— a —————
TON a
CURYSANTHEA.
fhe had come to life just as the
thrysanthemums do, with the falling
leaves, and like them, too, she had
bloomed as best she might without the
glow, the summer splendor or the
wmmer showers that other lives and
other flowers share.
She lived in a brown
among the Massachusetts hills with
her old father. Had she bloomed so
late in his life to give some color and
poetry to the autumn of his days, as
the chrysanthemum blows
farm house
only
to the sixties, while she was
sixteen.
Years ago her mother had died, a
frail, lovely creature, who would have
given that other young life the joy and
love it needed so; bus the child grew
without it, a hardy, cheerful little
thing, though not without a certain
wistfulness at times in her great deep
blue eyes so like a purple flower. Old
Rachel, her father's housekeeper and
her own faithful nurse, used to look at
her with wet eyes and shake her head.
“It ain't natural. She goes on sing-
ing and laughing as happy as a lark
Mi day; but what's to make her happy,
say I? Italn't her father, nor yet me,
tho' I do love her, the dear, and she
ain't got no mother, no sister, no
brother, nor yet no lover, so what's to
make her happy? It ain't natural,” she
insisted, as a blithe voice rose above
the clatter of the dishpans as Rachel
bustied around the kitchen.
“What makes you so happy, lamb?"
eried the old lady out through the open
window.
*+Oh, Rachael, I've got such a lovel
lot of chrysanthemums; coma out and
iee; oh, look, look!”
“It's them flowers that make her
V
she made her way through the kitchen
garden.
“Well, to be
them do beat all.
some!’
“Aren't they just lovely? Seo the
great golden ones and the purple; those
sure, Chriss, doar,
Oh, them is haad-
white, and these pure white, too, those
anes I shall pick. Rachael, aren't they
lovely?"
But Rachael only shook her head
snd wont into the house.
“To think she loves them flowers so;
i$ aln’t natural, it ain't; if it was a
kitten now or adog I wouldn't wonder
30, but a lot of clinging asters, it ain't
aatural.”
Natural or not, Chriss was very hap-
py. She hung over her mewly bloom-
ing pets nearly all the morning, then
She looked up with a leng sigh and
turned te the back of the house, where
two deep windows marked her father's
study.
“lI wonder new if I dare tell him
sbout them, he does hate 30 to be dis-
furbed; but oh! I waat him to see
those purple ones so much.”
With one fond look at her glowing
bed shoe went in at the door. With
hesitating step she passed along the
broad. old-fashioned hall and rapped
timidly at the oaken door.
pecting any response she went in and
sighed as she saw ths gray, bent head
soldered on the hearth. She knelt
down and blew the embers, looking up
sow and then with a smile.
“There, there, lot it alone, child; it
Is burnicg very well.”
“Oh, father, father —"
“Well, what now?’
“Fathor, it's just lovely out to-day
-50 warm and so sunny; and, father,
ny Rowers are in bloom."
“Your flowers—oh, the chrysan-
shemum bed, hey? Well, that's good.”
“Fathor, won't you come and look at
them? “Do!” very wistfully.
“Come out? NotI. I've get some-
thing better to do than to look at a lot
of posios. There, run along, child;
sow do.”
She went very slowly and softly out
of the room, closing the door gently
behind her, but her heart was full
Her song was silent now, and as she
prased the kitchen window she did not
look up asd nod as usual
She went quietly out to the hot
house and, selecting a small trowel,
knelt down beside the white chrysan-
themums and began loosening the roots
with tender, patient hands.
“She would have coms to look,” she
murmured as she glanced off 10 where
the white shaft of her mother's tomb
arose.
“She would have understood; per-
baps she will understand new if I say
a little prayer.”
‘Two hot tears fell on the pure blos-
soms ns she gathered them up in her
spron; but they were not bitter tears,
she was 00 young for that She
walked quickly soross the flelds that
separated the burying ground from the
house, and soon was by her mother's
grave. The fleld lark was chirping,
the goldenrod had brushed her cheeks
as sho passed, her heart was lighter,
and she sang under her breath a sweet,
old-feshioned hymn.
At las the flowers were planted and
she turned to go.
A young man with a sketch book
under his arm stood aside to let her
She looked up in time to see
remove his hat, and encountered a
pair of dark brown eyes. She colored,
and went on with quickened steps,
conscious of her soiled apron and
earth-begrimed fingers.
He stood looking after her,
with his head bared. He was an
artist; the sight of the young girl
kneeling by the grave had appealed to
his senses.
He had seen the monument from a
distance and had come to inspect it,
without an idea of intruding; there be
still
let her go without one word of apology.
He saw her onter the farm house and
the inscription on the monument:
Sacred to the memory of
Elizabeth,
Wife of Caleb Field,
Who died Jan, = 18
Axed 19 years,
“110 giveth his beloved sleop™
mound the freshly
planted buds. He stooped down a lit
tlo to see it they were wilted, and he
thought ha saw a toar-drop in the hoart
of one of them.
“Poor little girl I brute to
eome up like that; I must tell mother”
Frank Wainwright had a very good
and lovely niother, a mother who,
though devoted child, had
been wise enough to train him nobly.
Their place was some two miles off,
picturesque of the
On the wore
was
ty her only
among the most
Deorkshire hills.
He almost ran to tho drive,
came upon his mother just ns she was
descending from her carriage.
“Why, dear, what isit?"' seeing him
so flushed and hurried.
«Come into the housa and I will tell
ang
you."
In a few words he told cagerly wha
he had seen, and a soft look came over
Mrs. Wainwright's gontle face. Fit.
years bsfors, about this time
(and she rememberel the ohrysanthe.
nums then in bloom), she had laid
bled as she
he saw the
heart
flowers;
daughter. Her
spoke of the
“Oh, mother, forgive. I neve
thought of my sister,” he sald broken -
{ ly. She bowed her head and they sat
silent, hand in hand, for a moment
{ Then Mrs. W. spoke in a low, sweet
voice:
| girl; mand, my son, no apology is need-
od for what was unintestional; a
| simple explanation should suffices.
| Poor child! I wonder if it was her
mother's grave."
Rachasl was astounded the next day
by seeing the Walnwright turnout at
| thelr door.
| She clapped on a clean white apron
| master,
“Humph!" he said. *1 don't want
© see her. Where's Chriss?
| “Here, father,” she answered. She
| had been reading beside him, and he
| bad never noticed her.
“It's Mrs. W., sir; she that bought
de”
| "Oh, Rachael, what shall I say to
| hor? exclaimed Chriss
| “You don't meed to say anything.
{ Just go and smile at her, my lamb
| snd she'll be satisfied, I know.”
When Chriss saw the tall lady ix
| mourning har heart misgave her for a
| moment until she heard her voloe.
| “My child,” it sald, “you must won-
{ dor at my visit. Ii was my son Frank
| who intruded upon you yesterday, and
2ow entirely a mistake it was.”
Chriss took courage to look up uader
der long eyelashes and was resssur-
| od.
“Ob, certainly, Mrs. W.; he was
very kind-—and-—and polite, I am sure,
| snd I thank you for coming.”
70. You have a pleasant home here,
| Miss Field,” she sald, as Chriss walk.
| 3d off with her to the carriage.
“Oh! do you think so? Yes itis
pleasant. Walt just one minute, Mrs.
W., please.
She ran swiftly out of sight, and re.
turned with an exquisit bunch of white
shrysanthemumes
The toars sprang to Mes. W.'s eyes
She too's the bunch and the small hand
tpon the pure young brow.
“They're mother's flowers; she's
load, you know,” said Chriss, simply.
“I know, my dear, and I shall cher-
lsh them ; good-by."
“Oh! Rachel! that's the loveliest
lady I ever saw I* orled Chriss, rush-
Ing into the kitchen.
“I suppose you won't look at aay of
us now," retorted the old woman, and
was huffed and offended for two whole
flays. A week after that there came
an invitation to take toa with Mes. W.,
and great were the preparations for
the event, asd Rachasl was very
proud of her darling as she drove off
arrayed in a pretty, qualat gown of
lac, with a ruffle of red lace at her
neck and wrists.
“She's pretty as a psach,” declared
her old nurse, “with them sweet blue
syes and thom little pink cheeks, so
the is."
Mrs. W. mot hor, and a wave of
emotion went over her, and she
thought of her own lost darling.
“Now, dear, we are to be friends,
you know," sald Mrs. W., as they sas
down together In the beautiful library,
“and I don't even know your name.”
“Matha namad wa Chevasnshan
wr ——
and they call me Chriss. You seel
wns born in October, the samo ns the
flowers, and I suppose that made her
think of thy name. I was only twe
years old when she died.”
“Two years old!” the words sents
pang thgough the mother's heart
She sighed heavily, then crossed the
‘room and took a portrait from the
table and gave it into Chriss’ hands,
It was that of a dear little dimpled
girl, with an upturned, laughing face.
“My daughter,” Mra. W. sald.
“Oh, bave you a daughter? What
pretty child?” Then seeing the sad,
troubled look in her friend's face she
threw herself on her knees and buried
| her head in Mrs. W.s lap. After
| that they were more than friends. A
swoet sense of pence flooded Mrs. W.'¢ |
motherly heart as she hold that girlish |
| form in her arms and passed her fin. |
‘ gors through the dark, clinging curls,
and she learned all the cruel loss that |
young beart bad suffered, unconscicus |
of how it revealed the very depths of |
an unsullied ofl the tenderest|
kind.
What wonder if Mrs. W. thought.
nature
bo my daughter indeed!” And so it
came to that vory next year, |
when the chrysanthemums were in|
full bloom, Frank Wainwright led his |
bride to the little village church.
Old brings their children!
often now to the spot where thelr
to watch her flowers in
childhood, and as ;
smiles at the pretty, chubby faces the |
old woman murmurs to herself:
‘‘She's happy now,
she should be. She's got something
better than flowers to care for
God bless her."—New York Joursal
Pass
i
i
Rachel
mother used
her desolate she
and it's natural
now,
sit
Duly Warned
“Lookee here, Jim Shipton, I jist
| want yer to understand who it is yet
sassin’,"” cried an irate Dakota woman
on she occasion of a trifling connubial
| ecologue between her husband and
| herself.
| «I jist want ye to b'ar in mind thm
| 1t alot none o' yor common, low-down
westorn woman yer talkin’ to, but a
| lady born an’ raised in the state o
| be gosh! A lady whose par was a
justice of the peace and one of the
| promineniest men in the town—a lady
! what useter sing in the choir, and
| who never knowed what it was to so
| clate with the common run o' folks
{ till she tuk up with you, dem yer
| picter! An’ don't you presume tc
| ra'se up an’ sass mo as if yor was my
| ek'al, Jim Shipton! Don't you das*|
| do It!""—Drake’s Magazine
1
—————
Thistle Pompons
An exchange tslls how {0 make
| beautiful pompens for home decora-
| tion:
| Belect a large, half-blown thistle,
i and cut off all the green part at the
base of the blossom, just sbove the
| stom. Hang the thistle In the open
| air, exposed to the sun and wind, and,
| in the course of a day or two, the ia.
| side downy part will expand into a
; full, reunded pompon, or puff ball
{ Then pull out the purple petals which
| had developed into bloom when you
had selected the half-open thistle
Haag up the porupon again in an airy
place, and in the course of & week Ii
will have bleached a cream-white
These pompons are feathery and
delicately pretty asswans-down. They
are a great addition to a bouquet, ors
basket of grasses.
Milkweed pompons are not quite ms
| easily made but are more silky smd
nearer pure white than the thistiea
When #32 milkweed pods are ripe,
; make a collection of them, and they
, can be kept hall a year or more before
| the pompons are made, if so desired,
; or the puff balls can be made at once,
as follows: Have some very fine wire,
| such as is used for bead-work, and cut
| it into pleces four inches .long. Dip
| the pod in water, and then open it It
will be found filled with many bundhes
Pull off
‘of web-like white fibres
several of these and wrap the wire
| around the ends which were atltached
{to tha centre stem. Brush off the
black seeds adhering to the other ends.
| Wire a number of bundles, as just de-
Isoribed, then with another plece of
wire, to wind round and round, put
them together as you would a bouquet
of flowers, thus making a rounded pom-
pon. City florists have these solored
a delicate pink, and they are beautif'
As A Issa spr
Making One's Belf Soares
We should never give too much of
our society even to those who love us.
It is well not to stay too long in any
company #¢ as 10 loave regrets and il-
lusions behind us when we depart
One will thus appear (0 better advan.
tage and seem to be worth mere. People
will then desire to ses yeu return; but
do not gratily that desire immediate.
ly; make them wails for you, but not
too long, however. Anything that
costs too much loses by the diffloulty
with which it is obtained. Something
better was antloipated. Or, on the
other hand, make them wait a very
long time for you-—then you will be a
queen. — Marie Bashkirtsefl,
na i
Reducing Weight
Zola reports that his attempt to re
duce his weight, which was very great,
by not drinking, resulted In & reduc
tion of ten pounds in eight days. At
the end of three months he had lost
forty-five pounds, and was in much
Inne sd Sota
DANGERS IN AFRICA
Dr. Jules Borelli Talls of the Perils He
Experienced in His Travels,
Ono Must Always Be on His Guard—S8lav)
Trade Among the Hadias and Kooloo Tribes
~Eating Raw Beof at Boligions Festivals
I decided w enter Africa through the
country of the Dankalis, writes M.
Jules Borolll. The task I had before
me was tho more difficult that the
countries through which I had to trav-
el are inhabited by numerous nomadic
mountain tribes, who live by pillage
and murder, and who are among the
most inhospitable in northern Africa.
They treacherous to
scarcely concelvable, luiling your
watchfulness to sleep by protestations
of the sincerest friendship,
favorable opportunity occurs to cut
your throat. The country is wild and
broken, scorched by the sun and fur
rowed by depressions and
some of which sink to a depth of 1,00]
are a degros
until a
cavities,
The descent from the plain of War
and pebbles
and has neither grass nor water,
topsy turvy between high and steep
hills, and reminds one of the infernal
level of the sea
soil in its vicinity
for culinary purposes, but also as a
currency, it is cut into pleces of the
the middle 2 inches wide.
beds abound and several doep craters.
Mimosas, from which gum arabic is
acacias, saline plants, and
a few groves of doom palm trees are
alone met with by the way.
We ware soon among ths wandering
tribes of the Ad AlIL Woe to the un-
fortunate straggler in thess parts, for
he is sure to be cut off. The Ad Alll
are exceedingly ferocious and bleod-
thirsty. At times we met some of
their women and children driving their
flocks of sheep and goats. Nor had
wo less 10 fear fromthe savage denizens
collected,
beasts abound.
met with. Leopards also sometimes
appear. There are numerous wolves,
hyenas, Iynxs, and foxes. As we ap-
proached’ the Hawash river, which
constitutes the boundary between
ol Shoa the aspect of the country sud-
denly changes It becomes verdant
are perched on most of the peaked
hills we pass. The camel thorn, ba-
bool, tamarind, and the luxurious soco-
trine aloe plant smiled on every sida
Game is abundant Zebras, belzees,
spur fowls, quail, bustards, and
floricans swarmed around our peth.
Antslopes were to be seen graziag;
ostriches and wild asses flew past in
the jungle. Snipe and ducks sought
refuge in the lakes covered with the
lotus plant. In the trees parrots in
gay plumage sod dog-headed monkeys
disported themselves among the
branches, and, though serpents were
not 80 numerous in the undergrowth,
some are deadly poisonous
Antoto, which is about sixty days’
journey from the coast, is the resi.
denoo of King Manllek IL, who claims
descent from Solomon.
My course now lay to the south
Finally I reached the banks of the
Ghibie-Ennharya, better known as the
Omo which was the chief object of my
present expedition. In so doing I had
discoversd an entirely new region and
entered the country of the Bottors
After threading a vast forest I came
upon the sources of the Omo and ac
quired the conviction that, throughout
its entire course, it had pething ia
common with and was quite distinct
from: the Juba, Having settled this
point beyond all possible dispute, 1
pushed on as far as I could into those
wild regions, which contain scenes of
oxtrome grandeur. 1 was 30 well re-
ceived in the kingdom of Djimma that
I staid there a whole twelvemonth,
making an exhaustive topographical
survey of the country. There, at the
foot of the May-Goudo, I explored un
Immense sweep of territory, extending
from the south ia aa easterly direction
and which had never before been re
connoitered by aay scleatific traveler.
Continuing due east, I visited in turn
the Taembaros, the Hadioa the
Wualanses, the Koolos, and ether
pagan tribes, each of which has its
own peculiar laws, language, manners
and superstitions.
Ihave carefully studied these diff
erent tribes. Balt, which, as we have
toen, Is accepted as currency among
the Gallas, is rejected by these tribes
They have three species of currency:
Slaves, who represent what we may
style bank notes; calves, which answer
the purpose of ooln; and bits of iron
which stand in lieu of copper coin
among us. They willingly buy at their
markets cotton goods of Liverpool
manufacture, but unravel the whole
into thread, from which they In turn
weave their own stuffs. They have
no idea of the process of dyeing; when
they sco a piece of blue stuff they fancy
the wool on the shesp's back from
which it is made must have been of
that color. They treat their slaves
with kindness. Children, as slaves,
bring higher prices than grown men
and women. A girl of twelve, if hand-
some, fetches from $15 to $16. A full.
grown man, if strong and healthy, Is
worth $8 at most. They huve more
slaves than free men. Once bought a
slave is never sold to another; the cor
rect thing Is to give the slave away as
a free-will gift. Horses and mules
abound all over those regions. The
Galla oxen are magnificent beasts,
with horns sometimes four feet long.
jut most of these tribes are difficult to
approach. They are very mistrustful,
espocinlly as concerns foreigners, and
are often al war with one another.
cli aom—————
JAMES RIDLEY’'S LUCK.
Twice Prepared for Burial, He Re«
vived on Both Occasions,
There is at present an inmate of the
| soldiers’ home near Milwaukee who is
a living vietim of the horrors of pass.
through a genuine trance, in
| which mysterious cataleptic condition
ing
people are occasionally buried alive,
t fully aware of all that is going on
| about them, yet unable to move or in
any manner indicate that they
alive, The victim of this strange ¢on-
dition numed James Ridley, and
twice has “laid out” and
the dead house, un artistic
{ and very complete private morgue
| that is connected with the heme. Both
his supposed deaths occurred dome
time ago, snd as a general desire pre-
valled nt the place to keep the matter
+ profound secret the circumstances
have just leaked out and were incident.
sully learned by a Journal representa-
i sive. Ridley, who is quits an old vet.
sran, suddenly died, to ali*appearan-
ses, and was removed to the dead
aouse to await burial. This Is a piace
quite similar to the regular morgue in
acity. Itis a largs room completely
surrounded by packed ies and it is not
only very cold, but dark. It
is
he
placed in
bean
ve ry
the burial preparations and the *‘re-
mains” were permitted to stay in the
dead houss for two days
his comrades, headed by an uyndertak-
or in charge of a coffin, approached
the place for the purpose of performing
the last sad rites due the dead by the
{ living. As two guards unlocked the
door to the dead houss and the funeral
procession crowded in, they were hor-
| rified to find the “corpse” engaged
{ in sitting up on his cooling board, rudb-
! in utter bewilderment, just as a sound
| sleeper does when he first awaices from
| s long sleep.
| The guards and friends quickly real
| 1zed the awlul situation and taking the
| man who had so narrowly escaped a
living tomb they bors him to the hos-
pital, where he was carcfully treated
and was gradually brought fully back
te life.
Not fully satisfied with his first im
promptu “final
onoe more preceeded to expire to all
intents aad purposes, and was once
& sareful watch was this time placed
ever the “body,” and, as a supposed
result of the excoedingly cool place,
the departed was finally observed wo
be coming out all right again, and was
then rushed back te the hospital
| terrible double-death experience or his
past life, as be evidently dreads the
| matter, except that after both expe-
| riences he admitied to a comrade that
be heard and knew all that was spoken
| or done about him while in tho trances,
and the horrors of being buried alive
were oontinuously in his mind,
although he was powerless to avert
the approaching doom that seemed in-
evitable. He is a very sallow, sickly
grounds,
—————————
CURED BY THREAD,
Singular Neuralgia Remedy of a
Southern Chief of Police.
at last all umbsiievers are brought
onse with the doughty chief. Some
days ago he was suffering considerably
with neuralgia. After trying ‘every
remedy under the sun he at last came
upon a friend who had a recipe, which
reveal to the chief, but seeing the
official ia deep trouble, he finally con-
sented to apply the remedy. Securing
» spool of black sllk thread, he out off
several bite. One he tied around the
neck of the chief, another around his
walst, another down the back connect.
ing the ome from the neck with that
around the waist, and a fourth down
his breast, connecting in the same way
the two bands. This comploted the
outfit,
When the operation was finished the
chief, with an incredulous smile, asked
what came next. “Oh, you will talk
differently in » fow minutes,” replied
the friend, with a shake of the head
In a minute the ofMoisl felt a strange
sensation in the face, and within five
minutes the pain had left him. To say
that he was amazed would be putting
it mildly. He has alroaly givea the
cure to a dozen sufferers and now he
is at work solving the problem of | 'w
he was cured. As yet he has found uo
ong who aay give the cause for ib
RICH BIOODS OF FRISCO
Condition of ths Bonanza Heirs and
Their Follies.
Only a ¥ew of the Young Men of Ban Fran.
cisco Who Inherited Millions of Vales
Either to themselves or to the World
What is going to be the futurs oi
Ban Francisco is a problem that few
care to discuss lest further unwelecoms
intelligence be the outcome, says a
correspondent writing from that city.
San Francisco has lost most of hes
wholesale trade. That vast commerce
which used to come around Cape Horn
and ncross the Isthmus of Panama and
had the splendid city of the Golden
Gate as its distributing point has ceased
to exist. Ban Francisco no longer sup-
plies the other cites of the coast. All
are independeny of her. Oregon,
Washington and northern Idaho, which
once depended upon the wholesale
merchants of San Francisco, long age
transferred their trade to St. Paul and
Chicago. Arizona, all
| that southern portion of the western
elope, draw their supplies directly
from St. Louis and Kansas City. The
wholesale trade of Ban Francisco is
gone, and no better prool of it can be
found than the fact that most of the
{| wholesale houses here are going out of
business, voluntarily or involuntarily.
One discouraging feature is that so
®
Los Angeles,
much of the brain and wealth of Cali-
| fornia —the sons of ploneers who once
i made the state famous—
| homes and opportunities
| There is nothing to tempt the rich
{| young men ol this decade to business
enterprise of soy kind. Most of those
| who have isherited the wealth of their
| fathers either idle dawdlers or
| wasteful spondthrifta,. Somes are lack.
ing in either mental or pysicil capaci.
ty Ww perpetuate the usefulness or fame
| of thelr sires. young men
who have inherited the wealth of bo-
| nanza daye have I2ft the state for othe
| er fislds—somse {5+ Europe, others for
New York—all with intent never to
return to the land ia which their fath.
ors toiled for their wealth and thels
| children’s independence. In this way
millions have been carried away from
California, which im justios should
| have remained here te assist in the
| slate’s development and prosperity.
The young men who remain are not
all of benefit to the community. With
| the single exception of the Crock
family, the younger members of which
are now in full possession of theis
fathers, immepee fortume, there if
scarcely a millionalre’s sen who hag
shown any business ability, public en
| terprise, or any ether tesdancy thag
selfish enjoyment of suddenly soquired
riches. There are a dezen moro ol
| these young Cressl i= Sas Francisco,
| and the city would be Dbester off If
| there were nome. Aas exception mighi
| bo made in the oases of Celonel Mer
are sccking
elgawnere,
ATG
Beores of
| vyu Donahue, whe as the heir to his
| father. Peter Donahue, came into ¢
| plece of rellway property worth seve
| eral millions. The eolensl has showy
| some sagasity la getting the property
| ia sueh shape that I8 is available for
‘sale te some easlera company who may
want termissl fagllities ia San Fran.
cisce, but further than that bis genius
bas mot wandered. The coloucl like
| many of the ether yousg millionaires,
| wants to sell eus and take up his abode
im New York, where indeed he now
| sponds most of his time.
By reason of their vast rallway and
| real estate interests the Crocker boyt
are probably snchered to the coas\
| Thoy are worth from $7,000,000
| $10,000,000 exch, and it may la truth
| be said they are pretty good bogs
The three Crocker boys have beet
happily free from scandals thelr
, names have never bees associated with
any bul reputable women, which is se
; unusual ia Califernia that it is worthy
| of remark. Rich yowng men herelcart
inn gilded sage right In the shadow
of the parental roof, and think they
are doing something manly sand cred
elit ————
The Hardest Worker in Jamaica
Everywhere, where the water I
the mangrove at its silent ceascloss
work. The parent trunk, growing
from a little pluk stem, shoots up into
a low shrub with widewproading
branches, clothed perpetually with
glossy green leaves From these
branches loug slendor roots drop isle
the water beneath, where, in the mud.
dy soll at the bottom, they themselves
take root and in turn become trunks
and trees. And everywhere under the
snake-like net-work of roots which rise
out of the muddy soil, and in the
tanglo of branches above, life is puis.
ing and rustling. Ismumorable crabs,
with long red logs and black bodies
peppered with white spots, scurry and
uvrawl in and out upon the rank mud
beneath the arching roots, and droll
hermit-crabs draw thomsolves with a
click into their borrowed houses
strange-looking shells with long spl nes,
curious spirals, mottled with blue and