Democratic Sentinel, Volume 20, Number 24, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 June 1896 — UITLXDOBB AND SUCTrLXOOOK. [ARTICLE]

UITLXDOBB AND SUCTrLXOOOK.

It is much to be regretted that the p etty, graceful and healthful game of battledore and shuttlecock has gone out of fashion, but in those older countries of China, Japan, and in all the Indo-Chinese nations, where fashions do not change so readily as with us, it is still a favorite pastime. The Siamese, for Instance, are very expert at this game, but they play it without battledore, and not wi h the hand, but with the foot. An English traveler thus describes a game: “About thirty young men stood in a circle; the shuttlecock was exactly such as we have in Englaud, but the battledore was the sole of the foot. I never witnessed such remarkable agility in my life as was displayed by these lads. One threw the shuttlecock to some one opposite; the young man on whom it would threaten to alight instantly prepared himself to receive it, and wheeling sharply around, would kick his right leg up so scientifically and correctly, that the shuttlecock would just alight on the sole of bis foot, and rebound with amazing elasticity, being caught up by the next person it approached in .precisely the same style; and in this method 1 have seen the game kept up for nearly a space of ten minutes without the shuttlecock once falling to the ground." The Chinese play the game in the sama manner, and not ouly youths and lads take part, but also full-grown men, and even active old gray beards who take extraordinary pride In their skill and adroitness. The Burmese use a shuttlecock much larger thau the one with which we are familiar, an 1 bring knees 'nto play aa well as bauds. The bill is hollow, and made of #dckerwork; the art of the game consists in striking this upward with the foot, or the leg below the knee. The players make stupendous efforts to send the ball as high as possible in the air, and so that it shall fall within the limits of the ring, when it is again tossed by the foot or knee of another. Sometimes loosely tied coins are fastened underneath the shuttlecock, the clicking noise warning the players that the shuttlecock is approaching them.

THE OAT IN TJIB I’OWDER MAQAZINM. ' There is a large white cat at the Presidio that refuses to make her home anywhere but in one of the small mortar magazines. She has been living there for nearly two years and has dodged all attempts to kill her. Pussy has some reason of her own for living there, and also a private entrance to the place. No matter when tiie magazine is opened she is sure to jump out and run for the nearest clump of trees, where she will remain in hiding. How she gets back to her strange abiding place is a mystery, as a careful search has failed to reveal any bole large enough for her to pass through. But, of course, there must be one, and it could be found if anybody dared make an examination with a light. About a year ago a litter of kittens almost grew to maturity in the magazine, but were not taught bow to get out. As a consequence they met a speedy death when they wero found. Pussy was not discouraged, however, for in a few months another litter arrived, but were found when very young and sent to join their brothers and sisters. It frequently happens, that the magazine will not lie opened for weeks, but when it is the men are always on the lookout for the white cat. A number of them stand near the entrance with clubs and strike at her. But the cat always watches her chance and manages to escape. She has aso been successful in refusing to have anything to do with traps or poison that have been set tor her. There is considerable danger in the cat living in the magazine, as she might upset some of the shells or chunks of dynamite and blow up everything in the neighborhood. It would be easy enough to shoot her, but that would also cause an explosion that might cause the loss of many lives. But that seems to be the only sure way of getting rid of the cab A DECORATION-DAY PARADE. “I’ve alius keered for children," said Aunt Hannah, looking pensively down the shady lane as she might have looked back through the quiet thoroughfare of her past days. 1 ‘They’re a sight of company, an’ some has the wisdom of the angels; an’ them that knows children’s lives an’ ways won’t call that no irreverence. ‘ ‘Two year ago come the first of April the Baileys moved inter that yaller bouse to the cross-roads. Bailey, he was mlsfortunate alius—naturally shiftless—an’ Benny, the boy, ’bout eight years old, was one of them solemn-eyed, quiet, an’ not meddlin’ children, that a single woman, advanced in years, generally takes to. “Benny an’ me was great friends, and he worritin’ because I had no grandchildren, an’ his gran’ma bein’ dead, he adopted me, an’ alius called me ‘Gran.’ “Two year ago come Decoration Day I looked up from my knittin’, an’ there stood Benny in that very kitchen door. He had queer bome-cut trousies on, an 1 a gingham waist, an’ little copper-toed boots that he set great store by. Behind him was his sister Susy, six years old, an’ Betty, the two-year-old, toddlin’ along, an’ two freckled boys that lived in the neighborhood. They all ’peared dreftul solemn an’ important. “ ‘Up to some mischief, I’ll be bound," Isays.

“ 'No, gran,’ says Benny, his lips, that had the baby curve to ’em yet. tremblin'. ‘lt’s Decumrstion Day. an’ there aint no p'rade like there used ter be to Gardiner ’fore we moved—we alius moved—an these boys says there aint no Decumration bere’t ail.’ “ ‘Aint no soldiers’ graves,’ I says, cheerfui-like, goin’ to my cooky-box. •“Oh, ihereis!’ he calls out, breathless. ‘Over to the graveyard in the pine woods there’s a Cap’n Dean that was a Union sold'er, an’ fit in the war. Johnny's mother kDowed him, an’ there’s another grave, too—a old, old one that's got a funny face on the stone, an' that's a Revolutionary one. 1 “ ‘Wanter know!’ I says, givio’ each one a sugared cooky with a round hole in it, that I knowed they'd appetite for in spite of the excitement. “‘An’ we’re goin’ ter p’rade,’ cries Benny, *an' I thought mebbe you’d make us flags, little miter ones that aint no trouble. Busy’s got her apron full er Mayflowers we got yesterd’y, an’ Billy kin do “Msrcbin’ Through Georgy" on his mouthorgin beautiful!’ “With tremblin’ Angers I made five little flags somehow, an’ fastened them on sticks for the regiment. “ ‘Couldn’t we have,’ says Benny, kind o’ hesitatin' an' lookin’ with longin' eyes at my flowerpots, *some of them red geraniums, them that's most wilty? 'i ause they’re growed flowers, an’ our'n we jest found!’ ‘• • Where’s you manners ? says Busy, scoldin’-woman fashion. “ ‘They’re for soldiers,’ Benny insists, an’ I cut him ray choicest blossoms. Surely there wa’n’t never a sweeter use for ’em. “Away went that p'rade then, Benny ahead with the flag an’ the bouquet, Billy with the mouth-organ, an’ Johnny, straight an’ stately, with the biggest flag-staff, an’ Busy witli her apron full of sweet-smeltlu’ Mayblossoms, au’ the toddlin' baby fetchin’ up the rear, keepin’ in line with the rest of ’em. “Wal, somethin' bright an’ beautiful bloomed on them two lone graves under the pines by the side of them little flags wavin' in the wind, an' the best was the little bud of patriotism in them children's hearts! “‘What's that fandango V says Jason Mead, drlvln' by whilst I watched the p'rade go over the hill to the pine woods. “ ‘Wal, 1 swan!’ says he, when I told kim. Both on us couldn't speak then. “Last Decoration Day 1 went to the graveyard alone. It was a solitary p'rade all to myself. The Baileys had moved away, an’ there wa’n’t no one to remember the day. I carried three bouquets of my best flowers. No, I couldn’t forgit them soldiers' graves. My best blossoms I laid onto a little mound by that grave of the Revolutionary soldier’s, who’d ben at rest near a century. “The Baileys didn't take Benny away, for the Father wanted hint. He lays in God's-acre. I call it that ’cause them Is such hopeful words to us all. He was alius an angel child. “I’d like to thluk that them dead soldiers knowed of that Decoration p'rade, an’ that littlo act of reverence an’ love as pure an’ free as sweet wild roses onto a grave"