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A WESTERN ELAINE.
Thompson of Monterey Tells of a Girl's Broken Heart.
: WRITTEN FOB THE SUNDAY CALL BY CLAY M. GREENE.
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":'\-i'.i;y : -CHAPTER L . .
r — t- — -\ L . 'HAT yer readin', mis
\ \Yv // ter? "
.;. '/ -'V.v .-A. /.\ " * I looked up- from my
"V A/A \l r '^ 00^ a ™* glared at the
• ,-\ ;f\- .■[ ••" intrudenbut the moment
■ . C____C_ -J- ary. -expression of dis
pleasure, was soon softened into one of in
' terest. For the person.who.had interrupted
• my solitary hour with Tennyson commended
• himself to meat once as being one of those
"sttanco specimens of .humanity* who to the
student of human nature might become an
interesting subject of analysis. Almost
' every oue imagines .himself to be a reader
of race's, and 1 am no exception.
** He was not altogether a stranger to me,
to? 1 had seen him but a few moments be
' fore paddling on the river at the foot of the
. bluff, on the edge of which 1 sat. But when
.-•the, strange craft that carried him— a prim- .
; it'ive- dugout, fashioned ..from the trunk of a
Tine- free— had glided into the shadows of
the stunted cypresses that lined the river's
edge, both.- the beat and its solitary occu
• . pant passed out of my mind. Now, a new
interest was awakened! and for a moment I
■ studied .him closely,. without replying to his
abrupt, if not impertinent query.'
lie was. a man of apparently 4"i years of
age; his figure tall and erect, and a massof
iromgrjay hair fell from under his sombrero
' in a tangled mass about his shoulders. Bis
face wis almost hidden by a bushy growth
of beard,* and his piercing eyes, * gray and
sad, seemed to reflect a heart that bad borne
N^' "*i- J^H^rZtLs*
its weight of rare. His dress was totally
different from that of the men I hid noticed
about Monterey, fur he was dressed In soiled
buckskin from head to foot, and I became
impressed with the idea that 1 nad at last
met with one of those strange ideals of the
sensational Western novelist.
As 1 drew this momentary photograph of
hint, he repeated the question that had.
first broken my reverie;
"Tennyson is the Poet Laureate of Eng
land, and one cf the most graceful writers of
thedav. The story lam reading is tint of
. Elaine, a strange, sad tale of disappointed
"Tell us about it, wont yer, mister?
In as few words as possible 1 recounted
the touching experiences of this misguided
heroine.from her first meeting with.Luince
lot to the place where, in the words of the
Steered by tbe dnmb, went upward with -.be flood.
■ I looked up in surprise. The sad, white
face had in a second undergone a startling
metamorphosis.* checks were flushed,
the cold, gray eyes flashed with anger and
the lips quivered, with excitement.
"What Is the matter." I asked.
"Mister, wlier did Tennyson git that
story?'.' '■ * •
' "1 cannot say, but it is probably a child
of his Own fancy— a bit of poetic romance."
"No. 'taint, -mister, no. 'taint. ITliat
ere story's as true as the blue o' them skies;
tin - as the wind that's a-sighin' above them
pines now; true as the roar o' tbemj>reak
ers on the ricks at Cypress Petal Fur it
happened right, there on the bend o' the
' river, whar ver see that old adobe: and the
bells as that "book say» tolled fur her death
wasn't rung in England, but over at the foot
o" the hills thar, from the towers o' the Mis
" You have awakened a strange Interest
in me,' my friend. Wont yon sit down?"
Be sat upon the fragrant cushion of pine
needles beside me, and cast a long, wistful,
tearful glance at the ' book I held in my
" What did you mean when you told me
that Hi.' story was true?" I asked.
"Just what I said, mister. Elaine was
mv gal Phoebe. Launcelot was a feller from
• Frisco, named Kobert?, and— what did you
say :i; .-ii's name was?"
- " Guinevere-." .
*'• " Wall, sue was a grand lady visiting at
the bir hotel. And, mister, the Lord of As
. tolat was inc."-' •
"Do you mind telling me the story in your
own way : "
; There was no reply, for the stranger
threw himself upon bis face, his gaunt frame
quivered' with emotion, and sob after sob
Stirred I he' silence of the pines. I had bent
forward in the hope that the touch of^a
friendly hand might staunch the. flow of
grief, when. I heard the tramp of heavy feet,
and a new-comer appeared upon the scene,
knelt "beside the old man and spoke to him
eagerly in Spanish. ' •
"Que lines, I'lpitano?"
The newcomer was one of the few remain
in^ t- lies of the California Mission Indian.
' Bather short of stature, with a skill dark
almost as that of a negro; a heavy growth
of wiry, black hair straggled down his
shoulders at the back, and, to u<e a modern
phrase, was "banged." low upon his fore
head. Be wore a pair of very ragged mili
tary trousers, with a flaring red shirt, and,
although the thermometer that afternoon
must have registered 80 degrees Fahrenheit,
a heavy gray blanket was thrown about him.
' deceiving no reply to his earnest appeal he
leaned cimer to the prostrate form of the
" Cat'itano " and repeated it with even more
emphasis than at first. The old man rose to
a sitting posture, took hold of the Indian's
' wrist' with a conclusive clasp and spoke to
him- in his own tongue.
' "Sancho, el me ha dicho la historia de mi
l.ij ■ i da." (Sancho, he has told me tho
story of my lost daughter.)
• •■'Como?" (How?) asked the Indian in as
. Then with bated breath and a tremulous
.voice, the old man repeated to Sancho what
I concluded must be a Spanish version of
the same, story I told him. What a sight
were those two faces as I eagerly listened to
the recital in a tongue 1 could not under
stand ? The old man's voice was tremulous
and faltering, and lie stopped now* and
then .to brush away the tears, from his
bronzed cheek.. Sancho, true to the in
stincts of his race, remained stolid and ap
parently indifferent; but from the depths of
his piercing black eyes there seemed to flash
■tin expression of bitter hatred, and when lie
had heard all lie glared at the. book in my
hand, in • though it were some enemy be
-wished to destroy. • .
"You dout understand Spanish, mis
ter?" • fl--.-.:
• On my negative reply he continued :
*. "And In- don't speak no English," point
ing to the Indian. "But I wanted him to
; know, and now I'll tell ver the whole thing
jest as it happened and then you kin sea it's
•the self-same, stwry as is printed into that
ere k. Biit bold on !" and he pointed to
the distant hills, •".-
---'-. "Se»> bouse on the hill yonder?" '-•'
" -.".Yes."" ..
"• " See. where the settin' sun shinin' on the
v. md - makes it look like a light?'!';
."Yes." . , ; i:.fl .:- . ■ -. y .
•• "Well, tliatcre's my clock. 1 stand on this
very spot every day jeSt at sunset, -and that
glitter warhs me it's* lime to go home to 'the
old womai Wat's waiiin' fur me over yonder ■
.lb the old adobe. So I'll have to quit yer
lie' but I'll '; tell yer the story to-morrow."
'■"■t shall not be here then,",; I' replied ;
"for urgent business will call me to the city. i
But I am deeoly interested in the strange co
incidence J*ou have mentioned, and should
like to hear it through."
"Would yer mind comin home with me
then and bavin' it bite of supper with mo
and the old woman?"
•' 1 should desire it above all things."
"Come on then, and we've got to hurry or
she'll be a worry in."
With a nod to Sancho, he led the way
toward the river. Not a word was spoken
as we silently trod the circuitous trail down
the cliff, and, arriving at the water's edge,
the old man pointed to the boat, and I took
my place in the bow. He seated himself
amidships, and the Indian, with a dexterous
movement, pushed the boat into the stream,
took his place in the stern, and, paddle in
hand, pointed her prow toward the bend in
the river which the old man had spoken of.
It was a weird almost fautastic picture,
the setting sun just disappearing behind
the western sea, casting long shadows from
the pines upon the placid surface of the
water, the rudely constructed boat, with its
three strangely contrasted occupants, gliding
along noiselessly through the twilight.
The silence was almost painful, not even
the dip of the paddle in the water nor the
ripples in our wake giving forth the faintest
sound. The old man, his hands clasped
i limit his knees, kept his eyes fastened upon
the cliff we had just left, and his entire
bearing was one of utter obliviousness
to his surroundings. The silent steerman
plied his paddle in it measured and mechani
cal way; while his face bore the saute stolid,
malignant expression I had noticed before.
Finding myself almost drop: ing into the
belief that I must have fallen asleep among
the pines ou the cliff, and that this uncanny
voyage in the mysterious dugout must be
some strange dream, 1 satisfied myself as to
its reality by breaking the silence.
"Mv friend, you have not told me your
" Call me Thompson— that'll do."
"'Have you lived 'in this neighborhood
" How long?" and by."
" I'll tell yer by and hy."
His replies to my interrogatories were
given in a listless, indifferent manner, which
obviously betokened a repugnance to con
versation, for the time being, at least, so 1
permitted silence to reign again.
For the next twenty minutes we glided
noiselessly through the gathering shadows,
when the boat's prow was turned toward
the shore, and with a sigh of relief and a
pang of satisfaction I became aware that
we had reached the objective point ot our
journey. Sancho stepped iuto the shallow
water and pushed the boat high up on the
shore, nud unbidden by my new friend
Thompson I rose from my position in the
bow- and stepped out upon the sand. Sancho,
quite indifferent to our presence, sat upon
the limit, rested his chin in the palms of his
hands and looked out toward the setting
sun. Thompson turned to me and spoke:
"We'll go to the house now, mister, and I
want to 'ell you this one thing. I wouldn't
a brought you liver, oily't you don't know
Spanish and I'd be afraid we might get to
talkin' about our trouble. That's somethin'
I ain't mentioned to the old woman sence it
happened, 'cause I feel that the least sini
dmt start 'd break her old heart. I gue*s
you'll bai ter tell me yer name, 'cause the
old woii.an'll want to he introduced. For
alt ho' we're pooler's them crows over on
the beach thar, she's got some o' them high
falulin' idees she picked up among the
proud old Mexicans afore Fremont took
" My name's Browning." I replied.
"Wall, Mister Browning, just fuller me."
I did so in silence. • In a few moments we
reached the summit of the little Muff on
which the old adobe stood. Neatness
reined everywhere, and I breathed the
balmy atmosphere of a thousand flowers.
Lilies roses, hollyhocks, heliotrope and
mignonette grew all about me in luxuriant
abundance, and the white washed walls of
the old adobe were almost covered with a
golden mass of nasturtium vines.
"Mister Browning, Ihis 'ere little garden
o' mine's my only care now, and 1 spend
most all my time among them beds a-beauti
fytti' on 'en, an 1 a-makin' on 'em jest as
bright an' pleasant as 1 kin fur her sake;
for it's beautiful things thet softens the sol
itude uv a lonely heart. And the only
beautiful things i kin give to her now is
them flowers, nursed inter life by me, an'
painted by the hand o' God, Thar she is
now, in her old seat."
' Looking toward the point indicated by
the wave of his hand, 1 beheld a dark
skinned, white-haired woman dressed in
black. She bad been seated upon a rustic
bench in a small arbor, formed by au in
geniously interwoven mass of heliotrope
bushes, but rose at our approach aud ad-
vanced to meet us. : My introduction to her
was brief, but evidently served its purpose,
for with a stately bow, which one- would
hardly have expected from the wife of the
uncouth Thompson, she pleasantly and
quietly shook my hand.
We'll go in now, mister," said Thomp
son ; " supper is ready."
On entering the living room of the house,
I was. struck by the cleanliness and sim
plicity ot my surroundings. S ive for the
rafters overload, which seemed to have
been discolored by the accumulated dust of
years, everything was neatness itself. The
newly whitewashed walls, the well-scoured
floor and the Beat wooden furniture told
their own story.- My hostess was an ex
cellent housewife. With a graceful move
ment of her right hand, and a bow that was
almost regal, she motioned me to a seat at
the table. .
The meal was eaten almost in silence, and
at its closo my hostess bade me good-night in
Spanish and left the room.
"She's a-gittin' pretty old," explained
Thompson, "and always goes to bed right
after supper. She's asked me to tell -yer
this, so yer' wont think she ain't been
brought up right. And now I'll tell yer that
story, and as it's, a leetle cold to-night, we'd
best sit close to the fire. Smoke?"
I took the pine he offered me, and together
wo sat by tlie open fireplace, in the glare of
its crackling logs of pine. •
"I come to Californy 'Jong with ' Fremont.
When the war wus over and. they declared
peace we wus all ordered home. But I'd
met my fust. love by that time, and as she'd
prom Bed to marry .me, and wanted me to
•stay, 1 got my discharge from the Colonel
and settled down in Monterey. This sweet
heart of mine wus a heap hetter'n wot I wns,
for her father was the Alcalde, and I only a
Sergeant/In Fremont's leginiont. But we
soon fixed the matter tin by bavin' em' call
me 'f'apiiano' (which means Captain, you
know), and that made things sound better,
even if they wasn't.
"Wall, we * wns married by old Father
Sahiano at the Mission Church and I moved
over here ami went to ranchln'. We wus
happy enough in our young days and our
lives passed along jest as smooth and as
caln, as that river out yonder in the moon
light. But no matter how happy a couple
may be, no matter how deep their love, I
tell yer, mister, there's tine thing that's
always a cloud in the happiest home and
that's the thought, that you ain't got no
.little ones for to. comfort you when you've
struck the shady side o' life.
"Fifteen years we lived under this cloud,
and, at last, one Christmas morniu' when
. the birds wus a-singin' in the vines outside
our door and the bells o' Uie Mission wers
peal in' out their welcome for the birthday o'
Christ, our little one came to us. : I took
the little speck o' nature in my arms for
the first time, and kissed her little puckerin'
lips, and baptized her with hot tears o' joy,
uamin' her 'Phoebe.', after my mother." **.»-■'
■ "Sixteen years went by then, so quick we
couldn't count 'em; sixteen years o' peace
and quiet and. happiness; sixteen years o' joy
and love and contentment- -Phoeliehadgrowed
up to be what all the people in the valley said
was the most beautiful human bein' they'd
ever came acrost, and when she was con
firmed the parish priest, told me to be care
ful and watch her Well; for such -beauty as
hern win pretty sure to end in • a flood o'
tears. : But I didn't dream o' such a thing
till they built the big hotel over in Monterey
and the crowds o' high-toned' people come
down from the city, -, Everybody used to go
over thar to see , the dressiu' and th" sea
bathin',, nnd hear the music, and o' course
'^xebe' went too. She come home one night
THE MORNING CALL. SAN FRANCISCO, SUNDAY. NOVEMBER 30. 1890-SIXTEEN PAGES.
to us with a look on her face I'd never seen .
there before. Her little lips seemed drawed
kinder into an exoression o' pain, and thar
was a sorter far off, sad look inter her eyes.
We asked her wot was the matter, o' course,
and after thin tin' a moment, and a twirling
of her little fingers, she sat down on my
knee and told me she was In love.
"Why, Mister Browning, if that ere roof
was ter fall right down on us this minit, I
couldn't be more surprised then I was then,
when our little gal fold us she'd given her
heart, what we all along thought would be
our'n forever, to some one else.
"But we didn't chide her, 'cause we d
neither uv us spoko one cross word to her
sence that Christmas mornin' when she
come to us. I didn't go to bed till late that
night; not my wife come to me, as I
wits walkln' the floor, and said she thought
it wouldn't amount to anythin' nohow.
The gal was only a child, and the first in
fatuation seldom if ever last 3.
"I couldn't sleep though, and tossed about
all night and studied the stars a-peepin' thro'
my winder, waitin' fur the day to come, till
I could see her and find out the whole truth.
"Well, that truth come almost with the
first streaks o' dawn, fur when I got up she
was a sittiu' thar on the doorstep. I found
that she was no longer a child that her first
infatuation win one o' the kind as creeps
inter a woman's heart to stay thar forever.
"She told me the man's name — Harry
Roberts it was and she said she'd been a
meetin' him 'most every day for a week.
He'd come up to her as she was a-settin'
alone on the beach, and ■ introduced
himself, and that's how they become
acquainted. I didn't say pnthin' to
nobody as to wot I intended to do, nut as
soon as we'd ett breakfast I hitched up and
went over to the hotel to see the man whose
handsome face' and pretty words had
brought the first cloud to our fireside. And
he was jest the kind uv a man, Mr. Brown
ing, thet might win the heart uv any woman,
for I tell yer, even with that great big load
on my heart, he 'most won me. He was
sorry, ne said, that what he called 'a chance
flirtation ' should a been took so serious, and
if thar wus anything he could do to make
l'hii'be tear him out uv her heart he'd act at
once. I thanked him, aud when I said good
by thar wus a kind o' honest grasp in his
hand wet told me he meant to do the right
thing by my little 'uu.
"I got acquainted with some people, and
they told me this man Koberts had got his
self talked about, on account of bein' too
friendly with a married lady from Frisco
named Clavering. 1 told this to Phoebe
that night, but she received it ez calm and
indifferent like ez if I'd told her some bit o'
everyday Dews; for she didn't believe a
word of it. With her to love was to trust,
and she trusted him with all her. heart.
Koberts didn't come over that day, as be
promised, nor the next, nor the next. And .
pretty soon we heard thar wns to be a pic
nic party over bn the bluff, where we met
this even in.
' " For the fust time in her life, our little
pal deceived us. She told us she wus coin'
down to the river to read; but it. wasn't
lone* afore we saw her in the boat out in the
stream, with Saneh'i a-paddliu' uv her over
to the Point. It was two hours afore she
come hack, anti when she did, her eyes had a
wild look in 'em and her face was pale as
death. Sho th rowed herself tn the sofa
thar, and cried ez ef her heart would break.
Me and the old woman .done our best to
conifoit her, but it warn no use, and be
tween her sobs she told us that what I'd
heered about the man she loved was true.
She'd been over to the Point, and crept up
to em unbeknownst, and seen Roberta and
Mrs. Clavering together. She heard him
si eak words o' love to her, heerd him say
that ez he could never marry her, he never
would any one else. '
"The little one was sick arter that with
brain fever, for 'most two weeks, and all
the time ther wus but one word she spoke,
in her ravings or out- uv them, 'Barry,
Barry, Harry.' The doctor told us that on
less somethin' was done to drive this man
out uv her mind she'd waste away and die.
So 1 went to the liotei again.
"B. Berts wus glad to see me, and said the
reason he hadn't come over to the bouse
win that he s'posed his indifference might
caused Phoebe to forgit him. He promised
to do something that day to end it all, and
he came over in the eveniu'. 1 don't jest
know what he said to her, for they wus to-
f ether in the sick-room fur a long lime, and
I wus a--,vailin' here to have him toil me the
result. He come out by with a worried
look on his handsome face.
' .Mr. Thompson,' he said, 'I'd give my
right hand if I could recall the fust thought
less words I spoke to that little, girl. But
it's too late now— l can do nolhiug. Good
"And without savin' another word, he
passed from tlie room and out into the
"Phoebe glowed wus, and wus, and wus,.
from that moment, and for five or six days
was lean out of her mind. At the end of'
that time we beard her a-eallin' us in the
same sweet voice we'd been used to afore
she was to ik down with the fever.
'"Come to me, mother and father.' she
said, 'I want to hold yer hands in mine, fur
it'll be the last time I'll ever do it this side
o' the grave. I'm coin' ter die — the blow is
too hard— morc'n I can bear, inore'n I can
"We both tried to cheer her by speakin'
words uv iiope, but we done it with heavy
hearts, Mr. Browning, fur we seen that the
band o' death wus on her even then; that
the dark angel was a-beckoniu' her from the
- "' Father, I want yer to promise me some
thin'afore I leave yer; will yer?'
"'Anythin' you says. Plitebe,' I answered.
. " 'Well, then,' she went on, 'when I'm
gone 1 want you to dress me in the gownd I
wore when 1 fust met him— the white one, I
mean— and 1 want yer to place a bunch o'*
flowers in my hand, and with 'em this note
to Barry.' And she took a bit o' folded pa
per from under her pillow. 'When you'ie
done this, put me in the boat, take me over
to the Point— it wus tln-rl fust saw hfiUi you
know— bury me ther. . I want him to
come, and he will if you ask him, 'cause I
feel as ef I could rest- easier in my lonely
grave kuowin' ha was'near and saw me cov
ered up. Good-by father; mother, darling,
good-by. Kiss me. both of you.'
"She put out her little thin arms and
drawed us both down and kissed us. And
before I took my choc a from hers I felt the
shudder passin' through her little frame, thet
told me all wus over— our darling was
dead, and all the -sunshine and brightness
and joy bed went out of our lives to the end
tf time." --.fly.
The old man buried his face in his hands
and sobbed bitterly. 1 did not speak, for I
knew too well that his was a grief for which
there Is no solace— a burden that must be
.borne alone. After a few moments he re
"The next day we done Just as she asked
us to, dressed her in the white gown, put the
flowers in her hand, and with 'em he note
to Koberts. We sent word to Koberts and a
few friends we bad, and told them where*
- we. w us goin' ter lay our little one away.
"We put her tenderly in the boat and
Sancho took his place iv the stern. 1 didn't
go. I couldn't For I felt that I hadn't
strength enough to see her laid away in tna
ground, and then, too, 1 felt that niy place
wus with the poor childless, heart-broken
mother at home. ■ The boat pushed off from
the shore and out into the stream, aud then,
jest like the lines in thet thar book :
Steered by the dumb, went upward with the flood-
Only with one ; difference, that : Sancho
aint dumb. They buried her « over ther
under the pines, and our, friends said that
the saddest of all -tire mourners gathered
ther was Harry Boberts. I If you'll go to the
Point to-morrow and . walk from | the ■ place,
wher I met you this evenln,' > in a straight
line toward Cypress Point, f you'll coaie to
a little block o' marble. lie out it *. ther—
with but one word on it—' Phoebe.'
" That's all, Mr. '* Browning, that's all.
Sancho has hitched up the team, and '11 take
yer home, but afore yer go I've got a big
favor to ask uv yer; I want yer ter give me
that— that little book."
1 1 placed my • "Tennyson" . in his hand,
looked pityingly : upon * his tear-stained
cheeks, and, with one of those sudden im
pulses which emanate from souls that are
truly human, one of those bursts of sym
pathy which - can only spring from the
hearts of those who know, we embraced
Then taking his bands In mine, I pressed
them again and again, and with a fervent
"God bless you, good-by," passed from that
silent house of mourning forever.
copyright, 1890. All rights reserved.
The Novelette for next Sunday will be
"Madelalne, a Love Kecord," by Georges
Olinet. ■ ■ '■ ■ .
About Those Left Behind by Sold-
icrs Going to the Front.
Mrs. Custer, in her new book, "Following
the Guidon," gives some very interesting
incidents of military life, among them the
following about wives and sweethearts:
Early in the spring the Seventh Cavalry
found themselves again in Kansas. Some of
the officers took leave of absence, and after
the year's separation from their families the
rejoicing was great. Two of our number
brought their wives back to camp. Others
were deprived of that pleasure, because
their wives could not endure the hardships,
or their children wero too young to
bear the exposure. There was great
exchanging of confidences concerning
the experiences of the officers on their
leaves, and much unreserved nar
rating of domestic scenes; for full
of railing as every one was, a man's fam
ily life was sacred and he felt that he could
speak oi it ireely, so it was indeed as if we
were one family. Those who went home
amused us on their return by their stories
of how they had surprised the home people —
stealing in at the back door, catching up
their wives and swinging them in the air,
while the f tightened servants, hearing tho
screams, ran from the kitchen with hands
covered with flour, and the coachman
from the stable, still holding his curry
comb, all of them ready to defend their
lady against the imagined burglar or as
sassin. One of our number reached home
in the evening while his little son was sleep
ing. lie was awakened in the morning by
the vigorous application of a pair of little
fists oo his lace, and an angry demand from
the little fellow, accompanied by some ter
rible language that the youngster had learned
at the cavalry stables, to "get out of that
bed." He had, in the year that had elapsed,
entirely forgotten how his father looked,
and not knowing he was coming, he did not
suspect the identity of the intruder.
Those officers who had no families were
busy over piles of love letters awaiting them
from the East, and sough in vain places
where they might read in ■ peace, for those
who were not so fortunate as to have a sweet
heart rallied the- lucky ones, and inter! erred
as much as possible with the envied enjoy
ment. Slill, it is a -well-known fact that a
soldier is usually a lover. The old saw, "Love
rules the camp, the court, the grove," is one
that tits all nations and all eras. _cers are
pretty fearless about their devotion ; if nut
avowing it openly, slill wearing all sorts ot
love pledges— chains and lockets which with
the open-throated shirt iv a campaign are
easily .seen, or . keepsakes on the watch
chain; perhaps a curious ring which could'
not be mistaken for a man's under any cir
cumstances, or other such thinks. 1 have
even seen a bangle made large enough
to encircle the arm, and locked on, of
course, by fair hands. A Catholic officer
often wore an Agnus Dei, and I believe that
many a man would have disfigured himself
with an ear-ring if the girl he left behind
him had asked to pierce bis car for that
purpose. They did not hesitate to carry
their sweetheart's pictures in their inner
pockets, and around the camp-fire lake them
out and look at the loved faces by the fire
light the last thing before sleeping.
Imagine, then.* with all these o.'licers, most
of whom were in love with women, either
thtir wives or the girls they hoped to make
their wives, what a time of rejoicing it was
when partial-civilization was again reached,
and the cars of the railroad were almost In
sight, meaning to them an opportunity to go
Eist — or failing that, at least a daily mail
Every one's heart seemed to be merry; the
sound of laughter and song rang out irom
the tents, and the soldiers danced in the
company streets to the music of an Irish
bagpipe (differing somewhat from, the
Scotch instrument, but with just as merry
music) that belonged to a recruit newly ar
A CANINE BEGGAR.
He Accepts an Invitation to Come and
Have a Ouod Feed.
My first acquaintance with Jet was his
begging of me ouo day in tbe street. 1
stopped and talked to him nud asked him
what he wanted. He. immediately started
to the baker's shop and sat up and begged
at the door. 1 opened it and asked tlio
baker what the dog meant. On learning,!
told him to come homo with me and I
would give him a penny. This he did
promptly, and trotted off highly pleased.
Some days afterward 1 saw him sitting up
at the baker's door with a penny lv his
mouth. Just before 1 opened the door for
him 1 said: "Why do you not bring me your
pence, old fellow, aud 1 will give you some
meat?" The dog Hesitated when the door
wns opened, and looked down the street
toward my house, but finally entered and
bought his bun. Tho next morning I found
him sitting at my doorstep with a peony in
his mouth, whieli be deposited at my feet,
smiled graciously at me and sat down pa
tiently. I gave him the meat, but as I did
not wish either to take the dog's money or
to cheat the baker,. I returned him the
penny, which be would not take for some
time, till 1 told him to take it to the baker.
He did so, but put it down in the shop and
ran out without his bun, at least so the
baker told me alter.ward. After that Jet
would sometimes come to me and sometimes
to the baker with his money, I suppose just
as he. desired meat or bread.
One morning 1 met him close to my gate.
He had no money, but 1 asked him in, and
he came and sat with me for au hour. As
he was departing I said: "Come and dine
with me to-night at 7 o'clock sharp and you
shall have a good feed." I forgot all about
the circumstance and was sitting down to
dinner with a friend who had dropped in,
when there was a deep, prolonged howl at
the gate.. I never thought anything about
my invitation, but went to see what was up.
The moment I opened the gate the dog
raced in, instead of his usual solemn stalk,
and went straight into the dining-room. 1
had a chair placed for him and a plate by
my side and he ate what I gave him in the
must correct and' gentlemanly manner, leav
ing soon after, dinner was ended. Many
times alter that 1 asked him to dine. 1
never knew him to come without an invita
tion or fail to accept one, except once, when
he was long-stopping.— The Scientific Edu
cation of Bogs for the Gun— H. H.
Simple and Touching Remains of Peas*
Every liouse in Bazejlles was destroyed,
with the except. of three of the larger
ones, belonging to ," well-to-do-persons.
Every poor little cottage was utterly abime,
and the contents, furniture, clothing, valu
ables of humble kind, yet quite invaluable
to . the humble owners, were absolutely
dtne away with. Not that the Ger
mans looted the village; the agency
they employed was fire.' lv the Musee are
the simplest and most touching remains of
the old homes of the peasant people; •
charred rags of men's blouses or of women's
gowns; blackened wood from window
frames and floors and doors; melted glass of
bottle aud tumbler, and scorched pottery of
household utensils, jugs and cups, and con
fused, indistinguishable masses of debris,
gathered up when the inhabitants returned
to their ovei thrown, ruined homesteads. Aly
guide showed these melancholy remnants
with a sad, calm manlier; not one word of -
bitterness passed her lips; war had been,
she supposed, a necessity, and lt bad i been
the misfortune of the French to be worsted
in the struggle.
In one of the cases 1 noticed a number of
photographs In the style of twenty years ago,
faded and brown through the lapse of those
years. There was the Emperor William,
the . conqueror; there N was the Emperor
Napoleon 111, the conquered; here side by
side in effigy peaceably enough, and both
passed away, to the land where "beyond
these voices there is peace." The unhappy
General Bazaine's portrait hung beside that
of the still prosperous Prince Bismarck.
Others there were of men famous in their
day, but hardly one yet living. When I
spoke of Napoleon 111 having died in En
gland, and how 1 know his house at Chlsle
hurst and had seen his tomb tbere, my
guide was surprised. "Jecroyais," she said,
"qu'il etait mort en Allemagne." The events
of 1870 were fresh in her memory, but what
bad happened -since- had only been to lier
rumors, forgotten as soon as heard. She
knew of | the Prince Imperial's death, but
the sadness * and the horror of It, and- the *
shame with which English people remember
it, had not touched her at all.— The Comhlll
Magazine. . ■ •>-"-.,--•-„■ <?,---■
..-. . ■■'■"■■■•' •-.'--:•-.'.
WATER IN YUCATAN.
It Is Procured From Natural Cis-
terns Below the Surface.
The physical structure of Yucatan being
that of a huge coral reef, undiverslfied by
mountains, it holds the unique position in
geography of having no surface water, says
a writer in the St. Louis Globe-Democrat;
that is, it has no rivers; but in many parts
• A BOLOSCIIES WELL.
It Is entirely undermined with extensive
caverns, in which there are basins of fresh
water of varying depth, fed by subterranean
springs. The caverns, wells, or, as they are
locally called, - the "cenotes," are re
freshingly cool at mid-day, and, like the
Mammoth Cave' and Euray, are filled with
all sorts of weird, fantastic forms of stalac
tites and stalagmites.
The most celebrated - " eeuote " is in the
village of Boloucheo, where there are-nine
of these ells— that is, nine circular openings
in the public square cut through a stratum of
WHERE IT GROWS.
Description of a Scene in British
iJTfaoN interesting story about mahogany
£-4 , cutting and rafting has reached the
AXL? State Department from Con sui
Burchard, says the St. Louis Globe-Demo
crat. Belize, the capital of the British pos
sessions in Central America, now a city of
considerable commercial Importance, owes
its origin aud wealth to the mahogany cut
lery. During the first half of the present
century princely fortunes were quickly ac
cumulated hi the business, especially by
tliose who had tho good fortune to secure
contracts from the English Government for
* the mahogany, which was formerly largely
employed in naval architecture. Since iron
and steel have taken the place of wood in
the construction of public vessels the ma
hogany trade has decreased to a notable ex
tent, although it is still large and profitable.
The expense aid difficulty of getting out
the wood are much greater. Few trees can
now be found near the river of sufficient
water to float the logs. Having selected and
secured a suitable locality and arranged
with one of the exporting bouses of Belize to
advance the means in provisions and rash to
carry on the works,* the mahogany cutter
hiies his gang of laborers for the season.
Nearly all labor contracts are made during
the Christmas holidays as the gangs from
the mahogany works all congregate in Belize
at that time. The men are hired for a
year at wages ranging from Sl2 to 520 per
mouth. They generally receive six months'
wages in advance, one-half of which is paid
in goods from the house which furnishes the
capital. The cash received by the laborers
is mostly wasted in dissipation before they
leave the city. Early in January the works
are commenced. Camps (or "banks," as they
are called) aro organized at convenient
places on the margin of some river in the
district to be worked.. Temporary houses
thatched with palm leaves are erected for
the laborers, and a substantial building for
the store and dwelling of the overseer.
All work in mahogany cutting is done by
tasks. The best laborers are out at day
break and generally finish _|sK
Before 11 o'clock. The rest of the day can
be spent in fishing, hunting, collecting India
rubber and sarsaparilla, or in working up
mahogany into dories, paddles and Oowies,
lor all of wliich they find a ready market.
Game and fish are abundant, the former
consisting of two varieties of hogs (warree
and peccary), deer and antelopes, tapir
(mountain cow), monkeys, two varieties of
wild turkeys, armadillos, gibonets, Indian
rabbits, partridges, quail, macaws, parrots,
etc. The rivers abound in excellent fish,
and the supply of terrapin and iguanas is in
The regular ration for a laborer in this
country consists of four pounds of salt pork
and seven quarts of flour per week, which is
delivered to him every Sunday morning.
The abundance of game and * wild fruits en
able the mahogany laborer to save a large
part of bis rations, which he either sells to
his employer or sends home to his family.
The standard of morality in the mahogany
camps is decidedly low. Women of easy
virtue are always present, and cause re
quent quarrels and disorder. Disputes nnd
questions concerning such women are settled
by the overseer in accordance with regula
tions long established and recognized by the
laborers; for instance a man- who entices a
woman away from another with whom she
has been living must pay all expenses in
curred by the latter In bringing her to the
camp, supplying her with clothing and orna
Qlhe owner or overseer of mahogany
works Is a distinguished person within the
district of his operations. He lives well,
often luxuriously, and has many and varied
sources of enjoyment. His rustic dwelling
in the forest is supplied with every comfort
aud many luxuries. He travels up and down
the river in a bateau made of mahogany and
fitted up regardless of expense fur enjoy
ment and convenience. He carries every
thing needful for hunting and fishing, and
his lockers are supplied with thechoicest
vrvaud, wines, * liquors and cigars. His
crow consists ■of from twelve to twenty
skillful rowers, generally ludians, and a
captain, cook and waiting-boy. * He camps
out at nigbt on the bank ol the river, where
savory dishes are prepared which woull
"flfl ; PUZZLE THE UNINITIATED.
'. No menu is considered complete without
entremets of monkey and iguana cooked ala
eriolla, delicious even to the uninitiated.
The mahogany tree hunter is the most
Important and best paid laborer in the ser
vice. . Upon his skill and activity largely
depends the success of the season. Ma
hogany trees do not grow in crumps or
clusters,* but - are scattered - promiscuously
through the forests aud hidden in a dense
f row Hi of underbrush, vines and creepers.
t requires a skillful and experienced woods
man to find them. Mo oue can make any
progress iv a tropical forest without the aid
of a machete or heavy brush knife. Ue has
to cut bis way step by step. .■..■■•-.yfly.
■ , The mahogany is one of the largest and -
tallest of trees. The hunter seeks the high
est ground, climbs to the top of the. highest
tree and surveys the surrounding country.
Bis practiced eyes detect the I mahogany by
its peculiar foliage. -He counts the trees
within the scone of his vision, notes dis
rections ' and distances, then descends and
cuts a narrow trail to each tree, which he
blazes and marks, especially lif there be a
rival hunter in • that vicinity.'.;. The axmon
follow the hunter and after tnem go the saw
yers and he vteTß.~&pW!'SWiHli!&* -fly- * *
-To fell a large mahogany tree is one day's
task for two men.*; Ou account ■ of* the wide '
spurs wbich project from the . trunk at its
rock. They are mouths of an immense cis"
: tern, but it is not supplied ■ by any subter
ranean spring. It Is considered the most
remarkable water cavern, in the country.
Says Madame I'longeon, in writing of
this great work: : "Yucatan has been lor
ages quite free from earthquakes, when all
surrounding ; countries ■ have from time to
• time been convulsed. ' Pliny the Elder
thought that if numerous deep wells were
made in the earth, to serve as outlets for
the gases that disturb the upper strata,
earthquakes would cease. If we may judge
by Yucatan, Pliny was right."
The entrance to the wells of Bolonchenlis
wild. Torches are carried by the traveler,
who, after going down steps for 70 feet, de^
scends still further a stout ladder. No day
light cau be seen. . After a while one is 200
feet below the surface, on the brink of an
awful precipice. Eighty feet more by lad
der, and the explorer Is but at tne mouth of
the cave. The descent continues by ladder,
when a vast chamber is reached, with seven
various wells supplying seven various
waters. Going on still further, behold the
great crystalline -basin, 1400 feet from the
mouth of the cave, aud 450 feet beneath the
surface of the earth. -,-; ■>,:> .fl-'.
base scaffolds have to be erected and the
tree cut off' above .the spurs, which leaves a
stump from teu to fifteen feet 'high, a waste
of the very best wood.
While the work of felling and hewing, is
in progress other gangs are- employed in
making roads and bridges over which the
logs are to be "hauled to .the river.. Oue
wide truck bass, as they call it, is made
through the center of the district occupied
by the works, and branch roads are opened
•from the main avenue to each tree. The
trucks employed are clumsy and antiquated
connivances, which no American would
think of using. The axles and boxes
are imported from England, and the
other parts of the truce made on
the ground. The wheels are of solid wood,
made by sawing off the end of a los and lil
ting iron boxes, in the center. Kb tire or
spokes are needed. New wheels are in con
stant requisition, and repairs cause frequent
Most of the trucking is done at night by
torchlights made of pitch-pine. The oxen
are fed on the leaves and twigs of the bread
nut tree, which gives them more strength
and pnjrer of endurance than any other ob
tainable food. -. . ■*- •
The ticking is done In the dry season
and the logs collected on the bank of the
river and made ready for the floods, which
Occur on the longest rivers in June and
July and ou all in October and November.
The logs are turned adrift loose and caught
below near tidewater by booms. Indians
and Caribs follow tbe logs down the river in
jut-pans to release those which are caught
by fallen trees or other obstacles in the
river. No little judgment and experience
is required to determine at what exact
stage of the flood the logs should be let
loose. Should the water rise at what they
call "top-gallant flood," before the logs
reach the boom many of lliem would be car
ried over the banks and left high and dry
in ranebrakes and thickets or covered up
by sand and rubbish. From the boom the
logs are rafted to the euiburcadero and
"manufactured" for shipping. ..
The manufacturing process consists in
sawing off the log ends which -have been
bruised and splinteicd by rocks in the
transit down the river, and in rilining and
leliewing the logs by skillful workmen, who
give them a smooth and even surface.' .
The logs are then measured, rolled back
Into the water at the mouth of the river
and made into rafts to be taken to the vessel,
which is anchored outside of the bar. This
is a laborious and risky operation, often re
sulting in serious losses to the shipper or the
owners of the vessel, according to the con
ditions of the bill of lading. Irresponsible
natives construct and conduct the rafts to
tho vessel, and it frequently happens, espe
cially in bad weather and by gross careless
ness, that logs break away from the rafts
and are carried away out to sea, to be de
posited finally on the shores of these islands
or the mainland, where they are eagerly
appropriated by the natives and utilized for
shipbuilding, furniture, and so on.
GKOU FOR JACK.
The Manner In Which Three- Hum
Is Sw'rved Oat to English Tars.
Each seaman is allowed half a gill of
ship's rum daily; before he gets it, how
ever, this is "lowered" to what is facetious
ly termed "three-water rum," that is, the
half gill is made into half a pint of liquor by
the addition of the requisite amount of
water. Interrogate ordinary seamen as to
the strenglti and quantity of their grog,
and it will be fouud that the prevailing
opinion Is that, although the regulation
half pint of grog it served out, it does
not contain the proper proportion of
ruin. The reasons given lor arriving at
this opinion are. [generally as follows: The
steward — iv the presence of an officer — sta
tions himself at the grog tub at six bells
aud adds— or, rather. is supposed to add —
the requisite amount of water to make it
three-water rum. lie is assisted by the
"Croft Tub Staff," . which consists of the
duty petty officers for the day, a Sergeant
of Marines— and very often a corporal— the
steward's assistant, and the cooper ("Jimmy
Bungs"). Standing in the rear will be found
the marine lamp-trimmer, ready with a cloth
to "swab-up" any mess that my be made.
* The Grog Tub Staff claim as a perquisite
any good that may be left after the men are.
served, ami— a most extraordinary occur
rence, either due to miscalculation or
something— there is always a quantity of
"overplus" grog. Sometimes the quantity
left is so lamo that the officer on duty may
"smell a rat" aud order it to bo -thrown
away. Whether this is true or not, it is of
course difficult to determine; the fact re
mains, however, that in nine cases out of ten
our "jolly Jack Tars" are strong lv , their
belief that their grog may bo four, fivo aud
even six but three-watered rum, never.
Chamber's Journal.* :.-*;
To the Missionaries* .
A lively lady (but full of sense)
Was talking of heathen and Providence, * . -
And she said, "I believe the man was right. .
Who said 'make them clean, and they'll do right.'
"For If they will bathe and brush their hair, .
Of Ibeir morals I uever should despair,
' But ibe crucial lest that lies beneath
All others is, 'do you brush your teeth?'
"Tbis, I should mak9 my heathen do.
It would help iiu in to be good and true. -.
I should load my sblp from back. to front.
With tooth-brushes and sweet SOZODONT." .
Every : • Say of the Seven
; Teeth should be brushed with SOZODONT in
order to keep them white, or to render them so.
Specks aud blemishes upon their surface disap-
pear after applying SOZODONT: a few times.
The gums acquire a coral lint, and grow -bard
from the use of SOZODONT. Analysis discloses
nothing \ Impure In this preparation, fl The ; ladles
. buy ana use SOZODONT because they well know;
that It Is a most effective aid te beauty. The
sooner our readers commence its use the better
for tbem. j
ABOUT A FAMOUS
"All Quiet, Along the Potomac."
How It Came to Be Written.
A Line at the Head of a newspaper Article
. Inspired the Writ in? ef ' the Words of \
the Bong by Lamar Fontaine. .
'XfflES, Fontaine was a most remarkable
&U^. character," said General Charles P.
j-fey'-i Mattocks, of '■ Portland, Me., as he
handed me a package of letters and other
data. " When I was a prisoner in the Con
federates' , hands at . Charleston, S. C, a
movement was started . to exchange me for
Fontaine, whom our troops had captured.
Each of us held the rauk of Major at the
time. But the scheme miscarried, and he
was exchanged for Major Harry White of
-'. "This man, Lamar Fontaine," continued
the' General, "is famous through the South
for two things.- It is he who, in May, 18133,
undertook the ■ seemingly foolhardy but
"nevertheless successful exploit of carrying
.a supply of percussion caps from the Con
federate' General Loring's headqiUirters at
Jackson, Miss., te tlie beleaguered General
Pemberton in Vickshurg, when that com
mander was entirely out of caps, and con
sequently could not fire a gun.
* " Fontaine— who * then, as now, was a
Mississippiah— had horses' shot under him,
and any quantity of bullets fired at him,
making numerous holes in his clothes and
equipage, beside other frightful dangers in
• that terrible experience. He is the hero of
twenty-seven hard-fought battles,, and came
out of the war minus a leg and bearing other
evidences of bis -war experiences. He is
still living in his native State, where, at the
age. of GO, he works hard at his profession of
surveyor and civil engineer. •' .-" ' .
"The other thing for which he is cele
brated is as the real author of the popular
war song, 'All Quiet Along the Potomac To
night. To be sure, that fact is disputed, but
1 notice iv a book of war songs recently pub
lished he is given the credit which to him
rightfully belongs. •
"But it is not my purpose to go into the
discussion of a question in which the public
is little interested ; what I do care for is the
deeply interesting narrative of a war-time
episode in connection with the poem, as told
in his recent correspondence with me. These
are the letters. Bead them yourself."
"Thank General." And
THIS IS TIIE STORY: ;'*. '-;
It appeals that not long after the first
battle Of Bull Bun, in which Fontaine, as. a
private in Company X— the Burt Rifles-
Eighteenth Mississippi Regiment, took part,
he was transferred to the Second Virginia-
Cavalry, and at the time of which this nar
rative treats was doing picket duty just
above the head of an island near tlie Seneca
Falls on the Potomac. This was in August, .
1801— ono month after Bull Run. * So many
of the Confederates had gone home on fur
lough that the picket lines were thin, being
stretched over a vast extent of river-front,
and what few men, comparatively, were on
the front had to do double duty.
It was here that Fontaine and another
private named Moore formed a close friend
ship.. Moore was a married man, and
fairly idolized his wife and their two beauti
ful-young children. Moore and Fontaine
were together, whether on picket or guard
duty. They clung to ■ each other. . They
bought little hand-books' of poems— Byron, *
Burns aud others— and together they would
sit in the cool shade of trees or hanging
' rocks that lined .'the Potomac above the
falls of Seneca, and read aloud t'i each otlier .
passages from their favorite authors. .
At this section of the two. army lines the
pickets on either side of the waters,* Federal
•and Confederate, had come to an under
standing and' agreement that- there should
be no firing at each other while on I picket
duty; and but for the treacherous violation
of this contract by a dastardly soldier the
incident herewith related would not have
occurred and "All Quiet.Along the Potomac
To-nijilit" would -never have been penned.
I give the story in Fontaine's Own graphic
. words :-*-.■-.-.
" We had to stand on a post six hours at a
time. That night- 1 took my stand at 6
o'clock and Moore retired ' to rest.' The
nights were chilly and we usually keptsome
fire burning. There was a small spring of ■
water close by, and a large fallen pine tree
tnat I used to sit on and rest at- times, after
walking my beat, and I have frequently
stopped at the spring and bathed my -face
when the dreary -monotony of the still
night had a tendency to lull me to sleep.
As soon as I found that midnight had ar
rived I stepped to the fire and threw ou
some pine knots, and roused Moore to take
mv place.' .
"lie rose slowly, picked up his gun,
.-: -pp.- I to tho fire and stretched himself, as
a sleepy soldier will, and gaped and yawned,
and while his arms were extended and his.
hand grasping the : barrel of his gun, there
was a flash across the river and the whiz of
a bullet, and be sank to the earth with a
hole just above his eye on the left side, from
which flowed a dark, crimson tide. Not a
word, not a groan escaped him. *
• i REMOVED 'HIS .REMAINS ' fl'AYAfl-
From near the fire where lie had fallen.
And as I did so my eyes fell ou the tele
graphic column of a newspaper, and it was'
headed : 'All Quiet Along the Potomac To-
night.' And, oh. how trnthful.lt. was!. It
was certainly all quiet with me and with
him whom 1 loved as a brother. .
" I could not help shedding a tear, and my
thoughts reverted to his home, his wife and
his children, and to the falsehood tuld by
those whose guest I had been aud whose .
treachery had caused his death, and they
grew bitter, and a demon of vengeance
arose in my heart, which was not stilled
until the white dove of peace '■- had- spread
her snowy pinions over the whole face of
the land and the bombshell rolled across the
sward the plaything of a child.
"When morning dawned the words in that
newspaper were burned in my.brain. They
rang in my ears and were painted on every
scene that met my view. I put mv friend's
effects together— bis letters, sword, hat, all—
and expressed them to his wife, with a true
and perfect description of his death. And
while I stood beside- his cold form and gazed
at his marble face and glazed eyes in the un
broken silence of my lonely watch I felt
what few mortals ever feel in this shadowy
vale. I penned the outlines of the poem
then and there, but not as they now appear,
for the first were biting and sarcastic. I
read the crude copy to Orderly Sergeant W.
W. Williamson (who was a tine critic), and
Lieutenants Graham and Deprittof my com- ■
pany, and Williamson suggested * that if I
would only make it more pathetic, instead
of sarcastic, it would take better.
"I did so, and oii the 910 of August- I had
it complete, as the* poem now stands, and I
read It to my messmates and received their
highest commendation.- I give them copies
of the original and they reeopied and sent -
them home, and soou the whole regiment, ■
brigade, division and army, were in posses
sion of it.
"My father, whom I met shortly after the
completion of it, 'suggested that, instead of
•stray picket,' I. ought to say, 'lone picket.'
But 1 did not alter it. The ladies' of Lees
burg, in London County, Virginia^ put the
words to music and used to singthem for us
long. before they were printed.. I gave one
copy to a Miss Eva Lee and one' to a Miss.
lleinpstone. Also a copy to John M.' Orr,;
who at the time : as Mayor of the town. I gave
copies to many others whose names Tea-mint
recall The following is a copy from the
;-".-_ ORIGINAL POEM. ". ■'■
"AH quiet along the. Potomac," they say, - > Z fl- '
''Except hero and there a stray picket
Is'sliot as.be walks nil Ills beat to snd fro
•-.by a rifleman bill 1 a the thicket." '
'Tls nothing— a private or- two, now and then.
.- Will-not count Inthe news of tho-battle; '.
Not un officer lost— only .one of the men —
Moaning oiit, nil alone; the death rattle.
All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming:
Their tents In the rays ot tbe clear autumn moon '
Or in the light nl then- camp- arcs gleaming.
A tremulous-sigh as a gentle night wind' - ' .
Through this forest leaves sol tly ls creeping.
While tbe stars up above, with their glittering oyer. '
Keep guard o'er the army while sleeping-. • .
There is only the sound of the Ipne sentry's tread, :"•',
As be tramps from the rock to tbe fountain, .-&j - .'
Am! thinks of the two on the low triinillu-bed, -. •
i .' far away- ln tbo cot on the mountain.
His musket falls back— and his face, dark and g-rim, -
. Grows gentle with memories tender, ■■••■'- — -
As be mutters a prayer for tin- children asleep— •
:, for. their mother — may heaven defend her I- •-/•*---.
The moon seems to shine as brightly -as i'then,' ':'-■.<:
That night when the love yet unspoken ".'
Leaped up to his .lips, and when low murmured
. ' vows w~rri* - .msl'i** . ''.'..'■--.--* •*"• - -
Were pledged, to be ever unbroken. . .', -ifl, :
Then drawing his sleeve roiiehly Q'er his eyes, -'-.
lie dashes off tears thai are welling, '. .-•-.* .-.r . y .
And gathers bis guv close, up to 'Its place,.-"..'
As If to keep down tbe heart-swelling. •■•_;■.::;
He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree, -..':■
Ills footsteps are lagging and weary.- : ,
Yet onward be goes through the broad bolt of light.
* Toward the shades of the forest so dreary. flx-fl.
Hark! wss it the night wind rustled the leaves?
- Was lt the moonlight so wondrously flashing r.-
It looked like a rifle—" Ha : Mary, good-by t" - "
And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing. . '
All quiet along the Potomac to-night. :'
No sound save the rush of tbe river; '. -:>V..*..
While son talis the dew ou tin- face of the dead— yx
■ That picket's off duty forever 1" _.
,' ; A '•■ quarter ' century ,has elapsed,' writes
Charles O. Slicltnoy, who furnished I the
above to the | Boston | Herald, and I now* this'
champion of a "lost cause" louchiugly writes
that the glory he fought for has faded ; and
be cares nothing for what is in the eternal
past, that he has no enmity in his heart, but •
loves the soldiers who wore the blue and
fought to maintain tho Union. .;* ''•'■
Some of (he; Most Talkative of
the Feathered Tribe. ..
There is a marked distinction between the ■
call-notes of birds, which are hereditary and
invariable, and the song, which is an ac
complishment, the result of effort and prac
tice, even in " those kinds whieli sing when -
free and wild. "Most people who -have;
reared a young thrush or blackbird will,
have noticed that as soon as the wild -.
birds begin to sing in early spring the .
tame, bird imitates and rod i ices by.*,
degrees the same notes. The song of Our '.
canaries, which in their own country is km •
poor that they have been said not to sing at I
all, has been learned entirely from the gold
finches and linnets which have shared their
cages, though the vocal organs which the
canary had but did not use, are so superior .
to those of its teachers that it has now learned
to outsing them both. Among bird*, as Well .
men, there are non-progressive- races which :
are indifferent to "self-improvement"' end
never try to learn a song of their own, much
less imitate the voicesjof other birds or of
men. But the desire to gain new notes is..
vey much more common than most peiinle
imagine, and we believe, there are at least —
twenty kind's which are able to reproduce
even the complex forms of articulate human
speech. Aristotle mentions an Indian parrot
which could talk, and "when it drank wine
was somewhat improper," habits and lan
guage which it had 'picked up.no doubt, '
from Phoenician sailors. 'A
SSBiittJie most accomplished talker of In
dian birds is the niynali, a handsome purple
black bird wiih a short tail, orange beak,
and legs, aud bright yellow ear-flaps, which
run round to the back 01 its head liken
broad collar. It is a bold, lively * bird,
with a mellow song and- whistle of its
own. Its power of reproducing human
speech'is wonderful, and it exhibits the
greatest anxiety tint the tones shall be cor
rect, repeating them softly to itself with
its head on one side, and then shouting out
the words.- In the Insect-house at the Zoo
there is a fine old mynah, who was .'•de
posited" in 1883. While a visitor is ex
amining the Indian moths coming out- of .
their cocoons he may hear behind him a *.
thoughtful cough,**- and then "Halloa!"
shouted with startling suddenness. It is,
the mynah, anxious to be friendly
and * to begin a conversation. The -
Hindu traders in; the bazaars avail
themselves of the inynah's services in a cu
rious way. Tliey teach it to pronounce the
holy name of llama, and while its master's
thoughts are on earthly things intent th
bird compounds for the neglect by shouting
incessantly the name of the god and texts in
honor of his power. If the poet Ovid's
Indian parrot finds its way, as h- hoped, to
the paradise of birds and there "Convertit
volucres in sua verba pias," It must surely
meet the inynahs there also:
Another bird wliich talks • better thin
most, and whistles better than any, is the
piping crow, It is a lively blact-and-wliite
bird, as large as a rook, but far more elegant
in form. Several specimens inhabit the Zo
ological Gardens, 'but the best is in the west
ern aviary, where he whistles "Merrily
Danced the Quaker" in tones like a llute.-^
The Spectator. .--'*•..
. THE JAPS ANB QUACKKRY.
They Analyze All Patent Medicines Or-'
fered for Sale.
May not the plan adopted by the Central
Sanitary Bureau of Japan offer some useful
suggestions to the Legislature of this coun
try? * * • "AAfl _'■■
"We learn from the -first report of the
Central Sanitary Bureau of Japan, recently
issued, that they have established a public
laboratory for the analysis of chemicals and
patent medicines. ■ The proprietors of patent
medicines are bound to present a sample,
with the names and proportions of ihe in
gredients, directions for its use and explan- .
ations of its supnosed efficacy. During
the year there were no fewer than.
11.904 applicants for license .-' t»
prepare .and sell 148,091 patent * and
secret medicines. Permission for the prep
arations and sale of 58,638 different kinds
was granted, 8592 were . prohibited, 9918
were ordered to be discountenanced, and
70,943 remained still to be reported no. The'
majority of those which were authorized to
lie sold were, of no efficacy, and but few were
really medical agents. But the sale of these
was not prohibited, as they were not dan- ■
gerous, to the % health of the people." If
similar regulations were put in force in this
country it is probable that the sale of many
patent mcd Iclnes would be put a stop to. '
Premeditated murders, iutentiorfal sui
cides, and inadvertences of divers and dire
ful binds will, of course, as long as human
nature remains as it is, ever and anon bo
effected with chemicals and drugs, in spite
of the strictest legislation. But is it well
for the safety of the public that, in the case
of unintentional suicides, "homicides by.
misadventure," now so frequent with pro- ,'•
prietary medicines, the law . should allow,
and Coroners' juries should award, the final
and all-absolving verdict, "Death by mis- ■
adventure"?— The National Be view.
Was Ones the Qneen'B.
Missing: A literary Ireasure supposed to *
have been once in the possession of her
Majesty the Queen! : The precious relic re
ferred to is a copy of the original edition
of "A Christmas Carol," presented by
Dickens to the author of "Vanity Pair,"
. with the interesting autograph Inscription,
"W. M. Thackeray, from Charles Dickens
(whom be made very happy once a long way
from home)." The story runs that the
Queen possessed, a strong desire to possess
the little volume in which the mines of -.
these two great contemporary masters of
.fiction were thus associated; that an un
limited commission was given for its pur-"
chase, aud that it eventually became her..
Majesty's property for the sum of £_i 10s.,
and' was immediately transferred *to
her keeping. The original authority for. the
statement appears to have been the late .Mr.
i Button, the publisher; but it is more im
portant to note that Dickens' biographer,
Mr. John Forsler, has given it additional
currency. The strange part of the matter, j
however, is that the Boyal Librarian knows
nothing about it, except that no such book
is- included in - the collection under lns
care.— Loudon Baity News.' • .._
.invest « Single Nickel. -
The Anniston Argus toils a very interest
ing story of a nickel. Ladies, try the ex
periment and give the proceeds .- to - the
church. The Argus says:
Some, time ago the Ladies' Aid Society of
this city agreed to invest a nickel in some'
kind of article and sell it at a profit and re
invest in something else, . and so on, to
speculate on this capital for two weeks and
see how much each one could. make.
One lady on the same evening of the meet- .
ing, bought a cabbage with her nickel. She
carried it home and sold half of it to her
neighbor for a nickel. . She invested that in
vinegar and pickled the remaining half and .
'sold the pickle for -25 cents. , She then
bought 'JO cents worth of cloth nnd a spool
of thread and made it up Into three aprons,
which- she sold for 2. > cents each, and took '.
the 75 cents and- bought molasses and gave ..
a .candy pulling to lhe children, making
them pay 10 cents a plate for the candy. ■
The molasses-made twenty-one plates of
candy, so she made $2 10 on one nickel in .
two weeks' time. How money will grow if
property used. . " __ • *
A sensational preacher died some years *
ago. says the- Bocky Mountain News. Oiten -.
in the excitement of his preaching he would ...
work, himself up to such a . degree! that he
.would occasionally shed tears, which had it
great effect upon his congregation. After,
nis death his. -.sermons were examined By
his executors, and .it _ was frequently found *
iv some of his most exciting- sermons that *
he iiad inclosed tv brackets the words, "Cry
here.".: "." '.■;' ' . .-■ '.*.■•.
SAN Francisco, March 24, 1890. ' -
Manuf 's Great Sierra Kidney and Liver Cute:.
Gentlemen:— l notice
A GREAT INCREASE THE
SALES OF YOUR REMEDY,
AND JUDGE BY THE RE*?
PEATED CALLS FOR ITTH AT
IT GIVES ENTIRE AND COM-
PLETE SATISFACTION lf6|
THE PARTIES USING IT. IT
IS THE BEST SELLING
KIDNEY AND LIVER
CURE THAT : I ; HANDLE IN
STOCK. 1 Resp'y yours; p§
; JOHN WM. SALTER,
. . 2445 Mission Street.' Cor. 21st. ' ■■>*.'
-:. . '•' -' ■: -flfl Yy-y :■■'' flAfly'yZflyy" ■ .