ellefonte, Pa, January 16, 1891.
HE DON'T WEAR SOCKS.
Some Poetry of Which Jerry Simpson is the
Central Figure.
Good mother, bring my overalls and lay 'em on
the bed ;
And get 3 little timothy to sprinkle on my
ead.
And put some taller on my boots, forall the
neighbors say
That I must start for Washin’ton afore another
ay.
You tient 1 told you how we met ’em at
the polls,
And routed ‘em and scattered’em and made
em hunt their holes :
—No, never mind them other things, jest lay
’em in the box.
For my name is Jerry Simpson andI don’t
wear socks.
It was a mighty tussel that; the peoyle gave
thering,
And where the fight was thickest you could
see old Jerry spring ;
He didn’t wear no plume ; he weren't no Henry
of Navarre,
But every time he hit a lick he allus left a
scar, .
And when the doubtful contest was at its
whitest heat, . .
He just drawed off his books and waded in with
naked feet; .
And all the farmers shouted as they see his
tellin’ knocks :
‘Hooray for Jerry Simpson, which he don’t
wear socks.”
1 told ’em on the stump about contemporan’
us things :
How the tariff robbed the farmers and the
railroads was their kings:
Just how I stood on silver, and—jest ’twixt
the boys and me—
How.I fit agin the rebel hordes way back in
And the boys got up and hustled, as they
never did afore,
And the last I heered of Kelly, he was feelin’
mighty sore,
So mother, pack the boxes tight, and fasten
down the locks,
And mark ’em “Simpson, Washin’ton P. 8.,
no socks.”
When I get down to Washin’ton and ketch the
speaker's eye. J
Just watch the opposition, for the fur’s agoin’
ofly:
I don’t Sia what committee room will clamor
for my jeans,
But I s’pose I'll have to be content to starten
ways and means,
And Kansas will be mighty proud the mornin’
that she learns
That when 1 rise to take the floor the other
house adjourns, :
While up into the galleries the eager public
cks
To hear the Kansas Cicero, who don't wear
socks.
And when the day is over the boys have all
got through,
I'll represent my state on Pennsylvaniaave-
noo. ;
And Blaine and Harrison or any other man of
note
Will be glad to stop and get a little hayseed
on his coat,
And if that Philadelphia dude who polkaed
with the queen,
And dresses upthis legs in silk, appears upon
the scene,
I'll show the high aristocrats the diff’rence
between Vaux
And blunt old Jerry Simpson, if he don’t wear
socks,
So, mother, get a move, and re kollect your
«country calls—
It’s time that I was thundering in legislative
alls ;
Asvonce down to the-ayter I heered an actor
say ;
“Mary come up, my soul’s inarms and eager
for the fray!”
There go the boys a marchin’ and hollerin’ .in
the lane,
They've come to see their congressman and
take him to the irain;
They know the value of a man with haysedd
in his locks,
Which his name is Jerry Simpson, and he
don’t wear socks.
—Rose Field in Kansas City Star.
A ROMANCE OF COLE ALLEY.
.CY ERNEST A. YOUNG.
Wa'n't it a-queer, daddy, that he
should a’ happened along jest as he
did, and picked me up when I fell on
that crossin’, and come nigh being run
over wid the trucksand carts? Wa'n’t
it a-queer, daddy ?
“Yes, yes, it was a-queer, Judy; and
the old man laughed in his childish,
hysterical fashion.
“And wa'n’t it odd, too,” persisted
Judy, in her eagerness to arouse the
cripple to a more enthusiastic demon-
stration, “that he should a-took sech a
shine to me the fust thing, and a fetch-
ed me home in a hack, and not axed
me a cent for doin’ of it? Wa'n’t it
real romantic, daddy ?”
“Yes, Judy, it wasa-queer,” and the
cripple laughed again. Then, under a
flash of intelligence which was as brill-
iant as it was rare to the weak-minded
old man, Daddy Grimes added, —
“But it wouldn't a done no good for
him to axed ye for pay for a-bringin’ of
ye, long as ye didn’t haye no money to
pay him wid, Juay.”
This remark was not so gratifying to
the young lady’s vanity as she could
have wished. To have the well-dress-
ed driver of an Armstrong hack show
her so much attenticn, and treat her
with such undeniable deference, was
an episode of more than ordinary mo-
ment in the existence of Judith Grimes.
She had always felt a vagie yearning
for a higher sphere of society than that
afforded by Cole Alley, where she
lived.
“He didn’t know but T had a-plenty
of money, daddy,” said Judy, with a
faint flash of resentment in her small,
pale eyes.
“Most folks as lives here ain’t very
rich,” returned the perverse old man,
not so much to oppose Judy, because
he did not dream how the woids cut
into her ambitious and senitive soul,
as to make some response to what she
was eaying. It was a long time since
Daddy Grimes had felt avy real discon-
tent with the surroundings and deni-
zens of the obscure al'ey.
“He took me for a lady, so he did!”
cried Judith, unable longer to restrain
her indignation. “He axed me if I
lived close by, he did, and there we
‘was right on Park street, he a-comin’
down and mea-goin’ up. Like enough
he thought I was a lady's maid iu one
of the big-bug houses on Beacou street
or thereabout. Don’t I wish I was!”
And Judy rolled up her pale eyes
in the ecstacy of contemplation,
“I doosn’t know nothin’ about Bea-
con street, nor none of them places,
Cole Alley is high-toned enough for
me,” said Daddy Grimes.
The discussion was stopped at this
point by the unceremonious entrance
of a tall young man with awooden leg,
and a broad scar across one cheek.
“Hey, Daddy ! good mornin’, Judy,”
was his double salutation, and he add-
ed tnterest to the last half of it by be-
sowing a hearty kiss upon the young
lady’s freckled cheek.
She drew away from him a little
scornfally.
“I didn’t say ye might, Dan Vokes!”
she exclaimed. He gave her a keen
glance to see if her tone was feigned or
genuine.
“You'd ’a’ been offish enough if I'd
passed ye by with jest a how-de-do,”
he returned.
“I could 'a’ stood it well enough if
ye hadn't come a-stumpin’ in here,
"thout knockin’ nor nothin’. Gentle-
mens never call on ladies 'thout knock-
in’ afere they come in!”
Dan Vokes stared at Judy as though
he doubted the evidence of his own
senses. Never had she spoken like
that to him. She got impatient with
Daddy sometimes—and who would
not—but to him, heraffianced husband,
she had ever been as affectionate and
gentle as heart could wish.
Dan was a rough fellow, but he was
a trifle sensitive, after all. Judy's re-
ception cut him more keenly than his
limited resources of language could ex-
press.
“What's come over ye, Judy?’ he
exclaimed, going up to her and taking
one of her large, red hands in both of
hisown,which were proportionally larg-
er still.
“Nothin’ has come over me, as I
knows on,” was her sullen answer.
“Then what makes ye so offish ?”’
“You couidn’t understand a lady’s
feelin’s if I told ye.”
“Wall, I've got to go to work, and
maybe ye'll feel more good-natured
when I git back ter-night.”
Dan turned to go; but at the door
he was brought to a pause by Judy
suddenly coming toward him aad say-
ing—
“You needn't trouble yourself to cal!
ter-night, nor to-morrer, Mr. Vokes.
I'm a’goin’ to choose my comp’ny in
future. I don’t cal’late to stay in Cole
Alley all my days, anyhow!”
This was delivered with a rapidity
that sounded almost like anger, and
Dan, mystified, cut to the quick by the
vnmerited rebuff, gave her a single re-
proachful glance and then went oat
without a word.
Judy covered her face with her
hands and sobbed hysterically for a
few moments after he was gone, and
then, hastily wiping away her, tears,
went to her corner of the single dingy
apartment, which was curtained off
from the rest by means of a sheet and
some ragged cast-off clothing suspend-
ed from a pole. The principal part of
the room was kitchen, parlor and bed-
room for Daddy Grimes all in one. It
was something in Cole Alley to have a
sleeping apartment partitioned off from
the living-room, even though the divi-
sion was somewhat frail in material.
In half an hour Judy came out
“dressed” for the street. She hastily
gave Daddy a very weak broth, with a
few crackers, for his breakfast; and
then hurried to a restaurant on the ad-
jacent street, where she was engaged
for the day as a scrub-girl. She was
supplied with food by her temporary
employer, and received fifty cents for
her work besides. Evening found her
walking slowly up Park Street, past
the spot where she had slipped on the
crossing and been assisted by the driv-
erof an Armstrong carriage.
Her heart beat fast as she saw the
one whom she hoped to meet driving
slowly down the steep descent towards
Tremont Street. She slackened her
pace as the vehicle approached, She
saw that the driver was the one who
so chivalously aided her, and felt the
warm blood flushing her freckled face
and neck until they burned. She
dropped her eyes and advanced with a
most modest bearing, until she reached
the crossing, then, as she paused for
the vehicle to pass, she raised her
glance with an air that was meant to
be irresistibly coy.
The driver had a companion on the
seat with him, and they were chatting
aud laughing as she looked up. Her
eyes met those which had so quickly
gained the power to thrill her soul. She
smiled her recognition and—but her
smile was frozen into a look of pain as
she saw the driver nudge his compan-
ion, saw them both look at her and
laugh, and heard him utter a coarse
bracal comment on her complexion
that drove the blood back to her heart
so quickly that her headswam and she
could barely totter across the street.
Click, click—clatter, clatter! and the
Armstrong hack was gone, joining the
multitude of hacks of every descrip-
tion that thronged the busy street, and
with it fled the single bright gleam of
romance which had come into the life
of Judy Grimes.
She was hardly conscious of her
weary walk back to Cole Alley; she
certainly did not know that a cold
rain was driving in her face every yard
of the way, or that her feet were
drenched, ard that she herself was
shivering with cold.
“No, Daddy,I ain’t hungry to-night,”
she said, in response to the old man’s
invitation to join him in his repast.
“There'll be enough for both of us,
Judy,” he returned.
“I don’t want nothin’,”” she repeated.
“I ain't feelin’ jest right to-night, Dad-
dy, and I guess I'll go to bed so’s to be
up early and find another job in the
mornin’, I didn’t find none to-night.
There's lots of girls lookin’ for jobs.”
With that she retired behind the |
cloth partition, and flung herself shiv-
ering and miserable on her bed. She
did not explain to Daddy that she had
spent the time she ought to have oc-
cupied with looking for work in going
{ up to Park Street to get a glimpse of
the Armstrong hack-driver.
Morning found Judy in a raging fev-
er. The cold storm to whieh she had
exposed herself, the insufficient food
which had been her portion for a long
time, with the intense disappointment
she had suffered the evening before, re-
sulted in the most natural way.
She crawled out and tried to kindle
a fire to warm Daddy’s broth, but the
kindlings wouldn’t burn.
“Never mind, Judy,” said the old
man, “[ can eat it cold.
But you !
a
oughter take some. There's enough,
Judy.”
But even her appetite was gone then,
and she crawled back to her bed, and
stayed there all day, scarcely knowing
how the hours passed. She thought
that daddy must be hungry, but she
had not the strength to get him the
broth. The truth was, daddy had tak-
en the last of the broth in the morning,
but pangs of bunger would have to
reach the limit of his endurance before
he would disturb her then.
In Judy's brain was the wildest jum-
ble of strange thoughts, in which Arm-
strong vehicles, and jeering drivers,and
reproachful Dan Vokes were indis-
criminately mixed up.
She saw many faces amid her dream-
like vagaries, but all of them jeered at
her except Dan Vokes. He looked
sad and reproachful, but never unkind.
She seemed to see him more and more,
and then she heard Daddy Grimes call-
ing to her. Night had come again,
and in another moment, as it seemed,
it was morning again.
“Daddy must be very hungry!” she
feebly exclaimed, and tried to get up,
But she sank back again, her head
throbbing. :
“If Dan would only come!” she mut-
tered. “If Dan would only come, only
come,” was the refrain that kept ran-
ning in her head after that, and more
than once it was on her lips.
When he did come she could never
have told, for the first she knew he was
by her side, and urging her to eat some-
thing he had brought for her.
“Eat, Judy—ye must have some-
thing to keep up yer strength,” said
Dan, forcing a morsel betwixt her lips.
It was a strange delicacy for a fever
patient, who had taken no food for two
days, but it was the most delectable,
in the estimation of Dan Vokes, of any-
thing that money would buy.
“Have another mout hful, Judy,” he
urged, “I got one whole lobster for
daddy, and ’nother for you, ’cause I
cal'lated you must be hungry. Eat
Judy, eat, and ye'll be stout as a pair
0’ horses afore night! That's the talk,
Judy! Eat—eat!”
It is said a special Providence pro-
tects children. So there must the sim-
ple people of all ages as well, e'se Judy
Grimes could not have survived Dan’s
kindness.
All that day Dan's wooden leg
stumped in and out of the miserable
room, which was the best home Daddy
and Judy bad known for many a day.
He brought them more food than they
could eat in a week, and as a large por-
tion of it consisted of the richest pas-
tries he could buy ata bakeshop, he
must have come very near killing them
with kindness.
In a day or two Judy was able to
wait upon herself and Daddy, and she
began to talk about going out to look
for a job.
“I've found ye a jcb, Judy, that ye
can keep,” said Dan when he came in
that night.
“You found me one, Dan?’ she
asked.
“Yes—awaitin’ on table at a place
up street a piece. It a'int a tony place,
but it’ll be stiddy. They'll let ye fetch
a head of nice stuff home to Daddy,
and ye'll git two dollars a week and
three square meals every day! Think
Judy! Three square meals every day
for you and Daddy! Hooray!” and
Dan Nokes danced a weird sort of horn-
pipe, which was characterized chiefly
by a fearful clattering of the wooden
leg upon the floor.
Judy accepted the situation humbly
enough, and not a word was said about
the rebuff she had given Dan upon that
memorable day of her folly—for nearly
a year. Then, when he urged her to
set an early wedding day, she hid her
freckled fack on his shoulder and burst
intd tears.
“Ye won’t want me to set no wed-
din’ day, ever, when I come to tell ye
something that I can’t keep back any
longer,” she sobbed.
“Come, Judy, brace up, and don’t
act like that,” said Dan.
“But you'll hate me when I come to
tell ye.”
“None o' that nonsense, Judy.
You're a reg’lar daisy of a gal, Judy,
and there can’t nothin’ make me say
any different.”
But vou don’t know, Dan, why I sent
you off that time, and told ye ye needn’t
come any more, nor how I got that aw-
ful cold that made me sick, and if ye
hadn’t taken pity on me I'd a-died, for
shore !"”
Dan raised her face and looked
squarely into her pale eves. What a
homely, ridiculous, grotesque-looking
couple to love and pity and forgive, and
be sentimental, just as though they
were akin to the rest of the human
race who lived up-town in houses and
apartments, and down-town in garrets
and rookeries. And yet they did all
these things, as though they had the
God-given right to do them.
“Ye needn’t tell me what I knows
a’ready, Judy,” said Dan. ¢D’ye
s'pose I was goin’ off "thout findin’ out
what had made ye so offish ? That
wouldn't been like Dan Vokes. What
ne did was ter watch ye that day, and
when ye was hangin’ round tryin’ to
get a bow from that hack driver,Vokes
was a stumpin’ along behind ye with
his wooden leg! Vokes was mad,
though. But he couldn’t hold out,
when ye come to be sick, nohow.
That's all, Judy, except—hooray for
the weddin'!”
A wedding in Cole Alley? Yes, and
a whele romance there, too— Yankee
Blade.
WirHoUT ADVERTISING, —“Ah, good
morning 1” said the early bird to the
worm. ‘“‘Looking for a job ?”’
“That’s what. Anything I can do
for you ?”’
“Yes, you'll about fill the bill, I
think.””— Brooklyn Life.
( offee is & good barometer. Al-
ways af the eve of a rainstorm it is very
hard to grind, but wé€en there is a sure
prospect of dry weather it grinds easily.
This is because coffee is a first class ab-
sorbent.
ARR
FLL)
Purdy’'s Geese.
i
They Follow a Flock of Wild Geese
Southward and the Sequel is Sad.
A farmer named Purdy, who lives on
eleven geese. The geese spent a good
deal of their timeon the lake. A week
ago a flock of a dozen wild geese were
flying southward over the lake, and see-
ing Purdy’s tame geese swimming about
in the water, circled about and alighted |
in the lake among them. Then ensued
a noisy honking and cackling to and fro
between the wild fowls and the domes-
tic ones, and while it was going on
Farmer Purdy hurried from his work
in his vineyard to his house after a gun,
with the intention of bagging a wild
goose if possible. Before he got back
near enough to get a shot at the geese
they arose from the water.
Purdy was surprised at that, but
when he saw his flock of tame geese flop
about in the water for a few seconds and
then rise up avd follow the flock of
wild ones off toward the south he was so
dumbfounded that the geese were a
mile away before he was able to express
his opinion of the proceeding in lan-
guage anywhere strong enough to fit
the subject. The wild geese and the
fagitive tame flock disappeared in the
distance, and farmer Purdy calculated
that he was out just $11 worth of geese
and $5 worth of govse feathers.
One Thanksgiving morning Purdy dis-
covered a flock of geese approaching
from the south. He thought it was
queer that wild geese should be return-
ing northward at this time of year, and
when the flock dropped into the lake
right in front of his vineyard he resolv-
ed to get a little revenge for the loss of
his tame geese if he could. He got his
gun and sneaked down to the lake. The
geese were flopping their wings and
cackling away as if in a most enjoyable
frame of mind, Presently they started
for the shore and Purdy was surprised
tosee them climb out of the water and
start across the vineyard toward the
house. He blazed away and knocked
one of the geese over. To hisstill great-
er surprise the rest of the flock did not
take wing, but hurried on toward to the
house.
Still the farmer suspected nothing
and gave the flock his second barrel,
knocking over another goose. The
rest kept right on, cackling with fright,
toward the house. It was not until they
had entered the yard and grouped them-
selves at the back door thet the truth
broke in upon Farmer Purdy. Then
he felt he ought to go off somew sere
and jump on himself with both feet.
“Them darned geese are mine come
back again!” he exclaimed. “And
here I’ve gone and bunged two of them
full of lead!”
It was true. After a week’s absence,
the farmer’s geese had returned to the
home they had so strangely deserted.
How far they had gone with their wild
relatives, of course, will never be
known, but they had evidently tired of
that sort of life, and had turned their
heads northward, and, with wonderful
instinct, come back to the place where
they were hatched. It was a deadly
welcome two of them received, but the
other nine are plainly rejoiced to be
back at their old home.
Big Brutes in a Stockade.
How the King of Siam Chooses His
. Elephants.
When the herd entered the wide
mouth of the funnel that narrowed down
to the stockade, it became frantic with
rage and terror. Dozens at a time stood
on their hind legs, waving their trunks
wildly, and bellowing with open mouths.
The panic became terrific. In the ensu-
ing crush. the mothers steadfastly
guarded their young. Many a baby
elepbant stood bleating beneath its
mother’s chest, protected by her strong
forelegs, her active proboscis, and her.
body set as a bulwark for its defense
In many cases two mothers united in
the care of some little one. Shoulder to
shoulder they leaned over the youngster
that was between them, and shielded it
under frightful pressure and peril, with
courage and calmness, So- perfect was
the protection of the babies that more
than a score of these—some weaklings
no larger than sheep—survived the
crush of entrance into the stockade,
while ten full-grown elephants were
therein killed.
Once within the stockade the madden-
ed herd rushed round and round the
arena, As they passed and repassed the
stand, the official, a connoisseur of ele-
phants, indicated to the hunters which
ones were to be taken. When these
happenad to come upon the outside of
the swifling mass, and near the circum-
ference of the enclosure, they were las-
soed around the ankles as they raised
their feet in walking, and the cables
which formed the nooses were made fast
to the posts of the stockade. Several
cables bound the feot of each captive,
and held him from farther travel with his
compauions. Having secured as many
of the elephants as would be required by
the government for several years, the
remainder of the herd was let out upon
the plain, where a few more were lessoed
for sport. One frenzied animal came
trumpeting up thesteps of the stand oc-
cupied by the officers and guests. The
officials shouted commands to hunters;
gentlemen climbed pillars; ladies
mounted tables, and shrieked; con-
sternation reigned until the hunters
scaled the stand, and with their sharp
goads prodded the intruder off to a safe
distance,
The dismissed elephants gradually
made their way to the jungles, there to
feed and to grow until the king should
appoint another hunt The prisoners
would be tamed and then used in lifting
lumber, carrying goods and traveler
ucross the country, and in war. The
trained beasts are manifestly larger,
healthier and wiser than their wild fel-
lows. They bathe, eat, exercise, and
sleep regularly, and apparently gain
much in cunning and sagacity under
human instruetions.—S¢. Nicholas.
The latest fact brought to light
regarding Nero, the infamous Emperor
of Rome, is'that he wore a monocle. Tt
is stated that the tyrant was never with-
out his eyeglassess when watching the
gladiatorial games.
| had forgotten.
the shore of Lake Keuka, had a flock of | ¥
conscience troubled him.
i
His Conscience Triumphed at Last.
A man on an Erie train the other day
picked up from the car seat a package
that the former occupant of the seat,
who had left the train at the last station,
He looked at the pack-
age critically, and then glanced at the
conductor, who was at the other end of
the train. He evidently thought him-
self unobserved, for after a couple of
moments of reflection, he put the pack-
age, which was a small one, into his
pocket, and then resumed the reading
of his paper.
But his mind was not at rest. His
He tried a
number of times to read, and each time
removed the paper from his eyes and
gazed into vacancy, lost in meditation.
The conductor passed him, and it made
him uneasy. He moved about nervous-
ly in his seat, Presently he folded up
his paper, put it in his pocket, leaned
his elbow on the window-:ill, and al-
lowed his head to rest in the palm of
his hand. He was having a hard strug-
gle. It would have been interesting to
know the drift of his thoughts. Per-
haps the question of the value of the
package entered them, but it is to hoped
that it did not. At any rate, his sense
of justice triumphed. He raised his
head from his hand in a determined way
and took the package from his pocket.
It was easy to see that he was happier
now that his mind was made up. The
next time the conductor passed, he
handed him the package with the re-
mark: Here is something the lady
who left the train at the last station for-
got.”— New York Tribune.
The Demands of Justice.
‘We are far too narrow in our concep-
tions of what justice means. It makes
many claims upon us which no law can
ever enforce and with which public sen-
timent can never meddle. It demands
much more than the discharge of pe-
cuniary obligations. It enters into
every detail of life, and regulates our
conduct in all the obligations we bear to
others. It prononnees upon our behav-
ior to relatives and friends and the com-
munity in which we dwell. It enforces
debts of gratitude, or affection, of
thoughtful consideration, of kindness, of
compassion, of shilling and pence. To
call a man just who is not kind, or ten-
der, or pitiful, or loving, is a misnomer.
True justice implies the due exercise of
all these sentiment in their proper sea-
son and the cheerful discharge of the
conduct which they suggest.-—German—
town Telegraph.
The Human Bloodhound.
The Instinet That Guides the Indian
On His Mission of Death.
“Hist 77
A single Indian has been following
the right hand bank of the Rio Pecos
River where it trends to the angle of the
Chico Mountains, New Mexico.
Fort Sumner is fifty miles to the
south, Santa Fe 100 to the north. It is a
wild, wierd country, with the Staked
Plains sweeping right up to the waters
of the Pecos from the east, and the
country to the west is forest, ravine,
valley, and desolation,
In a dip of the earth, and still further
shielded by the great boulders, the In-
dian has found a few charred sticks and
a handful of ashes—relis of a campfire.
He springs to the cover of a rock, and
for a quarter of an hour nothing is seen
or heard of him. Instinct taught him
that—the same instinct that any wild
animal has. By and by he cerefully
rises into view and steps forward to exa-
mine the ashes. :
“Wah i?
It rained three days before. The ashes
are dry. The black sticks preserve their
gloss. A twig broken from a bush is
stili bleeding. A bone in the ashes 1s
broken to get at the marrow. This is
Wednesday and the hour is 10 o’clock
in the forenoon. The fire was built
Monday noon. The prints of a boot heel
are numerous. It was a white man. The
prints are exactly alike. There was but
one man—scout, hunter, prospector. He
was heading up the stream.
“Ugh I”
Everything is clear to the Indian in
five minutes, and he picks up the trail.
It is forty-six hours since that fire was
lighted—at least forty-four since the
white man left it behind. That is an old
trail, but here is a human bloodhound.
Nature has made him to endure heat,
cold and fatigue as if he were an animal.
He has the cunning of a fox, the ferocity
of a panther, and a vindictive persist-
ench which nothing but death can dis-
courage.
There is no trail—nothing which the
keenest dog could follow. But the In-
dians glides forward like a shadow,
looking only at the ground. A man who
isnot pursued travels slowly To the
right—-to the left—over rocks—across
rills——up hill-~down hill--never flag-
ging, no matter what the obstructions,
and at the end of three hours he turns
sharply to the left, pe.etrates the cedars
for a few yards, and comes to a halt
before another camp fire. A branch
among the ashes gives out a faint smoke.
The ashes are still warm. ~The fire was
built Monday night, and over its flame
the white man cooked his Tuesday
breakfast. This is Wednesday at one
o'clock. The white man has been mov-
ing slowly.
Half an hour for rest and a bite to eat,
and the Indian moves forward again,
Here and there as he flies along he sees a
broken branch—the moss torn from a
rock—the leaves disturbed—-plenty of
signs that some one has passed that way.
LE TYR,
the ravine half a mile and returns. He
leaps this creek to examine the fuce of
the chff-—passes an hour or more in-
specting the sand and gravel in the bed
of the creek. It isa locality of promise.
There is no hurry.
“Pgh 1”
It is twilight in the forest—nic¢ht in
the canons and gorges. The Indian has
no trail to follow, but there isan instinct
which leads him on. He knows he is
close on the quarry. He moves swifily
but stealthily. There are rocks and
bughes and limbs and vines and pitfalis,
but he seems to see them in the darkness
as well as in the licht. Tbe flame of a
camp fire has caught his eye.
A man clothed in the coarse garments
of a miner sits with his back to a rock.
On the fire at his feet his meat is toast-
ing and his coffee is boiling. The silence
about him is that of the grave. His sur-
roundings are boulders, cliffs, ledges,
ravines, trees. Itis a wild, weird spot.
Nature was in a vindictive mood when
she made it. One sitting here alone at
high noon would feel a chill of loneli-
ness. The man looks into the fire. For a
moment his thouehts are elsewhere.
Of a sudden, that mysterious something
—that current which passes between life
and death, electrifies him, and with his
gaze riveted into the darkness beyond
the fire he springs to his feet
Too late! The Indian is not thirty
feet away, but before he can lay a hand
on the body life has departed. When a
bullet strikes the human heart life is
measured by seconds and fractions of
seconds.— Detroit Free Press.
A Bear on a Canal-Boat.
Only a Thumping Kept it From Find-
ing the Honey in the Cargo.
“The queerest thing I ever saw a bear
do,” said an old resident of the Wyom-
ing Valley, Pennsylvania, ‘“hapgened
on the West Branch Canal many years
ago. I was taking a round trip with
the owner of a boat in October, and we
had delightful weather all the way.
One part of the canal lay in a three-
mile stretch of oak and chestnut forest,
and toward sundown we struck the
woodland. There was a steep moun-
tain on one side of the canal, and the
owner of the boat and I were admiring
the beautiful glow of the sunset on the
opposite hills, when we saw a black bear
shamble out of the bushes and strike the
tow path only a few feet from the stern
of the boat. Itstuck up its nose and
sniffed, kept coming closer to the boat
all the time, and acted as if it wanted to
come on board. There was a ton or
more honey in the boat, and the owner
said that the bear had evidently got a
sniff of it and was hankering to gobble
some of it up. Noone onboard had a
shoot-iron of any kind, so for nearly
half a mile we watched the bear and let
it have its own way. It continued to
follow us and to sniff with its nose raised
and the way it acted amused us all.
‘When the boat had about a mile and a
half to go before it got out of the woods,
Jack Dumont, a chunky little fellow
who wassteering the boat, let drive at
the bear with a horse shoe and struck it
between the eyes. The blow was a
complete surprise to the bear, and it
wheeled to one side and went growling
oft into the woods. For several minutes
we could hear the bear thrashing
through the under brush, nearly oppo-
site the boat, and then all was still.
“By that time it was getting dusk,
and the full moon soon came up in a
clear sky. As the boat neared the
clearing and we were enjoying the love-
ly moonlight scenery, the driver yelled
back to us and said that a bear had just
waddled out of the small timber a tew
yards ahead of the mules and was shuf-
fling along the tow path. We couldn’t
see it in the dim light, and as we didn’t
have any gun we puid little attention to
what the driver said. Further on the
driver sang out that the bear was mak-
ing for the clearing and that it kept
looking over its shoulder every few steps
When we had gotten well out of the
woods the driver reported that the bear
had left the towpath, struck into a pub-
lic road, circled Aroq ~ and crossed a
bridge over the canal.' The last part of
this statement wasn’t true; as events
proved, though he thoughtit was at
the time.
“My host and I were sitting on a
bench looking at the moon from the
stern of the boat. When the boat got
under the bridge we heard something
heavy strike the roof behind us, and
looking quickly to see what it was, there
stood the bear facing us. It was sniff
ing loud and moving itz head from side
to side as though it was tryirg to spy
out what its nostrils had scented, and
what to do with the bear Jack gave a
yell and dashed at the bear with a club.
He hit on the side of the head, and was
going to deal it another blow when the
bear up with one of its paws and knock-
ed him heels over head into the canal.
Then it began to nose along the floor in
search of the honey it had smelled, and
we both pitched at it and mauled it
over the head with iron bars, The bear
turned tail and began to bellow like a
bull, dodging from one side of the boat
to the other. We followed it up and
pounded it so hard over the head and
shoulders that it rushed pastus tumbling
over everything in its way, and sprang
from the side of the boat, scrambling up
the bank and went down the towpath
toward the woods.
“The owner of the boat tied up for
the night right away, and Jack, who
had crawled out of the muddy water
without any assistance, found that he
had been so badly thumped by the bear
that he couldn't use bis right
The scent is to old for a bloodhound ;
neither panther nor wolf could read the
signs. In three hours he has reached
another camp fire. Tt was built near a
spring bubbling out of the rocks, and
water was thrown on the flames to
quench them. It was not thoroughly done,
however. Fire clings to several sticks, |
and the earth under the ashes is warm. |
The fire was built Tuesday might. The
white man left it about eight o'clock |
this (Wednesday) morning. Itis now !
four ¢’clock p. m. He is only eight hours |
ahead, and there are still three hours of
day light. :
Has he travelled fast or leisurely ? Is |
he a dozen miles away or only three or
four? The question is answered before
the Indian has pursued the trail half a
mile. The white man has stopped to
break off a picce of rock with his ham-
mer. He is a prospector. He goes np
arm at all. We got him aboard and
put him to bed, and the next day he
said he was sore and lame all over. He
stayed it. bed for four days, and during
the rest of the trip the owner had to
steer the boat himself.”’— New York
Tribune.
The deer is furnished with sup.
| plementary breathing places in addi-
tion to the nostrils, and this would ap-
pear to be an extraordinary provision
of nature, giving the beast of the chase
a freer respiration.
msm.
——-The pneumatic line between
New York and Philadelphia is now
considered an assuve fact. It is ex-
pected that it will transport large pack-
ages between the two cities 1u less than
twenty minutes.
before my companion had time to think -