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From the Dawn of the Morning.
Ho saw the wheat fields waiting
All golden in the sun,
And strong and stalwart reapers
Went by him one by one.
"O, could I reap in harvest!"
His heart made bitter cry.
*'I can do nothing, nothing,
So weak, alas, am I."
,THE POOR MAN'S SHEAF.
At eve a fainting traveler
Sank down beside his door
A cup of cool, sweet water
To quench his thirst he bore..
And when refreshed and strengthened,
The traveler went his way,
Upon the poor man's threshold
A golden wheat sheaf la^.
When came the Lcrd of harvest,
He cried- "Oh, Master, kind,
One sheaf I have to offer.
But that I did not bind.
I gave a cup of water
To one athirst, and he
Iieft at my door, in going
This sheaf I offer Thee."
Then said the Master softly:
"Well pleased with this am I.
One of my angels left it
With thee as he passed by.
Thou mayest not join the reapers
Upon the harvest plain,
But he who helps a brother
Binds shea\es richest grain.''
EBEN E. REXFORD.
BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD.
from Harper's Bazar.
We had been engaged, Mark and I,
since we were babies, so to say that
is when he was still in knickerbock
ers, and I was just out of bibs, we
had decided that when we grew up and
had a house of our own, it was to be
our own, his and mine, and there we
were to live together and live alone
and if the cheif of our diet there was
to be apple-tarts and butter-scotches,
that was our own affair.
It is a thousand pities that it was
about that house that all the rout
happened. For the fact is, I had the
strongest sort of a will, and so had
Mark, and when it came to the point
it wasn't that house at all that I
For, you see, the spot where I lived,
down on the great meadow farms,
was my sole idea of the beauty and
pleasantness of the world. Across the
river, with its high bank crowned with
feathery and always trembling and
shining birches, the hills rose, far and
faint and purple and yague but here
there were only the long green levels of
grass fields lying low and even with the
river that filled and sparkled in reeds
along theedge,andflowed by us broad
and grand on its way to the sea. And
when the sun shone, and the sky was
blue, and the south wind was softly
blowing, one seemed as near heaven
living there, as it is given one to be oh
There were quite a number of dweli
ing-houses here, where the corners of
several of the great river farms con
verged, so that, although their land
stretched out in different directions*
the buildings clustered together like a
village, and we always came and went
freely in each other's houses, and
knew each other's concerns, and were
more like one large family than stran
gers: and I loved my neighbors, every
one, and didn't want to go away from
them. And when it came to the ques
tion of marrying and going away, I
was simply determined that I wouldn't
go away, but that Mark should come
down to this little Garden of Eden,
where I knew every tint of the ripe
grass on the meadow, every sparkle
.of the water, every fleece of cloud up
on the blue of heaven.
"And why not, Mark?" I urged.
''Here is this immense farm, a really
great property, and would you leave'
it to take care of itself, and we go to
live two miles away on your father's
place, that bleak, lonesome rock up
in the air, shut in by a pine forest,
like a great fortressa prison, a real
"It isn't a prison to me," said Mark.
"It is the brightest spot in the world.
It would be if you were in it, Nan."
My real name is Pamela but that is
the way people always used me.
"And" no neighbors there!" Iexclaim
ed"nobody to run in of an evening,
nobody to talk to over the garden
wall, nobody to borrow of. nobody to
show your new things to, nobody il
you're sick. One might as well be
buried alive. I always thought so."
"I should want nobody bub you,
Nan, 'f we were married and that was
our home. It would be simply para-
*'It wouldn't be paradise to me
without any water to see. I never
liked the verse the bible about there
being no more sea. Pretty heaven
that, without any sea to look
.at! I couldn't live without my
river. I've always had it run
*ning by, running up or running down,
^coming from somewhere,goingto som e
where. life andmotion. I always look
out tne first thing in the morning to
see if its still there, and I listen for it
.at night. And it makes two skies by
nightone above and one belowwith
stars down in the under-world and
then by day the color, the changing
Jight and color, ana thepushing of the
tide, taking you right into the myster
ies. Oh, it's stagnation without the
river! I'd as lief be dead."
"And I think just as much of the
pine woods," he said, "with the ever
fasting murmur of the boughs. And
when a wind begins to blow, long be
fore we feel it down below^ the tree
-topa know it, and are whispering
.about it to one another, like old
-witches brewing a st^rm." Jpj|
"And there's nothing but a patch
a of garden there in your fathers old
place," I went on, without heeding
"and here are these long, rich grass
lands. And how in the world are we
to manage a farm two miles away
from it, I should like to know?"
"I know," said Mark. "Easily
just as you do two rods away."
"It's impossible," said I. "You
don't understand anything about
the oversight and caro that a great
farm needs if you think that."
"Well, we could sell the farm you
"Sell the farm!" I cried, starting up.
"My father's, my grandfather's, my
vYour Noah's your Adam's"
"How do you dare talk so to me,
Mark Myeis, about my home!" I
cried, more vexed and more.
"I shouldn't think you had called
my home a prison and a dungeon,"
"Well, it is! the gloomiest, the"
"Now hush, my darling hush, you
little vixen," said Mark, laughing,
with his hands on my lips, "or you'll
say something you'll be sorry for."
"You've said something you'll be
sorry for," I cried"calling me a
vixen. I may be a vixen, but
if you were a gentleman But
the Myerses always were tyrants,
and I'm glad I've found you out in
timeso calm and so cool, and so
fixed in your own way. And I'll nev
er, never, eo and live in your old pris-
on-house," I cried, growing angrier
and angrier, Heaven only knows why.
"And you may just whistle for your
dog, and go there yourself, and go
alone. I never want to see your face
again." And before he could grasp
me and prevent me, I had flashed in
to the house, and had shut and bolt
ed the door.
He waited then he waited, I should
think, an hour. And I sat inside,
burning with anger, and with an un
conscious sense of shame, very likely,
and a bitter disappointment, and
a wild, unnamed fear. And at last he
rose slowly and looked at the win
dows, and turned away and called old
Roland, and went slowly down the lane.
And he never came back. I could
see him walking along, ever so slowly,
in the clear moonlight, with the dog's
nose in his hand, till the road turned
into the wood that mounted the hill.
And when he had gone I just threw
myself on the floor, and all but dis
solved in my mad tears. And I didn't
know what the tears were forwheth
er for fear of losing Mark, or for fear
of losing my home, or for fear of giv
ing up my will but it seemed to me
that the end of the world had as good
We were both orphans, we both had
these great properties, and we had
both better have been beggars.
That was June, and the full moon.
I didn't sleep any that nightI hard
ly know why a presentiment of evil
kept me waking, although I was so
tired. I remember that moon now,
hanging in the purple sky, with her
wide wings, like a great boding ghost.
Every time I looked out, there she
was. By-and-by she began to frighten
me, and I shut her out, but lay awake
all the same, my mind in a wild whirl.
The next evening, in the long after
glow of the sunset, I tripped down
the lane to the wood, sure that I
should meet him, as I had always
done, on his way to me but the shape
I had been used to see bounding down
the path I did not see again. I went
close to the shadow of the wood, but
only old Roland came and put his
nose in my hand, and waited with me
while I waited, and went back with
me a little way when I went back. It
did not occur to me to think that
where Roland was his master was not
far distant. And I went down the
lane no more.
After that, then, one day crept by,
and another, and life continued in
the old way, and all the business of
the great farm thrived in the hands
of Bryan, the directing overseer, and
all seemed to be mere idleness. The
moving machines weie humming all
day in the meadows, and the huge
loads of fragrant hay came laboring
into the barns, and thunder-clouds
made panics, and the lightning fell, as
it always did on the wet low grounds,
and burned one or two hay-stacks
and then the gundelows went down
the river for the salt hay, and came
back, days afterward, with their dark,
square sails oet atop of their square
leads of thatchj and one by one all
the concerns of ripening and harvest
ing had their season, and past, and
August was over. And Mark had
never once been up to the lane again
and September had gone, and the
harve3t-moon and the hunter moon
had poured its silver floods of light
out of a great lonely heaven and still
Mark hadliever come.
I suppose Mrs. Wells, my next
neighbor, know all about it. And
Mrs. Sawyer, on the other side, of
course knew all that Mrs. Wells did.
They ^vere very good to me, and they
and the girls were always running in
to see me, or sending for me to run in
and see them. I don't think I was
trying to carry things off with a high
hand, and I know I wasn't hanging
my head and crying over what was
not to be helped I simply made up
my mmd to the inevitable. I was
never going to have Mark beside me
any more, and I must endure it, and
get through life as well as I could.
I had this farm on my hands, and all
the peopJe who had their living from
it, and I must do my duty. And per
haps in time fate would be kinder,
and give me a fever or cough, and let
me lie down and die and he would
come then and look on me, and re
member how I had loved himt and be
sorry. And thinking how sorry he
would be was a joy I hugged to my
heart, and the only joy I had.
But I used to long so sometimes to
see Mark's dear face again, to hear his
voice, just to lay my head on his
shoulder and cry my eyes out there.
Sometimes it used to seem to me that
I couldn't live another minute if I
didn't run down that lane and up
through the wood to the old house on
the rock and find him, and beg him to
forgive meforgive, oh, not just thai
burst of temper, but the whole rebel
lion of my souland come back to me
and sometimes I felt that Imust take
some sleeping potion that would keep
me benumbed till the pain had passed,
or else must throw myself into the
river always running by, brimmed and
shining and indifferent. fe
And I began to hate tne rivertne'
river that I had used to love so in the
sunshine, all blue and silver that I
had loved so, dimpling in its soft grays
in rainy weather where I had never
tired of seeing the ice-boats dart along
when it lay white under its wintiy
mailthe river that now, in my grief
and trouble and weariness, flowed
past as calmly as if I had never seen
it. How could it be so irresponsive,
rolling on bright and strong and
steady, giving me back no sympathy
now in my sorrowful mood,-giv-
ing me even no vantage-ground?for
I should have had to wade into it if I
had*wanted to drown myself. Yes, 1
began to hate the river. I began to
hate, too, these long, tiresome, mo
tionless levels of the grass landsOh,
so flat, so monotonous, so low! "One
it simply under-ground here," I said
to myself. "One has really not the
air to breathe. One becomes like
those slugs that live under the damp
side of a stone. I am under a stone
myself. Oh, for just a breath of air
from some point a little way up the
sky!" I began to hate, I say, the
long green grass fields and than I be
gan to hate the farm life. "It is dull,
sordid, base work, let them say what
they please," said I, "from the pitch
ing about of the barn-yard muck to
the last results of it. It is all non
sense about its being the one noble
occupation. So is the cook's, then,
too." And I hated the great cattle in
the yard, the smell of the frothing
pails of milk, the click of the stanch
ions, the cheese-making, the butter
packingeverything that belonged to
all the dull round of the farm duties.
I went about to see the work done,
and said a word to the maids, here,
the men there and I went and sat
down by my kindling autum fire, and
felt that if I had to live here iorever I
had better die and be done with it. I
had rather die and be done with it
anyway, If I was never to see Mark
any more but then that was no new
Do what I would, my thoughts
would follow Mark. Was he there
alone in his father's house? Was he
riding gayly round the country, visit
ing other houses, other girls happier,
than I, hearing music, joining in laugh
ter? Or was he traveling off in distant
regions, seeing new sights and forget
ting the old, forgetting the past and
me in fresh experience? Or was he sit
ting at home there in the long dim
room whose windows looked through
the pine-wood vista over the broad
valley and away to the blue mount
ains? No one told me no one ever
ventured to mention his name to me.
But somehow I placed him there inthe
long dim room, and there my fancy
kept following him and hovering about
him. Now he sat by the fireside there,
in the deep chair, reading, now he was
busy with maps and pictures at the
table now, in the big bay, the moon
light, that had pale green reflexions in
it cast up from the emerald depths of
the woods below, fell about him.
I dare say that, in reality, busy
about the place and his affairs of one
sort or another, and doing his best
to live and to forget, he was very little
in that room but there I chose to
place him and it grew strangely sweet
to me, and every moment when I
could sit down alone my iancy took
me and I sat down in that room, or
else I wandered up and down the
great staircase and the hall where his
people's portraits hung but I always
came back again to the hearth of tne
long dim room if it were day, to the
dancing fire-cast shadows there if it
were night, and the place grew dearer
and dearer to me every hour, and I
upbraided myself in thoughts too bit
ter for speech for the tolly and angry
temper that had shut me out of it,
that had drawn comparison between
tnat ancient lofty place and this low
and tiresome stretch of nothing but
common grass lands, between that
manor and this plain farm-house, al
though in real truth my farm-house,
was quite its equal at any other time.
But the new year came in without a
sign from Mark or a sign from me
and the country was white with snow,
and the river ice was strong enough to
bear up sledges and teams of horses,
and the iceboats were splitting the
wind before them. It all made no
odds to me. I was completely wretch
ed. I didn't pretend to go to church
or to any of the society meetings and
if the Sawyers and Wellses came to
me, I suppose I treated them prop
erlyI'm sure I don't knowbut I
never set my foot out-doors the win
There were furious storms that win
ter. The snow fell as I never remem
bered it before. The drifts seemed to
wall us in from all the world. "A liv
ing tomb," I used to murmer. "I wish
it were a tomb indeed, and I in my
last sleep." At twenty, one can be so
very miserable and at thirty, if one
lives so long, one can be so profane
as to laugh at it.
Sometimes Bryan and Thomas
brought word of the outside regions,
of the way people up-river were sleigh
riding over the tops of fences, of the
immense snow-fall in the mountians,
and the fears of what would happen
from it in the spring if there should be
an early thaw. And I remembered
some words that Mark used to quote
from a play ho had seen, "When this
snow melteth there shall come a flood."
I didn't care how many floods came.
And so, with storm after storm, the
winter wore away, Jane and Maria at
their home-keeping tasks, and I busy
with my rugmaking, hooking strips of
woollen cloth through coffee-bags, not
because the house was not full of
them, but because I had nothing bet
ter to do. For I couldn't read if I
tried my eyes swan, and I could not
make out a word of what it was all
about. And people went and came
like shadows and the days had grown
short, and now they grew long, and
what did it all matter to me?
March had come, but without a sign
of the winter's breaking and then at
last April loitered on, and April suns
began to do their work and gradually
the drifts of snow in the lanes and in
fields began to settle, and to lessen
and melt and dissapear. And Bryan
and Thomas had to talk of the brood
ing hens, and watch for the breaking
up of the river, and discuss the chance
of the early rye and tne new calves
and the hiring of the spring hands
and it was all emptinessv And one...
day it began to snow, and the snow
turned to rain, and it rained that day
and rained in river3, and it rained the
next day.and it rained till it had rain
ed a weeka long, dreary week that
bade fair to end only in deluge. And
on Saturday the sun came out warm
and when I looked, the crocuses
bloomed under the windows, and
Thomas said it was very like the May
flowers were opened in the woods,*if
anybody could get to them for the
roads all being under water, although
the river was still locked in solid ice
from shore to shore. And in the late
afternoon of the second day of this
same sweet sunshine and south wind,
as we sat there, Jane and I, Maria
ran in and said there was water in the
cellar, as much as six inches.
"That is nothing," said I. "I should
think there would be, after such a
melting of snow and such a raining of
"It's more likely it's the land suck
ing up the river, miss, said Maria.
''The river's just raging full under its
icecoat, I shouldn't wonder, and is
letting itself out through the land."
And as she spoke there came a great
shock and thrill, a rumble, a roar,
and a mighty burst of sound.
"Great mercy, miss!" cried Jane,
"it's the ice cracking and rending from
shore to shore. I never heard the like
before, many springs as I've lived be
side it." And before she had done
speaking the sound came againthe
sound of great guns, the trembling of
"It is an earthquake," said I. "It
must be. But earthquakes up here
don't amount to anything."
"That's no earthquake," cried Jane.
And then we sat there an hour or
more, looking out on the
listening to the sounds, and wonder
ing, and telling stories ofearthquakes,
and hardships, and what not, curd
ling our blood as we talked. And at
last Thomas came in he had been
down the lane to the highway, and a
person who had come from up coun
try had told him that the freshet was
on the river, and the high water had
carried away Ford's mills, a dozen
miles above us.
"But how can it do that?'" said I.
"How can there be a freshet where it's
"Just because it is all ice, miss,"
said Thomas. "The streams are full
up-country, and the frozen river down
here is giving the water no outlet.
Half the country between here and
there'll be afloat before morning."
And then came the dull roar and rum
ble, the shock, thethrill, the explosion,
"Why, this is terrible," said I. "It
seems as if elemental things were at
work as if the earth was splitting and
opening." And while we waited and
shivered, as one after another
of the great explosions came, the
door opened so quickly as
to make us start, and Mrs. Sawyer
ran in, her face as white as ashes.
"A messenger has just gone gallop
ing by," she gasped. "My husband
met him. He says the dam at the
falls has been carried away, and the
mayor at Fallstown has sent word by
him to the mayor of Harborbar to
look out for his bridges."
"And the explosions," said Bryan,
joining us, for we were all looking out
now, in the late twilight, at the long
glass door opening on the river, above
which a purpling mist was hung, "is
the Fallstown people trying to break
up the ice below them with dynamite.
I guess we are in for it."
"I don't know what we are going to
do," cried Mrs. Sawyer. "Of course
the moment the ice breaks up and
goes sweeping down it will make for
the first outlet, and that is on these
grass landsrunning in here on the
very first low shore along the whole
course of the river. It is terrifying.
If it were only daylight I wouldn
mind it so much. We could see our
way. We could see what was coming.
We should know where we were and
what to do. But in the dark! You
had better come over to our house,
Nan, and whatever we do we will all
do together. Mercififl powers! what
It was only the wind coming up
that strong, sweet south wind. It
had broken a bough from the old elm
that had fallen on the house, and at
the same moment the last explosion
of the dynamite sounded. But it ivas
enough. Mrs. Sawyer's words were
ringing in my ears. In the dark all at
once I thought I could see the torrent
of broken ice, the great blocks
and sheets of pointed jaggad ice, lift
ing themselves into one huge wall
and sweeping round the bend and up
the land, pushed by the mighty sVell
ing of the tide behindmounting, grind
ing, sweeping across all this low in
terval, over which it would crash and
pour and flow, to find the river at a
point below and reach the sea. The
rush ot the great black cold waters
was already upon me, the sound of
therar*in my ears, the blowing of the
wide dark water breath. I felt my
self a helpless straw -oefore them. I
did not wait an instant. I never
thought of the others. I was not con
scious of any thought at all but I
screamed, and turned and dashed out
of the house and down the lane, as
fast, an breathlessly, as I could race,
through the mire and slush, and up
the narrow road into the wood, feel
ing still that chill water breath blow
ing on me, hearing the terrible sound
of the rasping, piling, tumbling, roar
ing ice, and I never stopped till 1 fell
panting and breathless and fainting
at somebody's feet, with the warm
breath ot a great stag hound in my
face, and was being lifted in some
body's arms, and saw when I opened
my eyes, by the light of the young yel
low moon through the wood, that it
was Mark, and he was kissing me with
a kiss as long as the space that had
separated us. "Oh. /Mark! Mark!" I
cried "save me! save me! The freshet is
coming it is close upon us we are all
drowning! take me up to your bouse,
to your dear old high house, and don't
let meevjer leave it. Oh, Mark, I loved
you all the time! Take me- home.
Don't let me go again. Forgive me,
love me. I don't see how you can love
me. I don't see how you can love
anybody so wilful and vixenish and
selfish and hateful but oh! you must
"I am takingyou nome,** said hejasjjret to come.
soon as he had the chance. "Do you
suppose I will let you go again? I
shall have to forgive you. What else
is there for me to do? I heard about
the freshet. I was ]ust on my way to
you. We will have the minister up
this very evening, if we can get him,
and you shall never so much as go out
of my arms again."
And he did. And here lam, periect'
ly happy in this fortress, this prison
on a rock, this dungeonso happy
that I have not yet been able to bring
my shocked nerves to the pass even
of going down again to the grass lands,
where Mark goes down and manages
everything for me.
And the freshet? Oh, to be sure!
Why, you see, that south wind shifted
to easterly, and it froze again that
night. And when it melted^ it melted
so gently that the ice went out of the
river without anybody's knowing it.
And there never was any freshet.
Learn to Tell Stars.
Modern astromomy is so rapidly
and wonderfully linking the earth and
the sun together, with all the orbs of
space, in the bonds of close physical
relationship, that a person of educa
tion and general intelligence can af
ford no valid excuse for not knowing
where to look for Sirius or Aldebaran
or the Orion nebula, or the planet
Jupiter. As Australia and New Zea
land and the islands of the sea are
made a part of the civilized world
through the expanding influence ol
commerce and cultivation, so the
suns and planets around us are, in a
certain sense, falling under the domin
ion of the restless and resistless mind
of man. We have come to possess
vested intellectual interests in Mars
and Saturn, and in the sun and all
his multitude of fellows, which nobody
can afford to ignore.
Perhaps one reason why the average
educated man or woman knows so lit
tle of the starry heavens is because it
is popularly supposed that only the
most powerful telescopes and costly
instruments of the observatory are
capable of dealing with them. No
greatsr mistake could be made. It
does not require an optical instrument
of any kind, nor much labor, as com
pared with that expended in the ac
quirement of some polished accom
plishments regarded a% indispensable,
to give one an acquaintance with the
stars and planets which will be not
only pleasurable but useful. And with
the aid of an opera-glass most inter
esting, gratifying, and, some in
stances, scientifically valuable obser
vation may be made in the heavens.
I have more than onre heard persona
who knew nothing about the stars and
probably cared less, utter exclama
tions of surprise and delight when per
suaded to look at certain parts of the
sky with a good glass, and thereafter
manifest an interest in astronomy ol
which they would formerly have be
lieved themselves incapable.From
"Astronomy Avith an Opera-Glass,"
by Garrett P. Serviss, in Popular Sci
ence Monthly for April.
Whi te Furniture.
A writer in the New York Mail refers
to the new craze for white furniturei
No sooner had we furnished oui
houses in sombre colors, with dark
mahogany and early English furniture
of black oak, which appeared worm'
eaten, if it really was not, when lo!
the dealers inaugurate a perfect craze
in white furniture, light colored up
holstered goods, and from the dignified
and aristocratic English or colonial
styles we become imbued with the
period of Louis Quinze. However,
the dark, rich furniture is too beauti
ful to give up without a struggle, and
fashion now dictates that those who
can afford it shall have each room in
their residence furnished to represent
not only a distinct period, but a cer^
tain country as well. Thus we have
English rooms, French rooms, colo
nial, Egyptian and Japanese apart
ments, according to the purse or fancy.
The first "white room" built in New
York or any prominence is the music
room in the Villard mansion, now
owned and accupied by Whitelaw Reid.
The floor is highly polished in light
colored woods, and the entire apart
mentis of ivory white, picked out with
gold, and in the panels of the walls arc
medallions of lutes, ribbons and scrolls
of music. A handsome "white room"
has the floor of polished wood, w.th
here and there a white astrakhan rug,
the furniture is of white picked out
with gold, upholstered white satin
brocade the curtains and other
draperies are of white plush, embroid
ered with gold the picture frames are
white and gold, a white easel stands in
one corner and a white and gold, piano,
It makes a moat beautiful apartment
The Russian Rome in Asia
Just now there are no war rumors
in the air, but it is settled that the
Russian headquarters in Central Asia
will be moved to Samarcand. This
means business*. A foreign corre
"Now, Smarcand,tbe Rome of Asiat
the queen city- of the Oxus is to be
come Russian character, as for 2ft
years it has been Russian by conquest
and cession.. Its possession for more
than 2,000 years has been accounted
the final stamp of imperial domina
tion. Greeks,. Arabs, Mongolians, Us
beg8 wdn. it in turn. Here Tamerlane
listened to the homage of the prmce
of the-east. Here the devout Turani
ans knelt in dumb submission before
the sacred pedestal oi the throne ol
Timour* But no Christian had entered
it a3 master until the Russian Kauff
man and his men won it for their lord
the czar. It is to-day the fairest jewel
of his Asian crown. It may be once
more the queen of the east! )t may
again be the 'Holy City' of a mighty
empire. Now It is merely an army
headquarters and the center of a cot
Thus the work of Russianizing Asia
goes on. But this is only the beginning
Russia's greatest achievements
How the Suez Canal is Worked.^
From the Saturday review.
Signals are sent from the office to tlje
various 'gares,' prescribing the siding
at which each ship must stop to let
another ship meet and pass it. The
official who is on duty keeps the mod
els moving as he receives notice, tak
ing care, when perhaps two ships* f^J-,
ing in opposite directions are nearirg
the same siding, to give timely warn
ing to the pilots in charge by means
of the signal balls and flags at each
station under his control from th^T
office, and to direct which of the two
is to tie up and which to proceed.'
Barring accidents, the whole arrange
ment goes like clock work, the clerk can
read off a moment the name, ton-!,
nage, nationality, draught and actual''
situation of every steamer he can tell
what pilot she has on board, what is
her breath of beam, what rate she is
moving at, and everything else which
has to be known about her and he is
able without an effort to govern her
movements, to prescribe the place
where she is to get under way in the
morning, although he (Joes not see
her, and probably never saw her in
The Two Made a Man.
"The way in which the canal is work-
3d from the Suez office is, like many
other ingenious devices, exceedingly
simple. It is ascribed to the local
liead of the administration, M. Chart
rey, who deserves immese credit bolh
for the invention itself and for the way
in which it is applied to the traffic, i
Against the wall at one side of the
room is a narrow shelf, or platform, J1
ilong which runs a groove. At inter
nals this trough or groove has deep
recesses, and at two places these re
cesses are of larger size. This trough 1
or groove represents the canal. The
recesses are the sidings. The larger in-"'
tervals are the Great Bitter Lake and t'
Lake Timsah. When a vessel has
been signaled and is about to enter
the canal, say at the Suez end, a small
toy boat, or model, three or four
inches long, is chosen to represent her.
A. croup of these model ships stands
ready beside the model canal, each
furnished with a flag. About forty
have the English flag", ten or a dozen
the French flag, and so on with other
nationalities. As the steamer comes
up and her name is known, it is writ
ten on paper and placed on the toy ilk
boat. The whole number of ships W
thus actually in the canal at any mo
ment can be seen at a glance and, as
Che telegraphic signals give notice,
the toy boats are moved along,
or placed in a siding, or shown tra
versing one of the lakes at full speed.
"The loss of the Soudan has dimin'f|
ished the trade of Sue/, and in a slight
degree the traffic of the canal, which
has also been affected by the state of
the market in England, "and the long I
commercial depression. Nevertheless, i
there are oft'en as many as forty
steamers dotted about on different
parts of M. Chartrey's model, and the
lees,payable only in specie, are often
enormous. Some of the large Aus
tralian lines of the Peninsular and
Oriental or the Orient service pay as
much as $9,C0O in making a single
He Wouldn't Spoil the Dinner.
From the Detroit Free Press.
An old war veteran, who had bee?
through half a dozen campaigns and
was not very particular about what
he ate, was invited out to a swell din
ner party. He safe almost directly
opposite the hostess, and was pain
fully conscious that every move hot
made could be observed by her. Sud
denly, at the height of the festivities
the veteran came across a caterpillar
in his salad. A furtive glance at the
hostess disclosedi the fact tha she*
too had discovered the embarrassing
circumstance. It was a critical mo-i
ment, but the old! soldier wa3 equajSf
to the occasion. Without changing'**
muscle he gathered up the caterpillar
with a forkful of the salad and s'
lowed both' The look ot gratf
which he received from his host(
few minutes later warmed the |j,
cockles of his heart. In due time
story leaked out and when somebo
askfld the old campaigner how
liked caterpillar salad, the reply en
like a hot shot: "Do you take me
a ma4i who would spoil a dinnerparty
for a little thing like a caterpillar'" i'
From the New York Sum.
"Fred Gibbs was sergeant major ii
the 148th New York Infantry, anc
one of his chums was my friend, Hoi
ace Rumsey. of Seneea Falls, who wa.
first sergeant in Company A in th
same regiment. Gibbs' wound was a:
ugly one. The ball tore through hi.f
cheeks aad mouth, and knocked out!
his teeth and rendered him speechless.']
A little further along the line lay his'
friend Rumsey, unable to move, with1
a bullet wound tn his thigh. In get
tmg off the field Gibbs found his ol*
frieiad, and in sign language mads
kno.rn his loss of speech. 'Can yoi
walk?* inquired Rumsey. Gibbs nod
ded his head. 'Well,' said Rumseyv ,1
ean talk, but I can't walk a step.
me climb on your back and vou wai i}
and I'll talk. The two of us will jus i
make a man.' Gibbs knelt down amf\
let his friend climb on his shoulder^
and the pair made their wsy safely tjr
the rear. The rear guard stopped
them and asked searching questions
which Rumsey answered vigorously
while Gibbs stood mute. They wer*'
Greece has thirt y-three gymnasu'J
200secondary schools, andl,717pr|
mary schools. These are all publi^
Among the private educational estal 5
lishments the first p^ace must b| I
given to the Society for the Higher Edvi I
cation of Women, in connection wit*
which a lycee for girls was established
a,ffew yearsago, with a staff offceveat^
ix teachers and 1.476 pupils. Greek' f~
send their girls there from all rjarts&d|
the East. Education is very'uberiipY
ly endowed in Greece, and the sufiLi
which Greeks settled in foreign coul
tries send home tor this