Bellefonte, Pa., Sept. 4, 1891. a, THE MARCH OF OONMIPANY A. “Forward, March 1” was the ewpiain’s word And the tramp of a hundred men was heard, As they formed inlo line, in #he morning gray, Bhoulder to shoulder went Gompany A. Out of the shadow into the sun; A Jnjred Suen {het Mov ol ves one; Out of the dawning into day, A glittering file went Company W. Marching along to the rendezous By grassy ows the road ran through, By springing cornfields and orchards guy, Forward, forward went Company A. And the pink and white of the apple trees Falling fast on the fitfal breeze, Bealtered its dewy, scented spray Straight in the faces of Company A. A breath like a sighiranfthrough the ranks, Treading those on blossom banks, or the orchard hillsides far away, The northern hillside of Company A. Forward, match !—snd the dream wassped; _ Sut of the pine wood straight ahead lattered a Soin of the southern gray Face to face with Company A. Fourth with a flash in the southern sun A hundred bayonets leaped like one. Sudden drum-beat and bugle play Sounded the charge for Company A. Halt! What is here? A slumbering child, Roused by the blast of the bugle wild, Between the ranks of the blue and gray, Right in the path of Company A. Nothing knowing of north or south, Her dimpled finger within her mouth, Her gathered apron with blossoms gay, She stared at the guns of Company A. Straightway set for a sign of truce Whitely a handkerchief fluttered loose, As under the steel of the southern gray Galloped the captain of Company A. To his saddle-bow he swung the child, ith a kiss on the baby lips that smiled, While the boys in blue and the boys in gray Cheered for the captain of Companp A. Forth from the ranks of his halted men, While the wild liurrahs rang out again, The southern leader spurred his way To meet the captain of Company A Out of the arms that held her safe He took with a smile the little waif. A grip of the hand ’twixt blue and gray, And back rode the captain of Company A. Up there in the distant cottage door, A mother, clasping her child once more, Shuddered at sight of smoke-cloud gray Shrouding the path of Company A. A little later, and all was done— The battle over, the victory won. Nothing left of the pitiless fray That swept the ranks of Company A. Nothing left—save the bloody stain Darkening the orchard’s rosy rain Dead the chief of the southern gray, And dead the captain of Company A. Fallen together the gray and blue, Gone to the final rendezovs. A grave to cover, a prayer to say, And—Forward, march! went Company A. —Late Putman ‘Osgood, in Century. ——————— TAKEN UPON TRIAL, — BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES. “It is true as taxes,” said Deacon rout. “What's as true as taxes? asked Ezra Elton, who lived on the, farm across the creek. “Why, that one-half the world is bound nilly-willy to bear the burdens of the other halt!” sighed the deacon. “Ezra shifted his tobacco from one side of his face to the other. “Wal, as a gin'ral thing,” said he, “I calculate you're right. But 1 don’t see how it fits your particular case.” “Don’t ye?” the deacon gave a sig- nificant sniff. “Here have I lived a bachelder life all my days, because I was partial to peace and quietness, and didn’t want no extra care nor trouble, and just when I want to be peaceablest there comes one 0’ these new-fangled telegraph dispatches from York city that my brother John and his wife are both dead, and that my three nieces would take it very kind if they could come out here and live with me.” “P'raps they've got means to live on.” “No, they hain’t,” said the deacon. “Not a red cent.” “Wal, [ swan!” ejaculated Mr, El- + ton. “Jest what I think myself,” said the deacon, ruefully. ‘Ain't goin’ to coneent, be ye?” The deacon established himself more firmly on the old stone wall which .in- terposed between the highway and a patch of spring woods, all gay with dogwood blossoms and fresh young leaves. “Well, yes, I be and I aint. Sounds like parables, don’tit? But I’m talkin’| sober sense. I've writ to the lawyer! that’s windin’ up brother John's “af.! fairs, and told him to send the girls on. I writ that I'd take ’em for a month’s wisit, and at the end o' that time I'd decide which ot the three to keep. The other two must seratch for themselves. Ain't no sense in my supporting three grown women in idle- nese. I can.make one useful in keep- in’ house for me. But [ don’t see my way clear to supportin’ the three ot ‘em, “An’ what be you goin’ to do with Jemima Willett?” asked Elton. “She's goin’ to the new factory to work. Her brother is cutter there, and he’s told her ofa vacancy in the ironin’ room.” “Gals is a nuisance,” observed Ezra, trimming aff & fresh piece of tobacco with his pocket knife. “I guess you're about right,” said the deacon. Andsesditle Deacon Sfeaut, in the! bland sunshine of the Whio spring, was | lamenting his evil fate, “Brother | John's” three daughters down in New York were harping on the same string. “The country I" sighed Nannie | Prout. “And I always hated the country |" “An old batchelor, too,” said Isabel. | “Papa always called him an ‘original.’ I detest originals, don't you?” Hester screwed her bonny pink and white ince into a dimpled knot. “It wll be a grand joke,” said she. “I can get no end of material for the novel I'm going to write. I shall make a epecialty of Western dialect.” “I suppose we must £0,” said Isabel. And Nannie dolorously remarked | | | that they did not seem to have much choice left. “If dear papa had only lived to see that last investment through,” said Hester, “we should have been heir- -esses'!” Isabel shook her smooth, silky head. “Papa was always building "castles in the air ?”’ she sighed. Deacon Prout received the three girls with stiff civility, told them that ‘they were welcome, and put each of them in charge of some one particular department of Buckeye Farm, it was to be housekeeper, Hes- ter dairymaid, and Nannie to take charge of the poultry. “But, uncle,” protested Isabel, “we don’t know Ahyihing about poultry raising nor cooking nor butter mak- ing.” fr want to know,” said the deacon, “what sort o' way hev ye been brung up?’ 3 “If you hawe a piano,” suggested Nannie, “I have particularly studied i and Schumann.” “I can sketch quite accurately from nature,” remarked Isabel, “Aud 1,” said Hester valiantly, “have had a poem accepted by the Aboriginal Magazine,” Deacon Prout rolled his cold gray eyes from one to another of the speak- ers. “All that ain't nothin’ practical,” said he. “I hain’t no use here for music, nor picters, nor poetry.” And he stalked over to the barn, leaving his three nieces looking de- spairingly at one another. In the kitchen old Jemima Willett maliciously chuckled as she clattered among the pots and pans, for the fac- tory engagement didn’t begin until next week. “I guess I shan’t be out of a situa- tion long,” said she, to herself. “There ain’t nothing solid nor substantial about these gals.” Isabel proceeded straight to the gen- eral store in the village, and bought a cookery book. Hester and Nannie went into the nearest house, and took [| counsel with the tutelary genius there upon the subject of cows and Bramah Pootra fowls. “You see,” said they, to Mrs. Squire Sedley’s great amusement, “we've got to vindicate ourselves.” ‘What's this ?” said the deacon, com- ingin to dinner the second day, and sniffing in a savory and unusual odor. “Creamed chicken, uncle,” said Isa- bel “and spaghette, smothered in to- mato sauce.” “Jemima she generally fried the fowls in a pan,” observed the deacon, “and cooked the macaroni without a furria dressin’ But I don’t deny that this "ere is proper good. A mince pie —this time o’ year! I ain’t asleep or dreaming, be 1?” Isabel laughed gleefully out. “Qh, uncle, how readily you fell in- to the trap! It’s made of crackers and raisins and vinegar. I got the recipe out of my new cook book. Isnt it delicious ?” Old.Jemima sat by, frowning. “I ain’t one to believe in new-fangled trash,” said she. And nothing would induce her to take a piece of the deceitful pie. The deacon was lighting his pipe for an afterdinner smoke on the back piazza, when the soft sound of an old fashioned ballad, accompanied by the piano, reached his ears. “Well, I declare,” said he, “if that ain't ‘Annie Laurie!” Who's that sing- ing? And where did she get that pianny-forty 2” Isabel came out with a half-wiped tea saucer in her hand. “It's our Nan!” said she, triumph- antly. “Hasn’t she got a sweet so- prano voice? The piano? Why Joe Sedley brought it over this morning. Nan isto play the organ in church and lead the choir, and of course she must have something to practice on. Mr. Sedley is quite enthusiastic about her musical abilities.” “Humph I” said the deacon. “How much dothe trustees calculate to pay?” “A hundred and fifty dollar a year,” Isabel answered. And Nan can clothe herself nicely out of that sum, seeing that we all cutand make ourown ward: robes.” “Humph 1” again commented the deacon, “I wonder if she can play this eretune? My father used to sing it when I was a boy.” And he began to whistle, after a somewhat awkward fashion. “Oh,” cried Isabel, “that’s Brignal Banks! Of course she can play it—and sing it too!” And within five minutes the deacon, leaving his forgotten nipe on the piazza rail, was listening to the old refrain of iis youth, with a round tear-drop on either cheek. “It does sound good!” said he. “I deelare I can almost see father a-settin’ by the harth of the old log cabin sing- ing it and stampin’ his foot to keep time, and mother rockin’ John’s wood- en cradle opposite.” The “New York girl's” reputation grew and spread. Ina few days she cae (0 (he deacon, “Uncle,” said she, “Jemima don't get along at the factory. She’s too old to put up with new ways. Now I've thought of a plan. Do you object to my hiring her to look after the chick- ens and turkey poults, while { give music lessons instead ? I can afford to pay her, and make quite a margin of profivs besides. “Well, I do eay for't” said Deacon Prout, “you seem to havea pretty fair idea 0’ business.” Isabel's cooking became daintier and mare toothsome with every day. Hes ter distinguished herself in the dairy. Old Jemima toiled silently in the poul- try yard, and acknowledged to herself that them “New York gals’ had more "ability than they had received credit for. And at that mooth’s end Deacon Prout found himself in a quandary, “I dunno which o' the three to keep,” said he. “I like 'em all so well I don’t know how to make a ch’ice, The house wouldn't seem lke itself of the big north medder that Isabel painted and hung on’ the best room wall is more nateral than natur’ itself, And the story that Hetty made up about my gran’ther’s scrimmage with the Pequeechee Indians and had print- ed in the paper, it does excel every- thing!” “Well, uncle,” said Nanaie, that same evening, “which of us is to stay 2” “Uncle is going to draw lots,” sug. gested Isabel. ‘See, he’s got three slips of paper, and his old silk hat for a ballot box! Pretty soon we shall know our fats!” 3 Deacon Prout rose, balanced his spectacles on the top of his head, and knocked the old silk hat off the table, “I don’t care,” said he. “I ain't goin’ to draw lots at all.” “Are we all to go away ?” said Nan- nie, “No!” bawled the deacon. “You're all to stay—every one of ye. There ain’t a gal in the lot as I can make gu my mind to spare. And look here! I'm goin’ to buy a new parlor organ tor Nannie, and build a paintin’room on the north end of the house for Isa- bel, and Helty she can have the big south chamber for a study, or what- ever she like to call it, when she thinks up her stories,” “Uncle,” cried the three in chorus, “you're a darling!” So thought Joe Sedley, when he came to practice church music with Nannie; 80 thought the editor of the Aboriginal, when he casually stopped over at Bar- uet’s Corner, on his way to a copyright convention at Omaha; so thought Ezra Elton’s nephew, one of the out-West academicians, when he saw the studio where Uncle Prout had put up such a grand north window. And so, most of all, thought old Jemima Willets. “We're fixed real nice now,” said she. “But I dunno how long it’s goin’ to last, with all these fellers comin’ rovad here.” And Deacon Prout himself had his doubts on the subject.—Saturday Night, —— The Watermelon. The Best Way to Eat It—Tell a Mel- on's Condition by Thumps. Macon (Mo.) Telegraph. “What's the best way to eat a water- melon 7” inquired a citizen, “Tkat depends,” said another.‘ Henry Grady once gave his method and It was a good one for eating melons honestly ob- get the full flavor of it, imagine yourself a boy. again, and, after sneaking into a patch, crawl over the field until you get the one you want and then get over the fence with it and sitdown in a corner. “Then break it open and eat while watching through the cracks of the fence for the owner of the patch. Grady’s idea was to go out in the cool of the morning before the sun dried the dew, thump the melons until one gave back the proper sound, and then with a short-bladed knife give a rake all around it the long way. Throw away the knife and give the melon a whack on your knee. The melon parts and leaves all the heart on one half. Take that heart out with your fingers and eat it. But it can never taste as good as if stolen, Some peopleslice the melons the short way, and then put the slices on plates. To my mind that’s a finicky way. The old fashioned long slice is one of the best ways, after all.’ “How can you tell a ripe melon by thumping it? They all thump alike to me.” This from a young man city rais- ed. “It’s the easiest matter in the world,” said a man who at some time of his life had risen with the lark and plough- ed his task of furrows, “and any man who has ever lived on a farm will never make a mistake. You are right about the thumping sound being nearly the same always, and unless a melon is real green, and an experienced ege can tell that without thumping it, there is bug the very slightest difference in the sound—that is, apparently. But to the man of experience thereis a big differ- ence. I can tell exactly by a couple of thumps wherther a melon is partly ripe, alittle underripe or a little overripe. But a better way for those who have not mastered the art of thumping is to scratch the rind the least bit. The rind of a ripe. melon is tender and easily scratched, and turns dark immediately. The rind on a green melon is tough and requires several minutes to turn dark. {Talking about melons, do you know that a fire of last year came very near wiping out of existence the finest canta- loupe that was every eaten in Macon 7” said a man whose paunch showed plain- ly that along with his breakfast he had all the good things of lite, including a cantaloupe, “You know that Bob Price first introduced a buff-meated can- taloupe that was not only very sweet, but had an unusually thick rind and a very few seed. Everybody wanted a Bob Price cantaloupe, and he and Whit Hardy could have sold thousands had they raised them for the general market, By reason of their being almost seedless, it promised to be a long time before this c.ntaloupe could be generaily rais- ed, but Mr. Price managed by close saving to accumulate five pouads of seed. Then you know his home was destroyed by fire and the bag of seed. This season he borrowed a few of the seed from a friend to whom he gave some last season, and will raise about one hundred, when he promised tv raise thousands,” Be —— Tine Wine Experr.--The wine ex- pert is a man born with such a keen sense of smell and taste that heis able to take different wines and fiad in one a tritle too much acid, another is too thick, still another is too thin, and so on. Afier looking them all over he is able to blend them together and make a clean, full bodied, palatable wine. Almost any ordinary man with good “horse sense’ can learn the mechani. cal part of winemaking, but when it cones to getiing wines through their fermentation without disease preparing them for the bouwle—what we call “fin. ishing”’—an expert wine taster is requir. ed. Such men, abroad, eurn from $5,000 to $6,000 a year, and some of them even larger salaries; in this country they receive from $1,200 to without Nan’s music; and that picer | $3,500 per annum. tained, but if you want to eata melon to Cocoanut Culture. How the Tree is Started and the Valua- ble Fruit Produced. Although the true and original home. Sea islands, it has -become so widely diffused by the hands of man and the waves of the ocean that it is now a prominent feature in almost every trop- ical portion of the globe, covering be- tween 3.000,000 and 4,000,000 acres with its beautiful palms, and number- ing 250,000,000 trees, yielding annually 10,000,000,000 of cocoanats. A recent approximate estimate of the area cultivated with the cocoanut palm gave the following result : British In- dia and dependencies, 300,000; Central America, 250,000; Ceylon, 300,000 3 Eastern Archipelago and colonies, 350,- 000; Java and Sumatra,220,000; Maur- itius, Madagascar, Seychellees, and African coast, 100,000 ; Pacific islands including Fiji, New Caledonia, ete., 350,000; Siam and Cochin China. 100,- 000, and West Indies, 85,000. And when Florida shall add her 10,- 000 acres lying south of the twenty-sev- enth parallel of north latitude, capable of growing 1,600,000 trees, we may see at no distant day the North American cocoanut demanding no mean share of commercial attention. For many years cocoanuts have grown on the coast of southern Florida, but owing to an extreme fondness for the green nuts manifested by those en- gaged in the sponge fishing along the coast, few nuts have been allowed to ripen, orly sufficient to demonstrate that cocoanuts can be raised for several hundred miles along the coast of Flori- da, where the Gulf stream flows so close to the shore. The cocoanut industry in that vicinity has received an impetus of late. Several northern capitalists have gone to Florida and embarked in this industry, seeing (like Col. Sellers) mil- lions in it. Within the past four years over 360,000 nuts were planted on the coast of Florida. Such nuts as are wanted for planting are gathered into heaps, or placed un- der sheds, where they are allowed to re- main until the sprout shows itself through the husk. When planted in regular order, holes about three feet deep, and from fifteen to thirty feet apart are dug. In the hole the nut is planted with care, and covered with but one foot of soil. The hole is filled grad- ually as the sprout grows, until it reaches the surface, when it is left to itself, requiring no further attention. Should the place where the cocoanut is planted be any great distance from the seashore a quantity of salt”is some- times placed in the hole, and sometimes scraps of iron, as, being strictly a salt- water loving tree, it will thrive but a short distance from ' the seashore, near- ness to salt water being absolutely essen- tial to its welfare. In fact, is said no magnet 1s truer to the pole than this root of the cocoanut tree to the ocean; for when the root breaks through the husk it points directly toward the sea, no matter in what position the nut is placed in the ground. Boring its way downward the root fastens itself so deep and firmly in the ground that no tornado, no matter how severe, has ever been known to wrench it from its moorings; but the hurricane, so frequent in the tropics, will often twist the trunks and carry the broken portions a long distance, thus ending that cocourut palm, asit will not sprout asecond time. Could you examine a cocoanut when it is in the procees of sprouting you will find directly beneath the sprouting eye a small, white, mush- room shaped kernel, and in this little germ lies the life of the future tree. Shut up in its prison-like shell, and the shell surrounded by many inches thick of tough and tangled fiber, how is it to work its way out and perform the duties assigned to it? For it is apparently soft and tender as a baby’s hand. Soon its tiny fingers begin boring their way out of the weakest eye; then, rending the tough wooly fiber right and left, it forces itself to the surface and commences the campaign of life, send- ing its shoots upward to form the tree and downward to form the roots, still clinging to its parent for support, until the whols inside of the shell is filled with a round ball like substance that “is formed by the conge:led milk of the co- coanut. From it the roots first forming receive their staff of life until the moth- er coke becomes exhauted, and, having fulfilled her mission, is deserted by her offspring and left a useless mass of fiber, On grows the tree, sending deep into the ground its roots and high into the air its trunk until after a lapse of from five to eight years it has attained a height of from torty to sixty feet, and then pays tribute to mother earth by bearing its first fruit, and, under favor- able circumstances, continuing to yield for more than half a century, giving its owner from 100 to 200 marketable nuts a vear. Through the centre of the trunk of the cocoanut treeis a soft, fibrous heart which furnishes the life of the tree and acts as a great pump in forcing to the quired to fill them. This fibrous’ heart has a wonderful filtering power, for no matter in what location to tree may be growing, either upon the beach or in tie malacis! swaaips peur (he pools of stagnant water, when nature has done her work she deposits in the cocoanut a sparkling liquid as clear as crystal and as eool as if drawn from the dsepest well in our northern yards. Having no par- ticular season for fruiting, but bearing all the y=ar round, blossoms, ripe and green fruit may be found on the same tree. ‘lie blossom of the coconnut is a most beautiful and peculiar work of na- ture’s art. Appearing at the base of the long ragged leaves is a gourd. like sheath, green in color, and standing erect until its own weight causes it to bend downward, where it hangs until the stems it encloses, which are to bear and sustain the nuts, are sufficiently matured to proceed on their journey without protection. When the outer covering splits open it reveals a cluster of ragged stems, upon ‘each of which you will find miniature cocoanuts, re- quiring about fourteen mouths to ripen. re —— The Maine bounty of $5 on bears has thinned them out remarkably. A few years ago, Greenville, which is the very center of the bear region, offered for sale every year 50 or more skins. This year only seven have been offered. of the cocoanut is India and the South | nuts the immense quantity of water re-- Evolution of the Bicycle. Development from the First Rude “ Wheel Made by a French Noble- man. The first rudimentary bicycle was mounted by Baron von Drais, a French- man , living in Germany, who early in this century invented a combination of two wheels, a seat and handles, which he called “celerifere,”” to aid him in his work of overseeing large estates.” The old cuts of this odd machine, called af- ter the inventor, the ‘Draisine,”” show it to be in its general features the direct forerunner of the hobby-horse. “Drais- ines” were introdifeed into England in 1818, and a year later they were seen in America, on the streets of New York. In both countries they met with great favor, and one historian relates that in New York +people rode them up and down the bowery, and in the park, a favorite place for speed being the down grade from Chatham street to the City Hall Park.” Clumsy machines they seem to our eyes, says the Sz. Nick- olas —two heavy wheels connected by a cross-bar, to which was attached mid- way the cushioned seat for the rider. In front of the seat was a raised cushion upon which, handle in hand, the rider rests bis forearms, guiding the machine. He propelled it by pushing alternately with his feet on the ground until the speed was sufficient to maintain an equilibrium, when he would raise his feet and in the words of a rider to-day, “const.”’ The rage for the “Draisines,” and “pedestrian curricles, or‘‘daady-horses’ and ‘“‘hobby-horses,’’ as the latter “im- proved’’ machines were called, subsided rapidly because of the difficulty of mak- ing them practically useful,” and be- cause of the ridicule always excited by the riders. This curious sport of riding two wheels, joined, and running in the same perpendicular plane, therefore langnish- ed in obscurity until after a lapse of more than forty years it again attracted public attention in a new form. It was in 1865 that a French mechanic, Pierre Lallement, conceived the notion of at- taching foot-cranks to the front wheel of the old fashioned hobbyv-horse. He made a machine embodying this idea, learned to ride, and exhibited it at the Paris exposition in 1867. The credit for this invention is also claimed in England for Edward Giiman, but be the honor due to Frenchman or Englishman, here, at all events, was the immdiate inventor of the bicycle. It iramediately became popular in Eng- land and America. A great many changes were necessary, of course, be- fore the crude machine Lallement—the “velocipede’ of thirty years ago—be- came the finished bicycle of to-day ; but energetic business men in England, and later in America, saw the possibili- ties aud began the manufacture of the machines. Improvement has followed improve- ment, until there is little resemblance left to the old velocipede, or ‘bone- shaker,” as it was flippantly called, and 1t is difficult to imagine in what way a wodern bicycle may be improved. From a Palpit to a Gambling House. “Speaking of mysterious disap- pearances,” said Captain Nelson, the racing man, at the Giracd House last night, ‘a case of that kind tore up Sa- vannah society a few years ago. One of the most popular clergymen in the city kissed bis wife and childeen after supper one evening and left his house to go to a service in his church. He never appeared at the church, and was never seen 1n Savannah again. Detectives were employed to search for him und a large amount of money was expended on the investigation bat all to no avail, and within six months the conclusion was reached that he had either commit- ted suicide or had been murdered. A year or so later a young physician from Savannah who had been an attendant upon this elergyman’s ministration, was in Paris and was waking the rounds of the city with some friends. They went into one of the swell gambling houses, and had not been there many minutes be fore a man entered whom the Savannah doctor immediately recognized as the fugitive preacher. The physician ac- costed him by name, whereupon the ex- clergyman drew him into a corner and begged him to be silent and discreet. ‘I am,’he said, ‘one of the proprietors of this house, and I am making money here. The profession of the ministry grew utterly abhorrent to me. [ could do nothing but abscond from the town in which you knew me. 1 rely upon you not to expose me.’’ ‘The facts,” continued Capt. Nelson, “were told to me by a physician, who is now one of the most eminent and suc- cessful members of his profession in Savannah.” Rock Crystal. Rock crystal is plentiful in various localities of the United States. A mass of it weighing fifty-one pounds from North Carolina’ was sent four years ago to New York. The original ‘crys tal, which must have weighed 300 poands, was unfornnately broken in gieces by the ignorant mountain girl who discovered it. One very useful purpose to which this mineral sub- stance is put is the manafacture of mirrors, when it can be found in big enough blocks to be sawed into slabs of snificient size. Ite superiority over glass lies in the fact that it does not, like glass, detract from the rosiness of the complexion. Every preity woman should suvely have a hand glass of rock crystal.— Washington Star. I —————C— —— Fastest Trains in the World. The Royal Blue Line Trains between Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York, via B. & 0. R. R., are note only the fastest trains in the world, but their equipment is the fastest and safest ever built, embracing all devices and applirnees to secue safety and com- fort that are known to the car builder's art. Vestibuled cars protected by Pullman’s anti-telescoping device, heat- ed by steam and lighted by Pintsch gas. ne “Why, now I cannot get enough to eat,” says one lady who formerly had no appetite, but took Hood’s Sarsaparilla, A Boy Revolutionary Hero. He Led Ethan Allen and H's Gallant Men to a Bri‘ish &tronghold. Of the boy heroes of the revolution the first and almost forgotten one was Nathan Beman. In the spring of 1775 he lived with his father, a farmer, near the village of Shoreham, which was opposite Fort Ticonderoga. Farmer Beman was an American devoted 1g the cause. Being of a roving dispcsition and fond of play, Nathan had often crossed the lake and formed the uc- quaintance of the boys whose fathers composed the garrison. The little fel- lows had fine times under the walls of fort, and every now and then Nathan went inside and saw how things were moving along there. In the month of May Ethan "Allen, at the head of the famous Green Mountain boys, came up through the forest to surprise and capt- ure, if possible, the fort and its garri- fon. The expedition, with which Bene- dict Arnold was connected, was come posed of three divisions, one of which was to capture some boats at Skenes- borough and send them down the lake to Allen and his men, who were to get. them at Shoreham. But when the re- nowned Green Mountain leader reached a single boat awaited him. This wus a. bitter disappointment, for Allen had but eighty-three men with him, and bis position was one of great hazard. Tt looked like madness to 2ssail, with his small force, an armed place like Ticon- deroga, yet it was still more dangerous to remain idle. “We can’t wait for the boats, my boys !” exclaimed the intrepid Allen. “We must assault the fortress.” In looking for a guide the Vermonter tound Farmer Beman, who, ‘as soon as he understood what was wanted, said : “Why not take my boy? Nathan knows all about the fort. He’s been all over it, and knows the location of every rat hole, inside and out.” The suggestion delighted Allen, and little Nathan was called and ques- tioned. “I'll go, sir,” he said at once. «I know the way to Delaplace’s quarters, if you should want to find him.” Delapluce was the commandant and, of course, the very person whom Allen wanted. The little party crossed the lake in such boats as they had at hand. The oars were dipped silently in the starlit water, no one spoke above a whis- per. Morning was near at hand, and so precious time had been lost that every moment had to be put to use. When the pariots reached the opposite shore the commander turned to So Beman and, laying his hand upon his shoulder, said quickly. “We're ready now. to the sally port.” Guided by the farmer's son, the mountaineers moved toward the fort, and, coming suddenly upon a sentry, heard the snapping of his fusee lock and saw him run through a covered way within the walls. “‘Quick 1” cried the boy, looking up at Allen, and the soldiers sprang after the guide and made their way to the parade ground unopposed. The enthusiasm of the patriots now broke forth into shouts of victory which, reaching the ears of the British soldiers, caused them to spring from their pallets and rush from their barracks, only to be made prisoners as they appeared. Never was a surprise more complete—thanks tee.dNathan Be- man. When Allen had secured most of the garrison he asked the boy to show way to the commander’s room, and the two were soon running up the steps leading to it. Bang! bang! went Allen’s sword against the colonel’s djor, and the British officer hurried out of bed to answer the demand. It happened that Allen and Delaplace were old acquaint- ances, and the reader can imagine the latter’s astonishment when he saw who was hammering at the door. Of course there was nothing for him to do but to surrender. The spoils that fell into the hands of the victors amply repaid them for all the dangers they had faced, and the fort remained in ‘the hands of the Americans for many months later, when it was abandoned and dismantled by Gen. St. Clair Amid the general re- joicings that followed this exploit the part played by Nathan Beman was not forgotten. His name was on many tongues and his services were embalmed in the poetry of the day. Without him Allen's heroic expedition would in all proability have resulted in failure. Nathan grew to manhood and ended his days in peace in the year 1856, dying then in Franklin county, N. Y., at the age of 89 years. “He lived,” says Lossing, the historian, “to see our con- federacy increase trom thirteen to thirty stars, and from three million of people to twenty million.— The Advance. tn emrn——— Show us the way She Shot to Kill. Preasantviiie, N. J, Aug. 21. Mrs. Williams, of Hammonton, was awakened early this morning by a movement of the bedelothing covering her daughter and herselt. As she start. ed up she caught sight of a man at the side of the bed pulling at the clothes. Mrs. Williams screamed and the fellow hissed. : . “Shut Wp your mouth, or I'Nt fill you full of hales 1” The intruder held a revolver threaten- ingly near Mrs. Williams’ head. The commotion awakened Miss Wil- liams, and quick as a flash she seized a pistol from beneath her pillow and fired atjthe intruder. With a cry of pain the fellow sprang from the room and escaped. Miss Williams is certain that she hit the man, and she is being warmly con- gratulated for her bravery, - i —— Potatoes are Rotting. HARRISBURG, August 24 --Reports bave been received from three counties at the office of the State Board of Agri- culture showing the prevalence of a rot among potatoes. Secretary Hdge thinks | the trouble may increase if the recent warm rains and hot sun conditions con- tinue, and he suggests the lifting of the crop from the ground as soon as the pre- serice of the rot is detected. When this is not practicable, he suggests the topping | off of the tops of the afflicted section of the patch. I —————— A tunnel must be completed be- for it can be called under way. the latter village, in the night time, not.
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