Democratic Sentinel, Volume 19, Number 24, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 June 1895 — Page 5

Silence

By Miss Melely

CHAPTER XlV—Continued. He never spoke of his mother at all now, yet he was neither dull nor melancholy. It is a remarkable fact, which people who desire to punish other people, deservedly or undeservedly, would do well to remember, that the sharpest pain cannot last forever, and that a young couple, thoroughly happy in each other, will remain happy in spite of all their as tfectionate relatives, who think they ought to be miserable. Ay, and in spite of many outside things that might have [been hard in later years; but youth is the (time to fight with fate—youth with its infinite courage, its eternal hope. Working at the mill all day, writing his hook at night, with little society, for the Symingtons had goneintoEdinburgh, with po relaxation except the daily walk “between the lights,” which his wife insisted upon, Roderick had yet, htf declared, never spent a happier throe months. And he looked so well, too, for It is not work that kills, but “worry;” foolish ambitions, unsatisfied cravings, Jarred tempers, stinging remorse or unrepented sin. Not mere sorrow; that can be borne. Both of these had known sorrow—she especially— but there was a holy serenity now, even when one day she spoke of that grave at Neuchatel. ' “Sophie Reynier sent me these violets ?'rom it. She says they are having such a ovely spring. And so are we. Just look, In bud already. And only listen, Roderick, how that mavis is singing?” They were walking up and down the Sheltered kitchen garden—lovely, though it was a kitchen garden, with its walks bordered by flowers, sweet-fashioned perennials, which sprung up year by year, not disdaining the neighborhood of the vegetables, but growing together, each after its kind, in happy union. “Like you and your poor folk,” Roderick once said, 'noticing how everybody loved her and did her honor—maid-servants, milk-girls, all .the people about the place. “They are so (kind. I have such a happy life,” was all (the young mistress answered. And her [fair, pale face bent down over her flowers, and up again to her budding apple blossoms Bnd her tall forest trees, now growing full of nest-building birds. “That mavis, I have watched him this [week past. I am sure he has a young [family somewhere near. And he sings—how he does sing!—in the top of that (sycamore. He began the very day they planted out the hyacinths in my garden funder my window.” This, too, was a labor of love, arranged surreptitiously between Mr. Black land his old gardener—a litl/ e mathematical diagram of beds, with grass lawn between, in which had sprung up, as if by Jmagic, successions of spring flowers, 'snowdrops, crocuses, hepatieas. Now, [April being come, even in the dear Scotch ;ciimate, the sunshine was strengthening t ond the garden brightening every week. “I shall have a beautiful nosegay presently,” she said; “just in time for my wedding-day.” He had almost forgotten it—the villain. •He could hardly believe he had been married a year. And yet it felt sometimes as If they had been married all their lives, ;«o completely had they grown into one another. It was only by an effort that -either could recall their old selves, in the days when they were apart. “That sunset” (they were watching it from a favorite seat she had—a summerhouse, warm and dry, facing the southwest, and looking down the winding glen toward the mifl, which, hidden by trees, only presented a few chimney-tops, and that fairy-like column of white smoke, unobjectionable to even the most aesthetic •eyes)—“that sunset,” she said, “it makes the whole sky ‘colorise,’ as we used to say in Switzerland. Do you remember the Jungfrau and the Wetterhorn that day at Berne? and the Alpes Bernoises from Lausanne? Oh, my land.! it is a heavenly land! I can never forget it. But this is my home." . , v . She had been speaking French for a wonder; they had dropped almost entirely Into English now, even when together, but she said “home”—that one dear word .which we Britons specially have—with an intonation inexpressible but unmistakable. All her heart had settled into her husband’s country. “Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.” Never, though Roderick Jardino may live to see thousands of sunsets, will he forget this one, nor his wife’s face as she looked at it, watching it till the last glow had died away. Then she rose. “Now let us go in, dear.” “Are you tired?” • “I think so.” Leaning heavily on'his arm she went-indoors; but she.sat up sewing till her usual time, and rose as usual when, at a specially early hour—for he happened to have a long and busy day before him—he went off to the mill. He was sitting in his little, dingy office there, quite late in the afternoon, for he had some difficult accounts to make up, which he hated, poor fellow! not having been blessed by nature with a talent for arithmetic; but it was Roderick’s peculiarity that what he did worst he always worked hardest at, and what he particularly hated he always forced himself to do at once. His head swam, and his eyes were dazed, yet he still stuck bravely to those mountains of figures, alp after alp arising before his troubled brains, when he was startled by a little knock, and old Black, who he thought had gone home two hours ago, presented himself with a beaming countenance. “Busy? Ye’re always busy. And so I thought, sir, I’d just come mysel’ and be the first to give ye the good news. Laddie, laddie,” with a slap on the back which contrasted oddly with the respectful “Sir,” “go your ways, man, and thank the Lord for all His mercies. Your wife’s doing well; and ye’ve got a bairn.” “My wife!” Roderick sprung up like a shot. “Oil, ay, she’s fine; and it’s a lad-bairn. She bade Janet come and tell ye. She wadna hae ye sashed about it till all was over. My certie! but she’s a brave woman—a woman in a thousand, is young Mrs. Jardine.” The old fellow crew out his snuff-box, took several pinches, and blew his nose with great violence, deliberately turning feis back upon the young man, as perhaps was best. “Thank God!” Roderick said at last, quietly and gravely. “Have I a son or a daughter? I forgot. I did not quite hear.” “A son, sir. Another Jardine of Blackhall. They tell me—l’ve been up at the house mysel’—that he’s such a grand bairn that his mother is so proud of him.” “His mother—my son; how strange it sounds!” Roderick put his hands over his eyes, (rminly trying to realize that great change

in a young man’s life, when he has actually “given hostages to fortune” and sees himself not merely as himself, but as the father of a race to come, who will carry down his name, laden with curses or blessings, to remote posterity. A certain momentary terror—or less terror than awe—came over him. Then, as if accepting the responsibility which no good man need fear, and which most men in their secret hearts are rather proud of, he jsbook hands with Mr. Black, put his account books aside—luckily they were nearly finished —and prepared to go home at once. It was a wet night, had been pelting rain all day; truly the small Jardine of Blackhall got but a weeping welcome into this “wearifu’ world.” But the young father never noticed it. He was fully and overpoweringly happy. The fear which half unconsciously had hung over him like a cloud for weeks was now all changed into a delicious hope and joy. Bidding a cheery good-night to Mr. Black (“By the by, I had a line from your wife yesterday, but that’s no matter now,” said he, as they parted), Roderick walked rapidly up the brae—the familiar walk, with the light in the parlor window shining ahead all the way. It was dark now, but there was a faint glimmer from the room upstairs, his wife’s room. His heart swelled almost to bursting as he looked at it. “My son, our son. Another Henry Jardine, If my father had only known! And my mother, shall I write to my mother? Perhaps! No!” Choking down the pain that would rise, turning resolutely from the ever-lurking shadow which no sunshine of joy could quite banish, the young man passed through the dark garden to the hall-door. Faithful Janet was there to open it; only she. All was safe now, but it had been an anxious day. The house felt quiet—painfully quiet, its master thought, as he went into the empty parlor. They would not let him speak to his wife, but only look at her as she lay asleep, like a marble image. Her eyes were closed, but a sweet smile flitted about her mouth, and her left hand was extended outside the coverlet, over a small heap, a little helpless something. What a slender, soft hand it seemed, with the wedding-ring shining upon it, and yet how strong it was —strong and tender—essentially a mother’s hand. The young husband’s eyes were dim, but he had self-control enough to obey orders and creep quietly down-stairs, not even asking to see his little son; in truth, just then he hardly thought of him at all ns a human entity, but only of the mother, the precious life imperiled and saved. And he had known nothing—nothing, all this time. With what silent courage had she sent him away at breakfast time, and kept him ignorantly content at his work all that long day; that terrible day! “Just like ber. She never thinks of herself, but of me. My darling—my only darling!” By and by she awoke, and he was allowed to kiss her, without speaking; indeed, she made no attempt to speak, only smiled—her own ineffably peaceful smile. Then he settled himself in the parlor, which looked frightfully empty, all the more so that so many of her things were lying about—her garden shawl aud hat, which she had taken off when she came in the evening before, her work-box, her desk—carefully left open, with a little heap of addressed envelopes placed on the top of it, so as to save him all possible trouble. There were even the foreign stamps ready affixed to the Neuchatel letters. No one at home had been forgotten; neither Mrs. Grierson nor Lady Symington— not even Mrs. Alexander Thomson. At which Roderick again muttered, “Just like her.” But there was no letter—how could there be—addressed to Mrs. Jardine. “Best not,” he said, with a thrill of anger, the sharpest he had ever yet felt; “we bore all our sorrows alone, we will not make her a sharer in our joy. It is nothing to her, and she is nothing to us now.” But even while he said it Roderick’s heart melted. It seemed as if, now he was a father himself, he felt all the more yearning toward his mother—the mother who bore him. Nothing could alter that fact. With a great sigh he sat down to his solitary supper, and prepared for an equally solitary evening. He was slightly occupied, however, by the letters he had to w T rite—in French or English—letters to those whom his wife loved, and who loved her and would sympathize with her to the uttermost, he knew. Faithfully he fulfilled all her wishes, even writing a line to his sister Bella. But this, unlike the others, was brief and cold. As he did it hot indignation, righteous indignation, flamed up in the young man’s heart—he would not have been a true man else—a wrathful sense of all his darling had been made to endure—his innocent darling, whom his mother had never known nor taken any pains to know, and whom his sisters, following her lead, had as completely ignored as if she were no wife at all. But the’storm did not last long.—he was of too gentle a nature; and then he was so happy, so very happy. From his calm height of content that night he felt as if he could afford to look with placable and even compassionate eye on his whole family—on the whole world.

Until near morning he sat writing, and then, finding that all was well in the silent room upstairs, he went to bed, just looking out first upon the dim dawn—only one long yellow streak in the horizon—and if to-morrow happened to be a line day, how pleasant all would be in his wife’s room, where the sun shone almost all day long; how the hyacinths would send up their fragrant breath from the garden below, and the mavis, her ownparticular mavis, would sing his incessant song “from morn till dewy eve” over his busy mate and newly hatched young. All the world seemed full of life and joy and hope. He had to cover his ears ere he could get to sleep, for the birds were already awake and sinking so loud. An hour or two’s rest and Roderick was up again, half di*zy with his unbelievable new joy, and trying hard to talk business with Mr. Black, who had come to Blackhall himself to get the earliest news, and persuade the young father to escape from the ignominious position of total neglect which befalls all fathers under these happy circumstances, and take refuge in “bachelor’s hall.” Directly after there drove up the Symington carriage, with Lady Symington in it, who straightway disappeared upstairs. When she came down her round, rosy face was pale and her manner painfully quiet. She offered no congratulations, but laid her hand on Roderick’s arm. “I have been up seeing your wife. Have you seen her this morning?” “Not yet. They would not let me.” “Quite right. Stop! You must not go to her just now. Instead, take my carriage and fetch Dr. ” Roderick in his turn became ghastly pale, for this doctor was the most noted man in all the country-side, and he lived twelve miles off. “Is there then such vital necessity? Is she in danger? Why did they not tell me? Oh, my God! my God!” “Hush! we must not waste time in t&lk-

tug. It may be nothing, my dear”—the old lady’s soft “my dear" was more terrifying than aught else—“but we never know. The horses are fresh; they will go there and back without stopping. Bring the doctor with you—don’t come without him. I will stay here till you return.” She spoke briefly, almost sharply, with the calm decision that reassures even while it alarms. Without a word Roderick obeyed; allowed Mr. Black, who had listened in silence, to give him his hat and coat, and throw a plaid into the carriage after him. “Will you not go, too, Mr. Black? You had better. He is quite stunned, you see.” , “Yes, my lady; but I know him—he’s a brave lad, he will bear up alone. And I must go elsewhere.” The old man grasped the young man’s hand with a sudden “God bless you!” then Roderick sprung into the carriage and drove away. Oh, that awful drive! sitting like a stone, watching mechanically the trees and moors and hills slip by, his watch in one hand, counting the half hours—no, the very minutes—as they crawled along; in the other hand clutching Lady Symington's note, ready to be given to the doctor as soon as he could be found. And then the drive back, with the “celebrated” man to whom “the case” was only a case, and who talked cleverly and cheerfully and indifferently of that and many other things, till he saw he was scarcely heard, and then, with a natural human sympathy for the white, sdt face beside him, dropped into silence and a book; for years Roderick never saw the title of that book without a shudder. A “ray of hope” he learned there was. Only a ray! and three hours before the whole world had seemed to him to be flooded with sunshine. He asked no questions, made no remarks. Mute and unappealing he sat, half stunned, half blind, like a man who has suddenly received sentence of death —death utterly undeserved and unexpected—death in the very midst of life, so that reason refuses to take it in as a reality, and the mind is conscious of neither terror nor pain, only a dull sense of something happened, or being about to happen, which one can no more escape than one can escape from the falling rock or the advancing breaker, either of which will bring certain and Instantaneous doom. , They' reached Blackhall, and he heard nt the front door the Doctor’s question, “Is she alive?” and Lady Symington’s affirmative answer; then he staggered in, and Janet had to fetch her master a glass of water, and put him into the armchair, quite dizzy and blind. But he soon recovered himself, and went back to listen at the foot of the staircase. “It will be a hard fight—a hand to hand fight—but we’ll beat, I trust,” the Doctor was saying, with a thoroughly professional look on his clever face, and a gleam of his keen eyes often seen in men like him when they brace up all their skill to do battle with the great enemy. Then he and Lady Symington both vanished, and Roderick was left alone. Hour after hour he sat, no one coming near him. Once Janet knocked at the parlor door and asked if she might bring in the baby whose crying disturbed the mother. Roderick assented, but took no notice of his son; indeed, at the moment he almost felt as if he hated him. Kind Janet was the only person who paid the least attention to the young heir of Blackhall. (To be continued.)

He Leaped for Life.

James H. Budd, of California, recently told the following story of an escape from the bite of a rattlesnake which he once had: “I was up in Calaveras County Using along the Stanislaus. I had been told of an almost inaccessible pool up the river at the base of the perpendicular cliffs, and fairly alive with trout. I found the place, and also found that there was only one way to get a hook in the pool. I had to climb on my hands and knees up a steep path to a sort ci shelf on the cliff. On the other side of the shelf was a sheer drop of forty feet down to the pool. Just as I dragged myself upon the top of the ledge the whirr of a rattlesnake startled me. Naturally I jumped to my feet, exhausted as I was, but dropped my fishing rod. “The coiled rattler was within two feet of me and preparing to strike. Either I had to get down on my hands and knees again or jump forty feet Into the pool. As I saw the diamond head of the snake draw back to strike I decided and jumped. Just as I sprung the rattler struck. I had a pair of moccasins on my feet and the fangs of the snake fastened in the one nearest him. As I went down I remember seeing the snake flying over the side of the pool. Its fangs had caught and I had carried it with me. “Just what happened in the second or two after I struck the water in my dive of forty feet I don’t know. Fortunately the pool was fairly deep. As I dragged myself upon the rocks at tha edge, I realized with a thankfulness I never knew before that I was not only alive but had escaped the snake and broken bones. I was badly bruised, but. not seriously hurt. What became of the snake I don’t know.”

American Horses in England.

There is a growing demand in England for American hordes. During the first nine months of the year 1894 the English market took 2,811 American driving horses at an average value of $139 per head. Last year the average price of those shipped was $230. A sound, light draft horse, In good condition, of the size and weight adapt od to omnibus work in cities, will generally bring in Liverpool or London $l5O. Nearly all of the shipments of horses thus far from! the United States to England have been through English buyers. Arriving in England the animals are put out to grass, as a rule, for a month at least, and are then sold at auction. Canada has about an equal share with ourselves in the English horse market, although Canadian shipments have the reputation of being somewhat better in quality. The average price of Canadian geldings during the last nine months has been $l6O, as against $139 for the American. The English understand perfectly well that prices of horses have fallen in the United States on account of the extensive substitution of trolleys and bicycles for horses, and It is generally conceded that a considerable demand for American horses will soon spring up throughout Europe. The great omnibus and tramway companies of London are recruiting their stocks from the United States and Canada very generally at the present time.—Exchange. Mrs. Harriet Duterte, a colored woman, is one of the most successful undertakers in Philadelphia. She has carried on the business for about twen-ty-five years. She furnishes hearses, carriages and all the requisites for funerals.

THE JOKERS’ BUDGET.

JESTS AND YARNS BY FUNNY i MEN OF THE PRESS. His Air.-Easily Answered--Wanted a Lunch- -A Broken Engagement •-Making Success Certain, Etc. 1 ■ - i HIS AIK. “Have you ever noticed what a dls- 1 tinguished air Prof. Baretoni has?” asked the soulful girl. “I have noticed an air of garlio, if that is what you mean,” said the sharp nosed girl, and the soulful girl looked disgusted. EASILY ANBWERED. Hobson—What do you suppoae a dog’s pants are made of? Wigwag—Probably of a sort of very light bark. WANTED A LUNCH. Landsman (at a yacht race) What’s that craft out yonder? River Man—That’s the stake boat. Landsman—Row me over to it. I’m hungry. A BROKEN ENGAGEMENT. He—Do you believe in signs? She (demurely)—Yes, ice cream signs. MAKING SUCCESS CERTAIN. Footlytes—l am going to call my new play “The Baby." Grafflk—That's a queer name. Footlytes—l know; but a baby is always a howling success. WANTED SOMETHING OUT OF SIGHT. Dandy youth—What the mischief did you hire me a blind horse for? Liveryman (guilelessly) Didn’t you tell me you wanted something out of sight, because you were going to take your best girl driving. TO UNCLE SAM. If a name you want that’s sure to be lucky, Let the next cruiser be called “The Kentucky.” No doubt her guns would do terrible slaughter, And though full of holes, she’d never take water. WHY HE WAS JOLLY. Jinks—You ought to meet my friend Wittles; most entertaining fellow you ever saw; bubbling over with humor; just chock full of jokes and funny stories. Blinks—lndeed! Is he a writer of humor for the papers? Jinks—No. He's a reader of humor in the papers. AN UNWONTED SIGHT. “Oh, look, mamma, look!” exclaimed little Emerson Beens, of Boston, who was making his first visit to New York. “What is it Emerson, dear?” “Why, mamma, there goes a woman without spectacles.” ACCOMMODATING. Mrs. Richley—Please, Mr. Burglar, don’t take that diamond pin; it's a keepsake! Burglar—Dat’s all right, ma’am; I give yer me woyd as a gentleman dat I’ll send yer de pawn ticket be mail, de foyst ting in de morning. SOME HOPE. “Young man,” said the sage, “I hear you are about to be married?" “You are right,” said the young man. “Well, young man, the day will come when your wife will make the discovery that you do not know everything on earth. It will be a great shock to her feelings and your supremacy. Still, there is hope for you; you, while cheerfully admitting that you really do not know it all, may be able to persuade her that the reason for that state of things is that there is so much in the world that Is not worth knowing.” EASILY EXPLAINED. Fuddy—l hear that Strainer, the cashier of the bank, has turned up missing, along with a goodly portion of the securities. How do they account for his disappearance? Duddy—His trying to keep up appearances, I believe. THE SAME TO HIM. “I saw that Spiffins was going to ask me to lend him some money, so I checked him,” remarked Snaggs. “Well, that was all right,” replied Bellefield, “Spiffins would have a check as the cash.” COMPLIMENTARY. f Gent —Mademoiselle looks more beautiful every day. Lady—You have been telling me so for a good many years. What a horrid fright I must have been to start with. THE GOLDEN MEAN. “What is the golden mean we hear about?” asked one small student of another. “It must be a miser,” replied the latter. THE WAY IT HAPPENED. She—So you wouldn’t take me to be 20. What would you take me for? He —For better or worse.

A Soldier of the Future--Perhaps.

AN ENORMOUS SNAKE.

Captured, After Swallowing a Small Ox, and Put Into a Cage. The colouy of Natal, South Africa, abounds in boa constrictors and pythons. While they do attack men, they are especially destructive of cattle, sheep and oxen, and for this reason parties are formed by hunters and natives to burn the bush and forest in order to exterminate the pests, says the London News. Some of the soldiers at Pietermaritzburg were recently informed by a party of neighboring Zulus of the whereabouts of a huge python that had been destroying their oxen. The soldiers, with two hundred natives, started of! to capture the snake, and having located it, the forest was fired for about a mile roundabout, an onormous pit having been previously dug in toward the center of the inclosed space. What with the burning brush and the shouts of the excited Kaffirs they soon drove the repti'e toward the pit, where, closing iu upon him, they forced him into it. The python proved to be of an enormous size, being thirty-two feet long and fortyone inches in circumference. It appeared to be quite stupid or dazed, having just eat a young ox that had been let into the inclosure. An enormous cage with iron bars half way down the front having been constructed, the snake was got out of the pit and taken into Maritiburg in the cage. Here it is kept on axhlbitlon at the barracks, and is fed twice a week, two Kaffir goats at each meal. It will not eafc anything that has already boen killed for it, preferring to kill its food itself. The goats are thrust through a small hole at the end of the cage alive, when, fixing its great eyes upon them, the snake suddenly lunges forward and crushes them in its powerful fold. After covering them with a thick slime about an inch deep, before swallowing, it battens them out by squeezing them and then devours them almost at a gulp. After this the python goes to sleep and does not wako until it is time to feed again. A gentleman in Maritzburg owns a python that has been confinod in a cage for overthlrtoen months. During this period the snake has not oaten a mouthful of food of any kind, although every conceivable delicacy of likely snake diet, such as frogs, birds, rats and meat, has been set to tempt its appetite. Its fast seems noc to be broken, and the owner has at last abandoned the idea of coaxing the colly prisoner with food. It drinks a very small quantity oi water. In a dormant state this fasting would be better understood, f6i in this state reptiles of this description have been known to exist for periods of eighteen months, or even three years.

Birds Like to Travel.

Why do tho birds flit southward each autumn and return again with every spring? No one knows, but science, in the person of Profossoi Wang, the eminent Austrian ornithologist, has just disclosed that the usual flippant unswer to this question, “Because they like to travol,” is not far out of the way, after all. In a lecture that Professor Wang recently delivered at Vienna he gave some extremely interesting details regarding the migrations of birds, all of which migrations resemble one another in two respects: they follow tho most direct lino southward, and are made with most incredible rapidity. Numerous observations huve been made at Heligoland, which is tho principal halting pluco of birds of pussage from northorn countries, and in Egypt, which is the winter home of inuny, and these observations have established some facts hitherto unknown. The bluebirds travorse the 400 nautical miles which separate Egypt from Heligoland in a single night, which is at the rate of more than forty geographical miles per hour. The swallow’s speed is over two and one-half miles per minute, or nearly three times that of the fastest railway train. Even the younger birds, six or eight weeks old, accompany the others in their long journey. Professor Wang asks himself what is the impulse which causes the birds, after the brooding and molting season is over, to quit our northern climate. He does not think it is fear of cold—for many species qnite as delicate as those which migrate southward easily withstand the rigors of the winter, but that they have an irresistible humor for traveling. This is his idea of the fact, but he can give no explanation.

One of Fashion’s Tyrannies.

One of the tyrannies of fashion, from which there is a prospect of speedy relief, is the heavy interlined widely distended skirt. The weight of this abomination varies according to the quality and quantity of haircloth necessary to line it; but four hands are hardly enough to manipulate the folds in such a way as to keep the skirt out of the dust, and when a woman tries to accomplish the task with two her gown is soon forgotten in her cramped fingers and she gives it up in despair. How anything so totally unfit to be worn in the street ever became a fashion is a mystery to everyone except those who manufacture the haircloth, and they must have reaped a harvest of riches. But physicians have denounced the heavy linings as injurious to health, and this, with the good sense of long suffering and heroic women who have patiently tried to endure the burden for fashion's sake, has brought about a decided reaction against them, and the heavy skirt must go.

Big Chance for American Sculptors.

There is the opportunity of a lifetime for that American sculptor can secure the order to model the Statue of Washington which the wonien of America propose to give to the French government as soon as funds for the purpose can he raised. The Monument Association, of which Mrs. Stephen J. Field is president, has just issued a fresh appeal for subscriptions. Charlie Ross was stolon on July 1. 1874.

PEOPLE WHO MARK MONEY.

Some Queer Things That Rasult From Thia Mania. A mania for advertising and putting strange communications on the back of the paper money of the Government lias broken out. As a general thing torn bills are used, as that gives the man with the mania an excuse for his work, for he uses the slip with which the pieces are put together for his purpose. On a bill that came into the hands of one man on Dearborn street, Chicago, was a slip on which was printed “Shake the bottle.’’ When he turned it into the bunk tho receiving man, whose quick eye caught it, asked: “Did you bring the bottle witli you?’’ Om a s■') bill handed over a bar on Monroe street was a slip on which was this: “Touch not, taste not, handle not.” A Dearborn street bank took in a SSOO bill not long ago on the back of which was pasted a slip that had printed on it tho Ten Commandments A cashier in a mercantile house on Randolph street has a bill of denomination on which is a slip, and on the slip is written in a woman’s chirocraphy an offer of marriage. The writer puts it thus: “I give up my last money on this. I send it out into tho world, hoping it may return to mo with a good man who will love me and take caro of me.” But no uddress accompanies the offer. A bill is in a frame in an express office. Thero is a hole in tho bill, and a note explains that the hole was made by a bullet fired by a train robber. The bill was in the side pockot of an express messenger. A bill handed in at a cigar store on Madison street had this on the back: “Don’t como back to me until you can bring your silver brother with you.” A periodical dealer on Washington street receivod a remittance by mall. The inclosed bill had been pasted up by a newspaper clipping which contained a cut of the newsman. The sender does not know tho dealer, and it is not at all likely that the former ever suspected that tho cut was that of tho man who was to get the money. A physician in the Venetian building has a private mark on ass bill which he sent afloat several years ago. It comes back to him about twice a your. A wholesale merchant ovor on Adams Btreet was in China and Japan a few years ago. Ho gavo a Japaneso functionary a $5 bill as a souvenir, placing on the same a private mark. About three weeks ago It came into his possession again. He is confident that he is not mistaken in the mark, and does not feel complimented over tho idea that his Japanese acquaintance did not think enough of him to keep the bill. A business man of this city relates this: Ho went from Chicago to Pittsburg on a sloeoer. He paid tho conductor for Ills berth, giving him a marked sf> bill. He went from Pittsburg to Cleveland the second day, and on tho third day ho bought a sleeping car ticket for his return trip. Tho conductor handed him the same bill ho had given to the other conductor.

This story was told to a funny man, who told this: "I wont down to Washington a few years ago, and just before quitting tho train I handed the porter of the car in which I had travoled a $2 bill and I have novcr seen it since." There is a bill floating about tho country somewhere on the back of which is a prescription, written by a reputable physician several years ago. It is a "sure cure" for the grip, and was put there by the doctor out of a fancy that*. it might save somebody’s life. V Another one is,in circulation, presumably, on which is written: "If this should fall Into tho hands of Reuben Middleman, he will please communlcato his address to his brother James, General Delivery, Boston, Mass., on or before January, 189(5. After that in England. He knows where." Then the funny man got hold of one on which ho pasted a slip and then wrote: ‘‘You are all the world to me because I am stuck on you.” A dollar note in the possession of a La Salle street lawyer has this written across the face of it: ‘‘This bill has saved my life three times, but I give it up." His life or the bill? Who knows what story that dollar bill could tell? There is ass bill somewhere, if it isn’t destroyed, on the back of which is indorsed the statement that the man who had it passod it a number of times at the World’s Fair—first in purchasing a ticket, then at various times at the cases, and, finally, as he supposed, in old Vienna. And then he paid his hotel, in part, with the bill, indorsing that on it the last time, he saw it, as ho supposes. A banker on Washington street told tho writer that he has a collection of bills on which are written or painted or drawn many strange things and pictures. His collection represents a face value of more than S2OO. —Chicago Tribune.

WALKING IN FLAMES.

A Device Used by the Fire Fighters in Germany. There are some fire apparatus and appliances in which the firemen of Berlin are undoubtedly ahead. Of these apparatus the most notable is the fire “ scaphander.’’ The word “ scaphander," which means either " hollow man ” or "hollow to receive a man," is generally applied to the suit of impermeable material in which the diver arrays himself before he goes down into the water. The fire scaphander is on the lines of the diver’s scnphander, the only difference, in fact, being that it is made of a different material. The fire scaphander is made of asbestos and rubber, and is absolutely proof against fire. It neither takes fire nor Is it permeablo to the heat of tire. A man in an asbestos suitor scaphander can take a leisurely walk through roaring flames or through the thickest volume of smoke with comfort, or at least with complete Immunity from being burned or choked. The helmet iff donned apart from the rest of the suit and is her-

metically fitted to the suit, the riveting being so perfect that the air is excluded. A glass, specially prepared to stand great heat without cracking, is imbedded in the front of the helmet and allows the wearer to see plainly. To the fireman thus equipped air is supplied, just as it is supplied to the diver at work, through a tube, the one end of which is held at the earth’s surface and the other end isjn the helmet. It would be scarcely necessary to say that the scaphander is not intended to be, and is not the ordinary equipment of a Berlin fireman when he is fighting a fire. There in only one scaphander, perhaps, to a company, e nd the fireman donning one of them i i detailed to perform a special or exceptional task. Occasionally at fires, as everyone is aware, a particular room in a house or hotel, of which it is known that there are occupants, may be so enveloped in flames or in a stifling smoke that a rescue of the occupants is impossible, as the attempting rescuer would add the loss of his own life to theirs. It is in case of such a situation as this, not uncommon by any means, that the scaphander is brought into use. A fireman dons the scaphander, marches unhurt through smoke and flames in which a person ordinarily attired could not live a moment, and rescues inmates of tho burning building, who would otherwise Inevitably perish. He carries with him, also, when he enters, a bag or two of rubber and asbestos, which are known as ‘‘life saving sacks,” and stowing the imperiled inmates in those sacks, he either carries them out, if they are light weights, or hangs tho bag cor*taining them on the Msbestos tube providing him with air, and on another line connecting the bag with the firemen below, and shoots them out from tho window on to terru firmn by that route. In the operation he is assisted, of course, from the ground.

TWO GUILELESS FARMERS.

They Sell Bogus Chlokamnuga Rolloa to Northorn Vialtora. A war rello that has been fondly cherished by Waltor H. Durfee, of this city, for the Inst few months has turned out to be a fraud. Mr. Durfoo has discovered that Ills supposed memento of tho battle of Chickamauga is a common, everyday sort of an oak tree, which, even If it was standing so long ago as the time of tho war, may never have boon under fire. He !h certain that the choice collection of rifle balls, solid shot and fragments of shells that are imbedded In tho old trunk wore Inserted thero by some skillful worker In wood. The tree, which is live oak, is about twonty feet long, and is stripped of its branches. In various positions throughout its length there »re twenty-live rifle balls, two pieces of solid snot, ana twelvd fragments of sholls. It was purchased of two old farmers In Chattanooga last December by a friend of Mr. Durfee, and Bhlpped to this city. The farmers very innocently said they had cut this tree, as woll as soveral other specimens they had, from a position In the vicinity of the famous battlefield.

Tho two men did a comparatively extensive business. Mr. Durfee accidentally made a discovery while repairing the broken top of his trtio Haturduy. Ho Intended boring a hole lengthwise In tho trunk and Inserting an iron rod to fasten on the broken piece. He clmr.ced to loosen one of the rifle hulls, and, looking into the opening that was left, the wholo story was revealed. Tho hole was perfectly cut with an augur, and the small hole made by the point of the augur was unmistakable. Further Investigation showed that the solid shot were also inserted in holes carefully cut out, and some of the other rifle balls were removed with a similar result. The man who did the work was an artist. Places were chosen for the insertion of tho solid shot and shell where the bark had been broken and hud subsequently grown partially over tho place, so that when the ball or shell was inserted the appearance gave the Impression that a growth of years surrounded the metal. Pieces of bark had also been ground and broken and inserted in the fine chinks to increase ths ancient appearance. The work shown in fixing up the tree must have required a man over a week to accomplish, and in the result one may bo excused for being deceived.

A Touching Scene.

A very touching and dramatic scene was witnessed at the Underwriters' Board room, on Nassau street, New York, recently, on the occasion of the presentation of a gold medal to Flro I’atrolman A. 8. Johnson, of Fire Patrol No. 5, in commemoration of his brave rescue of three lives from the Columbus avenue and Ninety-fourth street fire last month. The rescue was remarkable for its daring and perilous character. The three persons,' Mr. J.W. Kern, his child and Miss Annie Frechtel, were hommed in by the fire in the fifth story of the burning building. Johnson crept along the molding from the adjoining house and rescued them. Mr. Kern supplemented the gold medal with a locket studded with diamonds, and he gave such a touching and graphic description of the rescued people’s peril, their agony and their relief, that even the rough firemen present wept, while poor Johnson, who had struggled hard to chew gum and appear indifferent, broke down and failed to keep baqjc the tears that fought their way to his eyes as resolutely as he fought his way through the flames. Honor to such heroes?

Miles of Cigarettes.

There was a contest before Patent Commissioner Seymour at Washington's to the ownership of a patent for a cigarette making machine that is warranted to make five miles of cigarettes per day. The tobacco is spun out in an endless rope and fitted into an etadless roll of paper, and is then cut into the proper lengths.