Crawfordsville Review, Crawfordsville, Montgomery County, 4 January 1890 — Page 5

MAY MARGERY.

May Margery of Lynton Is brighter than tho day Her eyo is like tho sun In hoaten

Wns no'cr BO sweet a May. May Margery has learnt a tune To which her soul is set The voices of all happy things

Are in lis cadence met Tin* vniees of all happy tilings In air, and earth, and seu, :Hakn music in the little breast

Of sweet May Margery.

And has May Margaret a heart! Nay, child, Ood give thee graco! He made il for thee years ago,

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And keeps it ill a place— The heart of (fold that shall be thine— Hul. who shall havo Uio key That opens it?—ah. who? ah, who?

All, wiio, May Margery?

"WHAT HE DID.

"Nover, s:iid 1, "will I drop into any man's mouth like a ripe plum! If a man wants a girl she can refuse him twenty times, aud hell come back again moro anxious than aver." "Twenty is too often," said Cousin Rose Eliza, who was not an agreeable confidante, tho took one up so but I had 110 one else to eonfldo in that summer. "Well, several times, at least," said I. "It might do," said Re so Eliza, "if you didn't mean it. llu'd liko the fun but I wouldn't give much for a man that would take 'No' and come back. There is Springy Ricketts" "I know it," said 1. "Who over gave that girl such a frightful name?" "Her ma named her .Spring because she was born in March, and her pa's name was Ricketts—so that canw natural—aud it is Bpringy for a pot name. But, anyhow, she Is pretty, and she was young then, and Mr. Jambon, he was very sweet on her, and when he proposed she refused him," said Rose Eliza. "No wonder!" said I. "Jambon is no natpo to offer to Springy." "And," said my cousin, "ho went and" "Drowned him^lf," I interrupted. |'No ho proposed to Kate Dutton, and sho stud '\es,'" said Rose Eliza, "and all tho while Springy wns attached to him. She's a forlorn spinster now ami wears her hair in ringlets, as is th* fashion when she was 16. People with sanw follow the styles, even if they are disappointed. Hut Springy hadn't much." "Jambon couldn't have been much in love," said I. "As much as men ever are," said Rose Eliza. "It is out of sight out of mind with them. When Ebonezer Doughwitz proposed to me, I said 'No,' in earnest and when Deaoon Jones wanted a second wife, I let him know, short meter, that he couldn't hang up his bat on my hall rack, and needn't waste time calling." Cousin Rose Eliza paused there and purled forty on tho afghan sho was knitting before she said: "If you want Robin Barrymore, say 'Yes' tho first time."

Robin Barrymore was really in my mind tho while, though how Rose Eliza knew it I can't say.

I had met him in the city, and now that I bad come to spend tho summer with Rose Eliza Ti/Hn, my mother's cousin, I found him at the hotel. He had called very often, but so had other young men, two or three students from the hotel, Mr. Lemuel Spinner from the next farm, and the recently installed young mini.-ier, Mr. Smith. 1 was rather pretty, had a wardrobe of unusual sliowincss (for 1 liked color, and I knew that gay ribbons looked well in the country), aud I could sing, dance and flirt as' well as most girls. "Rose Eliza," who was one of tho few spinsters who really never had any matrimonial plans or anticipations, anil neither envied nor hated girls, was very kind to me. Sho gave me luncheons, teas and garden parties galore, and was an amiable chaperon on every occasion—jolly and rosy and round.

A contrast, indeed, to Miss Springy Ricketts, with her head on one side, and tho perpetual memory of her "disappointment" in every fold of her absurd garments, her lank cairls and her fluttering odds and ends of finery. If Rose Eliza had only been moro sympathetic! "Robin Barrymore?" said I. 'jsi j". "Don't hist your eyebrows that "way it isn't candid," said Rose Eliza. "I don't think it's Lemuel Spinner I know it isn't the students. Mr. Barrymore is tho kind of man girls like, and as I suppose you're bound to have a lord and master, it must be he

Just then the door boll rang. "Perhaps that's Mr. Barrymore." said Iloso Eliza.

But it was not it was Lemuel Spinner. Ho had come in Sunday-go-to-meetings, and and a tall hat of flower pot shape, to ask mo to ride. I accepted the invitation, aud on tho way home Lemuel proposed.

If I had headed this sketch with his portrait, you would nover dream of asking what I said. Ho was tho most unprepossessing gentleman who ever grow cabbages—dry, bard and uncomfortable in mind as in person. He had no music in his soul and no idpos in his brain. I gave him a very decided "No," indeed, aud I had no wish that he should repeat his offer. In fact, my horror was very great when he remarked: "Well, Miss Fay, my motter is try, try ag'in, nnd I shill put it into practice." "Don't let him, Cousin Rose Eliza," I pleaded— "don't let him!" "As far as I can hinder him I will," said Miss Tiflin. "But j)erhaps his pertinacity will win you yet. You think it is what a man ought to do, you know." "But when you hate a person it is so disagreeable!" said I. "And when you like 'em you want to keep 'em on tenter hooks," said Cousin Rose Eliza. "If I liked any one I'd say yes in a minute. It seetns too much like cat and mouse work to torment a man that has been honest and right up and down with you." "Oh, my only idea is that a woman oughj to keep her pride up," said I.

And tho moro I thought it over tho more I thought I was right. A husband should never say to rne, "You were ready euough to have me," or think it. Ho should know ho had been anxious to win me, and had a chance of losing me.

One of the young students proposed to me shortly after this. When I told him that he was not old enough, I grieve to say ho wept and said that his life would bo joyless for the future, and I was filled with remorse for a space. He got over it shortly, I am sure, and I was very glad and did not wish him to repeat the trying scene.

Neither when tho Rev. Mr. Smith asked me to be tho lady of the parsonage, had I any wish to torment him. 1 told him very modestly that it was "an honor unto which I was not born," that I never oould be good enough or grave enough, and that Miss Mercy Pills, the doctor's daughter, would make a perfect minister's wife.

It relieved mo greatly to hear him say "Perhaps you are right. Miss Mercy is an excellent young lady, and her work in the Sabbath school is valuable. Pardon me for agitating you."

In fact, I was glad in every case to get my •attars pleasantly off my hands, felt no trimpph In their flighted hopes, and wu sorry

they had desired what. I could not bestow. Neither was I very much elated by these offers. There were not many young ladies in tho neighborhood, aud thoy were rathor plain and uninteresting. A now faco always pleases a man's eye.

I had away of being pleasant to everybody that was misleading, and, moreover, Cousin Rose Eliza declared me her future heiress.

mo, for slu) was strong and healthy and not Sho could not account for her suffering from affected with emotions, but still I had ox- such a guilty feeling when she was not guilty pectations. I of auything, unless it were of being so

I did uot flatter myself that my charms tractive that a gentleman desired her society, were unusually overwhelming because of my I At this thought sho blushed, and then comoffers, and the only man whoso admiration I moil sense whispered to her that she was not valued one whit was Robin Barrymore.

I fancied that he hoped that I would meet him half way, and I had determined not to do oO. I was fond of him—I, yes, I loved him—but all the more for that reason did I desire to keep up my pride, to bold a high place in his thoughts, to be hard to win, and a precious prize in consequonco.

Octoljor had come, however, and Robin

had not given mo an opportunity to say yes you 'n' ho was stan'in' by the fence, without or no. The weather was beautiful. I nover shall forget how blue the sky was, and how tho gorgeous autumn trees blazed in tho sunlight on tho day that Rose Eliza declared that she would "havo company" before tho leaves changed. "I havo friends," she said, "who livo too far away to come for a day. I shall give house party, as they call it in English novels, and you shall write the invitations."

I wrote the invitation in Miss Tiffin's name, ind while I was writing it I knew perfectly well that tho house party was given to bring my tardy love affair to a climax.

We had a very jolly timo. Mr. Barrymore made a great impression on the young ladie6, yet offered me his devotod attention. I was fond of him. I loved him more fondly every day, and at last one afternoon, when wo had been upon a walking expedition to our great marvel, Diamond cave, where tho stalactites hung from the roof in myriads, and there was an echo that frightened people, he contrived to linger behind the others, and to keep mo with him. "I can hold my peace no longer, Miss F&y," he said. "I have loved you more than I can say ever since I knew you. But until I had some assurance that you cared for me I did not speak. Of late I have fancied that your feelings were what I wished them to be, and I have hope. Do you love mo just a little, Grace?"

Did I love him? It was tho worst thing that ho could have said to me. I could no moro answer yes to that than I could havo confessed to a crime, and it gave mo such a chance to answer "No," and I did it.

On tho spot I told a falsehood. I said "Oh, dear me, no," aud I ran awuy. I joined tho rest of the party. Robin Barrymore did not follow mo. After the cavo wo weut to the waterfall. After that we had lunch.

All tho girls were wondering where Mr. Barrymore was. So was I, but I did not say so. We went home. Cousin Roso Eliza had not accompanied us. She had remained at home to oversee tho preparation of supper. When I entered tho dining room she sat at the head of the table, but Robin was not there, nor was any. place kept for him.

Oh, how long it seemed before all those people went to bed and I was alono with my cousin. It was in tho library. Sho had drawn all the portieres close and jrat out all the lights but one student's lamp with a dark green opaque shade. Then sho sat down in her armchair and said: "Come here, Grace, take that little ottoman aud tell mo everything, just as if I was your mother." "Roso Eliza," said I, "first answer me, havo you seen him?" "Him," said my cousin, "is Robin Barrymore, of course!" iv

Aud there was Robin, and he took mo in his arms. "Bless you, my children," said Rose Eliza, with a giggle. "You see, Grace, when Robin came back looking ad if the world had come to an end, aud began to pack, I just up and told him that 1 know what was tho matter, and that I'd prove to him that you were fond of him. I don't think I ever did a better thing in my life. I didn't want any more Springy Rickotts in the village, and I feel proud of that French lady and her father. For a first original flb they were splendid. Guess I'll go and lock up now."

She went. When she camo back I was sitting on the sofa with Robiu's arm about my waist, and ho had asked mo if I loved him twenty times, and twenty times I had said yes.—Mary Kyle Dallas in Fireside Companion.

S&nitary y'lalitics of Watercrexn. The watercress is a plant containing very wnitory qualities. A curious characteristic of it is that, if grown in a ferruginous stream, it absorbs into itself five times the amount of iron that any other plant does. For all anaiinic constitutions it is, therefore, specially of value. But it also contains proportions of garlic aud sulphur, of iodine and phosphates, aud is a blood purifier, while abroad it is thought a most wholesome condiment with meat, roast or grilled. Possibly, the cultivated plant is rather more easy of digestion than the wild one.—Now York Telegram.

Aerolites.

Aerolites are of two kinds, stony and metallic. Stony aerolites resemble the peridot, the scoria from the earth's deep interior metallic aerolites consist chiefly of iron and nickel, In proportions never found on earth. There are is metallic aerolites twenty-two elements, all told, one-third of those of the earth.

THE CRAWFOR1JSVHJ.K WEEKLY REVIEW

BEING ENGAGED

When Meliitable's mother leaned on the chair back and looked at her daughter, after the departure of Parrot Smith, that daughter felt that she would almost be willing to forego the pleasure of hearing a man ask if ho might come to see her Sunday night, if that

Sho was not yet fifty, and likoly to outlive pleasure were to result in such a gaze as

bein' nigh no roosters," was tlie stern reply. Mehitable felt that there was nothing for her to say, and so she said nothing. She only tried to hold herself so that her mother should be as little aggravated as possible. "lius that man buried his second wife "He has." "Oh, gracious land!"

Here Mrs. Green deliberately withdrew her hands frotu the back of the chair, sat down in that chair, and ihen, with ostenta-

I wrote them, aud the last Cousin Rose I tious carefulness, began to untie the handEliza said, as though it were an afterthought: kerchief from her head and to fold it on her "There aro so many ladies and so few men we'll ask Mr. Barrymore, though ho is at the hotel near by."

knees. When she hud done this, she looked up at her girl aud made this inquiry: "When d' he bury her!" "About six months ago." "He's been a mourner ever sence, I s'pose?" "I s'poso so," dejectedly came from Mehitable's lips.

The poor thing was endeavoring to brace herself in some way. She knew that she had tt right to receive Mr. Smith's addresses, but this knowledge was of singularly little avail to her.

She was immensely ustouishcd and indefinably alarmed whan her mother said, rising to her feet as she spoke: "We mustn't bo a foolin' here if we want to got them bunnits sewed 'fore the man comes."

Mehitable eagerly sat down to the straw work. For two hours she expected, every time her mother opeued her lips, to hear something more of the dread subject. But no, Mrs. Green was remarkably amiable, aud "the gentlemen" were not mentioned in any way.

So the days passed, and nothing was said. It will be guessed that Mrs. Greeu hud not only inherited the Farusworth look, but the Farnsworth shrewdness as well. What she said to herself was: "If I go agiust tliat Parrot Smith, she'll take up all the moro for him, so I'll hold my tongue."

She was one of those exceptional women who, having resolved to hold her tongue, can do so.

Thus it came to be Saturday night. When Mehitable went upstairs to her cold and dismal room, sho stood with her small kerosene lamp in her hand before her foot-square looking glass. She was meditating the act of doing her hair up in "crimps." She had not hitherto had any occasion for crimps, but it seemed to her now that the time had come for this adornment. When sho hud gone to the library that afternoon she had stopped into the store and bought a pair of crimping pins. Theso instruments were shaped like very stout hair pins, each furnislied with a slide which confined the hair. When sho had come into the house she had felt as if her mother could see these articles, although they were wrapped up at the bottom of her pocket, nnd her circular was over her pocket. She never felt exactly certain how far her mother's knowledge extended.

It was cold in her chamber. The wind made a loud whistling when it was that side of the house. At this moment, however, the occupant of the room was not cold. She looked at herself full front, quartering, and tried to see her face in profile, with but poor success. Finally, slje sot down the lamp, wfth a dreary sigh. "I'm jest a fright, that's what I be," she said aloud.

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"Have you seen him?" I repeated "Just a minute," said Roso Eliza. "IIo came to say good-by. Ho is going to Europe. He will reside there in future. There is a lovely French lady—you know how marriages are arranged in France—her father has made proposals of course ho will marry her. It all came in the way of conversation, but he looked pale, and I fancied you had said that no of yours." v'iX" "Then he is gone?" said I. A "Forever," said my cousin. "Forever?" I repeated. "And I might have kept him. Oh, Rose Eliza, I have spoiled my whole life!" "What did you do it for?" asked Miss Tiffin. "I—I couldn't help it." said I. "Ho asked me if I loved him. It wasn't the right way. I said, 'Of course it Ay self respecting girl would."

She held the crimping pins for a long time In her hand. She wondered bow they would make her look. She wished her mother were going to stay over Sunday somewhero, and then she, Mehitable, might experiment with thoso pins. But her mother never went away. She was always there to oversee everything. Mehitable shuddered at the thought of what might be said wben her hair was seen done up in those pins.

Then a kind of convulsion of courage came to her, and she did what she believed to 1x3 the bravest act of her life. She twisted her hair up in those instruments, and without waiting to consider what she hud

"Not if sho cared for a man," said Roso done or what she should do ou the morrow, Eliza. "I'm an old maid, but I wouldn't. I I she hurriedly crept to her bed. never cared for any of those who asked me, When she went down stairs tho uext so I said 'No' from my huart, and no doubt morning, Mrs. Green did uot seem to see that1 that is why you said no after all." I her girl had her head bound up in a handker"Oli, no, no, no! Roso Eliza," I sobbed. I chief which carefully concealed her brows. "He was all tho world to me, and now ho is I The excessive umiability continued eveu up go or

And I began to cry piteously "Ah!" said my cousin, "Robin Barrymoro isn't oue to como back after being onco refused" "Yes, ho is," said a voice behind the portiere. "And to go on his knees and to ask her, yes, too. Grace, my darling, forgiveino."

to the time when Mehitable camo from her room after their late dinner, in her best black woolen dress, and with a wavy fluff of iron gray hair over her forehead. That Mrs. Green experienced a shock at that moment cannot be doubted, but she did not make it manifest.

The two women sat in the kitchen. Tho elder one had a book of the Psalms, in very largo print, open on her lap. She appeared to be reading diligently. The younger was holding a Bible, but she did not even make the pretense of perusing it. Sho was thinking that the fire was ready to "touch off" in the sett'n' room stove, and wondering how long it would bo before the room would be warm if Mr. Smith should come. And if he came, what would ho say? She had done tho barn chores a full half hour earlier than she had over done them before, nnd her mother had mado no remark.

If he cajne, what ..ould he say? This question recurred again and again. She could not, by auv possibility, put it from her mind. It hummed over nt: over in her thoughts.

It is' pitiable to I vo to relate that Mehitable had never had "Sunday night company" in all her life. Sho had a hazy belief that this was a very sad fact, and she hoped that it might never be said with truth of her again.

Surely somebody ad driven into tho yard somebody aid "AY, oa" very loudly and emphatic: !ly. "I gt.oss we're g'- ui' to have callers, M'hirnble,'1 said Mrs. Green sweetly. "You run right 'n' light tho sett'n' room stove, 'n' Til go to the door."

While Mehitable was "lighting the stove" her mother ushered into the kitchen Mr. Alfhonso Smith. He said he guessed he "might 's well take out his hoss 'n* stan' it in the barn, as 'twas kinder bitin' out."

He immediately disappeared, and was evidently "stan'in' his hoss in the barn." When he returned Mehitable was in tho kitchen, and he shook hands with great cordiality with both women, and said with gusto that he had an idea that two women alone so might be lonesome like, n' he jest dropped in to be sociable.

He unwound a gray "comforter" from his Deck, and as he did so one might have ob••rred that his overcoat was not as long, by

About a foot, ns the garment beneath it. This kind of disparity in length docs not give an agreeable appearance to a gentleman, and when a lover appears with this relatively wrong position of coat skirts, it is very hard indeed to bear. Not that Miss Green was fastidious in such matters. Still she could not control a fleeting wish that Mr. Smith's coats had agreed with each other fetter. \V hen, howover, his outer garment was removed, and she had hung it on a nail in tho back entry, whore sho used to hang her father's hat, slio saw. as her visitor stood rubbing his hands by the cook stove, that she ought not to blame him for not having anything long enough to i-onceal the immense extent of his frock cout. The skirts of that article of apparel were so wide and long, they waved and flapped so when thoir wearer moved, that they were almost awe inspiring. Mehitable. in spite of the great significance of this visit, suddenly found her mind almost completely occupied by the wonder as to where Mr. Smith found that coat. Did they have those coats ready m^do anywhere? Could any rnau go and got one?

this

atr

attractive. It was of no use to try to look her mother in tho faco, and shu gave up the attempt. Aftor a terrible silence Mrs. Green cnod out: "I never! I declare I never did!"

Mehitable trembled. "He was u-wcighin' tlie roosters," she said, feebly. "He wi» :ft a-weighiu' no roosters when

As for tlie rest of this person's dress, his black pantaloons were very short aud small, as if all tho cloth had been used in the coat, aud his shirt front bulged a great deal, and seemed threatening to crock.

It had an effect as if it were vent-ered. Mrs. Green made some inquiries about the hen business, and found that Mr. Smith had permanently taken the place of that young man who had "gone up." He was only driver now, but he "figgered ou gittin' in with the boss."

After a while Airs. Green suggested that the front rocm was probably warm enough now, and Mehitable conducted her suitor into that apartment, where they both sat down somewhat awkwardly. But Mr. Smith was too much accustomed to this "kind of thing," as ho would have said, to be much at a loss. Ho did not attempt the sentimental. He talked a good deal about what an advantage it would be for them two women to have jest the kind of a man he was come there and set the old farm ter join' agin. He said he should bring his cow over, 'n' his pigs, aiid M'hitable could take sare of 'em while he was pickui' up hens. Sis children were all shirkin' for themselves low, though his youngest was only 12.

As she listened to him Mehitable was oon••cious of the most curious mixture of disappointment and exultation. She exulted over the mere fact that she now had a "gentleman friend" of her own, and there he was visibly before her. Still there was an underlying sense that this mere fact was not so very interesting after all. Was it so lacking in interest to every woman! She couldn't understand it in the least. She tried to listen when ho related how much meal he gave hid cow, and when he expressed a firm conviotion that "shorts did a critter more harm than good."

His upper lip was certainly very dreadful, and it was particularly dreadful when he smiled. She supposed she should marry him, of course. It was almost as good as ail engagement that she had allowed him to come on Sunday night, and sho knew he thought so. Her luiud went forward to the time when she should have to ask tho librarian to change the name on her membership card from Miai Mehitable Green to Mrs. Alphonso Smith. What would be her sensations at a moment liko that?

Would her mother rulo Parrot as she hod ruled every ono with whom she had ever lived? Why did Parrot—looking at his mouth she found herself obliged, mentally, to call him thus—propose to come to his bride's home instead of taking his brido to his home? She could not know that a foreclosure of a mortgage was about to take place at the Smith estate.

After her guest had com srsed an hour about "critters" and hens, and cotton seed meal, and craclted corn, and kindred subjects, and sho had done her best to listen aud reply occasionally, it became evident that the visitor was getting very sleepy. His sentences grew more isolated, so to speak, and ho would close his eyes for some minutes, then open them with a snap, and hold life head up straight. After wh.it seemed an interminable time, the clock struck nine. Mr. Smith tried to sit awhile longer, then he decided mentally that it was a pesky foolish thing to spend much time in courting M'hitable Green. He rose from his chair, saying something to the effect that his "hoss was mighty uneasy if it was out much, 'n' he s'posed he'd better be goin' 'n' he s'posed it was all settled between 'em, and he'd come over next Sunday night agin, 'n' she might have a talk with her mother, 'n- be sure 'n' toll the old lady't he meant the fair thing by 'om totif, they needed a man. When he come ag'in they'd set the day, as 'twa'nt no use put'n' things off when they knew their own minds 'n'he'd liko to git settled all comfortable 'fore New Year's."

Ho stood looking at Mehitable, where she stiil sal. in her chair, with her work worn hands folded tightly on her lap. "I guess it's all settled, ain't it?" he said.

She looked up at him, her honest, patient eyes having an unusual appearance under her fluffed hair. "1 guess 'tis,'- she said, feebly. "All right, then," he responded, with biij. ness, "I'll be a-goin'," and he walked out of the room.

She did not follow him. She remained quiet. She heard him bustling on with his coat and talking to her mother then the outside kitchen door shut, and soon after camo the soui id of a horse and wagon leaving the yard.

She was engaged. She kept telling herself that she was engaged, while sho was doing tho little things she did every night before going to bed.

In half an hour she was upstairs. Her mother had continued amiuble. She would try to inform her in the morning. It would be time enough in the morning.

It was between 12 and 1 o'clock in tho night that Mrs. Green becamo aware that her daughter was standing beside her couch, with a bed comforter wrapped about her, and holding the lighted l&mp in her hand. "Mother.'' oxc!ai:ned Mehitable with explosive force, "you tell him I can't do it, I can't do it, 'n' I Y^on't, I won't!"

Mrs. Green smiijd as soon as sho could recover her.jelf sut '.ciently to do so. "So you've ben an' ingaged yourself, have ye?" "Yes, but I ain't goin' to stay engaged, I can't bear him. I—oh—mother, you tell him!"

Mehitable showcl symptoms of hysterical sobbing. Her mother reached out and patted her daughter's arm. "Don't you worry," sho said, "tho Farnsworths ain't afraid of nothin', 'n' I ain't liVed to this day to be afraid of that Parrot Smith, I guess. I'll tell him I wa'n't goin' to let him git ye, anyway. He's arter thus farm. I'll tell him it wus left to me, 'n' I c'n will it where I plea ie, 'n' I sbaVt will it to Parrot Smith's wife. Sakcs! did ye think I didn't know what I was up to? Go to bed, child. We'll git 'long here by ourselves a spell longer, I reckon."

Must it be confessed that, as Miss Green again climbed tho narrow yellow stair, in the midst of her sensations of relief, there was a dull pang that her mother should have thought, and have said, that this gentleman friend was "arter the farm?"—New York Tribune.

LEGEND OF TEE PIASA.

ONE OF THE STORIES TOLD IN CAL­

HOUN COUNTY, ILLS.

TUo Pl-a-naw Was a Dragon and I.lvod

on Indians—Chief Ontega Met Him on

a llluff und Killed Him—Ho A Vug Set In a Uook a* a Weather Signal.

In 1673, when Joliot and Marquette ascended the Illinois river on their return from the discovery of tho Mississippi, they saw on tho right hand cliff, not far above tho Illinois' mouth, what they were pleased to consider tho picture of a devil. The good priest tried afterward to make a drawing of the creature, and though his drawing was poor and inexact he sent it to France, where it is said to bo preserved amoug the papers of the colony.

In later days it has been written and talked about as "tho picture on the rock above Alton." It was cut and painted at so early a (lay that the Indians could givo only, traditions about it, and it might have remained there until thu time, but in 1840 some zealous developers of western resources quarried it away.

This picture, which Father Marquette saw with startled eyes, considering it a sign of aboriginal depravity, was called the Piasa [Pi-a-aaw], or Destroyer. Mr. William McAdams, in a recent book, gives a description of the Piasa, aud a representation of it which differs from a picture painted by Mayor Ladd, of Whitehall, only in two points. He gives the creature a fish tail and carries its folds lengthwise around the body, while Mr. Ladd has wound this snake like appendage three times around the Piasa's middle nnd ended it with a dragon dart. Mr. Ladd painted his picture from the description given by 'Squire Russell, of Bluffdule, who has been nearer the Piasa than any person now living.

I have been to 'Squire Russell to beg that he would tell me all he could recall about that strange inscription, of which so many untrue things will doubtless bo told as time goes ou.

'SQUIHK KCSSELL'S STOUT OF TIIU PIASA.

"1 used to climb the rocks to look at it when I was a boy," he said. "I havo been within sixty feet of it. I once pointed it out from the deck of a steamer to an English lady and she looked at it with a field glass. No wings showed that day, for the weather was dry. The colors were always affected by dampness, and stood out distinctly after rain. Father Marquette evidently saw the Piasa on a dry day, for he pictured it without wings. "The picture was cut into the surface of the rock half an inch or more, and originally painted with red, black and blue. It had the head of a bear, large, disproportioned teeth, the horns of an elk, the scaly body of a fish, and a bear's legs ending with eagle's claws. The tail was at least fifty feet long, wound three times around the body, and ended in a spear head. The upper horns wero painted red, tho lower portion aud head black. Tho wings were expanded to tho right and left of the faco, aud the Piasa was at least sixteen feet long. Its head and neck were covered with a mane, and its body confusedly colored with all three of the colors used. "In ISCO Capt. Gideon Spencer came up the Mississippi, and saw tho picture on tho rock. He asked the Indiaus what it was, aud they told him it was the Storm Bird, or Thunderer that it had been placed there by a warlike tribe long before any emigration to the great lakes, Tho Indians would fire off their guns at it, and some of them made it offerings of tobacco, smoked their pipes to it, and performed such other ceremonies as they made use of to propitiate bad mauitous while passing by the rock."

Tribes who lingered after the white men eame had this clear legend of the Piasa handed down through generations.

Along time ago, when auimals of monstrous growth still walked the earth, or with awful bat wings lay upon and darkened the air, this destroyer lived in caves in tho rock along that river now called the Illinois. His haunts were full of his victims' bones. For a timo he was a contented monster and satisfled himself with buffalo. It was his custom to swoop down upon a herd, set his claws in the finest and fattest beef, carry his selection off to his den, and eat it in privacy "»d comfort. But he got a taste of Indian, and from that time forth his game was man. An armlead of papooses, a plump squaw, or a muscular brave became his accustomed meal. Whole tribes were going down tho hopper of this creature's jaws. There must have been a reverse side to this picture, as such a present personal Satan could hardly help checking forwardness in young Indians. Still tho least calculating of savage minds saw that tho Destroyer would soon depopulate the country unless tho country succeeided in dopopulating him.

ONTliOA VANQUISHES THE I'lASA.

Ontega was at that time the great chief of a warlike tribo called tho Illini. He determined to riu mankind of the Piasa by hook or crook, by battle or by strategy. So liko a knight in the days of dragons, he betook himself to fasting and vision-seeing, and it was revealed to him from heaven that the Piasa could be taken off only by sacrificing the best man in the tribo. When this was proclaimed to the tribe they all began to wail and lament, and resign every honor in favor of Ontega—he was the best man in the tribe on the first ballot. Still they did not want him sacrificed, and earnestly begged ho would invent some other way of overcoming the Piasa. It may be supposed that the Piasa's swooping dowu and picking off another brave iu the midst of their deliberations somewhat reoonciled them to Ontega's plan.

He picked out an exposed rocky point, and directed his people to hide in their wigwams. Before tho Piasa's next dinner time he had ambushed his best warriors around the exposed rocky point. The Piasa's horns and hood were seen craning out of its cliff door. Ontega mounted the rock, weaponless, dressed in the full costume of a chief, witti. the royal feathers bristling fro his head.' Tho Pirisa contemplated him with extreme satisfaction, spread nioinbratied wings, and sailed to the encounter. Out:' a, with folded arms, chanted his death song, out just as the Destroyer was drooping liko shot from a shot tower upon him tho concealed marksmen riddled it with arrows. Sharp flints of all sorts thrust it through, and shafts stuck quivering out of its carcass.

Not oven tho tip of Onteg'.Jj plume was bent. He had been preserved fiy the power above, for when a man looks v. ith undaunted eye und patient courage at a ,roaching calamity heaven itself fights for uim.

This was the end of tho Piusa, There were no moro free lunches of Indian on the banks of that fair river. We may imagine the tribe spreading out the uncouth remains, measuring them and grinning, and quarreling about who had actually killed the Piasa. Had they been civilized we might now have a multiplicity of volumes proving that overy^yarrior who shot an arrow ou that occasion -'^as tho sole savior of his tribe. But they were honest barbarians, and in their hearts and traditions gave all the credit to Ontega.

To commemorate the event, the imago of the Piasa was cut the cliff close to its old haunts, and painted with colors which outlasted nations. Those early people had not such a bad idea of monuments.—Mary H. Catherwood in Chicago Tribune.

HOW A CHROMO 15 MADE.

Ail Interesting Process with Which FewPeople Are Familiar. Wo see tens of thousands of chromos, which are given away by every enterprising business man, yet I venture the assertion that very few know how they are produced. To properly produce a chromo the lithographer must bo en rapport with the artist. He must analyze the picture, fully realize the combinations of colors and the spirit of the work. Having determined just how many basic colors enter into the picture, the artist commences his work by preparing a lithographic stone for each separate color. The artfet commences his work by making a delicate and elaborate ink tracing of the picture nob only its general outlines, but the minute and intricate touches and shades of color of which it is composed. The tracing paper is chemically prepared, so that the lines upon it can be readily transferred to stone. A press is employed to transfer the impressions on the paper to the stone, considerable pressure being used. Thousands of impressions can then be taken from the stone by simply running an ink roller over it.

The tracing thus transferred forms what is known as the key stone. Suppose thero are twenty colors in the chromo. This number of impressions is taken from the key stone and each carefully dusted with red chalk. A Him offset of the entire tracing is then pressed on each ono of theso stonos.

The drawing then begins, and often occupies many mouths. Each stone is to bo printed in a separate color, and therefore must contain not only all that is necessary of that color of the picture, to the minutest detail, but all of the compound colors, made by printing one or more over others. A variety of gradations of color from its full strength to the faintest tinting can be produced on each stone, just as in using an ordinary pencil or crayon on drawing paper. These various colors aro, of course, worked up in black by tho artist, and it is the printer who applies the oolors. The lines on each separate stone aro etched with the wash of nitric acid and gum arabic, and are ready for the presses.

The printer must be as skillful as the artist in applying his colors, and must fully realize the blending and effect of each color. As fast as each color is printed it is submitted to the artist, who has thus a progressive proof of the work.

It has boon probably noticed that lines cross each other on the margin of a chromo. These are the registering marks and enable the printer to place the sheet in the same relative position every time a new stone is vsed and a now color applied. These line* are drawn in the original tracing and appear on each stone. When the first color is printed very sinull holes aro punctured in each sheet at the intersection of these lines, very fine holes are also drilled in corresponding positions on each of the subsequent stones, and the liultss iu the paper aro to correspond precisely with the holes in the stone, and thus as each additional color is put on a perfect register ii secured and each color falls just where it belongs.

The next process is to make the chromo have :i rough surface like an oil painting. A stone is now prepared which has a rough surface, similur to canvas. The chromo is then laid upon it and passed through a press with heavy pressure. When it comes forth it is an exact imitation of tho painting. It is y.hen varnished, and thus you have the chromo ready for tho market.

The world is yet practically dependent on oue quarry in Bavaria for its lithographic stone. Stones havo been found in France, England. Canada and the United States, but none possess tho qualities of the beet German stones. A boil of lithographic stone has been found in Sequatchie valley, not far from Chattanooga, and the investigations

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far

indicate that it will yield stone of a very fine quality. If it should prove so, it will be literally a gold mine. The finer quality of stone is today worth thirteen cents per pound, and is very scarce.—Nashville (Tenn.) Times.

Sparing Their Strength.

"Look at these men," exclaimed Harry Delmar, as he pointed to some trackmen at work "It takes six of them to carry that iron rail, and they move like snails." "They are sparing their strength," remarked tho father. "Well, I should say so," declared Harry. "Four of them could carry that rail with ease." "Perhaps they could," replied his father. "They are sparing their strength, and thoy are wise."

Harry looked at his father, a faint expression of surprise on his face. "I notice that the foreman does not reprove them," continued his father. "He is satisfied that they aro doing an honest day's work. If they worked as you seem to think thoy ought to work, it is likely they would not bo hero to-morrow, or not on tho next day, at least. Thoy would break down. They must husband their strength so that they can work day after day without abatement. There is speed in method, though it may seem tedious. A quick fire soon burns itself out. The tortoise beat the hare in the race. A racket makes a big fuss, but comes down a

A volcano creates a great uproar, but it remains still a long while afterward. Tremendous efforts are soon spent. The 'pitching in' process does not last long. It is wise for us, tny son, to spare our strength, whether we labor with our hands or brains. It is tho socret of long sustained effort. The enorgy in reserve is often the energy that wins and wears." "1 see now, papa, that I spoke too hastily," Harry said. "The men are not shirking their work. Yes, they are wise."—Harper's Young Peoplo.

An Astonished Setter.

I do not vouch for the truth of the tale, but a man, whoso reputation for veracity is at least reasonably good, declares that he saw on the street in Boston, the ^other day, an electric wire accident which was certainly singular. His attention was attracted by the barking of a red Irish setter to an English sparrow, which wns perched upon an electric light wire high above the beast's head. The animal bad evidently been amusing himself in tho fruitless sport of chasing tho bird, and when it had taken refuge on high had endeavored to get some consolation out of yelping lustily. The day was windy, and the wire swayed to and fro, the sparrow apparently] enjoying its swing, until in a fatal moment the tail of the bird came in contact with another wire near by. Then, in the twinkling of an eye, the unlucky sparrow came tumbling down stone dead at the feet of the noisy dog, who was so astonished at this sudden turn of affairs that hc^did not offer to pick the creature up, but simply stopped barking aftd stood stariug at his prey in astonish-.' ment.—Boston Letter in Providence JournaL

Life a Dream.

Our waking lifo is but a connected dream. el is a no iv an infinite number of unknowns by a fatality of its nature. Science is summed up in the consciousness that nothing exists but consciousuess. In other words, the intelligent issues from the unintelligible in order to return to it, or rather the ego explains itself by the hypothesis of the non-ego, while in reality it is but a dream, dreaming itself.—Henri Frederic Amiel

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