What a foolish idea Chin* has got I
]ft really iinogiues it should be con
sulted whenever a foreign power wants
to clip oft' a few hundred square mile*
of its territory.
American soldiers in the Philip
pines are fighting with superb courage
and fortitude. The fact occasions great
satisfaction, but not the slightest sur
prise. American soldiers have neve*
learned to fight in any other way.
Americans have been so confident
from the beginuing that affairs in
Samoa would be rationally adjusted
that they have had no great interest
in the means employed. A commis
sion with plenipotentiary powers, sit
ting on the ground, is as good a way
is any.
The organization of a naval reserve
»u Honolulu, which is about to be un
dertaken with the full approval of
Secretary Long, is a thoroughly com
mendable movement. The organiza
iion of such a body at that port along
the lines which have been followed by
the reserves in this country will pro
vide an emergency force at one of the
aiost important of all our naval out
posts, and there may be times when it
will prove of almost incalculable use
fulness to National interests in the
Pacific oceau. The project is an un
mistakable sign that the process of
Americanizing Hawaii is making rapi('
headway.
Bronze monuments in London have
a hard time of it, and so have those
whose duty it is to keep such bronzes
in good order. Boelim's statue of
Carlyle stands on the Chelsea Em
bankment, where with smoke soot,
acid exhalations aud dampness Car
lyle was soon coated with oxides.
Chelsea officials did not understand
the fine effects of a patine. They
scrubbed Carlyle aud got him clean,
and next painted him black, following
Froude's ways. There came much
fault-findiug. Then the Chelesa au
thorities removed the paint, re-
Bcrubbed Carlyle over again, and he
now appears as a mottled philosopher.
The Prince of Wales has organized
a "League of Mercy," with the imme
diate object of promoting the London
hospital fund which bears his name,
and to organize all workers in this
and similar canses. In this connec
tion an "Order of Mercy" has been
established, which will be conferred
as a reward for gratuitous persona?
services rendered in the relief of sick
ness aud suffering. None can be ad
mitted to the order without the sanc
tion of the queen, and the decoration
of the order may be worn on all occa
sions, but gives no rank. It is dis
tinctly stated that personal service
only aud not gifts of money will re
ceive merit from this order.
Anglo-Saxon bluejackets in Samoa
are doing the work of the internation
al police of civilization, says the New
York Commercial Advertiser. British
jailors have been doing this work all
over the world for generations. In
the last generation German sailors
have enlisted in the international po
lice. Though they have good will,the
Germans have made some blunders
from lack of experience. Now the
American navy is doiug its share of
the work, as part of the regular
international force, after some bril
liant voluuteer service with the British
in China and Japan. The union is
happy. The work is fit for the Teu
tonic temper, and the union of the
three nations in it is the best guaranty
for the maintenance of order, in these
parts of the world that have not
learned to organize their own police
and command for themselves.
The Connecticut savings banks in
creased their deposits last year bj
5T,512,700, and of this sum $7,16-4,082
came in deposits of SIOOO aud more.
Only 8348,018, iu other words, came
from deposits of less thau SIOOO.
How much of this came from deposits
of over $500? The statistics do not
follow the matter down to that point.
Enough is shown, however, to indi
cate that the savings banks of Con
necticut are existing today largely foi
Hie accommodation of the wealthy
ilasses. Of the total deposits of
81(53,482,498, only $63,544,098 stand*
to the account of persons whose de
posits are less than SJOGO. More than
$54,000,000 is to the account of indi
vidual deposits above S2OOO. The
Norwich Dime Savings society has one
individual deposit of $54,507, and the
Norwich Dime Havings bank has one
deposit of $42,991. Several other
banks carry single deposits in exceß?
of $20,000. There are not less than
271 individual deposits in the savings
banks of Connecticut above SIO,OOO,
and 15,142 hetween S2OOO and $lO,-
000. There are as many as 33,928 in
dividual acconnts of from SIOOO to
S2OOO.
Some girls in Greater New Yorl
have formed a trust against young
men who drink. A young men's trust
determined tc» purchase no more choc
olate creams itvould soon drive th'
girls' syndicate to the wall.
The sea serpent has been caught
once more. He has two heads, one
at each end, probably, but is only
sixty feet long. He went ashore in a
tidal wave on one of the Solomon is
lands. So the waiting public is foiled
again. Solomon's islands are too fa»
for a view of the sea serpent.
Canada has preserved the famous
Plains of Abraham by paying the nom
inal rent of SIOO a year, but this ar
rangement is now broken, aud the
field has been surveyed for building
lots. Hosts of Americans will join
the Canadians in protesting against
the transformation of the historic bat
tlefield into a thickly settled suburl
of Quebec.
The Salvation Army proposes to cel
ebrate the close of the century in s
characteristic way. Iu honor of Gen
eral Booth, who is 70 next April, Mr.
Bramwell Booth is asking, among
other things, for 70,000 new soldiers,
an increase of 70,000 in the circulation
of the army's newspapers,aud 350,00 C
to be placed in the general's hands,
"to be used in such work and fashion
as he may in his wisdom think desira
ble." *
The state of Nebraska has marked
an epoch in its history by repealing
the state bounty law on tree-planting,
pas -ed only twenty years ago. Iu the
interval Nebraska has been trans
formed from a desert to a garden, and
the necessity for timber cultivation
no longer exists. The course of this
western state ill this matter is iu
marked contrast with the policy which
in the state of New York has permitted
wholesale forest destruction. A tree
less state is necessarily a desert, aud
New York can atl'ord to learn a lesson
from Nebraska.
The English language belongs to
the Teutonic brauch of the Aryan
speaking peoples. Its additions ol
Freuch, Latin, Greek aud other for
eign elements, though they have made
its grammar somewhat irregular, also
have made it the most forcible and
most flexible of modern tongues. Y'es,
it is "fast becoming a popular talk."
Mulhall, iu his Dictionary of Statis
tics, states that in 1801 it was spoken
by 20,520,000 persons, aud in 1891 by
111,100,000 persons. His estimate for
1891 probably is far too low. There
are about 500 languages, using the
word "lauguage" to mean widely sep
arated dialects of the same family oi
division.
Experts agree that two of the most
important engineering enterprises now
under way are the building, in Africa,
of the railway up the Nile to Kar
toum, possibly of later extension to
the African lakes still further south,
where the Nile takes its rise, and the
Uganda railway iu British East Africa,
running from the Indian ocean to
Victoria lake. These two lines will,
beyond a doubt, sometime meet in
mid-Africa and complete an all-Brit
ish route south from the Mediteranean
across the equator to the Indian ocean,
leaving connections with Bnluwayo
and the Cape for a later date. The
Uganda railway has its eastern ter
minus at Mombasa, a British base just
north of Zanzibar. The place is about
four degrees south of the equator,and
work on the line was originally begun
two or three years ago. Thero has
been an aggregate advance of about
96 n iles in seven months.
It seems reasonable to argue, from
the late extraordinary agitation over
the illness of Mr. Kipling, that the
writer's trade is iu a better case than
it used to be, thinks Life. What a
first-class literary success means in
money under the present international
copyright arrangements is to be
tested,and it is possible that Mr. Kip
ling will bo the first to test it. As yet
no writer has come to the big new
market with such a line of wares as
Walter Scott or Dickens sold. Steven
ion had only half a chance. The man
who in these days can goon for, say
thirty years, producing annually one
rolurne of fiction, which is indispensa
ble to the comfort of the average
English reading family, is liable, if
he keeps out of the publishing busi
ness aud eschews real estate specula
tions, to accumulate a very comforta
ble estate. And besides the money,
there is fame; and besides fame, there
is the opportunity to make au impor
tant impression on the contemporary
miud. When the recovery of a popu
lar writer from an illness is matter for
world-wide rejoicing, we must consid
er that the literary business is pretty
geod.
NATURE'S WEPROOf.
"There hain't ns Rammer oomln'," said the Why, the songsters are in training, and we'll
grumbler In dismay, soon hear from the lark.
And he trudged throughout the woodland* Buds are peeping out o'er hillocks; trees are
where the leafless trees stood guard, smiling through the rain,
Where the scene around him darkened and That will make them love the sunshine when
all Nature's grace was marred, it comes to them again.
By the blasts of cold midwinter that had
sternly held their sway. "There hain't no summer comin'," but
But above a ruffled red-breast thrilled a adown one storm-strewn dell
happy little song, Itomped a playful squirrel, happy In the
And a sparrow chirped with pleasure as he knowledge of a day
winged his way along. That was soon to bring its blessings and the
violets of May.
"There hain't no summer comin'." Why, While some stream in gurgling protest, as
since now the sky is dark, upon the moss It fell,
Must the sun forever leave us just because it Mingled music of the sunshine with the
rests awhile? music of the rain,
Can't the frowns of bleak December be re- And roused up a sleeping flower that for
placed by Maytlme's smile ? months bad lifeless lain.
—W. Livingston Larned.
r THE SILENCE OF SIMEON SAYLES.
<|S BY J. L. HARBOUR.
"I wish to goodness, Simeon Sayles,
hat you would shut up and keep shut
up!" said Myra Sayles iu a weary tone
*nd speaking as if the words were
forced from her against her will.
"You do, hey?" replied her brother
Simeou, sharply and irritably.
Ho litd been scolding about some
;rifling matter for nearly half an hour,
ind his sister Myra had listened in
patient silence. Now she spoke be
cause he had said something peculiar
>y annoying, and when he had replied
10 sharply she said:
"Yes, I mean it, Simeon Sayles. I
get so sick and tired of your eternal
scolding aud blainiug that I just wish
sometimes you'd shut your mouth and
never open it again while you live."
"You do, hey?"
"Yes, I do."
There was a sullen silence in the
room for three or four minutes; the
wrinkles on Simeon's brow deepened,
and his lips were pressed more aud
more lightly together. Suddenly he
opened them with a snap and a defiant
toss of his head.
"Very well, Myra Sayles, I will
'shut up,' aud I'll stay 'shut up,' and
you'll see how you like it."
"I'll have some peace, then," re
plied Myra, shortly. Yet she looked
at her brother curiously.
The Sayleses were noted in the
jountry roundabout for rigidly adher
iug to every resolution they made.
The thought now came into Myra's
mind, "Will he do it?" She had, not
meant him to take her remark literal
ly. Simeou was as iron-willed as any
of the family, aud yet Myra felt that
he could not keep such a vow long. It
was necessary for him to talk. So she
laid:
"I guess you'll be gabbling away
fast enough before night. There's no
such good luck as your keeping still
very long."
Simeon made no reply, but took his
►ld straw hat from a noil behind the
door aud went out into the barnyard,
walking very erect, but with little
jerks, indicating that the Sayles tem
per was high in him.
"Now he'll go out to the barn and
putch around out there a while and
maybe putch all evening in the house
sud then talk a blue streak all day to
morrow to make up for the time lie's
lost keeping still. I declare, if the
men-folks can't be the tryiugest!"
She stitched away steadilv on the
sheet she was turning until the clock
struck t!, when she jumped up hastily.
"Mercy," she exclaimed, "I'd no
idea it was so late! I hope to good
ness the fire hasn't gone out. I must
gei the kettle on and supper ready. I
did intend making some of tfie flannel
rakes Simeon likes so much, to put
him in good humor,but I don't believe
I shall have time now."
Nevertheless, there was a plate of
steaming hot "flannel cakes" aud a
bowl of maple syrup before Simeon's
plate when he came iu to supper half
an hour later.
He ate the cakes in stubborn si
lence.
"Are you going to Seth Badger's
after supper," Myra asked, "to see
him about helping you cut that grass
tomorrow?"
After waiting in vain for the answer,
Myra said:
"I want to know it if you do go, be
cause I want to send Mrs. Badger a
waist pattern of hers I borrowed last
week."
No reply from Simeon. His sister
gave her head an impatient toss, and
they finished the meal iu silence.
When it was done Siineou went to a
little table iu a corner of the room,
pulled out the drawer aud took from
it a scrap of blank paper aud a stnb of
a lead peucil.
Myra took the supper dishes into
the kitchen; when she came into the
room again Simeon hauded her the
scrap of paper. On it was written:
"I'm a-going over to Bndget's
now."
Myra dropped the bit of paper on
the floor and stared hard at her
brother.
"Well, Simeon Sayles!" she said at
last. "I call this carrying matters
pretty far. Before I'd make myself
so ridiculous, I'd— What yon goiug
to do when you get over to Badger's?
You'll look smart writing out what
you've got to say over there,now won't
you? You'll make yourself the laugh
ing-stock of the country if you go
around writing out what you've got to
say when you've got as good a tongue
in your head as anybody."
Simeou made no reply, bnt picked
up the bit of pencil aud wrote on
another scrap of paper:
"Whare is that patern?"
"I think you'd better learn to spell
before you goto conversing in writing
spelling 'where'with an 'a' nud 'pat
tern'with only one 't'l If you don't
get sick aud tired of this sort o« tom
foolery before two days, I miss my
guess, Simeon Sayles!"
Whether he grew tirdß of it or not,
Simeon Sayles said all he had to say in
writing from that time forth. His only
reply to his sister's ridicule and re
monstrances was written in these
words:
"You sod you wisht I'd shut up my
month aud keep it shut, and I'm
a-going to do it. "
He bought a little blank book, in
which he kept a pencil, and all his
communications to the world and to
individuals were made through the
medium of this book aud pencil.
The neighbors said that "the
Savleses always were a queer lot, any
how;" that some of Simeon's ancestors
had been rather ecentric, aud that
Simeon himself had never seemed
quite like other men. No matter how
true this may have been, his sister
Myra was a thoroughly well-balance.l
woman, with a large fund of strong
common sense, and her brother's freak
caused her great secret mortification
aud distress, ultho.igh she had de
clared at the beginning of it:"lt will
be an actual rest to me to get rid of
your eternal scolding!"
But Simeon had not scolded "eter
nally," as Myra felt obliged to confess
to herself in her reflective moments.
He was, indeed, somewhat iuti rin of
temper and sometimes gave himself up
to prolonged tits of petulance, but
there had been davs and even weeks
at a time when Simeon had been as
serene of mind and as companionable
as any mau.
"This freak of his is harder to put
up with at the table than at any other
place or time," his sister confessed to
a sympathetic neighbor. "Sometimes
it just seems as if I'd fly. There he
sits as mum us a grindstone. Some
times I try to rattle away just as if
nothing was the matter, but I cau
never keep it up very long. I've tried
all sorts of little tricks to catch him
unawares aud make him speak once,
but he won't be caught. One day,
just when he'd come in from the field,
I smelt something burning so strong
that I said, 'I do believe the house is
on tire,' and he opened his mouth as
if to speak and then clapped it shut
agiiin and whipped out that abominable
little book and wrote, 'Whare?'
"I was so put out that I flung the
book clear out into the gooseberry
bushes. I really doubt if he ever does
speak again in this world, and the
prospect is pleasant for me, isn't it?"
The two lived alone in the old red
farmhouse in which they had been born
50 y oars before. They were without
kith or kin in the world with the ex
ception of a much younger sister
named Hope, who had married a pros
perous young farmer and had gone
out west to live. It had been a time
of preat sorrow to them when this
pretty, vonngsister had married Henry
Norton and gone from the old house.
They rejoiced in her happiness, of
course, and were quite sure that Hope
had "done well," but it was none the
less hard to give her up. .
She was only '2l years old at the
time aud so much younger than her
brother and sister, that their affection
for her was much like that of a father
and a mother for an only child. They
had lavished the tenderest love of
their lives on Hope,and their affection
had not lessened by her absence. In
the years since they had seen Hope's
pretty face and heard her cheery voice
they often talked of her.
Myra had always stood as a strong
wall between Hope and harm or trouble
of any kind, and this loving thought
fulness had kept her from writing a
word to her sister about their brother's
strange silence.
"I wouldn't have Hope know it for
anything," Myra had said; "it would
worry the child so. And there's no
danger of Simeon writing it. He'd be
ashamed to."
During all the fall and through oue
whole long, wretched winter the iron
willed Simeon kept his resolve not to
speak,and a decided shake of his head
or a written "No" was his reply to
Myra's often repeated question, "Don't
you ever inteud to speak again?"
Oue day in May a neighbor, coming
from the town, brought Myra a letter
that gave to her troubled heart the
wildest thrill of joy it had known for
many a day. Hope was coming home!
She had written to say that she would
arrive on Wednesday of the following
week with her little girl of three years
aud that they would spend the entire
summer in the old home.
Catching up her suubonnet, Myra
ran all the way to the distant field in
which Simeou was at work, holding
the letter out as she ran aud calling
out before she reached him:
"O Simeou! Simeon! A letter
from Hope! She's •coining home!
She'll be here next week with lier lit
tle Grace, that we've never seen! Only
think of it—Hope's coming home!"
Simeon was plowing. He reined up
his horses with a jerk and opeued and
shut his mouth three or foar times;
but no sound came from his lips. His
face wore a half-wild, half-frighteued
look,and. his hand trembled as he held
it out foi the letter.
"Simeon! Simeon!" cried Myra,
with quivering voice and tearful eyes,
"surely you'll have to speak now!"
He shook his head slowly and sadly
as he sat down on the plow to read the
letter. He handed it back in silence
and turned away his head when he
saw the tears streaming down Myra's
cheeks, and he bit his lip until it al
most bled when he heard her sob as
she turned togo back to the house.
When he came to dinner he read the
letter again, but he and Myra ate iD
silence.
Hope came a week from that day.
Myra went to the railroad station three
miles distant to meet her.
"It'll be better for me to meet her
than for you, if you are bound and de
termined to keep up this nonsense
while she's here," said Myra. "She
doesn't kuow a thing about it; you
may be sure I haven't written a word
of it to the poor child, aud I dread tc
tell her of it now. It's a shame, a burn
ing shame, Simeon Wayles, lor you to
spoil Hope's first visit home just to carr j
out a silly vow that it was wicked for
you ever to make in the first place.
It's a piece of wickedness right
straight through!"
A visible pallor had come into Sim
eon's face at the mention of Hope's
little girl. No one knew how much
aud how tenderly this little girl whom
he had never seen had been in his
thoughts. He was fond of children,
and no child in the world could be as
dear to him as this little girl of Hope's.
He and Myra had looked forward so
eagerly to the time when Hope should
bring her to them, and they read so
proudly of all her infantile charms and
accomplishments as set forth in Hope'e
letters!
He stole softly into the seldom
opened parlor when Myra had gone.
Several photographs of Hope's little
girl, taken at different stages of her
infantile career, were in the ulbnin on
the parlor table. Simeon took up this
album and gazed at these photographs,
one by one, with unhappy eye-f.
He waudered round the house and
yard until the time drew ueur for
Myra's return with Hope and little
Grace. Then he went down the road
to meet them. He had gone jjerhaps
a quarter of a mile when ho sat down
by the wayside to wait until they
should drive around a turn in the road
a hundred yards or more distant.
He had waited not more than five
minutes when he heard the sound of
wheels and voices around the curve in
the road. He heard the sudden,sweet
laugh of a child and was on his feet iD
an instant.
At that same instant a man on a bi
cycle dashed past him. Bicycles were
still an almost unheard of thing in
that part of the country. Simeon had
never seeu but three or four of them,
and the appearance of thi,s one whirl
ing along at such speed startled him.
Its rider sent it flying on down the
roud, and it whirled around the curve,
to the surprise of Miss Myra and to
the terror of old Hector, tliti horse she
was driving. The reins were lying
loosely in Myra's hands, aud before
9he could gather them up old Hector
jumped aside, reariug and plunging,
and the next instant he was racing
madly down the road with the reins
dragging the ground on either side of
him, while Hope clung to little Grace
and screamed.
"Whoa! Whoa, Hector!" cried Myra
in a voice so awful with terror that it
frightened old Hector the more.
"Whoa, Hector, whoa!"
This time old Hector pricked up his
ears, for the voice that spoke was a
firm, commanding one, and the next
moment a strong hand grasped his
bridle while the voice repeated:
"Whoa! Whoa!"
It was a harsh, stern voice, but it
sounded like the sweetest music in
Myra's ears. It was Simeon's, and
Simeon was holding to the bit. He
held it until old Hector came to a halt,
aud then lie turned aud said calmly:
"Don't be scared, Hope, child;
you're all right now. Give me the
little one."
He held out his arms aud Hope put
the little girl iuto them, saving as she
did so:
"It's your Uncle Simmy, dear! Put
your arms around his neck and give
him n kiss, and let him hear how well
you can say 'Uncle Simmy.' "
A pair of soft little arms stole around
Simeon's sunburned neck; a soft little
cheek was laid on his rough, bearded
one, and when she had kissed bin 1
twice she said:
"Dee Xuncle Thimmy!"
"The blessed littlecreetur!" he said,
winking his eyes and hugging her
close to his heart.
Aud when she and her mother were
asleep iu Hope's old room that night,
Simeon came into the kitchen where
Myra was setting some bread to rise
and softly humming a gospel hymn of
praise out of the joy of her heart, and
Simeon said:
"Well, Myra—"
"Well, Simeon?"
"Well—er—well, what did Hope
say, auyliow, when you told her?"
"When I told her what? Oh,about
your—your —la, Simeon, the minute I
clapped eyes on that blessed child I
knew there wasn't any use in telling
Hope anything about it. I knew you'd
just have to speak to that baby! So
I never lisped a syllable abont it to
Hope, and she never shall know a
word about it if I can help it. I wish
you'd fetch me in a basket of nice, dry
chips. The moon shines so bright you
can see to pick them tip. I want a
quick fire in the morning,so I can have
hot biscuits for Hope's breakfast. She
always was so fond of them."
And Simeon took the chip-basket
and went out into the moonlight, his
long-silent lips softly humming the
same song of praise Myra had beeD
singing.—Youth's Companion.
/ CREAT LADY.
This Is the Queen of Nonsense LauJ,
She wears her bonnet on her hand;
Bhe carpets her ceilings and frescoes heS
floors, i
She eats on her windows and sleeps on hetf
doors.
Oh, ho! Oh. ho ! to think there could be
A lady so sllly-down-dilly as she!
•She goes for a walk on an ocean wave.
She fishes for cats In a coral cave;
She drinks from an empty glass of milk,
And lines her potato trees with silk.
I'm sure that forever and never was seen
So foolish a thing as the Nonsense Queen I
She ordered a wig for a blue bottle fly,
And she wrote a note to a pumpkin pie:
She makes ali the oysters wear emerald
rings,
And does dozens of other nonsensiblQ
things.
Oh ! the scatterbrained, sbatterbrained lady
so grand,
tier Boyal Sky highness of Nonsense Land!
Carolyn Wells, in Puck.
HUMOROUS.
A boy of 15 thinks he is too old to
tun errands, but after he is 2. r > and
married he begins again.
"Cousin Josephine hides her deaf
ness with great tact." "How? 1 '
"She talks all the time."
"D'yer tbink Bunker's reached the
ige of discretion yet?" "Well, hard
ly ! He's getting married for th«
third time."
Old Gentleman (to convict) —What
is the most objectionable feature you
find in prison life, my dear friend'i
Convict—Wisitors.
"Love levels all tliiugs," sighed the
sad-eyed swain, with a pang of pain,
as his sweetheart sat on his new higb
Bilk hat and smashed it Hat.
"What are you doing, Tomny?"
"S andin' before the lookin' glass,"
said Tommy; "I wanted to see how I
would look if I was twins."
His Daughter—Yes, the story ends
in the same old way; they marry and
live happy ever after. The Furniture
Man—Ah 1 Antique finish !
He kissed her! She neither drew buck nor
turned red,
Ami she did not deliver a slnp on his ear;
He kissed her! No word by the lady was
said-
She had censed to be thrilled—they'd been
married a year.
Mother—Dear me! The baby has
swallowed that piece of worsted.
Father—That's nothing to the yarns
she'll have to swallow if she lives to
grow tip.
Teacher—Jolinuv, you must stay
after school and work two examples.
Johnny—What, and get fired from the
Scholars' union for working over
time? Not much !
Admiring Friend—You may not
realize it, Wilson, but your daughter
is a poem. Editor (with a sigh)—l do
realize it. Hers is one of the few
cases where I have to pay for poetry.
Dixon—There goes a young man
ivho is above the average. He's in
rather hard luck just now, but he'll
come out on top some day. Hixon—
Yes; I suppose he will get bald just
like the rest of us, in time.
"You surely don't believe hat the
man really loves you?" "1 am sure
he does." "What makes you think
so?" "He said he'd die for me."
"That's what they all say, silly.
Don't you beiieve him until he does
it."
Teacher—Once upon a time there
were two rich men, one of whom made
his fortune by honest industry, while
the other made his by fraud. Now,
which of these two men would you
prefer to be? Tommy (after a mo
ment's hesitation) —Which made the
most?
The C»ves of Porto Klco.
It is astonishing how little is known
about the geology of the island of
Porto Rico and the profound manifes
tations which nature has there made
of her power in earth-making. At
Ponce, San Juan aud Cayez no one
knew of caves in the land; the people
had all heard rumors of mineral
wealth, but could not definitely state
the localities. Even at Caguas, six
miles away from a great tavern which
may develop into as much of a wonder
as our own Mammoth cave, few people
have ever heard of it, and no one has
ever seen the interior of its expansive
chambers. At Aguas Buenas, which
lies five miles to the westward from
Caguas, the people of the little village
were aware of great holes in the
mountains toward the south, but only
two negroes had ever explored them
aud they only to a limited extent.
The owner of this unknown marvel
»112 Porto Rico is Senor Mnnoz.n large
coffee-plauter. He told ns th t sev
eral yeurs ago au Englishman, a mem
ber of some British scientific society,
had paid a short visit to the cavern
aud was much interested, and it is
quite likely that a report of its won
ders has beeu published iu the scien
tific journals of Great Britain.
The expedition to this cavern, known
is the "Dark Cave," is filled with al
most as many surprises to the explore!
as the actual finish of the journey, en
viroued iu walls of white aud pendeD
stalactites, a mile beneath the earth
surface.—Harper's Weekly.
Roman Stage Carpentry.
The excavations now going on n
the Theatre of Dugga, in Tunis, s)w
that the Romans possessed for t#ir
theatres a system of stage carpe/ry
equal if not superior to the applies
now in use. Au ingenious contrijtoce
enabled those who stood
the stage to see what was proojiug
above. A number of trapdoors o»ned
in the centre of the stage, and gf-'vea
have been discovered shovi/ the
way in which scenery and sfa/ f nr ~
niture were lowered and raisec?Fight
large holes led to several dj wells
three yards deep under tl' stage,
while a large receptacle ser'eto stora
the curtain during the per/ ma:ice.
The floor of the stage va covered
with mosaics. —Rome Contfoudenc®
of the London Post