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II,
Bellefonte, Pa., May 9, 1902
ET is,
TO THE DANDELION.
Dear common flower,
way,
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,
First pledge of blithesome May,
Which children pluck, and, full of pride, up-
hold —
High-hearted buccaneers, overjoyed that they
An El Dorado in the grass have found
Which not the rich earth’s ample round
May match in wealth—thou art more dear to
me
“Than all the prouder summer blooms may be.
that grow’st beside the
Gold such as thine ne’er drew (he Spanish prow
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas,
Nor wrinkled the lean brow
Of age, to rob the lover’s heart of ease;
*Tis the spring’s largess, which she scatters now
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand,
Though most hearts never understand
To take it at God’s value, but pass by
*The offered wealth with unrewarded eye.
—J. R. Lowell.
THE COMING OF THE PIANO.
The early November twilight was gath-
ering on the prairie. The last quail-call
bad sounded, the last mottled breast had
pressed itself to earth in the stubble. A
lamp glowed palely in the level distance
from the window of a cabin. The straight,
flat road was beginning to lose itself in
shadow ahead. :
Along this road, which a boy would have
scanned in vain for a pebble to shy at a
bird, a pair of plump, sedate horses nodded
regularly as they bent to their work. Their
load consisted of a long, tall box, which
nearly filled the wagon-bed. On this box
sat a small hoy—if his ceaseless squirming
and twisting could be called sitting—and
on the epring-seat in front two men.
“It’s gettin’ late, Web,’ said the older
man finally, clucking at the team. I'm
afraid Kate will come home before we get
this thing stowed away in the parlor, and
spoil it all.”
“I think not,”’ answered his son, reas-
suringly. She had examination papers to
mark to-day.”’
“I'll bet she will!" pip:d ont the boy
from behind, in shrill, excited tones.
“Tain’t so easy to fool Kate as you
think.”'
“We'll fool her this time,”’ said the
father, with a chuckle of anticipation.
As they neared a grove of noble maples
clustering around a large, inviting frame
house, two girls in short dresses came
flying, bareheaded, down the road. Brant
stopped the team and hoisted one of them
up to his lap, while Web did the same for
the other.
“It that i¢ papa?’ asked the younger
one, under her breath, as she gazed. big-
eyed at the imposing box.
“Looks like it, sis, don’t it?’’ he an-
sweied gayly.
‘‘Yes, and I’ve set on it ever since we
left town, and ain’t got a splinter in me
yet,’ boasted Billy. ‘‘You can’t though,
Milly ’cause you’re a girl and ’d fall
off!”
‘I don’t want to,”’ answered Milly,
contentedly snuggling against her father’s
side.
‘Your sisier ’ain’t come yet, has she?’
asked Mr. Brant.
**No, but she let out school ten minutes
early, and said she’d be home by five, and
it’s most that now,’”’ answered the
child.
‘‘She’s goin’ to ketch us, Web,’ groaned
Drant.
“I don’t think she’ll be home before
LE five, papa,’’ interposed the older
girl.
‘*Why don’t you think so?’ he asked
ab her significant tone.
‘‘Because I set the school clock hack
half an hour at noon,’ she said simply.
Mrs. Brant and Lon, another grown son
met the load in the yard. Her eyes were
misty, although her face was beaming.
‘*Heory, I thought you and Web would
never come !”’ she exclaimed. ‘“The chil-
- dren bave been half wild, and Milly was
- dred-pound box.
sure that she saw Kate coming every min-
ute. I have a lamp and hammer and
screw-driver here on the porch all ready for
you. Do you want anything else?”
‘Nothing but time,’’ answered Brant,
as he carefully swung the powerful team
around and backed the wagon up to the
poreh.
Half a minute later the three husky men
were tugging and straining at the nine-hun-
Mrs. Brant stood by,
smiling, with the tools in her hand,so that
not a second might be lost ; the girls look-
ed on with sparkling eyes.
Billy was stationed at the horses’ heads,
merely to get -him out of the way, for
Prince and Joe were absolutely trust-
worthy, and knew just what was required
- of them in the way of standing still. But
when the heavy instrument was half on the
© porch, half in the wagon, Billy, burning
“ with his responsibility, suddenly raised on
his toes, gave Prince’s bridle a smart jerk,
and bawled, ‘“‘Whoa!”’ The startled ani-
~ mals took a step forward; the piano, stick-
ing to the wagon, slipped to the edge of
the porch, and there the precious thing
-- hung, with an inch of flooring between it
and destruction.
Mis. Brant gasped and turned faint, but
the next moment Lon was at the horses’
‘heads, backing them in place again. Then
Brant, white with auger and fright, took a |.
fierce stride toward the cowering, con-
science-stricken lad.
His wife’s band stayed him. ‘No,
Henry,” said she, gently. *‘It’s her birth-
day gift. TLet’s not have it marred by a
single harsh word. Billy didn’t mean to
do it.”
At last the box was safely landed, and
: then the great dark red, glossy beautiful
object was slowly slipped out.
For a moment no one spoke. Then Mrs.
Brant murmured softly, ‘‘I wish grandma
could have lived to see it.’
‘‘I suppose she can see it, mother, from
where she is,”’ said Web, with an under-
standing smile.
“*Well, mother, get your blanket,” said
Brant with an anxious glance toward the
road. ‘‘She’s liable to come any minute,
now.’’
The blanket was brought and held
against the jamb of the front door, accord-
ing to the piano-man’s instructions, in case
of accidental contact ; the piano was rolled
carefully through, first into the hall, then
into the parlor, and finally into the corner
which had been selected for it fully six
weeks before, in secret family council, while
Kate was at school.
This room was heated only on special oc-
casions. This was one of them, and the
wood-stove was crackling and roaring in
quite a hilarious way, as though it knew a
thing or two itself about birthday surprises.
Lon went back to the wagon after the
stool ; Mrs. Brant deftly placed a vase and
a photograph or two upon the top of the
piano, laid some music on the rack in front,
and, lo! the new-comer was at home.
*‘Mother set down and play one of your
old tunes on it, just to try it, before she
comes,’’ said Brant, unexpectedly.
Mrs. Brant blushed quite girlishly, and
looked at Web for his opinion.
‘‘Not now,”’ said that thoughtful son,
**You could hear it a quarter of a mile
down the road. And we’d better be getting
the lamp out of this room, and the box
away. If she sees a light in the parlor,
she’ll suspect something sure.”’
The children, in a pauvic of delight at all
this secrecy and manceuvring, scuttled
away; the stove was shut off to stop its
roaring, which Kate would certainly have
heard ; the light was carried out, and the
double doors closed, in their normal posi-
tion. The empty piano-box was slid quick-
ly into the wagon again, the loose beards
were tumbled in after it, and the whole,
with crack of whip, went rumbling toward
the barn.
But there was an atmosphere of expect-
ancy and excitement about the house
which could not be so easily disposed of.
Nor were the children alone responsible for
it. Mrs. Brant, with a bright red spot on
each cheek, started to wind the clock, when
she had opened it only to get the key to
her chest of silverware. Henry, the
phlegmatic Henry, whose religion was pla-
cidity, pulled off his boots and put them on
again, in place of hisslippers, causing Mil-
ly to shriek with delight.
In addition, the supper tabie was spread
with one of Mrs. Brant’s choicest white
flowered cloths, and set with silver and
glass that seldom saw the outside of the
china-closet. In the kitchen two great
juicy steaks lay on the table, in close prox-
imity to the smoking-hot stove, awaiting
the proper moment, which would be when
Lilian came racing in from the gate to an-
nounce that Kate was in sight.
‘Billy, stop snapping your eyes that
way,”’ said Mrs. Brant, with a laugh. “A
blind man could see that something was up.
Go wet your hair and I'll brush it. I want
to slick you up a little bit.”’
‘‘What do you want toslick him up for?”’
asked Brant, gravely, and he noticed for
the first time that his wife had on her silk
waist. ‘*She’ll know something’s up, sure,
if Billy’s hair is combed.”’
‘‘Sure enough!’’she cried,in amusement.
‘‘But as soon as she sees the table she’ll
know it, anyway. And I think it would
be a nice idea for you and the boys to slip
into your good coats. You know how she
appreciates anything of that kind.”
She paused, smiling wistfully. Brant
looked dubious. He could buy his daugh-
ter a piado for her birthday, but to put on
his best coat—that was another thing, not
to be lightly done. Nothing less than
church or a faneral could ordinarily lure
forth the black, ill-fitting garment.
‘I suppose mebbe I could,’’ he admitted
finally, rising slowly. *‘I don’t know when
I’ll get a new one, though—now.”’
“It is I who will do without the new
things, Henry,” said his wife, happily,
resting a hand upon his stooped shoulder.
I claim that my privilege—it is my
contribution to the piano.”
As Brant disappeared in the bed-room
just off the sitting room, she charged Billy
to run to the barn and tell the boys, who
were feeding and bedding the stock, to go
secretly to their room when they were done
and put on their best coats, and not come
down until the supper bell rang. But first
she buttoned him into his little double-
breasted jacket, hitherto reserved for Sun-
days, cautioned him not to get it dirty,and
kissed his shining face.
It was nearly six o’clock when the door
quietly opened and there stepped into the
deserted sitting room a slight young wom-
an with a girlish but proudly lifted breast,
well-braced shoulders, mid-night hair,
and a peculiar agile carriage. A single
glace into her sober, purple eyes made it
plain how the big rowdy boys in her school
bad been quelled, after having put more
than one man teacher to flight. She lovked
tired now, though, and somewhat pale;
and after laying down her little lunch-
basket and a thick heap of examination
papers, she removed her hat and pressed her
delicate fingers to her temples.. There
was something vaguely suggestive of dis-
content in the movement. Then she went
up to her room to wash and comb her hair
for supper.
It was a little thing, this withdrawing to
wash her hands, but to the family, who
washed in a common basin in the kitchen
and dried themselves on a common roller
towel, there was something nunlike and
devotional about it. And it contributed,
with a score of other refined habits, to
make her room little less than sacred to the
men of the house, and to crown her with a
halo of inviolability. In fact, if Henry
Brant could have expressed himself in his
higher moods, he would have said that an
angel had been given to his keeping.
‘‘Have we heefsteak for supper?’ asked
Kate in surprise of Lilian,upon her return,
detecting the savory odor which penetrat-
ed to the sitting-room.
‘*Yes,”? answered Lilian, biting her lip
to hide a smile.
“Did father go to town this after-
noon?’’ .
‘‘Yes, and took Billy. That’s why he
went home at noon.”’
‘Billy musn’t go home at noon any more
without my permission.’’
At sight of the brilliant dining-table,
Kate same to an abrupt halt on her way to
the kitchen to belp her mother give the
finishing touches to supper. At the same
moment Mr. Brant opened the kitchen
door.
‘‘Have we company, mother?’’ asked
the daughter hastily.
‘Yes. Didn’t Lilian tell you?”
‘Why, no.’’. She shot a questioning
glance at Lilian, and then looked down at
her clothes. ‘‘I can’t appear in this old
skirt. Who is it?” 18
Her mother’s eyes twinkled. Some one
that yon won’t have to dress up for. A
young lady who has just reached her ma-
jority.”
‘‘Ah, mother! exclaimed the girl, at once
relieved and pleased, and kissed her. ‘I
didn’t know whether any of you would
think of it or not, and I’m so glad. Is that
what the beefsteak is for, too ?’’ she added,
langhing.
a said Mrs. Brant, reaching for the
The men filed in in their impromptu
splendor. Lon grinned rather foolishly as
he caught Kate’s roguish eye. To be sure,
their black coats did look a little ridicu-
loue above their rusty trousers and coarse,
mud-stained shoes. But when the latter
were tucked under the table the hastiness
of their make-up was betrayed only by the
collars of their gray flannel shirts.
Kate looked up and down the table, af-
ter grace, with bright eyes and flushed
cheeks. How easy it was to make her hap-
py! None of them needed to feel her
pulse to know that her heart was flutter-
ing. : :
‘You don’t expect a speech, I hope,”
said she, and though she smiled bravely,
there was an undeniable shyness in her
eyes as they flitted from one to the other.
‘‘No more than your face has already
made,’’ said Web, with his quiet smile.
He, perhaps, understood her best of all.
*‘I want to teil you all though, she add-
ed, ‘how happy you have made me.
This is almost compensation for the very
ancient feeling I have had all day. I
wouldn’t object to getting old if I could
also be getting on. Now if I could get a
school in town next fall, and take music
lessons, and beg, steal, or rent a piano
to practice on, I should be willing to be
thirty-one instead of tweuty-one. ~ But
there! I made a solemn vow this morn-
ing, all to myself, that I wouldn’t com-
plain any more. What’s the matter with
you, Billy?”
At her mention of piano Billy’s eyes be-
gan to show alarming symptoms of popping
from his head ; aud though he was now do-
ing his best to look unconscious. his efforts
were far from convineing.
“Billy can’t keep a secret,’”’ said Mr.
Brant, complaeently, ‘‘so I guess you’d
better jump up, Lilian, and get those pres-
ents.”
Lilian, primed for her part, sprang up
and instantly returned from the sitting
room with an armful of packages, which
she laid around the astonished Kates
plate. A new Junch-basket from Mrs.
Brant ; a box of colored pencils for marking
examination papers from Biily, who hinted
that if she didn’t need the red one, he
could use it to advantage in drawing
Indians ; a bandkerchief from Lilian—
something from each except her father,
who sat at the head of the table looking
not the least guilty over his neglect. The
shrewd Kate saw through him, though.
‘‘From all except you, father!’ she
said, reproachfully, to give him a chance.
‘‘Well, I have got a little something for
you, to tell the truth. Bat you’ll have to
wait till after supper. I can’ let a meal
like this get cold for any birthday gifts.’
Sowething in his tone caught her atten-
tion. Billy’s eyes, moreover, were not
yet normal, in spite of the family gifts hav-
ing been brought forth. But if a great
hope leaped up in her bosom, it sank
again when her mother said, still preserv-
ing the great secret :
‘‘Henry, you might just as well go and
get it now. These children won’t eat a
mouthful until you do.”’
‘‘He couldn’t go and get that for which
Kate longed. How could she suspect any
artifice in those words, coming fiom her
mother ?
‘‘Are you sure it’s the children, mother,
that can’t eat?’ asked Brant. ‘‘I don’t
see as you have done much damage to that
piece of steak on your own plate. Go
ahead now and let my present wait.”’
Supper over, they filed into the sitting
room, Billy and the younger girls crowd-
ing their father’s heels in a manner that
again sent Kate’s hopes up. Mrs. Brant
took time to step hastily into the kitchen
and glance at her dish-water.
‘Sit down now, all of you, and I'll
bring Kate my present,’’ said Brant, still
carefully adhering to the program of de-
ception and surprise. He stepped into the
dark parlor and half closed the door be-
hind him so that Kate could not see in.
Billy quivered.
“I can’t find it mother, called Brant,
after a moment. ‘‘Somebody must have
moved it. Bring a lamp.”’
Kate sprang up with a little nervous
laugh and seized the lamp, but her mother
took it from her almost as quickly. She
feared the girl would drop it when the
crisis came.
“You go ahead,” she said to Kate, with
a strange huskiness. Her own heagt was
pounding almost painfully, and she was
wishing it all over with.
‘Billy, passing the safety-point of pres-
sure, let out a whoop, turned a hand-
spring right there in the room, against all
law, upset a chair, and sent the cat sczut-
tling under the stove. Then he darted in-
to the parlor, closely followed by the hard-
ly less excited Milly and Lilian.
Kate paused at the threshold, halted by
the unexpected warmth from the parlor.
In the dark corner opposite she saw
something glistening—something tall and
looming, with a narrow line of white
across its front. She advanced unsteadily,
with a face as white as marble. Reaching
her father, she blindly seized the bard,
knotted hands which had done the work
and made the beautiful thing possible, and
then sank, a limp burden into his arms.
‘I guess we overdone it, mother,’ said
he, hastily. ‘‘Run and get the camphor,
Web.’
‘No, no, I don’t want ic !’’ protested
Kate, encircling his neck. “‘I—I just
want to ery’’
And cry she did, with her head on his
bosom, while he awkwardly stroked her
dark hair, and her mother nursed her in
glistening, yearning eyes.
*‘Wot’s she oryin’ fer 2’ whispered Billy,
scornfully. “I'll het paw wouldn’t ’a’
bought it if he’d a-knowed that.’’
Then Kate slipped from her father’s
arms, suddenly knelt before the startled
Billy, swept him to her breast, and rained
his face with kisses. ‘Oh, Billy, Billy,
what would wedo without you !’’ she cried,
and laughed wildly, and smothered him
again, with her soft warm lips and langhed
again, until the ungrateful lad had wrig-
gled free and wiped from his mouth that
precious moisture for which men bave
thirsted unto death.
She then arose and faced them all, with
hands tightly clasped. She knew now
where the hogs and steers had gone which
had been taken to town. She knew why
Lon bad decided to wear his old overcoat
another winter; why her mother had in-
sisted that the kitchen could goa listle
longer without a new floor; why Web—
proud, fastidious Web—had declared with
a laugh that his old buggy was still good
enough to go courting in.
‘‘I—can’t—say anything,’’ she faltered,
with quivering nostrils.
‘Not with your tongue, but with your
fingers,’’ said Web, and gently pushed her
down upon the stool.
It may not have heen a masterly per-
formance which followed, yet who shall
say it was not? It wove a magic spell
around the little group of listeners. Web’s
fanoy flew five miles across the prairie,
where a sweet girl was at that moment, in
all likelihood, combing her sunny hair
against his coming, and laying all the little
snares of love, just as if he were not ‘al-
ready hopelessly enmeshed. The father’s
clod-stained feet left the earth for a brief
spell, in a vision of the sacredness of father-
hood such as had seldom been vouchsafed
him before. And the mother—she sat
hushed and starry-eyed, forgetful of the
travil which had sapped her young woman-
hood and the toil which bad bent and hard-
ened her hands.
That night Henry Brant, in a wakefnl
moment, heard the creaking of a loose
board in the parlor floor. Slipping noise-
lessly from his wife’s side and seizing a
heavy stick which stood in the corner, he
tiptoed into the sitting-room. There he
paused. Through the double doors, by the
light of the moon, he saw a little white-
robed figure in the middle of the room,
motionless, uncertain, bewildered. Her
face, her extended hands, the one bare foot
thrust forward in the moonlight, were as
white as the clinging fabric which en-
shrouded her.
After a moment she glided to the piano,
pressed her soft warm body to its cold,
hard case, stretched her arms loving along
it as far as she could, and then pillowed
her head contentedly upon its top. Her
long plait of hairswept the key-board.
Brant took it that she was asleep, and,
his own child though she was. the in-
grained superstition of the race made his
heart beat quicker. He dared not waken
her, yet he dreaded the moment, in that
solemn silence, when she would sit down
and, guided by the invisible fingers of the
spirit of the night, strike from those steel
cords, perhaps, some wierd unearthly mu-
sic which had never yet been set to note.
- But she did not play. After a little she
slipped away as noislessly as she had come.
At the foot of the stairs she paused an in-
stant, asleep though she was, daintily
gathered her gown in her hand, uncovering
her snowy feet and ankles, and then passed
upward, ghostlike, out of her father’s
sight.— Elmore Elliot Peake in Harper's
Monthly Magazine.
Trained Seals.
The performance given by these animals
is little less than marvelous. Itisno exag-
geration to say that they show an almost
human appreciation of what they are do-
ing. Watch one of them as the trainer ad-
vances with a long pole, something like a
billiard cue, on the end of which reposes a
small fish. The pole is held upright, and
a sea lion carefully places his nose in posi-
tion to support the butt end. Several times
he draws hack his head and looks along the
pole still outstretched in the trainer’s hand.
Finally it is adjasted on the very tip of his
nose to his liking, and, as the trainer steps
back, releasing his hold on the pole, the sea
lion shuffles a cross the stage balancing it
with all the steadiness and watchfulness of
a human juggler. He travels the full
length of the stage, his eye fixed intently
upon the top of the pole, and rapidly
swings his head, now sideways, now back-
ward or forward so as to maintain the bal-
ance. His companions follow him on his
course; in their eyes you can read the hope
that he will stumble or lose his balance, for
shen the prize will be theirs. One, indeed
gives him a slight push to accelerate the
downfall, but the quick eye of the trainer
sees the action, and he is recalled to his
seat. The pole balancer at length reaches
his station, a box about three feet high at
the farther end of the stage. His paws
grope for the box; he cannot see it, for his
whole attention is concentrated on the top
of the pole. Now he lifts himself up, high.
er, a little more, and he is on the top of
the box; a word from the trainer, the pole
is thrown in the air, and the fish comes
down into his destined place—bétween the
jaws of the sea lion"
““The Seai Skin Band’’ is another of their
wonderful acts. Every animal is equipped
with some instrument, and at a signal each
one attempts to outvie the others in noise-
making. With drums, eymbals, horns and
bells they unite to maee the ‘‘music’’, and
if the melody is of a rather doubtful char-
acter, they certainly make up in vigor for
what they lack in harmony. —Pearson’s
Magazine.
The Bride-Elect Balked.
Surprised Her Betrothed, the Preacher and the As-
sembled Guests.
Just as the wedding ceremony, which
would make Nellie Nichols, of Hickory,
Washington county, and Richard E. Zeid-
ler, of Cincinnati, man and wife was about
to be performed at the Siegle Hotel in
Washington Tuesday. the prospective
bride announced to her betrothed, the
clergyman, and the attendants that she had
changed her mind and refused to allow the
ceremony to proceed, in spite of the pro-
tests of her lover and friends. She refused
to state her reasons for stopping the mar-
riage, but stated that she preferred to go
home to her mother; and informed Zeidler
and the attending clergyman—the Rev. E.
A. Cole—pastor of the First Christian
Church, that they might go, as she would
have no further use for them. 3
It was only through difficulties of an un-
usual character that Zeidler had won his
bride, and he was angry and much disgust-
ed with the actions of the girl. The two
were neighbors in an Ohio town, and a
strong attachment grew up between them.
Several months ago the Nichols family re-
moved to Hickory, where the girl’s father
was engaged as a contractor in the construc-
tion of the Wabash railroad. Her parents
objected to Zeidler on ground which they
refased to name to the girl, and refused to
allow her to communicate with him. Zeid-
ler was not aware of the whereabout of his
fiancee until a few weeks ago, when he lo-
cated her at Hickory, and succeeded in
gaining the permission of Miss Nicholas’
parents to wed the girl. Friends and rela-
tives of the girl were present to witness the
ceremony, and were greatly surprised at
the ontcome. Zeidler returned to his home
at Cincinnati, declaring that he was heart-
broken at the girl’s fickleness. ?
SE ——
—— Although the late J. Sterling Mor-
ton, of Nebraska, was earnest and influen-
tial in political life, yet the great work of
nearly fifty years’ service on the plains of
Nebraska was tree planting and the educa-
tion of the people of other States on its im-
portance. On this subject he was an en-
thusiast, and at first his projects to create
forests on the plains were laughed at as the
ideas of a foolish dreamer. But he had
convictions and he stood by them. When
grown men and women would not listen to
him he appealed to the children. By dint
of making many speeches, through the es-
tablishment of Arbor day, and by constant
agitation he compelled attention. From
1872 onward he fought a winning fight.
State after State came into line, with Arbor
day observances, and with laws to protect
trees and to encourage their planting. His
first experiments were not always success-
ful. He bad to investigate as to the best
varieties of trees, climatic conditions and
training people to the required processes.
But he never lost sight of his main purpose
and the work went on until there are for-
estry laws in nearly every State, trees are
planted by thousands and millions by in-
dividuals, corporations and governments,
and Arbor day is observed not only in this
but in many other nations. In the list of
great benefactors of the West, the name of
J. Sterling Morton will stand high.
Thrown Forty Feet in Air,
Frank Thomas, a flagman in the employ
of the Pennsylvania railroad, was fatally
injured at Driftwood Wednesday. He was
struck by the engine of a passenger train
and was hurled forty feet in the air. The
bones of one of his shoulders were broken,
his back was badly iujured and he sustain-
ed internal injuries. He died in the even-
ing without regaining consciousness. His
‘home was at East Brady, where he has a
wife and five children.
The Orinoco River.
Little Known Out of South America, But one of the
Greatest in the World.
One of the greatest rivers of the world,
the Orinoco, is also one of the least known
to Europeans. Its sister, the Amazon, has
often been described by Wallace and Bates,
among others, but Humboldt remains prac-
tically the only writer of standing upon
the great stream, which, rising on the
frontiers of Brazil, runs for 2,000 miles
through Venezuela, receiving into its
course such immense territories as the Mela
and Apure and dischaiging itself by a hun-
dred mouths into the South Atlantic oppo-
site the British island of Trinidad.
The principal entrance, and the only one
available for sailing vessels, is the Boca
Grande, to the south,into which flow, among
other tributaries, the Aratura and the Ama-
cura thelatter almost coinciding in 1ts course
with the Schomburg boundary line between
British Guiana and Venezuela. But
most of the traffic of the Orinoco passes
through Trinidad, where passengers and
goods are tiansferred to steamers almost
flat-bottomed, and reach the Orinoco by
the mouth known as Macarao, the open sea
being avoided. It was Ly that route that
the writer started in the Apure, chartered
for the occasion, on a trip of 500 miles up
‘the great river, forming probably the firs,
and certainly the largest party of tourists
which bad ever ascended it.
Six hours after leaving Port of Spain the
entrace of the Mecarao was reached and for
fourteen hours we navigated a deep chan-
nel, perhaps half a mile wide, whose at-
tractions surprised those who had read of
the delta of the Orinoco as a dismal swamp,
thousands of square miles in extent, tenant-
ed only by a few wild Indians, who built
their houses in among the trees, by wild
beasts and by birds. The description is
true, though the impression left is not
quite correct. Well-nigh impenetrable
forests and undergrowth hide ground which
is for the most part ooze, covered for half
the year by water. The Guaraoan Indians,
many of whom paddled out to meet the
steamers and beg, in canoes, roughly hol-
lowed from the trunk of a tree, and who
dispute supremacy of these wilds with jag-
uars and alligators, are extremely low
specimens of humanity, though attachment
to their dogs, large, rough haired and ex-
cellent hunters, should be mentioned to
their credit.
But the passerby sees none of the horrors
of this great swamp. They are concealed
by magnificent trees growing to the water’s
edge, whose branches may sometimes be
touched from the steamer, when she is
steered close to the shore in order to avoid
the current. Sometimes that splendid par-
asite, the matapalo, has wrapped in its
deadly folds several adjacent trees, and,
these perishing, it stands alone, showing
walls of green and resembling a large ivy
mauntled tower. Upon this and upon the
tops of the tallest trees other parasites fling
masses of blossom. A flock of flamingoes
makes a brilliant scarlet patch here and
there; the san flashes from parrots of many
sizes and various hues; snow white cranes
gaze stolidly from the banks; macaws,
green and yellow, or deep crimson on head
and breast, fly heavily vast; and smaller
birds of every color of the rainbow scream
or chatter or sing among the trees.
Amos J. Cummings Dead.
End of Distinguished Man Who Began Life as a
Printer—Tributes of Respect in Congress.
Congressman Amos J. Cummings, of New
York, died at 10:15 o’clock Friday night at
the Church Home and Infirmary in Balti-
more. The cause of death was pneumonia,
incident to an operation. The Congress-
man’s wife and cousin—Charles H. Cam-
mings—were at his bed side when death
came.
Amos J. Cammings was born at Conk-
ling, Broome county, N. J., May 15th,
1838. He received an academic education,
set type in his father’s printing office, and
at fifteen became a journeyman printer.
Starting in New York he earned his living
setting type in nearly every State in the
Union. In 1857 he was with the Walker
expedition at Mobile and was captured by
Commander Davis on the Quaker City. In
1861 he was Sergeant Major of the Twenty-
sixth New York Infantry, in which he
served gallantly, being officially mentioned
for his bravery in assaulting Fredericks-
burg Heights.
He was editor of the New York Weekly
Tribune in 1865, after serving as night edi-
tor and political editor. In 1868 he became
managing editor of the Sun, but resigned
in 1873 because of ill health. In 1876 he
became managing editor of the New York
Express at John Kelly’s request, but re-
signed because of Kelly’s hostility to Tild-
en, and returned to the Sun, whose weekly
edition he edited after 1884. In 1885 he
was elected to congress from the sixth or
Wall street district. In 1888 he declined
renomination to Congress, but on Samuel
S. Cox’s death, 1n the ninth district, he
was elected to the vacancy, and was re-
elected in 1890 to the Fifty-second Congress
by 11,000 majority. g
Mr. Cummings won a national reputa-
tion as a newspaper correspondent, and
was a useful and brilliant Congressman.
In Congress he held impo.tunt committee
position. He was a champion of labor
measures; wasactive to improve the Amer-
ican marine, and supported actively the
life-saving bureau and the effort to reduce
houis of labor for postal clerks.
The death of Representative Amos J,
Cummings, of New York, in Baltimore F'ri-
day night caused general regret and sorrow
in the House. Above the hall the
flag fluttered at half mast and on the floor
the old familiar desk on the centre aisle
near the front row, which Mr. Cammings
occupied for so many years, was draped in
black and covered with a profusion of pur-
ple orchids and spring flowers. *
Mr. Cummings was one of the most uni-
versally popular members of the House,
and his death seemed to come as personal
loss to all the members. The blind Chap-
lain—the Rev. Dr. Couden—in his invooca-
tion made a touching reference to Mr.
Cumming’s death, his great service to his
country as a journalist and statesman, and
he prayed fervently for those who had been
near and dear to him by the tie of kinship.
Her Destination,
The elevator attendant at one of the big
stores is used to all sorts and conditions of
men, and all kinds of queer requests, but
he was almost floored the other day by a
little, old woman. The old lady got on the
car at one of the lower floors and rode to
the top without showing any inclination
to get off. The attendant, thinking she
wanted to ride, humored her and did not
ask her which floor or department she
wanted. The old lady rode all the way
down and remained on the car for the up
trip. She rode up and down several times,
and finally the elevator man said :
“Where do you wish to get out, madam ?’’
He was almost paralyzed when the old
woman replied :
‘Will yez plaze let me out at the Broad
street station.”’— Philadelphia Times.
Only Omne Smalipox Cure.
That is Compulsory Vaccination, Dr. Azel Ames Says
—Example in Porto Rico.
While the United States and Great Brit-
ain are both suffering under the scourge of
smallpox and in England, particularly, the
disease has reached an alarming stage of
progress, Porto Rico, which under Spanish
1ale was a hot bed of smallpox, is practical-
ly immune from the present epidemic.
For ten years prior to American occupa-
tion of the islands the deaths from smallpox
averaged 621 per annum. To-day in a pop-
ulation of 690,000, the annual death rate
from the disease does not exceed two.
Smallpox is practically non-existent.
The result is hailed by the friends of vac-
ciuation as demonstrating conclusively its
triumph as a preventive of smallpox. Af-
ter having set an example to the world by
introducing general vaccination Great Brit-
ain four yeais ago modified her compulsory
vaccination law by adding to ita ‘‘con-
science clause,”” under which any person
having conscientious convictions as to the
harmful influence of vaccination was ex-
empted from the law and the minors in the
conscientious person’s family were exempt-
ed with him.
In Porto Rico the very opposite policy
has been followed. Early in 1889. imme-
diately after the American occupation of the
island, Gen. Henry, the governor, issued
an order for nuniversal vaccination and it
was strictly carried out.
.Now while magistrates in England, un-
der the influence of the smallpox alarm are
openly disregarding the conscience clause
in the law and a strong agitation for its re-
peal is growing, in Porto Rico the Ameri-
can surgeons are rejoicing over the results
of Gen. Henry’s order, and are landing him
as a far-seeing sanitarian.
Dr. Azel Ames, who was the director of
Gen. Henry’s vaccination department in
Porto Rico, has written to the ‘Medical
News’’ calling attention to the remarkable
immunity of the island from the present
smallpox epidemic on the one hand and the
rapid and general spread of the disease here
and in England on the other. Dr. Ames
draws from these facts the conclusion that
compulsory vaccination is essential to pre-
vent a return of the epidemic.
Dr. Ames finds the chief cause of the
virulence of the present outbreak of small-
pox in the diminished protection from the
disease due to the existence of a large non-
immune element of the population, which
has either outworn its vaccine protection or
has never had any.
Contributing causes he finds in the un-
familiarity of the present generation of
physicians with smallpox and the conse-
quent exposure of patients through errors
of diagnosis ; the fancied security and con-
sequent relaxed vigilance in enforcing pro-
tective regulations, due to long periods of
immunity from the disease ; and last ‘‘the
growth of a more self-assertive and mistak-
ely aggressive individuality which, until
more fully informed, often resents and re-
sists the idea of any legal interference with
personal liberty, and, lacking full knowl-
edge, is credulous of all bugbears and
distrustful of all vaccination, and: other
sanitary measures to suppress the disease.’’
With the present great factories in which
single sparks of contagion readily light the
widespread fires of an epidemic, Dr. Ames
says, with unprecedented facilities of com-
| munication, increased use of public con-
veniences and common source of domestic
utility and with the enormous growth of
public assembles in theatres, churches and
schools, the task of fighting smallpox is no
light one. He describes in detail Gen.
Henry's vigorous attack on the problem in
Porto Rico, and its success. In conclusion
he says :
‘Vaccination alone did it, and will do it
effectively wherever compulsory legislation,
properly enforced, ‘secures ite benefits to
all.’
The Siberian Railway.
After eleven years of unremitting labor
the Russian railway builders are about
completing the Trans-Siberian railway.
The road is not nearly finished but the
task is so nearly performed that the
end is in sight. It may be remembered
that the difficulties of construction along
the coast surveyed around the southern
shore of Lake Baikal, in Southeastern Si-
beria, were so great that it was decided to
ferry trains across the lake, but almost as
goon as the road was opened from Euro-
pean Russia to the lake the traffic became
so heavy that the $1,000,000 ferry could
not accommodate it. Now the builders are
pushing work on the original all land route
and it will not be long before trains run
direct from the Urals to Port Arthur and
Vladivostok.
The present Czar of Russia has been in-
timately associated with the enterprise
from the beginning. While his father was
still Emperor the young man, in 1891,
traveled around the world,baving in Japan
the serious misadventure with a native
fanatic that came so near putting an end
to his career. Nicholas traversed Siberia
and personally filled a wheelbarrow with
dirt and dumped the soil on an embank-
ment 60 make a formal beginning of the
work of building the great railway. This
was on May 9th, 1891, so that the work-
men have now been engaged in the task of
construction almost eleven years. The
road they have constructed is the greatest
in the world. With its branches it covers
5542 miles.— Providence Journal.
Importation of Llamas.
A very curious load of deck. passengers
arrived in San Francisco the other day on
the Hamburg-American steamer Nicaria.
They were no less than seven llamas from
the Peruvian Andes—animals so very valu-
able at home for their soft wool and for
their services as beasts of burden that their
export is prohibited by the Peruvian gov-
ernment. These were exported through
the courtesy of the government, and are
destined for menageries. The llama isa
second cousin to the camel, only that he is
much smaller and humpless. In pre-
historic times the ancestors of the llama
were common in California and Colorado.
In temperament the llama is something
like the mule. He is terribly obstinate
and has a deadly sneeze, which is a sure
shot and warranted to ingulf any target at
fifty yards.
While on the Nicaria’s deck one of the
llamas was prodded by a smart Aleck with
an umbrella. The beast’s lip began to
quiver, but the umbrella wielder persisted,
and after the sneeze the llama’s tormentor
went below and took a bath.—Leslie’s
Weekly.
a —
——“Why are you crying, little boy ?’’
“One of them artists paid me a dime to sit
on the fence while he sketched me.”’
“Well, is there any harm in that?’
“Yes, sir; it was a barb-wire fence.”
——*‘The prineipal ingredient in all
these patent medicines is the same.” ‘‘It
must be a powerful drug. What is it?”
‘‘Printer’s ink."’— Town and Country.