The Abbeville press and banner. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, July 17, 1889, Image 2
GRIEFS.
The rains of winter scourged the weald,
For days they darkened on the field;
Now, where the wings of winter beat,
The popples ripple in the wheat.
And pifcilesagriefs came thick and fast?
Life's bongh ytos naked in the blast?
Till silently amid the gloom
They blew the wintry heart to bloom.
?Charles E. Markham, in Scribner.
JOHN.
"Do you need a man to work about
your place, sir?"
Judge Parker looked up from his law
books and papers to the questioner, a
stalwart man, about thirty years of age,
poor, but genteel, in appearance, and respectful
in manner and speech.
"Take a chair," said the Judge, politely,
motioning to one near him.
"No, thank you, sir; I prefer to stand,
if you please. The door was open and I
made bold to walk in. I knocked several
times on the door frame, but you didn't
hear me. I came just to ask if you need
a man to do any sort of work about your
place? If you do not, I'll not take up
any more of your time, as I see you're
busy. But I hope you do, sir; I need
work, badly."
"You are a stranger in Jr'ixley, are you
not?'' asked the Judge, leaning back in
his chair.
"Partly so. I lived here years ago."
""Sour name?"
"John."
"Your surname?"
"I would like you to call me just John,
sir, if you please?"
"Don't you know, my man, that withhold^
your name is not a good recommendation,
and very likely to make an
unfavorable impression?"
"I know it, sir, but if you'll only try
me, I think you'll find that my faithful
jiess and desire to do everything right
will make up for the rest of my name."
Something about the man's bearing
and appearance strongly impressed Judge
Parker, inspiring a desire to know more
of him, and he said:
"Well, I'll tell you candidly that I
like' your appearancc and manner, but
when a man refuses to give his name,
there's always something wrong."
"There is something wrong, sir?I'll
be honest with you?there is something
wrong with the name, but not with me?
not now. I could easily give you a false
name. Ain't the fact that I don't give
one some sign of honesty, and won't you
please look at that as a recommendation,
sir?"
"It IS an indication, ceruumj, responcfed
the Judge. "Now it just happens
that I do need a mnn about my
country place here: need one badly.
Summer is upon us, bringing a great deal
of work to be done about the grouuds. I
have a man for the stable and horses, so
the new hand would have to do the
xougp work, mowing the lawn, raking,
weeding, sawing wood, keeping the
grounds in good order, running errands,
and so on. Would vou be willing to do
that?"
"Certainly, sir," John hopefully responded.
"I'll be only too glad if you'll
try me."
"But you are an able bodied young
fellow who could make at some trade
much more than I could give you for the
work mentioned, and if I mistake not
your appearance, you have had higher
aims than this sort of work."
"That is a!l true, sir; I could make
more at other work, and I have had higher
aims, but you've seen how misfortune
steps in sometimes on our aims. But I'd
be glad to do such work as you said for
the summer, if you'll only give me a
trial."
"What are your terms?"
"That is not important, sir "
"jNOC important! wiiy, my man, int.
becoming plain to mc that you have some
object otber than this work; some plan
which such a position is to subserve.
Haven't you?"
"Not exactly plan, but I liavo a reason
for coming to you that I'd rather not
tell, if you please. It's not a wrung purpose,
and I hope you won't refuse mc the
work on its account."
"It gives rise to unfavorable suspicions,
though. An unusual number of
things are against you. You refuse to give
your name, you seek work plainly beneath
your abilities, wages arc unimportant,
and lastly, the work is not your chief
objcct. You must certainly be aware
that these would be good grounds for
turning you away."
"I am aware of that, sir, and was
afraid that when I came to you that I
would appear in a bad light, but I coneluded
to be honest about it anyhow.
Try me, though, sir; you'll not regret it.
I want the place sorely; more than I dare
tell. I'm in distress. I have nothing
else to say. My appearance is my only
recommendation. If that won't do, I
must go."
He looked pleadingly at the Judge,
who, rising, came from behind the desk,
and standing close to the applicant, said:
"Well, John, let mc tell you that your
candor and evident truthfulness have impressed
me very strongly in your favor,
despite the appearance against you. I'll
try you for a month, but you must not
complain if you arc denied certain freedom
arid privileges that would be accorded
to a man who has proven himself
trustworthy, or if your actions are more
closely watched."
"I've seen those consequences, sir, and
it's all right. They are to be expected
* under the circumstances, and I won't
complain. Do as you please with me till
you feel I can be trusted. Show me the
work at once, sir, if you can. I couldn't
find word to thank you, sir, even if you
had time to hear them. My work must
show you how grateful I am."
Donning a broad-brimmed straw hat,
Judge Parker conducted the new man
out over his spacious estate, indicating
what work would be expected of him,
and set him to do some weeding at a
spot in sight of his study windows.
He then returned to his papers and
books, but as the afternoon wore on, he
cast frequent glances through the window
at John. It was plain that he had
become deeply interested in the man whose
history had been so candidly and honestly
withheld. He could not fathom the
mystery with which the applicant chose
to envelop himself, but he trusted that
his purposes were honorable, though he
was somewhat suspicious.
Judge Parker was a large-hearted man,
widely known and beloved for his geniality,
benevolence and uniform justice.
The humblest citizen, if worthy, might
apply to him for help, certain of a patient
and responsive hearing. Knowing that
his liberality had drawn to him many unworthy
suppliants, he now suspected that
John had some design upon his philan
thropy, and accordingly believed he
needed watching.
But each glance through the window
showed John working industriously,
with an earnest rigor and care that cut
the sharp edges from this suspicion.
And so he worked throughout the trial
month. Faithfulness and a pains-taking
interest were stamped upon each detail
of his work, and many persons commented
to the Judge upon the improved appearance
of the place.
John was an unusually quiet and unobtrusive
man. He seldom volunteered remarks
save to ask instructions concerning
his work; he never presented himself unbidden.
Judge Parker's several efforts
to elicit some account of his life failed;
he was respectfully candid in answering
that he did not wish to tell anything
about himself, saying that he entirely
rested his hope of continued employment
upon his work.
When the month ended he was re-engaged,
and still he mantained the same
scrupulous care in every piece of work,
however trivial. He was not a "new
broom." He never left the place, unless
sent upon errands, and, retiring early to
his room, spent his evenings in quiet
pursuits.
The Judge's interest in him grew into
genuine fondness. He liked to talk to
him, and found him well posted and
? 1 At J
snrewa in me ways 01 me nunu, auu
ever ready to converse on all subjects except
his past life?that was a sealed
book.
The summer wore uneventfully away
until one morning, late in August, a visitor
entered the Judge's study. It was
Joshua Skiles, a member of one of the
bars in the judicial district over which
Judge Parker presided. His face indicated
an important mission.
"Judge," he said, after a few remarks
on general subjects: "you have a new
man at work on your place."
"Yes, indeed I have. I don't wonder
you've noticed it. Many others have
spoken to me of the improvement. But
he's no eye-server; he's thorough-going
to the smallest detail."
Skiles grinned expectantly at this enthusiasm,
as he asked:
"Y^hat is his name?"
"He calls himself John."
"No surname, eh!"
"No?well, the truth is, he declined
to give it, and he's been so faithful that
I have respected his reasons for concealing
it, whatever they are."
"Is it possible you don't remember
him. Judge?"
"No, I don't; yet several times I've
thought there wjis something familiar
about him, either in motions or looks, I
can't tell which."
"Well, I've just got back from a trip
to Europe, been most all over the old
country, and the moment I set eyes on
vour new man I knew the fellow, if he
has disguised himself with whiskers.
I'm not often deceived in people, I tell
you."
"I dare say not, but I am if I've ever
seen him before."
"Well, then, Judge," said Skiles, with
manifest pleasure, "you sentenced him
ten years ago to the penitentiary."
Judge Parker looked closely at Skiles
before replying or showing any feeling of
the statement. The man was not a favorite
at the bar. He bore a reputation
for pettiness, his cases usually being
trivial, most of them plainly trumped up
himself upon trilling disputes between
parties, and he was given to volunteering
services as bids for favor.
So the Judge looked at him, secretly
displeased at the disclosure. He didn't
want to hear evil of John; he liked him,
and was disposed to believe this one of
Skiles's designs upon his favor.
"His name, Mr. Skiles?"
"Jchn Dorker," replied Skiles, efEusively.
"You sentenced him ten years
ago last March for burglary, which was
proved beyond the slightest shadow of
doubt. There wasn't a scintilla of evidence
in his favor. Why the jury were
out only about ten minutes. I was
present during the trial, and I can truthfully
say it was the plainest case of guilt
in my legal experience. You sent him up
frw fitrn vt?nrc "
iV/i J
"Arc you certain of this, Mr. Skiles?"
the Judge asked, coldly. "It's a very
serious matter to brand a man as a convict.
He is doing well here. May you
not be mistaken?"
"No, indeed, I never forget a face."
1 'It seems that I do, then. What is
your purpose?"
"Simply to warn you, sir."
"What good will it do you if I discharge
him?"
These questions cut close, and Skiles
winced a little as he replied:
"None at all, sir. I didn't expect it to
?except that inward consciousness of
doing a service. I thought j'ou would
certaiuly not wish to have a man sleeping
in your house whom you sentenced yourself,
and who served his term in prison."
"Well, now, Mr. Skiles, to be frank
with you, I don't believe in always putting
the foot of virtuous scorn on a man's
neck because he was once a criminal.
There's no reason why such a man
shouldn't or couldn't reform, and lead an
honest life. I've sentenced many men to
prison, but have never had a good
chance to do one a kindness. I honestly
believe that many a criminal would rise
to rectitude if helped, and John is one
of them."
"We generally try to get rid of a
stumbling horse,Judge," said Skiles,with
a weak laugh. "If jt>u doubt my story
rail the man in and face him with it."
This was exactly what Judge Parker
did not wish to do. He believed the
story, but did not want to give Skiles
the expected satisfaction of seeing John's
disgrace laid bare. A sincere sorrow for
hiin arose, and he said:
"No, Mr. Skiles, I'll not confront him
with it now."
The pettifogger thereupon bowed himself
out, somewhat crestfallen, as he had
confidently expected to win the Judge's
influence in an appointment he aspired
to, and to have seen the criminal ignominiously
dismissed.
Looking after him Judge Parker mused
?"I do wonder why some people love so
much more to iind evil than good in a
person. A noble character is to them as
a whitewashed fence against which they
delight to throw mud. I hate to tell
John of this, but I suppose it must be
done."
John promptly obeyed the summons,
entering respectfully and inquiringly. A
shade of distrust upon the Judge's face
made him uneasy, but he calmly and with
manly dignity awaited the communication.
"Sit down, John," the Judge began
kindly; "it may be a long interview."
He complied, and began nervously revolving
his straw hat by shifting his fin;
gers along the edge of the brim, but he
looked firmly at his employer.
J
"John?your surname, is it Dorkerf"
A slight pallor swept over the honest
face, as he replied:
"It is, sir. You have remembered me
at last."
"You expected me to?"
"I did, yes, sir."
"No, I didn't recognize you, John,"
said the Judge, with a note of disappointment
in his voice, "but a lawyer at the
bar told me who you were."
"Always some one to give a fellow a
kick, no matter how hard he's trying to
get up."
"Yes, it seems so. Now, John, he
says I sentenced you ten years ago to the
penitentiary. Is it true?"
"It is, sir," was the humble reply.
"And you served your full term of five
years?"
"Lacking the time of commutation I
did."
"What have you done since your release?"
"Nothing but try, sir; shifting about
from place to place. I've tried hard,
desperate hard to lead a true, honest life,
but it's up-hill work. There's a weight
on a man like me, sir. The opening
penitentiary door is at the very foot of
a hill, and when a poor fellow comes out
and tries to walk up, there's always some
one glad to push him back again."
"Were you guilty of the burglary?"
"I was, sir. It was my first crime.
The easy gain looking tempting, and I
fell. I needed money; but there is no excuse,
I deserved the punishment. Those
awful years, sir, gave me time to reflection,
and I determined that when I got
out, with God's help to pick myself up.
It's been hard; cruelly, fearfully hard,but
I haven't fallen again. I'm an honest
man in my heart, sir, if the world won't
acknowledge it."
"But why didn't you tell me this when
you came? It would have been better."
"I suppose it would, sir. But I was
too weak. I needed work so badly, and
if you had turned me away then, why
11
"What, John?"
"Never mind, if you .please, sir; you
didn't turn me off."
"Very well, John, I'll not ask you.
But you said you had a special purpose
in coming to me. Can you tell me that?"
John Dorker arose, laid his hat upon
the chair, and facing the Judge said impressively
:
"Do you remember, sir, what you said
when you sentenced me?"
"No, I do not."
"Well, sir, your words burnt themselves
into my heart as if they'd been
sparks. I used to fancy I saw them written
in fiery letters at night upon the black
wall of my cell. You spoke feelingly,
sir, like you pitied me, and that's what
made them take such a hold on me.
They were: 'Young man, you have set
your foot on a dangerous path. The way
of crime never leads upward, always
down, down to the unknown depths.
The pure sunlight of heaven never smile3
upon it. It is crowded with wrecks of
noble lives. When you tread it, you
leave mother, true friends, light, peace,
heaven and God behind you. You are
going to prison. In the quiet years you
shall spend there, look over this life of
yours, and think if you can afford to
spend the smallest possible portion of it
on this path. Come out a pure man.
You will still be young, with much of
your life before you; many years to bo
useful and good in, and to retrieve this
false step. Let me say from my heart,
young man, don't blight your life.'"
He dashed the tears from his eyes,
and proceeded:
"My mother sat weeping behind me,
sir, as I stood at the rail. I was her
only support. God alone knew how she
was to live during those years. Your
words were knife-thrusts, sir. I did
have to leave her, friends, peace, heaven
and the God she had so earnestly taught
me to pray to. And I did reflect, sir, in
those quiet years, and I came out a pure
man. God knows, how I've tried not to
let that false step blight my life. But
wherever I went, some one spread the
truth: 'Employing that man, that John
Dorker; why, he's a convict.'
"I became desperate; a temptation
stared me in the face. I felt myself
weakening. Starvation, gloom, despair,
a broken-hearted mother were about me,
and I wavered, sir, when a thought
came: 'Surely, surely, the Judge who
spoke those words would help me; ho
wouldn't turn me away.' And I came.
It was my last chance. Too much depended
upon my getting work, sir, to
risk telling you my story. But now I'm
found out, and I'm ready for your decision.
Can you trust a convicted
burglar in your house? "Will you give
me a trial? If not, I'll go away and try
it again, sir, but I don't know?"
Judge Parker sprang up and warmly
grasped the trembling hand.
"Trust you, John? Give you a trial?
You have been tried, and I again sentence
you, John Dorker. to five years in my
service, in my most earnest help, in my
best effort to place you on the road to
prosperity. G od bless you!"
And when the sentence was served,
John Dorker was an honest and useful
citizen.?Yankee Blade.
A Millionaire's House-Boat.
Alexander Graham Bell, the millionaire
inventor of the telephone, is going to enjoy
his summer in a novel fashion. A
Baltimore boat-builder has built for him
the most singular looking craft that has
ever been put afloat, patterned somewhat
-?r -vt - _ i_ v _*.?: _ ~??t.
alter iur. rtoaua msturiu uiuiu jjju .
Bell calls it a house-boat. I am told it
is an immense catamaran, housed over
with a charming cottage that contains
double parlors, dining room, billiard
room and spacious sleeping apartments,
besides kitcken, bath rooms and servants'
quarters. The house is elaborately furnished
and fitted up with every comfort
and convenience that can be found in a
modern residence. It is propelled by two
powerful screws, and in smooth water it
is estimated that the boat will attain a
speed of fifteen miles an- hour. It was
put together in Nova Scotia.?JSTew York
Graphic.
A- Oncer Relic.
Once upon a time a car containing gold
and silver coin was burned on its way
from the mint to Washington, and in the
ruins the searchers found two silver dollars
held firmly together by a ten-cent
piece. The coins were badly discolored
and twisted, but nearly in the centre of
one of the silver dollars was imbedded a
shining $5 gold piece as bright and perfect
as when it came from the mint. The
explanation given by the Norwalk,
(Conn.) Hour is, that just at the right
time the gold coin dropped upon the
silver, the latter still in a half melted
state. The queer relic is the property of
ex-United States Treasurer James W.
Hyatt.?Boston Herald.
A NOVEL INDUSTRY.
?RED CLARK'S SKUNK FARM IN
WESTERN NEW YORK
fie Raises the Animals for Their
Skins, Which He Sells at a *
Good. Profit?His Mysterious
Power Over the Skunks.
The skunk farm of Fred Clark is about
lour miles from here on the other side of
he Genesee River, says the Mt. Morris
[N". Y.) correspondent of the New York
Sun. It is stocked with 150 skunks,
tfext month, the breeding month of
tkunks, Mr. Clark expects that this number
will be increased to 1000 or more.
Mr. Clark began raising skunks for the
burpose of selling their skins one year
igo last fall. He selected a barren acre
>f land on a steep hillside as a sit3 for
iis farm. He surrounded this plot with
i close board fence three feet high and
<et deep in a stone foundation, which
kunks can neither undermine nor dig
through. He dug long, narrow holes
Into the side hill, hollowed out a pit
ibout as big as a half-bushel basket at the
ind of each hole, laid boards over the
pits and approaches, and then threw on
earth enough to prevent the penetration
t>f the cold in winter.
I Thfin Mr. Clark caught his skunks.
His neighbors had laughed at him a good
3eal when he first told them of his plan
to raise skunks and sell their skins.
When he built his board fence and
honeycombed his father's side hill with
skunk nests they laughed harder, and told
all the people at the old Pine Tavern
cross roads and at the Moscow corncr
grocery about foolish ;young Clark, who
had spent so much money laying out a
Skunk farm before he got his skunks.
They didn't know that Mr. Clark was a
skunk tamer, and they thought he
couldn't catch his stock without an experience
with skunk high jinks which
would sicken him of the whole enterprise.
Mr. Clark went skunk hunting, nevertheless,
with a spade and two market
baskets. Whenever he found a woodchuck's
hole which gave indications that
it contained skunks, he dug into it. He
found eighteen skunks on the first day of
his hunt. He picked them out of their
holes by the back, neck or tail, just as
they happened to come, and they never
objected. They were as docile as kittens
in his hands. After he had filled
both baskets with skunks, Mr. Clark
came upon two big black fellows, especially
valuable for breeding purposes.
He caught them, removed his coat and
tied a knot in the end of each sleeve, and
tucked a skunk in through each armholc.
When the neighbors saw him come home
at the end of his first hunt with a basket
ful of skunks on each arm, a coatful of
skunks thrown over his shoulder, and
smelling only of the pines and hemlocks,
they stopped laughing at him and his
stock farm.
Mr. Clark's novel business has prospered.
Last May twenty black she
skunks on his farm bore and reared
140 little skunks. Mr. Clark then
killed off about thirty head of his old
stock and sold the skins to buyers for
New York fur dealers for $50. For the
coal-black skins the buyers pay $1.50
each; for a half-striped skin, $1; for a
full-striped 75 cents; for a white skunk
skin only 25 or 30 cents. Since la6t
May Mr. Clark has been killing off his
striped and white skunks. He has
scoured the woods along the Genesee
River for the finest black he skunks and
has caught some twenty or more oi
them, coal black and as large as torn
cats. He thinks he has in them a guarantee
of the blackncs3 of the SOO oi
more little skunks which he expects
next month.
The cost of raising skunks, according
to Mr. Clark's experience, is almost
nothing. Young ones he feeds on
skimmed or sour milk, blighted sweetcorn,
small pumpkins and frost-bitten
melons. The -old ones get a diet less
rhnir.e. Whenever a horse, cow, sheec
or hog in the neighborhood, dies of disease,
the carcass is carted to Mr. Clark's
skunk farm. The skunks make short
work o? the meat. In a day or twc
they strip off the hide, tear the flesh
from the ribs and begin gorging themselves
with the entrails. They stufl themselves
day and night until they can hardly
crawl back to their holes. They then
roll themselves together, often fifteen 01
sixteen of them in one of the nests hardly
eighteen inches in diameter, and sleep
for weeks. This last winter Mr. Clark's
150 skunks have eaten only a horse,
a calf and a sheep. All told, Sir.
Clark has not spent $10 in feeding his
skunks since he stocked his farm, almost
two years ago.
A Sun correspondent found Mr. Clark
sitting on the fence which encloses his
farm. Mr. Clark iS a well-knit, intelligent
looking young man of some thirty
years. He lias soft, sleepy eyes, and
moves his hands in lazy, easy fashion,
when handling skunks. He couldn't tell
why skunks treated him more considerately
than they treated other people, but
was ready to prove they did. He took
the correspondent down the hillside to the
skeleton of a horse at which thirty skunks
were tugging for dear life. They paid little
attention to his approach, save that
they chattered a little louder. M*\ Clark
grabbed a half striped skunk by the nape
of the ncck, lifted him up, patted him,
and poked him in the ribs. The skunk
curled up his back feet, wagged his tail
harmlessly, and looked happy. Then Mr.
plnrk drnnnsd him to nick ud a bis
rr __ x ^
black skunk. He treated the black skunk
just'as he had treated the half striped
one, and the black skunk took to it as
kindly as if had been a pet cat. Thee
Mt. Clark fondled, teased, and pushed
about a dozen or more other skunks. All
of them seemed to think it all great fun,
and capered about like a lot of kittens.
4 'It's a knack. I suppose I got it bj
practice," explained Mr. Clark, as he
kicked away a skunk which was trying tc
chew the top of his boot. "When 1
began catching skunks years ago I goi
Bcented every time. Sometimes I'd gel
such a dose that I would be stone blind
for three or four days. But I didn't mind
that much, as I could always get tb<
money I wanted for parties and 4th ol
July celebrations quickest by selling
skunk skins."
Mr. Clark is altogether quite proud oi
his local reputation as a skunk tamer,
He has had a photographer take a big
picture of him surrounded by sixty oi
more of his finest skunks. Copies of this
picture, exhibited in several towns oi
Mr, Clark's county, have given him con
siderable notoriety as the pioneer skunl
tamer and skunk farmer of western New
York.
Mr. Clark has the right certainly U
consider himself the founder of a ne?
/
j
tm\ ^
industry in this part of the State. The
novelty of his enterprise, its financial
success so far, and its promise of great
future profits, have induced many farmers
in this region to think seriously of raising
skunks. Almost every day Mr. Clark
gets letters from men who wish to know
the details of the business and the price
of his best skunks for breeding purposes.
Mr. Clark expects that in a few years
western New York will have twenty
skunk farms where it now has one. As
soon as farmers realize the tremendous
profits of skunk culture, he thinks, they
will tumble over each other in their
eagerness to add skunk annexea to their
stock farms. Mr. Clark does not l'ear,
however, this prospective multiplication
of rivals will diminish his local prestige.
Though skunk farmers may increase in
numbers every day in the year, Mr. Clark
is inclined to think that he will remain
the original and only skunk tamer in
western New York.
The First American Flag.
The New York Tribune says: The
Rome Sentinel, meaning Rome-in-thc-Mohawk
Valley, and not Rome-on-the-Tiber,
while in a patriotic mood, the other day
observed: "It may not be generally
known, but it is a fact, that the American
flag, the Stars and Stripes, were first
flnng to the breeze and first saw actual
service at Fort S tan wis, located in what
is now the city of Rome, and on a site
within a stone's throw of the Sentinel
office. Prompted by this interesting
reminiscence?which proves that the
Sentinel, although a secular newspaper,
came near being published on holy ground
?the Albany Times proceeds to state
what has become of the first Fort Stanwix
flag. That treasure beyond price is now
in possession of ah Albany lady, Mrs.
Abraham Lansing. It was bequeathed
to her by her grandfather, the gallant
Colonel Peter Gansevoort, who commanded
Fort Stanwix when the flag was
first hoisted. The Times recalls the fact
that Horatio Seymour at the centennial
celebration of Oriskany, in 1877, displayed
the flag in the presence of the
vast concourse of people assembled on
that occasion; and that having done so
he gave this account of it:
"It is the flag of our State which was
borne by the regiment commanded by
Colonel Gansevoort, not only here at the
beginning of the Revolutionary war, but
also when it was ended by the surrender
of the British army at Yorktown. The
brave soldier who carried it through so
many contests valued it beyond all earthly
nnssRssirms. He left it as a orecious
r~ 7 J.
heirloom to his family. They have kept
it with such faithful care that again,
after a century has rolled away, its folds
can be displayed in this valley to another
generation, who will look upon it with a
devotion equal to that felt by those who
followed it on the battle-fields of the
Revolution."
Flies as Detcctivcs.
Sometimes even a very slight knowledge
of natural history is of great practical
use. As an illustration we give the
following, related by a naturalist:
A gentleman, making a call at the house
of a friend, was astonished to find the
rooms and passages in confusion, and on
inquiring the cause was answered:
uOh, we are very much annoyed here;
a rat has come to finish his existence
under the floor of our large drawingroom.
"We do not know the exact place,
but we cannot endure the stench any
' longer, so we have removed the. furniture,
rolled up the carpets and called in
; the carpenters, who are just beginning to
take up the floor."
"Now don't be too hasty," said the
visitor. "You need not pull up more
than one board. I will show you what I
1 mean presently, and meanwhile shut down
the drawing-room windows and close the
' door."
1 He then stepped down into the garden,
walked around to the horse-stables, and
' .after a few minutes' absence came back to
^ - - ? : ?:?"U 1*^4.1* Von/la
til c arawmg-ruum witu uuou uauug
1 tightly clasped. Placing himself in the
1 center of the drawing-room, he opened
his hands and out flew two large blue1
bottle flies and buzzed around the room
' for a second or tfro. But presently one
' of them alighted on a certain plank of the
1 floor, and was almost immediately fol'
lowed by the other. "Now, then," said
the visitor, "take up that board, and I'll
' engage that the dead rat will be found
1 beneath it." The carpenters applied
their tools, raised .the board, and at once
found the cause of the unpleasant smell.
1 ?Sanitarian.
I ?MM?
The Persian Gentleman.
, In Persia boys and girls never play together.
Even at home the inferiority of
the girls is insisted on, just as much by
the mother as by the father. The little
girls have to invite playmates of their
own, but their games arc never lively
ones. They generally prefer to sit by
themselves under the shade of mulberry
or pomegranate trees ia the garden
(which usually is laid out in the courtyard
surrounded on all sides by houses or
high walls) and listen to fairy tales which
their mothers and nurses can tell very in|
terestinglv, indeed. While there is very
! little companionship or. love between
brothers and'sistcrs, there is no quarreling
. and no fighting, cither, between them;
! and the boys, while thinking themselves
, above the girls, show them many little
kindnesses.?Neio Yorlc Mail and Express.
National Floral Emblems.
Apropos of the discussion of a national
. emblem, the following table will be of
J interest:
States. Emblems.
Athens Violet
1 Canaua Sugar maple
^ _ Lotus
[ England Roses
I France Fleur do Lis
Germany Cornflower
Ireland Shamrock
Italy Lilies
r Prussia Linden
Saxony Mignonette
! Scotland Thistle
i Spain Pomegranate
Wales Leek
Parties. Emblems.
' Boaconsflcld's followers Primrose
' Bonapartists Violets
I Gbibcllines White lily
i (rnelphs Red lily
Princo of Orange Orange
c South Africa may yet rival our own
> great West in its gold product. In 1885
its export of gold was valued at $347,500;
^ two years later the value had risen to
$1,180,000. Last year it was nearly four
> times as large, amounting to $4,531,000.
r During the first four months of the present
5 year, according to a South African paper,
^ the value cf the gold exported was
$2,140,000.
r St. Louis proposes to celebrate April
SO, 1903, the 100th anniversary of the
) purchase of Louisiana, which was acf
complished by Thomas Jefieraon.
-v - i
ARLINGTON. .
A PEACEFUL SPOT WHERE REPOSE
OVER 16,000 SOLDIERS.
The Place Consecrated to the Past?
The Mansion of Robert E. Lee?
An Estate Beloved, of Nature
? Faithful Old Slaves.
mm
A delightful ride of three miles, through
historic Georgetown, past old buildings
in which George Washington dined,
under the shadow of the famous college,
over Aqueduct Bridge and the beautiful
Potomac, past Fort Meyer, where the
signal service prognosticators are trained
with military precision and discipline,
and we are at the gates of Arlington, says
a corresDondeut. It is like entering a
new world. Behind lie commerce, wealth,
ambition, politics, the present, the future.
Once in Arlington you live in the past,
and the past alone. The road winds
amc ng the oaks, elms, maples, magnolias,
many kinds of evergreens, arbor vitte and
thousands of flowering shrubs. The air
is laden with the perfume of flowers, the
sward is green and restful, the shade
cooling. But the marvelous beauties of
nature, here spread with lavish hand, are
as nothing compared to the real Arlington.
These natural attractions are but
the fair and graceful body. Arlington
possesses a soul.
Under the sward repose the remains of
16,288 soldiers. Four thousand four
hundred and forty-nine of these are unknown.
Vast as are these figures, one
can easily believe them true, for on either
side the long, regularly formed rows of
small, white headstones extend, perspectives
of green between lines of white as
far as vision can reach. The grounds are
perfectly kept. There is no grave that
has become sunken, and none is marked
by an elevation of the ground. Smooth
and even is the surface everywhere. "Walk
among these stones and in ten minutes
one may see such typical American names
as Sherman, Whittier, Spaulding, Jackson,
Lee, Buchanan, Lawrence, Sheridan,
Grant, Randolph, Allen.
One of the Jacksons bears the initials
"U. S. G." and nearby, oddly enough,
is an "Andrew Grant." Not far away is
"George Washington," and within a
stone's throw two other Washingtons?
"A." and "J." Plenty of good Irish
names may be seen, too, and German as
well, significant of the valiant part borne
in the struggle by the sons of these
/innnfrioa Silpnt. XOlt.nPSSfta of War's
havoc are all these stones, but more especially
the ones occasionally come upon
marked "a leg," or "an arm." A few
of these unidentified members were
honored with separate burial, but in one
great pit were "thrown the bones of 2111
unknown soldiers, gathered after war
from the fields of Bull Run and the route
to the Rappahannock. Over them is a
cannon surmounted monument bearing
the inscription:
"Their remains could not be identified,
but their names and deaths are recorded
in the archives of their country,
and its grateful citizens honor them as of
their noble army of martyrs. May they
rest in peace."
Frequently one notes the name of a
woman, and on inquiry is surprised to
learn that the remains of several hundred
women repose here in honor. But in
this there is nothing inappropriate, and
j on the records all go down as "soldiers,"
j for they were the wives of oflicers who
j fell in battle, or nurses in the field hospitals.
Surely these women who kept
the homes and comforted the wounded
and dying may fittingly be included with
those of whom the roadside tablet sings
On fame's eternal camping ground
Tlielr silent tonts are* spread,
And Glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.
Driving through the cemetery these
iron tablets with raised letters of white
are seen by the way. Hundreds of thousands
of visitors have seen and admired
j them?never did poet have a better set
ting for his verses?but few know the
origin of the lines. They were written
by Theodore 'O'Hara, a gifted IrishKentuckian
soldier and scholar, and read
by him on the occasion of the unveiling
of a monument to the dead of the Mexican
war at Frankfort, Ky., many years
ago. As one enters Arlington by the
west gate nearly the whole of this beautiful
poem is shown him, verse by verse,
as he drives along.
By the roadside stand many pretty
monuments of officers and heroes. But
f greater interests than any other object
within the tract of 1130 acres is Arlington
House, a massive structure with a
great portico of doric columns. Here
Robert E. Lee was wed in 1S31 to Mrs.
Curtis, granddaughter of George Washington,
and here he lived, when not away
i in his country's service, for thirty years.
The old house stands just as it stood
seventy-five years ago. Though stripped
of its antique furniture and invaluable
relics of Washington its precious memories
still cling to it?memories wliioh
all the fortunes of war and tragedies of
fate cannot take away from it. A year
or two ago its outer walls had bccome
much faded, but have recently been
paintea their old yellow color.
The servants' quarters, the detaohed
kitchen and other outbuildings are preserved
intact. In a part of the h?ees
now lives the family of the officer in
I charge of the cemetery, and the hall and
southern parlors are given up to the use
of the public. A register is kept, in
which 40,000 visitors record their names
each year, and on the walls hang maps
of the cemetery, the diagram showing
every grave and the names of all the
known dead.
A magnificent estate was this of
General Lee. Step out on the portico
and behold the panorama. In the foreground
a sharp declivity; at its brow,but
- ~-lo frn-rr, +Vio VinilSIV t.lie OTilVC
a 15)1 JiUUg "Urn v^v. ? , 0
and new monument of Sheridan. Then
a fast sloping lawn, next a forest of
magnolias, oaks, maples, all vino clad or
surrounded by flowering shrubs; a winding
driveway; the stono wall with its
beautiful gates made of columns from the
old War Oflice and the old Patent Oiiicc;
just outside the Alexandria Georgetown
turnpike on which Washington rode
many and many a time en route to or from
Mt. Vernon, and beyond this the Potomac
with its moving ships and boats.
Across the Potomac?all Washington,
the distant hills green in the background;
the great Capitol, overshadowing everything;
the monument, nearer by, rising
whiter and grander than from any other
view; the redbrick Pension Office, the
Treasury, the White House barely discernible,
the War, State and Navy
building. Spanning the Potomac is
Long Bridge, over which the armies
passed, thousands of them, to return to
this eternal camping ground.
j Near the mansion is a pavilion mod
m -jannrtiid
.1
' ' ' ?- I
elcd after the temple of Fame, and bear-f
ing on its frieze the names of Washing-)
ton, Grant, Farragut and Lincoln, andj
on its columns Garfield, Thomas, Meade,)
McPherson, Sedgwick, Reynolds, Hum-;
phreys and Mansfield. Near by is thei
Monument to the Unknown, and just be-: Hi
yond it the beautiful amptiitheatre, 160j 1
feet in diameter, with chaste Corinthian! j
rostrum and colonnade, wherein many. I
thousands sat ujfcra the green sward!
Decoration Day and joined the anniversary}
exercises. The greenhouses are fairly
bursting with flowers to be used in the!
decoration of the graves, and the colored!
man, bent and old, whom we see amblingj
along, watering pot in hand, i^Wesley.
Syfax, who once was Robert E. Lee's
slave. Thirty years ago there were 200j
slaves on the estate, and five of them still
remain, so much attached to the placei
that they could not be driven away.: M
They live in little cabins nearby, andHB
work, when they can, for the Govefnj
ment. A little way from the house to the
soutn are the graves of tteorge was rungton
Curtis and his wife. In a gloomy
spot under the hill is the resting place of
Mrs. Mary Randolph. It is the faithful
old slave, Wesley Syfax, who early each
Decoration Day morning strews these
graves with sweet jessamines and forgetme-nots.
Fierce Tonaregs of the Desert
The Tonaregs of Algeria are a peculiaj
race of people. They live principally by
brigandage and laying tribute on caravana
that cross the desert. They are sup- \
posed to be descendants of a people thai
in prehistoric times emigrated from Asia
or from Europe to the southern shores of
the Mediterranian and were gradually
crowded southward into the desert. : i
They are of swarthy aspect, tall,
vigorous, supple and quick and energetic
in movement. Their only clothing is 8
blouse and pantaloons of red or blue ;
cotton and fitted close to the figure. j j
On their breast is a sort of white scarf,!
over which is a belt of red leather supporting
the cartouch box, which is of the
same material. The head is covered;
with a turban fastened about the forehead
with a band of black; stuff, while* blade
vest conceals the lower part of the face,;
leaving little but a prominent nose and %
pair of unamiable black eyes.
r All are arxued with a long barbed lance,:
which never leaves their hands, a two-i
handed sabre and a poinard. At theirj
saddle hangs a double-barreled < gun
and a shield of antelope hide.
Thus equipped and mounted on their
camels of the species known as mehari,.
which they guide with great dexterity^
they present an imposing appearance and!
recall the knight errant of the Middle;}
Ages.
Their appearance is threatening, and
it is not surprising that their less warlike!
neighbors regard them with appre-i
hension.
The Tonareg mounted on his meharij
leans against the high back of his saddle,; ..
and pulling his legs about the cross that!
that forms its front, places his feet on the!
animal's neck, and guides it by a gentiei
pressure of the toes on one side or thej ]
other. Trained from its earliest youtbj
to this manner, it responds promptly and: I
turns in the direction desired, leaving its I
rider the free use ol his hands to meld]
his weapons. }
The female Tocai'eg guides her camel
in the same manner, and some among
them a re so expert that they can play ?
lively air on the mandolin and compel
the animal to follow it in a dance movement
like a well-trained circus horse. ! ,
Owing to the scarcity of water, the
Tonaregs never wash themselves. Their
. filth becomes hereditary, even exceeding
that of the most squalid tribes of American
Indians.?New York Journal.
? up
Raising Horses Pays.
"Raising trotting and running horses
is not a very unprofitable-business," said Senator
Stockbridge, a few days ago, 6a
he leaned back in an easy chair in the
room of the Senate Committee on Fisheries,
of which he is Chairman. Tho
Senator had just returned from Michigan,
where he had'spent a delightful day on his
stock farm, situated a few miles from
Kalamazoo. '-'4 '
?I had not been out to the farm foil
some time," said the Senator. "So one
fine dav I arranged with my partner, Itr.'
Brown, who is manager of the place, to I
go out and look over the stock and take aT I
sort of inventory of it. We started about I
nine in the morning, and when we ar- I
rived at the farm the horses had all been' I
fed and groomed, and were feeling and I
looking in first-class condition. We got I
out the pedigree book, and then care-' I
fully examined every young animal on the! I
place. Well, after I had entered all the' I
horses and set a verv moderate value; I
upon them, in no cases exceeding the< I
price which they would bring in any open) I
market, I found that we had just $103,000 I
worth of horseflesh. j I
"We bought the farm three years ago,? I
and organized a stock company with aj I
capital of $75,000. We owe a few thou-' I
sand dollars for running expenses and! I
things of that kind, but all this is more? I
than offset by the value of the farm. So] I
that, deducting the amount of capital wei I
put in, the profits in three years, without I
any particular effort to run the farm as w I
money-making concern, were more thanj I
$100,000, which, you see, is more thanaj I
Senator's salary. Some horses raised onj I
this Kalamazoo stock farm have turned; I
out to be very valuable and very fajst."?j I
Chicago Herald. , I
Oriental Railway Employes. ' I
Speaking of railroad wages in India, I I
find that section men work here for fromj I
three to five cents a day, and that the I
roads can get all the men they want at I
these prices. Engineers work on time* I
and distance, and they earn about the! I
highest pay of the railroad employes.} I
They get about seventy dollars a month' I
while running regularly, but they can in- I
crease this by extra running to eighty-five; I
and one hundred dollars a month., I
The Indian railways have no conductors I
in our sense of the word. The tickets are I
collectcd and examined by men at the I
various stations, and the guard who man- I
ages the train in other respects has noth- I
ing to uo wiiu u-ic tn.ii.tto. utjv.? ?
get about twenty-five dollars a month,
and on the smaller railroads they receive;
from seven to twenty dollars a month.;
The most of the guards are natives or
half-breeds, while a majority of the en-:
gineera are English. I don't think the
English engineers are as well posted as
our American ones. I asked one of them
the weight of his engine. He stammered
and replied that he did not know. The
American engineer can tell you just what
his engine weighs, how much steam she
; carries and all about her.?Frank Q,
1 Carpenter.
Between 15,000 and 16,000 children;
are now lost in Lpndon every year. JL