Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 April 1892 — Page 4

A CRADLE SONG* J • / jMAtmdswing! Swish and swing! Through I the yellow grain Stoutly moves the cradler to a low refrain, the swaying blades of wheat tremble I to his sweep •nn he lays them carefully in a row to sleep; And he feels a mystic rhyme Makes his cradle swing in time To the rocking of the baby by the door. Swish and swing! Swish and swing! So the cheeks grow red, Bowls are filled with porridge, and ovens piled with bread, Bossy claims the middlings, and coltie eats the bran, Chicky gets the screenings, and birdie all he can. i Bo the cradle’s harvest rhyme Keeps the reaper's strike in time With the cradle that is rocking by the door. Thus the golden harvest falls to yield the precious wheat life is golden, too, alas! but only love is sweet. Labor for the fireside is the royal crown to wear, And Love that gave the harvest will give each heart its share, While the reaper swings in time, Like a loving, tender rhyme, To the rocking of the cradle by the door Swish and swing! Swish and swing! Ah, the good old sound, Harvest note of gladness all the world around! Hear the cradles glancing on the hilly steep; Hear the little rocker where baby lies asleep— Gentle, universal rhyme Of the reaper keeping time With the rocking of the cradle by the door. —[Charles H. Crandall, in the Century.

THE BRASS KETTLE.

“Leave off spinning, Mercy, and reel what you’ve got on the spindle for me. There’ll be enough, I guess, to finish this web, and I’ll put it in without scouring. Then run over to Wilson’s and borrow Sarah’s brass kettle. We’ll have some hulled corn to-morrow, now the leach is up.” It was late on a Muy afternoon in Maine, then an outlying part of Massachusetts, more than a hundred and thirtyfive or forty years ago. A pioneer's wife'sat at her loom, plying the shuttle rapidly, while with sturdy blows of .her foot on the treadle, she beat the woof yarn into the web. Her daughter Mercy, a pretty, blueeyed girl of seventeen, who had been making the spinning-wheel hum merrily for the last two hours, laid down the wheel-finger with a willing “Yea, mother,” and plied the less noisy reel, counting off the threads in a low tone. “Six knots, mother,” she said. “It will make enough,” replied Mrs. Cary, her voice half drowned by the loud clatter of the high, brown old loom in widen she sat. “Wiqd it on the quills.” The girl did su, but lingered a bit as she set the quill box in the loom. “Can't I take that piece of cherry ribbon, mother?” she asked, a little Confusedly. “Yea, yes, child,” said the mother, somewhat impatiently. It was not the first time Mercy had asked for the ribbon; and with pleasure in her fresh face, the girl withdrew quietly to the other room of the log-house, where for some secret reason she now attempted a few details of self-adornment, before she set off on her errand to the Wilsons’. A ruddy boy in homespun, eight years old, perhaps, ran in barefoot as Mercy withdrew.

“Mann!” said he, with a mysterious half shake of his head, “I believe there's an old Indian out by the log pile. Tige’s all brustled up, and keeps looking out that way.” “’There, there, Josh, stop that talk!" cried his mother, sharply. “What did your father tell you this morning? He • hade ye not to say ‘lndian’ again for a month. There’s nonj anywhere about now. 'Twas nothing more than a bear that Tige smelt.” “I’ll bet it isn’t a bear,” muttered little . Josh to himself, as he went out, rebuffed. “Tige always barks for a bear; but he never barks* nor growls out loud, if it’s an Indian. Old Jed Haney taught him that when he was a pup.” Tige, a large white and brindled dog, with a broad head ; pink nose and strong, bony legs, was standing in the dooryard. The hair along his shoulders and back •howed a tendency to rise, and from inoment to moment he turned his glaring eyes slowly in the direction of the woods to the southwest of the stumpy clearing. Mercy meantime started on her errand for the kettle. Her mother peered out from the loom frame. “There, Mercy, you vain girl?” she cried, laughing a little; for Mercy, had arranged the cherry ribbon in a bow at her throat, and displayed a little antique pin of gold, a gift of her grandmother. She blushed at her mother’s goodhumored raillery. “Don’t stay,” Mrs. Cary added. ’’lt’ll ■oon be night now. And Mercy!” she called again, stopping the loom a moment. “Take Tige with you. Josh may go, too, if he wants to." An interesting legend from the early folk-lore of the colony has descended to uS of Mwcy Cary’s trip for the brass kettle. F ‘rom Casco—how Portland—the settlers had by this time begun to push forth into the wilderness, in the direction of Yarmouth, Brunswick, New Gloucester and the Saco Valley. It was the period of the French war, with its many Indian outbreaks, which so greatly distressed the people. Incited by the infamous “scalp bounties” and “captive bounties" offered in Canada, the savages not only made attacks in force upon the garrison houses, but singly, or in little parties, lay in wait on the borders of the forest, to cut off the settlers who were at work in their clearings, or going to and fro on their long trip, ito mill or to procure supplies. Many were thus foully .murdered, or captured and hurried away through the woods to be sold to the French in Canada. Young English captives were then in much request among the wealthy French families at Montreal, Three Rivers, Sorel and Quebec, as servants, particularly voting women from sixteen to twentyfour years old. Scores of girls were dragged away into captivity, only a few of whon were ever so fortunate as to meet their relatives again. The settlers built • block-houses as places of refuge here and there; and scouts were sent out to give warning of Indian parties. But often their utmost vigilance failed to detect the presence of the lurking redskins. Three miles from the block-houses at Chepidneck lived the Cary and Wilson families. Their clearings were on the opposite banks of a large brook, the outlet of a considerable lake. The rich intervale land along the stream offered good farm sites; and with hard-working ■

thrift, both these neighbors had already cleared and burned off tracts of from forty to fifty acres. Nathan Wilson and his wife had four boys, named Reuben, Joseph, Hiram and George. Reuben was already nearly twenty, and an expert woodsman. Silas Cary was less favored. His boys, as he was wont jocosely to remark to his neighbor, “were all girls save one—little Josh.” But his girls, of whom Mercy was the eldest, were almost or quite as good as boys for all the lighter labors of the new farm, and helped their father at his planting and harvesting. The distance from Cary's house across to Wilson’s was not much more than a quarter of a mile. A well-beaten path led through the stumpy clearing and down the bank to the brook, over which there was a rude log bridge. Beyond the brook were clumps of bushes and a few maple trees; and still farther on the way led through an open clearing again to Mr. Wilson’s house.

Mercy, with Tige and little Josh, had been gone on her errand perhaps threequarters of an hour. The sun had set; and meantime Siltfe Cary, with the three younger girls, came in from the field where they had been planting corn and potatoes. “Where are Mercy and Josh?” asked Silas, taking down the cedar buckets from their pegs, preparatory to milking the two cows. “I've sent them to Wilson’s for the brass kettle,” replied Mrs. Cary. “It's time they were back.” “They are coming!” cried Patience, as a faint outcry was borne to their ears. “I hear Josh shouting ‘Tag!’ to the Wilson boys.” The lad was indeed shouting, but not to the Wilson boys. As he and Mercy crossed the bridge on their way home with the kettle, the dog suddenly growled and drew back. Mercy hurried across, and little Josh followed; but as soon as they had reached the other end of the bridge two hideously painted savages leaped out from the alders there, and seizing them by the wrists, dragged them away along the hollow of the brook. Tige dashed at one of the savages and would have pulled him down; but the redskin beat him off with his tomahawk. Mercy screamed, and the lad cried out and kicked his captor, but was beaten so cruelly that he dared not resist further. Mr. Cary, now out in the yard with his buckets, heard Mercy’s piercing scream. He rushed into the house, seized his gun, and dashed down the path to the log bridge, past the bushes. He met Tige running toward the house. The dog’s head was bleeding from a out; his hair stood up like bristles; and his eyes glowed like live coals. “It’s Indians! It’s Indians!”'muttered Cary, stopping short. “Tige's after help!” Presently he heard a quick step up the path on the other side, and saw young Reuben Wilson coming hastily down to the bridge. Mercy’s scream had reached his ear, too, where he had been at work mortising fence-posts with a postaxe, beside the path, about fifty rods distant. Not ten minutes before, he said, Mercy had stopped to chat with him, as she passed. He had only the post-axe in his hands. “Reuben!" hailed Cary,in tones which shook from a father's anguish. “The Indians have got Mercy and Josh.” Reuben turned without a word and ran back to his father's house to give the alarm and get his gun. Hearing the tidings, Nathan Wilson at once despatched Hiram to the block-house, to summon assistance. Joseph he bado guard the house, and sent George toiCary's place. Then seizing his own gun and ammunition, he followed Reuben. They overtook Cary half a mile up the brook, and came out on the shore of the lake, a mile father to the northward,just as the last gleam of the fading twilight shone on the water. Faintly as it gleamed, it was still sufficient to disclose the light imprint of a canoe’s bottom on the soft sand. Near by were several moccasin tracks. Tige Lad led the way directly to the place.

“That’s bad,” murmured the elder with a sharp glance along the darkening shores. “There are two. We sha’n’t come up with them to-night.” The savages had gained a start sufficient to have already doubled a point on the shore, six or eight hundred yards distant. The settlers had no boat on the lake. The pioneer knew that the Indians could paddle their canoe faster than the whites could follow them through the woods by night, around the shores. The contour of the lake, too, was such that the whites must take a wide circuit, and cross two tangled swamps. It was probable that the Indians would make directly for the head of the lake, I six or seven miles distant; yet there was no certainty of this. They might veer away to the right or the left shore. After a hasty consultation it was decided that the elder Wilson should return and get a pnek-of provisions, and lead the party which might come from the block-house; while Cary and Reuben, with Tige, should skirt the lake in the hope of discovering where the Indians landed. The night bade fair to be very dark. At about ten o'clock in the evening eight men arrived at Wilson’s place with their guns, from the garrison-house; but by this time clouds had gathered, awi they deemed it unwise to enter the forest until daybreak. Cary and Reuben, meantime, had pushed on around the lake and reached the mouth of a small brook near the head of it, by the time the clouds obscured the stars. Not only did they find moccasin tracks in the sand here, but other smaller tracks, which Cary had no doubt were those of his children. The trail led along the bank of the small brook. But Cary thought it imprudent to go on before Wilson and the expected party came up. Reuben took Tige and went on alone. The dog followed the trail readily, and the young pioneer kept pace with him, breaking a twig now and then to guide the party when they should follow him. At last he came to the foot of a gorge, or ravine, from which the brook issued. Here Tige sniffed about, and soon entered a little thicket of firs. There Reuben found a bark canoe, evidently hidden by the Indians. Why they had left it there Reuben did not at first understand. He did not touch it, but continued up the ravine, and after a mile or two gained the summit of a long, rocky ridge, covered with a growth of hemlock-trees. Northward the ridge fell off abruptly in a line of crags. Tige followed the trail downward over the ledges; but Reuben halted for a moment to look off across the expanse of forest beyond. The sun was now just rising. A mile away he could see a sheet of water which appeared, from the way it opened to view around the base of a mountain, to be part of a larger expanse, out of sight beyond it A slight bluish mist hovered over the tree-tops along the nearer shore, which Reuben was at first inclined to think might be die smoke of a camp-fire. He heard the cry of blue-jays in the

distance; and as he scrutinized the land* scape, his sharp eyes detected, even at that distance, three crows flying ovej the woods along the shore. Suddenly the crows circled around and dived downward, and a faint, inquisitive car-r-r was borne to his ears on the still morning air. Reuben had noticed that the crows always uttered this peculiar cry when they saw a human being in an unexpected place; and he was sure that the Indians and their captives were even now on the shore of the pond or bay. Then he made his way down the steep side of the ridge, whither Tige had preceded him, but in a thick group of hemlocks at the foot of the ridge he met Tige coming back with bristled hair. The dog turned, but stood still at Reuben’s feet, as if listening. His hair rose more stiffly on his shoulders, and he backed against Reuben's legs. His whole aspect seemed to give warning of danger near.' This hint was not lost on the young woodsman, who quickly stepped aside and concealed himself in the dense hemlock thicket. Tige crouched by his side. The boy and the dog had scarcely hidden themselves when two Indians came swiftly up the hillside, their moccasined feet scarcely seeming to stir a dead leaf or crackle a twig, as they went backward upon the trail over which they had came. Each carried a gun, and had a tomahawk and scalping-knife at his belt. The faces of both were streaked with war-paint, and their black hair stood up in tall, stiff tufts. Silent and swift as two spectres, they glided past, and in a moment were lost to wiew. Reuben’s heart beat fast, and he could see Tige’s eyes glowing like fire from his strong hatred of the redskins. But not a growl escaped the dog. The reason why the savages were retracing their steps occurred instantly to Reuben. They had led their captives to the larger lake and secured them there, and had gone back to fetch their canoe. Emerging from his concealment, Reuben pushed forward as fast as Tige could follow the trail. In a few minutes he caught a glimpse of the water through the trees ahead.

But Tige now unexpectedly held back again; and after peeping ahead for some minutes, Reuben moved cautiously around to the left, to gain the c6ver of a swamp of fir balsams. It was fortunate he did so, for on creeping forward through the thickets here till he could gain a nearer view, he saw a third Indian coming along the shore with a bunch of fish in his hand. The savage approached the embers of a fire which was smouldering beside a drift-log, and sat down. Raising himself cautiously for a little better view around, Reuben discovered a large black object beside a tree, which after a moment’s keen scrutiny he saw was Mercy Cary, tied to a small tree, with the brass kettle over her head! Immediately, too, he espied little Josh’s bare head and woe-begone face. The lad, like his sister, was bound to a sapling close to the shore, his hands tied behind his back and around the tree. Reuben reflected hurriedly. What he did must be done at once, for the other two Indians would soon return with the canoe, and probably embark with their captives upon the lake. Presently he heard little Josh crying dolefully. “0 Mercy,” whimpered thja lad, "my arms ache awfully, they are tied terribly tight!” Mercy said something to him in a low tone, which Reuben could not distinguish, for her voice was muffled in the kettle. The Indian, who was placing the fish on the embers, grunted angrily, rose, and gave Josh three or four Lard blows with a stick. The boy screamed from the pain, and his sister, unable to see, but hearing the blows, cried out, too. Thereat the savage rushed toward her and rained blows upon the kettle to frighten her into silence. Reuben, his blood boiling, was already sighting along the barrel of his flintlock, but he did not fire until the Indian had drawn back a little fr >m the children.

Then the old musket roared heavily on the morning air and the young marksman saw the Indian fall. Thinking that he might be wounded merely, and that he would crawl to his gun, Reuben remained concealed, and hastily reloaded his piece. But Tige had run out, and Reuben had scarcely time to ram down a charge when he heard a frightful outcry from the wounded Indian. Tige was taking satisfaction for his own wound by fiercely gfiakjng his hated enemy. 1 tearing the shot andthfi growls of the doc. Mercy made a supreme effort to withdraw her head from under the kettle, and bud succeeded in doing so as Rueben dashed forward. With his knife he cut the thongs that bound her arms, and those which bound little Josh.

He seized the savage's gun, threw the brass kettle into a thicket, and started, leading Josh with a strong hand, while Mercy followed hastily in his steps, and Tige brought up the rear. Having first taken u look around to get his bearings, Reuben made a wide circuit across the swamp and far off to the southward of the trail along which the Indians would come. He hoped that the two redskins might have crossed into the ravine, on the other side of Hie hemlock ridge, before the shot was fired, and that they had not heard it. The distanca was two or three miles. After a hot walk of two or three hours, Reuben, with his companions, came around to the lower lake, where he had left Silas Cary. But before this time Nathan Wilson, with the party from the block-house and two dogs, had arrived at this spot, and with Cary had set off up the brook, following the trail, as Reuben had done. They reached the foot of the second lake just in time to see the two Indians escaping in their canoe. A scout returned and found the three young people at the head of the lower lake, and later in the day the whole party reached home in safety. So much did the pioneers’ wives miss their brass kettle, however, that Reuben and his brother Hiram made a trip to recover it the following week. The great-ly-prized utensil was found in the swamp where Rueben had thrown it, and it was immediately put to service again in preparing the hulled corn. The legend, indeed, runs that Mercy Cary, who afterward became Mrs. Reuben Wilson, inherited the kettle from her mother-in-law, and made a proper use of it for forty years.—[Youth’s Companion.

Evidence increases that the universal language will be English. It has already taken the place of French in Germany and Russia. All the deliberations of the recent Conference concerning Samoa were conducted in English instead of French. A gentleman in Liberia says that English has driven out every other foreign tongue from the west coast of Africa, where once Portuguese was dominant This progress in India is steady, as it is also in Japan.

THE JOKER’S BUDGET.

JESTS AND YARNS BY FUNNY MEN OF THE PRESS. A Smart Boy—Proof Positive— BteM His Head High—A Burglar in Luck Knocked Out—Etc., Etc. A SMART BOY. Little Dick—There goes Johnny Smart on a safety. He’s the smartest boy in town. Father—How so? “He got himself a rich father.” “Humph! 1 don’t understand." “Why. his real father died, an’ then an orful rich man got 'quainted with his mother, but he didn’t like Johnny; so Johnny he pretended he was sick ’an goin’ to die; and then, after the rich man married his mother, he got well."— [Good News. PROOF POSITIVE. Jack—So you are engaged to Maud now? Tom—How do you know? Jack—You were the only man she didn’t flirt with last night. —[New York Herald. HELD HIS HEAD HIGH. Friend—l know you ere a proud and happy father, and \ I’ve no doubt that baby is a regular cherub, and all that; but I don’t see why you need hold your head quite so high. Young Father—That’s to keep from dropping asleep.—[New York Weekly. A BURGLAR IN LUCK. Smith was aroused from a sound sleep one night by a noise. Thinking that burglars were in the house, he arose, put on his trousers and went down stairs, holding his collar in one hand, the other empty. Finding no one below he returned to his room, and his wife immediately asked: “Frank, why did you take your collar instead of your revolver? “Why—(rather sheepishly) er—(brightening)—to collar him, of course.” Mrs. Smith fell asleep, thinking it was a lucky thing the burglar escaped. — [Detroit Free Press KNOCKED OUT. “I heard you talking about fools awhile ago, Miss Fannie,” said a silly dude to a sharp girl at a dance, “and ” “And,” she interrupted with a snap, “eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves.” —[Detroit Free Press. A CHEAP COAT. Dingley—That’s a beautiful overcoat you have on. How much did it cost you? Caraway—Twenty-five cents. Dingley —Why, how was that? Caraway—Oh, the confounded tailor sent it home by express and I had to pay the freight. —[Brooklyn Life. A CHARACTER STUDY. “Did you ever study the faces in a barber’s shop of the men waiting to be shaved?” “Did you ever try to distinguish the pessimistic from the optimistic?” “Yes; and there is very little difficulty in assigning them to their respective classes.” “Indeed!” “Y’es; the pessimist is the last man that comes in and who has to wait until six other men are shaved before his turn comes, and the optimist is the man distinguished by the appellation of next.’ "—[New York Press.

PLEASING DOLLIE. Little Girl—Oh, mamma, my dollie fell down and broke her nose. Mamma —How did she fall? “She fell all by herself.” “How could she?” “She was standin’ up.” “Then you must have stood her up.” “Yes'm.” “And then you went off and left her?” “Well, childrens don’t want their mammas around all the time.”—[Good News. ONE OF HER PETS. She—l always have a great many pets about me. He (tenderly)—Am I one of them? She —Yes. You are my pet aversion. IT IS STRANGE. Driggs —There is one thing about a foreigner I don’t understand. Figgs —What? Driggs—He brags about his country all the time he is here, and about our country all the time after he gets home. APPROPRIATE. Cumso —What are you going to do with that mouse, Johnny? Johnny Cumso —Use it for bait. Cumso (astonished) —For bait? Johnny —Yes; I'm going to try to catch some catfish.—[Jester. GOOD DEFINITION.

“It's but a step from the sublime to the ridiculous.” “How so?” “Here’s a man offers SI,OOO for a bird dog. That's sublime. Here’s the owner, who won’t take it. That's ridiculous.”— [Brooklyn Life. NO SLEEP. “There is poor Robinson —hasn’t a place to sleep.” “What, Robinson?” “Yep.” “He has a home.” “Yes—and twins two weeks old.” THE HEIGHT OF BLISS. Hojack—Did Tom look happy when he stood up to get married? Tomdik—Yes; he couldn't have looked happier* if he had been “next” in a crowded barber shop.—[Judge. PLENTY OF AMMUNITION. Tom—l am not surprised that the Newweds have quarrelled; it was to be expected. Jack—Why? Tom—She always would use powder, and he was alwayshalf shot.—[Truth. ONCE WAS ENOUGH. Clara —Is this the first time' you ever proposed to a girl'? Jack —Yes, Miss Clara. Is it to be the last? FROM THE SAME SHOP. Happiness is but a cake Which the Wise and Merry take; Sorrow Is a lump of dough— Fools and cynics seek it, though. PET NAMES. Mrs. Breezey—You have no more pet names 'for me, now that we are married. Mr. Breezey—Pardon me, irty dearhereafter I shall call you my Waterloo. ’

I A LEAP YEAR PROPOSAL. She aaid: “I’m crazy with delight, I’ve a camera that’s brand new, I’ll photograph the things I like, And will begin by taking you.” MARRIAGE FOB SPITE. , “ She married to spite somebody, I believe.” “ Whom? Do you know?” “ I don’t know; but it looks as if it were her husband.” USEFUL. Little Johnnie—Say, Ma, does a min ister really need all the slippers that are given him? Mrs. Brown—Yes, indeed. His son is generally so very bad. A CONSIDERATE MASTER. f “Who er yez workin’ fur now, Dinnis?” “Ye know Mulcahy that has the livery sthable?” “Is it him! Shure I wouldn’t work for a man as mane as him. It’s a hard name he has?” K “Ah! yer mistaken in the man. Old Mulcahy is one ev the kindest an' most considerate bosses in town. He allows aitch wan av his hands sixteen hours to do a day’s work in.”—[Texas Siftings. A COMMON PRACTICE. “What are you busy with now?” “Nothing.” “How do you manage to raise the wind?’’ “I blow about what I am going to do.’ PLEASED WITH WHAT HE SEES THERE. “He is a confirmed pessimist, I believe?” “He is, indeed.” “Is there anything that he sees that pleases him?” “Oh, yes; he sometimes looks in the mirror.” NOTHING LIKE IT. • You will seldom see such a stony-stared look, Suoh a gaze of close concentration, As you’ll see on the face of the man who reads His first published communication. JUDGING FROM APPEARANCES. “ So, Jones married the widow to whom he was paying attention?” “Yes. How did you know?” “ I saw morning on the street and I noticed That he had lost all that jaunty air he used to have about him.” —]New York Press. TWO FEATURES OF ONE DAY. Mrs. Newliwed—l do so enjoy a bright day. Now last Monday was a superb day. MissSpinn—lt was—a perfect day for a walk or a drive. Mrs. Newliwed —Yes; but I was thinking of the wash.—[New York Sun. THE poet’s DEFIANCE. Though I’m a poet of the spring Before no editors I quail, Because I’ve learned aThing or two And send my rhymes to them by mail.

A Persian Horse.

“ Persian horses,” says Mrs. Bishop in “ Journeys in Persia and Kurdistan, “are to be admired and liked. Their beauty is a source of constant enjoyment, and they are almost invariably gentle and docile. It is in vain to form any resolution against making a pet of one of them. My new acquisition, ‘ Boy,’ insists on being petted, and his enticing ways are irresistible., He is always tethered in front of my'tent, with a rope long enough to give him considerable liberty, and he took advantage of it the very first day to come into the tent, and make it apparent that he wanted me to divide a melon with him. Grapes were his preference, then came cucumber, bread, and biscuits. Finally, he drank milk out of a soup plate. He comes up to me and puts down his head tohave his ears rubbed, and if 1 do not attend to him at once, or if I cease attending to him he gives me a gentle but admonitory thump. I dine outside the tent and he is tied to my chair and waits with wonderful patience for the odds and ends, only occasionally rubbing his soft noso against my face to remind me that he is there. A friendly snuffle is the only sound he makes. He does not know how to fight or that teeth and heels are for any other uses than eating and walking. He is really the gentliest and most docile of his race. The point at which he draws the line is being led; then he drags back and a mulish look comes into his eyes. But he follows like a dog, and when I walk ho is always with me. He comes when I call him, stops when I do, accompanies me when I leave the road in search of flowers, and usually puts his head either on my shoulder or under my arm. To him I am an embodiment of melons, cucumbers, grapes, pears, peaches, biscuits, and sugar,, with a good deal of petting and are-rubbing thrown in.”

The Author Waited in Vain.

Colonel John Hay tells an interesting story that he vouches for as true. It is well known that gieat publishing houses like Harper’s, Lippincott’s, and others, accumulate manu-cripts for future use and file them away in vaults until needed. A friend of the Colonel s wrote a story called "The Brazen Android,” locating the scene of the story in England, in the time of Roger Bacon. The author’s name was William D. O'Connor, who for years lived in Washington. The story was a long one, and ran through three numbers of the magazine when published, in 1891. The singular part of the incident is, that the story was written and accepted by the Atlantic Monthly in 1861, and paid for. Month after month, and year after year. Mr. O’Connor watched the magazine for the publication of his story, and it finally did appear within a short time after his death, more than thirty years after it was accepted.—[Washington Post.

The “Oregon Boot.”

A decided novelty in footwear, more suggestive of utility than of comfort, is the “ Oregon Boot,” so called, with oneof which a train robber who lately ar e rived in St. Louis was manacled. Th boot weighed eighteen and a half pounds’ and a detective spent fifteen minutes in opening the combination by which it was secured to the prisoner’s foot. Thus hobbled, there would seem to be small chance for a malefactor to effect his flight from custody unless he should somehow learn the combination. Practically, he might as well be anchored, to a fire-proof-safe.—[New Orleans-Times Democrat *

FOR THE LADIES.

That changeable diamond. The Marquise Lanza has a large number of exquisite and eostly jewels, among which may be mentioned a diamond pendant of thirty-two stones, a ring with two flawless white diamonds, three carats each; several beautiful garnets obtained by her father, Doctor Hammond, during the Mexican war, and last but not least, the stone purchased at Tiffany’s. This gem weighs five carats and glows pink at night, changing to a warm, scintillating yellow in daytime.—[New York Herald. THE EVENING CAPE. The evening cape is the latest freak of fashion, or rather the latest bit of our grandmothers’ apparel that we have appropriated to our own use. They are without question the most sensible bit of oddity that the eccentric dame who rules over womankind has ever advocated, for think what draughty places are all the halls and theatres in town. Nor are private houses guiltless in this respect. These capes are made of the same material as the dresses. They just cover the • low bodice and usually have high collars and are trimmed with either fur or feathers. They are also worn in neutral tones, not to match the dress, and look remarkably well.—[New York Press. VARIETES IN SUNSHADES. There are parasols in black satin, brocaded in wreaths of peacock feathers, also in black, others in bow-knots, and for light mourning some extremely pretty effects in black point d'esprit shirred in soft folds over India silk. The “little women” are provided for liberally in dainty little sunshades of silk in all colors, with pinked-out ruffles, some alternating with net of the same shade, and others entirely of net with flounces on their outer edges. Then, again, there are pretty and inexpensive sunshades made of imported sateen, with interesting little “Kate Greenaway” figures stamped as a borJer upon a solid color.— [Frank Leslie’s Weekly.

IT MENDS GLOVES. A very useful industry is that projected by a woman of ingenuity. She is going to have a little depot in a central west end street, where gloves can be mended (neatly and beautifully) “while you wait.” She also undertakes, for the benefit of people who want evening dresses in a hurry or who do not want to spend a ruinous amount in the making of a dress whose stuff is comparatively inexpensive, to drape, by the aid of needle and pins, these at her depot on the owner. All sorts of styles—Greek, empire, etc. —can be done for a moderate sum. She will also be ready, for a modest fee, to advise on all matters of dress. She will, in fact, be the editor of an “answers to correspondents” column galvanized into vitality. —[Pall Mall Gazette. SECRET OF A SWEET EXPRESSION. Perhaps the secret of the sweet expression and habitual serenity of the Japanese women can be found in their freedom from small worries. The fashion of dress never varying saves the wear of mind over that subject, and the bareness of the houses and simplicity of diet make housekeeping a mere bagatelle. Everything is exquisitely clean and easily kept so. There is no paint, no drapery, no crowd of little ornaments, no coming' into the houses in the footwear worn iti the dusty streets. And then the feeling of living in rooms that can be turned into balconies and verandas at a moment’s notice, of having walls that slide away as freely as do the scenes on the stage, and let in all out-of-doors, or change the suites of rooms to the shape and size that the whim of the day or the hour requires. The Japanese are learning much from us, some things not to their improvement. We might begin, with profit to ourselves, to learn of them.—[Newport (R. I.) News.

THE BELT. SKIRT. Fashion has declared positively in favor of the bell-skirt, but those who look over last with a view to the alterations by which they may be adapted to the present styles will find it necessary to change the skirts even more than the bodices of their old dresses. The fan-pleated skirts of last season are very much fuller, and require much more material than the tightly gored skirt with the slight train. So after the necessary alterations are made there is generally a good deal of the material left over, quite enough for new sleeves or any.changes in the "waist.” If a seamstress in the house is to "do over” these old gowns, the best way is to get her a good pattern of the skirt desired, and she will have no difficulty in arranging the old material to suit the newer lines. Luckily for one’s comfort, the old foundation skirt which added so much unnecessary weight to a gown has completely disappeared, and all skirts are now lined. Barrjig the length, there never has been a skirt cut that is so absolutely light, warm and comfortable as that of the present mode. By a simple arrangement on the three back seams of hooks and eyes, the extra length may easily be disposed of while walking.— [New York Tribune. FASHION NOTES. No girl of the period’s wardrobe is complete without an English box coat. Red feather boas are the newest, and, too, the most becoming thing in that line. A number of materials beside leather are used to make women’s shoes in these days. Chinese and Japanese dress materials would seem to have a strong hold on popularity. Toques as headgear are literally on top, with the big flare beavers a close second. Those very long coats give to small, stout women a somewhat ridiculous appearance. The best novelties in fabrics for the coming season have tucked, piped, corded and shirred effects in the weave. Short-trained sheath skirts have the trimming all around, while the longtrained skirt has trimming only on the fronts and sides. Jet was never more the vogue. It is used in great prof usion and in an infinite variety of forms on all sorts of gowns and millinery. Gold and silver passementeries are no longer the vogue and bead trimmings are taking their place. When the effect of gold is desired pure crystal beads are lined with gold color. A new material for tailor gowns is silk .serge so finely woven that it does not fray at the seams. It is usually in black and is made in a severely plain style without trimming and with all the edges finely stitched.

Round waists promise to be worn in all kinds of material. They are belted in closely, or curve with the taper of the waist, and have plastrons or vests, whichever are most becoming. Dresses for older schoolgirls are made almost exactly as they were last season, with plaited shirt waists or jacket waists, and plain and simple skirts, with or without a cluster of tucks above the hem. Dainty and dressy little muffs, hot often of fur, have been a very fashionable portable in bridemaids’ hands this season, superseding flowers and the white kid or satin prayer-books. Plain shawl-shaped tabliers, or those with shorter points at either side, have been made by two or three of the leading Paris dressmakers and may find favor for dressy Spring toilets. Ginghams in white, with hair-lines of color, and durable French cambrics in the same dainty effects, are shown for children, and there are many gay Scotch plaid ginghams, which are usually made up with trimmings of white embroidery, or to be worn with a white guimpe. In London the best tailors are making n decided-stand against the “scavenger skirt,” as they call the long skirt for street costumes. The skirt they recommend just escapes the ground and is made fuller than the present scant skirt. Many of the French ginghams are trimmed either with fancy cotton gimp in rows or points or with strong linen lace. Plain, unpatterned zephyr ginghams are trimmed with ruffles or the same fabric, daintily embroidered or edged with lace. An art gown seen at a recent dinner party was of black tulle decorated with narrow, fringed ruches of pale-blue silk. The sleeves and the deep frill about the low neck were of blue chiffon. About the very short waist was a wide sash of gale-blue silk falling to the skirt hem A recent novelty is the Watteau skirt, which has a broad triple plait in the back, flaring widely at the foot and extending longer than the skirt at the top. The portion of the plait extending beyond the skirt top gradually narrows to a point and is carried half-way up the back, where it is attached under a bow or chou of ribbon. The coming season will see the apoth- ’ eoeis of the button. They are in all dimensions, from the size of a small bullet to as large os a half-dollar. The richest buttons for dressy uses are in imitation of Roman, Venetian and other miniatures, and in their way are works of art. They are set with imitation rubies, pearls and diamonds, which gleam and glitter in a way that makes them very effective on rich fabric!.

Peculiar Thieving.

“You go right away from that window, young man, 01* I’ll call a policeman!” The speaker was the forewoman of a swell Fifth avenue millinery shop, and she came out of the door like a newly exploded rocket. A shabby young man with a small pad held in the hollow of one hand and a stubby pencil in the other, was the object of her remark. He dropped his drawing utensils into his coat pockets and, turning on his heel, walked rapidly down the avenue. The forewoman re-entered the store with a triumphant smile. “That's the third time I’ve caught him,” she said, in response to a shower of questions from the coterie of customers, ‘‘and if he tries it again I’ll have him put in jail. He’s in the employ of a cheap hat and bonnet factory over on the east side, and about once in every two weeks he makes a round of the principal millinery store windows and takes rough sketches of the newest and most striking designs. “Of course, as soon as a fashion or a style reaches the Bowery it ceases to be worth anything to us, so we make every effort to protect our novelties as long as possible.’’—[New York Commercial Advertiser.

Wild Dogs in the North.

In the Lake of the Woods country, which may be described as a wilderness of forest, rock, and brushwood, a race of wild dogs have established themselves and are increasing in number so rapidly that fears are entertained that the animals will yet become troublesome. When the Canadian Pacific Railway was under construction the camps of the workmen, had, of course, to be frequently moved, and dogs were often left behind, and eventually, like wolves and foxes, found means of sustaining themselves. The animals are large, lean, shorthaired, and generally red, or red and white in color. They are exceedingly wild and fly on the first approach of man. In winter they live by catching rabbits that abound in the wilderness of brushwood; in summer the wild dogs catch fish that crowd the smaller streams that connect inland lakes. The Indians detest the wild dogs, as they pursue game and take the bait from the traps, and are a general nuisance. Sometimes a wild dog is taken in a trap that has been set for other animals, but the beasts are exceedingly cunning, swift and watchful. A race of wild dogs is said to exist in Newfoundland, keeping near the coast and subsisting on what the sea casts to the shore.—[Pilot Mound Sentinel.

Disease at the Back Door.

Yes, it is the nasty habit of pitching out of the buck door a pailful and a dipperful, now and then, of greasy water, and a handful of parings and the general waste of the kitchen that breeds f vers and bilious diseases. The waste disappears for the most part in the soil, but that is the key to the mischief. The soil gets! full after a time and ferments, and the hot sun breeds gases which surround and enter the house. This is true not only of the cheaper, poorer houses, and careless families, but well to do, intelligent people have spots behind their housts saturated with slops. In populous towns no amount of supervision can prevent a great deal of filthy evil. But in the country towns slops should be carried out to trees and poured in small quantities here and there as a fertilizer .Trees will take up a large quantity of water and be grateful for it. There must be simply constant intelligence in the disposal of waste. —[Farm Life.

Days of Incubation in Diseases.

Scarlet fever, 12 hours to 7 days. Measles, 9 to 12 days. Smallpox, 12 to 14 days. Chicken pox, 8 to 17 days. Diphtheria, 2 to 8 days. Whooping cough, 4 to 14 days. Mumps, 8 to 22 days.— [Babyhood.