Ligonier Banner., Volume 14, Number 44, Ligonier, Noble County, 19 February 1880 — Page 3

The Ligonier Banuer, o 1 D,

' THE POLYPHONE. o BY THE LATE IRWIN RUSSELL. PROFESSOR JONES was very wise, And wore green goggleson his eyes—- . Or 'twbuld be better, I suppose, . ‘To say he wore 'em on his nose— g And was 80 very tall and slim ; The street-boys made a jest of him, : And to his ganments would attach o The label: * Here's a walking match.” | Yet this ungainly friend of ours ! Made daily gain in mental powers. . © . To him each coming moment brought = * % Some thing of moment—fact or thought— = ,&’nd he could bid the boys defiance - - hen rambling in the paths of Scienoce. ~ For many weeks Professor Jones I Made study of _thé laws of tones Of ghonngraphs, aund telephones, And megaphones, he hada store - That filled up half his study floor—‘The number of his tools, indeed, . . . : .Would make a work, too long to read With any sort of satisfaction; ‘But magnets were the chief attraction. |With these he labored, much intent - On making a new instrument ; Which Bhould, by means of sdund-vibrations, Make both ‘“*transmissions” and translations. Baid he: * For speech, we must have tone, * And every language has its own— ‘ {Our high-toned English such-and-such, ! And so-and-so th}e lowest Dutch)— [ts given -rules to fuide inflection In some particular direction. There’s philologie evidence - . That all our languages commence | In some lost parent tongue—each ropt . Each Nation modilies to suit— ! JAnd languages, 'tis clearly found, In no way differ but in sound. Now, diaphragms may well be trusted, ; If once they’re properly adjusted. For language A and language B, According to the phonic key, ‘(And tnen connected in a circuit ! By persons ¢vnpetent to work it), . To transpose these root-derivations Which difter with the tones of nations— . ‘So if one ‘sends’ an English sermon . 'Twill sound asound discourse' in German, And our' [talian learned at home ; Can be well understood at Rome.”’

So saying, the Professor toiled, . J = And hammered, polished, filed and oiled, Until, adjusted and connected, Behold the polyphones perfected! . ‘One stood upon the study table, And one was down-stairs in the stable, Where curious neighbors might not spy it, And naught remained to do but try it. A boy placed at the sending station, ; . To speuk (for a ¢onsideration) - : The noble language.of our Nation, - Professor Jones hied up the stair To listen to the sounds, up there, - Which would at once, no doubt, determine It English could be changed to German. - "That boy be&ow, sad to relate, : ‘Was not in a regenerate state: His language did not smack of schools, ‘Or go by proper laws and rules— - His speech was very shrill. but oh! Its tone was most exceeding low! S 0 then and there the stable rang , With slang, and nothing else but slang, - Which, having no ,equivalent - I - In German, c,logfged the instrument— And while the disappointed Jones Stood gquaking at the horrid tones - That came from the receiving-plate;’ : Discordant, inarticulate, : : The Loy began the last new song— : There was a clang, as from a gong— And shattered were the polyphor.es, _ .&ad eke the intellect of Jones! Lo . —Scribner's Monthly.

A NIGHT IN AN AVALANCHE. It was curious enough how I came %0 see an avalanche.’ tVVegdon’t; have many of them in our country, I believe; at least, they never fall near to the highways and country villages, seemingly for the accommodation of sightseers, as they do at the Wengern Alp, and in a hundred other places of Switzerland and the Tyrol. Contrary to all arrangements and expectations of the dear old uncle who had reared me, I had not got further along in life than to a third-class clerkship in the State Department at Washington, and this only because I could write a finé hand and make fancy capitals, said my disappointed uncle. I Dbelieve uncle ' was/® thoroughly -ashamed of mg getting into the Department atall., He would a hundred times over have i)referred that I had been a .common farmer. But when the hard times came, and when the hard times got harder, and the old farm, going undér a mortgage, was only rescued by ‘tny savings as a' third-class clerk, uncle sank his shame‘in his gratitude, and my fancy writing was ridiculed no longer. - A little good penmanship had kept my uncle out of the poorhouse. It did something for me, too, later. : : Still, it was weary enough for me at last, rea,dm%‘ and copying endless dispatches of the Chief Clex%(’ to our Consuls in Europe, and all that without any apparent hope of ever becoming ‘Chief Clerk myself. One day I was copying a dispatch of the Secretary to the Consul at Z——. It was to the effect that from thatiday on he would, in -accordance with his request, be allowed cone thousand dollars a year for clerk hire. ~‘He will want a clerk, then, of course,’’ I said to myself, ‘‘andif I could secure the: situation I might be happy ‘still.” I whistled meditativelx. Iwould "see Europe, at.least, and that would be a change; anyway, I would be no longer liable to become a fixture as a third--class clerk in the Department. I didn’t want promotion so much as I wanted a -change. 1 grot the latter, as the sequel Wwill show. That evening the dispatch -of the Department, copiefi“ in my best hand, left for Europe, accompanied by -.a private note of my own to the Con~sul. As a specimen{‘of my writing, I . referred to the inclosed dispatch, and informed the Consul that I could speak the German language, having learned it, evenings, durm%l my stay in Wash‘ington. Perhaps the last remark, and not my fine writing, settled the busiuess. Clerks who can speak foreign laxllguages are in demand with our Con--suls. / : : In six weeks from that day 1 had geeped' into the %reat cities of London, aris and Brussels, and was now standing at the clerk’s desk of the American Consulate at Z —. = - 0 The business was not burdensome. With the office open but five hours a day we were ’h;&_P&S)’. - I had beautiful ‘tines-—so did the Consul. . : What'],;wond‘irtully ‘various duties “Consuls 'have to vgzrfdrm in these five ‘hours, though! What a combination of _pater and mater familias the Consul is! Thngh ‘never severe, his work is as multifarious as are the characters of a thousand tourists. His office is the ; & nd depot for all strange things. The , ‘ l.‘utxzy——wasnosxceptionw ‘the ‘rule. It was the receptacle of mrm%-tmm a ddintz; love letter ‘with a lock of hair to wills of invalids ~ therp, many ‘‘loafed” there, and one

in the Consul’'s wood house—just to be under the flag, as it were. i : Tourists and tramps, however, are not alone in furnishing the Consul with the spiced variety of life. Uncle Sam condributes his mite occasionally. Among the Washington letters last winter was one from our WOrthg Commissioner of Pensions, agsking the Consul to investigate and furnish evidence that certain widows and minor daughters of United States pensioners living in his district had not married, and thus forfeited their claim to further aid from the Goveraiment. It was easy enough to secure this evidence in most cases. Those living near the city were invited to call at the Consulate, and it was sometimes a matter of sly pleasure to the Consnl and myself to listen to the embarrassed confessions of pretty widows that Cupid had never cast his net a second time for them. But there was one pensioner from whom repeated official notes, written in good German, and with my finest flourish of capitals, brought no message, pro or con. 7

Pensioner No. 1,004 seemed to feel that Uncle Sam had no right to ask so indelicate a question. All the certificates, except 1,004, were mmdorsed and ready to be returned. “ This pensioner,” said the. Consul to his chief clerk one morning, ¢ is probably either dead or married, and I am determined to find out which. It is not so wonderfully far from here to the village of Bleiberg, and if you have an inclination, you may take the next train and go there. Come back by Saturday, and, of course, make the expense as trifling as you can.”” | ; "I had long wished for a stroll of some sort into the magnificent valleys of the Carinthian Alps, and here seemed my opportunity. : - I can’t say that the cars whizzed me very suddenly away to the pretty town of Bleiberg, for in fact the trains whiz dreadfully slowly in the Tyrol. I was twenty-five miles still from Bleiberg when I transferred my hand valise and myself from a second-class railway car into a first-class mountain diligence. ! s It was a wonderfully beautiful valley I was to ascend to Bleiberg. There are no finer mountain prospects anywhere. It seems to me sometimes that all the ornamental work of the creation has been expended on Switzerland and the Tyrol. . e ' Usually, when in the mountains, 1 pay the diligence conductor a franc pourbotre, ang ride outside with the driver, or up in the imperial, perched like a leather bonnet on the top of the vehicle. I determined fully to do so this time. | : 5 How capricious is the mind of man, I reflected, on entering the little station, and seeing a young lady in a velvet jacket and gray kids buy inside coupe No. 1 for Bleiberg., In a minute and a half I had changed my mind, and was the owner of coupe ticket No. 2; and

yet the weather had not changed, the sun shone as warmly as ever, and the J mountains, right and left, were as magnificent as five minutes before, when I had told the conductor I would share his outside perch with him. The velvet jacket, though fitting closely to a neat form, I didn’t mind so much; but gray kids on a pair of pretty hands inside a diligence coupe, slowly ascending a romantic mountain valley on a charming spring day, were simply irresistible, : I belped my traveling companion to her seat, fixed my own precious baggage into the big box behind, and then proceeded, naturally enough, to occupy inside seat No.-2. There was but one passenger besides myself. I was never in this world accused of being a flirt or a gallant; but I submit to my bachelor readers if there is°anything extraordinary in this fact that in twenty minutes the two occupants 'of that mountain diligence were tolerably acquainted. We spoke, of course, in German. We noted the green fields at. the edge of snowbahks, the singular costumes of the men passing us, and who hailed us with a ¢“ God greet you!’’ as they tipped their broad-brimmed hats. We thought; too, how chilly they must be, even on a day like this, with their open red jackets, breeches only to the knee, and stockings only to the ankle. Still more interesting to us were the women, trudging along in their short black petticoats and dove-gray stockings, though the muddy roads sometimes interfered with any exact discrimination in the shades. What struck us both as very singular, however, was the great similarity of our German accent. Miss Shelton—Miss Mar%:)t Shelton, to be ‘more explicit-—for I had seen her name on the ticket as-I passed it to the conductor—was perfectly certain I was not a Swiss, much less an Austrian, and I was equally confident my fair companion was not a native of the Alps. Her German bore too strong an accent for that. I afterward learned she had thought my own a little curious. Once, just for the sport of the thing, I shouted something to the driver in English. How astonished I was to hear Miss Shelton add to it a phrase as English as my own! We helé) breath to explain, and in almost no time at all discovered that we were both Americans. Stran%er discoveries followed—they always do. Miss Shelton’s father had been a volunteer Captain in our army, and I myself had been within a rifle-shot of him when he fell at Vicksburg. - ~ Her mother, a native of Bleiberg, took this only daughter and returned to her old home, stopping at the solicitations of friends, grst for months, and now it had been years. In a moment I recalled what hag been puzzling me for an hour. I had seen the name Shelton before.somewhere. : ; Who was pensioner 1,004 but Elsie Shelton—why had I not thought of that? —wife of .Cyaptain Shelton, killed at Vicksburg in June, 1863. How extremeig singular! we both exclaimed. Mrs. Isie Shelton, I was soon informed, was not remarried. ' ; ~_The object of my journey was accom--flished. I might return home at once. did not, however. Besides, Miss Shelton insisted that I should go on and visit, pretty Bleiberg, her mother and heml}: I was easily persuaded. ’ - Why had the Consul’s letters not been answered? I asked. as we made a turn “mother and I were both coming next

son. Besides, she is not so r that she cares dreadfully whether d ncle Sam stops the ten dollars or so a month or not. She alwaiyls g::ves half of it to the postmaster’s children and the rest to me for pin-money. Whly, do you know, 1 bought these ve’% gloves with some of that money at Innsbruck only two days ago;’ and here the pretty hands and the gray kid gloves nestled coquettishly on her lap. By noon the churchsteeple of Bleiberg was in sight, and in an hour the driver blew a shrill note or so on his horn, the villagers hastened to the windows of the houses as our four panting ponies passed on a gallop, and the little old postmaster lifted his blue cap and gave us a salute all round. Mrs. Shelton was living with a friend, then absent, in a substantial two-story stone house not far from the post. “This is Mr. —,”” said Miss Shelton, laughing, as she presented me to her mother, *a real American; and, just think, he has come to ask, mamma, if you are married.”” The good-look-ing, embarrassed little widow soon unraveled the nonsense with which Miss Mar§ot was seeking to overwhelm us, and I was welcomed not only as an American, but as one of the ‘boys in blue’” who had been with Grant at Vicksburg. : : When the dinner was over I strolled out through one of the loveliest-situated villages of the Alps. The view down the valley we had just ascended was enchanting. Behind the pretty town, and edged by a green meadow sloping upward, was a forest of tall, dark firs, and above this an alp, angling up the side of 4 steep mountain, inown to all tourists as the ‘“Rigi"”’ of the Kernthal. It was only the 25th of ¥ebruary, but the sun seemed as warm as in midsummer. The grass, so wonderfully green, was high enough for pasture, and violets and daisies peeped out everywhere. It was ‘“dangerously warm, in fact,” muttered the little postmaster in the blue cap, as I handed him a letter to post to the Consul at Z———, saying everything was well, but I couldn’t possibly be back on Saturday—¢‘ dangerously warm, because there had not been so much snow on the mountains in fifty years as now, and already people began to hear of avalanches falling out of season.” .

Bleiberg, however, is safe enough, I thought to myself, as I glanced up the sides of the old peak, where, sure enou%h, there were oceans of snow and ice glistening in the sunshine. But it was a mile away, and between pretty Bleiberg and it swept, like a'dark veil, the forest of tall fir-trees. Besides, how could a village that had slept a hundred years be waked up now toan adventure just to gratify a young American? “I don’t like it—it’s too warm—and there’'s no telling,”” continued my would-be pessimist of a postmaster. “I haven’t lived in these regions wellnigh to fifty years for nothing. Snowing all winter, and hot san and daisies in 'February, aren’t natural. It means avalanches to somebody somewhere.”” i

I had almost forgotten that, as I left the house of my fair entertainers, I was informed that it was carnival-day in the village, and that at three o’clock I must be on hand to see the procession. It was already after three, and I hurried back to be offered a good place to see from, at the upper chamber window of Miss Margot, where, joined by her mother, we awaited the boys in striped trousers and masks, and the men with music and flags. It was a novel sight, as the long procession filed up the road and approached the house where we were ' waiting. A%parade in a mountain valley always is novel. The contrast of the bright colors of the costumes and flags with the green foliage and the greener grass at the road-sides; the comparative silence, disturbed only by the echoing of the notes -of music from the lofty rocks; the seeming diminutiveness of ‘everything—of the men, of the thread-like roads, of even the houses and trees, as seen under the shadow of the towering mount-ains--all added impressiveness to the thing. ' There were possibly a hundred persons in the procession, with a score of boys following at the sides, and all the villagers looking on. 1 don’t know why it was, but somehow they seemed less joyous than I had seen the peasants at other village carnivals. Wgs it the unusual heat; or was there in their minds some flitting presentiment of evil? Some of these old men had had experiences—sad enough, doubtless—of the unexpected dangers to life in these high valleys. I recall now a sort of uneasiness I noticed on the faces of those nearest us, and, as I thought, an occasional glancing dver our house at the great mountain behind. In some mysterious ' way this uncanny feeling was communicating itself to us also. Avalanches, however, give no signs of approaching, no warning. They are unexpected, as sudden as earthquakes, and sometimes lightning is not much more rapid in its work: When a million tons of ice and snow slip from the side of a mountain, they are not long in reaching the bottom. : . The gag 7 procession moved on. The music and the laughter grew merrier. Even the little gostmaster in the blue cap was en%?ge in a loud guffaw at a clown marching on stilts. I had filled my pockets with bonbons at the post, and we were throwing them to the boys nearest us in the procession. : Suddenly the music ceased; there was an awful whizzing in the air; a cry of ‘“‘Avalanche!” ¢Avalanche!’ and in ~an instant roa,rin%‘ and cracking, as of falling forests. In ten short seconds i' an awful flood of snow, mafiled trees, ice and stones passed the house, like the swell of a mighty sea. Everything shook. The procession disappeared as if ingulfed by an earth«auake. Houses, right and left, tumbled over and were buried in one single instant. The air, cooled for a moment, and again hot, was rent with the screams of the manglec,l. An awful catastroghe had befallen us; the wrath of the mountain was upon the villa.ga! For a moment we stood paralyzed—speechless. We Hadbeensaved. = . - ~ My first impulse was to rush to the street, and to drag my cbmgmions with ‘me; but there was no street. Even the garden had disappeared in a foam of ‘window at the embankment, but as we A SR SR B e L e R R T L R T S AR e S

begun. *“The forest!” we all shouted in a breath. It was gone,_all gone, as if mown by a mighty reaper, and masses of other snow seemed ready to slide. The white brow of the mountain still gleamed in the sunshine, and seemed to - laugh at the desolation. Another whizzing, a roar, and with our own eyes we saw the side of the mountain start. Instantly and together we sprang down the steps into the lower room. There was a roll of thunder, a mighty crash, und then all was dfrkness. We were buried alive beneath an avalanche. What my first thoughts were I am unable to recall. I only remember our fearful cries«for help; how we shouted separately, and then united on one word, crying together again and again, our only answer the silence of the grave. Every soul in the village, probably, had been killed, or, like ourselves, ‘had been buried beneath the snow and ice of the mountain. It was only after we had exhafsted ourselves,with vain cries for help that we meditated on helping ourselves. We had lot been injure(f We remembered that we were in the little sitting-room down-stairs, the windows only of which seemed broken in, and filled with snow, ice and stones. The stairway was also filled with snow and the uebris of the crushed walls. Above us all was desolation.

How deep the avalanche lay across us we feared-even to conjecture. Asis my custom when in the Alps, I had a flask in my pocket of the best brandy. I persuaded my companions to drink, and drank myself until the last drop disappeared. Possibly it gave us courage. - - : ‘ g»'The furniture in the room seemed all in its proper place. We could move about, but it was becoming terribly cold, and we felt the sleepy chill, that dreadful precursor’ of death by freezing, overcoming us. Once we were certain we heard voices above us, and again we shouted to try to tell them we were still alive. We listened; the voices were gone—we were abandoned to our fate. ~ For hours we had alternately shouted and listened, until we sank down in despair. It must have been midnight when, in our gropings about the little chamber, our hands came on a wax candle. In a few moments we had light—light to die by. It would have been a strange sight for an artist--that buried room, with the dim light, the windows filled with snow, and the three inmates there waiting death. Once I attempted to encourage my companions, though myself hopeless, by telling of peopfe who had been dug out of avalanches safe and well; but my words brought only groans. Hours went by. Idon’t know whether we were sleeping or freezing, when I started at hearing a voice cry: “A light! a light!”’ 1 sprang to my feet, and again the voice cried: <A light!”” In ten minutes three halffrozen, half-insane human beings were tenderly lifted from the grave into the gray light of the morning. A hundred noble souls had labored the long night through, seeking the buried. Every man and woman, from every village in the whole valley, had hurried to the scene, and was straining every nerve to rescue those to whom life might still be clin%ing. We were among the last taken from the snow and rocks, which had lain upon us thirty feet in depth. Did those brave rescuers wonder that we knelt to them, and kissed the hems of their ragged garments? : Beautiful Bleiberg is no more. Half of those whom we saw dancing along in the procession of the carnival, in the bright sunshine, sleep among the violets on the hill-side. The snow, and the ice, and tlée black bowlders fromthe mountain, and the.dark fir-trees, still lie, in this early summer of 1879, in one mass in the valley. We all left as soon %s we could travel. I went home to My chief has resigned, and I am now acting Consul in his place. Should the Senate confirm all the new appointments, I expect to remain as Consul. Miss Shelton thinks also of remaining, and when Americans wander to Z—— they will find the latch-string of our home at the Consulate on the outside of the door. One word and lam done. Mrs. Shelton has lost a part of her pension—so much of it as was allowed for a minor daughter. I have so reported it to the Commissioner at Wa.slthington.——-Har-per’s- Magazine.

" A Tough Dog. - : CATs have been credited with a large number of lives, but a dog which belongs to a gentleman living at Ashburton, in Devonshire, may fairly compete with any specimen of the feline race. Accompanying his master on a shooting expedition, the dog fell into a mine-shaft, to a depth of some sixty-six feet. As he tumbled dewn the narrow boring, his master distinctly heard his body striking against the earth and rock. For some time those who took an interest in the creature listened, to hear if any sound of pain came up from the depths below, but, as all was silent. they lost hope of the dog being alive, and, in the course of time, almost forgot him. Considerably more than a month elapsed, when one day a howl was heard to proceed from the pit’s mouth. Very quickly a miner was sent for and lowered, when, to the amazement of everybody who watched the proceedings, the long-lost dog was sent up, in a sadly emaciated condition, it is true, but still alive and able to eat. It had been incarcerated in its grison for forty-three days and nights. o far as can be ascertained, it had only had water to live u(fon throughout the whole of that period. The weight of the dog when lost was fifty-six pounds. F%ur days after it had been taken out of the ,sia.ft, it wglifghed only thirty pounds. Yet it is still alive and doing well, rapidly recovering from the privations which it has suffered.—ZLondon Telegraph. L . ~—For a long time it has been known at Washington that Senator Lamar's health was failing, and his recent attack of illness was not a surarise to those who daily met him at the Capitol. He took a house in Corcoran street, almmmmmmwoo?gm so 8s to avoid as far as_possible the noise and excitement of the city.

9 * Youths’ Department. e GRACE. | THEY called her Grace, the bab{ Grace! Because she had such a pretty face. f An only daughter—oh. sne!as fair! L With her rosy checks and her sunny hair.” But the baby Grace would have her way; She wouldn’t be good; she woulc}}n"t obey: And was hard to manage. Oh, what a shame It was to call her by such a name! If they had called her anything plain, o Like Ann Maria or Betsey Jane, It wouldn’t have seemed so out of place; - But who wants to punish a child named Grace? At last she had to be sent to school, ~ ‘Where all was done according to rule, And there she found she had to commence And learn the art of obedience. O—be—di—ence! four syllables strong ' We all must learn as we go along; And Gracie’s progress I’m sure is slow, As her previous studies began with *no!” But after a while, if she gives good heed, . She’ll learn to spell, and she’ll learn to read. And I really hope she will learn—don’t you?— To mind at once when she’s spoken tO. For sweeter than any charm of face Are the winning ways that are full of grace; And when Grace is naughty, it seems a shame That she should have such a pretty name! —Josephine Pollard, i Youth’'s Comganion.‘

TWO SIDES TO A FROLIC. BERT was on one side of the fence and the boys on the other. His hand was on the gate, but he had not quite made up his mind to open it. “Oh, come on,” said Val Morton. What is thq use of moping in the house such a splendid night as this? Come on and have some fun.” ‘I ought to study my Latin,” said Bert, reluctantly, as he remembered the long, dry lesson. e 1 Bot%xer' the Latin; it’s no use, any way. I'dlike to see anybody getting those irregular verbs out of me,” said Will Moore. Bert laughed a little at the idea of getting anything out of Will’s brain, that never had much but mischief in it, and then he slowly opened the gate, drew a long breath and went out. It was a glorious night, with just enough frost in the air to make it cool and crisp, while the white moonlight almost revealed the colors of the maples that had been flaming all day in the hot sunshine. : : : ‘“Where are youc’%oing?” asked Bert. *¢ Oh, just around town,” said Val, carelessly, and at that moment they came opposite Dr. Parker's gate, which stood a little way open. In an instant Val lifted it off the hinges and laid it in the gutter. i “'%‘l:aach him to keep his gate shut,” laughed Will, and Bert laughed, too, though he felt ashamed of himself, for everybody liked Dr. Parker. A tew blocks further on were some wooden steps at the edge of the sidewalk. Will gave Val a nudge, and with one stout tug the steps were upset. ““That's too mean,” said Bert. . Supépose some one should step off there?”’ o ‘“ Pooh!" said Val, ‘it is light as day, and nebody ever does go down there except old Bijah, when he is in a hurry for his grog. Serve him rightif he pitched over.” , ' Bert knew he was in bad company, but he was beginning to enjoy the excitement of the adventure, and when Will proposed that they should carry off the sign from a little shop, and fasten it to the horns of Mrs. McPherson’s cow, he was ready to lend a hand himself. Old Whiteg, who was peacefully chewing her cud, was easily coaxed into an alley with a handful of turnips pulled from her owner’s garden; and before she realized that -ang mischief was intended, she found herself blundering about with a board fastened over her face. The sign( read, ‘“Dressmaking and Fine Sewing; all kinds of Hair W%rk. Ladies’ Hair Dressed in the latest styles.”’ The boys laughed so much over this that they were in danger of being found out. But at last Bert said he must go home, and that ended the frolicfor tfie night. , : ; %n his own room he tried for a little while to fix his mind upon his ' lesson, but soon found himself laughing at the thought of the figure the cow would cut, and wondering where they would find her in the morning; so he tossed the book aside, and went to bed. This was one side. : S

The other side began the next morning, when, with Bert's first waking thoughts, came a consciousness of the unprepared lesson, and a dismal foreboding of failure, that brought him to the breakfast-table in anything but an amiable mood. His father was not there, and Aunt Margaret explained that he had been called away to see a i patient. ! : | *lt’s that smart little Johnny Col-f lins; he’s twisted his ankle dreadfully;: worse to manage than a broken bone, Kour father says, and may lay him up alf the winter.”’ 1 ‘ How did it happen?” asked Bert, absently. 1 ““That’s the worst of it,”” said Aunt *Margaret; ‘some mischievous boys, } that ought to be sept to the Reform School, upset the steps in front of the house.” : ; \ Bert was wide enough awake now, | and staring at Aunt Margaret ‘with frightened eyes as she went on. \ “ Bijah was off on one of his drink- ‘ ing sprees, and his wife was so anxious for fear he’d lain down somewhere on the track that she sent Johnny out to look him up. He ran out of the gate, boy fashion, and made a rush for the steps, never noticing they were gone till he pitched down the bank with his foot twisted under him. He must have fainted and lain there some time before he managed to crawl back, and they didn't send for your father till morning. It does seem too hard for that poor woman. Johnny was her only d%%endence, and such a nice boy.” Poor Bert was fairly sick with horror at the unlooked-for result of the mis- | chief, for th(;l:gh he had made a feeble rotest, he had really sanctioned itwbg Eis presence, and Ze knew that h father would say he was as much regponsible as anyone. His father! must | he know it? Could he ever hold up his head figain—it such a disgrace came upon him? e «D'll never tell him,” thought Bert; it would not do the least good' mow, %mwwmwkmmérww

‘But it.chanced that Bert was nut © have his own wa{ about this mat.cr. That evening when he came hcme smarting - under the mortification of failure in his lessons, and a sense of remorse and shame at his own folly, his father called him into his study. For the first time in his life Bert really dreaded an interview with his father, and when he saw upon a chair the hairdresser’s sign whicgo he had helped to fasten upon Mrs. McPherson's cow, he was| ready to sink with shame. His father talked to him quietly, telling him that for some time the neighborhood had been anmoyed by the mischievous and malicious tricis»of a set of boys, until some of ?he. residents had_ determined that they’ would discever them and make a public' example of them. . R ' . ¢ If it could have been done sooner it would have saved a great deal of suffering to an innocent boy, but perhaps some serious warning was needed for those who do not hesitate to sacrifice their best friends to what they call fun. This morning Dr. Parker ‘called me into his garden and, after showing me the mischief done to his choice vines and plants by some creature that had trampled -over them, he told me that he found Mrs. McPherson’s cow in the %rounds with that sign tied to her horns. The gate had been taken from the hinges, and the animal had apparently been driven about to do as much damage as possible. It seemed almost incredible that any ore would have the boldness to avow such a piece of villainy.” : Bert sat with his eyes fixed-upon the sign, unable to move or speak, but at that instant he saw, written in pencil at the top of the board: ‘¢ Compliments of Bert Andrews.”’ - , . ‘“How-mean,” he exclaimed, angrilyz ¢ That is some of Will Moore's work.” “My boy,” exclaimed his father, looking as if an immense burden‘had been lifted from him. ‘I shall be the ‘happiest man in town to know that you had no hand in this rascally business.”’ Then Bert’s heart fell again. He thought he had only shared in the fun, but he suddenly realized that his companions had so contrived that he should also bear the disgrace and the blame for the unlooked-for results. L : After all, it was a relief to both father and son when the whole story was told. Bert was relieved at having made a full confession and feeling himself restored to his father’s confidence, while his father was glad of the assurance that -his boy had not been guilty of malicious mischief. "« - ' ; - ¢ Nothing more fortunate could have happened ‘t% you than that this very first adventure should bring you into trouble, for remember, my boy, that the acts themselves would have been just as dis+ graceful if things had not resulted as they, did:" The law does not trouble itself about intentions, but holds us responsible for the mischief which results, or which might be expected to result, from our acts.” | e ‘ Father,” said Bert, presently, “I hate to have the boys think I told of them.”’ , . _ ‘¢ They seem to have had no scruples about telling of you,”” said his father. «I shall certainly go to their fathers and ¢o what I can to save them from certain ruin. As for you, Bert, I advise you ,t,o'go and have a talk with Dr. Parker. , : Bert never reported his conversation ‘with the good old minister, but they shook hands very cordially as they parted, and the Doctor was often heard to syea,k of Bert as a ‘‘fine, manly fellow.” , . Bert likes fun as well as ever, but he has a habit of looking very cautiously at a frolic, to be sure there are not two sides to it, before he ventures in—an excellent_habit to form.—Emily Huntington Miller, in Church and Home.

The Speaking Date. THE automaton I shall now describe is a huge carbuncle, in form and appearance just like an ordinary date such as any one would handle and attempt to eat without suspecting deception. "It was owned and exhibited by a Hindoo ventriloquist, who was also a jufiler; and he called his carbuncle ¢ The Speaking Date.”” Whenever he spoke to it, the answer came promptly and appropriately, as it seemed, from the very heart of the date, which lay on a table several feet from the exhibitor. . : i : It was not always, however, an obedient servant, for sometimes when the master gave an order, the date argued the point, making objections, offering excuses, and finally yielding, as it were, under protest. : It would complain that it was ‘‘gleepy, or *‘tired of doing the same thing over and over,’”’ or:‘the people were not paying attention.” But all this only enhanced the interest of the occasion; and when, at lasi, the rebelious little thing concluded to do as it was bidden the audience was in ecstacies. e , A tree was made to grow, ih our presence, as if from the very heart of the date, putting forth its long, pointed leaves, then the. dainty blooms, and finally a clump of the luscious fruit. But of this we were not imvited to eat. for it disappeared suddenly, and only the single little golden-brown date we had seen at the first remained. This was, of course, only a s?ecimen of the sleight-of-hand *‘tricks™ that Hindoo juggflers know so wel] how to perform, while the apparent speaking of the date was the result of ventriloquism—the juggler being able to make his voice sound as if it came from where the date lay, and so induce the audience to think that the voice came out of the fruit-like carbuncle itself. = o But . after this the stone jumped, walked, ran, and finall{l.' ‘with head and wings suddenly attached, flew across the stage and alighted Hotwesn thé den jurer’s joined hands. . This was all accomplished by means of machinery adroitly hidden between the carbunale and the u‘fit)ldeh ‘tripod upon which it lay. Curious and startling ag were the movements, they = were wonders of mechanism, and of wwmfl%; to do with supernatural powers, such as the venmfipf&fiww sossi—-St. Micholas. ~ . . T _—An Indisn in Graham County, N. 0., clatina b ons lowitisd Wl S PROFENMR M. w 0