i MG
By Tha Firelight.
“The night was cold, amd dark and dreary,
And the wind was never weary”
Of making ceaseless moan!
Only the fire was bright and cheery:
By it I sat, alone.
And thought how unlike childhood’s dream-
ing
Were time and place, and all the seeming
That to my life belong;
And how in vain the happy schem.. .
Of oars so quickly gonel
I thought of other homes, where mightly,
I'he firelight shines as warm and bgightly
On others—not alone—
Who dream of coming years as lightly,
As of a joy well-known,
For Youth and Hope, in all the ages—
Read only rhymes upon the pages
That tell of coming years;
No tragedy upon the stages
Of Fauocy's play, appears.
And it is well; for Time is truthful
And soon enough brings to the youthful,
W hate'er it has in store,
The Future—whether harsh or ruthful—
"Tis well none can explore,
For lives well-lived—however lowly—
Like voyages safe tho’ made but slowly,
Will bring us home at iast;—
W here all is peaceful, pure, and holgy
And wreck and fear are past!
THE BOGUS PROFESSOR.
“But that’s nonsense, you Know,
mother,’ said Gray Clement, 1mpatient-
\¥, “‘about my staying in the house, and
ill that sort of thing. Because that I
save been sick is not an infallible sign
that I am ill yet. 1 think fresh air and
3 brisk walk will do me more good than
anything else, and I'm going to take
shem; Dr. Finne notwithstanding.”
“Gray, don’t be rash!” exclaimed
3ray’s handsome mother, genuine ter-
ror and alarm in her voice. “If you
nust go out, then order our carriage.”
++I shall walk,” said Gray, In a tone
which his mother knew from long ex-
serience it was useless to combat, *‘It’s
wo warm to be shut up in that uncom-
lortable coupe, and to take an airing in
the phaeton will only make me more
azy than ever.”
s*Here are the goggles, then,” said
Mrs, Clement, with a little sigh of re-
rignation.
““You know how bad sunshine is for
jour eyes in their weak state.”
+] am nothing but a big baby in your
wtimation, it seems,” laughed Gray, as
se adjusted the huge, green things be-
‘ore the glass, *‘The more hideous you
nake me appear, the happier you seem
jo feel.”
You could never look otherwise
shan a gentleman, Gray,” said Mrs.
Dlement with maternal pride. “But if
rou had not over-taxed your brain and
yes so much at Heidelberg last year,
311 this care and worry could be dispen-
led with.”
“Never mind that now, mother dear.”
aid Gray, feeling & slight twinge of re-
morse as he looked at ber fair anxious
lace. “I'm almost all right now, you
lone.”
Then kissing her good-bye and prom-
sing not to go far, he strode down the
zreat stone steps, gaily whistling **Rob-
n Adair.”
It was a lovely August day, and Gray
‘ound the air so pure and bracing that
ended to,
He had walked several miles ont of
the city before be realized that he was
»ecoming very tired.
The sunshine was so warm, 100, that
1is brain began to reel,
He decided to ask for a drink of wa-
ter at the very next house, and rest
there before returning home.
Anna style of architecture, with spa-
cious gardens and orchards,
taste,
A young girl was bending over a
rosebush, clipping the great blushing
fowers and arranging them in a bon-
juet,
Gray thought he had never seen such
a fair vision in all his life. Her hair
sung in two shining braids down to her
waist, and was tied with rose colored
ribbons.
She was clad in the most bewitching
of German peasant costumes which
barely reached the trim ankles,
If Gray had been less exhausted with
his walk, less dizzy, and if the hideous
goggles had mot obscured his eight, be
would certainly have noticed that the
gown was of too rich a fabric for a
peasant’s wear, and that it was more of
thing else,
“Pardon me,” he said, raising his hat
with his old inimitable grace; “may I
srouble you for a drink of water? The
seat has made me decidedly thirsty."
He spoke in German, without mak-
ng any serious grammatical blunders,
tanks to his Heidelberg training.
The girl quickly looked up at the
sound of his voice, evidently not catch-
ng the meaning of his words, the sur-
srised look on her face was quickly suc-
seeded by one of pleasure and delight,
*You are Professor Vaa Thiell” she
axclaimed, holding ont both her hands,
which you may be sure Gray was not
jong in taking,
She spoke in German, too, but by no
means with the flueney of a native,
“I'm ever so glad fyou decided to
suth hour. Oh, why didn’t you come
pefore? We have been waiting for you
sver a monen; but now mamma has
gone to New York. I’m so sorry, but
she didn’t expect you to come at all,
jou see,’
“But here I'm chattering away, with.
yut introducing myself. I'm Celia,
Mamma has Geen sounding your praises
0 mueb—ever since she came from
Germany ~pardon me for saying #o—
that I knew you right away.
“Grandma and auntie will be so glad
w see you! You must stay with us till
mamma comes from New York, which
will be a fortnight, I think,
“But you are ill Herr Van Thiell
How thoughtless of me! Of course the
long walk from the station has been
very wearisome, If you had only let me
know when you were coming, 1 should
tiave driven out for you n
To do Gray Clement justice, he had
really intended to announce who he was,
when he discovered that Celia Warner
took him for Professor Max Van Thiel.
whoever he might be, Dut he felt so
faint and 111 that the thought slipped
from his dizzy brain before it was half
formed.
The next moment he found himself in
the Warner's parlor, undergoing an in-
troduction to Grandma Warner, a
charming old lady of sixty, who imme-
diately become sympathetic at the sight
of his pale, handsome face, and who de-
clared, in & queer mixture of German
and English which would have sounded
very funny to Gray on any other occa
sion, that he must retire at once to his
own room and rest.
During the night he was tempted to
take French leave, and would have done
go but for his weakness, Ie promised
himself to fully explain the mistake in
the morning, little realizing how hard it
would be to do so, now that he had got-
ten so deeply into the matter,
Gray felt decidedly better the next
morning, and for the first time he reali-
zed the awkwardness of his situation,
What could he say ordo because of his
unwarrantable intrusion? That was a
question Gray Clement could not an-
swer to his own satisfaction.
With his old self-possession and non-
chalance, however, he took breakfast
with the Warners as Professor Van
Thiel, talking volubly and entertaining-
| ly in German about his travels, which
alone were no myth.
He learned several things that morn-
to this country; that Mrs. Warner had
met him in Europe the year before; that
Celia Warner was a charming girl, and
that he had fallen heels over head in
love with her,
conceived the wild idea of personating
the professor,
The plan was as foolish as it was
hazardous, but *‘all’s fair in love,” you
ever losing Celia Warner's presence.
Directly atter breakfast he repaired
to the nearest telegraph station, and
sent the following telegraph dispatch to
his mother, who, be knew, must be feel.
ing anxious concerning his safety.
“Have comfortable and elegant quar-
ters in the country, where I shall stay
for some time. Don’t be anxious ou
my account, as 1 am feeling better than
I ever did since my illness, Will write
in a few days. Yours with love, G.”
“Don’t you think I am becoming in-
tensely German, Professor?” gald Ce-
lia, laughing, as she encountered him in
the garden one morning.
She had on the same costume she
wore when he first saw her.
“I really am of German descent you
must know, and it is all mamma's fault
—about my dressing this way, I mean,
Her enthusiasm over Germany ever
since she came home has been infect-
jous, I wore this costume at Mrs,
Bartlett's masquerade last week, and
now grandma wants me to wear it
every day. She is pleased to say itis
very becoming.
| **Do not discard it I pray you,” said
| Gray quickly. *It is Lke a glimpse of
the dear old Fatherland to see you.”
As Professor Van Thiel, Gray was
| supposed not to know how to speak
| English, and had been on the point of
committing himself more than once,
However, thanks to his quick wit, he
had saved himself just in time.
(Celia and the Professor were thrown
almost constantly together. Now it
was a walk, now a ride over the cool,
| breezy country roads, now a ramble in
| the grass-grown meadows, the Professor
| meanwhile expounding learned facts(?)
about the flora and strata around them,
{of which he was as happily Ignorant as
| Celia herself.;
Celia had conceived the wlea that the
| Professor was a middle-aged gentleman,
the disfiguring goggles confirming ber
! belief,
Nevertheless, that did not hinder her
| from thioking him very charming and
| entertaining.
Tous the days passed by, all too
quickly for Grdy, when he thought of
the denouncement that must come,
They were reading Goethe together
almost a month after Gray's uncerimo-
nious arrival, when a servant breught
in a letter for Miss Warner.
“From mamma,” was Celia's brief
explanation, as she quickly cut the en-
| velope open. “You will pardon ms,
Professor, if I read it now, as [ am very
anxious to find out when she is coming
home."
| “Which I am not!” said Gray, sotto
| voice, as he bowed acquisscence,
He had grown very pale at mention
of Mrs. Warner; aud he could feel his
| frame tremble as he saw a look of abso-
| Celia’s lovely face.
| “I—I do not understand it,’’ she said,
i looking at Gray with wide eyes,
| “Mamna says she has come across Pro-
| fessor Van Thiel at lastat Mrs. Moyle's
| musicale, and that she has prevailed
| upon him to accompany her and papa
| home. What does she mean? Are there
| two Professor Van Thiel's?”’
| Gray's face was deadly pale, and
| rising to hus feet, he took an involunta~
| ry step forward, his hands appealingly
outstretched.
“For God’s sake, Celia, do not judge
166 too harshly!” he exclaimed, hoarse-
ly. **I loved -you—l loved you-—and
did not think of the monstrous wrong I
was doing.”
| Im the intensity of his shame and
| emotion he spoke in English, and thus
| added to Celia’s bewilderment,
“I am not Professor Van Thiel at
all,” le went on, not sparing himself in
the least, rifts of red and white cross.
ing his face, “but a mean, weak, cow-
ardly wmpostor! Oh, forgive me Celia, 1
have done you a grievous wrong, bat it
was through excess of love for you,
“Dio noteome near mel’ she exelaim-
ed, with flashing eyes, ‘‘How dare you
Jue talk to me of love--you, who are so
w and coutemptib.e enough to sail
boar the. thought of losing ou, Oo
o you, C
Miss Warner,” he ne miserably,
“Can’t you m
“No; I confess such knowledge is be-
she
your insolent deception.
oblige me by leaving the house immedi-
“Your wishes shall be obeyed,
Miss
Warner.” he sald proudly, his eyes
*.
burning flercely with resentment and
bitter anguish of mind.
minutes later, for the last time as he
thought, he could not resist a sudden
wild impulse to look once more upon
the girl for whose love he had dared so
much, all,
She had thrown herself upon a sofa
in a paroxylsm of grief, and was sob-
bing as if her heart would break,
“You do love me after alll” Gray
cried, a triumphant ring in his volce, as
he gathered her to his heart despite her
feeble resistance. ‘‘I was almost sure
of it! Oh, my darling, do not let your
pride separate us now.”
“Yes, Ido love you, Max,”’ she sob-
bed and her admission came reluctantly,
as if against her better judgment.
“And oh! it nearly broke my heart
when you told me that you weren't
Professor Van Thiel.”
“What's in a name?” he retorted.
“Am I not the same if my name is Gray
Clement, instead of Professor Max Van
Thiel? Will you not try to forgive me
dear?” pleadingly.
“You do not deserve,” she said, *‘but
I suppose I must, for 1 cannot give you
up. Mr. Gray—though you are not at all
what my fancy painted you.”
“But I will try so hard to improve,”
he said earnestly ; then he added artfully:
“With you as my example, darling, I
will become a perfect paragon before
{ long.”
The real Professor Max Van Thiel
less than Gray about theology and bot-
any, When he heard how Gray mas-
name, his amusement was unbounded,
Even Mrs.
{ ly appearance and unquestionable con-
i nections,
Many of Mrs. Gray Clement’s friends,
$
i tic way in which she had been wooed
calls her husband ““The Professor.’
mses tly MA
MAINE'S VANISHING RED MEN.
A Handful Left of the Once Powerful
Tarratines-~The State Annuity.
The handful or indians who repre-
| sent all that 1s left of the once powerful
| Tarratine tribe, who were the foes and
| now loud in their lamenmations over the
death of Bockbesin Swasson, the UGov-
| ernor of the colony on Old Town Island,
| twelve miles above Bangor,
| Swasson dropped dead recently, and the
| election can be had.
| the French-Canadians to a great extent,
|
| to count Maine's red men on the fingers,
| mounds, shell heaps, otc. The Tarra-
| tines or Penobseots, as they are ocom-
| monly ealled, live by river driving,
| faint attempt at farming, and by the
| baskets, ete. No white man can make
a canoe like the Penobscot Indian;
| neither can any other Indian fashion the
| birch so gracefully, Their snow shoes
| the pretty bows and arrows aud birch
bark bric-a-brac—the like of which is
| not made anywhege else, The old men
| aud squaws and the children make these
| wares and the sales DOW amount to
| about $12,000 a year.
The state government pays the Tar-
ratines an sopuity of about $8,000 a
| and what the young men earn river
survivors of this once powerful tribe,
latter commodity being obtained in
Bongor, on the streets of which ecily
| may be frequently seen a red man *‘over
| the bay.”
{ squaws, principal among whom is one
| called “Betsy Francis,” who are familiar
| sights here, coming down in the morn-
| ing with tLeir burden of baskets and
| going back at night drunk. But the
| Tarratines are a great deal better people
| than they once were, and this 1s because
| of the watchful care and guidance of the
| Catholic priest and the island nuns,
sre MPI OARS
A Strange Story of Lord Byron.
“Speaking of men who have known
great men,’ said Mr, James Russell
Young, “I remember meeting a gen-
tleman who had been a personal friend
of Lord Byron, He told me a curious
story, He was in Greece with Byroo,
and they were traveling together to
Missolonghi, A heavy raipstorm came
on and they had to ford a river, and
they came to a little Greek inn, riding
horseback, aud of course very wet
Byron and his iriend went to their
room until their clothes beeame dry.
Byron lay down upon the bed, put his
arms under his head and said:
“Do you believe in witches and war.
locks?"
“Why?” asked his friend,
+ You know,’ replied Byron, ‘I am
aknost a Scotchman, I spent my early
days in Aberdeen, and when 1 was a
ehild a gypsy read my fortune. She
told me that very important events
would happen in my Ife at 10, 28 and
86. At 10 I was a lord, by the death
of my grand-uncle, At 28 T was mar-
ried, And now, continued Byron,
‘the third event comes, What will
it bet’
‘My friend said to Byron: ‘0, that's
nonsense,
ABOUT STATE DINNERS,
social Event
ington.
A state dinner at the White House is
the highest social event of Washington,
and only the most noted men and wo-
men are among the guests, Dinners
are given in honor of the cabinet, the
The Highost at Wash.
Arthur dined nearly every public man
in Washington during his last year, and
his dinners cost him the greater part of
his salary, President Cleveland will
dinners will be comparatively lunited.
The President's dinners are given in
the state dining room of the White
House. This isa great oblong room,
as large as the ground floor of a house
thirty feet wide and forty feet deep,
and a ceiling running as high as the
base of the windows of the second story.
It adjoins the red parlor, on the east,
and is entered from the grand promen-
ade corridor, in which full length por-
traits of all the Presidents look down
upon you as you walk into it with your
lady upon your arm. At the west end
of 1t & window looks into the White
House couseryatory, which 1s filled in
| midwinter with blooming flowers and
tropical plants, under nearly an acre of
| glass, and at the back you may see
{ upon the White House lawn the Poto-
mac beyond and Arlinglon away in
the distance,
| National palace. A modest carpet,
with the figures of a camel’s hair shawl,
| covers the floor, dark cream paper
fresco hides the plaster of the ceiling,
At the two ends of the room great flat
| mirrors, in frames of gold hang over
| marble mantles which are upheld by
base,
women are fairly
| fastened to a post-like
| faces of the marble
| the marble mantel may not rest Loo bea-
ter like diamonds under the light of a
| state dinner. Great bronze sconces, with
large circular mirrors of French plate,
in the front, and golden
| add to the brilliancy of the glitter from
their places upon the table,
The floral decoration for such a din-
per is wonderful, and the flowers used
if bought outside of the White House
would cost from $500 to $600,
| a time the whole house 1s fragrant, and
flowers are in every parior. The man-
reigns in all her beauty.
with a
pearly the length of the dining room
{ table. It has a rim of gold about three
imnohes high, and this duriog a state din-
per is framed in the choicest of flowers
and greens, All kinds of designs are
| made up in flowers and stand upon the
| table. At one dinner there may bea
A long lake
sculptured in what appears to be mar.
ble, and dishes of various sorts made np
into the most wonderful forms, During
Arthur's time no dish was served fiat,
and the food was all ralsed up into some
shape or other, A vase of rice upheld
meats or birds, and it took days to pro
cure the dishes for the table.
The steward of the White House has
the sole charge of the state dinners, and
as such he 18 one of the most important
men of the present administration. He
gets $1,800 a year, and has full charge
of the eating arrangements of the
White House, President Arthur's
steward was a colored man, who had
been Roscoe Conkling’s valet. FPresi-
dent Cleveland has a white man for a
steward, He is a bright young fellow
of about 30, with a dark complexion,
bright black eyes and a luxuriant black
mustache. His name is St. Clair, and
boil at Albany and at Buffalo. At a
state dinner, woen he is present, he ap-
pears like the waitersin a full dress
sult with a white vest,
over every thing very carefully, and
would rather hgve a hand cut off than
have a waiter drop a dish.
The kitchen of the White House is
directly under the dining room. It con-
sists of two large rooms, hung with
copper cooking utensils of every char-
acter and color. Two great ranges set
into the walls, and one in each room are
burning, and mammoth
boilers smoke upon them
before and during a great dinner. A
big z ne table stands in the center, and
at this you may see the cook and his
| lieutenants working away at their cu-
| rious shaped dishes, with as much care
as a painter upon a picture or a sculp-
President Cleveland’s
| cook 18 a round faced German with blue
| eyes and a little blonde moustache. In
| the kitchen he is covered from head to
foot with the whitest of white aprons
A white coat covers the upper part of
{ his body, and a great white cap of linen,
with a tall puffed-out top, stands high
upon his head, He isone of the most
noted cooks in the country, and the
president brought him here from the
Gilsey House of New York. 1 don’t
know what President Cleveland pays
{ him, but Arthur's cook got §1,800a
year, and he had served dinners for
| John Jacob Astor and Jay Gould before
he came to Washington,
The cost of state dinners isa big
item to the President and it bas made
| most of the presidents of the past leave
| the White House with nothing laid up
| for a rainy day. Arthur's state dinners
{ cost at least $10 a plate, and he spent
| $5,000 and more on the nine dinners
which he gave In 1883, Grant's hos
pitality left him nothing from his eight
| year's salary, and Andrew Jackson had
to sell his cotton crop to keep up hus
White House table. President Cleve
land uses wine at his state dinners, as
have been done by all of the presidents
except President Hayes, Garfield died
too soon to give a state dinner, but the
average cost of the wine at Arthurs
dinners was about one-third of the
whole cost of his dinners, and his wine
was noted for its choice quality and the
profusion with which it lowed.
mcs A AI R550
entirely of flowers, A book of laws
it will take about 2,000 flowers.
thousand roses are used at each stale
carnation pinks. last winter the state
dinners consumed 6,000 sprays of the
lilies of the valley, 400 strings of smi-
lax and thousands of
lies and so on.
garden of Semiramis.
corsage bouquets beside the plate of
| ench lady.
and fishes, fruits and temples are among
| the designs gotten up by Mme. Demo-
| net, the old French woman who has
| supplied the presidents with their ice
day you have a lobster in its natural
| eolor, next week the ice will come upon
state dinner there may be cantelopes,
| fruit and vegetables in natural colors
{ and of natural size, which on being cut,
| turn out to be the most delicious of
! The table runs the full length of the
| room, and is so arranged that it may be
| made into differents shapes in accord-
| ance with the number of guests, Its
! full capacity is fifty, though at the cab-
inet dinner only thirty sat down to it,
and its shape was unchanged from its
usual oblonz form with round corners,
The forms are used for different dinners
and they are printed upon white cards
with a bevelled edge of gold,
one of these cards with the numbers of
the seats for himself and lady marked
upon it. He is notified beforehand as
to who he shall take out to dinner,
and his plate is also marked with a gilt
edged card containing bis name under
a cut of the White House coat of arms
in gold. This coat of arms is stamped
upon the elegant paper used for invita-
tions, and these invitations by the way
are engraved upon white cards about
the size of a cabinet photograph and
read as follows: “The president requests
the honor of the company of the secre-
tary of the treasury and Mrs, Manoing,
(for instance) at dinner on Thursday
evening, Jan. 14, at 7:30 o'clock.”
Such an invitation supersedes all other
invitations, even though having been
accepted beforehand, and the request of
a President like that of a monarch, is
considered here equivalent to a com-
-
Why Major Went to Church.
1 once visited a pleasant country-
erful and sagacious dog called Major.
This dog was highly prized by his mas-
ter and by the people of the neighbor.
hood, He had saved many lives, Once
{ when A SWing rope became entangled
held her up until help came.
| One day the butcher brought in his
{bill for Major's provisions, Major's
| master thought it altogether too large,
| and shaking the paper angrily at the
{ dog, he said:
| ‘See here, old fellow, you never ate
| all that meat —did you?"
The dog looked hard at the bill,
shook himself all over, regarded the
| butcher with contempt, and then went
| back to his rug, where he stretched
| himself out with a low growl of dissat-
| isfaction.
| The next Sunday, just as service be-
| gan at the village church, into my
| friend’s pew vaulted Major.
| we all arose for prayer; then he sprang
{upon the seat, stood on his hind-legs,
| placed his fore-paw upon the tront of
| the pew behind, and stared gravely and
| reproachfully into the face of the
| butcher, who looked very much confu-
| sed, and turned first red and then pale,
| The whole congregation smiled and tit-
tered, Major's master at once took the
dog home, But the butcher was more
considerate in his charges from that
time. Evidently he felt mortified and
conscience-stricken,
rats AAPM
’
Where do the Patterns Come From,
———————————
Can anybody guess in what undiscov-
ered country the persons who draw em-
| broidery patterns find the flowers which
they portray? With them, a fern looks
like a skeleton leaf; a daisy has petals
pointed at each ond; and golden rod
grows in racemes. The colors which
they mark to be nsed in working the
patterns are, if auything, worse than
their drawing, and if their directions
were exactly followed, the result would
be nothing if not wonderful.
Fortunately, there are few women who
do rely upon them implicitly, but their
complacency when faults are pointed
out to them is amazing.
day when a
say that the newest
growth was usually at the end of a stem
and that the colors used should indicate
it. “Dear me, we don't follow Nature!
It is not fashionable.” 1f one be intent
prod one
i A I.
Hard Life of the laslroad Bralemens
——
One has to be among brakemen for a
time to realize how many of them are
crippled, A man with ten sound fin-
gors is almost an exception, Theis
hands and faces sre like the limbs of
the little Jellybys, perfect cetanders of
distress. Of course, if & mau loses a
leg or an arm, so that he is of no fur
ther use, he must leave the service un
less a place can be found for him ae
flagman or ealler, Accidents, partica-
larly in the winter season, sre numer
ous. If itis a mere loss of a thumb or
a vrushed foot the chances are that it is
pot heard of outside of the company’s
offices, but ail sueh seccidents of a
serious nature that ocenr in this Stats
must be reported to the Ruilroad Com-
missioners, It has been calculated from
figures thus obtained that 70 per osnt,
of train hands employed on a road for
five years become crippled. A railroad
manual estimates that 1100 employes
are injured every year in the United
States while in the discharge of their
In ten years this smounts to
quite an army of eripples, Whether or
not a brakeman gets any remunerstion
for lost time by secidents met with in
coupling trains depends on the chance
of us proving that he was using his
coupling stick at the time, or rather the
probability of the company's proving
that he was not using it, If the mao
was not using the coupling stick it is
considered a violation of rales, and he
must live as best he ean until he gets
well again, If it is otherwise, he gets
half pay until he is able to resume
work, on consideration that he accepts
it as a quit claim of possible damages
against the company. Sometimes, if
the case 1s very destitute, he gets a
wooden leg.
On the Pennsylvania Railroad the
brakemen get $1.80 for day work and
$1.90 for night work. Local freight is
usually so brisk on this road that the
men sre not compelled to lay off much,
and they can average about $42 a
month, But the general conditions of
the service are about thessme. Almost
every brakeman has a hope of promo-
tion until years of hard serviee have
crushed it out of him. Berths upon
passenger trains are looked upon as
“soft” places. Brakemen, as a rule, sre
sober, conscientious, hard-working men,
fully awake to the responsibilities of
their positions and not suxions to shirk
them, But many of them are called
upon to stand more than nature can
bear, and to 8 man in the business it
is a wonder that sccidents growing out
of the carelessness of “gangs” of hall-
| asleep, overworked and underpmad em-
| ployes are not more frequent,
i tl A —— -
i The Oricie’s Song
i ————————————— A ————
| The bird’s song consists of four noles,
{ and it is curious that there 18a peculiar
| nich, flute-like quality by which the
| oriole’s notes may be recognized, no two
| sing alike. Robins, song sparrows, and
| perhaps all other birds sing differently
| from each otber, so far as I have obser-
| ved, but none differ so grestly—in my
| opinion—as orioles, The four that I
| have been able to study carefully enough
| to reduce this song to the musical scale,
{ though all having the same compass,
| arranged the notes differently in every
| case, The oriole is, of course, not lim
| ited in expressiou to his song. 1 have
| spoken of his cry of distress or of war,
| which was two tones slurred together.
| The ordinary call, as he goes about a
| tree, especially a fruit-tres in bloom,
seeking insects cverand under each leaf
or blossom, is a single note, loud and
| clear. If a pairare on the tree together,
it 1s the same, but much oftener.
| An oriole that I watched in the Cats-
| kill Mountains regularly fed his male
| while she was sitting, and as he left the
| nest after giving her a morsel he uttered
| two notes which sounded exactly like
| “A-dien,” adding after a pause, (vo
| more which irresistably said, **Dear-y. ’
| There wasa peculiar mournfulness in
| this bird’s strain, as if be implied, **it's
| a sad world; a world of cats and crows
land inquisitive people, and we ay
never meet again.” Perhaps It was
prophetic, for disaster did overtake the
little family; a high wind rocked ile
eradle—which also was on a small ma
ple tree—so violently as to throw out tue
youngsters before they could fly. The
accident was remedied as far as possible
by returning them to the nest, but
whether they were injured by the fall I
never learned.
Scolding is quite ready to an oricle’s
tongue, and even squawks like a robin’:
are not unknown. The female has
similar utterances, but in those I have
listened to her song was weaker, lacked
the clear-cut perfection of her male's
and sounded like the first efforts of
a young bird. In the case of those now
under cousideration, the female repro-
duced exactly her partner's notes, only
in this inferior style, which seemed
rather unusual. The sweetest sound
the oriole utters isa very low one, le
his mate when near her er flying away
with her, or to his nestlings before they
leave the home. It isa tender, yearn-
ing call that makes one feel like an in-
truder and as if he should »=g pardoz
and retire. 1t is impossible to descrilx
or reduce it to the scale, but 1t is wel
worth waiting and listening for.
——————— A
Some Indian arrow heads were latel)
shown at the Societe d’Anthropologie,
Paris, which were poisoned with cura
over a century ago, but still retained
their deadly power. Small animal
scratched with them died in hail an
hour.
ations
To brighten tarnished brass and cop
per, clean the brass by warming it, and
dioping in water charged with washing
soda, into clear water to remove
the grease. Next dipit ina bath of 1
part by measure of sulphuric acid, 1
sal ammoniac, 2 parts mitrie acid
water, Dip for a moment,
in clear water and dry iu hot
I)