A,
THE SECRET OF THE SROOK.
The silver brook is dancing light
All in the golden sunshine bright;
Across the stones with moss bedight.
[ts curling eddies whirl and fight,
Ia many a lovely nook;
It murmurs with melodious flow
Among the lilies white as snow,
As onward 1t doth singing go
Toward the mighty sea below:
Thus ripples on the brook.
Come to me, Love! The day is fair
And blossom-scented is the air,
The flowers their choloest colors wear,
*Tis beauty here and beauty there,
Far as the eye can see,
sther let us joyous sing,
While sanny summer-time doth bring
Fresh life and joy to everything,
For time alas! is on the wing;
Come, Come, my love, to mel
There's tender musie in the sound
Of plashing waters all around,
As o'er the pebbles light doth bound—
So light it doth scarce touch the ground—
The ever-rippling brook.
Oh, Leve, each mellow, dulcet tone
Speaks to our souls, as here we own
We for each other live alone;
The secret of our hearts is shown
And written in Life's Book.
BN ARR ST,
A FALSE FRIEND.
I returned only three months ago |
from Melbourne, when I had been in |
practice as a surgeon for about ten |
years. I stood so well in the front rank |
of my profession thut when a gentleman
who held very high political rank in
Victoria met with a severe and ulti-
mately fatal accident, I was called in to
attand him. I suppress his name for
reasons which will be obvious later on; |
but for convenience I will call him Sir |
James Reilly.
Sir James was one of the largest land |
and stock holders in the colony. When |
I knew him no man in Australia was |
more respected or looked up to, He
had been knighted as a small reward for |
his services as a colonial minister; he |
had received all kinds of gratifying tes- |
timonials from his fellow-citizens; his |
word in all the transactions of life was |
as good as another man’s bond; and yet |
Sir James, forty years before, had come
to Australia as a convict, on account of |
the disgraceful crime of forgery.
Sir James lived in a beautiful house |
distant a few miles from the center of
the city. In spite of his seventy years |
he was a good and active horseman; and |
one morning as was his frequent cus- |
tom, he rode into Melbourne in order to
transact some business with his solicl-
tor. He had quitted the lawyers office, |
and was already half way home again, |
when his horse was frightened by some
blasting operations which were being
carried on in connection with the mak- |
ing of a new road. The animal became |
restive, and finally threw Sir James. |
He fell heavily upon a heap of stones, |
and his groom coming up found him |
lying insensible. The unfortunate gen- |
tleman, who was well known to every-
one in the neighborhood, was tenderly
carried to the nearest house; and no |
sooner did he regain consciousness than |
he sent his servant for his carriage, and |
dispached a messenger to request me to |
go at once to his house. I rode thither |
immediately, and reached the place be-
fore Sir James’ arrival. I feared, of |
course, that he had met with an acci- |
dent; but I had not the faintest idea of |
the nature of it; and therefore I was |
greatly shocyed when, a few minutes
later, Isaw him lifted from his carriage,
helpless and well-nigh speechless. He |
was conveyed to his bedroom, which |
was upon the ground floor; and upon
examining him I discovered that several |
of his ribs were broken, that the inter-
nal organs bad been injured and that
there was, practically speaking, no hope
of his recovery. Sir James was a bach-
glor. and had no female relatives in the |
colony. He might live, I knew, for
some days; and bis housekeeper, though |
a kind and thoughtful woman, was too :
far advanced in years to be capable of i
properly attending upon her unfortu-
nate master, I sent the groom back to |
Melbourn for an experienced hospital |
nurse, and in the meantime remained !
with my distinguished patient, and did
all that lay in my power for him.
Sir James had fainted during has re- |
moval from the carriage to the house, |
and he did not regain the use of his senses
for some hours afterward. I was sitting
by his bedside when he opened his eyes,
“So I'm not gone yet, doctor,” he
said, with a weird kind of humor. **Can
this last long?”
“Who can say?” 1 replied. *‘You
are sadly hurt, Are youin much pain?"
“No, thank God! In pain but not In
gevere pain,”
“1 should warn you.” I said, as gen-
tly as I could, “that if you have any
worldly affairs to settle, you should set-
tle them speedily. There is grievous
danger
#1 know it,’ he returned, with a sad |
smile; “but I have settled everything,
—everything, that is, that a lawyer
could help me in. Yet, before 1 die
there is something that I should like to
confide to you.”
+] was born,” he said, “in London in
1812. My father was the rector of SL
wg, and after putting me to a good
school he sent me to Cambridge, I took
my degrees in 1833 and then went to
the bar, My chief friend both at Cam-
bridge and at the Inner Temple, was |
Horace Raven, a young man who pos-
sessed astonishing ability, remarkably
good looks, great ambition, and the
t of succeeding toa fortune
and to one of the oldest English baron-
etcies. In all these respects he was, 1
need scarcely say, my superior, I was
a poor man; I had only my euargies to
dipund upon; and I had no influential
relatives, no near relatives, no near
relatives indeed of any kind, except my
father, I being an only child, and my
mother having died dunng my infancy.
At the bar I was for a youngster, fairly
successful. Raven and I had chambers
together; we had our law-books in com.
mon; and we were on such terms of
friendship that we were known on our
staircase as ‘‘the Brothers,’ For some
life. I made
to live in tol
: in time indeed I felt
i in looking out for
wife.
“One evening Raven and 1 went to a
ball at Lady D—'s, We there met a
a Miss y & girl of
btn Cri Lt Bl
{
i
|
i
Her father, like mine, was a poor cler-
gyman, 1 had but litgle difficulty in
establishing myself upon a footing of
intimacy with her family; and on
when I visited them, Raven accompa~
nied me. Mary, though she wasas I
have said, inexpressibly lovely, was of a
somewhat cold disposition, She was
unenthusiastio and self-contained to an
unusual degree; and yet, in her way,
she was ambitious. She desired to mar-
ry a man who would make his way in
the world; and it was only after some
flattering hints about me and my ability
had been let drop in her preseuce by her
father, who bad evidently favored me,
that she consented to become my wife.
Raven was not at Bagster’s house on
that eventful evening, Next morning,
when 1 met him at our chambers, I told
him of what had occurred. He changed
color—which, at the time, I attributed
to the strength of his friendship for me
—and then congratulated me in asome-
what extravagant manner.
ried?’ he asked,
‘ssoon,’ I replied. “There is no rea-
son why we should delay, Icould wish
that I were a little better off; but our
misfortune in that respect will, I trust,
disappear In course of time, Asit is,
we shall, I think, be able to do preity
well.’
“I wish you joy!’ said Raven, as he
rose to go into the Chancellor’s Court
where he had a brief that morning,
“I had then no idea that he also loved
Mary Bagster, and that he bad deter-
mined, even at that late hour, if not to
wrench her from me for himself, at
least to prevent my marrying her. His
conduct toward me remained, so far as
I could see, exactly what it had been
He was
genial and friendly, appeared to take an
absorbing interest in all my plans for
the future, and actually acompanied me
to Brunswick Square to look over a
house which was to bo let, and which I
thought of taking and furnishing. I
found that the place would be rather
beyond: my means, and regretfully told
him so,
“Never mind, Jack,’ he said; ‘you
will find something better perhaps, But
“That evening we
gether over the fire. ‘Jack?’ he said
tates, and was now a rich man
‘You are very good,’
‘Anything that you may give us will be
valued not merely for itself, but for the
sake of the giver.’
“iWe have been in chambers to-
gether,” he resumed, ‘for more than
seven years, I shan’t like losing your
company; for of course I shall be robbed
of a good deal of it now. Be plain with
me, Jack. Would not money more
useful to you than a mere present? It
usually is acceptable, I believe, in these
cases,’
“1 thanked him feelingly for his fore
thought, ‘It wouid be particularly
welcome,’ I said.
“Without another word, he drew his
chair to the tabla, took nis check-book
from a drawer, and filled in a draft,
whiecls, after he had carefully examined,
he handed to me.
“1 took it, and gazed at it with us-
tonishment! it
pounds! ‘My dear Raven,’ 1 gasped, for
[ was overcome by this act of apparent
and totally unexpected generosity, ‘itis
too much; it is too good of you.
not think of accepti 'g it.’
“You know that I can well afford
i=! tiv. I insist upon your
taking it. If you refuse, we can no
longer remain on terms of friendship.’
‘*‘Nay, Raven,” Icried, while my
heart seemed to rise to my throat. ‘Do
not misunderstand me.
of you. I thank you withall my heart;
but cannot accept such a large sum.’
“He would not listen, however to my
refusal; and finally I pocketed both my
pride and the draft.
“Mary Bagster was at the time pay-
ing a short visit to her friends in the
did not mention the fact of my having
received Raven’s handsome
banker's, a well-known private firm,
with which had but recently opened
an account,
“A few mornings afterward I was
lodgings in Chapel Street, Bedford Row,
when, without warning, a police officer
entered my room, and showing me a
warrant which authorized him to arrest
me on a charge of forgery, took me into
“As you may expect, I was thunder
struck, ‘Forgery? Forgery of what?’
1 exclaimed, half-maddened by the
monstrous charge.
“But 1 soon learned a little, and
guessed the rest. Raven, in order to
dispose of me, and to effectually put a
stop to my marriage, had written out
the draft in an unusual manner, and
had appended his name in a way which
had caused his banker to decline to cash
the check, and to endorse it with the
words: ‘Signature differs.’
“The draft had been returned in this
condition to Raven, who without hesi-
tation had pronounced it to be a for-
gery. According to his story, which
was only too plausible, I alone could be
the criminal. The check was payable to
me; I had access to the drawer in which
he kept the book from which the form
had been torn; and the clumsy signiture
had been written much as 1 might nave
written it,
“You can guess the sequel, doctor. 1
was tried; and although 1 was very ably
defended by a leading counsel, who was
a personal friend of mine. 1 was con-
victed and sentenced vo transportation.
How shall I desoribes to yon the agony
of those days! In due course | was sent
out here with a ship load of cut-throats
anl felons. In a few years, doubtless,
1 was neatly forgotten at home, for my
convietion kil my father; and who
else was to remember me save Raven
and Mary Bagster, whom he, to add to
my w soon afterward mar-
ried?”
At this point Bir James was seized
brought
Was we
subsequently—fallen in love with her,
with spasmodic
aa: — obligea OVE ia
porarily forbid his continuing the pain
{tm narrative. An hour or two later
however, finding him calmer, I permit-
| ted him to go on.
“I served my time,” he continued;
“and then, having no friends in Eng-
land, I decided to remain here. Like
many others, I went to the diggings,
and, unlike most, was fortunate, I in-
vested everything in land and stock;
tried to make myself publicly useful;
gradually obtained the confidence and
respect of my fellow-citizens, and two
or three years , 88 you know, receiv-
ed the honor of knighthood. I can now
say with truth, doctor, that there is no
man in Australia who would refuse to
grasp me by the hand because I was
once a convict.
“Has your innocence never been
proved?” I asked,
“Never, he returned. *‘I might per-
haps, have made a second endeavor to
prove it long ago; but I could not bring
myself to make her unhappy-—unhap-
pier, that is, than he has made her. As
I have told you, she became Lady Ra
| ven. You cannot expect me to be able
| to tell you that the man who so cruelly
swore away my liberty made her a good
husband, He systematically ill-treated
her; and althongh she bore him several
children, and was, I have heard, an ex-
emplary wife until she was crushed by
his brutality, he behaved to her as he
would not have behaved to his dogs.
Do you know, doctor, that I preserve
my love for her still? I have
ceased to love her, although she believed
evil of me, and never sent me a single
word of sympathy; and I have left every-
thing I have to her eldest son who by
this time has sons of hisown. Butl
do not know whether or not she is dead.
I have, however, provided that shouid
she be living she is to have a life inte-
rest in my estate. Poor thing. she de-
serves it; for sadly did she suffer and
not unfrequently, I expect, did she
want,
“And ke?”
of Raven?”
“In time he deserted her, and plun-
ged into the lowest depths of drunken-
ness and dissipation.
| his fortune; and not very long ago 1
I asked, What became
the streets of Paris, and had died before
his removal to the hospital.”
“I am shortly going to England, Sir
| James,” 1 said, “and if I can be of any
best.”
“You are going to England?
happy to hear it,
what I feared wold have to + done for
me by a thind party. I wan: you to
find Lady Raven and tell her what I
have told you.
i we have been separated for more than
| forty years, I still thing of her; that I
| die thinking of hers and that I forgive
| her; and—— Yes doctor, tell her, too,
| that I forgive him. I must forgive him.
| Yes; 1 do fully.”
I need not go on to desenibe the pain-
ful hours I spent at Sir Jame a side ere
death released him from his sufferings.
Suffice it to say that he
even in his moments of great «ti agony,
| with becoming resignation.
last he was thoughtful for al! .
| I turned away; feeling that Australia
had lost a man the memory of
she might justly cherish,
turned to England. Lady Raven, who
for some time had been in impoverished
| circumstances, had meanwhile
discovered by my late patient's solicl-
tors; and, before 1 saw her, she had
been appraised of the provisions of Sir
James Reilly's will,
I introduced myself to her as his
friend; and found her occupying a plea
sant but not very well furnished house
| in one of the best squares in Bayswater.
“It is all a mystery,”’ she said to me,
j when she had first apologized for the
| disorder of her temporary abode. “Por
James! He was once very fond of me,
| It was many years ago. We should
i fortunate circumstance.
{ have heard of it?"
I was slightly annoyed at the tone in
which she spoke of ber dead benefactor.
“1 have heard of it, Lady Raven,” |
returned seriously.
| life,” she continued with a slight laugh;
“and now at last he has made restitu.
{ tion.
| He robbed my late husband, you know;
! and it is fitting that we should be his
| heirs—is it not?"
| I was beginning to feel angry, Even
no right to speak of him now in so Light
and scornful a tone. Already | saw
| she was recklessly spending her newly
| acquired wealth, though she had not
actually entered into possession of it,
| the will not having then been proved.
| woman of her,
| ed. Instead of being in mourning, she
| was covered with jewelry. Surely
| vain woman had never been hus wife!
“Lady Raven,” 1 said sternly, ‘‘we
| may as well end this. Sir James Reilly
never injured you or any other living
creature. It was your husband who
was the eriminall He wrote his own
pame te that check which led to Sir
Jame’s transportation. He denied the
facts, and caused your benefactor to be
gent to the antipodes! And do you think
that I, knowing all this, will suffer Sir
Jame’s fair name to be slandered?”
She turned pale, and clung for sup.
port to a chair, ‘‘Gracious powers!”
she exclaimed; *‘is it —can it be true?
I knew it! My husband once told me
all, when he was delirious with drink.
God forgive me!” and she fell like a
corpse to the floor,
1 summoned the servants, who carried
her to her room. 1 then sent for a phy-
sician, and in the meantime did what I
could to revive her. But my efforts
were in vain, and soon after my col
league arrived she expired. An exami.
nation subsequently disclosed the fact
that she had long been a sufferer from
heart disease,
I am glad to be able to say that her
son, who is now ir James
Reilly's munificent bequest 18 worthy of
the v. A week or two ago he sailed
with his temily for Vietoria, and it is
there to follow in his bene-
mht
We were sitting roiind the campfire
one evening, watching the flames dance
as the cool night wind fanned the em-
bers, telling storiesabout ¢ vmp-life inthe
Adirondacks, when I heard our guide,
a strong fellow, heave a sigh that seem-
ed to eome from the depths of his heart,
“Why, Jim,” I asked, ‘what's the
matter? Arce you tired after your long
tramp to-day?”
“No, Miss Anna,” he »uswered;
“but I have been thinking or a story
myself, and it is one that wi.l make
your heart ache,”
“Come tell it to us,” we all exclaim
ed; and after a little coaxing no began:
“Well you must know it happened
ten years ago, when I was only a boy;
but I often think of it as I sit by the
campfire, and wonder if, after all, it
were not a dream.
“One morning in early spring, asi
was rowing down the lake, I noticed a
fire on the other shore, just opposite;
left a campfire smouldering, 1 went
across and landed. I had not gone back
into the woods very far when I was
confronted by a tall, stern-faced man,
girl I had ever seen.
these wild woods,
prised I was, as he asked me some
trifling question about the springs on
the lake, then waited for me to go. But
I was not going to do any such thing,
and began playing wiith the little girl,
I was only 14 years old, and boy-like,
was attracted by her pretty face.
“Before the aay was over I found out
going to build a log hut to live in all
winter. His name, so he told me,
was Alden, and his little girl’s name
was Twilight. Rather ontlandish, I
thought, but somehow it just suited her.
He would not tell where he came from,
but I could see he was a gentleman, and
used to better living than we have.
“I suggested that I would stay and
He accepted my offer, ask-
stranger was down the lake,
I went home, told father that I had an
provisions and early next morning cams
down the lake again.
“We worked hard; and it was not
long before we had a nice little log
house made, with two rooms in iL
and very likely have played house in it;
but I never want to see it again, it is
too full of memories. Little Twilight
was an old-fashioned child, always
wanting to help her father and me. She
would stand on the bench by the table
and wipe the tin plates after each meal,
all the time asking me the queeresi
qustions about heaven and God, telling
me to be a good boy and meet her with
Jesus by and by. One day her father
overheard her, and witha groan, be
way. unless
I never
heard her asking any more questions,
“How she did love that old mountain
home yonder!
at a time. watching the lights and
shadows play across it,
ging her not to talk that
od on a little wooden chair I made for
her, with her hands folded on her lap
and her face, with such a far away-iook
on it. turned toward that old mountain,
as if it were some living creature,
“+ After tea, during the long suminer
twilight, we would sit by the fire, she
in her father’s arms, her head on his
shoulder, and listen
stories, told me by my father. She
her hand to stroke the stern cheek above
her, then looking into his face until,
overcome by sleep, she would sink back
and slumber in hisarms, He would sit
form, fearing to move lest he should
disturb her,
**So the happy hours ghided by, until
one day in early autumn [ noticed Twi.
light did not seem as well as usual, She
pever complained, bat did not offer to
help me, and would sit watching the
1 noticed too she was thin, and her face
haps I was too rongh in telling him, for
1 shall never forget the look of anguish
that came across his face, nor the low,
muttered words, ‘O God, not my Twi-
light, tool’
“Soon after, he took the child in his
I could catch a word now and
then, as I went about my work. Very
well, papa, only tired.” Then, as he
bowed his head and groaned, ‘Don’t
grieve, papa.’
“After that he was sterner than ever,
hardly speak a word except to the
child, and would sit for hours watching
her.
“I wanted him to send for old Mother
Stanton, a capital murse; but he scoffed
at the idea, and broke out in bitte:
words against Him whom, I am sure
doeth all things for our good. He sai
God had taken all from him, and he was
not surprised that even his baby must
go.
“I have always been gad that we had
such a fine autumn that year. The
leaves turned the finest colors, and
“Twilight's Mountain’ was one huge
bouguet. Every day when the sun shone
warm and bright, we would row across
and walk up and down the beach, breath
ing the fresh breeze that came sweeping
down the lake, It seemed strange to
me that it did not bring bealth and
vigor to the little one in my arms, but,
alas! I felt she was slowly fading away.
‘Gradually she became too weak to
walk, and her father carried her, only
Jetting me take her when he ate, and
that was very little. We gave up our
morning row, and sta around camp,
quietly wailing for time to come
when we should put her to sleep at
foot of the mountain she loved so well.
It was her request, and her father
mised it bo as she wished,
ngered
through the day and throhgh the night.
Toward early morning, her father called
me, and I hurried to him to find him sit-
ting by her little bed.
“I saw in a moment that the end had
come, and stood quietly by. She lay
with her eyes closed, her little hand
clasping one of her father’s. Suddenly
‘Papa, poor papa; then, looking beyond
him with glad surprise, she exclaimed,
‘Mammal’ With a slight sigh, Twihght
had passed into perfect day.”
were silent among our little company.
The story had brought up thoughts too
deep for words. The fire had died out;
the all-powerful destroyer, Death. De-
yond us in the clear sky were soon the
light, and the water beneath us lapping
music heard far away.
Ee ———
Camping Out,
or for flowers, fish and fun.
life, and a kind of romance, which the
farm and village, and certainly the
town, does not furnish, The gain in
healthful recreation, in knowledge of
natural history, and in a sort of useful
which we enjoy even now most highly
for ourselves. The place for camping
should be dry, healthful, above all flats,
and at some distance from swamps; not
in dense woods, but in some pleasant
opening, near to good water—a spring
if possible—away from near neighbors,
possibly in wild forest country, or near
a mountain lake or stream, or by the
86a,
The rockier it is the better, and there
to burn, in abundance, Now, what to
If spruce or hemlock boughs are
and two in each short side besides, to
serve the purpose. The ropes must be
about ten feet long each; hence one hun-
good rope 18 requsite. This it will be
well to boil in a pot of water, and when
dry, stretch. Then it will not kink. A
tent pole ten feet long, and crotched
sticks to it, seven feet long to the
probably; if not, must be provided. Of
course, a good light ax or hatchet is
essential. The mother will see that
necessary food and cooking utensils are
packed in a small compass, Thus equip-
ped, and with rubber coats and blank-
in the woods
may well be spent with great pleasure
The Incas of Old.
the grandeur, the industry
and the mtelligence of the Inca Em-
has forgotten; knowledge which
world never knew; thnft which
conquerors could never imitate, and
wealth which made them the prey of
every adventurer of the sixteenth cen-
tury. Their temples and palaces were
the
their
the Spaniards have not been able to
discover, and the means by which they
blocks of granite weighing
problem no an-
They knew how to harden copper
they made ornaments of gold and sil-
ver and out jewels as skillfully as the
Inpidaries of to-day, and their fabrics
are spun and
woyen as smoothly as modern looms
can mske, They surpassed modern
of government
of war and worshiping a deity simost
parallel to that of the Christian God.
Hemmed in on one side by the im-
rest of the world unknown to them, in
spirit as well as in fact, as peaceful and
calm a8 the Andean stars, they estab-
lished a system of civilization in whieh,
for the first time since creation, the
equal rights of every human being were
recognized and observed. Ths great
sea beating incessantly against their
desolate coast was recognized by them
as a symbol uf the infinite, the omuip-
otenoce,' whose force and majesty their
simple logio could not comprehend;
while the sun, whose heat and light
made existence possible, was recog-
nized as the source of all good.
Hence these two elements, the sun
and the ocean, were i and
were the object of the * worship.
A Million Yesrs old.
In boring the artesian well at Vhite
SE Mito oF the Cen:
under .
basic Railroad company, a large
of wood were bored
of 1,615 feet be-
low the surface, i5 has been a sub-
ject for discussion by scientists since,
and a few evenings ago, in San Fran-
disco, Dr. Harkness made it the subject
for a very interesting lecture. Quite a
large quantity of this wood was brought
to the surface, and it was good, sound
state of pre-
tion shows
similar to the present nutpine.
Canned Death,
Torpedo companies are more numer-
ous now than ever before in the history
of the ofl region. When the Robert's tor-
pedo patent expired, about two years
ago, there were “‘moonlighters” wait.
ing for the death, They had tastefl the
business, and knew
Robert's died a millionaire, Competi.
tion became lively, The Penn bank and
other syndicates advanced ofl and pro-
ducers, thinking there would be a fam.
As a result, heavy capital and
peo trade,
Between Warren and Kinzua there is
located one of the most extensive nitro.
glycerine factories in the oil region,
The boarding house for the workmen
explosion at the factory by an interve-
ning hill,
If you ‘are nervous you will remain
without the lines of the company’s 200
acres of land, The Allegheny river
forms one boundary. In the stone
house at the railroad station you are
impressed with the danger surrounding
Heavy drums made of boiler iron con
tain 1,600 pounds each of acid, After
being eritically tested it is sent to the
the terrible explosive are daily manu-
factured. Everything about the factory
is conducted inthe most careful and sys-
tematic manner. Cleanliness is a mot
to. The floors of the factory are as
bright as a man-o’ war decks. While
oppressed with the fear of an impending
calamity. This very fear adds to your
nervous curiosity, and when you enter
one of the magazines you shudder to
imagine a blow against one of the gly-
cerine cans. To distribute this deadly
compound without loss of life or prop-
erty requires care and the study of a
clear mind.
A score or more of magazines are
located in the several oil districts.
| These are supplied mainly by wagons,
Cans holding from thirteen to twenty
six pounds are used. These are placed
in upholstered compartments in the
wagons. Under the cans a zinc tray is
fitted to catch any leakage. In the early
days of the business this precaution was
not taken, and the strong acid ale
through the tin, allowing the contents
to reach the axles, causing the horrible
accidents so frequent then,
To reach these magazines the drivers
of the torpedo wagons must either run
the risk of arrest or oftentimes take cir-
eultous routes around boroughs. An
accident to one of these Wagons occur
ring in a town proves almost as destruc~
tive as an earthquake.
Joats especially built are used to
transport the glycerine to the Lower
Pennsylvania and Ohio districts, These
boats are abou four feet wide and are
thirty feet long. Each carmes from
5.000 to 10.000 pounds of glycerine.
Think of the lives and property one of
these stilletto-shaped crafts endangers
|in a journey from a few miles above
| here to Marietta, on the Ohio! Each of
| these dread destroyers carries {wo men.
They are instructed to tie up at night,
Perhaps they do and perhaps ihey don’t.
All depends on the kind of men they
are. lf sober, watchful and not of sui-
cidal disposition, the danger of an ex-
plosion is greatly lessened. 1f, becom-
ing intoxicated, they allow the boat to
drift with the current, while they revel
in the realms of their stupor, an awful
calamity is imminent.
The boatmen will acknowledg their
fear when they think of the dager they
journey. They pass under a score of
| bridges, and especially is there danger
An explosion under one of these would
be frightful indeed. There are 50 many
boats. too, and the pilots, not knowing
that the stiletto-like boat is laden with
4 South American earthquake, are not
so cautious as they certainly would be
| if they were so informed.
Tuis element of danger, while not
often present on the Allegheny and
Oho Rivers, has never been seriously
thought of by the peopie.
a Lion of Great Prominence.
An extraordinary passenger recently
| arrived in Liverpool by the royal mail
| steamer from Africa iu the shape of a
| magnificent male lion of such enormous
dimensions as gre now rarely found in
zoological gardens, where lions are
| generally bred for generations in cap-
| tivity, and are for the most part small
| in sige and partly deformed. As this
monarch of the wilderness is still in his
| pounger years, and is likely to grow
| considerably yet, he certainly promises
to be the largest and most beantitul lion
ever seen in England, Although so
very strong snd powerful, the noble
beast is as gentle as a lamb, and was
the pet of the whole ship from the cap-
tain down to the cabin boy. He hails
from Central Africa, and was brought
over in a oage of the size of the large
room. His food on the passage cone
usted of twenty-four sheep and tweive
goats, It is twenty-four years since an
animal of this sort was landed in Laver
pool. :
Men of Letters,
It is an interesting fact that many
American men of Jetters are not college
uates, Walt Whitman, Whipple,
Bay
Field, Parton,
I oor Harte, Howells,
Aldrich, ton
T— woett, Gil-
der, Harris, Carleton, “Mark "
Stoddart and Burroughs, it is said have
gained all their know and culture
outside of college walls,