Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 28, Number 32, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 5 February 1898 — Page 7

[FOONG LA'S SMILE.

L1bere was a moment in Mrs. Army's career as president of the board of rtSgn missions when she doubted its snefits and her power when she caine to upoq bright eyes and glistening teeth i^joro potent factors in the conversion the erring male heathen than Biblical and weekly tuition. Up to this period

Chinese maid, Foong La, had been jer favorite convert. Foong La was glib and discreet Her 2th wore white in contrast to her full lips, and she smiled as frequently as

raother

spoke, which reveals her possession of quality peculiar to any woman of ly race. There was only one occasion which she was

Been

to look grave.

Icanwhile imagine her singling and casting her slanting black eyes dangerously to the right of her, seductively to the left of

ier. What wonder that poor Ah Chin ucctnnbed straightway to tho fascination the yellow maiden'6 glance?

Ah Chin was a peripatetic Chinese chair Irepairor. He is aptly described as poor, In'ot only because ho possessed an insuflifcient amount d! this world's goods, but because he was also a twisted, misshapen I creature, whom any oncwould have pitied.

His first glimpse of Foong La had been ^acquired legitimately enough in the presence of Mrs, Armstrong, her mistress and I president of tho board of foreign missions. I

Tho day was hot, and Ah Chin's burden of a single broken cane chair, which he was carrying homo—God save the word— was heavy on his shoulders. It seemod to him that ho limp.'d more painfully than trend

ever. The windows of the houses that he j,passed woro all deserted and gloomy, when suddenly ho looked up and saw Foong La smiling in one. Sho beckoncd to him to stop, then disappeared and arrived smiling nt the front door a second later with her mistress at her elbow. Foong La emilpd because there were half a dozen chairs in the house that needed mending and because their opportunity had arrived so Easily. "You poor man," said Mrs. Armstrong sympathetically the moment that tho mending of her cane chairs had been disposed of. "Mo poo' man? Yeh, me poo'man." And Ah Chin glanced at Foong La. She smiled encouragingly "One damn 'Melican man," he cried, with sudden forco, "him make mo poo". Mo alio samo lich, alle same stlaight, only one day ono 'Molioan man, him knock me down, him lun over me—me only one damn Chinaman—white man no ca'. Me go hospital. Mo como ou' one poo' man olio twists"—

Mrs. Armstrong scarcely exerted herself to listen after sho had caught tho first forceful outburst. A revengeful China man seemed to her tho one convort in the world worth making. "Alio same some day mo likee find him -mo snmshoo him shu' The muu bursting forth again In his wrath recalled her to the duties of tho present. "Tell him about the school, our songs and our good times, Foong La," sho said.

Tho girl responded quickly, with a smile. Then sho talked earnestly and with much gesture. "Him como bo 'Molican CUstlan, too," ehoannounced suddenly, her white teeth gleaming and her black oyos sparkling. "Yeh, mo come bo 'Molioan Clistlan alle samo Foong La, "ho criod out, grinning back at her.

Ah Chin proved a most tractable pupil. Ho fell oaslly into tho manners and ways of tho school. Ho asked none of tho questions that tho ignorant sometimes ask—he accepted overything with what Mrs. Armstrong called delightful faith and simplicity. His codo was briefly: 'Melican Joss, big man. Him livo up in blue sky. Mo no see him, bu' him tho' alio samo. Him do ovelyting—Foong La she sabbo, mo sabbo alle same like Foong La."

Itwas tho hour after dinner when Foong La, having finished her work, was wont to stand in tho front area of tho house smiling in tho moonlight at some token of Ah Chin's affection. It generally took the form of cheap stones or colored beads. Ho had oarly learned that her brightest smiles followed ntoro easily upon his trinkets than upon his caresses, llo came slowly limping np the sidewalk. In his hand ha carried a shining green stono sat deep in a broad gilt band. If Foong La had never emlled before, Ah Chin would have sworn sho would smile now. At that moment her low, soft gurgle reached him. Shu was standing leaning on tho gate looking up at the butcher's boy. Sho was looking just as sho had looked at him in his proudest moments. "Sho foolco mo," muttered Ah Chin under his bre ith "mueheo foolee mo!" ho repeated, gritting his teeth. And then tho American did something that, further aroused the savage blood in Ah Chin's breast. Ho caught sight of the small, twisted liguro of one of Foong La's countrymen. whom by natural instinct every butcher's boy holds in con torn pt. Ho gave a loud laugh and skipped a stono across tho street nscno might skip It over a lake. It missed Its mark, and ho. fired another. The Chinaman gavo a shrill scream. This time it had struck homo. Tho butcher's boy laughed aloud, and, oh, tho pity of itl tho girl laughed too.

Mrs. Armstrong was attracted to her door by tho noise in tho street before it. There sho saw Ah Chin, pale and wound ed, in tho hands of a policeman, the butcher's boy, ugly and sullen, also bleeding, in tho grasp of another, and between them Foong La. highly colored, gassing at the men in uniform. Mrs. Armstrong was seized with an almost irresistible desire to spread her handover tho girl's liquid eyes, "Butcher boy him thlow stone," explained Foong La excitedly. "Ah Chin,

Llm

have knife in his band"— "llush! hush!" cried Mrs. Armstrong. "Don't you bo tho one to convict him." She moved to Ah Chin's side and caught In gasping breaths the tale of his Chrlstlnnitv and his love. 'Melican man, him no go stlaight an «ne |?o twist no mo'—'Melican joss him no «oo— him no gl' me Foong La, him uo snakee me stlaight, him no can do evcly ting, him one heep big flaud, alle same. Alio same, like"— They were tho last words ho spoko. "Foong LA. "said Mrs. Armstrong gently, "he is dying."

This was the moment when Mrs. Arm strong doubted the power of the board of foreign missions. It was also the occasion on which Foong La did not siulle.—New "Stork .Journal.

The Volume or SqmuM Timber. When all tho dimensions are in feet, multiply the breadth, depth and length together, and the product will give tbe volume in cubic feet.

When either of the dimensions are given in inches, multiply as before, and divide tho product by IS,

When any two of the dimensions are

en .. lde by 144.—Si. Lout# Republic,

Messages From the Sea.

A bottle dispatched from the steam-! ship Guildhall on May 31, 1894, when In 46 d-r^rees north, 31 degrees west, almost midway between Brest and Newfoundland, was picked up on Feb. 13, 1896, at Antigua, after a drift of about 4,500 miles. It had evidently passed close to the Azores, the Canary islands and the Cape Verdes on- the way. Another, thrown overboard from the sloop Sapolio on July 20, 1892, traveled eastward toward the Azores, and thence, as in the previous instance, until it was recovered near Turk's island, north of Haiti, on Feb. 8, 1896, after a drift of nearly 6,000 miles.

A bottle message from the sailing ship St. Enoch is probably the most interesting of the 82 drifts shown on the United States chart. It was sent off when some 700 miles west of Sierra Leone, under the influence of the well known Guinea current, setting eastward on to the African land. The master of this vessel noted on tbe message that she had experienced an easterly current of 36 miles during the previous day Hence there is reason to suppose that this messenger was swept eastward un til some incident occurred to transfer it to a current setting in a westerly direc tion. Once on the latter route, however, it passed leisurely along through the passages of the Windward isles, escap ing contact with any land, followed the of the Atlantic coast of North

America till clear of Newfoundland, and thence onward to Totabrcagli Walls, Shetland islands, where it was found on March 20, 1896, after having accom plished a record drift of nearly 8,000 miles in less than 1,000 days.—Chambers' Journal.

Wild Life and the Senses.

I made bold to say to Dr. Nansen that thousands upon thousands of men who were not specially interested in arctic work had read his book with delight, and that to me the marvel was not that he could do what he did in the field, but that he could write such a book about his experiences. "The best thing in it, to my notion," I said, "is your description of your dramatic meeting with Jackson on Franz-Josef Land, and the best part of that was your reference to the manner in which the wild man's sharpened senses discovered the fragment of the soap which the civilized European has used in his morning ablut'ons. "It is really true," replied Dr. Nansen, "that I could smell that soap as plainly as if it had been a strong per fume. Johansen noted -the same thing when he came up. In fact, for several days our sense of smell was wonderfully acute. As I approached Jackson's hut I thought I could smell everything it contained and give a sort of inventory of its stores without entering. In a day or two this acuteuess wore off, and we became quite normal in that as well as in other respects. But I wonder if a man were to live wild for a few years if his sense of smell would not become quite as keen as that of an animal?"— Chicago Times-Herald.

The Newspaper Bogy.

E. L. God'rin in The Atlantio claims that the advertiser rather than the subscriber is now the newspaper bogj He is the person before whom the publisher cowers and trios to please, and the advertiser is very indifferent about the opinions of a newspaper. What interests him is the amount or quality of its circulation. What he wants to know is how many people see it, not how many people agree with it. The consequence is that the newspapers of larger circulation, published in the great centers of population where most votes ai cast, are less and less organs of opinioi especially ii America. In fact, in some cases the advertisers uso their influence, which is great and which the increasing competition between newspapers makes all the greater, to prevent the expression in newspapers of what is probably the pre' ailing local view of men or events. Thr ~e are not many newspapers which can afford- to defy a large adver tisor.

How it Felt.

A worthy old gentleman who had never wandered far from his native township bafore went to Boston one day in response to an invitation to visit a relative.

The Bostonian, in showing his friend about town, took him to the top of a tall office building. They took a look at the marvelous landscape spread cut before them and prepared to descend. TMey entered tho elevator. It began its swift journey downward. "Don't be frightened, Uncle Silas," said the younger man, as bis visitor grasped his arm, shut his eyes and held on for life. "There is no danger." "I wasn't afraid, George," gasped Uncle Silas, after they had stepped ont of the elevator, "but I—I left my stomach up there."—Youth's Companion.

Reynolds' Name.

As a proof of the appreciation of the work (portrait of Lady Cock burn and her children) by Sir Joshua's contemporaries, we are told that when this porI trait was brought into the great room to be hung all the painters clapped their hands in salutation of its power, while the seal of the artist's own approval is to be fonm. in his name, inscribed at full length on tbe hem of the lady's garxnent, the only two pictures thus honored by him being this one and his por trait of Airs. Siddons.—Pall Mall Gasette.

There is no better known eong in Scotland, and especially in Berwick shire, than that which refers to "Tibby Fowler o' the Glen." Tibby was a native of Berwickshire, in which county the glen is situated.

The averp-e weight of a dozen eggs is about 21} muces. One-eighth of this entire weigl may be regarded as nitrogenous and itritioua matter, a greater

in inchwt, multiply as before and proportion toaa that of meat or of the oyster.

aStfliSl

She had sat down on his hat. There it was, a battered, useless thing that had lately been so faultless, so imposing.

Plainly it was bis fault—leaving it in the chair that way. Anybody might have sat on it. But he would never think of that. In all his mental visions she would figure as the most awkward and careless of women. And she was so anxious for his good opinion too. Ho was so much older than she, and he knew so much more. Wasn't he an instructor at Harvard? And she—she was such a fool. Everybody knew that. She didn't need to sit on hats to convince a doubting public of her hopeless idiocy.

People who are wholly grown up don't need to be told that Lillian was very young and painfully self conscious. Most of them have memories. But other very young persons may like to be to^l They need all tbe comfort they can get out of iife.

Sho ran to her desk and devoted three pages of her dainty note paper to abjeft apology. Possibly there have been silliei epistles written for similar causes. But it is not probab.e. Nevertheless Lillian sealed it with her approval, addressed it with eagerness and stamped with hope.

But after all it is not Lillian's letters but the replies they elicited that count ij tbis'story. Here is the first:

DEAR MISS STEWART—I have so very, verj many tilings »v. say to you that I really am ai a losa to know just where to begin. But capital things should ever have precedence, and so I will begin, not ex ovo, but et capite.

You no doufc* remember that afternoon when my proud and lofty helm was resting calmly and peacefully on a chair in Miss Beekman's drawing room You can imagine my horror when I saw you sit down on it. It was not for my hat at all! Oh, no! But I knew there was an enormous cubic capacity within it, and I was terrified lest the fall from crown to brim should hurt you. And when I saw you quite unharmed I was happy. And now comes the most curious part of my story. I took my hat with me to coliege the following Monday. It had a basinlike hollow of considerable 'iepth on the crown and looked very swagger. My heart swelled with pride when I observed the attention people were giving mo—young worn en especially. One of my friends accosted me enviously, "T thought you didn't go in for style, and h«re you have one of the most stylish hats in the college!"

Then it dav.-ned upon me why smashed hats were so fashionable. It was because some sweet and lovoly girl had left the stamp of lier personality uuon each. A new study ben\.n for me. I commenced to divine the cliaracLoi of the young women from the impress upon tho various hats that perambulate the college yard. And I assure you there is no study so deeply interesting. All things lose thi-msulve? in this. You realize at a glance man's mission on earth. It is to wear a hat that has beun crushed by—well, I have told you. As ever,

DEAR Miss STEWART—"Jolting aside," you have taken the hat episode in a very seriou light. 1 now have only the faintest reoollec tion of tlmt evening, and it is only after an effort, that I have succeeded in bringing the incident to mind. I remember looking at my hat tbe other dny and noticing that it was not quitf comme il faut, but for the life of mc 1 could not have told to which of its numeroumisfortunes its drooping, fainting appearanco was due. So I was ainusod to hear that the matter has been an occasion of self castigation to you.

I can only believe that you have tried to look at yourself, not through my eyes, as you express it, but through the eyes of a certain somebody you imagine me to be. That some body is a ve .v priggish, .so late, serious and pedantic sort of a fellow, doubtless. But, be tween you and me, ho and I have nothing in common. In truth my chief delight is to bo amused, and nothing amuses me so much as {ho seriousness with which people take me. Believo me, there is nothing serious in me ex cept that desire not to be seriously serious.

I liuve already had more than its money's worth of amusement out of my bat, and I must express my gratitude to you, who have4 been the cause of it all. Sineorely yours,

TBKRE HAUTE SATUBDAY EVENING MAIL, FEBRUARY 5, 1898.

TALE OF A HAT.

After awbilo Lillian sat up, wiped her! ed with

eyes and thought some more. What could she do to redeem herself? she wondered. Was there anything?

She could send him a new hat. But no that might offend him. Write him a note and tell him of bei contrition? That possibility was cheering.

JACK FIELDING.

Now, to an ordinary mind that would seem a most reasonable and soothing letter—jyst whimsical enough to be pleasing Nothing short of a genius in self raproach could have discovered rebuke in it But Lillian found it.

Result—more remorse, and after an interval note No. 2. Its expression of depression brought the following:

JACK Pikmmno

Amused! He dared to be amused at this tragedy—this unutterable disgrace that had cone upon hor. Lillian agai" found consolation in her divan cushions and again lifted her bead bravely to stem the current of her woe. He must, ho should, understand her position. How could she meet him at tbe Masons' tomorrow and the Loomises tho day after, knowing his contempt? How could 6he soe in his eyes only amusement where sho had before—or did she only imogtno it—: found tenderness? She'd try again

Forth went, the third silly little note, incoherent, unintelligible, except to one who knew hearts and so held the key.

To his intense surprise, the man to whom it was addressed found that he understood it. Then, with every nook and corner of his mind illumined by a great light, he read Its two predecessors, mar veling at his obtusencss.

And this is tbe missive a messenger boy bore to Lillian:

Mv DEAR—Forgive me, bat you are that— and more. 1 suppose we might keep on all our lives writing crisscross notes about that hat, each only half understanding the other But I know abetter way. You can't give me a hat, you know. 1 couldn't accept it and retain my self respect. But you can gi re yourself. In other words, since you may not crown my worthless head, crown my life, worthless unless you will. JACK.

P. 3.—In this I am serious, if in nothing else. And I'll let you buy all my. hats—after ward.

6ir

Sillr®5

•It

At the Masons' dinner two people found each other's hands under the table. At the Loomises tea tbe engagement was announced.

So ends the tale of a bat.—Gertrude E. Keeley in Chicago Tribune.

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Pre Columbian Books In America. George Byron Gordon, the explorer, contributes to The Century an account of the discoveries in Copan under the title of "The Mysterious City of Honduras." Concerning tbe ancient race of Mayas Mr. Gordon says:

Not only did traditions exist in the minds of the people, but many of the old Indian families still-preserved their books, the remnants of once extensive libraries, in which the history, traditions and customs of the people were recorded. All these books that the Spanish priests could lay their bands upon they burned. Four only have come down to us—priceless relics that in •some unknown manner found their way into European libraries, where they lay hidden until unearthed by scholars of recent years. The books of the Mayas consisted of long strips of paper made from maguey fiber, and folded after the manner of a screen so as to form pages about 9 by 5 inches. These were coverhieroglyphic characters, very neatly drawn by hand, in brilliant colors. Boards were fastened on the outside pages, and the completed book looked like a neat volume of large octavo size. The characters in which they are written are the same as those found upon the stone tablets and monuments in the ruined cities of Paienque and Copan.

This system of writing, which is entirely distinct from the picture writing of the Aztecs, was the exclusive possession of the Mayas. It was a highly developed system, and, as investigations have shown, embraced a number of phonetic elements. In this respect, as in many others, the Mayas were far in advance of any other American people. A venerable but vague and elusive legend that has come down to us ascribes the invention of these characters to Itzamna, the Maya Cadmus, a great hero god who in the beginning of their history as a nation led the people from the east across the sea, gave them laws and Tilled over them for many years.

Infinitesimal Shears.

A clever workman in a cutlery factory in Sheffield, England, has recently made a dozen pairs of shears, each so minute that they altogether weigh less than half. a grain. That is about the weight of a postage stamp. Each pair, is perfect and will cut if sufficiently delicato material could be found. Lying on apiece of white paper they seem no larger than fleas.

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