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.