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THE EAGLE: WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER U, 1894.
15 A HOS'. .N h..ISELF. He Wub an E TluriliuH Unum Sort of a Tel tow. It would be well if all jokes were as innocent as one played by a railroad conductor upon a commercial traveler, and related by the traveler himself in the Yankee lilude. lie had left the train at a little station, a junction, on a western branch road, where he wan to wait several hours for a train going in another direction. There was no one in Bight, and he was looking about in a homesick fashion, when the conduc tor spoke to him. "Dull place, aiu't it?" said the con ducto)1. "Rather," answered the commercial traveler, "especially if you've got to stay here four hours." "Oh, well, you won't bo without com pany." "liut I don't see any. Who are they?" "Well," said the conductor, speaking ilowly, as if he were reckoning them up by a process of recollection, "there's the telegraph operator, the booking clerk, the cloak-room clerk, the signal man, the storekeeper, the accident in ! urancc agent, the postmaster, and one ( r two other oiücials. You'll find 'em inside the station." "That isn't so bad," the traveler thought, and as the train started he en tered the door. The station was dimly lighted, with no one in sight but a ;:ndy-haired man at the telegraph in strument. "Where are the others?" asked the traveler. "What others?" answered the tele graph operator. "Why, the cloak-room man, the book ing clerk, the postmaster and the rest." The man began to grin. "Oh, it is that conductor again," he said. "Well, where are they?" repeated the traveler, with some asperity. The sandy-haired man tapped him f elf on the chest. "Them's me," he said. "Come in and f it with us." And the traveler, appreciating the jko a sort of e pluribus muim re versed, accepted the invitation, and found himself in pretty good company. WHY THEY STRUCK. Workmen Who ()1 Jr trd to Sl:tliiR Around unit Doing Nothing. It has been customary lor many peo ple to consider the southern laborer as i low, lazy and shiftless, yet a writer in Engineering Magazine says that no stranger could enter one of the mills or pass a day in the pine-timber woods without being surprised by the vigor villi which work is performed. Work iias become an instinct; the laborer knows but four conditions eating, sleeping, working and, after pay day, a carousal, or absolute idle ness. A curious story of a strike is told at no of the mills. The hours of labor re long from dawn to twilight. In ihe winter the hourj are fewer, but in : umiMer the saws aro buzr.ing and the va.le cjij::iu::íív :.live and at work bef orethe sun lias touched the tree tops. A northern foreman of philanthropic principles took charge of a certain mill, and sorrowed within his heart for the poor" fellows wearing out their lives with the cant-hook and saw. So he de creed that from seven o'clock in the morning to six in the afternoon should constitute the labor of a day. There was a murmur in the camp, and in two days there was a general strike. Called upon for reasons, the spokesman stated the case of the men: "We all jus' doan like dis yar gwine ter wuk at seben o'clock. Wha's de use ob sittin'aroun'fer two hours in the mawnin' 'fo' gwine to wuk? We . jus' ain' gwine to stan' it, dat's all." So the strike was declared off by the superintendent agreeing to allow all hands to go to work at dawn and keep at it as long as they could see. BLUE-EYED INDIANS. They Live in Mexico and Are Known as " Griegos." In a mountain village, perhaps a day's ride from Mexico City, lives a tribe of exclusive, aristocratic Indians called "los Griegos," the Greeks, says the Chicago Tribune. They arc light complexioned and the majority have blue eyes and light hair. They dress principally in two shades of blue and their clothing is good, well made and generally embroidered with the bead and silk embroidery of which Indians are so fond. Their houses are better I built and .furnished than is usual among Indians. Many have pianos and other musical instruments upon which they play with considerable skill. These "Griegos" have no com mercial or social connections with other tribes, holding aloof from even those who live at the base of the mountain on which their village is sit uated. They raise their own food, do their own manufacturing, have their own schools, churches and social insti tutions, and seldom or never marry out side of their own tribe. There L; i i i tobe nnother tribe of bluc-evcil f.dr haired Indians, who have the apt).:.r anee of Germans living in the i. icnv Madre mountains in the state of Du-rango. Tho Jiipnnmo Idithlng Hour. In Germany at one o'clock all the world is taking an after-dinner r.moki oran after-dinner nap, and business even banking, is suspended. In .la pat the bathing hour to before supper, in between five and six o'clock every liv ing being is nude. The public l.aih are crowded. At home children, youn; people and old people are in the tub. getting in or getting out of the tub. which in placed in the garden, in court yards, shops or on the piazza, without the least apology r,f a screen. 1 f a cus tomer appears the bather talks basi nosu over the water, and in private families callers ore neither abashed nor embarrassing. In the humble quarters the tubs are set on the threshold, and neighbors on opposite sides of the street gossip, chatter and exchange the most amiable gteetings. The national towel is nankin bin?. HE REFciiED TO DIE. The Miraculous HeHurrcctlon of an Old Man from tho Urave. Jules Carle, of Juneau, is seventy eight years old, but vigorous and Well preserved. Twenty-six years ago he was living in New Westminster, 15. C. One morning as he sat in a restaurant awaiting his ordered breakfast he sud denly died at least there was every physical evidence of death. A compe tent i sieian examined him and pro nounced him dead a victim of heart lisease. lie was laid out for burialand his friends kept the usual vigil over Ids body. All theliinc he was keenly conscious of what went on about him and could realise the fate in store for him, and yet he wus as helpless as if he had becr. really dead. In the afternoon of the next day his friends bore him in adness to the graveyard, lie suffered mtold agonies lying in the coilin, with .he lid fastened down. He tried in vain to move or make a noise to indicate hat lie was alive. The trance held him i deathlike prisoner. Finally he could 'eel himself being lowered into the rave. As the first clod of earth struck he lid of ki:i coilin he began feeling warm blood pulsing from his heart. All at once he could move his hands. He struck the coilin lid and called out for help. The alarmed pallbearers stopped , shoveling dirt into the grave. Ho called again. The majority of those present I beat a hasty retreat, alarmed over the fact that tho dead had come to life. One courageous friend unscrewed the lid of the eoffln and helped him out. tie never felt better in his life, and ran about exercising his benumbed limbs. The people believed they had witnessed a miracle. He returned to town and entered the restaurant, hungry for sup per, and when the cook and servants saw him come in wrapped in his shroud they rushed out through windows and doors shaking witli fright. CliPHupcAke Bay Chtiriictern. It is an interesting revelation of char acter to the northerner to go down the Chesapeake bay by any one of several steamboat lines running from Haiti more to points in Maryland and Vir ginia, on each shore of. the bay. The boats ore of very different quality and .peed from those that ply the East river and the Hudson, and the passen crs are usually southerners or border state folks. There is much talk of pol itics and hunting "gunning" is the more usual term a great deal of to bacco chewing, and an easy familiarity among the passengers and between them and the officers of the boat. Tho voyage on the Chesapeake, if taken by moonlight or .by day, is as charming and varied as one could wish, and tho steamboats run up half a dozen tidal rivers that are beautifully clear ond lined with an abundant semi-tropical growth of trees and shrubs. Here and there one catches a glimpse of the grounds attached to a house having what Murylanders call a water situa tion, and there aro occasional stops at private wharves to receive as freight the products of one or more farms.