MW a3frp5 fwmts-T pr WsJPSC ' -SwaBjp1 FJ; Zg&MM THEJOURNEYENDED Closing Days of the Walking Trip of. Three Thousand Miles Across the Continent. SHADOW HAD TO BE KILLED. The Territory of the Depraved Mojavei Indians and One of Theirrema tion Ceremonies. AWFUL TIIIKST IN THE DBSKET Tamed Out of Doexs bj Two ConnunpttTes-Wno Bad Goat to too West to -Die. nVHTTIK' TOB THE BISPATCH.! REALIZED that Shadow was mad. If I had never "wasted time" in learning to box and wrestle there -would have been an end to me. But the trained muscles awaited no conscious telegram from the brain, but acted on their own motion as swiftly and as rightly as the eye protects itself against a sudden blow. Ducking back my head, I threw the whole force and weight of legs, arm and body into a tremendous kick, and a simultaneous wild thrust upon the leading-nrap. My foot caught Shadow glancindy on the chest and he went rolling down the 30-foot embankment. But he was upon his feet again in an instant and sprang wolfishly toward me, I snatched at the heavy six-shooter, but it had worked around to the middle of my back, and was hampered by the heavy pocketed, long duck coat. Before it wai even loosened in its scabbard, the dog was within it feet. I sprang to the edge of the bank, and threw all my iorce into a kick for life. It cauMit him squarely under the chin, and rolled him again violently to the bottom. Up and back he came, like the re bound of a rubber ball, and iust as he was within four feet I wrestled the colt loose 'threw it down" with the swift instinctive aim of long practice, and pulled the trigger even as the muzzle fell. TWO SHOTS SETTLED IT. The w ild tongue of flame burnt his very face, and ho dropped. But in an instant he was up again and fled shrieking across the barren plain. Tue heavy ball had creased his skull and buried itself in his flank. I knew the horrors of a gunshot wound my poor chum should never go to die by inches ihe hideous death of the desert. A great wave of loe swept through me and drowned my horror. I had tried to kill him to save myself now I must kill him to save him from the mot inconceivable of agonies. My trembling ncnes froze to steel I must not miss! I would not! 1 dropped on one knee, caught his course, calculated his Mieed, and the spiteful crack of the six thooter smote again upon the torpid air. He was a full 1 50 vards awav. fivintr like wind, when the niereilul lead outstripped and caught him and threw him in a wild t-omcrsault of his own momentum. He nccr kicked or moved, but lay there in a limp, Mtu-L tangle, motionless lorccr. "Weak and Taint and hea yhearted, I dug with my hunting knife a little grme be neath a tattered yucca and laid the poor flay tenderly therein, and drew over it a coverlet of burning sand, and piled rough lava lragmcnts on it to cheat the prowling coyote, and "blazed" the tattered tree. The thin-tj- sand drank my tears; and choking and with burning eyes I left poor Shadow to his kst long sleep, and went alone down the bitter desert 3IOJ.VVE INDIANS OUT FISHING. The country was fjt turning more in finitely desolate. Wider and wider were the reaches of molten sand, w hose alkaline clouds swept in gusts up the valley, chok ing and stinging throat and eyes and nos trils. Then 1 came, down into the green valley of the Colorado, where were little ponds and waving grasses and willow thickets and little brnsh rancherias of the Mojaie Indians. Swarthy women were washing at the little pools," and in a larger pond, ltft by the river in high water, set cral Mojae men were fishing in an odd fashion. Three of them had each a huge osier basket canoe-sliaped, 10 feet long and 3 feet wide! These they submerged in the water, while three other Indians splashed greatlv with long poles. "When the fishers lifted their basket nets each had a lot of silvery, smelt like fish: and these they tossed deftly into deep crecls'slung to their backs. They are a curious and physically admir able race, these Mojaves tall and lithe and The Finish. matchless runners for a day or two at a pull; superb swimmers; full of "strange customs, but sadly degenerate in morals. In warm weather andlt is hardly ever cold in their tropic valley the men wear only a breech clout, and the women a single garment gen erally made of flaming bandannas bought in the piece. They dress their long hair in curious ropes, and plaster the scalp with mud, tattoo the chin in wild patterns, and have no ornaments save fichus which they make with gnat skill from tiny glass beads. A MOJAVE CREMATION CEREMONY. They have been practicing cremation from time immemorial, and were just hav ing a funeral near East Bridge. The corpse, dressed in its best, was stretched on top of a huge pile of dry old ties from the railroad, nnd the chief mourner touched a torch to the heap of dry brush at the bottom. As the flames sprangaloftandhissedand roared, the mourners stood in a gloomy ring, chant ing a wild refrain; and as the savage fire and savage song went on, thev threw upon the pyre irom time to time all the earthly pos sessions of the deceased, and one by one their own garments and ornaments. Passing the strange, jagged spires of peaks, v Inch arc called the Needles because !v.of tlurn have natural cvclcts though tlic-e arc a isiLle only from the canon, and "if Wm llff not from the railroad T crossed the 1,800 foot drawbridge (now abandoned for a fine new cantilever, a dozen miles below) and stood upon the then forbidding soil of Cali fornia. A night at the rather, pretty little railroad town of Needles, and I started off again into the grim Mojavc Desert. It was the beginning of 200 miles whose sufferings far outweighed all that had gone before. There were fivo telegraph stations in that awful stretch, and the largest town in 160 miles had three houses. At last I took to walking nights, since there was a full moon, and trying but with scant success to sleep by day. HCKED UP A COMPANION. At Daggett I found a new companion who 'was poor and ragged, but infinitely more of a man than those who had shared and half spoiled short sketches earlier in the tramp. He was a young French Canadian named Albert Murder; had come to the mining camn of Calico and been fleeced bv his ab sconding employer; and now, penniless and ragged, wished to get to Los Angeles. ITavaJo Boys. Would I mind if he walked with me? There was a pleasant frankness in his face; and I promptly said "Come on!" Neither of us will be likely.to forget that day the most awful of all my journey. We missed the trail, and for six anguished hours struggled through the heavy sand, over fiery hills and down hollows that were like a fur nace. I had thought I knew thirst before; but it was never understood until that afternoon. A score of times I thought we must fall and die there, and only mulish will kept us up. For the last five miles I had to help poor Munier along by the arm. And just at sunset we came, more dead than alive, to Stoddard's "Wells, the only water in 60 miles. There was a little flow of water from a tunnel in the hill, and a mis erable "house" of split shakes, inhabited by the two only absolute curs I met in nearly five months. Thev would not let us sleep in the house, thougli I offered a hand ful of silver for the use of a battered chair near the fire for my arm showed bad symp toms that day, and I dared not catch cold in it. They said they did not keep a house for tramps, and when I showed them a pocket ful of credentials waved them aside, vowing they could not read, which was a lie. TURNED OUT INTO THE NIGHT. They ordered us out of the house, and stood in the door berating us in the vilest language. Our blood boiled, but we could not even take the old, savage satisfaction of thrashing them, for they were wretched, hacking consumptives, come here to stave off death, and even a cripple could not strike tnem. a grim nignt we passed by our lit tle campfire of greasewood twigs 1,000 feet above the sea, and chilled by a fierce wind from off the snow peaks of the Sierra Madre. I was worn out, for my day's walk had been 40 miles 18 before Munier joined me at Daggett and miles of great suffering; but I dared not go to sleep. At last weariness ocrcame me and I dropped olE "When I woke Munier was kitting and shivering by the little fire and feeding it with weeds, w liile I was warmly w rapped in his huge old ulsterl The unselfish fellow had gone cold himself to save me from a chill that he knew would be dangerous. The next day's eqnally painful tramp was mostly down hill, but even more torrid as we cams to lower altitudes. Never was there so blessed a sight as when, at last, we looked down from the top of a high ridge which has since been discovered to be a mountain of pure marble to a green ribbon of a valley, a broad, clear, shallow river, the Mojavc "We stopped at a pleasant ranch, where grav-headed Rogers had his 2,000 snowy-fleeced Angora goats, and next day, crossing the rher where the little railroad town of Victor has since been built, plodded up the long, sandy slope toward the noble range which shuts oft the grim mest of deserts from the Eden oi the world. CLOSE Or TIIE LONG JOURNEY. Up the long, smooth slope we came with the afternoon, paused on the brink of the sudden "jumping off place," and plunged down into the steep depths of the strance Cajon (box pass, pronounced Cah-hone) Pass. A few miles of barren gullies and ridges, and we came to a little house beside a tender green where the grateful sands of the arrojo thanked a tiny spring. And here poor Munter fell, unable to move an other step. I made arrangements at the house for him, gave him halt my dwindling money, and with a hearty and regretful handclasp left the brave fellow and hurried on down the canon. In the solt, sweet evening I came to the first fence I had seen in 500 miles, and an orchard in fragrant bloom of peach and apricot, and to the hospitable little farm house that used to be "Vincent's." Ah. such luxury! When kindly Mrs. Vincent ktjew me, she spread such a supper as my long-abused stomach had lost all memory of', and for tliat I had had no fruit in so long, she gave me in sumptuous array about my plate 14 kinds of delicious home-made pre serves! That night, for the first time since breaking my arm, I was able to get off all clothing, and revel in a glorious bath and a spotless bed. Next day I trotted gaily down the canon, climed over the western wall, and struck out along the foothills. Now I w as truly in "God's country" the real Southern Cali fornia which is peerless. It was the last day of January. The ground w as carpeted with myriad wild flowers, birds filled the air with bong, and clouds of butterflies flut tered past me. I waded clear, icy trout brooks, startled innumerable flocks of quail, and ate fruit from the gold-laden trees of me ursi orange orcnaras i. liaa ever seen. Pretty Pomona gave me pleasant lodgings that night, and next day, February 1, 18S5, a 30-mile walk through beautiful towns, past the picturesque old Mission of San Gabriel, and down a matchless valley, brought me at midnight to my unknown home in the City of the Angels. Charles P. Lummis. THE WINDMILL. WKtTTEX FOB THE DISPATCH. A fresh, cool wind blew over thehill.and, rushing down into the valley,roughly shook tne tree tops o: tne pine lorest, "I Ehall no longer trouble myself with such thankless work," he sighed, "I am going to take life easier, and seek more for enjoyment" "What has vexed you?" chirped a wood dove, from her nest among the branches, "I hope that you mean to leave off shaking my nest so violently, or my little birds will certainly fall out." "I meant no harm to you," replied the wind, "but that windmill on the top of the hill is the plague of my life. I use all my strength and energy to bring it into motion, and all the time it is so cross and ill natured, acting as if it were doing me a favor in turning around." The dove made no reply to these remarks, and after a short pause the wind continued: "Aou ao not Know how provoking it is; I 1 a THE throw myself with all my, force against the mill, expecting the pleasure of Beeing it whirl merrily around, for nothing is pret tier than the sight of a windmill in motion. But this one is so old and lazy. It groans and grumbles and. turns its arms as slowly as it possibly can. When I say, 'now hurry a little faster, please,' it scolds and treats me as if I were its worst enemv. I tell you, little wood dove, I shall bother myself no loncer with snnh work. I shall not re turn again to the hilltop, and the old mill! .j j:u e v ii .v., t nvA " "Those are unkind words," said the dove; "and I am sure that you do not mean to do as you say. Think what trouble you would bring upon the people. The miller and his family must suffer, and if the mill does not turn there will be no bread, for there is no other way to grind the corn." "What do I care for the people?" asked the wind, "they never trouble themselves about me. But you are such a good little creature that for the present I shall stay here and rock the cradle while you seek food for the little ones." And with that he began to rock the cradle, as he called the nest, so gently that all the birdlings closed their wide open mouths and fell fast asleep. But,after all, the wind was not so ill-natured as one would think from his words, for every day he flew away to the hill top to try to turn the milk But this thankless creature sighed and scolded more than ever, and sometimes would not make even a single motion. Each evening the wind returned to the valley, and poured forth his complaints to the dove, who praised him for his efforts, -and tried to en courage him. But finally he lost all pati ence, and, after neglecting the mill for sev eral days, he went to it one morning and said: 'Why are you so still to-day? It seems to me that you have grown old and that your working days are ovgr. "Indeed, I am as young and as strong as ever," was the indignant reply, while the mill flapped its wings angrily. "Pardon me," said the wind, saucily, "but I noticed how tired you seemed, and thought you were weary from your labor, and wished rest. "I do wish rest," returned the mill, "but that is not because I am too old to work. "Then I shall leave you to enjoy your self,,' said the wind, "and will not trouble you by urging you to move." He then hastened to the wood dove, who kindly greeted her old friend, and asked: "What success have you had to-day?" "I am very well satisfied with my morn ing's work," answered the wind. "I have been to visit the mill, and we have parted company forever. It was tired and wanted to rest, and, as I have grown weary of its constant complaining, I have decided to take a long journey and may not return for several weeks. But I shall not forget my little wood dove, and when my travels are over we shall spend many happy hours to gether." "I am sorry that you are going away," said the dove, "for we 'need you here, and the miller will be in great distress about the windmilL" But the wind only laughed at these words and flew merrily away. As he passed the mill he cried: 'Goodby, old mill, I am going on a Jour ney. I hope you will not miss me, nor weep for my return." "Do not trouble yourself about me," an swered the mill with an aniry clatter, "I can get along very well without your ser vices and should not be sorry never to see you again." For" many days the wind continued his travels. He journeyed over sand deserts, through busy cities, and across wide seas. He saw many new and strange sights. Yet he was not entirely happy; for he thought often of the beautiful hill where he had lived so long, the cool, green valley, and the little wood dove who had urged him not to leave. "I shall go home," he thought, "and see if I am really needed. If the dove's words are true I shall overcome my dislike for the old mill and try to persuade it that we must work together." Without any further delay the wind began his homeward journey. He sought first the little wood dove, who was now -entirely alone, for her little ones had grown too large lor ine nest ana naa nown away to make homes for themselves. The little bird was sleepily chirping her evening song and was almost ready for her night's rest. But she was wide awake when her old friend the wind drew near and gave him a joyous welcome home. "I am so glad that you have returned," said the dove, "for you know that without your help the windmill cannot turn, and during your aosence it nas stood still. As the miller had no other way to grind his corn, he has decided to bring a great ma chine from the city. That would spoil our beautiful hill, and the noise would drown the songs of the birds and the gentle whis perings of the pines. I tried to find you, and beg that you would come to us, who were in such need of you; but I knew not where you had gone. Every day I have hoped and watched for your return. And now that you have come, do you think you can help us to keep away this machine of which we are so afraid?" "I shall surely try," said the wind; "but what does the mill think about it?" "It has been so silent and sad, ".was the reply, "that I have not ventured near it." Nearly all night long the wind and the dove talked over what had happened during the last few weeks. At sunrise the wind betook himself to the hilltop. When the mill saw him it cried: "O, dear wind, have you returned? A great misfortune has come to me. I have rested so long that my arms have become stiff, and I can scarcely move them. I am to be torn down and must leave this beauti ful hill, where I have lived all my life. I can no more look down over the valley and see the pines nodding to me. If I could only turn as before I might be allowed to remain here." "Perhaps I can help you if you will let me," said the wind, who now felt a great pity for the poor old windmill. "If you will only be so good," was the reply, "I did not dare to hope that you would even think of me after my rude be havior to you. But if you will help me now, you shall never again have cause to complain of my ingratitude." "We shall forget the past," said the wind, "and try, hereafter, to do our best," He then rushed with all his force against the mill; but the arms had become so stiff from long disuse that they only creaked and scarcely moved at alk But the wind tried again and again, and the mill used all its strength, until finally, toward evening tlie arms began to move slowly. The next morning the wind was again at his place on the hill-top, and this lime with better suc cess; for by noon the mill was turning rapidly, and as the miller looked up at it, he said: "After all, I think I shall not tear down the old mill; for it yet seems to be able to do good work." So the'mill was allowed to remain, and when the pines nod to it, it answers: "Yes, I am still here, thanks to my good friend, to whom I shall ever be grateful." Every evening the wind visits ihe wood dove; but the greater part of the day he spends with the windmill, and together they work merrily and happily. " Patsie. SOME ENIGMATICAL NUTS. Paxzles for the Little Folks That Will Keep Their Brains Busy for Most of the Week if They Solve Them Correctly Home Amusements. Address communications for this department to E. E. Chadboukk, Zeutston, Maine. 1684 THE BRIDGE OF SIGIIS. A bridge ., veltybe, l er sucn a curious ouo j ou ucie mav see: The stones of this bridge are of certain sighs, Tour duty is simply to tell what they beT PITTSBTJIgG DISPATCH, J, If the keystone b&movedthoothers would, rail. And yet, though the largest, 'tis nothing at all. 8- This stone may Densed'for ptemhlng-the thirst. And, when In goodorder, gtone'bottles will burst. .8. No. 3 is quite quiet, It ne'er makes a noise lis calm and 'tis still 'mid Borrows and Joys.t 4.. A stone that's bewitching; beware, O young man! This sigh so entrancing may-turn ont your Dan. Ji- To remove this stone Is no Tery hard tast Wo can use It for drawing Deer out of a cask. 8. I think it is glue that forms -this No. 8, For I notice, when touchingdt, each finger sticks. -7. An emDlem of mourning; the name of a tree, Which, in England, In anychnrohyard you may see. .8. Llio the star near the North OPole, fcy which sailors steer. This draws the attention of any one-near. 9. An intellectual stone; one well Tersedln knowledge. No doubt such are used when building a college. H.J.A. 1685 transposition. There is tumult In the city, Blast of bugle, beat of drum, For the hoys are marching homeward, See, the conquering heroes come! From the battle field of Shiloh, From the hillside and the plain, For the cruel war is over, And our boys come home again. primal pomp and glittering Danners, Ne'er to tyrant or to king, Brought such cheers and shouts of welcome As those tattered standards bring; Riddled by the foeman's bullets, Torn by shrieking shell and ban. In the broad next of the sunlight. See those torn folds rise and fall. See the heroes of the battle, Column after enltimn Rtrnnv. "Worn and weary with the conflict. oee mem as iney pass along. Tes, the cruel war fs over. To the North the victors come, Lay aside their war-like.trappings, Rest the soldiers' rest at home. II. 0. Btmois. 1686. CHARADE. Small Tom was growing scholarly, Or so his Bister thought, When she for his birthday Second third had kindly bought. "For thirds I've crown too taU," And it on tho floor he cast; "I'd rather havo the all. First, second, third, last." Edsa Cotodox. 16S7. DIAMOND. 1. A letter. 2. Something frightful. 3. Tufts or bunches, i. A small mining town of Durango, Mexico. 5. Innkeepers. 0. A swelling. 7. A milky or waxy substance. 8. Capable of being cut. 9. A large net for catching fish. 10. A Cowl (obs.). 1L A letter. Mesa. 1C88 ANAGRAM. O love, the leveler of men's lives, The smoother of our ways: Who Modest all with hopeless gyres, Thou "puzzlo of all days. Love doth the fallen brown leaves stain With gorgeous carmine dyes: Love softens every pang of pain, And lights the tear-dimmed eyes. Love paints the rainbow's radiant glow, With an unseen hand to guido it; Tis the joy that silver lines each woe, 'Tis "aheap, tho' fancy hide it." Love smiles upon tho poor and low, With all, her wealth she snares; She points the soul to heaven's glow, Three forms complete she wears. Aldihe. 1689 WHO? Justly famed for wit and beauty; Of her court the queen, indeed; She to sorrow was no Btranger, Ever kind to those in need; Priceless luxuries around her; Husband great, two children fair, Into that worldly paradise. Now ambition drags despair, Ever parting that royal pair. Dttce. 1690 peepix PUZZLES. 1. By using different prefixes to a word meaning "quarter," make words meaning a citation, separate, to asperse, to incur, to in fluence, to divide, to disown, to plot, to withdraw. 2. From a word meaning a twist make a mark by prefixes, make words meaning to pant, unite, animate, exude through tho smn, tase rest, uecome pudhc. 8. From a word meaning to make a mark, by prefixes, make woids meaning to refer, abridge, enroll, explain, stamp, diotate.exile, agree, copy, add to. 4. Fiom a word meaning "to bring to a stand" make, by prefixes, words meaning to apply, adjust, bear witness, give display, de posit, mediate, deny, prefix, speak, lesolvo, set, believe, invert. Senex. 1691 TKANSPOSITIOXS. The prime may flourish here below, By methods sharp and deft;. But when the horns of Gabriel blow In the final he'll be left. n. He who would jlrsf from duty's last. The one who upward strives. Can ne'er undo that which is past Nor uplift ruined lives. ALnrmc 1692 CITETAILED DECAPITATION. Processions, as they all. Pass through beheaded wholes. Where flags are gay, where garlands fall Through these their current rolls. Tho center's but a part Of the triumphant two; The parts well Joined, with cunning art. Create a second true. Bitter Sweet. 1693 IiEIT RHOMBOID. Across: 1. Works of acknowledged excel lence. 2. Crowds. 3. To afflict, i. Prates. 5. Smoothes over. 6. Braggarts. 7. Instru ments for toasting. 8. Thoe who catch. Down: L A letter. 2. An abbreviation. 3. A serpent, i. Genera of grasses. 5. A close embrace. 6. Pure. 7. Sloro so. 8. Hakes empty talk. 9. Spaces of flvo years. 10. Plants of a certain genus. 11. Mixoss. 12. To tax. 13. Anger. 11. An abbreviation, 15. A letter. Ibok Mask. JULY SOLVING. Prizs winners: L E. J. Robinson, Sharon, Pa. 2. n. C. Burger, Salem, O. 3. Bcbecca 11. Xicholls, Shaion, Pa. Foil of honor: F. Walter Miller, J. K. B., Sarah Burbanx, S. T. 11., Blinks, Chas. T. Farnham, Mis. Minott. ANSWERS. 16731. Littlo pitchers have big ears. 2. Great cry and little wool. 1674 Alger, large. 1675 O C O F O N DISSENSION INTERVENE STARVING SERPENT FERVENOE CONVINCE JB CONSENTEBS I N G O E N 1676 JIum-ma c-hog. 1677 D E F A C T O E N I SLED FISHERY ASHLARS CLEAVE S T E R rR E N E O D Y S S E Y 1678 Wai-salL 1679 L Hob-ffob-lin. 3. Pan-dora. 8. Mar-i-gold. 4. nog-nose snake. 5. Love-in-idleness. 1680-Slcep. 1681 UNOriBCULATBD L A A X N o n t a E X T E o R II .T S B A A O S A R n A- L E S ATE O If I A L I B M O E x tr N A V o V X I V E 16S2 Lcavc-n. 1CS3 Separate. V-I L E it S STOTDAY, AUGUST 23, THEY PAINT CORPSES. Some Odd Ceremonies in Chile Over the Bodies of the Dead. A DEAD CEILD ON A PLANK.. Almost a Eevolution Over the Burial of a Man Who Defied a Priest. SUIT 0YEB THE COST OP MOSSES rCORBESPOKDEIfCI OP THE DISPATCH.! Concepcion, Chile, Aug. L A sound of musio attracted me to the window this morning, and what do vou think I saw Z A mahogany-hued peon, or Chilean peasant, carrying on his outstretched hands a board, about five feet long, and on the plank a dead child, attired in a red calico frock. The small corpse was 'that of a girl, appa rently 5 years old. The lower extremities were encased in white cotton hose, "a world too wide for the shrunk 6hank;" a jaunty wreath of paper roses crowned the smoothly braided jet black hair; the cheeks were hor; riblv daubed with vermilion to simulate the hue of health, and the wide open eyes seemed staring into infinity. The plankbearer was followed by two, women, evidently the mother and grand mother of the deceased, who walked with u air oi conscious importance as Decomes those who have furnished an "angclito" Clittle ancrell to swell the heavenly host. Behind the women marched two men, play ing with might and main, one on a fiddle, the other on a guitar, each intent on a tuno of his own, regardless of the other's per formance; while the rear was brought up by a laughing and chattering dozen or more of men, women and children, most of whom gave indubitable evidence of unwise gener osity on somsbody's part in the way of chicha. They were on the way to the pan theon to inter the 'little angel," over which they had been dancing and drinking for three days past and whichpossibly, had been loaned once or twice in the mean time to friends who were not so fortunate as to have a corpse in the family. AN EXCUSE FOR AN OKGIE. Among the more degraded class of Chil eans it is a general custom to make death an excuse for orgies as wild and ridiculous as those of the fabled wake: and the body of a child especially is often kept for festive purposes until it becomes offensive to all who approach the house. In this queer country there is a funny side, even to funerals. A member of the United States Navy Astronomical Expedi tion in Chile, made some years ago, tells the story of a common ocourrence. He said: "Returning late one night from a dancing party, I had the opportunity of witnessing festivities of quite a different character. Passing in front of a small casa, my atten tion was attracted by a loud singing and shouting within. A woman who stood in the doorway, seeing me pause, invited me to enter. 'What is going on?' I asked. 'Eslamos vatando tin angclito de Dios' (we are watching an angel of God), she replied. My curiosity being excited by such an an swer j. entered. The room was crowded with men and women of the lower classes, engaged in drinking and clapping their hands to the musio of two females, who sat on the floor, guitar in hand, sing ing a drawling ditty, the burden of which was the happiness of something or some body in heaven. But the most prominent object was a kind of rude altar, set round with lighted candles and ornamented with tinsel flowers. In the midst of these sat the life-sized figure of an infant, dressed in tawdry finery, adorned with gauze wings, its face profusely painted red and white. 'It is the image of 6ome saint,' I said to my self, and was turning away; when a second glance convinced me that there was some thing unusual about this fizure. The hirir .looked very natural; the eyes were strangely vacanr ana iumy, ana even tne nnger nails were perfectly iorined. COULD SCARCELY BELIEVE HIS SENSES. "There seemed to be a good deal too much of art for nature, and yet too much of nature for art. I approached to scrutinize it more closely, and was horrified to discover that it was a corpse. 'What is that?' I asked of a bystander. 'TJn angelito, senor' ('An angel, sir'), he replied. 'A what?' 'A dead child, sir.' "One can understand how refined senti ments may induce the bereaved mother to strew the bier of her infant with -fresh flow ers emblems of youth, beauty and inno cence butthis display of paint and tinsel, this maudlin blasphemy and midnight de bauchery in the presence of the dead, is re volting." AmoDg the better classes of Chileans funerals are conducted on pretty much the same plan as in other civilized countries, except that here ladies never attend them. It is customary for all the friends and acquaintances ol the afflicted family to pay them visits of condolence within ten days after tho obsequies. For a month the mourners are expected to sit in one corner of a darkened parlor. The condoling callers approach them, one after another, occupy the nearest chair for five minutes or more, while expressing their sympathy for the living and regret for the dead; then make their bows and retire as succeeding arrivals move up. A refreshment table is generally spread in an adjoining apartment, at which visitors may iormy inemseives ior inis onerous duty of friendship, or refresh them selves after its performance. Among many odd incidents pertaining to funerals, the following ii still much talked of hereabouts. Some ten years ago a well known citizen of Concepcion, who had served his country faithfully and lived sans peur ct sans reproche as Chilean citizens go, quarreled with the middle-aged mother of his half dozen children. She took "Prench leave" one night, and nothing was heard of her afterward. Having remained in single blessejdness a year or two, without being able to ascertain whether the runaway spouse was living or dead, the gentleman took a younger woman to wife, contrary to. tne wishes oi tne church. A FIOHT OVER A BURIAL. Shortly after the second marriage he be came so sick that his life was despaired of. Of course, the friends sent for a priest who came and commanded the man to renounce the new wife before he could receive abso lution. This the husband refused to- do, and the priest retired in high dudgeon, without leaving behind tho desired pass through purgatory. The man grew rapidly worse, and the priest was called again, and yet again, the latter always making tho same demand, with the same result. Threats followed, of direst eternal consequences; and finally the poor harassed man, unable to give up the ghost in peace, seized a re volver from under his pillow and drove the priest from the room. Half an hour later he was dead and the church refused to bury him. The family appealed to- the Mayor of the city, who ordered his burial; the priests appealed to the Bishop of Concepcion, who declared that he should not be huried. Here was a pretty kettle of fish. If obody would ever think of being buried in other than "consecrated ground," and in those days the cemeteries au. Belonged to the church. JMeanwhile as time went on, the cadaver became in the condition ot Lazarus of Bethany, as de scribed by Martha when the Savior visited his tomb. The President of the Bepublic was appealed to, and" ho overruled the Bishop's ruling, and ordered that the man beburied in the cemetery. There was no gainsaying this verdict, and the "bone of contention" was finally interred. But the matter did not end there,for the whole nation became stirred up about it. For months the unsavory subject was in everybody's mouth, the newspapers teemed with its pros and cons, and adherents of both sides of the controversy made it a test case of "strike for your altars and your fires, strike for the green graves of your sires" or more properly speaking, for their adobe niches in the pantheon walls. , CnUECH AND STATE AT WAR. Ihe church hurled anathemas at the Pre3- 1891. ident, denouncing him bitterly as a heretio and a corruptor of all that is good, and pop ular sentiment ran so high that revolution seemed much more probable than it' did a month before the present war began. I think It was in 1884 that President Do mingo Santa Maria (Balmaceda's predo- CMflnr RpHlprl flip mntfpr IndiniMlv DT in ducing Congress to pass a law which threw all the public cemeteries of Chile open to people of every-religious faith, or of no faith at all. Previous to that date they had been the exclusive property of the Bomish church, and had yielded a large revenue. Besides the ?8 tax on every cadaver, burial lots were sold at a high price. In the big cemetery at Santiago the longest time for which a lot was sold was four fenerations, about-30 years. An average ot, about two yards long by one yard wide, cost 530 for a period of four generations; the same size lot for one burial, one year, S3; for the privilege of erecting a family monument after the lot was paid for, $30 additional. A record was kept, andwhen the stipulated time exnired. the friends of the deceased could continue in possession ,1 only by renewing the lease and paying another ?30. Ii the family had moved to another part of the country or were all dead, their lot was resold when the lease expired and the former tenants evicted; but ij they desired to remove their dead to another place, ?30 was charged for permis sion to do so. The Church of Santiago owns a first-class hearse, which is used only for great dignitaries, at the cost of ?50 for con veying the corpse on its last journey. It also has a second class hearse; for "common people," the fee for using which is $12; and a third-class hearse, for $8. And so on down the social gamut to the sixth class, composed of the Church's most devoted servants, who, having no money to pay for oujr uuurse, carry xneir ueau on a Bireicuer, and lay them, coffinless, in the rotos ("ragged people's") corner. THE CEMETERY AT SANTIAGO. The great cemetery at Chile's capital, with its more than 300,000 registered dead, is certainly the most populous, if not popu lar, public resort in tne country. And the population, still constantly increasing, is a permanent one, disturbed by no May-day moving, or revolutions, or changing Gov ernments. It is divided into five parts one for dignitaries of the church, one for wealthy and influential people, another for common clay, and another for "rotos," who are too poor to pay anything. Passing into that City of Silence ihrough a lofty arched gateway topped by a tall cross, one stands amazed at the multitude of bronze and marble statues, many of then executed by the most famous sculptors of Europe, a crowd of costly and artistic shapes, far exceeding in number those to be found at Greenwood or Mount Auburn. Thousands of the monuments are in the from of crucifixes, reminding the visitors of some one's thought, "Let us hope they have gained the crown, for behold the multitude of crosses they have left behind." Ever greens, willows, flowering shrubs, roses and lorget-me-nots riot everywhere, with t! at uncanny luxuriance peculiar to graveyards. onouia you tarry to watcntne sexton dig ging a grave, you would observe that his spade soon encounters something hard in the sandy earth. It is only the fragments of some forgotten person's coffin which, with skull and marrow bones are carelessly rattled out upon the sward. A little deep down he is sure to come upon another "poor Yorick," and yet another; four layers of them being about the average. IT KILLED TIEE BISHOP. It is still spoken of with bated breath in Concepcion, how, when the famous "ceme tery bill," which compelled the authorities to permit the burial of Protestants and other heretics in the publio pantheons, had passed both Houses of Congress and re ceived the signature of the President, the Bishop of this diocese, the most influential Jesuit in all South America, a man of pow erful physique and in apparent health, dropped dead from the shock of the news. Pending the President's signature, he was waited upon by a delegation composed of hundreds of the wealthiest ladies of the country, who besought him to veto the ob noxious bill. They v were the wives and daughters of the Chilean aristocracy tho same class of ladies', still swayed in all things by the church, who are to-day es pousing the cause of the revolutionists, which In reality is a question of the iiberai party against so-called conservatism, of tho aristocracy against the common people, free schools and enlightened progress against circumscribed education and a return to the priestly rule of half a century ago. A few years ago a wealthy Chilean died, leaving 51,000 in the hands of an executor to be expended in masses for the repose of his soul. The native priests would not consent to perform more than COO masses for that amount of money; and so the thrifty executor wrote to Spain, and after consider able haggling procured a thousand masses for $600, pocketing the remainder for the comforting of his own soul. Thereupon the local priests bronchi suit aeainst him not for defrauding the dead, but for cheating the church out of its legitimate business. THE HOLT HOST PROCESSION. Even the Holy Host procession, which possessed such weird fascination for us in Peru and Bolivia, is here losing its power. ITormerly in all parts of Chile it was con veyed to the dying with bells and lights and burning incense, and great pomp of military; but in recent years so many diffi culties have arisen between ihe natives and heretio foreigners the latter sometimes re fusing to kneel in the street when the sa cred procession passed that the authorities have forbidden these outward demonstrations in the principal cities, though they still continue in the interior villages. In San tiago and Valparaiso the holy viatica, or Host, is now conveyed to the bed of death by a priest under a red umbrella, preceded by three boys with a bell and lighted can dles. In Concepcion one may sometimes meet it in a lumbering coach, drawn by donkeys, with a driver dressed in red seated in front and a block-robed priest inside. The latter carries the consecrated wafer in a small box; while a boy, also dressed in red, walks be fore ringing a bell to call the attention of passersby. It is a strange sight. Even politicians of the "Liberal" tvne. who are most- bitter in their denunciations of the church, in variably stop and uncover their heads and many of them spread their handkerchiefs on the dusty sidewalk and kneel upon it, while the lower class fall upon their knees at once. When a cross-road is reached, all the people for the distance of a block, must uncover their heads or bow to the earth, and good Catholics murmur prayers for the de parting soul, to which the sacred wafer with its mysterious significance is passing. So sacredly is the custom of kneeling observed among the natives that even the partici pants in a waltz or cuaca will pause when the sound ot the bell is heard and bend tho .knee until the vialico has gone by. .DANNIE ii. WARD. EVEE Y MAN A KAOHEL This Fact Acconnts for Some of the Eccen tricities of "Watches. That the human frame is an excellent magnet is well known by practical experi ence to every watchmaker and mender, says a jeweler in the St. Louis Globe-Democrat. A man will carry a watch for years and be proud "of its accuracy, then he will fall sick, the watch will lie on the mantel or on the dresser and will develop great inaccuracy and unreliability. 2i"o explanation is forthcoming except the one that the absence of magnetism up sets the time announcer, and the best proof of this is that when the man gets around again and carries his watch it soon gets all right again. Notwo men appear to have the same magnetism in their frames, and it is seldom, that two individuals can use the same watch satisfactorily. Noise of the Boiler Makers. A lot of healthy riveters can raise more din than an army. But that is now over. Machinery has entered the field, and a boiler can now bo riveted with so little noise as not to be heard a distance of three feet. It is a very heavy and cumbersome looking machine, but it works like a clock. J COPWCED AT LAST. "When the Great Nicodemus Said- He Believed in the Savior HE TOLD WHAT WAS J?0T TRUE. Miracles and Teachings Astonished Did Xot Convince Him. Int THE CBOSS WIPED OUT HIS DOUBTS Iwarmif ron the dispatch. "There was a man of the Pharisees named Nicodemns, a ruler of the Jews; the same came to Jesus by night and said unto Him, Babbi.-nte know that Thou art a teacher come from God, for no man can do these miracles that Thou doest except God be with him." That is what a teacher who came from the schools of Jerusalem said to the teacher who came from God. Thus began the interview of Christ with Kicodemus. Kicodemus said that one dark night, in a dim room of a Jerusalem lodging-house, in the presence of Jesus Christ. Nicodemus was an old man, a Pharisee, a member of that great council of the Hebrew nation, the Sanhedrim; a man probably wealthy, certainly of important position, a "ruler of the Jews." Take an English bishop, and an English lord, and an English head-of-a-college, combine the three dignitaries in one person, and you get a glimpse at Xicodemus. That was the kind of place he held in the estimation of the people of Jerusalem. A man rf eminence; a leader in the world ecclesiastical, in the world intellectual, and in the world 'politi cal. When he passed along the road every body knew him. If he were to knock at the door of a small house on a back street and go in, there would be 20 people to wonder why. Thus he went in the dark, upon a windy night, when the street would be empty and he would be unseen. THE SCENE AT THE TE2IPLE. Jesus of Nazareth, with whom the great man held this secret interview, had come down a few days before out of Galilee, where His home was.and had set all tongues to talking about Him in consequence of a singular occurrence in the temple. It was the time of the Passover, and the city was crowded with visiting worshipers. The Temple court was thronged with people, coming to pay their church taxes and to ofier their accustomed sacrifices. In order to pay the taxes they had to get their money changed into Hebrew coin; and in order to offer the sacrifices they had to have doves and sheep and oxen. And Annas, the High Priest, had accord ingly turned a part oftbe great church into a market. The tables of the brokers, the stalls of the cattle, the seats for them that sold doves, were the center of unceasing noisy traffic The Temple officials had a monopoly of this religious business, and a most irreligious use they made of it. It was an illustration of that amazing and scandalous paradox which every day finds example somewhere the impiety of the pious, the rascality of the riehteous. They stole money out ot poor men's pockets. The whole thing was an organized desecration, a consecrated robbery. And now, of a sud den, when the crowds were greatest, had come in Jesus of Nazareth, of whom no body had heard before, a young man not pist thirty.a carpenter's son from a country village back in Galilee; in He had come, bringing a whip with Him,and had actually driven out the whole company of thieves and robbers into the street. HAD A MIND OP HIS OWN. There are people whom the arguments of the Archangel Gabriel could not move out of their accustomed way. Their eyes are tight shut. They have made up their minds and locked them, and there is the end of it, Christ met such men every day. The age was one of pronounced hostility to new truth. Only the old was true. The old dead doctors, the old dead confessions of faith, dominated the whole thought of the day. "Ye have heard that it was said of them of old time," was thepreface to the utterance of infallibility. When Christ said, "But I say unta you," all who heard that independent pronoun held their breath. Here was a man with an opinion, with a a mind of his own. It was amazing! It was astounding! All honor, then, to Nicodemus, who heard new truth taught in the streets, and wanted to hear more of it; and was willing to tase the risK oi emDarrassmg discovery and serious consequences to make a visit to this new teacher. It is true he came by night and was not so brave as he might have been, and went away afterward and took his old place among the doctors. He was no great hero. But it is worth a great deal, and speaks well for Nicodemns, that he came at alL OTHERS BEHIND NICODEMUS. And Xicodemus seems to say that he is not alone in this laudable curiosity. "We know," he says, "that Thou art a teacher come from God." Who are the others, sharers in this knowledge? Eminent men, no doubt, rulers, Pharisees, companions of Nicodemus. We seem to get a whisper here from the secret councils of the Sanhedrim. Nicodemus came alone, but behind were others, waiting to question him, eager to learn whatever he might learn. Even in the most narrow generation new truth finds its way into some hearts. Christ comes to his own; and his own receive him not but some receive him. Some Kicodemus, though it belbw. night, searches him out. There is more good in the world, more earnestness, more "thirst for God," than the world gets credit for. "We know that Thou art a teaoher come from God." They said that in their hearts. They went on day bv day. kceDinEr the old customs. changing scarcely at all; nobody dreamed of i calling them followers of Christ, And yet the words of Christ were in their ears and in their hearts. And they were secret dis ciples of Christ anyway. And who will say that even that' is not better than being no disciple of Christ at all? Just like men to day, who stand outsido the church, and never say that they are on Christ's side; and yet are on Christ's side, in secret. didn't caee for influence. "Now, Jesus of Nazareth wanted His new truth to get into the hearts of all men. And anybody would have told Him that the quickest way to do that was to persuade wealth and influence over to His side. And hero was His easy opportunity. Here was Nicodemns, a Pharisee and a ruler of the Jews, interested even to the point of taking risks, standing m .His own room, and ask ing, with astonishing condescension, to be taucht. "Babbi, we know that Thou art a teacher come from God." That was the first step to discipleship. The conversation that follows is plainly but a brief fragment of what was said that night. But it is evident Irom what is writ ten that Jesus did hot show any unusual eagerness in receiving His unusual visitor. Eor wealth, for position, for influence of in fluential men, for most of the outside ad vantages which a new movement is accus tomed to account of value, Jesus cared ab solutely nothing. He went out of His way one time to get into the company of His disciples a man named Matthew, a publi can, the most unpopular man in Capernaum. But when a rich voting enthusiast came to Him running, holding out his hand3, eager to follow Him, and- ready to bring his money with him, Jesus said that he must leave his money all behind and come in poor. conditions'webe too hard. And when this influential Pharisee, rich and of high position, a man of dignity and learning, seeks Him ont, sets himself at His feet, and asks to be taught, Jesus says: Nicodemus, the first thing lor you'to do is to begin all over again. You must break with your uast. Your office, your money. your book learning will count for nothing If you come with Me- The only distinction -- among my disciples is a distinction ot char nt(r. Vnn mnt h hnrn nm n Vnn mn.t begin at the very beginning before yoo can J rr so much as sea the kingdom of heaven. And the old man would not do that. The conditions were too hard for him. The con versation breaks off suddenly in the record, and nothing is said about the answer of Nicodemus. But he did not come out open ly for Christ. We know that He kept lils office. Nothing can be imagined more unworldly than this interview with Nicodemus. To Christ, a man was of consequence exactly in proportion to his manhood. No other con sideration whatever entered in. He cared just as much for a poor man as He did for a rich man, and just as much for a rich man as He did for a poor man. That is, He cared for the man. He set no more account upon the man's position, orpopularity, or money, than He did upon the color of hi3 hair. As for the notion that influential names would help His cause, nothing could have been further from His wish. And Jesus looked into the eyes of Nico demus, and He saw that he was not that sort of a disciple, and he did not want him. Yes; He wanted him but changed, first; a man with a new heart, bom again. Ha did not want the Nicodemus that He saw. He listened to Him, and He answered him with a truth which tested him. And Nico demus did not stand the test. nicodemus not convinced. Eor Nicodemus was not really convinced. He was impressed, there is no doubt of that, and strongly impressed but he was not fully persuaded. Listen to him: "Babbi, we know that Thou art a teacher come from God, for no man can do these miracles that Thou doest except God be with him." I would rather hear Nicodemus S3y "T than "we." That would sound better. This is the way the Christian creed begins, with that significant pronoun "I". The Chris tian stands alone, as he will stand in the day of judgment, and looks up into the face of God, and speaks for his own self. Others may say this or that; thus and so may the official teachers teach; here and there may blow the wind ot popular doc trine; but I, holding up my hand, alone, with all my heart hold this. That is the attitude ot Christian faith. There is some thing evasive, timid, half-persuaded, about this desire to get among a crowd and say "we know.' And then, notice how Nico demus thinks of Christ. He is a teacher and miracle-worker. Nicodemus has been won to admiration by His doctrines, and has been struck with amazement bv His wonders. That, indeed, is the beginning of discipleship. Men everywhere came under, the influence of Christ by the attraction of His words and His works. NOT CONTENT WITH WONDER. But Christ was not content that any man should stop there. He wanted more than that. He was not satisfied with admiration; He wanted allegiance. "The Jews ask for signs," St, Paul savs, "and the Greeks seek after wisdom." The Jews will be per suaded if you can show them a miracle, and the Greeks will be convinced if yon can bring them to the conclusion of on argu ment. "But we preach Christ crucified," he 6Sys, "unto the Jews a stumbling-block and unto the Greeks foolishness; but unto them that are Called, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God." There it is. Nicodemus is part Jew and part Greek; he has seen signs and heard wisdom, so he comes. Christ wants him to translate his admiration and his wonder into love. Don't you see how Nicodemus stands oil, and looks at Christ from a dis tance? Don't you feel the difference be tween the courteous respect of Nicodemus and the warm affection of John and Peter? There is what the matter is with Nicode mus. Let no man thinkthat Christ is satis fied with such discipleship. Christ may bo your philosopher and saint and hero; yoa may regard him as the widest of all teach ers, as the flower of humanity; you may even confess that there is something divine about Him, that He worked wonders, that He came from God. And yet, you may still stand only in the steps of Nicodemus. DIDN'T BELIEVE WHAT HE SAID. No; Nicodemus was not really convinced. He says that he knows that Jesus is a teacher come from God. Listen to that, andlook at Nicodemus shutting the door behind him and going out into the darkl for what shall a man do when he has dis covered a "teacher come from God?" Why, louoff mm aevoteaiy, ana ooey nim unre servedly. Between the whole unanimous Sanhedrim on one side and a teacher come from God on the other, what sane man will hesitate? Who will care what the fathers said, who will mind what the brethren say, when he can listen to a teacher come from God? What is wealth, place, dignity, popularity, beside allegiance to a teacher actually come from God? But Nicodemus did not believe what ha said. He said, "We know"; and very likely he thought he spoke the truth, but he did not "know," at alL For Nicodemus did not follow Christ. He listened to Him, and went away, impressed, no doubt, mora deeply than ever, but still not impressed enough. Secretly he reverences Him. But he does not really believe that He is a teacher come with a message from the Most High God. By and by the chief priests and the Phar isees send officers to arrest this divine teacher, and the officers come back empty handed, crying, "Neverxoan spake like this man!" They did not dare to touch Him. Whe"reupon the rulers answer scornfully, "Are ye also led aitray?" Then speaks Nicodemus, "Doth our law judge a man ex cept it first hear from himself and know what he doeth?" NOT A CHRISTIAN CREED. He has, perhaps, a hope that if Christ can but speak to them as He spoke that night to him they may be persuaded. But they ex claim, "Art thou also of Galilee?" And Nicodemus has not a word to say. This man is not convinced. This creed of his is not the Christian creed; and even such as it is, he does not actually believe it. Ho would stand up in the council, if he did, and say so. Nicodemus, then, went away after a whole evening's talk with Jesus "Christ, and stayed outside the Christian company. tri .", ' f :V good man, a man ot estimable char- man of wealth and education, standing in the community. one of the rulers. This good man heard a sermon preached for his own particular benefit by Jesus Christ Himself, and after the sermon he went on, so far a anybody can see, in just the same old way. Even the Master's sermon did not persuade him into the company of the disciples, into open and confessed allegiance, into tho church. That is a good thing for the dis couraged preacher to remember. Nicode mus comes to church Sunday after Sunday, and the preacher has him in his mind when he prepares his sermon and when ha S reaches it. He prays, Sunday after Sun ay, that his sermon may persuade this good Nicodemus TO TAKE THE NEXT STEP, to speak out what he is hiding in his heart, and to come into the church. And Nicodemus listens, and listens, and listens, always with attention; and after the service he gets up and goes out, and there is tha end of it. And the preacher sometimes thinks that he might as well preach to tha posts and pillars. God help Nicodemus, for somehow we cannot heip him. But Nicodemus never forgot that inter-' view with Jesus Christ, never lost the ser mon out of his heart, was not just the sama man after it that he was before. One dar the Teachermet the fate which He foresaw from the beginning. And then beneath tha shadow of the cross, when even those who had followed Him had fled away into hid ing places, came Nicodemus forth, braving the scorn of all men, bringing a great and costly offering of myrrh and spices for His burial. Nicodemus did at last stand out upon the side of Christ. '1, if I be lifted up," he had heard the Master say that night, "will draw all men unto Me. And here that word began to find fulfilment. Christ crucified convinced him. George Hodges.- The Fronts on Beer. The saloon keepers of New York pay 3 , and $2 25 a keg for beer, according to quality. There are 05 glasses in a keg. JNlnelV - UVe times O Cents IS 10. Tha profit on each keg is, therefore, about ?2 CO, i a j i i '
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers