Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 45, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 November 1894 — Page 6

Silence

By Miss Mulock

CHAPTER lll—Continued. An hour afterward he had safely located his charges at the house of a friend of Mme. Jardine's, where she was thankful to rest, had shared the hospitable meal, and was lingering uneasily about, shy and strange, when some one remarked that the English monsieur ought certainly to climb La Signale, and see what, all travelers knew, is one of the finest views in Switzerland. But there was no one to show him the way, except two little boys, sons of the house, and Silence. A sudden impulse, as of a man wh6 is determined to have his way, conquered Roderick’s diffidence. “Madame, will you trust her with me? It is not Swiss fashion, I know, but in England I should be thought good knight enough to deserve the charge of any fair damsel, if she would so far condescend. Maiamoiselle mi cousiner”

Silence looked up, looked down, and smiled. The mother cast a penetrating glance at the two, so innocently happy in one another's company. "Tne good God makes it, not I, ’ muttered'she to nerself. “My daughter, you, Adolphe, and Henri will show the view to our dear English cousin. He will acknowledge there is scarcely a more beautiful sight to be seen in this world.” He did acknowledge it, when, having climbed the steep hill alone—for Silence mounted merrily with a big schoolboy at either hand—ho saw the whole lake from Geneva to Montreux, with its girdle of mountains from Mont Blanc to the Bernese Alps, spread before- him like a picture, as still and as clear. Suddenly, thiough the gray, cloudy sky, the sun broke out, poured down a torrent of light, like a cataract of molten gold, into the lake, then spanned it wiih a bridge of rays from shore to shore. “Oh, how lovely,” cried Roderick, and both of them, shading their eyes from the dazzling glory, stood watching it, till the descending sun, suddenly touching the verge of the mist, plunged into it and disappeared. “Is all ended “Not quite, said Silence; ‘wait a minute more.” And through the deathlike grayness which had fallen instantaneously upon mountains, lake and sky. he perceived a gradual, wonderful change. See’.’’ She spoke in English, and touching him—the lightest possible touch, yet it thrilled through every nerve—pointed to the mountains nearest the sunset. What a sight! Slowly a faint color, like a blush, crept over the everlasting snows,’’ deepening more and more as it spread from summit to summit along the whole range of Alps. “It looks as if an angel were stepping from peak to peak with a basket of roses:' “Yes,” Roderick answered, also beneath his breath; ‘only their color is not like earthly roses. We shall never see the like again till we see it in paradise. Please God we may!” As he said the we deliberately, markedly, intentionally, he saw a faint trembling in the sweet mouth, firmly closed though it was: and coming a little closer he took hold—not of her hand, but of her dress. Like a revelation, which some will no more believe in than a blind man could believe in that wondrous sight before them two, there came into him—perhaps into both—the love, the one passionate, yet pure and perfect love, of one man for one woman, which, if both have strength to accept and be true to its blessedness, makes all life a joy, and death itself no longer a fear. For even then, standing close beside her, with the mere touch of her garments and the stirring of her hair giving him a rapture indescribable, Roderick could think of death, of his own dead. Strangely enough, the first words he said were: “Oh, if my father could but have seen this sight!” “Perhaps he does see it, and mine, too. They were friends when they were young.” “Yes. And we? We must be friends all our lives.” “I hope so.” “Friend was the on’y word he dared to say—a wiser worn than he was afrare of; for friends may be lovers some day, but lovers who are not friends will cease to be both. The “colorization” slowly faded, and that cold, gray, deathly shade which comes so suddenly after sunset here bsgan to creep over the sky and lake and mountains-even over Silence’s face; till there came into those faraway eyes of hers an expression—Roderick could have imagined it that of an angel standing by a sealed grave, but looking upward still, waiting for the resurrection day. A few minutes after Roderick followed .Silence down the hill, which she descended as she mounted, with a boy on either hand, and all went back to tea—that simple Swi-s tea which he had long since beg n to prefer to the grandest of Richerden dinners. Dull, to a certain extent, was the journey home, for silence had neither eyes,ears nor thoughts for any creature except her mother; and Roderick, in the _ reaction after strong suppressed feeling, half fancied himself de trop. Shi inking into a corner, he scarcely spoke to either, but soothed himself by taking the tenderest silent care of both mother and daughter till he deposited them at their own door. That kindly “Bon soir!”—“Au revoir!” —just the ordinary adieu which had taken place at the door so many times; this time it was almost briefer than usual, for he saw silence was glad to gst her mother home; and he, too, was not sorry to rush away, afraid lest the strong self-repression of the last few hours might give way and betray him by • ome unguarded look or tone. So he hurried down the stairs, having seen them safe, but scarcely looked at either, scarcely even answered Mme. Jardine’s gentle “Au revoir!” “Au revbir!” How strange it all felt afterward. CHAPTER V. He scarcely slept all night—a new experience to his young, healthy nature: or, sleeping, woke fancying he was falling down a precipice, or Silence was falling and he was leaping in after her—all those vague troubles in which dreams carry out the prominent idea of the day. He rose gladly, but only rose to vexation: no letter from his mother, but one from the family law-

yer, saying Mrs. Jardine had been consulting with him, and that she altogether objected to her son s denuding himself of his patrim ny, the only absolute property he possessed, and giving it to unknown foreign cousins, who might “make' ducks and drakes of it” in no time. \ Spite of his annoyance Roderick could not help laughing. The idea of Silence and her mother as extravagant spendthrifts, bringing to ruin the Jardine inheritance, was too comicaL He had not been lucid enough, he must write again and .explain—what? If he told his mother the whole truth, that he had deliberately made up his mind, and meant, if by God’s blessing he was fortunate in his love, to bring her home as a daughter-in-law this portionless Swiss girl—probably the very last daughter-in-law shq woujd have expected or desired—how would she take it? What would happen? . J In this serious business light he had never before regarded the question; and though it perpleXbd h m, it gave him also a delicious sense of reality. His nebulous passicn Was resolving itself into the clear, steady glow of a fixed love, a love tttqqnt to end in those solemn duties of married Hie which all good men are born for, and good women, too; apd which neither sex can shirk or set aside, or by any sad fate lose, without involving a certain incompleteness in character 1 And destiny. “Yes; I must write again to my mother,” he said,' to himself, and even took up pen and paper. But how to write? Tnat tender confidence —from babyhood to manhohd—which sometimes exists between mother and son, had never existed here. “She would not understand.”

Nevertheless, in writing to his mother, as he at last did write, determining to pay her the just filial respect of telling her his intentions before he made the offer of marriage, he oxplained that he had no idea what Mile. Jardine's answer would be; and he begged her to keep his secret entirely to herself until he could tell her the result. “So the deed is done—thus far,” Baid Roberiek to himself, as he posted the letter, and then braced his courage for the next step. For he judged rightly —no English wooing, trusting to sweet chance and the impulse of the moment, would do here. He must speak to the mother first. Until he won her approval he could never be to Silence more, ostensibly, than a common acquaintance. Trying, but inevitable. So that very evening—giving the gentle invalid a whole day to recover from her fatigue —he determined to pres nt himself, and ask formally of Mme. Jardine permission to woo her daughter. Perhaps he might then bo allowed to tell Silence himself all she was t» him. And when she understood it all—the first look, eye to eye; the first kiss, mouth to mouth; the open, mutual recognition of a love that was to last them through lite, and go with them, please God, into the life eternal—at the bare thought of such bliss the younw man felt dizzy. He naif staggered as he walked, and at last stood quite still at the solitary street corner—the street he knew so well —to command himself before he attempted to mount the stair. Though it wai still early all was dark—the quiet darkness of a mild November night, with the stars shining overhead. Roderick looked up at them, trying to gain a little quietness too. So standing, he scarcely noticed a gentleman, almost as self-absorbed as himself, till they ran right against one another., “Pardon, monsieur,” said t;he kindly voice of M. le Professeur Reynier. “What, Monsieur Jardine—can 'it bo you? How fortunate! I was just coming to pay you a little visit.” Roderick muttered some civil answer. but did not offer to turn back. Indeed, he had come to that point when he felt he could not turn back — could not defer his bliss, or fate, another hour for any mortal creature. “I—another time I shall be most happy. Now—l have an engagement.” "rardon ag,*jn,” said the gentle old man, touchingithp'Arm of tho younger one; “but—wot*e you going there?” He Sointed up the stair Which he had just escended. “Indeed, you must not go:” “Why not?” said Roderick, angrily, then recollecting.himself, a,dded, with a caretul indifterenpe: “Your daughters told me Madame Jardine was not well: I wa3 going to inquire for her.” “Mon Liem” cried M. Reynier, clasping his hands with a gesture Which we unemotional islandeps would smile as as “so un-English!” “Mon Died:—then monsieur does not know.-” “Know whatV” 1 “She is dead—she died this morning. ’’ "She —who?” “Madame Jardine, alas! It was auite sudden—there Was nobody beside her but her daughter. (Juita peaceful, too —without any suffering; and the doctor had dreaded much one day, for, it was disease of tho heart. Her fchild’s only thought now is thankfulness for that. Poor Mademoiselle Silence! Madame Reynier is with her now- she, or my girls, will not .leave her until the interment.” Here the bid man fairly gave way, took out his pocket-handkerchief, and wiped his honest eyes. Roderick wrung his hand in the silent English way—no more. He was utterly stunned. “It can’t he true! it can't be true!” he said in English, putting his hand to his head. “Monsieur is, yery tnpch sb.ockod, I see; and no wonder. I, too, can scarcely comprehend or believe ip. But we must, leave all in the hands of the good God. He will take carp,of her, as she said, poor child! even though she is left an orphan, without any dot, without a penny in the world. , But I will not detain monsieur any longer. Bon soir! Au revoir!” The very words she had said to him in her brief adieusi only twp nights Before on the stair-head —the sweet soul who was now “beyond t&e sun. ’’ Roderick’s heart gave wayi ifvith a great sob, like a child’s. And then he choked and turned away. To! no human being would he betray himself —not now. “Monsieur," and he drew the old man’s arm through his with a tender courtesy. “You will allow me to accompany you home. Then perhaps I may be honored by hearing a little more —perhaps assisting you in the arrangements you will have to make. Remember, lam a relative —I believe, the very nearest relative now left to Mademoiselle Jardine." “Yes, yes, lam very grateful. And. she, too, poor child! she cannot hut be grateful, also, for the monsieur’s goodness. Let us go. ” So they went together—the old man talking volubly and cordially, the younger one replying in little more than monosyllables, through the already empty streets of the little town. CHAPTER VI. There are two kinds of love —man’s love; I am not speaking of woman’s just non The first born of sunshiny

selfism, basking in pleasure. shrinking from any pain, either its own or that of the object beloved, which is, for the time beine, itself; the second, strong as tender, while equally capable of pleasure, fears not pain, either personal or vicarious. Sorrow, suffering, the helplessness of failing powers, only rouse in it a deeper passion, a fonder care. Happy the woman who ha 3 found a resting-place there! She need fear neither sickness nor sorrow, old age or beauty's decline. Living, however sad and broken a life, she will be cherished to the last, and dying, she will be mourned eternally. Such a love, though he knew it not at the time —indeed, he hardly knew himself at all, so suddenly and strangely had circumstances developed his dormant nature—such a love, in all its devotedness and intensity, had taken possession of Roderick’s heart for his "cousin" Silence. He did not attempt to see her—that, of course, was impossible: and he felt capable of making any sacrifice or exercising any self-restraint for her sake; but it seemed as if oply to be near her, throwing over her the faithful shield of his silver love, was at once a consolation and a protection He walked the streets till all lights were out, except that solemn one which marked the death chamber; and then, with a blessing on his lips and a prayer in his heart —young man as fie was, Roderick was not ashamed to pray —he departed. Next morning, at the very earliest hour he could venture without exciting suspicion, he wa3 at the Reyniers'door, to hear all that was to be heard concerning Mile. Jardine, and to volunteer any help that he delicately could to the professeur—who, he saw. was a little perplexed and unpractical —in arranging the details of the funeral. Nay, It being a pelting wet day, and the old man very rheumatio, he succeeded in being allowed himself to go and choose the grave, in the pretty cemetery which all the Neuchatellerois are so proud of, and wnere he had been taken by Mile. Jardine herself one sunshiny Sunday afternoon, almost the first Sunday ho came to the town. Coming back to the Reyniers, he explained all ho had done in the most matter-of fact and unemotional way. He seemed suddenly to have gained the power of unlimited self-restraint, for her sake. To do everything for her that could possibly be done, and never to let her know it, was all he desired. The third day was arranged for the funeral. The only communication that passed between him and Mile. Jardine had been a request he had sent by Sophie Reynier, that he might be allowed to attend it, in right of relationship, and Silence sent him word back that she was “grateful.” This done, there was no more to be done for her; nothing but to wander restlessly about through the long dreary winter day, and wonder how she was bearing it. The very hardest bit to him of all this time was those few hours when, having done all that was possible for him to do, and having no excuse for indicting himself further on the Reynier family, ho went back to the hotel, and tried to lead his ordinary life thore—eating, drinking and sleeping; for he had no young men s small vices; he thought billiards dull, and detested smoking. He could not, this night, even rea i, and it was not until he woke next morning that it occurred to him he ought to write again to his mother, who would just be receiving his letter of two days before. ITO BE CONTINUED. \

A PATCHED PONY.

Tricky Indlnns Make Use of a Rabbit Skin. “These stories of Indian troubles in the Southwest remind me of an experience that I had down in New Mexico,” said Henry Davidson, of Albuquerque. “I was new to the region then, and although 1 had heard all sorts of strange tiles about the trickiness of the Indian, I aid not know that ho was as shrewd as 1 afterward found him to be. “I wanted a pony for some reason, and I communicated my desire to a friend of a crowd of the greasy citizens of the outskirts. Tho next day I was besieged with offers. I looked all over tho lot and picked three or four to make my selection from. After several hours i settled on an animal that I thought to be in the pink of condition and form. I took him for a good round sum and a trade thrown int j the bargain. “I rode home on the animal. As I got into my quarterkYl noticed that the horse ap reared to be uneasy, as it suffering from injury. As I live, I found that a patch of skin several inches square had come off his back. I looked into it and discovered that the horse was raw there, and that he had been patched up with rabbit or some other skin for the time being. Those Indians stood by each other, too, for I could never locate the scoundrel who had swindled me. I have since concluded that they were all wrong, and that had I bought the outfit I would have found the oddest assortment of pat had horses that it wa3 ever the fortune of a white man to look upon.' Two Kind of Pies. There is a certain class of restaurants, very numerous in the lower part of New York and on the avenues, where the bills of fare announoe: “Pies, all kinds, sc; heme-made pies, 10c ” The name “home-made pies ’ is supposed to be very attractive to peop:e whose taste is offended by the machine-made pie turned out by the bake shops, and who have memories oi the pies their mothers used to make. In serving the pies the experienced waiter rarely asks a man what kind he will have. He simply sizes up his customer, and decides how much money he wants to spend on his luncheon, and brings the ic or 10c pie accordingly. But the name “home-made pie” is only a name. Both kinds of pie are made by the same factory, composed of the same materials, flavored with the same spices and baked in the same oven. The only difference is that the so-called “home-made” is bigger than the other. There are a great many bakeries in New York that furnisn pies to restaurants, but the greater mass of the pie 3 eaten in New York restaurants are made by two big pie factories. They make pies, and nothing else, and employ big crews. These two factories manufacture more pies than all the small bakeries in town put together. Only a few of the highpriced restaurants bake their own pies. —New York Mail and Express. Novel Exhibition. Vienna will have a novel exhibition in the winter of lfe9s-’96, the arrangements for which have just been made. It is to be a collection of all objects of interest connected with the Congress of V ienna in ISI4-’ls, which redivided Europe after the fall of Napoleon. It will include portraits of the persons who took part in the Congress—Metternich, Talleyrand. .Wellington, Castlereagh—and other distinguished men of the time; paintings of the chief occurrences during the session of the Congress, and reproductions of the fashions, uniforms, court dresses and furniture of the day. Many of the early wood cuts employed in books were painted over .by hand, after the printing had beep dona.

BURIAL OF SAVAGES.

HOW THE WILD RACES DISPOSE OF THEIR DEAD. The African Chief Take* H:» Wife with Him—On Scaffolds, in Canoes and In Hollow Lofi the Kindred of the American Indian Find Beat. Have Qneer Tombs. Those who look upon the beautiful cemeteries and trimly kept resting places of the deal of civilized nations stop to wonder how the dead of uncivilized and primitive peoples are disposed of, or even to remember that they also possess a silent majority, whose words and customs remain to influence the living, who cling to wild superstitions and strange usages because their fathers did so before them. The commonest mode of interment has always been in the ground, though many tribes make but shallow graves, and place wild brush, logs, or stone over them in order to protect them from wild beasts. The Pima Indians of Arizona dig a perfectly round hole about two feet in diameter and four or five stet deep, then hollow out one side of the bottom into a kind of vault large enough to contain the body, which is bound by ropes into a sitting position. The grave is then filled to a level with the earth, and pieces of timber and poles heaped upon it. Surface burial was practiced to a limited extent by some American tribes. The Seminoles, of Florida, are said to have placed their dead in upright positions In hollow trees. By some Eastern tribes and among the

MIAMI GRAVE.

Miamis, logs were split and hollowed out, the dead placed within and the log securely lashed together and left to remain where it was originally placed. In some cases a pen was built over and around it. The Miamis sometimes closed this log coffin and confined it to the ground with crossed stakes. Occasionally a hollow low was used by closing the ends. Burial on scaffolds is much in favor with some American Indians. These scaffolds are from eight to ten feet high and made of four forked posts planted firmly in the ground, one at each corner, and then placing others across, so as to form a floor, on which the body is securely fastened. Among the Teton Sioux, if the family can possibly afford it, one or more horses are shot and placed under the scaffold. Valuables of all kinds, weapons, ornaments, pipes and locks of hair cut from the heads of the mourners are always bound up with the body, which is tightly swathed In blankets or robes, or both and wound all over with thongs made of the s’.:in of some animal, and laid at full length on its back. Tree burial is common among the North American Indians, and was not uncommon among the nations

GRAVE OF TETON SIOUX.

of antiquity. The Colchians, ancient Tartars, and Scythians enveloped their dead in sacks of skin and hung them to trees. Vancouver saw, -at Tort Discovery, baskets suspended to the trees Jedntaining the skeletons of young children. The Clallam and Twanas formerly buried their dead In canoes, which they placed In trees. They now inter something after the manner of the whites. Canoe burial is practiced by many tribes of the northwest coast. In cases of chiefs, or men of note, much pomp and ceremony was used. The conoes were the war canoes of the deceased. Frequently two canoes were .used, and in one case noted, the body was placed in a small canoe inside a larger, and covered with a third. ■Among some tribes, slaves were 'killed, according to the rank or ’wealth of the deceased. In some Id, stances they were starved to death or even left bound to the dead to die horribly. In some parts of Australia the na-

TREE BURIAL.

tives use the rudest of scaffolds, fixing the ends of stout branches in the ground and connecting them at the top by horizontal branches. They place these scaffolds among the reeds, where they appear even more rude and desolate than they would otherwise. The Australians also use canoes in which to deposit their dead. These they cover with leaves and place in trees. The object of these elevated tombs is to prevent the dingo or native dog from eating the corpse, though it is said they do not appear to be troubled in the least that the ravens feast upon their dead. Slaves and others are sacrificed at the graves of some African chiefs. Cameron gives the following account

Ada Celeste Sweet, President of the Chicago Woman's Club, is a leader among her sex; a woman of the “advanced” type; a woman of affairs; a speaker, writer, thinker: a successful competitor with masculine opponents for place and preferment, this woman is happy in all the charms of femininity. A woman's ideal leader of women and yet a woman in whom the loudest declaimer against the woman’s-rights woman could find nothing at which to cavil. Philanthropic, generous, broadminded, yet not altogether free, possibly, from some of the weaknesses that affect most characters, Ada C. Sweet tries honestly to do good for her sisters, She can address a political meeting with force and eloquence, and she can whisper words of encouragement and cheer to the poor outcast in the underground cells of the police station. Miss Sweet was born in Stockbridge, Wis. Her father was a gallant soldier, General Benjamin J. Sweet, whose dearest companion she was, in camp and at home. When he was Pension

of the horrors of the grave of a chief of Urua: “The first proceeding is to divert the course of a stream and in its bed to dig an enormous pit, the bottom of which is then covered with

CANOE GRAVE.

living women. At one end a woman is placed on her hands and knees, and upon her back the dead chief, covered with his beads and other treasures, is seated, being supported on either side by one of his wives, while his second wife sits to his feet. The earth is then shoveled in upon them, and all the women are buried alive with the exception of the second wife. To her custom is more merciful than to her companions, and grants her the privilege of being killed before the huge grave is filled in. This being completed, a number of male slaves sometimes forty or fifty—are slaughtered and their blood poured over the grave; after which the river is allowed to resume its course. Smaller chiefs are buried with two or three wives, and a few slaves only are killed that their blood may be shed in the grave; while one of the common herd has to be content with solitary burial, being placed in a sitting posture, with the right forefin-

AUTRALIAN GRAVE.

ger pointing heavenward, just level with the top of the mound over his grave.” RICHES OF NORTHERN SWEDEN. Vast Iron and Lumber Country Opened Up by a New Railroad. The northern part of King Oscar’s realm has often been called “Sweden's America,” because of the richness of the land, although it is still uncultivated, says the Stockholm correspondent of the St Louis Post-Dispatch. The poorer class prefer to emigrate to the United States instead of seeking new homes in Nordland, because that part of the kingdom lacked means of communication by land with the capital. The coast cities suffered in the winter when ice covered the sea as much as the interior settlements suffered the year round. When it was discovered that there were great hidden riches there for thci Government, it decided to grant money for the building of a railway. The Northern Trunk Line is now complete, and has been opened by the king. He is Sweden’s ablest orator, and he made the “speech of his life.” The festivities surpassed anything ever seen here. The new railroad connects at Boden, near the Gulf of Bothnia, with the northernmost railroad in the world, running from the sedport of Lulea up to the Gellivara iron mountains, forty-seven miles north of the polar circle. This road has been in operation two years. It may be considered the end piece of a continuous line of railroad about 1,250 miles long, reaching north and south the whole length of Sweden. The completion of this line, it is believed, will materially check immigration to America. Nordland con-

ADA CELESTE SWEET.

Commissioner she was his secretary When he died she assumed and fui" filled the duties of his office for a timeShe served as Pension Agent at Chica : go during the administrations of Grant, Hayes, Garfield and Arthur, and was the first woman appointed to disburse money for the United States Government. In woman’s work in Chicago Miss Sweet has taken an active and prominent part. She has been during the last four years at the head of the general club committee on compulsory education. She raised a fund for the Women's Buildings at the Chicago University. For ten years she has worked to obtain separate quarters for arrested women and girls in the police stations and the appointment of matrons. She raised the money to build the first ambulances used by the Police Department, and in njany ways she has been a friend to the poor, the suffering and the distressed. Miss Sweet, since 188?% has conducted a pension claim office in Chicago with great success.

tains more than 20 per cent, of the lumber of the world, and nqore than Canada and almost twice as much as the United States. The famous iron mines, the largest in existence, are capable of supplying the world for centuries. The scenery is highly picturesque, and the new road presents much for tourists. TAILLESS DOGS THE FASHION. Shepherd Dogs Without Waggers and Littl© Schlpperkes. The dog of society will be a tailless, cock-eared animal before another season has passed. The Prince of Wales fancies them, and so do his numerous followers, and it is safe to say that the fanciers of this country will take them up. The first importation arrived the other day from England. They are of two varieties, a bird dog of the shepherd breed which Mrs. Frederick Gebhard used

to own, who had pedigrees long enough to introduce them to societv. . Then there are little tailless dogs called Schipperkes, which the Prince is very fond of. None have ever been seen in this country before. The lack of tail mars their beauty from a fancier’s standpoint, but their cocking ears recommend them. More Elegant. At the flower market in Washing' ton are many interesting occurrences which have nothing to do with buying flowers, for there, as at any place where all sorts of people gather together, human nature expresses itself in odd and varying ways. A lady from the North, who was in the habit of frequenting the market to see what new floral treasures would appear from day to day, one morning spied a flower she had never before seen. “What is that?” she asked of the old colored woman who had brought it in. “That, miss?” was the reply. “That’s Dutchman’s breeches." Now the lady had heard the name before, and was quite aware that there was nothing funny in it Nevertheless, there was something about the present moment that amused her, and she laughed. Just then a gentleman came up, and the same flower attracted his attention. “What’s that?” he asked of the woman. She hesitated, and looked distressed. Evidently there had been something wrong about the name before, and now she was asked to say it again. “It’s—it’s—’" she stammered, “it’s Dutchman’s pants.” Her Suspicions Confirmed. A Philadelphian, who had traveled extensively in Burmah, was telling an English girl, on a recent voyage across the Atlantic, some of the remarkable work which elephants are taught to do in that country, and, in order to create a good impression, he drew slightly on his imagination. He told the truth as to how the elephants toil all day, piling up teakwood at the saw-mills, and even lay the logs on the plane, “and,” he continued, “there was one old elephant, much wiser than the others, who. after he had laid down the log, got down on his knee and squinted to see if it was on straight.” The girl smiled in a bored sort of way, and said: “Now lam sure you are an American.”

THE TAILLESS SHEPHERD DOG.

HUMOR OF THE WEEK

STORIES TOLD BY FUNNY MEN OF THE PRESS. ttauj Odd, Cortona, and Laughable Fhaaea of Human Nature Graphically Portrayed by Eminent Word ArtUU of Our Own Day —A Budget of Fun. Sprinkle, of Spier. The “hey-day” of life generally comes when we grow hard of hearing. —Richmond Dispatch. Teaches Is the English language language? Precocious pupil Naw, but she's murdered every day! It Isn t always the man who prays the loudest at prayer meeting that people believe in most—Ram’s Horn. The tanned shoe is going out just as the tanned summer girl Is coming in from the seaside.—St Louis Republic. • Lieutenant (admiring his image in the mirror)— “And yet they call women the fair sex. ” Fliegende Blaetter. This,” said the bachelor, as he paid for sewing on a button, “is what is meant by a single tax. ”—Cleveland Plaindealer. When6ome ministers struggle with a sermon a limited round contest is preferable to a fight to a finish.— Yonkers Gazette. He—“Pm not half as bad a husband as you thought I’d be, am I?” “No; you’ve been disappointing in everything.”—Truth. This old world is so full of beauty that a man has to shut his eyes and walk in the night time not to see it. —Atlanta Constitution. An enthusiastic person is seldom a favorite. Don’t admire anything. Always look as though you have better at home.—Atchison Globe. She —“ How fearful it must be for a great singer to know she had lost her voice.” He—“lt’s much more torturing when she doesn’t know it." —Tid-Bits. “Japan says she proposes to demolish China,” said Mr. Blykins. “She ought to have our servant girl,” replied his wife, wearily.—Atlanta •Constitution. Friend —Well, Doc, how’s business? Doctor—Fine. Got two new cases In the next room. Friend What, smallpox? Doctor—No, champagne—Truth. Dr. Emdee— Years ago the doctors used to bleed their patients for about everything they had. Van Pelt— The practice doesn’t change much, does it?—Truth. “Tell me, mammy, dear, why does papa always scold nurse when you’re there and play hide-and-seek with her when you’re not there?” New York Journal. Jilson says that since the introduction of shoemaking machinery the old-time disciples of St Crispin have had to come down a peg or two. —Buffalo Courier. Clara —“ Were there any marrying men down at the beach this summer?” Cora—“ Yes; there were two ministers and a justice of the peace.”— Yonkers Statesman.

Wan wants but littio here below. And gets a blamed sight less. For him to even get a show Is cause for thankfulness. —Cincinnati Tribune. Enfant Terrible. —Proud Fathei (to friend) —This is my youngest son. Frank, this is Mr. Jackson. Frank (brightly)—ls that the man who mamma said yesterday had more money than brains?—Truth. A man with a donkey for sale, hearing that a friend wanted to buy one, sent him the following, written on a postal car: “Dear Jack, if you are looking for a really good donkey, don't forget me.”—Tid-Bits. Mrs. McSwattkrs —“My dear, a tramp came here to-day and stole some of my freshly made biscuits. * McSwatters (getting his revolver)— “Where is he, and I’ll put him out of his agony.”—Syracuse Post. “Aren’t you afraid that statue will shrink if it be left out in the rain?” asked the cheerful idiot. “Shrink?” said his host. “What an idea!” “I didn’t know, you know. I thought it might become a statue wet.”—Cincinnati Tribune. DeHamme —Back to town so soon? Barnes Tormer—Even so. We played In Plunkville to no one but deadheads, and two of them brought suit against us for loss of their time in witnessing the play.—lndianapolis Journal. Oldskidds —Do you really believe that the sins of the father are visited upon the son? Youngscadds—Certainly. Didn’t the governor say ho couldn’t let me have that flfty this morniDg because he lost it at poker last night?—Buffalo Courier. A.Policeman’s Peril. —“Dolan wor put an duty in citizens’ clothes th’ other night,” said a member of the force. “How’d he get along?” “Ter’ble Not wan o’ the fruit-stand dagos reco’nized him widout ’is uniform, an' the poor man loike to starved to death.”—Washington Star. Mrs. Wickwire —Goodness! There are flfty-two carloads of toothpicks turned out in this country every year. I wonder who uses all of them? Mr. Wickwire—About flfty carloads of them slip down into the lining of fellows’ vests, I guess.—lndianapolis Journal. The lady of the house—Why don’t you go to work? Don’t you know that a rolling stone gathers no moss? Browning, the tramp—Madame, not to evade your question at all, but merely to obtain information, may I ask of what practical utility moss is to a man in my condition?—TidBits.

Gen. Sherman and the Poet Stanton.

Frank L. Stanton, the Georgia poet, preserves a queer memory of General Sherman. When the Union forces invaded Savannah the General placed a guard at the house of the poet’s father, who was a Northern man, and afterward visited him. While he was there the infantile poet came into the room, and Sherman, taking him upon his knee, said: “This is a fine fellow, but his head is a heap too big.” StaDton became a “devil” in a printing office and afterward a compositor before he began to produce the verses that have made him celebrated in the South.