Los Angeles herald. [microfilm reel], December 08, 1907, Page 11, Image 47

About Los Angeles herald. [microfilm reel] (Los Angeles [Calif.]) 1900-1911

Image provided by: University of California, Riverside; Riverside, CA

                
turned and saw the peculiar animal, he would in
variably give a frightened yelp, and disappear,
and Chester would then throw back his head and
laugh, plainly showing his amusement at the dog's
fear of him.
By the following spring, the badger had grown
into a magnificent specimen, and many persons
came to Mr. Wallace's farm purposely to see him
perform the many cunning tricks which had made
him famous.
Notwithstanding Harry's resolution to put the
atone lining inside the sod wall of his room, the
time had passed and the next spring found it ex
1 actly as he had left it when the family came, only
the west and part of the south sides finished. A
frame dwelling had during that year, been added
to the first house built, but still Harry clung to
his old sleeping room, which he always felt at lib
erty to invite ' some of the neighbors' boys to
share with him. The spring that Chester was a
year old was unusually wet, one severe storm
being followed almost immediately by another
heavy downpour of rain.
Mrs. Wallace had spoken to Harry several times
about sleeping out in his den, as she feared it
would become damp, but he always assured her
that it wasn't at all damp, and there was no
danger whatever, of his taking cold.
One night after an unusually hard rain, Harry
was slightly aroused from his heavy slumber by
the bed clothes moving — but thinking it was Jack
or Beauty walking about his room, he paid no at
tention, and was fast asleep in an instant. Again
he was conscious of a movement as if someone
was pulling the clothing from the bed— but it only
disturbed him for an instant, then turning over
and settling into a more comfortable position, he
was fast losing consciousness in the sleep of
healthy youth when he was quickly and thorough
ly aroused by Chester springing squarely into his
face, at the same time uttering a queer little
sound, which he always made when greatly ex
cited.
As he bounded out of bed, Harry heard a pe
culiar sound — as if something heavy slipping or
sliding along — but before he could reach for a
match, he was thrown violently to the floor, his
feet being completely covered with the earth, as
the entire northwest corner of the wall — both sod
and rock, crashed down, crushing the bed com
pletely. The boy was trying to extricate his feet
and limbs, when his parents, who had been
aroused by the sound of the falling walls, rushed
into the room. It was but the work of a moment
for Mr. Wallace to release his son, as he had, in
springing out of bed, fortunately jumped far
enough away from the west wall to have none of
the rock fall upon him.
For some seconds but few words were spoken —
the hearts of the parents being filled with grati
tude at their son's miraculous escape from death.
Suddenly Harry began calling frantically, "Ches
ter! Chester' Come Chester!" but no answer
came to his call. As soon as he explained that it
was the badger that had saved him, and that ho
feared he was buried beneath the wall at the head
of the bed, they all, even Clara and Bessie, who
had by this time joined the rest of the family,
began working in desperate haste to rescue their
pet.
It was a sad family, Mr. Wallace and Harry ad
ding their tears to those of Mrs. Wallace and the
girls, when the badger was found crushed to death
beneath the rocks. Their grief was genuine and
lasting, and many months passed before the fam
ily became reconciled to their loss, even though
in his death he had saved the life of his young
master.
The Wallace claim has changed hands twice
since then, but today it is one of the most beau
tiful farms in Oklahoma, and near one corner,
there is still to be seen a neat little head stone,
upon which appears the inscription:
MAGAZINE BECTIOH
1
FROM THE EDITOR'S INK WELL
A Word About Nature-
Faking.
Who are the Nature-Fakers? Where did na
ture-taking begin? Where is it to stop? Who's
going to stop it?
Was not .(Esop the prince of nature-fakers?
Must we give him up? Who believes the allegory
of "The Lion and the Mouse"? or any of -lEsop's
fables that have been read and reread and com
mitted to memory by our fathers, and the sages
of all nations; that have served as the themes
for instructive lessons in all ages, and are enjoyed
by our children of today.
And Uncle Remus! Must we give up Uncle
Remus' stories because as a matter of fact, we
know a "Teddy Bear" can't talk; no more can a
rabbit, and that all of the wisdom said to emanate
from the brain tanks of these creatures, Brer Rab
bit, an' Mr. Possum, an' Brer Bear, and Mr.
Fox, is the veriest nonsense, because we know
they can't talk, so what right have we to think
they can reason?
Must we give up Poe? He tells just as if it
were the gospel truth about the raven perched
alongside the bust of Pallas, just above his cham
ber door, answering most sensibly every ques
tion he asked of it. That can't be so! Must
we give Poe the go-by?
Must we give up Jack London? Must we give
up Dr. Long? Who cares whether the stories
are true or not? They teach good lessons and
good morals. Who is deceived by them? Not the
children! — As for the grown people — This res
minds one of a good story told long ago: a really
truly true story of a time when ''nature fakers"
were not — save such as iEsop and that ilk.
But, there were other fakers. Sleight of hand
men, who traveled about the country phasing the
people with their tricks. One of them penetrated
into the interior of one of the middle states,
about fifty years ago. He secured the courthouse,
which was the only available hall, for a one-night
performance. After curfew the roads were lined
with country people coming to town to see the
tricks of the faker. All of the villagers turned
out and filled the best seats. The show opened,
and the tricks were played upon a watchful and
intent audience. Not a sound distracted meir
watchfulness. Finally the end of the program
was reached, and everybody sat up determined
to catch if possible the chef d'oeuvre billed for
the last test of his legerdemain.
A small silk shawl of peculiar pattern was cut
in halves and passed freely around for everybody
to examine and satisfy themselves that it was
actually cut in two, that the flowers matched
and no trick could be played with it. One half
of it was given to two prominent citizens to hold.
The other half the juggler wadded up into a ball
and prepared to shoot it from a large gun up
through the celling into the belfry of the building.
Another prominent citizen was appointed to stand
on guard at the door leading upstairs, and the
moment the gun was fired he was to race to the
belfry, and bring back the half of the shawl
which he would find there.
He was a lawyer of some little reputation, and
afterward served as a colonel in the Union forces
of the Civil War. The gun was pointed. Every
body saw the flash: heard the explosion, watching
intently the celling, and the lawyer was off with
a crowd following, like a flash. In a few mo
ments he returned breathless, and taking the plat
form he held out the bit of shawl, the faker hold
ing out the other half and fitting it to it. Every
one saw that the feat promised had been accom
plished, and there was a generous round of ap
plause.
The young lawyer lifted his hand impressively
to silence them and as soon as he could get his
breath and the attention of the audience he be
gan in excited tones:
"My friends! You have been tricked! De
ceived! It was a physical impossibility for this
silken fabric to have been shot out of a gun
without scorching and without a smell of powder
about it. I found it in the cupola, as the faker
promised, but I found no hole. You see no hole
in the ceiling. It was a fake!"
For a few seconds there was a dead silence,
which soon dissolved in laughter. The magician
then gained their attention by a wave of his
hand.
"My friends, I wish to thank my young friend
here for the greatest compliment I have ever yet
received in my professional career. It seems that
my little trick was so well played as to just fall
short of deceiving the elect. I really had not
expected to find in so large and cultured an audi
ence any one so foolish as to think it required
explanation. A trick is a trick; nothing more."
Then the laugh was on the young lawyer.
The Fatal Flower.
"Travelers who visit the falls of Niagara, are
directed to a spot on the margin of the precipice,
over the boiling current below, where a gay young
lady a few years since, lost her life. She was
delighted with the wonders of the unrivaled scene,
and ambitious to pluck, a flower from a cliff
where no human hand had before ventured, as
a memorial of the cataract and her own daring,
she leaned over the verge, and caught a glimpse
of the surging waters far down the battlement
of rocks, while fear for a moment darkened her
excited mind. But there hung the lovely flower
upon which her heart was fixed; and she leaned,
in a delirium of intense desire and anticipation,
over the brink. Her arm was outstretched to
grasp the beautiful object which charmed her
fancy; the turf yielded to the pressure of her
truant feet, and with a shriek she descended like
a falling star, to the rocky shore, and was borne
away, gasping In death."
Alas, Ambition! We are delighted with the
wonders of life, and are ambitious to pluck a
flower from the cliff of Renown. We lean over
the waters of eternal misery, fear for a moment
darkens our excited minds. But there hangs the
blossom upon which our hearts are fixed. We
lean over the brink — we reach forth our hands to
grasp the beautiful object of our ambition; the
turf of turbid virtue yields to the pressure of
temptation, and with a shriek of anguish and re
morse, we descend, like a falling star, to tho
rocky shore, and are borne away forever, stran
gling in the waters of eternal death.