadly insufficient for two, and there was enmity between old friends and neighbors. So Phcebe June said with a tearful sense of the futility of all human hopes, that there was “no comfort in half a choir rehearsal.” It was old Mrs. Tackaberry who had made the trouble between Aunt Cynthia, and her brother-in-law, years before, so it was not very likely that the Brecks would espouse her cause, though Deacon Breck who was a mild and gentle man, and never had quarrelled with anybody but Aunt Cynthia in his life—Deacon Breck said he “wished folks could have put up with the knitting, for he believed it was conducive to godliness to let some folks do as they were a mind to.” As if Phmbc Jane had not had dis appointment enough, the worst storm of the season came on that Saturday the same hymn, and they all sang together. When they had finished rehears ing, someone — Phcebe Jane never was quite sure whether it was Jerome or the professor—started ‘ ‘Blessed be the tie that binds.” How they did sing it! Old Mrs. Tackaberry’s thin,crack ed treble sang out in defiance of time and tunc, and when the hymn ended tears were rolling down her seamy cheeks. “I’m going back to the church I ” she said, brokenly. “I’ve sp’ilt my meet’n’s and other folk’s long enough. And—and—I’m going to do what I’m a mind to, to home, when it comes sun-down on the Sab bath day, but I ain’t goin’ to knit a mite in meetin’ again—not a mite! ” There was a great hand-shaking; Aunt Cynthia and Father Breck actually shook hands, and out in the entry old Mrs. Tackaberry kissed Phcebe Jane. In spite of the bad roads, there was a great congregation in the East Palestrina church the next day. It was the professor who preached. He chose for his text, “Blessed are the peacemakers,” and every one looked at Phcebe Jane until she grew red to the tips of her ears. She and Luelia walked homeward together—openly, arm in arm; and it seemed like walking in Paradise, although one went over shoe in mud. —[Youth’s Companion. JESTS AND YARNS BY FUNNY MEN OF THE »RESS. Ha Knew--Tha Qua tlena • Girl Asks--Not Quite U derstood--ln Business*-Etc., Eta HE KN’EWu^ Caller—Can I see Mite Snuggle ? Servant—She’s enga/ed, sir. Caller—Of course si: 'Is, and I’m the man she’s engaget to. Servant—Oh.—[Det fit Free Press. THE QUESTIONS A ( BE ASKS. ; “Are you certain [hat you love me?” Ji. “I am. “But are you sure/fltik you are certain? NOTHING CHEAP [nfUT IT. Squildig—Didn’t Ti , cheap when Miss Frifoy sued^kim for breach of promise McSwilligen—Chea/? not! The girl secured! $25,000.—[Pittsburg C graph. IN BUSINEBI Police Judge—Whatfeyodt occu pation? ttjt »; Everett Wrest—I am a promoter. “A what?” “A promoter—pronOter rtf table impulses. See? rr-[Cidij vheel feel medv ill, I guess verdict of icle-Tele- lovep, wh$ ity for a day darling,” he He was mistaken. "Lady,” began Mr. Dismal Daw son, “you see before you a man Whose name is iftud; m, u, d, mud.” “There must be some mistake in your calculations," replied the lady. “It takes water to make mud.”— [Indianapolis Journal. love's victory. “Sir,” she cried, “I spurn you!" “Hear me out,” he pleaded. She shrugged her shoulders and turned coldly away. “Adored one,” he proceeded, “do you know that your father has ab solutely forbidden me to ever think of marrying you?” She started. “You do not deceive me?” she de- mandecj agitatedly. THE SEA’S ODD DENIZENS, FISK THAT CLIMB, LIVE IH WOODS, AND UTTER SOUNDS. oath, Capetown, in South Africa, Is one of the most cosmopolitan cities In the world. Tribune. HE WASN’T AT ALL ^RATIFIED, “They say a woman Can't keep secret,” she said to had run down from thi to see her at the beac “But you can, m; said, tenderly. “You bet,” she laughed; “I have been here a whole wetk and none of the young men know iyet that I am engaged.”—[New York Press. EXTREME PATERNALISM. “And you would prefer to have me vitit you less frequently,” he said. “Yes,” she answered. “Father objects to my rectlving so much company.” “And you won’t jvear my engage ment ring?” "No. Father objects to my receiv ing presents from young men.” “And you declinj to meet me oc casionally at the front gate?” “Yes. Father has just purchased a bulldog, you knelw.” His face took on a shade of deep annoyance. jr “It is as I fear^A” ho muttered. “The country is [going oil wrong through tor much paternalism.”— [Washington Star. OVERSHADOWED HIM. “How did you like the young wo man from Boston?” asked the young man’s sister. “Oh, very well. Only she uses such big words. I gave her a flower nd she wouldn’t call it by anything but its scientific name.” “But you always liked botany.” “It wasn’t her botany I objected to. It was her haughty-culture.”— Washington Star. A FLAW SOMEWHERE He—You refuse mo ? She—I do. Ho—Do I look all right! She—Yes. He (decidedly)—It can’t be possi ble. I’m going back to my rooms and discharge my man.—[Puck. NOT IN HIS ETHICS. Mrs. Hussiff—And now, having had a good lunch, I want you to saw that wood. It won’t take you more than an hour. Rural Ragges (with dignity)— You’ll excuse me, madam, but in makin’ a mornin call I stick ter social etiquette. Twenty minutes is my limit, an’ that space has elapsed. ONE EXCEPTION. “False one!” he shrieked. “Not wholly so,” she moaned. He became calmer. “No,” lie remarked in quieter tones, “thi u red on the end of your nose is natural, 1 have no doubt.’ [Indianapolis Journal. THE OLD man’s OCCUPATION. “What’s Dick doing now?” •‘Well, Dick, he’s a-doctorin’.” “And John?” “He’s horse-tradin’.” “And William?” “He’s a savin’ of souls.” “And Tom?” “Well, Tom—he s sorter politicia- nin’ aroun’.” - “And you?” “Well, I’m sorter farmin’ an’ o- feedin’ of Dick an’John an’ William an’ Tom!”—[Atlanta Constitution. NO EQUALITY FOR HER. Mrs. Seated—The marriage relation needs reform. Don’t you think that both parties should have an equal voice in regulating their joint affairs? Mrs. Graymare—What! Let my husband have as much to say as I have? Not much.—[Puck. FAMOUS ENOUGH TO BE HONEST. Jinks (on the rail)—I was talking with an eminent physician in the smoker. Mrs. Jinks—What is his name? “He didn’t mention it, and I did not like to ask.” “Then why do you think he is an eminent physician?” “I asked him what was the best cure for consumption, and he said he didn’t know.”—[Puck. NOT OVER-SENSITIVE. Willie—An’ what did Cl&wence do when Bob Slugard kicked him? Algy—He simply said, ‘Gwent men jro not sensitive to cwitlcisin,’ and walked swiftly away.—[Judge. *r ^ _ With a glad arms.*—[Detroit MOTjQUITE UN! Little Ethel—When ore you and sister Nell going tQ be married,' Torn? -Tom—I don’t know, Ethel, Dm not an augur. ’ Little Ethel (brightly)—W611, she says you're a bore. DIDN’T UNDERSTAND HUMAN NATURE. “Yes,” said the proprietor of the barber shop, “he was a very good barber, but we had to let him go He didn’t understand the business. "What did he do?” “He forgot to say to a baldheaded •customer that his hair needed trim ming to-day.”—[Washington Star. The Climbing Fish of the Dutch East Indies—Finny Inhabitant* of For ests—Musical Fish. I MAGINATION had a boundless range in devising legends and marvels about fish until Knowl edge clipped her wings, remarks the London Standard. When Lieu tenant Daldorf, of the Dutch East India Service, reported to Sir Joseph Banks that he had caught a fish on the stem of a palm tree five feet above the ground, and still mounting upwards, even- Sir Joseph’s acceptance of his he retilled,' tale did'ndt preserve that officer from •a outburst of universal mockery. It :ed with teattn, tehe.t on earth i expected to flnd'nsefnl for its purposes at the top-of te; p*lta tree? The earliest reporter of thi^ fact, Abonzeyd, who wrote In the ninth oentnry, had a sufficient explanation. He was. opt bothered with science. The creature went np to feed-upon the . HOW IT HAPPENED. ' ‘.“We die, but ne’er surrender!” ‘ The Colonel began to brag; But he set his heel On an orange peel And promptly—struck his flag. A NIGHT OF TERROR. It was a cloudy night. Dark clouds lowered over the world, and here and there dropped a fringe of fog. A shriek pierced the night air. She clutched her husband’s nose wildly in her startled frenzy. “Heavens,” she gasped in terror, and even as she spoke the awful cry broke again upon her ears, ‘the par egoric bottle is empty I” There was nothing to do but walk the floor.—[Detroit Tribune. A SPIRIT OF ACCOMMODATION. A prisoner before the Police Judge secured the services of a young sprig of an attorney, who not only was a consequential young man, but he thought he knew about ten times as much as the Judge knew he knew. When the case was called the at-, torney arose. M“ay it please your Honor,” he said with great formality, “my client wants more time ” “Very well, very well,”ir.terrupted the Judge in the kindliest way; “I’ll be glad to accommodate him. He was arrested for abusing his wife, wasn’t he?” “That’s the charge of the arresting officer your Honor.” “Very good,” said his honor. “I had intended giving him only three months, but since he wants more I’ll make it six. I always strive to please. Call the next case, Mr. Clerk.—[Detroit Free Press. IT WAS A FINE DAY FOR HIM. “What have you got to say?” asked the judge. The prisoner looked embarrassed. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, smoothed tint nap of his hat and an swered ; “It is a fine Jay Your Honor.” “I can’t say that 1 am particularly impressed with the beauty of the weather,” rejoined the judge, “but it is a fine day for you. The fine is $10.” Talephone Doctors. In a telephone plant for a big city like Chicago thsre are cables con taining upward of 1)0,000 miles of copper wire. Complete records are kept of the position of every wire, and the men in charge can pick out at once the line of any subscriber whenever it is necessary to inspect it or work on it. When a line gets into trouble it can be tested in both directions from the switchboard and Out toward the subscriber’s station. At every exchange ihere is an offi cial called the “wire chief,” whose special duty is to overlook the mak ing of connections between the sub scriber’s line and the switchboard, to inspect the wires, and to test them electrically in order to determine the position of any defect that may oc cur in a subscriber’s line or instru ments. The wire chief sits at a spe cial desk, from which wires run to various parts of the system, and he is provided with electrical instru ments with which to make tests on lines that develop “trouble.” He is the ambulance surgeon of the tele phone plant, and his wires give him the advantage of being truly ubi quitous. He receives complaints and reports of “trouble,” and enters on special slips every “trouble” re ported or discovered. These slips are handed to “trouble men,” who search out the cause, and finding it, apply the proper remedy. They then enter an account of what they found and what they did on the slip and return it. In this way a close and comprehensive check is kept on the operation of the tele phone plant, which, on account Of its complexity and of the number of small parts that go to make it up, is peculiarly liable to trifling but troublesome defects. Returns are made up periodically from the “trouble slips," and these form a continuous record of the efficiency both of the plant and of those imme diately in charge of it.— [Chicago Nows. fruit, and when satisfied it retailed to the watef. ‘ But this Would apt do for the savants eyon t hnnclied yoarp ago. They poihted but. that Percha soau> dens live on water inseete^-that il could not and would not eat fruit, and that if its fins and.‘gill-covers be so framed that it might possibly climb s tree, they are so framed also that it could not make even an effort to de scend. Their objections are not yel answered, nor, so far as we are aware, has any fish since been caught nine feet above the ground. But the habit of climbing is admitted whatever the motive. In fact, the Cingalese cover their fish traps with a netting because, as they explained to Mr. Layard, some species would creep up the poles and escape over the other side. A few hours’ sojouru in almost any tropio realm will convince the stranger that fish can climb, if he epjnd them on the banks of a tidal river The funny little mud fish scurry and paddle there all day long, mounting to the top of the rocks, however smooth; running up and down the mangrove roots as active almost as lizards. Not least curious of their peculiarities is the trick of running over the surface ol the water for a distance which seems bounded only by their inclination. As for the fish that live in the woods—barring exaggeration —they also abound. The inorachung, of Bootan, is most famous. It is never^ caught in rivers, or eves in standing ponds, though, as some accounts say, its abiding places always communicate with water, so that it can return to ite “native element” when so disposed. However that may be, »hay «r« caught. not by hook or net, but by the spade;' and they are worth some digging—two feet long, perhaps, disproportionately thick and always in pairs. Plenty of other species are taken in the same way during the hot months, aud plenty more divert themselves with a stroll on dry land oocasioually. Sir B. Schomlmrgh saw colored meu going out to fish in the jungles Guiana with nothing but a basket, and they brought back as many as they could carry. Sir John Bowriug constantly observed the fish go ashore and “lose themselves amongst tee trees” upon the Siamese River Meinam. Mr. Mor ris was inspecting a leaking tank by Trincomalee when heavy rain came on. His man suddenly raised a shout aud galloped up a “knoll,” the far side of which—that distant from the tank — proved to be a.'ive with fish climbing upward at prodigious speed; we are to suppose that they left the pool when the water escaped, but iiastened to re turn, knowing that the rain would re fill it. As for burying fishes, they are numberless. We have a grave report ot one species found nineteen feet be low the surface of a field. It is not necessary to believe this. Bit in Abyssinia they are dug up six feet or more below the river bed when it is dry. It is not commonly believed that fishes have any power of utterance, but, although the fact is not proved yet, so far as we have read, there is such a mass of testimony from divers regions, contributed by observers oi such credit, that the fact is no longer doubtful. At Caldera, in Chili, near the lanl- ing place, a very pleasant serenade is heard sometimes. The music resem bles that of a harp, with a range of four notes at least; the incurious peo ple of the neighborhood have no the ory abont it. But a like concert is usual at various points of the Indian coast; and there, of coarse, its origin is well understood—that is, the na tives may be right or wrong, but they have an explanation. Dr. Buist de scribes it as “long, distinct sounds, like the protracted booming of a dis tant bell, the dying cadence of an lEolian harp, the note of a pitch-pipe or pitch-fork, or any other long- drawn-out musical note.” It became much more sonorous when a listener put his head to the planks of the ves sel. Next day the boatmen presented Dr. Buist with a number of fish which, as they said, produced the music— i species very plentiful, in size an 1 shape like our perch. Sir Emerson Tenuent heard such stories in Ceylon, aud he paid a visit of inquiry to Batti- caloa. They were amply confirmed. To Sir Emerson the notes sounded like “the gentle thrills oi a music il chord or the faint vibration of a wine glass when its rim is rubbed by a moistened finger. It was not one sus tained note, but a multitude of tiny sounds, each distinct and clear in it self, the sweetest treble mingling with the lowest bass.” The people of Italy are the most heavily taxed of any civilized nation. The S.ato taxation equals twenty-two uer cent, of the earnings of the people. CUILDRE.VS COLL MX NOT QUITE A SUCCESS. When Bessie rose to slag her song. All in her finest dress, Two things that went a trifle wrong Debarred complete success. Her hands were clean, her face was fair. Her voice was like a bird’s, But she didn’t really know the air, hud she quite forgot the words. —Youth's Companion. ‘Hi THAT IS THE QUESTION. In riding in railway trains foxy may have observed the peculiarity of dogs in racing after the train. One day, in a swiftly moving train, I saw a big yellow dog doing this act, and nearly brewing bis back to catch the train, I^aifehed his efforts with some cario sity, and a man in the seat in front of me was 'cRSing the same thing, When the dog gave up the chase, the man in front turned to me and said: “Excuse me,but I would like to ask you a question I want to ask you what you think that dog would have dono With tlpia traih ithe had caught it?— Atlanta ConstituidOh, THE INVENTION • wooden ships that wo have preserved. Time and again did she vanquish the English ships in the war of 1812, and proud were the people of her captures. Probably the most thrilling incident of her career was her eicapo from seven English men-of-war,after an ex citing chase of nearly three days and nights. The chase began, on July 17, 1812. Tbe Constitution was out for a long cruise, and was weighed down with stores. The sea was culm, and no wind was stirring. Captain Hull put out his men in boats to tow the ship. They pulled valiantly, and us night came on a “kedge” anchor was run out half a mile ahead. The crew on the ship kept l ulling on this, and the Britishers didn’t discover for a long time the secret. Finally the Eng lish saw it, and adopted the same tnc tics, and by doubling up their crews began to pull their famous ship Shan non near the Constitution. A light breeke sprang up, and saved tbe American ship for the time. There was a calm the next day, and the ago nizing struggle went on. The next night another light breeze came up, and the tired sailors obtained n little sleep. The next day there came a sharp breeze afte: many hours of struggle. The Constitution trimmed her sails to catch it; the boats dropped back and the men wore caught up aa the ship gathered headway. Tho Guerriere of the English fleet came abeam as tbe wind freshened, and fired a broadside; but the shots fell short, and the Constitution’s men ignored them, and calmly went about straight ening up their vessel, as if they had just left port and such a thing as an enemy was unheard of. As long as the Constitution can bo kept together she will probably bo seen at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where she is now doing duty as a re ceiving-ship. Our old ships have always been proud, aud it has amused some of tho thoughtless officials of other nations ; but there was bravery in their pride and abftiute courage that has always been the embodiment of that famous saying, “Don’t give up the ship?” We frequently hear laments that the old soldiers are dropping away fast. I always share that feeling, but also include in it those wooden ships of the navy—scarred veterans most of them are, worthy of the abibing re membrance of a grateful people. —Har per’s Young People. The skeleton of a “whale lizard” brought from Alaska by tho steamer City of Topeka weighs exactly 2,400 pounds. THIS PAGE CONTAINS FLAWS AND OTHER DEFECTS WHICH MAY APPEAR ON THE FILM.