Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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THE LEDGER: GAFFNEY, S. C., MAY 12, 1898. 3 UNSUNG. A* TOPft »s t!i»> lirrath that (joe* From the lips of the white rose, As weird as the elfin ItRlits That glimmer of frosty nights, As wild as the winds that tear The curled red leaf in the air, Is the song I have never sung. In slumber a hundred times I've said the enchante 1 rhymes. Hut ere I open my eyes This ghost of a poem flies. Of the interfluent strains Not even a note remains. I know by my pulses’ beat It was something wild and sweet, And my heart was strangely slirrcd By an unremtnr,bored woid. I strive, but I strive in vain, To reeall the lost refrain. On some miraculous day Perhaps it will come to stay. In some unimagined spring I may find my voice and sing The song I have never sting. -T. B. Aldrich. Mine. Loisel seemed sad, anxious and uneasy. Her toilet was ready—whut / From thelijw of the whVte rose7 COU,,, U . be? Her hQsba,,d said to her ■ As weird as the eiftn iiahtu one evening: “What is the matter? You have been so queer for the last few days.” She replied: “It worries me that I have not one jewel, not a prociouij stone to wear. What a miserable figure I shall be! I think I would rather not go at all.” “You can wear natural flowers. It is all the rago at this season, and for 10 francs you cau have two or three mag nificent rofi*:?. ” But she was not convinced. “No, there is nothing more humiliat ing than to be poorly dressed among so many rich women.” “But how silly yon are! Go to your friend Mine. Forestier and atk her to lend you her jewels. You are friendly enough with her to do that.” fcibe gave a cry of joy. “Yes, that is true. I had not thought of it.” Tho following day she went to her friend and explained her predicament. Mine. Forestier went to a closet and took out a large casket, and opening it said: “Chooso, my dear. They are at your : service. ’’ She saw first bracelets, then a neck- ; lace of pearls, a Venetian cross, gold i and precious stcncs of exquisite work- i ruanship. She tried them on before tho gloss, unable to decide whether to wear ^ them or not. “Have you nothing else?” said she. i “Oh, yes, look them oyer. I don’t know what might please you.” Suddenly she opened a black satin case, disclosing to view a superb riviero ; of diamonds, and her heart beat furi- i onely with the desire of possession, fcihe took them in bir trembling bauds and put them on over her simple high neck j gown and stood lost in an ecstasy of ad- j miration of herself. Then fearfully, ; hesitatingly, dreading tho agony of a refusal, she .said: “Can you lend me only that?” “Why, certainly, if it pleases you.” She fell «>u her friend’s neck, em braced her tempestuously, and then left hastily with her treasure. Tho day of tho ball arrived. Mmo. Loisel was a success. Among nil tho beautiful women she was the'moet beau- ; tiful, elegant, gracious and smiling with joy. She attracted the attention of some of tho most distinguished men present, i whose walls were covered with rich tap- and on all ydos was heard: estrics, port ayiug scenes in which “Who is she?” THE NECKLACE. ..She was one of those charming girls boIH by a freak of destiny in a family of toilers- She had no fortune, no cx- pectatUms, no means of satisfying her ambition* except by a marriage with a rich and distinguished man, and, as she knew none, order to escape from her surroundings she married a clerk in the office of the minister of public instruc tion. \ She dreamed of beautiful balls, dis creetly lighted by candles in great bronze candlesticks, whose rich carpets gave lack no sounds and whose walls were covered w ith silks from tho ori ent, and of obsequious footmen half asleep in their large armchairs, ready | to attend to your every want at a mo- 1 ment’s notice; of large salons draped in ancient silks, of “etagers” covered with : priceless bric-a brae, cfbe thought also of coquettish small salons, made ex- | pressly for tho “5 o’clock,” when ono ! receives only cm’s intimates er distin- ; guishod men of letters, from whom it is I every wouiau’3 ambition to receive at- | tentiens. When she was seated at tho table, i whose cloth had already done duly for three days, or opposite her husband, who evinced bis entire satisfaction with j the evening repast by such exclamations as, “Oh, the good ‘pot-au-fou!’ I know nothing better,” her imagination car ried her away to stately banquet halls, ancient personages and strange birds were pictured in the middle of a fairy like forest. She pictured the glittering silver, strange dishes, exquisitely serv ed on marvelous plate, and gallantries whispered and listened to with tho sphinxlike smile with which a woman of the world knows so well how to con ceal her emotions, all the while eating a rosy trout or dallying with a wing of a lark, fcihe had no toilets, no jewels, end it was for these things that she longed as tho fleet Arabian longs for , ^his native desert. What pleasure to Wave pleased, been envied, to bo seduc- /tivo and sought after! She had a rich friend, a comrade from tho convent, whom sko no longer visited, because sbo suffered from see ing the things she could not have, and on returning wept whole days for grief, regret, despair and distress. One evening her husband came home radiant, holding in his hand a largo j envelope. \ “Seo,” said he, “here is something ; for you.” She nervously tore open the envelope and drew out u card on which theso j words were printed: “Tho minister of public instruction and Mme. Georges Bampouean beg the honor of tho company of M. and Mine. Loisel lor tho evening of Monday, Jan. 18 ” Instead of being wild with delight, as be had expected, she threw the invita tion on the table, with an exclamation of disgust, saying sullenly: “What do you wish me to do with that?” “But, my dear, I thought you would be so pleased. You never go out, and this is an event. I only obtained it aft er infinite trouble. Everybody wants one. They am much sought after, and they are not generally given to employ ees. Yon will see there all of tho official world.” . She looked at him with supreme dis dain ami said impatiently: “ What would you like me to wear?” The secret was out. Manlike, ho had not thought of that. “But—tho dress—that you wear to the theater,” stammered ho. "You al ways look beautiful to mo in that.” He stopped speaking, stupefied and dismayed on seeing his wife in tears. Two largo tears trickled slowly down her cheeks. “What is the matter? What is the matter?” asked ho tenderly. By violent effort she conquered her grief and calm ly said, while wiping her humid cheeks: "Nothing—only I have no toilet, and of course cannot go. Give tho card to one of your comrades whose wife is fortunate enough to have something suitable for the occasion.” Despairingly he said: “See, Mathilde, bow much will a dress cost to wear to this ball—ono which can also be used for otner occa sions; something very simple?” She reflected a few moments, figur ing in her own mind the sum she could ask without danger of immediate re fusal and frightening her economical husband. Finally she hesitatingly said: “I do not know exactly, but it seems to me 1 might manage with about 400 francs.” He paled a little, because ho bad beeu saving just that sum to buy a gun for the following summer, when ho would go with some of his friends to the plains of Nanterre on Sundays to shoot larks. Stilling his regrets, however, be replied: , “Yery well; I wijl. give you 400 frauds, but try to hav« a beautiful dressy The day of the fete drew near, but All the attaches of the cabinet sought her dancing card eagerly, and even the minister himself expressed his approval. She danced with pleasure, thinking of nothing but the triumph of her beauty and the glory of her success. Intoxicat ed by all the admiration, she teemed to float through a cloud of happiness, in tensified by her complete victory and the tribute paid to her charms, so sweet to the hearts of women. She left about 4 o’clock in tho morning. Her husband bad slept since midnight in a small room, deserted except by two or three gentlemen who also awaited their wives. He threw over her shoulders tho mod est cloak which she had brought, whose shabbiucss seemed to mock the elegance of tho ball toilet. She felt the incon gruity and walked swiftly away in or der not to he seen by those whoso rich furs were more in accordauco with tho occasion. “Wait,” said her husband. “You will take cold. I will call a carriage.’’ But she heeded him not and rapidly descended tho staircaso. When they reached the street, there was no carriage in sight, and they were obliged to look for one, calling to the drivers who pass ed by, but in vain. Shiveringly they walked toward the Seine, and finally found on tho quay one of those noctur nal coupes one finds only in Baris after dark, hovering about the great city like grim birds of prey wbo conceal their misery during the day. It carried them to their door (Rue de Martyrs), and they slowly and sadly entered their small apartments. It was ended for her, and be only remembered that be wonld have to be at his desk at 10 o’clock. She took off her cloak in front of the glass in order to admire herself once more in all her bravery, but suddenly she cried out, “The diamonds are gone!” Her husband, already half asleep, start ed at the cry and asked: “What is tho matter?” She turned toward him with a fright ened air. “I—I have lost Mmo. Forestior’s necklace. ” He rose dismayed. “What—how! But it is not possi ble. ” And they immediately began to search in the folds of the dress, the cloak, in the pockets—everywhere—and found nothing. “Are you sure that you bad it when you left the ball?’’ “Yes, I felt it whilo still in tho ves tibule at the minister’s.’’ “But if you hud lost it in tho street we should have beard it drop. It ought to be in the carriage.” “Yes, it is possible. Did you take tho number?” “No, and you did not look at it either?” “No.” They looked at each other fearfully. Finally Loisel dressed himself. “I shall go over the whole ground that we traveled on foot to see whether I cannot find it.” Ho went out. She sat still in her brilliant ball toilet, no desire to sleep, no power to think—all swallowed up in | the fear of the calamity which had fall en upon them. Her husband came in at 7 o’clock. He had found nothing. Ho hud been to the prefecture of the police, to the pa pers offering a reward, to all small cab companies, anywhere, in short, where be could have the shadow of hope of re covery. She waited all day in the same state of fear in the face of this frightful dis aster. Loisel returned in the evening pallid and haggard. No news as yet. “You must write to your friend that you have broken the clasp of the neck lace and ara having it repaired. That will give us time to look around.” At the end of the week they had lost all hope, cud Loisel, to whom it seem ed this caro and trouble bud added five years to his ago, said: “We must try aud replace tho jew els.’’ The following day they went to tho jeweler whoso name was stamped in side the case. He consulted his books: “I did not sell that necklace, madame; I only furnished tho case.” Then they went from jeweler to jewel er, racking their memories to find tho same, both of them sick with grief and agony. At last, in a small shop in the Palais Royal, they found one which seemed to them like tho ono they bad lost. With beating hearts they asked the price. Forty thousand francs, bnt they could have it for 38,000 francs! They asked tho jeweler not to dis pose of it for three days, and he also promised to take it back at 34,000 francs if the first one was found before the end of February. Loisel hfcd inherited 18,000 francs from his father. He torrowed tho rest. He borrowed 1,000 francs from one, 500 from another, 5 louis hero, 5 louis there. Ho gave notes, made rubious en gagements, had recourse to tho usurers, ran the whole gamut of money lenders. He compromised his whole existence risking bis signature without knowing that it would be honored, terrified by the agony of tho future, by tho black misery which enveloped him, by the prospect of all the physical privations and moral tertures. He went for tho new necklace and deposited on tho counter his 38,000 francs. When Mme. Loisel returned the neck lace to Mme. Forestier, she coldly said: “You should have returned it sooner, as I might have needed it.” She did not open the case, the one thing Mine. Loisel had dreaded. What if she had discovered the change—what would she have thought? Would she nut be taken for a thief? From that time on Mme. Loisel knew what life meant to the very poor in all its phases. She took her part heroically. This frightful debt must bo paid. Her share of privations was bravely borne. They discharged their one domestic, changed their location aud rented small er apartments near the roof. £he knew now what meant tho duties of the household, the heavy work of the kitchen. Her pretty bands soon lost all sembianco of the caro of bygone days. She washed tho soiled linen aud dried it in her room. She went every morning to the street with the refuse of tho kitchen, carrying the water, stop ping at each flight of stairs to take breath—wearing tho dress of tho wom en of the people, she went each day to the grocer, tho fruiterer, tho butcher, carrying her basket on her arm, bar gaining, defending cent by cent her miserable money. They were obliged each month to pay some notes anti renew others in order to gain time. Her husband worked in tho evening balancing tho books of mer chants, and often was busy all night copying at 5 cents a page. And this life they endured for ten years. At the end of this time they bad paid all tho tax of tho nsnrers and compound interest. Mme. Loisel seemed an old woman now. £bo had become strong and hardy as tho women of tho provinces, aud with tousled head, short skirts aud red hands she was foremost among the loud voiced women of the neighborhood who passed their time gossiping at their doorsteps. But sometimes when her husband was at his office she seated herself at the window and thought of that even ing in the past and that ball where sho had been so beantifnl and so admired. What would havo happened if she had not lost the necklace? Who knows? Life is a singular and changeable thing, full of vicissitudes. How little it takes to save or wreck us! One Sunday as she was walking in tho Champs Elysces to divert herself from the cares aud duties of the week she suddenly perceived a lady with a little child coming toward her. It was Mme. Forestier, still yonng, beautiful and charming. Mme. Loisel stopped short, too agitated to move. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. Aud now that the necklace was paid for she would tell her everything. Why not? tibo walked up to her and said, “Good day, Jeanne.” Mme. Forestier did not recognize her ami seemed astonished at being spoken to so familiarly by this woman of the people. “But—madame—I do not—I think you are mistaken.’’ "No, I am Mathilde Loisel.” “Ob, my poor Mathildo, how you are changed!” ' “Yes, I have had lots of trouble and misery since last 1 saw yoa—and all for you.” “For me? And how was that?” “Do yon remember the necklace of diamonds you lent me to wear to the minister’s ball?” “Yes. Well?” “Well, I lost it.” “Lost it! How could you, since you returned it to me?” “1 returned you one just like it, and for ten years we have been paying for it. You know it was not easy for us, who had nothing; but it is finished and 1 am very happy." “You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?" said Mme. Forestier. “Yes, and you never found it out; they were so much alike.” Aud she smiled proudly. Touched to the heart, Mme. Forestier took the poor, rough hands in hers, drawing her tenderly toward her, her voice filled with tears. ' “Ob, iny poor Matblfrfo but mine were false! They were uot worth more than 500 francs at most!’’—Trauslated from the French of Guy do Maupassant For Short Stories. HISTORY OF THE BOWERY. THE GIANT OSTRICH. Originally an Indian Trail and the Scene It is prrbr.ble that the Bowery was originally part rf an Indian trail which extended from tho region of tho Battery to the northern limit of Manhattan aud connected tho aboriginal villages on tlifl Harlem fiats and fcipuyteu Duvvil creek will) those north of City Hall park ami east of the present Greenwich avenue. A few years alter tho found ing of Nieuw Amsterdam tho represent atives of tho West India company laid out six farms or bouweries along the east side of the present Bowery aud leased them to tenants. In 1843 Director Kieft, in spite of tho protest of DeVries and other in fluential men, ordered the massacre of 40 Indians at Ccrlears Hook, and that of a still larger number of men, women and children at Pavonia. In retaliation for these brutal murders, for they were nothing else, tho outlying farms at Harlem, Staten Island, tho Bowery and other places were laid waste. When peace was restored, it was found im possible to rent the farms, so they were eventually sold. Prior to tho salo of these farms, how ever, a frontier colony of manumitted negro slaves was established west of the Bowery. With reference to this colony tho minutes of tho Dutch coun cil, 1844, recite the fact that Manuel de Groot, tho giant, aud tea other ne groes and their wives were released from slavery on condition that each man, during his life, pay the govern ment an annual rental of 22 bushels cf grain aud a fat hog, their children bo il g still held as slaves. Their planta tions extended from tho Bowery to old Jans’ land, now tho property cf Trinity church. Two hundred and fifty years ago Petrus Stuyvesant landed cu tho island of Manhattan, and four years later be purchased, through his representative, Jan Dainen, the “Great Bowery,” or bowery No. 1, the most northern of the six original farms, which were num bered from ono to si:;, No. 8 being east of Chatham square, at the time of which we write the property of Augustine Hermanns, the amateur draltsmau, to whom we are indebted for ancient sketches of New Amsterdam. At the beginning of the Revolution ary wn- farm was the property of tho tgers, the homo of the patriot Hu anus Rutgers, killed in the battle of nug Island. In August, 1855, Cov en or Stcyvesaut led his forces against the Swedes on tho Delaware. Sept. 15, during his absence, cx-SherifT Henry Van Dyke discovered an Indian woman stealing peaches from his orchard, situ ated on the west side of Broadway, south of Trinity church, and shot her dead. Tho news of tho rash aud cruel act spread to tho neighboring tribes, tnd before peace was renewed 28 plantations were laid waste, 100 men, women and children murdered, and as many carried into captivity, Van Dyke being among tho first slain. Several of the occupants of the farms along tho Bowery were killed and their wives aud children carried into captivity. On the retnrnof Governor Stuyvesnut order was restored aud many of the captives retnrued to their friends, among them a daughter of tho celebrated Wol- fert Webber, who at this date kept a tavern on the present Chatham square (then of course a country road), about Mott street.—Independent. SOME OF THE PECULIARITIES OF THE AFRICAN BIRD. PERSIAN JEWS. Queer Cal line*. In a great city like Paris there is a large number of persons who gain theiz living honorably i nough, but iu exercis ing professions tho most extraordinary. One seeing them at work would not think they could do well and wonders why they do it. A little attention will explain the mystery. There is the searcher for gold or jew els; he lives by sewers. Yon will see him waiting near their openings, a net in band, snapping up and selecting from all that comes out of them. Sometimes be finds objects of gold or silver, which, after many turns of for tune, come to be lost, or rather found, there. Then there is the crow chaser. This is a little girl or boy who aids bis par ents by gaining 3 or 4 cents a day. They set off early iu the morning and give their services to the kitchen garden ers iu tho suburbs. Sometimes they go several miles before arriving at their employer’s place. Their work is to stand among the vegetable beds and chase away the sparrows, crows aud ether pilfering birds by waving a black cloth. It is a fatiguing task, aud we have said above how they are paid. Bnt the children perform their work with zeal and at nightfall return on foot to their homes. Sometimes their employ ers give them tho scraps from their ta bles.—Loudon Echo. Our UnMtUfled WUhe*. “I suppose that all of us,” said Mr. Billtops, “have some pet ambition or some wish that we never realize; that we carry through life, perhaps quite unknown to our friends, and down with us to the grave, unsatisfied. Some of these hopes aud fancies on the part of our friends weald seem strange enough to us if we knew them, but no more strange to us than ours might seem to them. There are plenty of steady going, hardworking people that seem full of business only that really cherish, with all their occupations, the most romantic ideas, though they may be indeed about tho simplest things iu the world. “Sometimes we bear of them, some thing gives occasion for tho expression of them, aud then they come to us like a revelation. We had never dreamed that Bo-aud-so had that strain of fancy in him. But for the most part these ideas are personal guests which we en tertain within our own walls, iu whose company we find pleasure, and which we dike with us unnoticed when we go.’’—New York Sun. — .. The Method of Ilnnnin;; nnd G^ttlnc Over a Wire Fence—How Food Trove 1* L't> and Dowa That I-ony, Klnuouii Ncefc. Matlne, llulldiug XcnU and Dreediug. The ostrich has been observed with interest from very early times. It has frequently been the subject of remark by African travelers, and it has been domesticated aud farmed in the Cape Colony for some 30 years. Yet it is ro- markublo how little Is known about it iu scientific circles and how many mis conceptions still prevail as to its nature aud habits. This article is founded on personal observations made during nine years of uninterrupted ostrich farming iu the Karroo of the Capo Coloay and during travels about the country generally. The ostrich hen lays every day and tho egg weighs about three pounds. It is a tasty and nutritious food, however prepared, very rich aud excellent for making pastry and cakes. The- empty shell of a fairly large one exactly field tbo contents of 18 fowl’s eggs. It takes about 40 minutes to boil an ostrich egg hard. The period of incubation is about six weeks. Tbo old idea that an ostrich can only leap over a very low fence or across but the narrowest sluit (galley) is incorrect. The birds will when startled (never de liberately) sometimes go over a six strand wire fence nearly five feet high, putting one foot on one of the middle wires and striding over tho other. Considerable misconception prevails as to the manner iu which tho ostrich runs. When a bird really settles itself to am, it holds its head lower than usual and a little forward, with a deep loop in tho neck. The neck vibrates sinuously, but tho head remains steady, thus enabling tbo bird, even at top speed, to look around with unshaken glance iu any direction. The wings lie along tho sides about on a level with or a little higher than the back and are hold loosely just free of the plunging “thigh.” There is no attempt to hold them extended or to derive any assist ance from them as organs of flight. Even as a chick tho ostrich is a pow erful swimmer. I have known several birds to swim somo distance clown tbo Great Fish river when it was running fairly strong. The ostrich feeds ia a peculiar man ner. It tosses the food into a sack iu tho upper part of tho neck and then swal lows it. I havo seen a bird toss fully a quart of mealies (Indian corn) into this sack before swallowing, and it is no common thing to see two “swallows” traveling down the neck at tbo same time with a clear interval between them or |o see one of them (if of large and loose food—e. g., grain) elide back into | the sack after being swallowed if tho 1 bird lowers its head to continue feeding before the food has traveled some con siderable distance down tho neck. Tho food travels slowly and perforins a com plete circuit of the neck before reaching tho crop. Crushed bones are greedily eaten. If too largo a piece should stick iu tho neck, it is a simple mutter to cut it out aud sew the wound up again. As the breeding season approaches a cock aud hen will pair, aud, having selected a site congenial to their in clinations, proceed to make a nest. The nest is simply a hollow depres sion, more or less deep, according to the nature of the soil. It is made by the pair together. The cock goes down on his breast, scraping or kicking the sand out backward with his feet, cut ting the earth with his long and pow erful nails. Tho hen stands by, often fluttering and clicking her wings, aud helps by picking up the sand with her beak and dropping it irregularly near the edge of the growing depression. When satisfied with their work—aud they are easily satisfied, often too easily —the hen begins to lay an egg in the nest every day. During the laying period the nest is often unattended and is not slept on at night. A nest iu which only one hen is laying contains on the aver age about 15 eggs, hut sbo often begins to sit before she has laid her full com- plemi nt. Sometimes she will lay four or five after beginning to sit, though not often so many. The hen generally begins the sitting. Sho will occasion ally sit fur one or two days and nights before the cock takes his turn. When sitting assumes its regular course, tho hen sits from 8 to 9 a. m. to about 4 p. in., and the cock from 4 p. m. to about 8 or 9 a. in. The bird whose turn it is to be on the nest keeps its seat un til tho other arrives to relieve it, when they at once change places. The color of each is admirably adapt ed to the time spent on the nest, and furnishes interesting examples of pro tective coloration. It is scarcely possi ble to conceive a more effective disguise than the sober brownish gray of the hen for day sitting and tho black of the cock for night.—Zoologist. They Fonnd K«t Only In Persia. bu« Scattered Tfironghoat Asia. From the Black sea to Calcutta, from Bagdad to Kai-Fcng-Foo, wo meet with Persian Jews—that is to say, Persian in tho sense that we in Europe are “German.” They worship, or used to worship, in tho Persian rite; they speak Persian; they transliterate Persian into Hebrew characters; they have a He- trcw-Persiau literature, nnd they hold a vague sort of tradition that they are descended from Persian r.ucestry. Thtir Hebrew-Persian literature, however, is almost unknown aud as lato as October, 1895, the learned Dr. Neubaner, with all his scholarly accuracy, could only write in a sort of tentative way: “It is certain that tho Persian Jews had a rit ual and a literature of their own, which we at present know only through a few manuscripts of the Bibliothequo Na- tiouale, the British museum and in tbo> Imperial library of St. Petersburg ” Bible manuscripts apart, there are, iu all three together, barely a dozen vol umes of such manuscripts. Dr. Neo- bauer’s remark, made as it was apropos cf those mysteries of civilization, the Chinese Jews, was especially startling because of its reminding us that the Jews of Persia were almost as great a mystery to us as their lost brethren cf the far east. And yet they are su near that in something less than six weeks i aud in two successive summer vacations I have been able to visit them in tbeir old world homes of Teheran aud Samar kand aud Bokhara aud bring away a hundred manuscripts and more to fill up a gap in nr.r literature, or at least iu onr libraries. The roadn to Turkestan and Persia do cot diverge till one reaches tho Caspian sea. There are two great ports of em barkation—Baku, the city of fire, and Petrovsk. Each is the terminus of a great lino cf railway. Baku cuds tho Transcaucasian railway, which begins at i'utum, and isonly about 1,000 miles long. Petrovsk has iu the last two years become tbo end of tho great trunk lino of Russia, 8,000 versts farther than Moscow. From Calais to Petrovsk takes about seven days. It is the shortest, cheapest and nastiest route to tho Cas pian. It is overland throughout and in Europe all the time. Only for a few hours in tbo Inst day does cue get a dis tant glimpse of the great peaks of tbo Caucasus, rising out of the dead flat of tho steppe. The rest is monotony exem plified. Petrovsk itself is deadly dull, but tho railway and the great oil dis coveries at Grosui, a few hours off, have made it quite important as a commer cial center. Uf course where conimerco is our coreligionists are not far to seek. And so, though Petrovsk is many days’ journey from the palo of Jewish settle ment, several Russian and Polish Jews are to be found there, all specially fa vored and graciously permitted to try to make a living in the new town. I must confess to somo degree of trepi dation in daring to ask after Jev.'s in holy Russia. I did so with bated breath aud whispering humbleness. Most of the people I asked did not or could not tell me. At last I was directed to a shop which was closed, for it was Saturday. The shopkeeper did turn out to be a Jew, and with plentiful gesture and language more volublo than intelligible showed me the way to a little shed near the bazaar, iu the old town, where tho Ashkenazi Jews were going to pray. Disappointed at finding a number of brethren iu no way different from those to be met within bearing of the Bow bells, I asked in Yiddish wbetner there were no “Gorski Jcvraei,” or “Achal- zek Juden,” in the place. “Ob, yes, ” they said, “they are the eldest inhabit ants, but wo do not pray with them.” —Jewish Chronicle. Making Miwto Primitively. I once read in an account of the ear ly history of New Zealand the story of Bishop Selwyu’s first pastoral visit to Otago, then peopled mainly by whalers and sealers. Tho grateful sailors made unusual efforts to receive their august visitor as he deserved. A room was hung with flags, a chair disguised as a pulpit, aud the bishop was told that music bad been provided. He was requested to give ont “Old Hundredth” us tbo only hymn they knew. This he did with much misgiving, and the next moment a nrisical box which had been concealed near bis el bow struck up a lively waltz, followed by “Nix, My Dolly.” Though electri fied, tho bishop was sustained and reas sured by the perfect gravity of bis au dience, who waited until the solemn “Old Hundredth” came round, when they joined iu with full chorus.—Pick Me Up. Thing* the HaUcr Doe* Mot Like. The kaiser is a military man from crown to foot. His numerous wardrobes contain only five suits of mufti, mostly made in Vienna. Like most German of ficers, he never looks tv ell in them. He never wears an evening dress suit He has a particular abneiguug against the swallowtail, which reminds him of tho eornl>er surroundings of a funeral. This tie conquerable objection is accountable for an imperial regulation ordaining that wherever possible courtiers and guests shall wear tho frock coat a 1’Au- glais; otherwise tho newly introduced court dress is de rigueur. The black swallowtail is thus fast being forced out of German court circles. Umbrellas aro his pet aversion—he never possessed ono in bis life—and, as to sticks, they aro usually tho cheapest ho can bay. His rifics are under tbe special caro of the leibjager and kept in a special cup-' board. A remarkable feature of this col lection is the hunting sticks which bis majesty has cut with bis own band while out hunting or received as pres ents during his expeditions from gentry and peasantry alike.—Pall Mall Ga zette. Why the Train Slotra In Leaving. He was an observing man and was not iu the habit of allowing tho slight est details of anything or any event to escape bis eye. Ho stood on tbe depot platform and watched tbe heavy over land trains palling out for tbe west. Each one of them seemed to come near ly to a stop just after pulling out of tbo depot. “Stopping to let some one off?” be asked of a railroad man standing near him. “No. Looks as if they were, doesn’t it?” Well, that fools lots of people,” said tbo railroad man. “Some people think they stop to let off some one wbo staid on too long, aud some think they stop to put off a tramp. Neither of these reasons is right. All engineers bring tbeir trains to a stop or nearly so after pulling out of a terminal station in or-> der to test tbe airbrakes and see that they aro in working order. Most engi neers try tbe air just after pulling out! of a station, bnt on most roads tbe role is that they try tbe brakes within two miles of tbe station.’’—Topeka State Journal.