Democratic Sentinel, Volume 19, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 June 1895 — Page 5

Silence

By miss mulock

CHAPTER XlV—Continued. Never, never will little Henry’s father forget that day—a lovely April day, half etorm, half sunshine, toward evening wholly sunshine. And that mad bird, that loud-voiced mavis, singing incessantly in the sycamore tree —he covered his ears to deaden the sound. All the sound he cared to hear —and his very soul seemed concentrated in listening—was the moving of feet in that room up stairs, where the terrible battle for life was going on, and during which he seemed himself to be dying a hundred deaths. He did nothing, absolutely nothing, hour after hour; what was there for him to do? Once, catching sight of the pile of letters —those happy letters, which nobody had thought of posting—he rose mechanically, in order to put them away somewhere, and in looking about found liis wife’s work-basket, just as she had left it, the needle still sticking into the unfinished frill. Would it ever be finished? With a gasp and a wild stare round, as if to call to her—to appeal to her —she, who had never before forsaken him thus, been missing when he wanted her, or silent when he called —he seized and kissed it. Then he put everything in its place again, including her garden shawl, which he folded up with his helpless hands as tenderly as if it had been a living thing, and sat down again in the same chair, with his head dropped on his hands. Presently he had to arouse himself, and speak a few common-place words to Sir John, who came to fetch Lady Symington home to dinner; people must dine, and the dear old lady looked exhausted. She went up to Roderick and kissed him—bade him hope still—while there was life there was hope; but nevertheless urged upon him that last solemn prayer, which often seems to bring back the very blessing it resigns—“ Thy will be done.” “I can’t say it—l can’t!” he answered—the young man to whom anguish—such anguish as this —was utterly unknown. But after she had left, promising to come again before midnight, he fell down on his knees, and in an agony such as he had not believed any man could pass through and live, he said it. After that he seemed to grow quieter, and ready to accept everything. By and by the Doctor came down to him for a minute, with an anxious face hut a cheery voice. “Take heart, my dear fellow. As I said, while there’s life there’s hope. Do not go near her. By and by I’ll fetch you, should there -come a change.” “A change? For the better?” “Yes. Or what they call a lightening before death.” Death and her! The two ideas seemed impossible—irreconcilable. Shuddering, Roderick turned away from the old man, who did not mean to be cruel, who even put his hand kindly on the young fellow’s shoulder and again bade him “keep up,” that all was being done that could be done; that he had seen many a worse case; and so on, and so on. But Roderick heard it all as one in a dream, and directly afterward, hearing the sound of a carriage, and believing it was only Black—who always meant well, but the sight of whom would almost madden him just then, he bolted out of the long window, and went and hid himself in the darkest depths of the glen. When he ventured back into the house the fire had died out —only a solitary candle was left burning on the table. He stole upstairs and listened at his wife’s door. All was quiet. There was not even the sound of the doctor’s quick, resolute voice; he must have gone away. Then all hope died out of Roderick’s heart. Groping his way back to the parlor, he sat down in his old seat, waiting in a sort of stupefaction for the final blow, and repeating to himself over and over again a line which seemed persistently to “beat time to nothing” in his overstrained brain—Othello’s piteous moan. “My wife! What wife? I have no wife!” Perhaps even now he, too, had no wife. All the sweet days were over, her brief happiness was ended, her young life done. And he? Such a loss is a common story. Many a young man had lived though it —living long after it—perhaps won another wife, and had many other children, and been very happy, aparently; but I question if he was ever quite the man he was before, and I think he would hardly be a true man if some little bit of his heart was not forever buried in his dead wife’s grave. The candle burned itself out, and the moonlight, creeping in between the undrawn curtain, was beginning to fill the room with a pale, ghostly light, when Roderick heard the door open, and some one enter very gently and hesitatingly. “Well?” he said, not lifting his head, not doubting it was the summons of doom. No answer; but the intruder came close to him—touched him.

“Who’s that?” he said, almost fiercely; “who’s .that?” “It's me, Rody; it’s your mother.” “Oh, mother, mother!” For one moment her arms were round his neck and his head on her shoulder. Then he thrust her violently away. “I don’t want my mother; I want my wife. What of my wife? Is she alive?” “Yes. And she will live. And I thought I’d be the first to come and tell you. Do you hear, Rody? She’s safe—quite safe. Both doctors say so. Thank God! thank God! Oh, Rody, my son, my son!” Once more she opened to him those fond mother-arms which no man can resist—no man ought to resist—and let him sob his heart out there, patting him, kissing him, treating him almost as if he had been a little child, and sobbing herself the while with undisguised, uncontrollable emotion. “How did you come, mother? Since when have you been here?” “Ever so long, my dear.” “I was never told.” “No; I went straight up to her. It did not matter; she knew nobody. The doctor Is a friend of mine: he let me be with her. He knew I understood. I nearly died myself when you were bom. Oh, Rody, what you must have suffered this day! Let me look at you, my boy—my dearest boy!” It was a sorrowful gaze for both mother and son. Gradually Roderick’s manner hardened, and he loosed himself from her clinging hands. “Never mind me; it is my wife we must think about. I beg your pardon, mother, but I must go and see her —my wife whom you hate, whom you were so cruel to. But I love her. She is more to me than anything or anybody in this world. I don’t know why you come here. I never asked you to come. Btill, I thank you for coming. But there is not the least occasion for yon to stay.”

He rose up. with his cold, proud manner, so like his father's. His mother, half frightened, as if she thought he hardly knew what he was about —perhaps he did not, poor fellow!—stood before him silently wringing her hands. “I repeat there is no need for you to trouble yourself about us in any way. If my wife lives, and you say she will live, she and I are quite sufficient to one another Will you sit down? Can I get you anything? Or shall I order a carriage, that you may go home at once?” “Oh-. Rody, Rody! Me—your mother!” She burst into tears, such tears aa it is terrible to see an old woman shed. And Mrs. Jardine was an old woman now. The struggle between her heart — and it was a good honest heart, after all—and her fierce indomitable will had told upon her severely. Could her son have seen her face he might have traced there the wrinkles of many added years. As it was, he felt that the hand which grasped him shook as with palsy. “Rody, I wish you to say one word." Could a son expect his mother to beg his pardon? Would he not have been an unworthy son to have let her do any such thing? Was it not far better for him, under any circumstances —to have done just what he did? He dropped on his knees beside her, and laid his head in her lap, exactly as when he was her little boy. “Mother, mother, forgive me! Let us forgive one another." “Oh, yes, yes! Come back to me, my son, my only son!” There was no other apology or explanation than this, neither now or at any future time between them. Both avoided it, and so best. It is always safer not to touch a half-healed wound. Besides, we are none of us perfect, God'knows; and some of us see our faults all the plainer when no one points them out, but they are left entirely between ourselves and Him. “And now,” said Roderick, anxlocsly, “tell me about my wife.” “Poor lamb! poor lamb! I have been with her these two hours. She thought it was her own mother, for she spoke a few words in French and called me ‘mamma.’ Tell her, Rody, that ” Mrs. Jardine turned away, and again burst into honest, irrepressible tears. “But still, mother, how did you come? How did you hear?” She could not speak, but she put into his hand a little note, dated two days before, written in pencil, nnd in a hand very feeble, very shaky, but neat and clear. “Dear Mr. Black: If you should hear I am likely to die, will you go at to Richerden and fetch Mrs. Jardine? You know her. No one will comfort my husband like his mother. Yours truly, “SILENCE JARDINE.” “And now,” said Mrs. Jardine, smiling through her tears, the brightest, sweetest smile, Roderick thought, that he had ever seen on her face, “go to your wife, and let me go to my grandson. My son will not now want his mother to comfort him, thank the Lord!”

CONCLUSION. A warm, honest heart and a generous nature will cover a multitude of sins—or let us say errors —especially in a grandmamma. Over that baby’s cradle the hearts of the two women, young Mrs. Jardine and old Mrs. Jardine, soon came to meet in the most Wonderful way; as they met, too, over another thing, or rather person—often an endless “bone of contention” between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law when they happen to be weak, selfish or jealous women, which these were not—the man whom each loved best of all the world. Roderick’s wife and mother, however opposite their characters, had certain points in common, out of which grew an unmistakable sympathy, namely, strength of will and thoroughness of purpose, great sincerity and affectionateness, the power of self-devotion and an entire absence of that petty egotism which is always on the watch to guard its own rights, and has no vision for anybody’s rights except its own. Besides, meeting her son afresh, as it were, with that great gulf of sorrow between, which had sorely changed both him and her, and finding him now a man —a husband and a father —in many ways very different from the “boy” she had been accustomed to think him, Mrs. Jardine had the sense to accept the position and make the best of it For her son’s wife—the “poor lamb,” as she had called her, and whom, as Roderick afterward found out, her good sense, firmness and devoted enre, coming in at the last ebb of hope, had greatly contributed to save from death—Mrs. Jardine took to loving her, as strong natures are prone to love those whom they have saved and who depend upon them, as for many days Silence had to depend upon her practical mother-in-law, in that total, sweet helplessness which was the very best thing to win the old woman’s heart. She was an old woman now—no doubt about it—and years ripen and sweeten many women to an almost incredible degree. Besides, as Silence often whispered to her husband when little things jarred upon him and irritated him, she was his mother, and she loved him, in her own odd way, perhaps, but with a love of which there could be no doubt and no denial. Still, even lote can work no miracles, nor blend together opposing natures, characters and lives into sudden and everlasting harmony; and when, having nursed her “child,” as she called Silence, into comparative health, and given her grandchild his grandfather’s name, Mrs. Jardine proposed to go home, earnestly begging her son to leave Blackhall and come and settle in Richerden, Roderick gently but steadily declined. He did not say no, even to his own wife, but he felt it would be far better that they two should continue to live at Blackhall and his mother and sisters at Richerden.

All, and especially Bella, were quite “well and happy,” Mrs. Jardine said. How much she knew of the events of last Christmas, or the differences between Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Thomson, did not transpire. At all events, she never talked about these troubles; it was not “respectable.” But despite their diverse way of viewing things, there was a straightforwardness and right-heartedness about Roderick’s mother which, when her son saw it through fresh, clear eyes, and especially through his wife’s eyes, sufficed to blind him wholesomely to her faults. No fear of any more “difficulties" to the end of their days. And when, the last Sunday she was with him, he went, a little against his will, but just to please her, to the ugly Presbytc-rian Church six miles off, and, sitting between his wife and his mother, listened to the singing, rather nasal and drawling, but not unsweet, of the'23d Psalm, “My table Thou hast furnished In presence of my foes; My head with oil Thou dost anoint, And my cup overflows,” his heart melted, for he felt his cup did indeed “overflow” His “table,” too, was likely to be “furnished”—better than he had once had any hope of. When his mother spoke of business matters, and insisted on his giving ®P bis work at the mill, and living as a

“■vntletnan,” he had refused point-blank, declaring his determination to carve out his own fortune, and make his own independent way in the world. But when, on the day of baby’s christening, he found that Mrs. Jardine. who never did things by halves, and was as generous in her loves as ungenerous in her dislikes, had settled upon baby’s mother —not father—a sum of several thousand pounds, sufficient to remove all fear of the future from the parents’ hearts, Roderick was deeply moved. “She is a good woman—my mother! My father was right to respect her and love her, as he did to the very last. God bless them! I have need to be proud of both my parents.” “Yes,” said Silence, gently, as she stooped and kissed her son, who lay fast asleep on her lap. But her own life taught her to understand other lives; what were, and what they might have been. And hey life is all before her still, for she is yet comparatively a young woman, though her boys—and she has not one, but several—begin to measure heights with her, and to reckon how soon they will be “up to mother’s shoulder.” “Father” is a standard which none of them hope to arrive at, either physically, mentally, or morally. To be so tall, so clever, or so good as he —none of these lads could ever imagine such a thing. They do not merely love him, they adore him. And they are right, or at least two people, their mother and their grandmother, believe so. Roderick Jardine lives still at Blackhall, keeping up the old family home in comfort, but yet in great simplicity, as is wisest, with his increasing family. Besides, his early experiences have given him a horror of luxury, of that wealth which is mere wealth and nothing more. The Jardines of Blackhall hold themselves to be truly “rich” people, because they always have a little more than they spend; they use their money without abusing it, and therefore enjoy it te the uttermost, and cause others besides themselves to enjoy it, too. But their sons are all brought up to abhor extravagance, waste, or self-indulgence, -aware that each will have to make his own way in the world, as is best for every man, and woman, too, perhaps. Sometimes Roderick says if he had many girls he would bring them up, like the boys, to earn their own living—as their mother once did —so that they might taste the sweetness of independent bread, and never be tempted for aught but love. But he has only one girl, his little“Tacita”—her right name is Silence, but he will not have her called so—one of “papa’s odd ways,” as he grows older.

He may never be, strictly speaking, a “great” man, but everybody recognizes him as a cultivated man of very considerable talent —“known in the gates,” as his wife delightedly sees, every year more and more. But it is more by his pen than his personality, for he seldom goes from Lome, except once a year to Richerden to see his mother and the family. A not too attractive family, but he is very kind to them, even to Mrs. Alexander Thomson and her numerous brood of sickly, illtempered children, whom she brings with her sometimes to get a breath of wholesome life, within and without, in the happy atmosphere of Blackhall. “Young Mrs. Jardine," as she continues to be called, for old Mrs. Jardine may live to be ninety, still looks so young, so fair! her peaceful, contented heart shining through her “heavenly” eyes. The world has never heard of her, never will hear, except through her husband and her sons. She does not “shine in society,” though she is well able to keep up the dignity of the family wherever she goes. But of her own dignity, her own praise, she thinks very little, having, indeed, far too many other and more important things to think about. Aa wife, as mother, as mistress, her burdens are often pretty heavy, but never more than she can bear. And he helps her, as she helps him—the husband of her youth, who will, please God, be the saiths idlest, fondest lover of her old age. That time is still a good way off, and they may yet have much to bear together. They will bear it. because it is borne together. And I think, if any one were to ask Roderick Jardine what has been—in plain English—the backbone of his life, his preservation from evil, his incentive to all good, he would say it was that strong first love and venturous early marriage; because be had sense to see and to take hold of the blessing that heaven dropped in his path—that treasure “above rubies” which most men desire, and so few win, or deserve to win. But Roderick did. He says sometimes that he should like to have carved on his tombstone, as the root of all his happiness, all his success, that line written by one great and good man of another—perhaps the noblest man of this century, “Who loved one woman, and who clave to her.” “But,” he adds, “it was because my wife was Silence Jardine." (The End.)

Democratic Cluseret.

Cluseret, who afterward became the notorious leader of the Paris Commune, was an honored officer of the Union army during the civil war, and at one time held a commission as Colonel on General McClellan’s staff, and was consequently the superior officer of the late Count of Paris, who was then serving on McClellan’s staff, together with his brother, the Due de Chartres, accompanied by their uncle, the Prince de Joinville. Cluseret, though circumstances brought him much in company with the young princes, never called them “monselgneur” or “my lord,” but plain “monsieur” or “misfer.” This proved offensive to the young Due de Chartres, who one day took up the cudgels In what he regarded as his brother’s defense. “Colonel Cluseret,” he asked, “why do you not call my brother ‘my lord?’ ” "Well, for one reason,” answered Cluseret, “because he Isn't my lord.” “But you call him ‘monsieur,’ and you know that really ’monsieur’ and ‘monseigneur’ are the same word.” “Oh, very well, then,” said Cluseret; “perhaps you will call me “monseigneur?’ It won’t offend me at all, and since they’re the same, I will call $-ou monsieur.’ ”

Time Spent with the Barber.

“Speaking of barbers,” remarked the club kicker, although, to tell the truth, nobody had mentioned barbers, “I have just finished a fifty minutes’ siege In one of those infernal tonsorial establishments. Fifty minutes! Just think of it. What a lot of things a man might do during the time he spends waiting his turn in a barber shop before he even has a chance to get shaved. I’ll wager that on an average it takes 20 minutes of my time every day. Some days it’s probably less, and some days a good bit more. But we’ll say twenty minutes, anyhow. Now, I get shaved every day. There are 365 days in the year, and 20 minutes every day would make—let me see—that would make 7,300 minutes in a year. Sixty minutes to an hour would be a little over 121 hours, and 24 hours in a day would make— Great Scott! if anybody had told me I spent over five days every year In a barber shop I would hate called him a fool.”— Philadelphia .Record*

THE SARDINE FISHERS.

A LEADING INDUSTRY ON THE COAST OF BRITTANY. Catching tha Little Fish in Nats 1,000 Fast Long - - Work of tha Curing Faotorias. Early in April the sardine fishers along the coast of Brittany begin their prepar&tßHls for the season’s work. The boats are turned to the warm spring sun and calked, the nets which have been stored away all winter long are spread out on the sand, and white haired grandfathers, who are no longer capable of going to sea, bend over them with balls of bright new twine and mend the holes in the meshes. In the last of the month, when the cherry trees are in full bloom, the fishers begin to Thatch for the bubbling of the sardines, far out on the waters of the sea, for they know that vast shoals of the little fish are on their way from the coast of Africa, up through the Bay of Biscay to the north, like a flock of migratory birds, and that they must be caught, if at all. as they pass. Presently some old fisher thinks he sees the water ruffling as if the waves played on a bar of sand. The word spreads rapidly and the boats put out from the shore and race to the shoal. Sometimes in order to be on hand at the first catch fishers leave in the evening and anchor at sea. As the bubbling area approaches the boats spread out with the nets, which are about 1,000 feet long and four feet wide, between them. The lower edge of each is held down with lead weights and floated at the tops with corks. When the net is extended the water is “baited” by throwing balls of “roque” into it. As the bait dissolves and sinks the sardines rise and remain long enough to nibble it, and their doom is sealed. For this reason “roque” is a most important part of the sardine fisher’s outfit. It is made of the eggs of mackerel and codfish mixed with clay and is rather expensive, costing from $7 to sl7 a barrel, As the shoal of fish reaches the region of the nets they are carefully inclosed and drawn to the boats. At nightfall the fleet returns to shore, each boat full of fish—lf the day’s catch has been ordinarily good—and the load is taken in baskets by the men, women and children, in a long procession, up to the cannery. Sales are made by the thousand, and the prices vary according to the size aud freshness of the catch. Inside the curing (aetpyiesor canneries everything is bustle and confusion, for there must not be a moment’s deluy in cleaning the fish. All night long the work is carried on by the light of blazing oil wicks. For the most part the wives and children of the fisherman are employed at wages almost inconceiveably small. The sardines are spread on long benches or tables, where salt is dusted over them. Then the women go along and snip off the heads with great rapidity. When the cleaning is finished a man gathers up the sardines and throws them into a big vat of brine, where they remain aDOut half an hour. They are next washed in clear water and then laid out on screens to dry. As soon as their sides assume a peculiar parched appearance they are gathered up into a wire basket and dipped into boiling oil, after which they are passed along to the packers. The little flat boxes so well known to commerce are taken one by one and filled from the glistening pile of fish, after which pure olive oil from the province of Bari, Itavy, is poured over them and the tops soldered on. All of this work is done with a deftness and rapidity that is astonishing. In the meantime a great caldron of hot water has been raised to the boiling point ready for the real operation of cooking the fish. The sealed boxes are thrown into it and left for two or three hours. If any oil appears on the top of the water the master workman knows that some can has not been properly soldered, and the loss is charged up to the man who did the work. A good workman will not lose more than two or three boxes in a hundred. When the boxes are taken out the labels are put on and they are then ready for the market. Boneless sardines are especially prepared for the New York trade by several of the factories and they command a high price. Sardines are also canned with tomatoes, and in this form they are very largely exported to Mexico. Sometimes the oil in the cans is replaced by vinegar and sometimes by butter, but the sardines in these forms are never as good. The market price of sardines per case of one hundred boxes is about $lO, delivered free of charge at Havre or Bordeaux. The total exportation to the United States reaches a half a million dollars a year. The sardine season in Brittany lasts about five months and 2.500 boats manned by 15,000 sailors are engaged in the work. The employes in the factories number about 10,000 women and several thousand men and children. The industry originated in Nantes, France, in 1884, and the best brands in the world still come from there. Spain and Portugal send out a cheaper grade. Of late years a great many sardines are being caught and canned along the Pacific coast in this country. Japan and New Zealand catch and pack a good many sardines.

A DELUSIVE INSECT.

You Cannot Distinguish It From a Twig. I Unique among the insect creation are the stick insects, which have the peculiar gift of making others believe that they are inanimate objects. This insect is commonly met with in the high, dry, yellow grass of Nyassaland, in South Africa. When it is in repose, with its legs stretched closely against its back, it is difficult to believe that it is not a dry twig. It is necessary to touch it in order to find that it is alive. Tire insects smaller and weaker than itself which do this are eaten as a reward for their inquiring spirit. The twig insect undoubtedly lives by its shape, which helps to provide It with food at a minimum of ezer-

tion. It enables it to escape from all sorts of dangers. Other animals with a taste for insect food seldom detect it owing to Its twig-like appearance. Moreover, it is hardly worth their while to trouble about such an elusive animal. But no animal seems born to enjoy this life without worries and enemies. It appears that there is a curious and large toad that makes a specialty of finding twig insects. This toad would rather hunt twig insects than eat the juciest and most easily caught green flies The stick insect is a member of the mantis group, several members of which have remarkable qualities. One of them, perhaps the best known, is the praying mantis. When in repose it appears to be on its knees, and its forelegs are raised and clasped together like the hands of a person at a prayer As it has large eyes, which it turns upward, its whole attitude suggests that it is engaged in earnest prayer. The mantis family includes the leaf insect, the spectre insect and several others. They have the power of Imitating leaves and blades of grass. The mantidae have a narrow, compressed and’elongated abdomen and a long thorax. The head is triangular, with two large eyes, three small Btemmatlc eyes and long bristle-like antennae. The wings fold in fanlike manner, and the wing-covers aro long, narrow and thin. The second and third pair of legs are long and slender and are used only for locomotion. The first pair are used as weapons of combat and instruments of prehension, and in the case of the praying mantis for the purpose of deluding the pious. One part of the leg closes on another so tigntly as to cut like a pair of scissors. All the mantidae have a of waiting for their prey. Many of them—as, for example, the stick insect —are very large. Some South American ones are four inches in length. They are usually very pugnacious, fighting much among themselves. A fight usually ends in one of the combatants losing his head. Tho victor eats the remains. The Chinese catch specimens of one mantis family and set them to fight, betting on the result.

WHAT IS A GOPHER?

Rat, Squirrel, Snake or Turtle, According to Looatlon. “If you should ask a man from the Illinois prairies what a gopher was, he'd tell you it was a gray squirrel that burrowed in the ground/’ said a man who seemed to know what he wa» talking about. “If you should ask the same question of a man from the prairies further west, he’d tell you a gopher is a striped squirrel that lives in holes in tho ground. “A Missouri farmer would declare that a gopher was a mole-footed brown rat that digs its way under the surface in that State. A man from Georgia would probably surprise you by the assurance that a gopher was a snake, and the Florida native would unhesitatingly inform you that a gopher was a turtle. And the funny part of It is every one of them would be right. A gopher is a gray squirrel that burrows, a rat that burrows, a snake that doesn’t, and a turtle that does, according to the locality; but the most interesting of these is the burrowing turtle. “This turtle is peculiar to Florida, and is an important factor in the domestic economy of the cracker population, for the cracker* dotes on the gopher and thinks it is the finest thing in the edible line ever created. I don’t agree with the cracker, for I don’t like the company the gopher keeps in its character bf turtle, and I don’t see how anything can be good and habitually keep bad company. “Strange as it may seem this Florida turtle doesn't like the vicinity of water, but selects the high, dry, sandy ridges for its home. The gopher digs a deep hole and a long one in the ground, and remains there all the time it is not out grazing, for this turtle is a grazer, living on the wild grasses that abound in its vicinity. It is never happy, though, unless its burrow is shared by a colony of lizards and a cheerful family of rattlesnakes. “Find agopherholo in Florida and you will find from one to half a dozen rattlesnakes and twenty lizards of all sizes, colors and degrees of hideousness, occupying it with the builder and owner of the burrow. Tho gopher plainly loves this deadly association, although it is Itself as meek and harmless as a dove. No dweller in those parts of Florida where the gopher is found ever goes anywhere without a bag slung over his shoulder. This is to carry home gophers in, for he is pretty sure to find some of them pasturing. “The moment the gopher is surprised it shuts itself securely in its shell and the cracker tumbles it into his bag. The gophers are also trapped by digging a hole close to the entrance to the burrow and sinking a barrel or box into it. When the gopher comes out he tumbles into the trap and can’t get out. What terrapin are to the high-living epicure those gophers are to the Florida cracker.”

A Hint Which Is Quits Effective.

The night clerk in any big newspaper office has his hands full of work, but time and time again is bothered by the tramp who wanders in to get a warming. Ostensibly the visitors looks over the file to search with advertisements, but with bowed heads soon fall to sleep, The truo tramp can go to sleep standing as long as the surroundings are warm. A night clerk in a newspaper office has discovered a sure way of ousting these undesirable denizens without force. He keeps a small collection of t|he electric light lamps that have become useless. He waits until the tramp is dreaming his soundest, and then throws one of these innocentlooking globes at his feet. There is an awful explosion. The tramp looks around in wonderment and fright. The imperturbable clerk is hard at his books entering the last “ads” sent in, and the tramp “scoots,” thankful to hare escaped some greater danger.

FOR THE YOUNG FOLKS.

THE WATBRKAI.L. How does the water come down, do you think. In Its rapid descent, when it reaches the brink Of tL«, precipice, fearful, rugged, and steep? It comes on a run, with a jump and a leap; It comes with a sputter, a swash, and a splash; It comes with a roar, a rumble, and dash; It comes in a way, which, after all, Is best described by the word, “Waterfall.” AN OCEAN POSTOFFICE. There are postoffices in the United States where the postmaster receives less than a dollar a year salary, but the smallest, simplest and best protected postoffice in the world is in the Straits of Magellan,and has been there for many years. It consists of a small keg or cask and is chained to the rocks of the extreme cape In the straits opposite Terra del Fuego. Each passing ship sends a boat to take letters out and put others in. The postoffice is self-acting and unprovided with a postmaster, and is therefore under the protection of all the navies of the world. CAT AND DOG. A Brooklyn man is the owner of a large, black Newfoundland dog and a little white cat. When the dog was only two weeks old he gave it to the cat to adopt, she having at that time an interesting family of six kittens. She made room for him at once. Of course he grew very rapidly and in a short time was bigger than his foster mother, but he evidently appreciated the care bostowed upon him, and was never rough or unruly toward his little companions. The old cat continued to watch over him tenderly, and it was very funny to seo her bristle up and fly at any dog that dared to approach her charge. Now that he is a year old, the big dog watches over the cat, and woe betide the dog that dares to snarl at her.

AN ODD HAPPENING. Once something very odd lndoed happened to a Topeka (Kan.) dog. He was a terrier, and a mighty rat hunter. One day as he was in his master’s store a mouse jumped down from a shelf and darted along the floor. Ipstaptly the tyrlor wus og Ids track. Mousle dodged In and out, and finally leaped Into a great earthen butter jar that had just noon emptied. There he was safe as in a stone tower; the dog could not get at him; but the mouse did not feel so sure of that; he couldn’t be comfortable with those fiery eyes glaring at him from above. He raced around and around his refuge, and tried to climb its walls, but, beside being steep, they were slippery with butter and could not bo souled. Suddenly one of the men looking on tipped down the jar and he darted—where to you think? down the dog’s throat 1 The terrier stood waiting, openmouthed, greody, and the moment the jar was tipped that buttered mouse went down his throat without either of them knowing it! The dog was confounded. VVhero hail that mouse gone? No game had evor before oscaped him so strangely. He hunted and hunted, and finally wont home with his tail drooping, perplexed and baffled. For days afterward his master laughed to catch him furtively searching about in that corner of the store for tho mouse he had swallowed I

THE RATTMSU'S FOE. The' rattlesnake is justly the most feared of the reptiles of North America. £ut ho has un antagonist in the king snake worthy of his steel. The king snake is a harmless snnke so far as man is concerned. Its bite Is not poisonous. Jiut it is the rattlesnake’s most deadly enemy. The following story illustrates this fact. A boy in Mississippi recently started out one morning to cut a small hickory for an ax bundle. Seizing his hatchet, he climbed tho hill, and all went well until just as the hickory was falling, when the lad, who had been keeping a sharp lookout, as he thought, saw a huge rattler almost at his feet. The strokes of the hatchet had prevented his hearing the warning rattle of the serpent, and it was preparing to strike. With a cry of terror he sprang wildly down the slope, stumbled and fell. Then there was a crash from above, and he was pinned to the earth, with the tree resting across his back in such a manner that he could not readily extricate himself. The noise made had been sufficient to arouse tho ire of all the snakes within hearing, and the lad saw them coming from all directions, hissing and rattling. At the same time the snako close by was evidently preparing to strike him full in the face. With a rattle of increased anger its head Hew back, but just as it darted forward a long, slim, brown spotted body shot across Hoover’s face, and in a trice was wrapped around the yellow throat, safely behind the deadly fangs. The rattler had met his master, the king snake. A short, sharp struggle ensued, and then the king snake leisurely uncoiled and crawled away, leaving its huge adversary dead. As for the remaining rattlesnakes they had glided swiftly into their holes, and tho boy soon released himself from his perilous position.

The Government a Great Publisher.

How vast a business is carried on by the Government printing, office may be gathered from the fact that more than 8,000 operatives are employed, at wages aggregating about $2,1)00,000 a year; that 40,888,598 copies of separate documents were ■printed in 1894; that the number of pages of type set the same year was 280,152 (exclusive Of the Congressional Record), and that for a single report (that of the Secretary of Agriculture) more than 1,000,000 pounds of book printing papey were received. The statement frequently made that this is the most extensive printing office in the world is borne out by its operations, although by no means

true of its building The latter Is t® the last degree unsuited to so vast a business, being old, overcrowded, and notoriously unsafe. The rapid development and increase of government printing is shown conspicuously In the figures of its annual cost. In 1819 all the printing and binding of the government required an expenditure of only #63,000. In a report made to Congress in 1859, the whole cost from 1819 to 1858 was stated at #B,574,842, while the printing for the six years 1858 to 1859 cost #8,462,655, or about as much in six years as in the previous thirty-three years. This extravagance led to the final establishment of the Government printing office; and the greatly expanded business of multiplying books and documents ever since is shown in the figures of annual expenditure, which were In 1868, for printing and binding, #1.417,750; in 1870, #1,609,860; in 1880, #2,084,751; in 1890, #8,124,462; and in 1894 #3,940,410. The cost of Government printing and binding in Great Britain in 1894 was £522,500, or about #2,600,000; but as this included stationery for all the public offices, and as no free document distribution exists there,except one copy to each member of Parliament, there are far more elements of contrast than of comparison.

An Affectionate Family Horse.

Perhaps a good deal of the Listener's personal love for horses is traceable back to a single incident of his early childhood. At the age of six he once mounted Old Rosy (the term “old” at that time was merely one of endearment, for the mare was not us old as the boy) to ride to a neighbor's. The mare was fat and sleek, and so was the boy; her back was so round that her spine was a little hollow Instead of a projection. On this glossy round back was no saddle, not even a blanket; the fat little boy’s short legs simply stuck out into the air on either side. The greuter part of the journey had been achieved, and the boy and mare were returning homeward, when, In going down a slope, Rosy Inadvertently began to trot; and the boy, having no king of anchorage, begaq to slide forward upon tfie mare’s neck. Upon that he lgt go the bjjdly, hugged tha heck and Screamed. Not kn'owirfg quite what this performance meant, Rosy continued to trot placidly down the hill, and the boy continued to slide. Doubtless she thought it was somo new kind of boy's play. At last ho slid clear over her jjead, and rolled upon the ground. The mare must have eased the fall for him by ducking her neck slowly, and she certainly kept her feet entirely clear of him. He simply rolled into the ditch by the side of the road, quite unhurt but boo-hoolng lustily. And then comes the pretty port of the story. The young mare did not go on ten steps after tho small boy rolled off her neck, but stoppod turned back, came down to the screaming child nosed him affectionately, and, as he will swear to his dying day, comforted him as best she could. She showed him that the bridle reins were hanging down within his reach. Under such an influence the boy of six—which is an age, It is scarcely needful to say, when few Boston boys are intrusted with tho management of a horse—stopped weoplng, got up, took hold of the bridle, and refioctlngly led the mare homo.

The Great Firefly.

Tho great firefly—elater noctllucus —is an inhabitant of the savannahs of most of the warmer purts of America and tho West India Islands. It is said to attain a length of an inch and a half. In the gloom of night theso flies are extremely luminous, and tho effect is brilliant. The light chiefly proceeds from four parts, viz., from two glandular spots behind the eyes, and one under each wing. They have the power to cut off the light at will, in which case the glandular spots become perfectly opaque. The light of this wonderful insect by itself is such that if the creature be held in the palm of the hand, print or manuscript is as easily read as by a candle. The aboriginal natives cage these creatures and muke use of them, it is alleged, as lanterns. Ladies adorn themselves with this electric-like luminary. It is related of Don Domingo Conde of Columbia that he would appear on the evening promenade with a large firefly ornamenting the buckle of his broad hat, while a band of smaller luminous Insects surrounded it. The same Spaniard lighted his palace with fireflies in silver cages. The display must have been enchanting, for at one time the light is ruddy, at another tho tinge is greenish, then there is a change to golden yellow. It is stated thut when tho Spaniards were about to land one of their expeditions against Mexico a panic was caused by these luminaries. The host of flitting lights on land was supposed to be an indication of the enemy arousing their camp to resist the attack. When the English were attacking the West India Islands the fireflies were taken to be a Spanish army, advancing with burning matches against them, and the upshot was a hasty retreat to the ships.

Australian Ladybirds.

The State Board of Horticulture is sending to various Coast counties colonies of ladybirds,the natural enemies of the black scale and other parasites that attack fruit trees. The ladybirds are placed upon soft moss in small round boxes, which are sent through the mail. Fifty are placed in each box and about 500 boxes will be sont out These ladybirds are the descendants of ten obtained by the Board from Australia about, three years ago- They perform very effective work and have been very beneficial to various orchards throughout the State. Tens of thousands of them have been propagated in the office of the Commission, and the gentlemen, in charge of these insects, who have seen eighty-five generations wax fat in the glass jars in which they are kept, feel like patriarchs whenevet they look at the little red beetles.