The Darlington herald. (Darlington, S.C.) 1890-1895, September 14, 1894, Image 1
THE
I
HERALD.
VOL. IV.
DARLINGTON, S. C., FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1894.
NO. 41.
•TWAS FAR A U'A Y.
Twas far away where skies are fate
And sweet with song and light;
When I had hut my scythe, my dear.
And you your needles bright.
Bo far away ! and yet, to-day,
For a 11 the distance drear.
My heart keeps chime with that sweet
time
And dreams the old dreams there.
There, where love learned its sweetest
words
And built its brightest bowers;
Where sang the rarest mocking birds
And bloomed the fairest (lowers!
And fields wore golden-rich, and clear
The streams flowed in the light—
When I had but my scythe, my dear,
And you your needles bright I
How soft and sweet across the wheat
Your dear voice seemed to roam,
When stars of love peeped pale above
And I went dreaming home!
Life had no sweeter joy than this—
To rest a little while
. There, where you met me with a kis-T
And blessed me with a smile!
So far that sweet time seems to-day,
Here ’nenth these darkened skies;
And yet, across the weary way
You light me with your eyes !
And I would give earth's gold to share
Once more that day, that night,
W r ben I had hut my scythe, my dear,
And you your needles bright!
—[Frank L. Stanton.
II DflSilESTfill PflTTEI.
Fhoebo Jane Breck luing the little
rug over the arm of the old hair
cloth rocking-chair, and Mrs. I‘on-
Bonby Ten Broeck gazed at it criti
cally.
“It’s a real Daghestan pattern,”
said the great lady, who was a sum
mer visitor at East Palestrina; and
Phoebe Jane colored high with pride
and pleasure. Being only fifteen
years old, and not the capable one of
the family, it was a great satisfaction
to have her handiwork admired by a
lady from New York.
“You really have a knack at rug-
making,” said Phoebe June’s older
sister Eunice, when the visitor’s car
riage had gone. It was at that very
moment, while Phoebe Jane was
washing the best thin glass tumbler
in which the lady lyid drank her
cream, that a great idea came to her.
She did not tell Eunice at once;
Eunice was trying to Jtritp Pauleny
as SheSlva83|ISrffjf^6trfVith n'ew 'fal
teeth, and was anxious not to look
too “flighty.” When Eunice had
something on her mind was not the
time to talk to her. Besides, it was
such a great idea that it almost took
Phoebe Jane’s breath away.
If she coaid have told her Cousin
Luelia, that would have been a com
fort. Luelia went to the Oakmount
Female Seminary, and knew almost
everything; but Luelia and she were
forbidden to speak to each other, be
cause her father and Luella’s mother,
Aunt Cynthia, had quarrelled long
ago.
Aunt Cynthia’s boys, Jerome and
Albion, -and Fhoebo Jane’s brother,
Llewellyn, had always scowled at
each other, but Phoebe Jane and
Luelia had wanted to be friends ever
since the day when Luella’s bull
kitten got lost in Wingate’s woods,
and Phoebe Jane climbed a tall tree,
In the top of which it was mewing
piteously, and restored it to its
mistress’s arms.
That had happened long ago, when
they were little girls; but ever since
they hud shown themselves con
genial spirits. So Phoebe Jane
longed to ask Luella’s advice about
her bright idea. But as that could
not be, she allowed it to rest awhile
in her eager brain, and then pro
ceeded to develop it.
Phcebe Jane s;ole softly into “the
shepherdess room”—they called it so
because the oid-fashioned paper on
the walls was covered with shepherd-
essss, with their crooks and their
flocks of sheep. It was the best room,
the parlor; but although Phoebe
Jane’s father and mother lived in
that house ever since they were
married, the room had never been
furnished.
They had always been planning to
furnish it; that had been one of
Phoebe Jane’s mother’s hopes as long
as she lived, and now Eunice, when
ever she was able to save a little
money', said that sometime, perhaps,
they could furnish the parlor.
Eunice had made a beautiful
lounge for it out of an old packing-
case, and Mrs. Tisbury, when she
moved to Orland, had left them her
base-burner stove to use until she
wanted it. But Eunice said the great
difficulty was the carpet—it was such
a large room.
Phoebe Jane stood in the middle of
the room and surveyed it with a
measuring eye.
“Llewellyn will paint the edges for
me,” she meditated, “and it is very
stylish to leave half a yard all
’round.”
“Then we could have the choir re
hearsals here,” said Phcebe Jane
aloud to herself.
The choir rehearsals were held in
the church before the service on Sun
day mornings, which was a very in
convenient time for those singers
who lived away up beyond Pigeon
Hill down at Wood End. These re
hearsals seemed a little like profan
ing the Sabbath, too, to some of the
singers; and, anyway, it was not
pleasant and social, us it would be
to have them in the evening. But it
cost too much to heat or even to
light the church for evening rehears
als; it was a largo, old-fashioned
church, and Palestrina was poor.
The Brecks had n large parlor or-
rfan ; it almost filled the little sitting
room. Mary Ellen, the slstor who
died, had bought it with her school
teaching money. No one else in Pal
estrina had such an organ, and Eu
nice had often said, with along sigh,
“ How delightful it would bo to have
the choir rehearsals here, If we only
had the parlor furnished 1 ”
Phcebe Jane decided that if she had
a “knack” it was high time she
used it to accomplish something
worth the while, especially as she
had an uncomfortable sense of hot
being good for much.
Eunice was a famous housekeeper,
and could trim bonnets so well that
people preferred her work to that of
the village milliner. She was so use
ful in sickness that every one sent
for her; and she could play beauti
fully on the organ, too, although she
had never taken any lessons.
Even Llewellyn, who was thirteen
years old, and only ft boy, could be
trusted to get dinner better than
Phoebe Jane; he could draw delight
ful music out of the old fiddle that
they had found in Grandpa Pulsifer’s
garret, and could puzzle the school
master himself when it came to
mathematics.
Phoebe June couldn’t play on any
thing, except a comb, and she was
obliged to go to the barn to indulge
in tliat musical performance because
it made Eunice nervous; she said she
could bear it if Phoebe Jane could
keep a tune. And Phoebe Jane was
very apt to be at the foot of the class
at school.
Never mind ! Mrs. Ponsonby Ten
Broeck might flatter, but Eunice
certainly never did, and Eunice had
said that she. Phoebe Jane, had a
“knack.”
Phoebe Jane slipped away that af
ternoon without giving any account
of herself. She called first on old
Mrs. Prouty, who had been the Pales-
trinii dressmaker for fifty years. Old
Mrs. Prouty had the reputation of
being “snug;” she had a great store
of “pieces” in her attic, and she had
never been known to give any away,
even for a crazy-quilt. *
But she and Phoebe Jane were very
intimate. Phoebe Jane had brought
up Mrs. Prouty’s tender brood of tur
keys, hatched during a thunder
shower; had always stood up for
Ginger, the old lady’s little lut-ter-
rier, that was voted a nuisance by
the neighbors, and had twice rescued
him from cruel boys. Moreover, old
Mrs. Prouty’s niece Lorinda sang in
“the seats,” and longed for evening
rehearsals.
The pile of “pieces”, in Mrs.
had so good a memory that she knew
to whose dress almost every piece
had belonged.
Phcebe Jane made two or three
other calls, and before she went
home the success of her plan seemed
assured.
Eunice said, “I don’t see how you’re
going to make a rug that’s large
enough,” and “I hope you won’t
get tired of it before its half-done
ns you did of the bed-spread you
begun to crochet." But she
helped; Eunice would always
help, though she was practical
and saw all the difficulties at once.
Llewellyn got the Corey boys to
help him make a frame that was
large enough, and he helped to make
the rest too. By dint of hard work
it was finished and laid upon the
parlor floor the first of December.
As Phcebe Jane said, if you don’t
believe it was a siege, you’d better
try one! Areal Daghestan pattern,
nine by twelve feet.
Then, alas! when the rug was
down, and the parlor furnished, all
the pleasure of the choir rehearsals
was spoiled by a church quarrel. It
arose us church quarrels and others
often do, from what seemed a very
small thing.
Old Mrs. Tackaberry, Aunt Cin-
thia’s mother, had the old-fashioned
New England habit of suspending all
labor on Saturday evening, and be
ginning it again on Sunday evening;
and being a very obstinate woman,
she would knit in the Sunday evening
prayer meeting. No matter how
loud the minister and the members
prayed and exhorted, no matter how
night when the choir had been In
vited to hold its first rehearsal in tha
newly-furnished parlor. It wasarnin,
following a heavy fall of snow. Tha
roads were almost impassable, and
most of the singers lived a long difr-
tance from the village.
The town-hall was opposite tha
Brecks’ house, and Phcebe Jane
looking out of the window, saw that
the choir of the new society was as
sembling in spite of the storm. It
was to be a great occasion with the
new society to-morrow; Jerome,
Aunt Cynthia’s oldest son, who was a
student in a theological seminary,
was going to preach.
But a great volume of smoke was
pouring outof the doors and windows
of the hall, and Llewellyn, who had
been over to investigate, announced
that “that old chimney was smoking
again, and they would haVe to give
up their rehearsal.” Then Llewellyn,
who was a strong partisan, and didn’t
like Aunt Cynthia’s Jerome, turned
a somersault of excitement and de
light.
“It is too bad!” cried Phcebe Jane,
whose soul was sympathetic. “Fath
er—Eunice—don’t you think we
might ask them to come in here?”
Father Breck hesitated, rubbing
his hands together nervously. He
said he was afraid people would think
it was queer, and if any of their choir
should come it would bo awkward.
Then Eunice suddenly came to the
front, ns Eunice had a way of doing
quite unexpectedly.
"I think Phcebe Jane has a right
to use the parlor ns she likes, she
worked so hard for the rug,” said
Eunice.
“Well, well, do as you like, Phoebe
Jane. Maybe it’s a providential
leading,” said Father Breck.
Phoebe Jane threw her waterproof
over her head and ran out. There
were Cynthia and Jerome, and with
them a professor from Jerome’s sem
inary. Phoebe Jane had a lump in
her throat when she tried to speak to
them, but behind, oh joy! there was
Luelia.
“If you will come and rehearse in
our parlor — you know about my
rug!” said Phoebe Jane; and then
she drew her waterproof over her
head again and ran back.
There was a consultation, evident
ly. Phcebe Jane heard old Mrs. Tnck-
aberry's voice, and was afraid they
would’nt come.
But they did! It seemed aImo«t
the whole of the new society came
pouring into the parlor, and by that
time Alma Pickering, and Jo Flint,
and the Hodgdon girls, of their own
choir, had come 1
It would have been a little awk-
wiwd-Mold Mrs. TUckaberry had not
THE JOKER’S MIDGET.
been immediately struck by the new
rug, and begun to ask questions
about it with a freedom that made
every one laugh.
Soon they were all talking about it.
Phoebe Jane remembered, as she had
meant to, where she had put almost
all the "pieces” of which Mrs. Prouty
had told her the history.
Old Mrs. Tackaberry cried about
the pink delaine that was her little
granddaughter, Abby Ellen’s, who
died, and about the brown tibet that
was her daughter Amanda’s wedding
dress when she married a mission
ary and went to China, and died
there.
Then they all laughed.j^t an ara
besque in one corner which was Je
rome’s yelllow flannel dress—Phoebe
Jane had been a little'afraid to tell of
that, Jerome was so imposing In
white necktie. Aunt Cynthia would
not believe that she had let the dress
maker make that dress until she re
membered that it was the time when
she scalded her hand.
People kept coming in. Phoebe
Jane had an inspiration, and made
Llewellyn go and invite them. It
became a good old-fashioned neigh
borhood party—“just like a quilt
ing,” old Mrs. Tackaberry said. Ev
erybody found some of their “pieces”
or their relatives’ “pieces” in the
rug, and smiles and tears and innu
merable stories grew out of this.
The new-comers found the two fac
tions apparently so reconciled that
they were surprised out of any ani
mosity that they might have felt;
and when they came to rehearse
their music it happened, oddly
loud the congregation sang, old Mrs, j enough, that both parties had chosen
Tackaberry’s knittingneedle seemed
to click above everything.
Some people were shocked and
some had their nerves affected, while
others declared that “a mother in
Israel,” like old Mrs. Tackaberry,
should be allowed to indulge in such
a harmless eccentricity. At this
time the church was divided into two
parties, one insisting old Mrs. Tacka
berry should cease to knit or leave,
and the other declaring that if she
left it would leave with her.
So the church was rent asunder.
The supporters of old Mrs. Tack
aberry hired the town-hall for their
services, and a young divinity stu
dent for their minister. The funds
that had been barely enough for one
church were sadly insufficient for
two, and there was enmity between
old friends and neighbors. So Phcebe
June said with a tearful sense of the
futility of all human hopes, that
there was “no comfort in half a
choir rehearsal.”
It was old Mrs. Tackaberry who
had made the trouble between Aunt
Cynthia, and her brother-in-law,
years before, so it was not very likely
that the Brecks would espouse her
cause, though Deacon Breck who was
a mild and gentle man, and never had
quarrelled with anybody but Aunt
Cynthia in his life—Deacon Breck
said he “wished folks could have put
up with the knitting, for he believed
it was conducive to godliness to let
some folks do as they were a mind
to.”
As if Phmbc Jane had not had dis
appointment enough, the worst storm
of the season came on that Saturday
the same hymn, and they all sang
together.
When they had finished rehears
ing, someone — Phcebe Jane never
was quite sure whether it was Jerome
or the professor—started ‘ ‘Blessed be
the tie that binds.” How they did sing
it! Old Mrs. Tackaberry’s thin,crack
ed treble sang out in defiance of time
and tunc, and when the hymn ended
tears were rolling down her seamy
cheeks.
“I’m going back to the church I ”
she said, brokenly. “I’ve sp’ilt my
meet’n’s and other folk’s long
enough. And—and—I’m going to
do what I’m a mind to, to home,
when it comes sun-down on the Sab
bath day, but I ain’t goin’ to knit a
mite in meetin’ again—not a mite! ”
There was a great hand-shaking;
Aunt Cynthia and Father Breck
actually shook hands, and out in the
entry old Mrs. Tackaberry kissed
Phcebe Jane.
In spite of the bad roads, there
was a great congregation in the East
Palestrina church the next day. It
was the professor who preached. He
chose for his text, “Blessed are the
peacemakers,” and every one looked
at Phcebe Jane until she grew red to
the tips of her ears.
She and Luelia walked homeward
together—openly, arm in arm; and
it seemed like walking in Paradise,
although one went over shoe in mud.
—[Youth’s Companion.
JESTS AND YARNS BY FUNNY
MEN OF THE »RESS.
Ha Knew--Tha Qua tlena • Girl
Asks--Not Quite U derstood--ln
Business*-Etc., Eta
HE KN’EWu^
Caller—Can I see Mite Snuggle ?
Servant—She’s enga/ed, sir.
Caller—Of course si: 'Is, and I’m
the man she’s engaget to.
Servant—Oh.—[Det fit Free Press.
THE QUESTIONS A ( BE ASKS. ;
“Are you certain [hat you love
me?” Ji.
“I am.
“But are you sure/fltik you are
certain?
NOTHING CHEAP [nfUT IT.
Squildig—Didn’t Ti ,
cheap when Miss Frifoy sued^kim
for breach of promise
McSwilligen—Chea/?
not! The girl secured!
$25,000.—[Pittsburg C
graph.
IN BUSINEBI
Police Judge—Whatfeyodt occu
pation? ttjt »;
Everett Wrest—I am a promoter.
“A what?”
“A promoter—pronOter rtf
table impulses. See? rr-[Cidij
vheel feel
medv
ill, I guess
verdict of
icle-Tele-
lovep, wh$
ity for a day
darling,” he
He was mistaken.
"Lady,” began Mr. Dismal Daw
son, “you see before you a man
Whose name is iftud; m, u, d, mud.”
“There must be some mistake in
your calculations," replied the lady.
“It takes water to make mud.”—
[Indianapolis Journal.
love's victory.
“Sir,” she cried, “I spurn you!"
“Hear me out,” he pleaded.
She shrugged her shoulders and
turned coldly away.
“Adored one,” he proceeded, “do
you know that your father has ab
solutely forbidden me to ever think
of marrying you?”
She started.
“You do not deceive me?” she de-
mandecj agitatedly.
THE SEA’S ODD DENIZENS,
FISK THAT CLIMB, LIVE IH WOODS,
AND UTTER SOUNDS.
oath,
Capetown, in South Africa, Is one
of the most cosmopolitan cities In
the world.
Tribune.
HE WASN’T AT ALL ^RATIFIED,
“They say a woman Can't keep
secret,” she said to
had run down from thi
to see her at the beac
“But you can, m;
said, tenderly.
“You bet,” she laughed; “I have
been here a whole wetk and none of
the young men know iyet that I am
engaged.”—[New York Press.
EXTREME PATERNALISM.
“And you would prefer to have me
vitit you less frequently,” he said.
“Yes,” she answered. “Father
objects to my rectlving so much
company.”
“And you won’t jvear my engage
ment ring?”
"No. Father objects to my receiv
ing presents from young men.”
“And you declinj to meet me oc
casionally at the front gate?”
“Yes. Father has just purchased
a bulldog, you knelw.”
His face took on a shade of deep
annoyance. jr
“It is as I fear^A” ho muttered.
“The country is [going oil wrong
through tor much paternalism.”—
[Washington Star.
OVERSHADOWED HIM.
“How did you like the young wo
man from Boston?” asked the young
man’s sister.
“Oh, very well. Only she uses
such big words. I gave her a flower
nd she wouldn’t call it by anything
but its scientific name.”
“But you always liked botany.”
“It wasn’t her botany I objected
to. It was her haughty-culture.”—
Washington Star.
A FLAW SOMEWHERE
He—You refuse mo ?
She—I do.
Ho—Do I look all right!
She—Yes.
He (decidedly)—It can’t be possi
ble. I’m going back to my rooms
and discharge my man.—[Puck.
NOT IN HIS ETHICS.
Mrs. Hussiff—And now, having had
a good lunch, I want you to saw that
wood. It won’t take you more than
an hour.
Rural Ragges (with dignity)—
You’ll excuse me, madam, but in
makin’ a mornin call I stick ter
social etiquette. Twenty minutes is
my limit, an’ that space has elapsed.
ONE EXCEPTION.
“False one!” he shrieked.
“Not wholly so,” she moaned.
He became calmer.
“No,” lie remarked in quieter
tones, “thi u red on the end of your
nose is natural, 1 have no doubt.’
[Indianapolis Journal.
THE OLD man’s OCCUPATION.
“What’s Dick doing now?”
•‘Well, Dick, he’s a-doctorin’.”
“And John?”
“He’s horse-tradin’.”
“And William?”
“He’s a savin’ of souls.”
“And Tom?”
“Well, Tom—he s sorter politicia-
nin’ aroun’.”
- “And you?”
“Well, I’m sorter farmin’ an’ o-
feedin’ of Dick an’John an’ William
an’ Tom!”—[Atlanta Constitution.
NO EQUALITY FOR HER.
Mrs. Seated—The marriage relation
needs reform. Don’t you think that
both parties should have an equal
voice in regulating their joint affairs?
Mrs. Graymare—What! Let my
husband have as much to say as I
have? Not much.—[Puck.
FAMOUS ENOUGH TO BE HONEST.
Jinks (on the rail)—I was talking
with an eminent physician in the
smoker.
Mrs. Jinks—What is his name?
“He didn’t mention it, and I did
not like to ask.”
“Then why do you think he is an
eminent physician?”
“I asked him what was the best
cure for consumption, and he said he
didn’t know.”—[Puck.
NOT OVER-SENSITIVE.
Willie—An’ what did Cl&wence do
when Bob Slugard kicked him?
Algy—He simply said, ‘Gwent men
jro not sensitive to cwitlcisin,’ and
walked swiftly away.—[Judge.
*r ^ _
With a glad
arms.*—[Detroit
MOTjQUITE UN!
Little Ethel—When ore you and
sister Nell going tQ be married,' Torn?
-Tom—I don’t know, Ethel, Dm not
an augur. ’
Little Ethel (brightly)—W611, she
says you're a bore.
DIDN’T UNDERSTAND HUMAN NATURE.
“Yes,” said the proprietor of the
barber shop, “he was a very good
barber, but we had to let him go
He didn’t understand the business.
"What did he do?”
“He forgot to say to a baldheaded
•customer that his hair needed trim
ming to-day.”—[Washington Star.
The Climbing Fish of the Dutch East
Indies—Finny Inhabitant* of For
ests—Musical Fish.
I MAGINATION had a boundless
range in devising legends and
marvels about fish until Knowl
edge clipped her wings, remarks
the London Standard. When Lieu
tenant Daldorf, of the Dutch East
India Service, reported to Sir Joseph
Banks that he had caught a fish on the
stem of a palm tree five feet above the
ground, and still mounting upwards,
even- Sir Joseph’s acceptance of his
he retilled,' tale did'ndt preserve that officer from
•a outburst of universal mockery. It
:ed with teattn, tehe.t on earth
i expected to flnd'nsefnl for its
purposes at the top-of te; p*lta tree?
The earliest reporter of thi^ fact,
Abonzeyd, who wrote In the ninth
oentnry, had a sufficient explanation.
He was. opt bothered with science.
The creature went np to feed-upon the
. HOW IT HAPPENED. '
‘.“We die, but ne’er surrender!”
‘ The Colonel began to brag;
But he set his heel
On an orange peel
And promptly—struck his flag.
A NIGHT OF TERROR.
It was a cloudy night.
Dark clouds lowered over the world,
and here and there dropped a fringe of
fog.
A shriek pierced the night air.
She clutched her husband’s nose
wildly in her startled frenzy.
“Heavens,” she gasped in terror,
and even as she spoke the awful cry
broke again upon her ears, ‘the par
egoric bottle is empty I”
There was nothing to do but walk
the floor.—[Detroit Tribune.
A SPIRIT OF ACCOMMODATION.
A prisoner before the Police Judge
secured the services of a young sprig
of an attorney, who not only was a
consequential young man, but he
thought he knew about ten times as
much as the Judge knew he knew.
When the case was called the at-,
torney arose.
M“ay it please your Honor,” he
said with great formality, “my client
wants more time ”
“Very well, very well,”ir.terrupted
the Judge in the kindliest way; “I’ll
be glad to accommodate him. He
was arrested for abusing his wife,
wasn’t he?”
“That’s the charge of the arresting
officer your Honor.”
“Very good,” said his honor. “I
had intended giving him only three
months, but since he wants more
I’ll make it six. I always strive to
please. Call the next case, Mr.
Clerk.—[Detroit Free Press.
IT WAS A FINE DAY FOR HIM.
“What have you got to say?”
asked the judge.
The prisoner looked embarrassed.
He raised his eyes to the ceiling,
smoothed tint nap of his hat and an
swered ;
“It is a fine Jay Your Honor.”
“I can’t say that 1 am particularly
impressed with the beauty of the
weather,” rejoined the judge, “but
it is a fine day for you. The fine is
$10.”
Talephone Doctors.
In a telephone plant for a big city
like Chicago thsre are cables con
taining upward of 1)0,000 miles of
copper wire. Complete records are
kept of the position of every wire,
and the men in charge can pick out
at once the line of any subscriber
whenever it is necessary to inspect
it or work on it. When a line gets
into trouble it can be tested in both
directions from the switchboard and
Out toward the subscriber’s station.
At every exchange ihere is an offi
cial called the “wire chief,” whose
special duty is to overlook the mak
ing of connections between the sub
scriber’s line and the switchboard, to
inspect the wires, and to test them
electrically in order to determine the
position of any defect that may oc
cur in a subscriber’s line or instru
ments. The wire chief sits at a spe
cial desk, from which wires run to
various parts of the system, and he
is provided with electrical instru
ments with which to make tests on
lines that develop “trouble.” He is
the ambulance surgeon of the tele
phone plant, and his wires give him
the advantage of being truly ubi
quitous. He receives complaints and
reports of “trouble,” and enters on
special slips every “trouble” re
ported or discovered.
These slips are handed to “trouble
men,” who search out the cause, and
finding it, apply the proper remedy.
They then enter an account of what
they found and what they did on the
slip and return it. In this way a
close and comprehensive check is
kept on the operation of the tele
phone plant, which, on account Of
its complexity and of the number of
small parts that go to make it up, is
peculiarly liable to trifling but
troublesome defects. Returns are
made up periodically from the
“trouble slips," and these form a
continuous record of the efficiency
both of the plant and of those imme
diately in charge of it.— [Chicago
Nows.
fruit, and when satisfied it retailed to
the watef. ‘ But this Would apt do for
the savants eyon t hnnclied yoarp ago.
They poihted but. that Percha soau>
dens live on water inseete^-that il
could not and would not eat fruit,
and that if its fins and.‘gill-covers be
so framed that it might possibly climb
s tree, they are so framed also that it
could not make even an effort to de
scend. Their objections are not yel
answered, nor, so far as we are aware,
has any fish since been caught nine
feet above the ground. But the habit
of climbing is admitted whatever the
motive. In fact, the Cingalese cover
their fish traps with a netting because,
as they explained to Mr. Layard, some
species would creep up the poles and
escape over the other side. A few
hours’ sojouru in almost any tropio
realm will convince the stranger that
fish can climb, if he epjnd them on
the banks of a tidal river The funny
little mud fish scurry and paddle there
all day long, mounting to the top of
the rocks, however smooth; running
up and down the mangrove roots as
active almost as lizards. Not least
curious of their peculiarities is the
trick of running over the surface ol
the water for a distance which seems
bounded only by their inclination.
As for the fish that live in the
woods—barring exaggeration —they
also abound. The inorachung, of
Bootan, is most famous. It is never^
caught in rivers, or eves in standing
ponds, though, as some accounts say,
its abiding places always communicate
with water, so that it can return to ite
“native element” when so disposed.
However that may be, »hay «r« caught.
not by hook or net, but by the spade;'
and they are worth some digging—two
feet long, perhaps, disproportionately
thick and always in pairs. Plenty of
other species are taken in the same
way during the hot months, aud plenty
more divert themselves with a stroll
on dry land oocasioually. Sir B.
Schomlmrgh saw colored meu going
out to fish in the jungles Guiana with
nothing but a basket, and they
brought back as many as they could
carry. Sir John Bowriug constantly
observed the fish go ashore and “lose
themselves amongst tee trees” upon
the Siamese River Meinam. Mr. Mor
ris was inspecting a leaking tank by
Trincomalee when heavy rain came on.
His man suddenly raised a shout aud
galloped up a “knoll,” the far side of
which—that distant from the tank —
proved to be a.'ive with fish climbing
upward at prodigious speed; we are to
suppose that they left the pool when
the water escaped, but iiastened to re
turn, knowing that the rain would re
fill it. As for burying fishes, they are
numberless. We have a grave report
ot one species found nineteen feet be
low the surface of a field. It is not
necessary to believe this. Bit in
Abyssinia they are dug up six feet or
more below the river bed when it is
dry.
It is not commonly believed that
fishes have any power of utterance,
but, although the fact is not proved
yet, so far as we have read, there is
such a mass of testimony from divers
regions, contributed by observers oi
such credit, that the fact is no longer
doubtful.
At Caldera, in Chili, near the lanl-
ing place, a very pleasant serenade is
heard sometimes. The music resem
bles that of a harp, with a range of
four notes at least; the incurious peo
ple of the neighborhood have no the
ory abont it. But a like concert is
usual at various points of the Indian
coast; and there, of coarse, its origin
is well understood—that is, the na
tives may be right or wrong, but they
have an explanation. Dr. Buist de
scribes it as “long, distinct sounds,
like the protracted booming of a dis
tant bell, the dying cadence of an
lEolian harp, the note of a pitch-pipe
or pitch-fork, or any other long-
drawn-out musical note.” It became
much more sonorous when a listener
put his head to the planks of the ves
sel. Next day the boatmen presented
Dr. Buist with a number of fish which,
as they said, produced the music— i
species very plentiful, in size an 1
shape like our perch. Sir Emerson
Tenuent heard such stories in Ceylon,
aud he paid a visit of inquiry to Batti-
caloa. They were amply confirmed.
To Sir Emerson the notes sounded
like “the gentle thrills oi a music il
chord or the faint vibration of a wine
glass when its rim is rubbed by a
moistened finger. It was not one sus
tained note, but a multitude of tiny
sounds, each distinct and clear in it
self, the sweetest treble mingling with
the lowest bass.”
The people of Italy are the most
heavily taxed of any civilized nation.
The S.ato taxation equals twenty-two
uer cent, of the earnings of the people.
CUILDRE.VS COLL MX
NOT QUITE A SUCCESS.
When Bessie rose to slag her song.
All in her finest dress,
Two things that went a trifle wrong
Debarred complete success.
Her hands were clean, her face was fair.
Her voice was like a bird’s,
But she didn’t really know the air,
hud she quite forgot the words.
—Youth's Companion.
‘Hi
THAT IS THE QUESTION.
In riding in railway trains foxy may
have observed the peculiarity of dogs
in racing after the train. One day, in
a swiftly moving train, I saw a big
yellow dog doing this act, and nearly
brewing bis back to catch the train,
I^aifehed his efforts with some cario
sity, and a man in the seat in front of
me was 'cRSing the same thing, When
the dog gave up the chase, the man in
front turned to me and said:
“Excuse me,but I would like to ask
you a question I want to ask you what
you think that dog would have dono
With tlpia traih ithe had caught it?—
Atlanta ConstituidOh,
THE INVENTION <W THE COEPASS.
The valuable invention of the com*
pase is involved in mystery apd itareal i
discoverer is unknown. LafiteaS) in-
his history of the Portuguese discovery
in the New World, says that Vasco dal
Gama brought it to Lisbon from'
coast of Africa, on his return from
linda, where the Arabs then used it*'
and he believed the Portuguese to hake ^ .
been until then ignorant of it 1 SonoA
attribute it to Flavia Gioja of Amalphi*
about the year 1302, while others again
are of the opinion that the invention
is due to the Chinese, and that one of
their emperors, a celebrated astrology '■
Was acquainted with it 1120 yearkbefora ' -
the Christian era. Nor have^qthers *
again been wanting who bave,*ajjp#rte<|
the opinion that it ted* knosm firtho^ .
time of Sotomom- The ancient Greeks
and Remaps are also supposed by tome ''
to have used it, bat the silqpce pt their
historians on -the pubjest^'render this ’
statement doubtfal.-^Nete Yorlte lie-,
corder. . ' •,
“oLD.ntol«rDEa ,v
The Constitution, 04 “014 iron* '
sides,’l’ ...'for** more'
kadwiijs the mdsratmoaa' of all 48* > •
wooden ships that wo have preserved.
Time and again did she vanquish the
English ships in the war of 1812, and
proud were the people of her captures.
Probably the most thrilling incident
of her career was her eicapo from
seven English men-of-war,after an ex
citing chase of nearly three days and
nights. The chase began, on July 17,
1812. Tbe Constitution was out for a
long cruise, and was weighed down
with stores. The sea was culm, and
no wind was stirring. Captain Hull
put out his men in boats to tow the
ship. They pulled valiantly, and us
night came on a “kedge” anchor was
run out half a mile ahead. The crew
on the ship kept l ulling on this, and
the Britishers didn’t discover for a
long time the secret. Finally the Eng
lish saw it, and adopted the same tnc
tics, and by doubling up their crews
began to pull their famous ship Shan
non near the Constitution.
A light breeke sprang up, and saved
tbe American ship for the time. There
was a calm the next day, and the ago
nizing struggle went on. The next
night another light breeze came up,
and the tired sailors obtained n little
sleep. The next day there came a
sharp breeze afte: many hours of
struggle. The Constitution trimmed
her sails to catch it; the boats dropped
back and the men wore caught up aa
the ship gathered headway. Tho
Guerriere of the English fleet came
abeam as tbe wind freshened, and fired
a broadside; but the shots fell short,
and the Constitution’s men ignored
them, and calmly went about straight
ening up their vessel, as if they had
just left port and such a thing as an
enemy was unheard of.
As long as the Constitution can bo
kept together she will probably bo
seen at Portsmouth, New Hampshire,
where she is now doing duty as a re
ceiving-ship.
Our old ships have always been
proud, aud it has amused some of tho
thoughtless officials of other nations ;
but there was bravery in their pride
and abftiute courage that has always
been the embodiment of that famous
saying, “Don’t give up the ship?”
We frequently hear laments that
the old soldiers are dropping away
fast. I always share that feeling, but
also include in it those wooden ships
of the navy—scarred veterans most of
them are, worthy of the abibing re
membrance of a grateful people. —Har
per’s Young People.
The skeleton of a “whale lizard”
brought from Alaska by tho steamer
City of Topeka weighs exactly 2,400
pounds.
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