Democratic Sentinel, Volume 19, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 April 1895 — Page 4

THE EOSE SHE GAVE. the rose she gave to me. With its crimson tips; Red—as any rose should be. Having touched her lips. And with something of her grace, And the beauty of her face. This—the rose she gave to me, Bloomed where south winds stirfl id its honey from the bee For the lips of her I Through long days disquieted For those lips to kiss it red ! This—the rose she gave to me; Never rose so sweet! Here the heart of springtime see— Lean, and hear it beat! Life, and all its melody In the rose she gave to me ! —[Atlanta Constitution.

A Novelin a Nutshell

THE CAUSE, It was Fair Day in Antheen, in County Cork, and the town, for the nonce, was given over to pigs, geese and peasantry. The market square was a medley of grunting, noisy animals and rickety carts with nondescript horses, their owners the while quietly smoking their pipes, or gathered in loud argument outside the little taverns. Women with bare feet and heads covered with shawls, together with dirty little blue-eyed urchins, completed a picture which is about as quaint and old-world as any that the British Isles can show. Andy O’Shea was there in the thick of the crowd, towering above his shorter countrymen by a head and shoulders, with the dark hair and blue eyes that proclaimed him a true Irishman. “King of Antheen” they called him, and in truth that was much about the position he occupied ; for his personality swayed public opinion to a great extent, while his shrewdness and superior education caused him to be resorted to for advice by all the country side. Although a farmer in a large way, he was well connected, and claimed to be descended from one of the oldest Irish families.

In the midst of the clamor and bustle, a rattle of wheels is heard, and the peasants crane their necks to have a look at their new landlord. The gentleman in question drove up in a smart cart, with a grand little Irish mare in the shafts, aud as he jumped off a slight murmur ran through the janh?, which, however, was stilled at once. Vai Hastings had come into the property unexpectedly a few months ago by the death of an uncle, and, being energetic by mature, ana having heard that the sport on the estate was good, he came over to relieve his agent and take up the reins of government himself. So far he had not been unsuccessful, for he had obtained the good will of Andy O’Shea, and the result was that his “rint” was paid far more regularly than that of his brother landlords. There were not people wanting to say this came more of Hastings’ friend- ' ship for Andy’s sister, Winifred, than of Andy himself, but this was only a surmise. Vai Hastings was rather an uncommon type of a man; independent and with no profession, he amused himself with travel and sport, and wherever he went acquired a reputation as a dead shot and a brave though reckless man, which he undoubtedly was. He had been left an orphan early, and his training had been one of the best; the result was that his watchword was “Pour s’amuser,” and he carried out this maxim to the letter. His face was clean shaven, dark and resolute, with that indescribable look on it of a man who has looked death in the face and braved him. He might have been 30, but the absence of hair on his face and his lithe build made him look younger, while his well-made figure was set off to its best advantage by the trim tweed riding suit he wore. Suddenly a hand was laid on his shoulder, and, looking round, his eyes met those of Andy O’Shea, with a look in them he had never seen before. “Mr. Hastings, a word with you,” he said, with hardly a trace of the Irish accent. “At your disposal. What can I do for you? Anything in the farm line?” “I am not going to speak about farms or cattle to-day, Mr. Hastings,” he replied; “but about something I love better—my sister Winifred.”

“Go on; I am listening,” said Vai, with a curious tightening of his mouth. “I don’t know whether you are aware that my sister and yourself are the common talk of Anthepn, and, as her only relative, in her interest I demand to know what your intentions are toward her. When a man in your state of life takes undue notice of a girl in my sister’s position I have aright to ask.” Something in Andy’s tone jarred on Hastings, for he turned a trifle paler, and answered sternly: “Whatever there is between Miss O’Shea and myself is between us two. not between you and me.” “Answer me,” replied Andy, livid with passion, in alow voice; “answer me or I’ll thrash you here—here before every man, you creeping Saxon—you who have sneaked into my house and —” Here his outburst was cut short, for Vai’s crop descended on his face, and O’Shea reeled on the ground. For a moment dead silence reigned supreme in the market place, and all gazed in astonishment on blastings standing with uplifted whip above the writliingO’Shea. Then the spell was broken, and. with shrill cries of “Down with the landlord! Down with the Saxon!” a .score of men rushed at Vai, and the fight began. Vai stood with his back to a wall, and resolutely defended himself, bun Strong as he was. they beat him down on to one knee. Just as he was giving up hope there was a shout of “Police!” a wild rush, and Vai found himself, without knowing how, in the center of a compact knot of about ten constabulary, slowly moving to-

ward one end of the square, where the rest of the force had placed two carts across one of the only two entrances into it, and were keeping the mob at bay. The fight now b°catne general; shillelahs waved wildly everywhere, while amid the hubbub rose the squeals of the pigs, which, getting loose, rushed in all directions, and rendered the confusion too hideous to be described. Amid the thick cloud of dust Vai could see the mass that intervened between them and the barrier, and wondered, in his half-stunned condition, if they would reach it. Ah! they are moving; slowly at first, then faster, as their splendid discipline tells, and the mob surge aside before them. One last struggle, and he is lifted over the barrier, and a long howl of >age goes up from the crowd balked of their prey. “For God’s sake, get out of this,” shouted the subaltern in command, as he helped him on to the car. “Drive your hardest.” A flick at the mare, a spring, and the low stone walls began to slip past the car rapidly. Then the cool air at the same time revived the halfstunned man. Bpt when he came to himself the roar of the mob had died down in the distance, and they held I their way unchecked to Antheen I Hall.

THE EFFECT. The moon was rising slowly, throwing a long, rippling shadow on the black river,which eddied along under a bank where a clump of dwarf oaks and willows formed a sort of bower. Further dowm, a few lights flickering from a long, low building marked the position of O’Shea's farm. From out of the gloom a figure wrapped in a long cloak glided down to the edge of the river, and stood shivering from time to time at the cries of the night fowl and the chill damp of the stream. Suddenly, amid the sounds of the woods, her listening ear caught the faintest plash of oars, and the hood slipped from her head as she came down to the brink of the river and peeped intently into its dancing shadows. It is a sweet face which the moon shines upon; large, gray eyes fringed with long, black eyelashes, small, shapely nose, little mouth, and red lips quivering with expectation ; the pale face ringed with an aureole of golden-brown hair, which nestles over the high, white forehead in a hundred little ringlets. Such is Winifred O’Shea, as she stands there waiting by the lonely river. And as she paused a long black streak glided round the point, and with a few strokes of the paddle a Canadian canoe came under the shadow of the bank. A moment more and another dark figure stood beside her, and she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him again and again. “I am so glad you have come, dearest,” she said, at last; “I have been so alarmed for you.” “Why have you troubled your dear little heart about me, child; am I not able to take care of myself?” “Yes; I know you are strong and brave, but that is no good when you are taken unawares, when a bullet sings from behind a stone wall ” “Ah? what are you saying—a bullet, a stone wall? Have you heard any threats against me, You must have, or you would not speak so. Who is it? Your brother?”

There was no answer, but' the proud head sank on his shoulder, and he could feel the form in his arms quivering with ill-suppressed sobs. He stooped and kissed her. “Promise you will not betray him,” she answered at last, “for he is very dear to me, my brother, but you are dearer still. That is why lam here now to warn you. On that dreadful night he came home with his head bandaged, and, eyeing me grimly, he pointed to his wound and said, ‘This is your lover’s handiwork. Will you take him in your .arms after this?’ Then Mike Dennis and John O’Hara stepped forward and said, ‘The Saxon blackguard will nivir do it agin to ye; he is marked.’ Oh, love of mine, take care!—if you were to die and leave me my heart would break 1”

“These men are weak chatterers, brave in words alone. Why have they not tried to do their work before? This morning I was riding alone, this afternoon I was driving.” “Hush, Vai! don’t speak so loud! time is precious. Let me tell you all I know. The Garrison ball, to-mor-row night; you will be returning late on foot ” ‘ ‘How in the name of God do my foes know that?” burst out Vai. “Never mind, they know it, and will ambush themselves in Perrin Woods. There can be no mistake—your felt hat and ulster are well known, and besides, no one else will come back that way. There will be no one to help you, and you will fall in the middle of the white road. Oh, Vail my Vai! promise me you will not go, or you will come home some other way—that you will avoid this in some manner! Think of my broken heart, think of the disgrace, the shame ”

But Vai had put her firmly from him, and stood there with eyes that gleamed strangely, for a picture had risen before his mind. He is in Sicily, and from behind a rock four brigands rise up, and with threats, demand money. He refuses; they attack. He has wrenched the knife out of the hand of the foremost, and places him and two others beyond the reach of fighting. Then the fourth clutches him, and they wrestle, near the edge of a yawning precipice, with the gulls screaming below, nearer, nearer, till with one outburst of strength he throws him over the edge, and, as he slips unconscious,hears the sickening crunch on the rocks four hundred feet below, and with the remembrance of past days the old Norman blood surged into his brain, hiding as in a mist the pleading, tear-stained face upturned to him, and he answered: “Do you think that I shall give up my plans because a cur who dare not face me hides and tries to kill me? I tell you I will walk buck through Perrin Woods to-morrow night, and if he or anyone else molests me I shall shoot them as they would shoot me if they will stand up and face me. To think that a Hastings should be defied by a coward—” “ Vai, he is my brother! ” “Yes, and a coward, and you would have me be a coward too. I

' love you, Winifred; but I love my i honor better, and I will show your brother or anyone else who molests me to-morrow night how I can vindi- ■ cate it.” j Winifred withdrew herself from i his arms, and the tears died on her j face, which had grown set and white as she listened. At last, with a sob, she answered: “ There is something inconsistent in what you say, Mr. Hastings; in one breath you vow you love me, and in the next you refuse to save our family from disgrace and me from despair and wretchedness. Don’t you think I am worthy of a little love, a little consideration ?” “ I fancy, Miss O’Shea, our conversation had better cease for tonight. I will find means of letting your brother know that I shall not avoid him. I should advise you to try an Irish lover now, Miss O’Shea; a Saxon one has too much selfrespect to please you. Goodnight.” “ Vai, my love, for God’s sake come back!” But his canoe grates on the pebbles and he is gone. If he had turned back, if he bad seen those outstretched hands and heard that piteous “Come back!” all might have been well. But he never turned and so signed her death warrant. THE RESOLVE. The next day hung slowly on Vai Hastings' hands. He wandered about the grounds of Antheen Hall in an aimless way, meditating on the situation, and his blood flamed whenever he thought of O’Shea and the coming struggle. Hastings was no braggart or Don Quixote, but his honor was very sensitive, and never a doubt crossed his mind as to the course he should take that night. He would be armed, too, and meet this man, this coward, and dare him to fight him to his face, and then—if he were killed—life was not worth much, and if he conquered—anyway, Winifred O’Shea was lost to him, and he would try to be a man, and live his life without her. He once thought of sending a challenge to O’Shea, but, remembering that he had informed the head groom, a shiftyfaced. suspicious-looking man, of his plans for that night, he went to him and carelessly reiterated them, feeling certain that O’Shea would get the latest intelligence through this medium. And in this he was right; the man was in O’Shea’s pay to spy on his master.

Dinner was an entire failure, and. pushing the untasted food from him, he went put into the dim hall, and took n green leather case from a chest of old oak. Then he drew out two revolvers, and, after loading them and examining them carefully, put them into the case, and the case into his long fawn coat. He returned into the dining room, and, throwing himself into a lounge chair, tried to divert his thoughts with a cigarette. But, do what he would, Winifred would rise before his eyes—Winifred as she was when he saw her for the first time. He had gone down to O’Shea’s farm to look at a shed that wanted repair, and on his way back he had suddenly come upon her round a shrubbery corner, and oh, how sweet she had looked in her blue blouse and a sort of sunbonnet, against which her bright hair had gleamed under the sun 1 What a pretty expression, half fright, half amusement, she wore, and how queenly she seemedas she faced him 1 Could not things be altered? Was there not time? “The dog cart is at the door, sir,” said a trim manservant. He rose and went out. That morning, too, found Winifred O’Shea in a mental state which might be described as a fog. Thoughts, plans, doubts, hopes, fears—all chased each qther through her head like swallows at play. She knew her brother well —his vindictive nature, which would brood and brood until it would drive him to desperation, and that he would kill her as well if she attempted to interfere. She knew her lover—his hasty soul, his absolute contempt for danger, and his determination—and a shudder passed over her; but that quickly died away as she remembered how they had parted. If he loved her, things would have been different; he would have saved her from this pain, this shame. But he loved her no longer—that was evident.

Suddenly a picture rose before her eyes; she saw the Perrin Woods, and the moon falling In strange white patches on the long road; she saw Vai walking unconcernedly along with his winging step; then a flash, a report, and he throws up his arms with a moan, and rolls over and over in the dust, and with an agonizing cry she buried her face in her hands. No, her Vai should not die like this; she would save him. She would' slip into the cloak-room and take his hat and coat, put them on, and, trusting to her height and lithe step, would walk down the road. She shivered; she was very young to die. But what had she left to live for? The twilight deepened in the old oak-paneled room at O’Shea’s farmstead, but still she sat there motionless, with her head on her hand, gazing with strained set eyes into eternity. THE SACRIFICE. The officers’ quarters at Antheen barracks were a blaze ©f light, and the soft strains of the band swept out on the night air and died away as softly as they came. The were illuminated with a myriad of colored lights, which, as the night was windless, still burnt clearly, though it was past midnight, while their brilliancy contrasted pleasantly with the softer rays of the sinking moon. A Lail, lithe figure in a felt hatand a long, brown coat left the veranda, and slipped out through the lighted gardens into the main'road. The highcoat collar was turned up, and that, together with the.fact that the felt hat was polled well down over the face, entirely concealed the identity of the wearer. Just as the roadway was reached the figure turned round to the lights , behind, and the face showed white in the darkness—it was Winifred O’Shea going to her doom. She stopped a minute, and her brain reeled as she looked at the barracks behind and thought of Vai.

How cruel he was after all her love for him 1 Why did he not come and save her? No, it was Vai that must be saved at any cost, and there was no other way. She stumbled along, and the pains of death rose before her eyes. Oh 1 the horror of it—the fiery ball eating her flesh, the agony of writhing in the dust, for she felt sure Andy would not miss. Just as her resolutions were slipping away from her, something gleamed white in the moonlight on the roadside. | It was a rough stone cross, inviting the passer-by to pray for the soul of one suddenly launched into eternity. Moved by a sudden impulse, she flung herself at its foot and prayed as she had never prayed before that whatever sins she had committed might be blotted out by this last sacrifice made in the spring of her youth,and that the path of trial she was about to tread would lead her to the heaven where in God’s good time she would meet Vai again. Then she rose and walked on, and all fear left her; only love for Vai remained, that love which was prompting her to lay down her life for his sake. One hesitation, and she has turned aside down the pathway through Perrin Woods, where the moonlight falls in patches and flakes and bars —the pathway leading to her long rest. * • * Vai was the first to find the body, as it lay huddled up, a little heap in a patch of light. A ghastly red streak showed where her life had ebbed away, and those pretty curls were all dabbled and splashed with the blood that formed a pool around her. The cold face lay white and awful to the sky, and the eyes seemed to quiver as the flickering rays fell upon them. He staggered, and a mist seemed topass before him; then he knelt down by the side of the body and gently drew down the eyelids. Something was clasped in the limp hand, but crushed in folds in her death struggle. He took it and smoothed it out —it was a photograph of himself. And as he knelt there, heedless of the possibility of a lurking foe, everything gradually dawned upon him—the all absorbing love, the courage, the despair that had laid her dead at his feet, and he hid his face in his hands. Then he rose, and, with a long kiss on the poor cold lips, left her to God and the wailing night wind. * * * Andy O’Shea was never seen in Antheen again, but his gun, with one barrel discharged, which was found by the bank of the river,left no doubt as to his fate. Vai Hastings left England almost immediately for East Africa, and, while going up country, met with a band of slave traders. One survivor of his band alone returned to Zanzibar, and his tale of its complete annihilation has never been contradicted. And doubtless Winifred’s prayer has been answered.—[Sketch.

THE TALLEST LADDER.

Spiked Against a Smokestack and Reaches 456 Feet. A short distance from Glasgow Cathedral, northward through Castle street, the Monkland canal is crossed and the grimiest of manufacturing regions is reached. On the left hand are the well-known St. Rollox works, of which Sir Charles Tennant is the head, and which are easily distinguished by the great chimney stack designed by the late Professor Macquorn Rankine. The stack is 456 feet high from the base to the capstone—32 feet less than the Townsend stack in the same locality, but Tennant’s stack stands on a more elevated part of the city and so to the onlooker appears taller than its neighbor. Some interesting operations were recently carried out in connection with the repairing of Tennant’s stack. A local steeplejack of note, who has kept the two chimneys in repair for the past twenty-five years mounted to the top of the stack, adopting a different method from that used by him about two years ago, when he climbed the stack at Port Dundas. On that occasion he mounted by means of kite-flying, which enabled the necessary ropes for the ascent being thrown over the top of the chimney. On the present occasion he adopted a handier, and, on the whole, a safer plan. This is known as the ladder process, and is much in vogue among contractors for chimney repairing. The occasion was the first time the method has been used for a chimney of so great a height, and when fully erected the ladder was the highest in the world. The first section was planted against the chimney and nailed securely by hooked iron pins eighteen inches long and an inch thick. Section after section each eighteen feet long was then hoisted up, and after being lashed together, was fastened in the same manner to the chimney—the difficult work, as will be readily understood, requiring great care and attention. The ladders used were of yellow pine, and of the lightest possible make, with flat steps an inch by an inch and a half broad. One advantage of this process is that the work of repairing does not, as in the case of a kite, require to wait for a favorable wind, but can be begun at any time, and the preliminary operations thus over, it is simply a matter of climbing a ladder.—[Westminster Gazette-

Beehive in a Courthouse Dome.

Since the dial on the south side of the courthouse was blown out by the late storm, workmen engaged in repairing the damage have made the discovery that the large ball just above the dome and beneath the eagle is inhabited by bees, and that their storage of honey is immense. For several years past it has been claimed that, bees occupied that ornamental portion of Alachua’s capitol, but it was generally regarded as an unfounded claim; late investigation, however, leaves no room to doubt that both the bees and honey are there. It is calculated by those who are presumed to be competent to judge that the ball contains notless than 100 pounds of honey. The bees have selected a home where they are not likely to be seriously disturbed—certainly not to the extent of being robbed. There is probably not another hive of bees in the State provided with a home 250 feet above the level of the sea.—[Gainesville (Fla.)f»?n.

SAVED BY A GLOVE.

M*w a United States Trooper Kilted Chief Crazy Horse. “It is difficult to believe any thrilling story of wild western life after reading the lurid accounts of bravery and coolness in face of danger, especially when dealing with Indians, that are served to the sensationalloving public in cheap novels,” said an army officer. ‘‘One is led to look upon western adventure as mere fiction, and the dangers that beset the early settler as myths, the fancies of powerful imaginations attuned to the public’s taste. Yet, I can say that I have seen deeds of heroism quite as astonishing as anything of which I have ever read, even if the hero did not slay from ten to twenty savages single-handed. “There is one incident which occurred in the post at which I was stationed nearly twenty years ago for which I have never seen credit given to a most courageous fellow, who, single-handed, by his acuteness, saved a whole garrison from massacre, and his only weapon, or, rather, instrument, was a white glove. It happened in this way: We were located in the midst of hostile Cheyennes, who had been giving the government no end of trouble by their fearless depredations. Crazy Horse was their most obstreperous chief, and after many vain attempts to persuade him to surrender by force of arms, we had about given up hope, when we learned that the chief was willing to receive officers to arrange the terms of surrender. As it was, we would have long before fallen prey to the merciless devils who were about us on all sides had it not been that at that time the Sioux were in hostile relations to the Cheyennes, and in working out their spite they guarded us as if we were of their own tribe.

“A detail was sent to confer with Crazy Horse, and resulted in bringing him to the agency, willing to surrender. It was necessary to take him to the main post—Fort Robinson—to arrange more fully the conditions, so, while awaiting a convenient time to conduct him to the commander, old Crazy Horse was placed in the guardhouse, according to custom. Although his friends had prctically free access to him then.-they could not understand the meaning of his imprisonment, and were constantly suspicious of treachery. After a while they began to bring little files and saws for the chief to use to gain his freedom. One day a fellow named Bole was assigned the duty of guarding the prisoner, and as he walked to and fro he was surprised to find that Crazy Horse had sawed his way through the bars and was in a fair way to join his comrades on the outside. Quick action was necessary, for there were several Cheyennes in the gdardhouse, but luckily were not looking in the direction of the cell at the time. Bole was equal to the emergency. Like a flash his gun was thrust through tho bars and his bayonet was run clean through Crazy Horse’s body. He fell back with a groan in such a natural position that a person would not have noticed him particularly. Bole was quick to apprehend the danger in which his act had placed him. If it were known that he had slain the favorite chief of the Cheyennes. it would not only mean sure death to him, but it would provoke a general massacre in the garrison. So, without a moment’s delay, he pulled oil his white glove, and, with a rapid motion, wiped every trace of blood from the bayonet. Then, quickly digging a hole in the earth floor, he buried the blood-stained glove, and in a moment he had taken another glove from his pocket, had it on his hand and was doing his guard duty as if nothing had happened. “How he happened to have that ex-, tra glove in his pocket I cannot tell. It was most unusual, as any army man knows. This was done so quickly that the Cheyennes who were in the guard house at the time never noticed what had happened. Crazy Horse ’ay for some little while, his life blood ebbing away, before his friends discovered anything had happened. But finally they knew something was wrong and they rushed in to their chief. His life was too far gone to allow him to tell how he came by his death. He died without giving the slightest clew. At first his braves thought he had committed suicide, but then their naturally suspicious natures began to suspect treachery,and as Bole was the only man near him they fastened the crime upon the guardsman. “Imagine Bole’s feelings when they accused him . Discovery meant sure death, but Bole b r aved the storm and stood unmoved by their angry accusations and blood-thirsty threats. Finally, the Captain had to accede to their demands and permit the braves to search Bole for blood stains. I remember they stripped the poor fellow and examined him from head to foot. Then all his garments were scrutinized as well as his weapons, but not the stain of a drop of blood could be found. The white glove had done its work well. Having no other explanation, the Indians decided their chief had killed himself. Crazy Horse was buried by his warriors with great honors, and the grave on the bluff, inclosed by three fences over which were placed the navy blue blankets which the post; commander had thought advisable to give toward the proper burial of the dead chief, was the pride of all the Cheyennes a long time. Thus ended Crazy Horse, and this is how a simple white glove in the hand's of a hero saved a whole garrison. When a man is around with courage and coolness his weapon need not be sharp.”— [Pittsburg Dispatch.

JAPANESE WAR SONGS.

To Incite the Mikado’s Troops to Deeds of Valor. The following war songs were composed, says the Japan .Mail, by Mr. Yokoi Tadanao, a compiler in the staff office, in accordance with the command of H. I. H. Prince Arisugawa, for the Japanese troops in 1 Corea. They are called “ToseiGunka War Songs, for the Chinese Expedition.” “Strike and chastise the Chinese troops, for they are cowards —they suoDort the government of China

which spurns the honorable friendship of the empire and offers resistance to the empire. However great their armies in number, they are in reality an undisciplined rabble, and however fine their arms look, they are useless like fine ladies in pictures. In the naval battle of Hoto, China’s war-ships were destroyed, and in the battle of Seikwan its troops were routed. The ships so frail, the troops so weak, how can they withstand us, even though their number be counted by millions? Strike and chastise China, strike and chastise China.” “China is a country where in bygone days teachings of sages prevailed; but as time rolled on the country has become retrogressive. It boasts of itself as the Celestial kingdom, but its heart is barbarous and is the very reverse of celestial. Till its ignorance is dispelled, the sky of the Orient must ever be dark. Now is the time to plant the flag of the Rising Sun on the walls of Pekin and to illuminate its darkness. This is the duty of our glorious empire, the land of the Rising Sun. Go forth, go forth, imperial army, march in emulation till Pekin is taken.” “If warriors go to war by land the turf shall receive the bodies of the slain. From time immemorial our gallant warriors have gone forth in swarms. Human life lasts but fifty years; who would wish to purchase a few miserable years of life at the cost of dishonor ? March and fire as long as breath remains, for our lives are at the disposal of the sovereign, our bodies are to be sacrificed to the glory of the country; let soldiers die with all their wounds in front. The souls of those that thus defy death shall be through the ages to come the guardian angels of Oriental tranquility. So go forth, go forth, ye warriors, warriors go forth.”

“War is not waged tor the sake of Corea alone, but it is the emperor’s will to promote the future welfare of the Orient. Respecting the dread will of the emperor, strive unceasingly against the enemies of peace until the emperor’s will is attained. Wherever a standard is unfurled we fight in the presence of our sovereign; strive then to fulfill the royal commands and to deserve the royal commendation ; your superior’s eommand expresses to you the will of the emperor; fight heedless of all but duty, though rifle bullets fly round you thick as hailstones. If you fight with this unflinching spirit, nothing will be impossible to the arm of Japan. Then tho ‘Golden Eagles’ will be ready to reward your glorious deserts. Then having firmly and permanently established peace, completed your duty, and relieved the emperor’s anxiety, you may return chanting triumphant songs.”

MERRY HOP-PICKERS.

Picturesque Dance in a Washington Hop Field. In the article, “In a Washington Hop Field,” by Louise Herrick Wall, in the Atlantic, a hop-pickers’ dance is described: On a platform of unplaned boards, raised a foot or two from the ground, they were dancing—a tangle of figures seen indistinctly by the glimmer of a few lanterns that stood near the rough benches running around the four sides of the floor. These seats were given over to the women; and the men stood on the ground, pressing, four or five rows deep, about the platform. As we worked our way in among the spectators, a man in shirt sleeves was calling the figures of the square dance“with great energy. He seemed to be master of ceremonies, and took the most unselfish delight ’n finding partners for the unmated. Now and then, when the banjo and fiddle rose into a particularly irresistible tune, a man would break 'through the crowd, leap upon the platform, and search out a partner from among the women. It mattered little, in the dim light, whether she had simply added a white apron to her working dress, or if she were one of the young girls in cashmere and cotton lace finery. In the fiddler I recognized the father of the baby hop picker. I had divined that there was something of the artist in the young fellow ; and now, as he sat with his hat pushed back, legs crossed, and cheek laid on the fiddle, playing for himself and to the others, he made a delightful figure of happy abandon. Close at his knee sat the baby, perfectly erect, a thin black shawl drawn tightly over its head and wrapped around the body, bambinowise. holding the arms down. The tiny pale face and large eyes turned always toward the mother, who danced unceasingly. The music changed, and the master of ceremonies called aloud, “Take your partners for a quad—rille!” The square dance was really a dance as the hop pickers conceived it. The men, their broad soft hats tipped over one ear, took the hands of their partners, and went through a series of bewildering side steps and flourishes that varied in the different dancers from grace to clownish grotesquerie. The terpsichorean director had called the figures alone, in a powerful voice; but suddenly all the dancers took up the refrain in a chanting measure: “Lady ’round the gent, and the gent so-lo; Lady ’round the lady, and the gent don’t go.” This figure continued long enough to fasten the sing-song in the memory for a lifetime. Dance followed dance; the women lifted their aprons and wiped their faces, to the wonder of chill bystanders, and danced again. The boards of the floor creaked, the fiddle and banjo thrilled and screamed, a few fell away from the press about the platform ; but the tramp of feet beat with a ceaseless pulse. The little black figure at the fiddler’s knee sat silent, with wide eyes. A young fellow, who ha I not missed a dance since our coining, threw up his hetid and cried. *'What's tire -matter wi th the roof ?” Then, as all eyes turned up to the' solemn dark of the starpierced sky, “Why, the roof’s all right!” It was pleasant, in thequietof our little room in the shanfty. to drowse upon the hay, and let the aroma of the day float back to us; the bouquet of a coarse draught, perhaps, and yet from nature’s source.

THE LIMEKILN CLUB.

Brother Gardner on the Cull’d Man's Progressive Political Society. “Dear fren’s,” said Brother Gardner as he arose and stepped to the front of the platform and crossed his hands under his coattails, “I am in receipt of a letter from de Cull’d Man’s Progressive Political Club of Ohio axin me fur authority to present my name at de proper time as a candidate fur de Presidency. (Great applause, particularly by Samuel Shin, who instantly figured out that he would be made Secretary of the ' Navy.) To say dat lam proud of de letter am sayin’ wery little. To be thus singled out an honored mus’ nacherally ’peal to a man’s vanity and make him believe dat he has not lived in vain. (Enthusiastic yelling, particularly by Shindig Watkins.) “Yes; I have not only been axed to stand as a candidate, but de offishuls of dat club hev kindly added de opinyun dat I will make a strong run and may possibly be ’lected to fill de honored posishun. (Whoops from all over the hall, during which Elder Toots swallowed a button he was holding in his mouth to cure a sore throat.) Sich frer.’s of mine as hev cum to a knowledge of de contents of dis letter hev urged me to accept and make de run, and hev promised me deir hearty support and co-operashun. (Vociferous applause, but mostly from Waydown Bebee, who is looking for a postoffice.) “But, gem’len, arter looking de matter in de right eye, de left eye, an’ squat’ in de face, an’ arter seberal talks wid my ole woman, I has concluded to decline. (Many sighs.) It would sartinly be a proud epoch in my humble life fur me to enter dat White House at Washington, pull off my butes and sot down before a blazin’ fire an’ eat apples an’ popcorn an’ know dat I was boss, but it am not to be. I know my strong pints an’ my weak ones. “I kin do a job o’ whitewashin’ on a ceilin’ fur six shillins that will stand out like a twenty-fibe dollar I‘ob of fresco work, but I can’t run a :entry de size of the United States. I kin help the old woman wid de clothes-wringer, hang a screen door or putty a pane o’ glass in de winder, but when it cums down to tariff an’ sich I hain’t in it. .(Groans and sighs, during which some one hit Sir I Isaac Walpole in the eye with an apple core.) “I have figgered it down purty clus,” continued Brother Gardner, “an’ I couldn’t stand de expense, eben if I wanted to run. De least cost of a campaign to a presidenshual candydate would be S2OO, an whar’s dat money to cum from? Den I would be spected to go around an’ speechify,an what would I speechify about? If dey kept me out arter 9 o’clock at night, I’d be no good de next day, an’ I’d git home to find de Ole woman hid under de bed half skeered to death ’bout burglars. De man who runs for President haint got no time left to hoe taters or weed out his onions, an’ what would becum of my truck patch? “As a humble citizen when night cums I kin git off my coat, west, shoes an’ stockints an’ light my ole co’ncob pipe an’ sot down on de doorstep wid de ole woman an’ slap skeeters an’ talk. As President de people would spec t me to be swellin’ around all de time. (Cries of “ You are all right!”) “Of co’se it would be werry nice to be de boss of sixty milyon people, but when I was axed to sign my name or read ober a paper or giv’ my opinyun on dis or dat, whar would de old man be? How would I know who was fitten or onfitten fur offis? De minit de noospapers begun to abuse me I’d walk into de kitchen an’ sot dotfn an’ begin to rip an’ t’ar, an’ dey doan’ Tow no President to do dat. I’d be out two or three times in de night to see if anybody had dun stole my chickens, an’ I’d be wipin’ my mouf on de tablecloth at dinner an’ axin’ de ole woman to pull off my butes an’ cut my toe nails, an’ befo’ I had bin dar three months I’d want to run away an’ cum home. (Cries of “We want yo’ in de White House!”) “No, my frens, it kin nebber be, Ebery man knows hisself de best. I kin put up a clothesline ekal to any pusson in America, but dis tariff queshun frows me right down. If a pig gits stuck in de fence, I knows which way to pull him to scrape off de least hide, but dis talk ’bout revenue gives me de headache. Besides all dis, it hain’t time yit. We has got jest de same rights an’ privileges yere as de white folks, but dey is too many fur us. Dey hain’t gwine to ’low nobody but a white man to walk around in dat White House, an’ call hisself President. De time may cum, but we won’t lib to see it. “De black man’s gainin’on it all de time, an’ nobody can’t say how high his co’nstalks am gwine to grow befo’ dey git frew, but he must be patient an’ wait. If de time had arove for me to step to de front, I should cheerfully sacrifice my onions an’ cabbage an’ cowcumbtr an’ de cumforts of my cabin home to lead de cohorts to victory, but as it am I shall ask de secretary to answer dis letter an’ say dat de cohorts had better keep light on ’tendin’ to bizness an’ let de honors of politics alone. We will now lay de next Presidenshul campaign softly on de table an’ go home.”—[M. Quad, in New York Recorder.

Knots and Miles.

To most people these terms are synonymous when speaking of a vessel’s speed. .It should be rCthembered that there is a decided diffi - ence between the sea knot and tne mile. Three and one-half miles equal within a small fraction, three knots. The result of this difference, of course, is that the speed of a vessel in miles per hour, is always considerably larger than when stated in knots, and the confusion of the terms sometimes give rise to rather remarkable claims of Speed performance. When a twenty knot ship, for instance, is mentioned, it should be remembered that this really means over twenty-three miles. Niobara, the name of a river in Nebraska, is said to mean “wide water.”