The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, April 20, 1887, Image 6
SOMEWHEHE.
Somewhere the wind is blowing,
I thought as I toiled along
In the burning heat of the noontide
And fancy made me strong.
Yes, somewhere the wind is blowing,
Though here where I gasp and sigh,
Not a breath of air is stirring.
Not a cloud in the burning sky.
Somewhere the thing wo long for
Exists on earth's wide bound,
Somewheue the sun is shining
When winter nips the ground,
Somewhere the flowers are springing,
?oinewuere tut- torn u> ui <. ?
And ready unto the harvest
To feed tho hungry town.
Somewhere the twilight gathers
And weary meu lay by
The burden of the daytime.
And wrapped in slumber lie.
Somewhere tho day Is breaking,
And gloom and darkness flee;
Though storms our bark are tossing,
There's somewhere a placid soa.
And thus, I thought, 'tis always,
In this mysterious life,
There's always gladness somew here
In spite of its pain and strife;
And somewhere tho sin and sorrow
Of earth are known no more,
*- Somewhere our weary spirits
Shall find a peaceful shore.
Somewhere the things that try us
Shall all have passed away,
And doubt and fear no louger
Impede the perfect day.
0 brother, though the darkness
Around thy soul be cast,
Tho earth is rolling sunward
And light shall como at hist.
?Alfred Cupel Shaw, in Good Words.
IN A FLOOD.
BY ADA C. STODDAKD.
"I think rainy days should be specially
interdicted, in March." said mv.pretty
wster Eva, closing her book with a i
yawn, "llow dolefully poky everything i
is."
"Yes,'' I responded, gazing from the
window at the dripping elms, "there'll
be a general inundation if this keeps
on."
"Oh, I wish there would!*' cried Eva,
clappiBg her hands." What fun it would
be to go sailing
'In a little bark canoe.'
over the garden, and round the summerhouse,
and up to see Dolly Maxwell! I
do wish there would!"
"Don't say that, Eva."'
We turned, Eva-and I together, away
from the window toward the fire, which
the raw March weather rendered very j
nlensant. We had finite fnrcrntton th? I
presence of Aunt Lacy, who sat there j
gazing so thoughtfully into the dancing |
blaze. IIow fond and proud we were of j
her?of our gracious, stately grand-aunt,
with her soft, white hands, and her dear,
beautiful, wrinkled face!
"We each drew a chair up beside her.
"Now, Aunt Lacy," said Eva, "I saw
? a story in your eyes."
"Well, yes, my dears," was the quiet j
rejoinder, "there is a little story which |
your chatter brought to my mind. It is j
not, perhaps, of the 'thrilling adventure' I
description, but it may please you now j
that you arc tired of your books."
"As if you ever told a story that didn't i
{ilease us!" cried Eva, with a little, birdike
caressof Aunt Lacy's hand. "Yuu're
a perpetual reserve fund, Auntie, to be
drawn on when nothing else can please
? us."
"Flatterer!" smiled Aunt Lacy, shaking
her head. "But I'll tell you the j
story.
"It happened when I was eighteen j
years old, and lived in Embden. You j
have been at Embden, Marciaf"
"Yes " T answered "tllilfc nn>tfr fil. I
lagc so shaded by trees that I wonder they I
didn't call it Elmden. It is at the foot
of a mountain, isn't it?"
"Yes?Bear Mountain; and a little river
runs between it and the village. We
lived in a large white house almost on the
river bank, and half a mile from the main
portion of the village. I kept house for
lather?your great-graudfuther?then. It
was in March?the spring following
mothers death in the fall. There were
four children at home besides myself.
Willie, the youngest, was but tiae days
old wheu mother died; and you may believe
that, with only an inexperienced girl
to help about the housework, they kept
ine pretty busy.
"I had a lover in those days, an honest,
straight-forward, but exceedingly
hot-headed young man, with whom I, as
high-strung as himself, quarreled whenever
an opportunity offered. Strange,
young pcopic will oe so perverse:'
CJrand-aunt Lacy looked nt Eva with a
little meaning smile, which Eva understood
and answered with a blush.
"We fell into a dispute one day concerning
the date of some occurrencc?a
trifling thing, to be sure, but neither
would yield to the other, and at length
what had beguu 'good-naturedly enough
ended in the most serious quarrel we had
ever had.
" 'I don't care if I never see you again!'
cried I, angrily.
" 'Very well/ he rejoined, taking his
hat, 'you need not.'
"But he came to the house the very
next afternoon.
?"I have told you it was March. Father
had been away for a week attending
court at the shire town, and I was left
alone with Cassie, our help, and the children.
The rain had been falling almost
incessantly for three or four days, and
this, together with the melting snows on
the sides of old Bear Mountain and the
adjacent highlands, iiad swollen onr
usually placid little river into a rolling,
turbulent torrent, already more than
bauk high, and running over the intervale
below the house. I did not feel any
real alarm, however, as I had often seen
the intervale covered when the river was
up, in the spring.
It was late in the afternoon when
Herbert came. I met him with a cool assumption
of dignity, which he did not
appear to notice.
" 'You had better take the children up
to mother's for the night,' he said, hurriedly;
'the river is high and rising fast,
and the ice is breaking up in the lake.'
"'No. thank you,' I replied, 'I amsure
there is no.danger.'
' 'But if the ice goes out, as it certainly
will, it will take the mill-dam and possibly
the mill,' was the persistent rejoinder;
'and if the dam goes, this house will
be flooded, and may be carried oil-.'
" *May bees don't fly in March,' said I,
I saucily. 'Please do not try to scare us.'
"But Cassie, already thoroughly
frightened, declared her intention of going;
and the children begged to go also.
"'Very well,' said I, at last, 'you may
go, all of you. Baby and I will stay and
keep the house from floating awav.' I
tried, I remember, to say this very sarcastically,
but it seems to me now that I
only suoceedod in appearing foolishly
obstinate.
"They went away at length, Herbert,
the children and Cassie, and I confess I j
did feel a little lonely as I watched them I
disappear. Night was shutting down |
gloomily, with dark clouds. Thu rain
beat furiously against tho window-panes; !
the wiud whirled in gusts about the
house; and above all the roar of the river
sounded with a hollowness which I never ;
remembered having heard before. Alto- ;
gcther, though I tried to believe myself [
very courageous indeed, I could not j
i repress a feeling of uneasiness, as, after
drawing the curtains and lighting the
candles, I sat down to my kuitting with |
my foot on the rocker of the baby's j
cradle. There was no sound of anything |
within the room; the ticking of the old :
-1?1- ...wl 4.1.0. nt a'AWi
I;iuliv auu inv" v/4 iuo utv .
drowned in the mad dash of the rain,
the rat tling of the windows and the sullen I
boom of the river. The words of Herbert's
prophecy came back to me with ;
fearful distinctness. In fact, I found, as ;
many another has done, that false brav- i
cry flourishes best iu daylight.
"But the hours went by, and ten!
o'clock came, and nothing unusual had
happened. I began to laugh at my own 1
fears, and was just covering the fire for
the night, when the baby awoke and cried. !
So, Mother Ilubbard fashion. I went to j
the milk-room to get him some milk. I
cannot tell why I wrapped a shawl about,
him and took him with me. I only know 1
that I did, and I have always thanked j
God for it.
"The milk-room, which, as we then!
kept but one cow, we used more as a 1
pantry, was toward the river. It was al-;
most a cellar, being several feet lower i
than the main part of the house, and partially
walled up with stone. The floor!
was of flagging and there was one win- \
dow. " #
"The noise of the river increased to a ,
terrific, thunderous roar, as I opened the
door and descended the steps which, by
the way, were portable, for use in reaching
the higher shelves. Placing my candle
upon the side-table, I turned to lift
down a pan of milk. At that monieut
came a rumble like that, I think, which '
precedes an earthquake shock; and then !
: a fearful sound which I cannot describe? j
i a crackle, crash and a roar together. I:
i felt the stone floor beneath my feet trcm- i
ble. There was a noise of breaking
glass, and in much less time than it has
taken me to tell it, I stood iu darkness,
knee-deep in a mad swirl of waters.
"For an instant I was numbed by the
shock, and utterly unable to comprehend
the situation. The baby broke into a
frightened wail. I felt the water rising
icy cold about me. Something shook
against me in the darkness. I touchcd
it; the steps were afloat.
Blindly groping I put out my hand;
it cams in contact with the heavy deal
table, and with the quickness of thought
I climbed up on it.
w.io T KoIitt on/1 T alnno trifli
inuiu vvao a} waiyj uuu a, uivuo .?nu .
the night and the tempest and the flood.
The water was still rising; already it was !
creeping over my feet as I stood on the
side-table. Higher and higher it rose
until I knew it must be above the stone
wall of the milk-room and so have flooded
the house. I remember, queerly enough,
thinking it would quench the coals I had
covered so carefully for the morning's
fire.
"So I stood there, hushing the baby's
cries. I think I did not fear much for
our lives, until the water reached my
waist; I felt so sure that help M-ould
come, or that the water would subside,
and even then it seemed to me I could
not die?so young, mv life so full of
bright hopes and promises."
Aunt Lacy paused a moment, her eyes
fixed on vacancy.
"I cannot describe to you my feelings
as the water rose steadily about me, steal- I
ing higher and higher, as a beast of prey, !
sure of its victim, yet creeps stealthily I
upon it. It reached my shoulder at j
length. I could only keep my foot-hold |
by pressing hard against the wall. I j
T Imw lviv/J tnrrililr 1
hard, it was that we must die there alone j
in that awful tumult and darkness. Baby ;
and I, always baby; and I held him over i
my head, and shrieked in mad, wild terror
and anguish for help."
"Oh, Aunty, don't'."cried Eva.
Aunt Lucy smiled. "Help came, my
dear, but not before the first fierce rush j
which had swept away the dam had j
passed, and the water had begun to dimiu- j
ish. It was then I caught the gleam of a
lantern and heard voices; and for many .
days I saw and heard no more. I was
stricken with brain fever, and when I re- '
covered we left Embdeu, as father had i
long been intending to do.
"Yes, it taught me a hardly-learned and
wholesome lesson; I never forgot it. And
you sec now, Eva, why I dislike to hear j
you wish for a flood."
"Yes," said Eva, soberly. "Of course, '
it was Herbert who found you, Aunt ,
Lacy?" What became of him alter- i
ward
"What was his name?" asked I.
Auut Lacy smiled again?a little, ten- j
der, far-away smile.
"ilia name was George Herbert Lacy," ;
said she; "and I married him."?Good
Cheer.
A Novel Pipe.
"Talking about ingenuity," said a :
drummer to the Chicago Herald reporter, j
"I want to tell you what I saw last
winter out West." And he reeled oil the !
following:
"I was' on a train that was snowed in
for three days. The company sent us
food, but they didn't send us any cigars,
and the train boy's stock was exhausted
the first dny. In the express car we
found and confiscated a box of smoking
tobacco, but there wasn't a pipe on the
train. Among the passengers was a
Connecticut Yankee who was just dying
for a smoke. He got out in the snow
and looked around for a weed or some
tiling ot tluit sort, wmcn no mignt use in
making a pipe, but couldn't find a thing.
'I am going to have a pipe, anyhow,' he
said. So he took a lead pencil, opened
the wood, took out the lead, and placing
the two strips together again, wound
them tightly with the tin-foil which
came out of the package of smoking tobacco,
making them air-tight. Then he
took an apple, hollowed a bowl out of it,
stuck his lead-pencil stem into it and had
one of the nicest pipes you ever saw. If
you don't believe it make one for yourself
some time and try it."
Are Wooden Itridges Safest.
A wooden bridge has been built in
place of the iron death-trap which recently
went down in the suburbs of Boston.
* Who is there to prove that after all
wooden railroad bridges are not better
than those built of iron? No one ever
heard of a wooden structure going down
because of its sudden contraction by cold
or expansion by heat. Wood goes to decay,
but it does not crystallize or rust out.
A blow delivered by a broken shaft or locomotive
driver which will crack and
possibly destroy a bridge constructed of
iron will not in any way cripple a good
bridge made up of wood and bolts. Iron
bridges have not been used long enough
to be anything moro than an experiment.
The experiment lias not yet proved entirely
satisfactory.?Cincinnati TirrwSUtr.
WOMAN'S WORLD.
PLEASANT LITERATURE FOR
FEMININE READERS.
Tin* Summer Girl.
Oh: the summer girl, with her golden hair
And her rol>e of snowy lawn.
And her blushing cheeks is a vision as fair
As the summer morning's dawn.
Iler cheek* are the blushing skies sun-kissed,
Her dress is the morning's fleecy mist,
Her eves are the ocean's fathomless blue,
And "her lips are the rosebuds fresh with
dew.
?Boston Courier.
Martha Washington's Fan.
The fail owned and used by Martha
Washington is a curiosity of great interest
and considerable value. As high as
$1,000 has been offered for it and refused.
The fan is of ivory frame and of ordinary
size. When unfolded there is displayed
a series of pictures painted in oil. One is
a portrait of George Washington at the
age of seventeen, clad in the uuiform of
a Captain. At that time he was a gallant
young officer lighting the Indians. This
is, so far as is known, the only portrait
extant of Washington in his youth.
This makes the value of the fau almost
priceless. Hovering above the young
hero is an angel crowning hiiu with
wreaths. Kneeling near him is an Indian
in gorgeous array of flowers and
feathers and the robes of her iribe offering
Washington in homage a national
standard in tovken of the acceptance of
peace. To the left of Washington stands i
the figure of Liberty tramping the
crowned old world tyrants under foot.
The face of the fan bears the coat of arms
of the Washington?. The colors of the
portraits arc still bright and distinct.
Creole Girls.
These young girls, says a New Orleans
letter, are often wonderfully beautiful.
Good features, handsome eyes and grace
ful figures combine to make them very
attractive, their beauty being not infrequently
Oriental in type, though the vi- 1
vacity of their manners mark them as essentially
French in character. Many i
Creole women are very accomplished, i
They have a skill in music and painting
that is often artistic. In the literary clubs (
which society women have inaugurated of
late years in New Orleans, the American
ladies have been astonished to find
the Creole ladies quite as well posted as ;
themselves iu English literature, while
possessing a much greater knowledge of
the literature of other countries. But an '
accomplishment still more attractive to
the impecunious young men seeking mattrimony
is the exquisite taste with which <
these maidens fair will fashion their own
gowns and bonuets when circumstances
require them to make these things at i
home. The Creole women have inherited ]
the Trench taste in dress,and in a greater
degree than other American citizens, they ,
regard the fiat of Paris as the supreme ,
authority in all matters concerning the J
toilet. Also, the Creole women of all ages
and of all classes are devout. Neither social
engagements, nor weather, nor other
obstacles are allowed to interfere with 1
the disclmrge of their religious duties. 1
Are they not somewhat supersitious?
Whistling for a Living. <
Miss Gilder, the gifted editor of the 1
CrUir, writes from New York to the
Boston (lazette, describing the way in i
which a lady literally raises the wind: i
There is now in New York a lady who
whistles at private entertainments, but
for a consideration. She gets twenty-five
dollars a night for whistling in New
York drawiug-rooms, and is said to have J
all the engagements she wants. The
husband ol this lauy was wen on at one ,
time, but he lost his money. Whistling !
was her great accomplishment, and when (
she heard that this gift had been turned
to pecuniary account, she saw no reason
why she should not aid her husband by
her gifts in this; line, and she has succeeded
beyond her expectations. I heard
a lady whistler in London last summer
who was quite the rage, and who had the
honor of whistling before her majesty, :
but I did not think much of her accom- i
plishment. I can whistle better than she
can herself. I have heard whistling that
was beautiful. When I lived on Eighteenth
sheet I could look down into a
saloon from my back windows, and in
that saloon there would occasionally come (
a man who whistled, and anything more
beautiful of its kind I never heard. He |
could do anything that a flute could do.
The lady whistler in London had no such
accomplishment. According to my judg- J
ment she was a pretty poor whistler, but
she ?,ot a good deal of praise over there, :
and, as I said, had her majesty's endorsement.
Marriages in Turkey. l
The following is from Emilc Julliard's !
ajticle in the Cosmopolitan on ''Life Be- 1
neath the Crescent:" Marriage receives
scarcely more attention among the Turks 1
than birth and death, and there is but <
little embarrassment from the administra- i
tive formalities that precede and accom- ]
pany this solemn act in the West. There
are no bans, no announcements, no regis- j
trations. A man obtain* a wife just as he ,
would buy a bouquet; but neither the ]
buyer nor the seller, nor the intermediary, .
asks for a receipt. As it is forbidden a j
man to enter the harem of another (even "
if he were a near relative of the latter) to
see a youug woman and talk with her, j
inure arc no iiiarrmgua iui iuvu mm uu
engagements. One father meets another j
father, and saystohiin: "You have a j
sou and I have a daughter. If the mother
of your son knows my daughter,-let us
strike a bargain; if she does not know 1
her, let them see each other, and then let s
us close up the business." The conditions J
are discussed, the dowry haggled over, '
then all the arrangements between the
parents arc made and the young people
introduced to each other.
Let us add in passing, that among us
the marriages that are contracted ia the
great capitals of Europe, especially in
Paris, do not depart far from this programme.
In France, however, a man is
still allowed to behold the object for the t
acquisition of which negotiations are in ]
progress. In Turkey this is forbidden; there,
marriage is a lottery indeed. j
Turkish girls are promised usually wheu <
they are very young, even ut a tender age, {
when they are only three or four years
old. If the young bride should happen j
to die before her marriage, or be required
for t!ie Sultan's harem?for it mav be nre
miscd that this is a ease that breaks all j
engagements, and is esteemed as a great i
honor by parents?the intended husband ^
is not expected to weep over what he t
loses, for lie has never seen it. When
tin; young girl reaches her twelfth or
thirteenth year, or somewhat later, hei
fourteenth year, she receives the nuptia 1
blessing, and the husband cannot see
the face of his wife until alter the ceremony.
;
No woman, not even the wife, takes ,
part iu the solemnity of marriage, whic
is eilected by proxy, delegated to an uncle
or to an elder brother, oiten with a full
beard, who plays the role of the bride. |
The parents ol tue couple sign the con- c
tract belorc the imam of their quarter, in ,
the presence of a few friends, who act aj
witnesses. The nuptials are then celebrated
by the families with a calmness
and gravity that would be as suitable i:or a t
funeral as for a wedding.
The sexes never mingle at these festi- ,
vnls. The men take their pleasure in si-1 (
lence in their sclamik; the women, a little I
more noisily?it is but natural?in th? \ .
harcmlik.
If the wife is too young or has deli- t
cute health, she is not entrusted to hei
husband. She is quickly shut up at her ,
mother's, or at her motlier-in-law's, some- j j
times for more than a year, until it shall i ?
please the latter to re-unite her with her
husband. It eveu happens that the bus- ,
band lias had time to take a second wife i
before receiving his lirst.
It is not, however, always happiness
that the vouug wife finds in her new .
situation, where she is often obliged to
share with companions, and even with
black and white slaves, the heart and the '
attentions of her husband. How often c
have the poor creatures exchanged their '
maiden seclusion, a captivity that a '
mother always knows how to make pleas- , 1
ant, for auother seclusion more narrow, J
more severe, often aggravated by the neg- j 1
leet of her husband, or by the brutality I
and the bad treatment of a detcslablo j t
nrnnwlinn I I E
? !?
Fashion Notes. J '
Very line jet beads are used for hat [ (
trimming.
Copper buttons .ire a novelty for out- j
side garments. s
The latest suu umbrellas look like so |
many huge j>osies. (
A gold cord is one of the latest designs i
iu jewelry for the neck.
The tournure is growing beautifully |
less at the waist and larger below.
All shades of gray are in high favor, I t
from the dark steel grays to the most del- ! i
icate pearl tints. | t
Copper color and green forms one of '
the prettiest combinations in millinery, ! j
and is very stylish.
The polonaise again comes out in all 1 ^
its glory and is a favorite mode for spring
and summer costumcs.
Clocked stockings are fashionable for j
children and should be in dark shades
with bright clockings in silk.
Tlwre are a great many new braids in (
English, Neapolitan, Milan, and Tuscan |
straws, in chips and American straws. i 5
The new applique lace looks very like j ]
embroidery and is a very dressy trimming ( r
for summer costumes of thin fabrics. j
Surahs with a. pin-head dot in white 1 i
ire quite new this season. They nre of j I
American manufacture and very wide. t
Spangles are having a day of their 0
own and appear in all sorts of impossible
places from the shoes to the head-gear.
Aigrettes for the hair arc invariably of j.
i tuft of ostrich plumes in one or two j f
shades; sometimes even three are allow- | s
able. !
The white plush card case has an inter- j
lining of sachet powder which is delicate
enough to just suggest an odor to the j
cards.
The ribs of the ricli new parasols are
tipped with tortoise shell, gilt or silver, I
after the old fashions in our grundinoth-!
ens' times.
White dresses promise to be more generally
worn than ever before, and many |
r>f the new materials are very dainty and ;
beautiful. I
The brocades are especially magnificent
this year; one in a lovely soft shade of
gray has an Oriental design outlined in '
silver thread. j
Cashmere shawls have become fashion- j
able once more. That is, their material, j
for the articles themselves are generally
cut up for wraps. j
When a bonnet is given two pairs of i
strings one pair is of one kind of ribbon, I
the other of another, but both must be
narrow to be fashionable.
Bonnets remain very close at the sides, i .
the trimming being massed on top by the r
milliner in various ways to suit her fancy .
and the face of the wearer.
White and cream cloth is much used
for dressy costumcsfor very young girls;
they are either embroidered in silver or
the new Bulgarian embroideries. j
The Pacha braid is a fancy combination
of satin bruid and coburg, and is shown
in two shades of color like anemone and
silver gray or pigeon green and beige. I
There is a revital of the old fashion for
summer dresses, of wearing an outci
waist of transparent material, high necked
and long sleeved, over a decollete undei
waist. ;
Alys cloth is a new black dress material, j
;md is the most desirable of all black fab- j
rics. It has a silk warp and its softness 1
uid even texture render it suitable for the
finest wear. IJ
Bends of every color, pale pink, amber, j ?
blue and white, as well as jets, garnets, ! f
steel, silver and gold-lined beads that do E
aot tarnish, are made into passementeries f
for trimming. 1 ]
Leather buttons are the novelty in this ?
important detail of the costume. These
ire an alligator skin or the smooth Russia t
cathcr and in large and small 6izes, and s
ire suitable for walking suits and t
jackets. j t
Gray and pale shades of tan are the (
popular colors for undressed kid gloves, t
lud they mu.-?t liave tlxree rows of heavy ,
Pitching on the back, and fastened with I
four rather large silvered or gilt metal
auttons. ! c
One of the most elegant of the white ' *
ivool dress materials is albatross with 1
oft** m/vtvAu onrl r%nllru rlnta in I
ivhitc scattered over the surface. It may j
je used in combination with plain al- j '
jatross or with 9ilk. s
(
Very long and full overshirts, slashed ^
)n o:ae side and only slightly draped, are j
vorn by young ladies over a foundation
skirt that may be gored!, but must not be
;oo scant, as all skirt draperies are grow- .
ng more and more voluminous.
Bracelets are worn more than ever, and c
ire out in a great variety of designs. s
Sew ones show a limogc enamel picture t
surrounded by pearls. A pretty c meeit ]
n the way of a bracelet was a flexible ,)
>nc of rubies, divided by glittering lines }
>f diamonds. ' \
Fashionable ladies will still wear their *
lair high this spring and summer. For ,
>rdinary wear the back hair is twisted I
>n the ton of the head with two loops |
Arming a bow knot. For evening the i
lair is dressed high,"the back liair waved
lightly and pulled in graceful looj>s on
ie head.
Very few dress-makers remain faithful
o the balayeuse. '1'lie iaee or cmbroid red
edging was often getting unsown,
iml it was not an impossible thing to j
rip and fall over a straggling end. _ In I
ts place two narrow flounces of silk, of j
he same color as the dress, are some- (
imes used, but more often nothing at (
til.
Portland, Me., shipped lact year to
Snglaud 87,000 barrels of apples, and
sxpect to scud over 100,000 barrels this
fear.
j BUDGET OF FUN.
i
HUMOROUS SKETCHES FROM
VARIOUS SOURCES.
A "Waste of Time?Sour Grapes?A
New Experience ? It Was a
Real One?He Could Sins?A
Scene From City Life.
Mother?"What did young Mr. Tompkius
say to you, Clara, last night, while
he was trvinsrto button vour e-love?"
FACTS FOB THE CURIOUS. j
The Chinese alphabet contains 30,000 i
sharacters. '
The word miscreant, two centuries
>i:ace, meant merely a misbeliever in the
Catholic Church.
Quito is the only city in the world on
he line of the equator. The sun rises
md sets at six o'clock there the year
ound.
Twenty-five men and eleven womeu
ire having suits made preparatory to go- j
ng through the Niagara whirlpool this <
ummer.
Posts are said to have originated with j
lie regular couriers established by Cyrus, |
vho ercctcd post-houses throughout the j
Kingdom of Persia about 550 B. C. i
Vugustinc introduced them among the I
Romans 31 B. C.
The New York Journal of Commerce
ays that the elevated railroads of that
:ity fail to meet the requirements of
ravel,and that the time is not far distant
vhen some other means of transportation
nust be adopted.
A Dr. Monro, who is quoted by Dr.
Louis Jobert in his recent work on leftlandedness,
says that after making exensive
studies of the physiological characteristics
of criminals he lias found
imomr them twenty-two percent, of leftlanded
persons.
At present there are forty days in Lent.
Since the establishment of the fast by the
2'hurch it has been at various times forty, i
ifty, sixty and seventy days. In the
lixth century thirty-six days completed
lciOl. JLU H1C Ul^LlkU UUULU1J x U
Gregory II. added four days, making; it
igain forty.
The ancient Britons did not get much i
:o cat until supper time, and the princi)al
food was a thin cakc of'brcad with
chopped meat and broth. The houses were
lot furnished with tablecloths and naptins,
and the dishes were placed upon
he table all at once, upon rushes and
resh grass in large platters or trenchers.
irVhile the guests were eating the host and
lostess stood up, and took no food till all
he compauy were satisfied.
A word about the materials used in
jcrfumery. The animal Series comprises
nuslc, civet and ambergris. Musk is a
ecretion of a deer, civet is the secretion
>f a cat, ambergris is the deceased porion
of a whale. Musk varies in price
rom $6 to $12.50, civet from $5to $7.50,
itnbergris from $2.40 to $12.50 an ounce,
rhe floral series includes the jasmine,
ose, orange, tuberose, cassia, violet,
-? ' Tlifl cnrioQ
UIKJUIl tlUU. litlll/iadUO. AUW AAV.4 urn 0VIIVV
nclude3 all aromatic plant3, such as
avender, spike, peppermint, rosemary,
hymc, marjoram, geranium, patchouly
ind wintergreen.
Why Arctic Animals are White.
Wherever all the world around is renarkably
uniform in color and appearmce,
all the animal3, birds, and insects
ilike necessarily disguise themselves in
ts prevailing tint to escape observation,
[t does not matter in the least whether
hey are predatory or defenceless, the
mnters orthehuutcd; if they are to es:ape
destruction or starvation, as the
:asc may be, they must assume the hue
)f all the rest of nature about them. In
he arctic snows, for example,all animals,
vithout exception, must needs be snowvhite.
The polar bear, if he were orown
Kl.mlr wnnl^ immndiatelr he observed
tmong the unvaried ice-fields by his expected
prcy.and could never get a chance
)f approaching liis quarry unperceived at
;lose quarters. Oil the other hand, the
irctic hare must equally be dresser* in a
mow-whitc coat, or the arctic fox would
;oo readily discover him and pounce
lown upon him off-hand; while, conversely,
the fox himself, if red or brown,
could never crcep upon the unwary hare
without previous detection, which would
lefeat his purpose. For this reason, the
starmigan and the willow grouse become
is white in winter as the vast snow fields
inder which they burrow ; the ermine
hanges his dusky summer coat for the
xpensive wintry suit beloved of British
rhemis; the snow-bunting acquires his
nilk-white plumage; and even the weasel
issimilates himself more or less in hue to
he unvarying garb of arctic nature. To be
>ut of the fashion is there quite literally
o be out of the world; no half measures
frill suit the steru decree of polar bigotry;
itrict compliance with the law of winter
:hange is absolutely necessary to success
n the struggle for existence.
Now, how has this curious uniformity
)f dress in arctic animals been brought
ibout? "Why, by that unyielding principle
of Nature which condemns the less
tdapted for ever to extinction, and exalts
;he better adapted to the hi<ih places of
ict hierarchy in their stead. The
ptarmigan and the snow-buntings that
ook most like the snow have for ages
Deen least likely to attract the unfavorible
attention of arctic fox or prowling
:riuine; the fox or ermine that came moat
illently and most unperceived across the
shifting drifts has been most likely to
itofil unawares upon the heedless
locks of ptarmigan and snow-bunting.
]n the one case protective coloring prelervcs
the animal from himself being devoured,
in the other case it enables him
;he more easily to devour others. And
iince "eat or be eaten" is the shrill
sentence of nature upon all animal life,
he final result is the unbroken whiteness
>f the arctic fauna in all its developments
>f fur and feather.?CornhiU.
A Remarkable Dog Storr.
John Templeton is a blacksmith whc
>wns a fine specimen of the English ma#
iff. Recently Mr. Templeton was workng
at his forge, putting a new steel in a
)ick. The new steel was slightly burned
n the heating, and, instead of welding,
lew in half a dozen pieces. One pieco
truck the blacksmith jnst above the right
ive with such force as to fasten itself in
irmly. The blacksmith staggered and
ell backward. How long he was unconcious
he does not know, but when he
evived the dog lay almost in the middle
>f the shop crying almost like a human
jeing, and rubbing his jaws in the dust
>f the lloor. The piece of steel that had
truck Mr. Templeton lay a short disance
from the dog. The faithful brute
lad seized the hot steel with his teeth
nd drawn it from the frontal bone of
ilr. Tcmpleton's head. The dog's mouth
vas found to be badly burned.?Albany
Tournal.
The Song" of the Grocer.
"0 teas me not.*' the maiden cried,
"Such things I do despice,
I wish you really would be ware,
And from your knees would rice."
"I cannot help this coflFe> said,
For you have chilled me through,
Though you to mo have given the sack,
No fairer Hour e'er grew."
"This soap has slipped away from me,
That I can call you mine;
But if the barrel be removed,
Please drop to me a line.
"I'd scale the highest grade for you,
Or grind my way so fine:
"Whatever else gets mixed, you'll see
My heart will round you twine.
"I shall not strive you to appease,
Though this is butter blow,
I still must think what might have been J
Had you not said me no."
?Otnaha Be*.
Clara (sadly)?"He said that the man
who would make a glove that wouldn't
button easier than that, ought to be
hanged."
Mother?"Well, I wouldn't waste any
more time there!"?Puck.
Sour Grapes.
A field hand one day found iu his trap
a nice plump rabbit. He took him out
alive, held him under his arm, patted
him, and began to speculate on his qualities.
"Oh, how fat! berry fat! the fattest I
eber did see! Let me see how I'll cook
him; I broil him! Ifo, he so fat he lose
all de grease. I fry him. Ah, yes! ho
so berry fat he fry himself. How fat he
be! No, I won't fry him, I stew him!"
The thought of the savory stew made
the negro forget himself; and, in spreading
out the feast in his imagination, his
arms relaxed, when suddenly off hopped
the rabbit, and, squatting at a goodly
distance away, he eyed his late owner
with cool composure.
The negro knew, of course, that there
was an end of the stew; and, therefore,
summoning up all his philosophy, he thus
addressed the rabbit, as he shook his fist
at him: "You long-eared, white-whiskered
rascal, you not so berry fat, after
all!"? Youth's Companion.
A New Experience.
Fogg?"The most wonderful thing I
ever experienced!"
Brown?"What's that's so wonderful?"
Fogg?"I asked a railroad officer a
question about his road, and he answered
me promptly and frankly."
Brown?"That is rather queer. What
did you ask him ?"
Fogg?"I asked him if there was going
to be another train put on next week."
Brown?"And be said?"
Fogg?"Said he didn't know."?Boston
Transcript.
It Was a Real One.
I have attended the Mardi Gras festivities
for the last thirty years, said a New
Orleans man to a St. Louis Globe reporter,
but I never remember to have been so
amused as a dozen years ago, when I
went to the ball in company with a General
of the Quartermaster's Department.
The General was a man of fine figure and
imposing bearing, and would have been
very handsome except for the fact that
his countenance was decorated by a nose
enormous in size, bulbous in shape, and
a deep purple in hue. While at the ball
the gallant officer fell in with a masked
lady of most graceful figure and carriage,
with whom he danced a number of
time3, and finally requested, as a most
particular favor, to unmask. After a
great deal of hesitation, the lady consented,
exhibiting to the General's delighted
gaze features as pleasing as her figure.
After a few compliments had been paid
her, theiady said: "But, sir, you should
also unmask." "Madam," said the General,
"I am unmasked." His companion
gazed at him with incredulity, but finally
it began to dawn upon her that the rubicund
and trunk-like proboscis attached
to her escort's face was a work of nature
and not of art. With a shudder and a
K + + 1/? c'Uii/il* cVin nnr-iv lnovinrr fVio
General nearly mad with rage and indignation.
He at once made his way to his
hotel, and never again was seen in New
Orleans.
Ho Could Sing.
-ffe
Several years ago on one of our northern
bays, when, as yet, steamers were infrequent
visitors, a certain small boat
used to ply, touching at various points,
according as its freight or the weather
demauded.
The crcw was somewhat limited, consisting
of the captain, the first mate,
whose name was Barnabas, aud the cook,
John, who, when stress of work required,
also acted as second mate.
John was an excellent cook and a fairly
good sailor, but he was afflicted with
an impediment in his speech which made
him somowhat backward in expressing
himself, and was especially annoying, if,
for any reason, he became excited. At
such times the more he wanted to say
something the less he was aDie to say it.
Fortunately, however, he could sing as
straight as any one.
One day the Captain was below taking
a nap, while Barnabas and John were running
the boat. A sudden squall happened
to come up, and a puff of wind
brought the boom around with such "unexpected
violence as to knock the unwary
Barnabas overboard. Thereupon John
rushed into the cabin in the wildest excitement
to inform the Captain of what
had occurred, but, as usual, he was unable
to get out a coherent sentence.
"B?b?b?b?" he stuttered, until the
Captain, in a rage, shouted:
' Thunderation! man, sing it, if you
can't say it," and John, catching at the
happy suggestion, sang:
"Overboard is Barnabas,
Half a mile astern of us."
The boat was immediately put about
and the luckless Barnabas recovered.?
Detroit Free Press.
Seci?c from City Life.
Scene.?Ultra-fashionable restaurant. Numerous
waiters standing around in postures
indicative of intense ennui. Enter
a youth and maiden. Thev are seated by
a waiter with the general " appearance of i
an exiled Count.
He (in a sprightly mam or)?"So you !
really won't have anything but oysters?"' i
She (languidly)?"No, Cholley, I'm not j
hungry."
lie?"At least you will have a bottle of I
Bass, as us ail?"
She?"Cholley, I suppose you think
me perfectly horrid "
He (with a melting glance)?"That |
would be impossible." (Waiter sighs j
heavily.)
She?"But I'd really like some chain-1
pagne?Pommery Sec." (Waiter gazes at j
licr with mild approval.)
lie (striving to conceal his dismay an i
he remembers tliat he hus only $1.15 in j
his pocket)?"Why,certainly. Waiter!''
Waiter?"Yessir."
He?"Blue points on the half-shell,
and a bottle of Pommerv."
Waiter?"Pint or quart, sir?"
He (in desperation) ? '"Quart, of
course."
Waiter?"Write your order, if you
please, sir." (Inspiration seizes the
wretched youth. He writes the order,
and adds these lines: "Have left my
pocket-book at home. Will call and settle
to-morrow morning. Montgomery
Fkksu." Exit waiter with order.)
She?"You look pale, Cholley. Aren't
you well?"
'
He (seeing the proprietor of the restau*
rant standing at the other end of the hall,
the order in his hand, evidently "sizing
him up")?"Oh, perfectly."
She?"This is u lovely place,* isn't it,
Cholley?"
He?"Just delightful." (Enterwaiter,
a faint smile upon his classic features.)
Waiter?"Very sorry, sir, but Mr. De
Cater says he couldn't think of it, sir.
Our terms are cash, sir, where parties are
not known." (Youth swoons.)?Tid'
Sits.
Chickens Artificially Raised.
"For my part I don't see why Dr. Edson
seizes all the bob veal and lea*c-s all
the spring chickens," said a veal dealer
who had just lost a morning's profit
through the visit of n lynx-eyed inspector.
"Why do you class the two together?"
inquired the reporter.
"Because one is just as immature as the
other, and if young veal is unfit for food
so are voun? chickens. Take for iustance
the eggs hatched by incubators. Any
poultry expert will tell you that the flesh
of the artificially hatched chicken is aa
iusipid as a snowball, and yet people are
willing to pay $3 a pair for thoni. The
incubator folly is, however, less prevalent
than it was a few years ago, and
fewer people are ruined. It is fair to say
that each year, for the past ten years,
$1^000,000 have been lost by persons who
believed that there was a fortune in hatching
eggs with the aid of kerosene oil.
"Ten years ago a gentleman of this
city bought a farm up the Hudson and'
spared no expense in attempting to make
it a success of artificial chickcn raising.
He sunk $50,000 in the enterprise and
gave it upasafailurc. Lastyear a prominent
type foundry man of this city bccame
infatuated with the incubator craze, sold
his snug home in Harlem, bought a place
out near Paterson, N. J., and with his
family started to hatch chickens with the
aid of an incubator. The incubator cost
$200. He spent $25 in kerosene oil, $22
in eggs, and hatchcd out two dozen chickens.
Seventeen of them died with the
pip. His family became disgusted and
left him on the farm with the incubator,
the pig and a cow. He couldn't milk thi
cow nor cook a meal, and when he wrote
to the incubator people asking them to . !
take the machine back they offered him
$15 for it. An old hen, aided by nature
and warm weather, will knock out the incubator
in short order, and besides the
chickens will live and have some flavor tc
them."?New York Sun. '
?
Feeding Captire Monkeys.
The monkeys in a New York store for
the sale of wild animals are served with
four courses of food twice a day. The.
first course, says the Sun, consists of a
small frying pan full of diluted milk.
One monkey, with blue side whiskers,
buried his nose in the milk, and then
carefully wiped his muzzle on a board.
A rich-brown South American puma, in
a cage above that of the monkeys, had
been served a small fryiug pan full ol
cooked beef. The handle of the frying
pan projected from between the bars of
the cage. The monkey saw an opportunity
to secure an unaccustomed morsel,
and he climbed up the iron hare between
him and liberty and grabbed tuc handle.
The puma growled a snarling protest, and
put his big paw on the frying pan. The
monkey was not dismayed, however, but
kept on rolling the pan until the meat
had been shifted down near the handle
of the frying pan. Then he dropped the
I U n n el 1 /? oaif in/r O r\10/?0 Af iKfi a
UttUVAACy 0UU} U |/*VVV VA VUV WV.*J r -?
began to devour it.
When the big, solemn, 125-pound
baboon had his share of milk and water,
and the thirst of thirty other monkeys
had been assuaged, the second course,
consisting of stale bread, was passed
around. The monkeys did not take so
kindly to the bread, and ate it only after
biting off the crust. But the onions,
served raw, were heartily relished. So
fond, indeed, was the blue-whiskered
citizen from an African jungle of this Jersey
tid-bit that he ate his own share and
then pulled his mate out of a corner by
the ear, soundly cuffed her cars, and appropriated
her portion of the fragrant
vegetable.
The fourth and last course consisted of
dried corn, which was rained in upon
the monkeys like hail stones. The animals
showed their taste in disposing of .
the corn. They seemed suffused with a
sense of repletion, and thoy cracked the
torn kernels of corn with the leisure of
gentlemen picking their after-dinner nuts.
Emperor Niiuam s siyie or iiire.
While at home in the palace at Berlin
Emperor William breakfasts at 7:30
o'clock every "morning, invariably using
coffee, with a large allowance of milk,
and bread without butter. Weather permitting,
he takes walking cxcrcise daily
before luncheon, v liich is served at 1
o'clock. Boiled craos is a favorite dish *'
at this meal, and is partaken of with
great relish. Between luncheon and dinner,
affairs of state are attended to for
three hours and sometimes longer. Then
he rests until it is time to dress for dinner.
The fixed hour for this is 4. Every
morning the chief cook submits the bill of
fare for approval. It usually consists
of five courses. The Emperor has a decided
preference for plain food. He is
liberal in the use of fruit, and drinks
mineral water procured from a natural
spring.
A cup of tea, without bread or cake, is
the only refreshment he takes between
dinner and bedtime. He makes a point
of resting half an hour after breakfast
and luncheon, and an hour after dinner.
When there arc guests invited to dinner
they meet him in an ante-chamber. A
quarter of an hour is spent in cEatting.
He then leads the way to the dining
room. The invitations arc always sent
out at an early hour, and the seats discussed
with the Court Marshal. When
there are no guests the Kmperor dines
with the Empress, and the cook takes
orders from her.
In summer, while at Gastein or some
otlier watering place, the Emperor goes
to the bathroom at 7:30 o'clock in the
morning. He breakfasts at 8 and walks
at 10, accompanicd by a personal adjutant
and special attendant. Luncheon is
served at 11. Between 12 and 3 he confers
with the officers of the civil and
military cabinets who are in waiting.
Dinner is served at 4. It consists of soup,
fish, boilecl beef, two entrees. dessert and
fruit. All the members of the imperial
suite attend. At G o'clock he takes a
carriage ride,makes a social call and chats
for an hour longer. He is never out of
bed later than 10 o'clock.?llcrald of
ll&ilth.
Derivation of Niagara.
The word Niagara was probably derived
from the Mohawks, through whom
the French had their first intercourse
with the Iroquois. Some controversy had
existed concerning its signification. The
Mohawks affirm it to mean neck, in allusion
to its connecting the two lakes. It
is probably the same both in the Neutral
and Mohawk languages, as they were
kindred dialects of one generic tongue,?
Magazine of American History.