St. Landry democrat., July 21, 1888, Image 2

About St. Landry democrat. (Opelousas, La.) 1878-1894

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ft. pittflrj) g f moerat
J. Vf. JACKSON, Publisher.
opelousab.
TiOTTISTATJA
A HEROINE, AFTER ALL.
She had read of heroines far away,
Of wonderful deeds that girls had done,
And wished that she were as brave as they
Who such an amount of praise had won.
There was naught she could do to gain renown,
No chance for a commonplace girl like her;
Tot a blizzard never had reached the town,
Nor any thing else that made a stir.
She had often read of Joan of Arc,
And in spirit followed the daring maid.
And wondered if she was scared at the dark,
Or of ghosts and goblins had been afraid
When she was a child. And wag it true
That angels came to her in a trance,
And told her exactly what to do
For her honor, and the glory and good of
France?
And Amy sighed ; and she said: "Tis well
That I lead an easy and quiet life.
■With nothing that's likely to compel
My taking part in such active strife;
For I faint away at the sight of blood;
Would run a mile to avoid a cow ;
And at thought of the terrors of fire and flood
Am ready to go in hysterics now.
**1 am only brave in my dreams; and then
To accomplish my purpose X never fail,
But rush to the charge with valiant men
And a heart that scofSs at a coat-of-mail.
What plans I make ! and what deeds I do !
. King Arthur himself had no grander schemes,
Nor ever more glorious triumphs knew
Than I—in my rapturous girlish dreams."
That night came a wild, fierce cry of "Fire!"
And Amy sprang from her couch with
scream,
For the flames about her were drawing nigher
And seemed at first like a horrid dream.
The stairs were ablaze! and below them stood
Her mother—the young babe in her arms—
And she looked as only a mother could
Whose heart was tortured with vague alarms.
She strove to speak but her lips were dumb;
She tried to move—but she could not stir;
Oh, why should horror her strength benumb,
And at this moment so cripple her?
There—above—in an inner room—
Her children slept, while the flames rose
higher;
Naught could avert their fearful doom;
And between her and them was this wall of
fire!
Quick as a flash did Amy speed
To the bed where nestled each tiny elf;
Strength was given for the hour of need.
She had no time to think of herself,
But seizing each, with a loving kiss
She hushed their fears, and then hurled them
so
Over the fiery red abyss
That they were caught by the men below.
Then Amy stood at the head of the stair
Alone and pallid—but not with fright ;
And she looked like an angel standing there
Crowned with a halo of dazzling'light.
She did not know that they called her name,
Nor heard them shrieking: "Jump ! Jump this
way!"
Her gaze was fixed on the lurid flame,
And she knew 'twas fatal to long delay.
So over the chasm with flying leap
Did Amy go into outstretched hands
That were eager the hungry flames to keep
From leaving their mark on these precious
brands,
Plucked from the burning. And oh, what bliss
To gaze once more on her mother's face,
To be rewarded with kiss on kiss
When closely held in her fond embrace !
From the noisy plaudits she shrank dismayed,
With a feeling that her deserts were small;
'Twas but an impulse that she obeyed;
Yet she was a heroine, after all,
And had learned the lesson, that from above
Is strength imparted for all our needs.
And that even a child with a heart of love
May astonish the world with its mighty
—Josephine Pollard, in JV, K Indep <indent.
A SCOUT'S STORY.
His Fearful Bide Among Hostile and
Blood-Thirsty Indians.
On the 14th of April, 1867, I left Fort
Hays, Kas., to carry a note to the
men at Lookout Station, nineteen miles
away, telling them to beware of In
dians. The red devils had cut loose all
along the Smoky Hill route, and were
thirsting for blood. All the stage sta
tions, with one or two exceptions, were
prepared for Indian attacks. That is,
each station was garrisoned by three
men, armed with the best weapons, and
the building was bullet-proof. As a
further security the men dug for them
selves a circular hole in the ground,
covered it with timber and earth, and
by firing from the loopholes could stand
©ff any number of Indians. This dug
out had an underground passage from
the stable, and was always stocked with
water and food. Lookout Station was
one of the exceptions. . Why a dugout
had not been provided I don't now
recollect, but it was because of this
negligence that I was sent out from the
fort. I was then in Government service
as a scout, and was paid for carrying
my scalp to any point convenient for
the Indians to take it. Within fifty
miles of Fort Hays there was at least
one thousand Sioux and Cheyennes on
the warpath. Between the fort and
Lookout Station I might encounter a
hundred. On that day thirty warriors
had come within five miles of the post,
and indulged in yells of defiance.
I left the fort soon after dark, mount
ed on a genuine Mexican mustang and
armed with a sixteen-shooter and a re
volver. While the direct route w;
bad enough for any traveler, I had 1
plan for a worse one. My only hope
of getting through would be to avoid
the traveled line. I got well away,
and then took my bearings to keep a
route about five miles to the left of the
stage road. This would take me over
some very bad pieces of country, but
prudence commanded this policy,
knew when I set out that it would be
all night in the saddle, as the ground
would be too broken to permit of a fast
pace, and up to midnight, when I had
made a distance of ten miles in the
right direction, the mustang had
scarcely broken his walk. It came on
pretty dark, with ugly clouds driving
across the sky, and every few minutes
there was a gust of wind which had a
w arning in it. While all my senses
were keen and alert, I depended much
on my horse. He had campaigned in
Mexico, and would be the first to de
tect "signs." It was about midnight
when he suddenly stopped dead still
of
and tnrevv up his head. That meant
Indians.
The next minute was an hour long.
Then came a gust of wind, singing and
sighing over the barren plains, and it
brought to my ear the footfalls of
horses. They came from the direction
I was headed, and would pass very
near me. No two dangers have the
same situation. It might have been a
good plan to dismount and lead my ani
mal to the right or left. I judged it
best to dismount and remain perfectly
quiet. All men who have studied the
Indian-will tell you that his eye is quick
to detect a moving object and that his
sense of hearing is wonderfully acute.
Even in the darkness they might see
us moving, and if the horse's foot
struck a stone the sound would cer
tainly reach them. The company of
the mustang was better than that of the
oldest scout on the plains. I stood
with one hand on his neck, and he was
as firm as a rock. He realized the
peril as fully as I did, and 1 believe he
reasoned something like this:
"Those persons who are approach
ing are Indians. The slightest noise
will betray us. We must remain per
fectly quiet, in hopes they will pass. If
discovered, we will run for it."
In two minutes after receiving the
first alarm the first Indian was up with
us, and not over thirty feet away.
They were not riding in single file, but
by twos, threes and fours, with the
evident purpose of making as broad a
trail as possible. I could see every
pony and warrior, and every instant I
expected to see some movement to
prove that we were discovered. The
ponies were on the walk, and there
were forty-two Indians in the band. I
believe they were four or live minutes
in passing, and during every second of
this time, if my horse had lifted a foot,
champed his bit, or flung his head, the
sound would have betrayed us. It did
not seem possible that we were thus to
escape, and when the band had finally
disappeared in the darkness, 1 was not
certain but there was some trick be
hind it. I climbed softly into the
saddle, and let the mustang pick his
own way, and it was a full half hour
before I was satisfied that we were not
followed.
We soon got into a very bad spot, cut
up in all directions with gullies and
washouts, and our progress was slow,
The mustang naturally picked for the
best route, and about an hour before
daylight I suddenly discovered that w
were on the stage road. There wer
no coaches running then except at long
intervals, when a strong escort could
be had, while the Indians were riding
over the route at all hours. I dared
not travel it, but pulled off to the left
again, and as a consequence daylight
came while I was yet a mile ana a half
from the station. It was not yet fully
light, and I was settling myself in the
saddle for a gallop to the station, when
heard the yells of Indians in that
direction. That settled it. They were
there before me, and my peril was now
far greater than that of the men I start
ed out to save. They were three in
number, and had the shelter of a stout
log hut. I was alone and on the open
plains. To have pushed on meant
the loss of my scalp ; to attempt to
return to Fort Hays meant the same
thing. I had only a couple of minutes to
think, and there was only one chance
of escape. There was a big washout
close at hand, and I led the mustang
into it, and made him lie down. When
I sat down beside him we were con
cealed from the sight of any one pass
ing a quarter of a mile away, and there
we must put in the day without food or
water. I hadn't brought so much as a
mouthful of meat with me, depending
on reaching the station by daylight,
and there wasn't a drop of water with
in a mile of us. We were scarcely set
tled down before the station was vigor
ously attacked, and I estimated the
number of Indians to be not less than
fifty. The three men were not sur
prised, though they had but slight
warning. They were provided with
8ixteen-shooters and revolvers, and
they returned the fire with vigor.
The Indians must have know that
this station was not provided with a
dugout, for they had come prepared to
burn it. The forage for the stage
horses had to be kept within, and its
inflammable nature gave the savages a
pointer to work on. It was an un
fortunate thing, also, that the lay of
the ground gave them cover to creep
up within bow-shot. For three or four
hours there was scarcely a lull in the
firing, and during the time, as was
afterward ascertained, four or five
Indians were killed and a still larger
number wounded. When the red
skins realized that the hut could
be defended against their rifles
they sent men forward with
prepared arrows, and in the course of
half an hour fired the building. Then
their yells were terrific. I could have
seen them by climbing tj* the edge of
the washout, but I ft*kred\ ? leave the
musiç
up h;
flames tool
circle abo"
death within
pected that
when the heat
orders were issuel
alone. The three
sKDvv
wha
Th
yen cooped
after the
îidians formed
and it was
It was ex
en would rush forth
me unbearable, and
seek to take them
alive. A Dog Soldier or Cheyenne
who was there' told me Afterward that
was planned to capture at least one
of the three and save him for torture.
The white men knew the fate in store
for them, and they died game. They
kept up their fire from the loop-holes
long as possible, and then yielded
their lives to the flames rather than be
taken. Their bodies were burned to a
criap. The wind blew the smoke
toward me. and I could figure pretty
cloäely on what was going on.
About noon the Indians prepared to
retreat, and now a most curious thing
happened. The mustang had been very
quiet, lying on his side, and scarcely
moving a leg. I sat by his head, knife
in hand, and fully determined to cut
his throat if he attempted to get up. I
sat facing the West, and all at once
heard the gallop of a horse. Next
moment an Indian warrior appeared
to view. He turned to the
right to avoid the sink, half
encircled me, and disappeared in
the east. I saw him look me full in
in the face, but he came and went so
suddenly that I was dumb with
astonishment. I .supposed I was dis
covered, but the thud of his pony's
feet grew fainter, and finally died away
in the east. With rifle in hand I crept
to the top of the sink, and I could see
the savage a mile away, riding to join
a small band. I stood looking after
him, head and shoulders above the
sink, when seven other Indians, com
ing from the west, passed me not over
twenty rods away. My heart stood
still for the moment, for it seemed that
all were looking straight at me, but
they galloped on after the others and
left me undisturbed. Several year
later I met the one who almost rode
into the sink. His name was Man
Afraid-of-the-Water, and he assured
me in the most solemn manner that I
must have been dreaming, as he would
have been certain to see even a rabbit
in the washout. I also met one of the
other warriors, and he had the polite
ness to hint that I must have been
drunk. Still, every thing happened
just as I have described.
I gave the Indians an hour to get out
of sight, and then abandoned the sink
and rode down to the station. The
house was still burning, and at that
time, as I could see nothing of the
men, I supposed they had been carried
off. After I left several settler
reached the spot, found the bodies
and gave them burial. My mission was
accomplished, and my orders were to
return to the fort. Between me and
the post was a full band of blood
thirsty Indians, and an attempt at
progress in the day time was fool
hardy. I secured water for myself and
the mustang, and then struck off to the
north for a mile and descended into
dry gulch filled with sage brush
Here was pretty fail- shelter if we lav
close, but I had not been there fiv
minutes when I discovered the corpses
of four Indians, all still warm, who
had been killed in the fight. No at
tempt had been made to bury them
but they were rolled under the bushes
legs straightened out, arms folded
across the breast, and all* their
weapons left with them. In inspect
ing their rifles, which were new, I
made the discovery that the maker of
the weapons wanted to accommodate
the savages without doing the white
folks any particular injury. The front
sights were so far out of true with the
hind sights that no one could have hit
a cow ten yards off. Each one of the
Indians had received a ball in the
breast, and each one was of middle
age. I made a bundle of their weapons
to carry to the fort, and although four
corpses are not pleasant company to
one in hiding, I was obliged to put up
with them for the rest of the day.
Just before sunset seven Indians
passed on the stage road going west,
and from the terrific pace of their
ponies I had judged they were after a
re-enforcement. As soon as night had
fairly set in I led the mustang out of
the ravine and mounted and set off,
not daring to go near water for fear of
an ambush. I planned to keep to the
left of the road about a mile, and I got
along without incident until about
midnight. I was then riding at a lope,
using eyes and ears to the best advan
tage, when the mustang suddenly
stopped. It could mean only one
thing. I slid out of the saddle and put
my ear to the ground, and after a min
ute I heard human footsteps. They
came from the east, and I knew they
were made by a white man having
boot-; or shoes on. I stood at the mus
tang's head, when, out of the gloom of
midnight, a human figure walked di
rectly up to us. I was satisfied that he
was white, and uttered a hist! which
halted him scarcely five feet away. He
uttered a groan as he came to a stop,
and I softly inquired:
"White or red?"
''White!" he eagerly answered.
"Then come on."
It was a settler named George Rob
inson, whose wife and children had
been butchered and his buildings
burned. He himself had been wounded
by Indian bullets in the hand and
shoulder, and had been three days try
ing to get to Fort Hays. Pain and
fright had so unnerved him that he had
lost his bearings, and had the fort been
only a mile away he would have missed
it. He was suffering from hunger and
thirst as well as his hurts. We soon
found water in a hole, and I spent half
an hour getting him in shape to ride.
Then I took the lead and he followed
on the mustang, and I kept a pace
which brought us to the post just after
sunrise. We did not see nor hear any
thing to alarm us on the way. A log
came on just before daylight, a:idhung
thickly over the country until after
sunrise. W e made the last three mites
under the cover of this fog, and as we
reached the sentinel and were chal
lenged the corporal who came hurry
ing up gasped out:
"Good heavens! But how did you
do it?"
"What?"
"Why, there are two hundred red
skins around us!"
The fog had no sooner lifted than the
savages were seen riding about, taunt
ing and defying us. We had come
through their Lues unharmed, never
suspecting how close we were to capt
ure and death.— N. Y. Sun.
HABITS OF TIGERS.
Some of (lie IVruli;
■ »entities <1
One very curiou
in which the tigrc
ir Way« of the Striped
f the Jungle.
s point is the method
*ss teaches her cubs
to kill. This she does by disabling the
animal attacked so that it can* not
make its escape from the cubs, who
then complete the work. Mr. Inverar
ity himself witnessed a scene of this
kind, or at least came on the spot just
after it had been enacted, and when
the marks were so fresh as to admit of
the whole story being read at a glance.
An old bull nilgai had been the victim,
and the tigress had disabled him by
breaking one of his right fore-legs just
below the knee. She never touched
his throat, the usual place of seizing,
but allowed the cubs to mangle the
disabled brute. Mr. Inverarity
frightened the three tigers from
the carcass and secured a
photograph of it in its then
condition, showing how the throat had
not been lacerated. He got a second
photograph next day, after the tigress
and her brood had again visited the
spot and completed their meal. In the
end he succeeded in shooting the tigress
and one of her cubs.
Mr. Inverarity has a number of oth
er photographs, which show the ap
pearance of a tiger's prey after the first
meal. His experience goes to show
that the animal first devours the
hind-quarters, while, if tiger and
tigress are together, the one
eats at the hind-quai'ters and the
other at the fore-quarters. Again,
when a tiger has not devoured the
whole carcass and returns to his kill
the next night he never eats at the
same place, but drags off the remains
of the carcass forty or fifty yards be
fore beginning operations. Therefore,
sportsmen sitting over a kill tie it by
the foreleg to a tree. Otherwise the
tiger would creep up and be off with it
without stopping a second.
Mr. Inverarity has timed tigers when
at their meals and has found that a
full-grown tiger takes two hours'
steady eating to finish the forequarters
of a bullock. He dissipates the myth
about the "sledge hammer stroke of
the forepaw of the tiger," showing that
the tiger simply clutches with his
claws exactly as a man might clutch
another'^ arm with his fingers. He
also gives a variety of curious informa
tion about the immense distances tigers
wander during the night; how they
keep the jungle-roads and footpaths,
avoiding the more difficult, tangled
undergrowth; how they are partial to a
dust bath on the roads, rolling about
it with evident satisfaction; how
they do not like moving about in the
heat of the day, as the hot ground
burns the pads of their feet and makes
them quite raw; and how they are
sometimes discovered sitting in pools
of water in the heat of the day.— Times
of India.
Hidden Death in Africa.
Central Africa is the finest hunting
country in the world. Here are the
elephant, the buffalo, the lion, the
leopard, the rhinoceros, the hippopot
mus, the giraffe, the hyena, the eland,
the zebra and endless species of small
deer and antelope. Then the whole
country is covered with traps to catch
these animals—deep pits, with a jagged
stake rising up in the middle, the whole
roofed over with turf and grass, so
exactly like the forest bed that only the
trained eye can detect their presence.
I have found myself walking uncon
sciously on a narrow neck between two
of these pits, when a couple of steps to
either side would almost certainly have
meant death. Snakes, too, and especi
ally the hideous and deadly puff adder,
may turn up at any moment, and in
bathing, which one eagerly does at
every pool, the sharpest lookout is
scarcely a match for the diabolical
craft of the crocodile.— Tropical
Africa.
An Orchestra of Convicts.
The Island of Noumia has what is
acknowledged to be the best orchestra
in the Southern hemisphere and it is
composed entirely of convicts. Its
omplement averages about one hun
dred and twenty pieces and the whole
is under the direction of a former lead
er in the grand opéra, vfc.o is "doing
life time" for murder. Twice a week,
Thursdays and Sundays, the band plays
three hours in the public square, and
all the officials and business element of
the capital make use of the time and
place as a sort of clearing-house for
their social obligations. The band
plays music of a high class, and, as in
1884, Noumia was the only place in the
Southern world where Wagner's
music could be heard, many music
lovers came from Australia expressly
to hear it.— San Francisco Call.
—A Troy florist exposes some ol
the tricks of his trade. He says that
erle des Jardin roses are palmed off
for Maréchal Niels, and that not one
bi'ide in five hundred who is described
as wearing orange blossoms is so fortu
nate as have them. An orange flower
wreath or bouquet would cost from $15
to $30; so the dealers take stephanotis
blossoms, worth from $3 to $5, and ar
ray the unsuspecting maiden at a lesser
price but greater profit.
—Mr. Kennan gives one a good idea
of the enormous size of Siberia by
stal ng in the Century that its terri
tory would contain the United States,
including Alaska, with all of the states
of Europe, except Russia, and there
would still be 300,000 square miles to
spare.
THE PRINTING STONE.
Wliere It Comes From and How It Is Csed
by Lithographers.
S "It is not surprising to the trade,"
said one of a firm in Warren street,
1 dealing in lithographers' supplies,
I "when a new report comes around, as
it does from time to time, that supplies
of lithographic stones have been dis
covered in various places. There is
no doubt that, such discoveries are
made. A quantity of it was found in
California a while ago, and then a little
later some was brought here from
Wyoming. It has been found in two or
more places in Russia, and now I un
derstand somebody claims to have dis
covered some in Australia. All I can
say is that the only stones we get th;it
are good come from Pappenheim and
Solnhof, in Bavaria. None of the
others, so far as I know, have proved
to be of a quality to compete with the
Bavarian stone. Of course it may be
found somewhere else, but I don't know
that it ever has been. The American
stone was found to be gritty, con
taining, as it does, numerous particles
of iron.
"Lithographic stone seems to be the
petrifaction of a particularly smooth,
pure clay. It is a limestone, which
accounts for its remarkable absorbent
qualities. It is as hard as marble or
harder, and in the locality from which
it comes the streets are paved with it,
and it is used for building purposes.
You see, it isn't worth as much then as
it is after it has been brought here and
the duty paid on it. The story has
been often told of the accident by
which its use in printing was discov
ered. You never heard it? Well, then
I'll tell you, though it is a venerable
chestnut, as is natural, it being an
eighty-year-old.
"An old cobbler in Solnhof, whose
name I don't remember, used to keep
his accounts, which were of the sim
plests, on the smooth surface of his
door-step where he used to sit in good
weather. One day he was
puzzled by seeing these in
scriptions had been multiplied,
and on investigation he found
that every time he sat down in a new
place he left a new impression of names
and figures. The seat of his leather
breeches had taken the impression of
the first inscription, and he was by no
means obliged to carry his accounts in
his head.
"The stone in jet is of two colors,
yellow and blue, and of various grades.
The finest blue stone in the largest
pieces in jet is worth fifteen cents a
pound, and a slab will sell for as much
as three hundred dollars. You see the
price per pound varies like the price
of a diamond per carat, according to
the size of the stone. The blue is the
best, and is used solely for engraving.
It is nearly as hard as a metal-plate.
The yellow is used for color work and
for transferring."— N. Y. Mail and Ex
press.
PAINTERS' NICKNAMES.
Designations by Which Famous Artists Are
Known Among: the Craft.
Perhaps no class of men have been
so frequently known by their nick
names—for in their case the designa
tions deserve no better name—as the
disciples of art, especially the Italian
painters. It may be that the bo
hemianism of the craft, its uncon
ventionally and freedom from cere
mony, lends itself especially to this
practice. Certain it is that many of
those who know something of the
names at any rate by which celebrated
artists are usually known, would find
their powers of recognition taxed to the
utmost were they to see a catalogue of
some famous gallery, the Louvre,
for example, where the paint
ers are all designated by their
real names, and where, instead
of the familiar Raphael and Titian, they
must look for Santi and Veceli, and in
place of Perugino and Correggio, they
find Vanucci and Allegri. These may
serve as specimens of two easily multi
plied classes of designations; the one,
to which we might add Michael Angelo
and many another of lesser repute,
showing the exclusive use of the
Christian name long after surnames
had become customary; the other, in
cluding names no less famous than Da
Vinci and Veronese, besides a minor
host, instances of local appellations.
Claude Lorraine, the great landscape
painter, may be taken as an example
of one of the many artists who com
bine these two somewhat commonplace
sources of unconventional nomenclat
ure. Others inherit their names in a
manner somewhat different from what
is usual. Thus three names high in
artistic fame reveal to us the
profession of the fathers of their
most celebrated bearers. The
brothers Pollaiuolo, workers in metals
as well as painters, were, it is general
ly asserted, so called from their father 3
profession of "poulterer," which the
word signifies. In view of this cir
cumstance, perhaps, we may imagine
that familiarity with the victims dis
played in the paternal shop had some
thing to do with the excelence of the
quail modeled by Antonio on the bronze
gate of the Florentine Baptistery, of
which Vasari says "it wants nothing of
life but to fly." Another family trade,
Which would seem to promise little in
regard to art, gave to Andrea Vanuc
chi, whose perfect execution gained for
him in his own day the title of "the
faultless," the appellation of del Sarto
(of the tailor). Tintoretto, again, is
the diminutive applied in childhood to
the son of Robusti, a Venetian dyer
(Untore).—Chambers' Joicrnal.
—An elm tree growing in the grounds
of the Pennsylvania Hospital, in Phila
delphia, is a scion of the famous tree
under which William Penn held \h&
first treaty with the Indians.
WOMANLY TOUCHES.
A. Merited Tribute to tlie Virtues of tha
Ever Busy Housewife.
It is the woman's touch in the house
which marks the difference between
the mere shelter and the homo. When
mother and the girls are away for a
few days or weeks, and the housekeep
ing is left to father, the house takes on
insensibly the look of neglect, which
comes from the absence of the woman
ly element. Utilitarianism steps to
the front. Papers and books lie about.
Boots and shoes are everywhere. The
rooms may be cleaned periodically by
some strong-armed Bridget, and they
are sure to be aired and sunned, for
men, bless their hearts, are sensible
enough to value air and light; but the
graceful arrangement of furniture, the
disposition of things to the best ad
vantage, belongs only to women. The
average man has a contempt for such
management. ,
W ho but a lady ever thinks of plac
ing the ottoman over the worn spot in
the carpet, and setting the rickety ta
ble in the corner, where it will not on
ly look pretty under the brackets, on
which stands the pot of growing ivy,
but also be out of the way of a, clumsy
foot or an impetuous child. Who else
orders the lights and shades, so as to
throw the best of the room into relief,
and the less beautiful into partial ob
scurity ? \\ ho else always remembers
to turn the mended side of the vase t< -
ward the wall, and to keep the arm
chair (which needs upholstering, but
can not yet receive it) in the comforta
ble back room, where the family group
assembles, rather than in the statelier
front parlor, which is set apart
for guests? What man would take
the trouble to make over an old thing,
by dint of glue, and varnish, and gilt,
and scrap pictures, so that out of mere
rubbish one should evolve a household
ornament %hd a cause for felicitation.
The many make the household
But only one the home.
And that one, what pleasure she
takes in contriving, in twisting, in
planning, in economizing, in creating
something out of nothing! How tri
umphant she is over the little luxury
which she has been Ion ging for through
many weeks and has finally attained,
the luxury, which would be nothing
worth were it not to be shared with
husband and children! Mrs. Carlyle's
sofa, which she has kept her eye on for
a year, and finally got into the house
at a very small outlay, a sofa that cost
just nothing to speak of, is a case in
point.
The tiny touches, when all is said,
are those which give character to the
room and proclaim its occupant's indi
viduality. It used to be harder than it
now is to hang a wreath around grim
decay, when the decay was inside the
door. People would have thought a
woman crazy if twenty-five years ago
she had pinned Japanese fans on her
walls or filled vases with cat-tails and
grasses, or set ginger jars in places of
honor. But by this time we have
found out that artistic possibilities
lurk in reeds and weeds, in the marsh
and the fen, and that the simplest ar
ticle may be replete with beauty.
And if there be a hideous patch on
the kalsomining, or a spot on the wall
paper, what an obligingand altogether
satisfying treasure is the gayly-colored
Oriental fan, itself a picture, which
lends its bright hues and its dainty
shape to the work, not only of conceal
ing a deformity, but heightening a
beauty.— Intelligencer.
AN EXCURSION STORY.
A Tale in Which Every Free American
Citizen Is Interested.
7 a. m.—On board the train. Every
body looking fresh. New bonnets,
new gowns, new boots. Large crowd.
Pretty girls, slim beaux, fat babies,
smiling parents. Destination—neigh
boring town. Occasion—picnic—Fourth
of July—big affair—procession, speech,
etc., etc. Band plays, bell rings, lost
baby handed on board. Handkerchiefs
wave. We are off.
8:30— W e stop—suddenly. Report ol
train robbers. Ladies faint—gentle
men do-n't—hold the door and call po
lice—conductor appears—explanation
—engine broke—send for another.
Wait two hours—dismay—too late for
dinner. Gentlemen go outside and
smoke. Ladies talk. Band plays.
Babies cry. Paper collars flatten out,
bangs wilt. Thermometer begins tc
rise.
10 a. m.—Relief train. Excursion
stock goes up. Chance for dinner.
Start again.
10:15—-Stop again. Resignation.
Cause this time, steam gives out. Wish
expressed to mob somebody. We don't
do it. Too warm. Another start.
11:30—At last! We arrive. Music,
flags, procession. Every body in gala
attire. We join them. Thermometer
continues to rise. Ditto dust; ditto
carriage hire.
12 m.—At the grounds. Big jam.
Demand for ice water, demand for
beer, especially beer. Dinner! !
"Charge of the Light Brigade" and
seventeen others.
2 p. m.—Bones, bread-crumbs, deso
lation, empty tables, replete humanity.
3 p. m.—Dancing. Mercury running
over. Some sit in shade and snore.
Some don't—parade in grove; silly,
but suits them. Ice-cream, romantics
people. Result: Cholera morbus.
4 p. m.—More dancing; more
mashes; more cream; more c. m.
5 p. m.—The same.
6:30 p. m.—We return; the train; all
aboard; wilted banners; wilted pocket
books; broken umbrellas; mixed
babies; dust, cinders, smoke, lost
tickets, lost digestion, headaches,
backaches, bunion-aches, ice cream
aches. "A splendid time!"— Detroit
F ree Press.