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