JephtiialTs Daughter:
A Story of Patriarchal Times.
Cy JULIA MAGRUDER.
c rr*J-.mm* Mm NN *•» iM *r K*>ubt tk>x*n'* Son
;
i_
<< HAPTEK Xl Hf4«t)Bv4 (
At4 *k« Ktstral «i4 brr outi4
reached the Iwtw of Jrpbthafc be
^ ... _ $ W> ' It QftO H fH*
tncxigh tW dour* am wide there vu
a«thif friend bur tcrraai to he see*
bo XMunh «irn4 silently. and took
her say toward !h» apartment of her j
fithw Jefhthah: and a* *4* <anse onto
hu door she turned and sptke unto
:h* wMi JMddtag them at •>' with- |
vet a t|»e ball • bile she west in alone
Av4 a* she throat vp* n the door and j
-toao tW Imcarr of ber father I
Jr |-t rbal behold be to •*» droned m
mu*. t. - eg garment*. aad be leaned
open tbe breast ad the yuung man
Atm. • bo a at al«a «lad la • ark* loth; |
and the fares of hath met aere white
aa hr tbe faces at the dead. and Adma
bad »r«a a gaunt aad holloa -cheeked
and loot hit raddy color, while ;
her father Jephthah waa aa one crows j
And Xamarah spoke no word, bat
ctwt.fil < ius* the door behind her. *he
went and pat her arm* about the neck
at her father, bwt her eye* the J*»r
wnta her lower.
Her hand had Salles backward, and
her white face roar from out tta *oi
etra ftt'AirWitiC drajsme* at a fair
5jwer ajmagt&g out at earth, and her
eye*, made large and lwmtauu* through
latusca and npb. seemed at the rery
wi&dona mt her vpsnt: and ta their
depth Vdtaa read a hire wstpeakab’.e
He ttbritwd her tender thought la
« i*pMic brat her father before her
tanrb iot|M bit. for It waa by rraauo
of her father that tbit hut waa * jot
wpt-s them, and abr felt hr had great
ated iid < union and the assurance of
• •:*»t i.a baaged u-t m
t-»* 1CS deep kadi Into her lover’s
eye* abr gate him her whole self For ,
a asutamt they rested in that look
gwiet and cal as a* tbe deeps of o.eaa.
and tten tbe naira spake:
1 pray tbe* leave nr now. Adiaa'
she Mil. softly, t* tbe vdrt at Jrph- !
tbab her father brake .ato great »ot»s
While abe smoothed his Hku*-white
hair and stilled bin aa a nother might
her babe “I would be with him alone,
(bat tty eowrace tail nut. for be hath !
none need ad comfort that either thou
or I. Return to me aa hour after moot
rise ta tbe garden '*
And Adma bowed bis head aad went.
with never so mwrh at a ton h at her
hand to feed the mighty hunger of hit
love, howhrtt that look la her eyes
a hub reefed on bin still, erea aa be
,rft her preweare. «a* aa a draugb*
m a here with Use thirst of bis m!
tH APT Kit XII
E*«i Uf*w tb* routing if tb* time
u» tb* muum tit rota*
tha distant bur live.
Adtaa mad* bis «H't way lata tbs
nr «rf Jefabibsii i buusa and stood
and wnttML Tbs bun* c*f muen«* was
jud what it bad twer two month* bs
fsrr ut tbr sight of their fnirtln# bar**,
and is b»* cars wers tbs asms sound*
of tbs babbifac brook and of tbs does*
la tbrir bunas nsar by. I p and dawn
tbs psaaf mat |msd. bis thumbs
thrust into tbs bsit wbsrawitb bis
■ bit* tunic was b*-id in and bis
■ beds Mr tsaar nad atrainad with tbs
cugbOtsws at bw hardly suutsred a«
fflismt A light glimmered m tbs
«f Jspfctbah. and us tbis bs k*|.t
until presently M bream* in a
softly abadsd as It to a res a
»*- • .#** cf ems »La Namarah.
indeed. bad soothed bar (atbar into a
cent** »lambsr. and wb*a K was known
ufa bs* that bs slept abs atsppsd forth
into th* aardss
fcbs bsd srs* refreshed b»r from bar
joemef and rlotbsd bsrasif in taos
wbJts prnttts. perfumed with myrrh
and frasjuanmss, is which abs moved
* frty d,wa tbs garden walks to m**t
him whom bar soul did Jove Tbs
prrmn at bar fast, asd tbr riass
4tt«4*d lb*m*e!*«* at tbs licbt lowrhes
,4 kd band i Tbs trass shoes bar wars
.» lbs wail of bar temple ut loss, and
tbr moua starred through to licbt it.
A4.ca stood and waitsd ia tbs spot
maos tarred to tbsm by tbs surly
sen sings, aa wall as by tbs fruition of
tb*ir low. nad as tbs aaaidsa. fair mad
•Hb aa tf amA* a# tbs rays at tbs
softly toward bim
kis two |
h them with full
at baa whits doves,
afbrc long wait*ring- soaesth bums
s spake no word only bs
b*r to Mm. m tbowgb bs vrawid
As As rswtsd
•e. !*-*.,as sg* tan bar bswrt tb* fall
throb at bn. wbUa that bis rloar * Imsp
sms gakk it
It of sack rip
t nrs tbsf tbs tbencbt «f bar bsnrt tame
forth la words,, as aba aaid. ua tbs
brswtb of a
*1 taaafed (bat I rowid dis «n
ia
tbnn tbr
t tb* brook.
the parti&g. when at last
away from
Tbsy tana »e*e aloas ia tbs si*
was Cud Etas tb* does
as if It
ia jams L*t»«m the
bat its sad tbs corn
ed tbs
ng tli# altar arms made ready in the
heart of a deep wood, and by It stood a
piled resplendent in the robes of his
afire The wood was in readiness, and
th« lire prepared, nor wzm the offering
for the aarriflre wanting. She stood, a
pure virgin, dad in stainless white, and
un her left, the young man Adina. And
the fare of the maiden Namarah was
ralm and peaceful, and her eyes trust
ful and quiet as be tba eyes of children
when they kaow their parents are close
by. And her face, for ail its paleness,
was more beauteous to look upon than
ever it had been before, for the light
that shone upon it was not wholly
that cast by the rising sun. but. as it
were, a light from within her soul.
And Adiaa's fare was radiant, too. so
that :t seemed as if one light illumined
thtm from withiu, even as the same
?un fr«»a without. And Namarah's
vui< e. as she spake, was tranquil and
assured.
"Make ready thy fire. O priest or
(io4.“ Xzmarah said, "for all is ready.”
And *he turned and kissed her father
J*-phtbah full tenderly. Then, speak
:t.g un<e more unto the priest. she said:
* 1 pray thee, while that the fire is
kindling. suffer us to kneel and say one
prayer— 1 and the young man Adina.”
And they knelt together, both in vir
gin white, their hands clasped close
and their face* raised to heaven, end
the prayer of their hearts, even as the
Ore blazed and crackled, and the knife
gleamed sharp and threatening near
by. ti» that the God in whom they
tru*teo would deliver them in His own
time and way.
And they knelt j*o long in silence
that tb« priest, who wished not to in
terrupt their prayers, was fain at las:
to spc.tk to them, lest the sacred fires
should burn too low. Hut there came
no answer to h:s words, and when he
tumej and look' d into their faces, that •
wondrous light was gone from them; j
tor th* tr spirits had fled tort ther. and
the glare of sunshine up u them re
vealed that they were et ^ the fates of
tibe dead .
And it was even ;o that God deliv
ered them. This was His time and
place, and He had c hosen tils own way. j
And that the vow which Jephthah had
vowed might be accomplished, the
body of the maiden Xamarab was laid
up« n the altar and with it the body of
(tie young man Adina. a burnt offering
unto the l^ord.
And as the fires upon the altar be
g~n to sink an object that seemed to
fall straight from out the sky dropped
down and fell into the flames; and lo!
it was the body of a snow-white dove,
which had been even dead before it
towefcc-i the fire upon the altar.
(The End.)
COLOR SENSE OF SAVAGES
Peoples Among Wbom It Is Little De
veloped.
In bis lecture on “The Sense of
Primitive Man," delivered at the Royal
Institution. Dr. W. H. R. Rivers spoke
about primitive color vision. He de
voted his introductory remarks to the
importance of the color sense in the
study of the relation between language
and ideas, and referred to the deficien
cy in color sense which Dr. Gladstone
and. later. Geiger, held to exist among
the ancients, and to the theory of an
evolution of color sense in man within
historical times. He then gave some
account of the vocabularies employed
for colors by several savuge races.
The simplest he found was among the
Australian natives in the Seven Rivers
district, a number of whom had only
three terms;; natives from the Fitzroy
River showed much the same charac
teristics. The next simplest was that
of Kiwai. on the Fly River, where
there was no name for blue apart from
black. The last two he mentioned
were those of Murray Island and Ma
buug, which were more extensive, lu
these four vocabularies four stages
might be seen in the evolution of color
language exactly as deduced by Gei
ger. red being the most definite, and
the colors at the other end of the
spectrum the least so. It was note
worthy. too, that the order of these
peoples in respect to culture was the
same as in regard to development of
words for colors. The Eskimo, Dr.
Rivers observed. ,differed radically
from the language of the tropical peo
ples he had examined in possessfng an
extremely well-developed color vo
cabulary. He next discussed tfcc epi
thets used for color in Homer, and
concluded that the features of his color
language were essentially of the same
nature as those found among vrlmi
tive peoples of the present day. Speak
ing of the objective examination of
color sense in the Torres Straits, he
said the people showed no contusion
between red and green. The investiga
tion of their color names, he thought,
showed that to them blue must be a
duller and darker color than it was
to us. and. indeed, the tintometer had
afforded evidence of a distinct quanti
tative deficiency in their perception of
blue, though the results were far from
proving blindness to blue. Dr. Riv
ers then discussed some of the objec
tions that had been urged against the
theory of a historical evolution of col
or sense, coming to the conclusion
that it was not to be lightly put aside,
though it could not be regarded as
fully demonstrated. Finally he con
sidered some of the factors that deter
mined the special characteristics of
primitive color language, giving some
instances from widely separated parts
of the world, in which names of colors
seemed to be derived from the same
natural objects.—Ixtndon 1 imes.
I oteatomMe Ramark.
Mr. Crimsonbeak—"It's ridiculous to
suppose that all dogs are growlers.”
Mrs. Crimsonbeak—‘ And just as ab
surd to think that all the growlers are
dogs."—Yonkers Statesman.
Hoping for the Best.
Benham—"Everybody says that baby
looks like me.” Mrs. Benham—"But
he may outgrow it, dear.”
ON THE VELDT
A South African Love Story
In the kitchen of a Bo. r farm at
ItarrUmitb two brothers. Paul and
Hendri k HoopsUd. sat in earnest con
verts* U>a
* Will you ran.-. Hendrick?”
I cannot leave. Paul; there is Eng
lish la our ve as and. besides, to join
the commando against the British
would be taking up arms against the
woman I love "
* The woman we love. Hendrick, for
God know* that I think of her every
m.nute of my life. You and I have
oe»u all in ail to each other ever since
We were born, but thi» mutual love for
Nan y Martin seems likely to divide
am. Even supposing we put our chances
to tne test, if I win her you will hate
me. and if you were sue essful my
thot.cuts would turn to you in anger.
Let u* then take our rifles, join the
i^Hnmando. and for the time forget her.
and perhaps when the war is over one
of us may gain by death what the
other eoukl not give in life.”
"I w.ll not fight against the Eng
lish, Haul.”
"Thin!: well. Hendrdck. Nancy Mar
tin has been in England for the last
(oar years—is it not possible that she
may have an English lover?”
**We are being enticed and threaten
ed into a foolhardy war by those who
have their own ends to serve 1 will
take my rifle and fight, but it will be
with the English.
"Then. Hendrick, we must part,
though we part in all affection. God
bless you my brother, and the woman
we love. '
"Farewell. Paul, and God grant that
we may not tree: on the battlefield.”
Paul turned his horse toward New
castle. while Hendrick rode in the op
posite direction, with the intention of
making his way to John Martin's farm.
• hi< a lay on the banks of the Oaladon
river, between Basutol and Natal.
Hendrick Hoopstads love for Nan
cy. the only daughter of John Martin,
of the Caladon farm, was the one
thought that engrossed bis mind. He
loved her. and was willing to lay down
his life for her without thought of re
ward. It might be as John had sug
gested. that Nancy had an English
lover; well, time would show, and
whatever happened he would always
strive to he worthy of her. and be will
ing to serve her in any way in his
power.
In about three hours he bad sighted
John Martin's farm. Down the hill
Hendrick let the reins drop on his
horse s n«, k and proceeded at a walk
ing pace. It was a calm, still even
ing. and the horse's hoofs made nc
sound on the soft sand.
Reaching the orchard the sound of
voices fell upon his ear. and almost
mechanically he stopped his horse and
listened. It was the voice of Nancy
he heard. And standing in his stir
rups he looked over the brush growth.
Yes. Paul was right; she was stand
ing beneath the shade of a spreading
tree, a tall man. dressed in the British
kharkl uniform, held her in his arms,
her head upon his shoulder and her
lips upturned to his.
•The time was so long. Dick, I
thought you would never come.”
"Did you. darling? Well, I have
come at last, though I could wish a
more peaceful time for visiting my
beautiful sweetheart. But when this
war i3 over I will make you my
wife.”
“My love for you. Dick, can never
change. Since I left you it has lived
on the memory of those sweet hours
of delirious happiness when we used
to sit together in the sunshine and
plan the joyful future—when we two
shall be always together.”
The man on the horse heard the
words that pierced his heart like the
stab of a dagger. For some moments
he sat like a statue, his face grim and
set. and his eye3 staring into blank
ness. The steed moved forward of its
own accord and wandered on for up
wards of an hour, while its rider sat
wrestling with himself. Then, with a
sigh and a sob that almost choked him
he gathered up the reins and once
more turned towards John Martina
farm.
(To be continued.)
HU Letter to the Juris*.
“Will you please, suh. lemme know,”
| wrote a colored prisoner to the judge,
• des w en my case'll come up fer con
wietion? I been in jail, suh, 'bout
eight months ez de crow fly. en I hex
a sorter restless foolin' er wantin’ ter
know des w'en my conwiction'll come
off. I writes din. suh. kaze I feels it
in my j ints dat de spring season is
cornin' on. cn hit come ter me dat you
might go fishin' en fergit de time fer
my conwiction. Do, ef you please, suh.
keep me In min’, en do by me ez you
'spects ter be did by.”—Atlanta Con
stitution
Cause of the Unpleasantness.
Mrs. Tucker.—Tommy, what on
earth makes you so late? Tommy
Had some worc-s with the teacher and
she kept me in after school. Mrs.
Tucker—You rad words with the
teacher? Tommy—Yes’m. I couldn’t
spell 'cm.—Chicago Tribune.
A SURPRISE.
Green Island la away out west, a few
miles beyond anywhere; and it Is—or
was—tired of Itself. Every one in it
wondered why any one else had moved
there, and rather suspected that it wa3
for reasons which were best kept quiet.
If any one at Green Island showed any
talent, every one else was quick to
proclaim that it was quite inferior—
else why should the person be at Green
Island? The town was without social
pleasures. No one thought to ask any
one else to dine. In the strict sense of
the word, indeed, no one at Green Isl
and dined. The folks ate when the
table was set—that was the fact of
the case. School teachers who went
there had a melancholy time, and
usually broke down and had to go
home. Their complaints bore various
names, but as a matter of fact they
were perishing of homesickness. It
would not have done for a Green Isl
and girl to have taught. No one would
have confidence in her. Even the town
physician was regarded with constant
distrust, and his successful cases were
accounted accidents, or the work of
nature, while his unsuccessful ones
were remembered with unrelenting te
nacity. The attorneys alone enjoyed
something like a reputation, and they
had a great deal to do. In fact, liti
gation was one of the few diversions of
the folk at Green Island.
The town had its religion, or course*.
It had three different brands—all
blown in the bottle. And the oue dis
play of courtesy in the place was the
obligation, generally recognized, of
everybody to attend an ice cream so
cial or an oyster supper, regardless of
views about foreordination of immer
sion. By such contrivances were the
clergymen paid their salaries—those
microscopical salaries so grudgingly
bestowed, so complaisantly recollected
by the congregation as It sat estimat
ing whether or not it was getting its
money’s worth. None of the three
churches had been able to secure a res
ident clergyman, but each divided its
preacher with certain other congrega
tions on itinerary, and enjoyed a ser
mon once in three Sundays. But that
Sunday might not be passed without
worship, it was the custom of the
Green Island folk to attend en masse
whatever meeting house was open.
This, it will be perceived, caused a sys
tematic rotation.
Now, it happened that the clergyman
at one of these churches, having gath
ered six olive branches about him,
found it convenient to live on $250 a
year—he was said by all to be an ex
travagant man—and he gave up his
position, aye. turned his back on his
calling, and taught Latin in a certain
high school. That was how it came
about that the Beth Eden congrega
tion and the two other churches of that
itinerary stood in need of a new
preacher. One offered himself. He
came from the middle west And he
gave it out that he was going to live
at Green Island. This was really a
feather in the cap of Green Island, but
the people did not take it so. They
wondered what was the matter with
him. Was there any reason why he
preferred an “inland” to a railway
town? It was curious.
When he appeared. It seemed still
more curious. He was different. No
matter what any one else was like, he
was different. He walked along with
a big swing and stride, and seemed to
think all the people liked him. What
impertinence! He was dressed in an
elegant suit of shot grey—was it not
known that the uniform of a Green
Island preacher, no matter what his
denomination, was shiny black? His
hat was an inch and a half too far on
the back of his head for clerical digni
ty, and from the edge protruded a
fringe of handsome red curls. His
eyes were red-brown, large and laugn
ing, his heavy auburn eyebrows met
above his nose, he was smooth-shaven,
and had a dimple in his chin. He was
just the right height for his shoulders,
which were two inches broader than
the average. He had dark tan shoes,
no cane, no umbrella, no smirk, no
rubbing of the hands, no whine, no at
titude of humility. And powers above!
When he got to a fence he vaulted
over!
He had evidently made up his min l
to stay, for he begun his activities, not
by calling on his parishioners, but by
purchasing a barn at the end of a pe
culiarly shady and beautiful old lot.
and he proceeded to fix it up into a
most picturesque abiding place. Peo
ple came around to see what he was
doing, and he put up seats under the
trees, and talked and told stories till
they forgot to go home. But this was
in the evening. If they called during
the day, he went right on with his
carpentering or painting or gardening,
and invited them to take a hand.
When he came to preach his first
sermon everybody was agog.
“Do yeh think he'll go into the pul
pit in that there speckled suit?” Mary
Fennig asked of Cora Belle Harmon.
They and the other girls were intense
ly interested. But he was in black, of
conventional cut, and he gave a good
gospel sermon, with no personalities.
He didn’t talk about the sins of Green
Island or the religious difference of
the community, as the other preachers
had been in the habit of doing. He ap
peared to be ignorant about these sub
jects. Apparently he took the religious
interest of a community with three
churches for granted. He made a good
deal of the singing and the prayers,
and he had the congregation respond
in the reading of the scriptures. Al
together, the services seemed exceed
ingly short, but the cautious consulta
tion of watches showed it to have been
of the usual length.
The people had expected to be greet
ed In a condescending sort of way by
their pastor. Such was the custom. But
this young man—his name, by the way.
was the Rev. Thomas Kite—appeared
to think he ought to be greeted by
them. He waited rather modestly for
the older people to welcome him, and
was gracious, but not over cordial. For
once Green Island had to do its half
of brotherly friendliness. Hitherto it
had basked in the condescending, yet
propitiating, smiles of its clergymen.
The Rev. Kite gave a house-warming
in his barn presently, and invited ev
erybody. It was in the afternoon, and
he had games, and got up a football
eleven. No one knew how he succeed
ed. Even baseball had languished hith
erto at Green Island. Also he Invited
three young fellows to go rowing up
the river with him the next week, to
be gone all day. And as no one in
vited him to dinner, he asked the dea
cons of the church and their wives to
dine with him. He had Mis3 Wessles.
a spinster of the discreet age and char
acter presiding over his domestic af
fairs.
Green Island went home from this
remarkable house-warming in a flut
ter. To begin with, it wanted to know
where the Rev. Thomas Kite got the
money for all this entertainment.
Moreover, it would be pleased to ascer
tain how he was to find time for sup
ping and boating and football playing
and the like. His conduct with the
youne ladies was carefuly reviewed,
but no one was able, even after the
most strenuous efforts, to say that he
had paid more attention to one than
the other.
Every one was at church the next
Sabbath—literally every one. But still
the Rev. Kite neglected to mention
Green Island or Its prospects or condi
tion, spiritual or temporal. He com
plained of no lack of interest. He
merely said he would take the Bible
class for a picnic the following Thurs
day. and asked that the ladies’s socie
ty arrange for a picnic for the younger
Sunday school scholars. Without
knowing It, Green Island began to en
joy itself. It began to find itself inter
esting. It was profoundly compliment
ed when the Rev. Kite put the stamp
of approval on Nina Cutler’s singing
by inviting every one to hear her at
his house one autumn evening. It was
vastly entertained by the Tennyson
readings he gave Monday night. All
of these affairs were held in the large
room in the renovated barn, where the
great red brick fireplace was, and the
shelves of books, and the piano, and
comfortable, plain chairs. Miss Wess
les had grown urbane. She wore a
blue gown and a high ribbon collar,
and she developed a genius for enter
taining which had been hitherto unsus
pected. She dispensed the simple hos
pitality of the place with a gracious
air. Green Island, which had always
supposed there must be a big spread
of cakes and pickles, jam and meats,
wondered at the calm countenance
with which the young minister served
a few cookies or crackers and tea. But
it concluded, after a time, that this
was sensible, if somewhat conspic
uously frugal.
At the end of a year Green Island
found Itself in a state of activity. It
had two literary societies, a singing
club, a class in lathe work of an orna
mental character, a guild of fine needle
workers, a civic committee who cut
weeds down beside the streets, cleana^
up unsightly dumps, made a flower
garden In the school, and rescued the
cemetery from unseemly neglect. More
over, it had golf links north of the
town, and the Rev. Thomas Kite was
president, major-domo, crack player.
Green Island people began to wonder
why more folks didn’t move to town,
and to marvel if anybody left it. It
began to talk about its interesting so
cial circles. It thought it would be a
good thing for the railroad if it should
come there. And it concluded, finally,
that it couldn’t afford to let the Rev.
Thomas Kite go to some other town
two Sundays out of every three. So it
multiplied his salary in ratio, and even
went the length of paying what it
agreed to.
“He made this town.” said Deacon
Fennig to his daughter. “There’s no
getting around that. It was because he
was alive way through. Them theo
logical corpses almost done us up. But
I guess there was a good deal of the
corpse about the lot of us. Mr. Kite,
he kind a’ galvinized us.”
Mary Fennig sighed, but said noth
ing. She had her own view of the case.
It didn’t seem at all difficult to imag
ine a more appropriate mistress for the
picturesque parsonage that the squint
eyed Martha Wessles.
Mr. View.
Here is a story which was told by
Col. Thomas Wentworth Higginson at
the Twentieth Century club in Boston
recently. A country clergyman called
on Henry Ward Beecher and asked his
advice about what to do with persons
who go to sleep in church, something
which had become quite prevalent in
his congregation. Mr. Beecher listened
very attentively, admitting that it
was serious, and then said: “When I
first came to Plymouth church I
though about this problem, and I will
tell you the course I decided upon. The
sexton was given strict orders that if
he saw any person asleep in my con
gregation he should at once go straight
into the pulpit and wake up the minis
ter.”—Buffalo Commercial.
limber lie » Klrh Young Widow.
Tess—"Old Mr. He Somber is very
indulgent to his young wife, isn't he?"
Jess—"Yes, and I know it just wor
ries May sick.” Tess—"Gracious! Why
should it, if he spends all his money
on her?” Jess—"Why, she's afraid he
won’t have any to leave her when he
dies.”
Punished Knnugh.
Mamma—"I shall tell your father
tonight when he comes home. You've
been fighting again!” Bobby—"1 Mease
don't tell him. mamma. 1 m licked
bad enough now, without having an
other scrap with papa!”—Stray Sto
ries.
Me Wanted to Know.
Little Clarence (with a rislug inflec
tion)—Pa? Mr. Callipers (wearily)—
Uta? Little Clarence— Pa. does Scotch
whisky make a man hoot any louder
than other kinds of whisky?—Puck.
1
LONG CAVALRY RIDES
RECORDS MADE BY UNCLE
SAM'S FIGHTERS.
Elghty-ronr MIIm In Elffht H®nr«
<i*n*r*l Law too'* reat—Merritt One*
Had* Ob* Hnndr*d Bad S*v*aty Mile#
In Sixty-Six Hour*.
There is much of interest to riders
generally, but particular to the United
States cavalrymen, in reports that
have come from South Africa of some
of the long, hard rides made there by
the British mounted troops. The ac
counts of some of these rapid forced
marches of cavalry are lacking in de
tail. but the specific statement Is made
that a squadron of the Natal Mounted
Rifles recently rode 85 miles in twelve
consecutive hours. The English press
*peaks of the rides of 60 miles by de
tached cavalry troops which were com
pleted within the limit of the daylight
hours, and these achievements of the
troopers and their mounts are spoken
of as if of frequent occurrence.
At first thought it may not appear
that these rides are particularly re
markable, but the fact must be taken
into consideration that bodies of
troops and not single individuals are
concerned, and where this Is the case
the rapidity of the march must neces
sarily be gauged by the rapidity and
endurance of the poorest horse of the
outfit Moreover, each animal engaged
has to carry weight of man and equip
ment to an average amount of 250
pounds.
Many of the horses used by the Eng
lish troopers are American bred, and a
natural interest in this country is add
ed to the rides, for it gives a chance to
“get a line” on the endurance of the
American animal under absolutely
strange climatic conditions.
No army in the world, perhaps, has
had the same opportunities to test the
endurance of cavalry horses as has the
small regular force of the United
States. The long, level stretches of
t^e plains and the activity of the ma
rauding Indian mounted on his tireless
broncho have been the conditions
which gave to Uncle Sam’s cavalryman
his matchless chances for long forced
mounted marches.
Col. Theodore Ayrault Dodge. United
States army, collected the official rec
ords of long distance cavalry rides.and
has made them public, so that they
may be compared with the perform
ance of the soldier horsemen of other
nations. Col. Dodge declares specific
ally that he has rejected all “hear-say
rides, of which there is no end.” and
has accepted only those proved by offi
cial reports.
Col. Dodge says that Capt. S. F.
Fountain, United States cavalry, in the
year 1891 rode with a detachment of
his troops 84 miles in eight hours. This
record is vouched for, and it is better
than that of the Natal Mounted Rifles
by about four hours, the distance being
within one mile of that made in South
Africa. For actual speed this forced
march stands perhaps at the head of
the American army record, though
other rides have been more remark
able. In the year of 1879, when the
Utes succeeded in getting some United
States troops into what wa« afterward
known as Thornburg's ' rat hole,” sev
eral mounted couriers succeeded in
slipping through the circling line of
savages. All of them reached Mer
rit.s column, 170 miles distant, in less
than 24 hours.
It must be understood, of course.that
all these American rides were made
without changing horses. The steed at
the start was the steed at the finish.
The best rider, according to cavalry
experts, is not the man who takes a
five-barred gate or who can ride stand
ing. but he who by instinct feels the
condition of his horse, and, though
gettiug the most out of the animai,
knows how to conserve his strength.
The late Gen. Lawton, who was killed
in the Philippines, in the year 1876
rode from Red Cloud Agency, Neb., to
Sidney, in the same state, a distance of
125 miles, in 26 hours. He was carry
ing important dispatches for Gen.
Crook, and though the road was bad.
his mount was in good condition when
Lawton, looking five years older than
he did the day before, handed over his
bundle of papers to the black-bearded
general. Gen. Merritt has a forced
march record that has no American
parallel when the conditions of his
journey are considered. He was or
dered in the fall of 1879 to the relief
of Payne's command, which was sur
rounded by hostile Indians. Merritt's
command consisted of four troops of
cavalry, but at the last moment he
was ordered to add to his force a bat
talion of infantry. The “dough boys"
were loaded into army wagons drawn
by mules, and with the cavalry at the
flanks the relief column started. The
distance to be traversed was 170 miles,
and it was made notwithstanding the
handicap of the wagons and trails that
were muddy and sandy by turns, in
just sixty-six hours. At the end of
the march the troopers went into the
fight, and in the entire command not
one horse showed a lame leg or a sad
dle sore.
K«n>n rknbl* (lift.
It was said of Judge John Edmonds
that he was never at loss for a witty
reply. “What a stupid person Mr.
Brown is!" said some one to the Judge,
referring to a man who was an ex
tremely proay speaker and blessed
with a loud voice, which he used to its
utmost capacity, “Indeed, l conxlftur
him a most remarkable man" sat'd
the Judge, promptly, "lie’s the only
man 1 know who can fill a house and
empty It at the same time.**
look Iter KUUmnil Itlerattv.
Rector's Wife (who ts very at out)
O. yes. I'm devoted to my poultry
farm, but lately I have sold very few
eggs for the table l have entirely
confined myself to hatching Town
Curate How very gug good of you.
but d- d didn't you smash a lot of
•Mitt ^r
ynnUtlwM tWite*!
Cecils What would von give to
hove such hair as mifie? Jtannle l
don't know what did you gue*
Stray Stories.
ORIGIN OF FAMILIAR CUSTOMS
Km; Thing* People Do Without Know
log the BiMon Why.
Is it not surprising what a number
of little thingB we do without knowing
the reason? Why, for Instance, do
widows wear caps? Perhap3 you may
say because they make them look pret
ty and interesting. But the real rea
son is that when the Romans were in
England they shaved their heads as a
sign of mourning. Of course, a wom
an couldn’t let herself be seen with a
bald head, so she made herself a pretty
cap. And now, though the necessity
of wearing it has passed away, the cap
remains. Why do we have bows on
the left side of our hats? In olden
times, when men were much in the
open air, and hats couldn’t be bought
for half a dollar, it was the habit to
tie a cord around the crown and let
the ends fall on the left side to be
grasped on the arising of a squall.
They fell on the left side so they might
be grasped by the left hand, the right
usually being more usefully engaged.
Later on the ends got to be tied in a
bow, and later still ihey became use
less, yet the bow has remained and
will probably remain till the next del
uge or something of that sort. What
is the meaning of the crosses or X’s on
a barrel of beer? They signify degrees
of quality nowadays. But originally
they were put on by those ancient
monks as a sort of trade mark. They
were crossed those days and meant a
sort of oath on the cross, sworn by
the manufacturer that his barrel con
tained good liquor. Why are bells
tolled for the dead? This has become
so familiar a practice that a funeral
without it would appear un-Christian.
Yet the reason is quite barbarous.
Bells were tolled long ago when peo
ple were being buried in order to
frighten away evil spirits who live in
the air. Why do fair ladies break a
bottle of wine on the ship they are
christening? Merely another survival
of barbaric custom. In the days of
sacrifice to the gods it was customary
to get some poor victim when a boat
was being launched and to cut his
throat over the prow, so that his blood
baptized it. Why are dignitaries deaf
ened by a salute when they visit a for
eign port? It seems a curious sort of
welcome, this firing ofT of guns, but it
seems the custom arose in a very reas
onable way. Originally a town or a
warship fired off their gun3 on the
approach of important and friendly
strangers to show that they had such
faith in the visitors’ peaceful inten
tions they didn’t think it necessary to
keep their guns loaded. Why do we
sometimes throw a shoe after a bride?
The reason is not very complimentary.
From of old it has been the habit of
mothers to chastize their children with
a shoe. Hence the custom arose of the
father of a bride making a present to
the bridegroom of a shoe as sign that
it was to be his right to keep her in
order.—Philadelphia Inquirer.
NAPOLEON S PIRACY.
Eren at St. Helen* He Begirded HU
Home »i HU Castle.
In the second installment of extracts
from the unpublished diaries kept at
St. Helena by Napoleon’s physician.
Dr. O'Meara, there appears In the
March Century a characteristic anec
dote of the dethroned emperors insis
tence on his right to regard his house
as his castle. Took a drive with N.
in his carriage. Told him what Sir
Thomas Reade told me. viz., that the
Russian commissioner did not take any
part in the letter written officially to
the governor to see him. That it was
only the French and Austrian commis
sioners who had applied; that the Rus
sian would be very proud of being in
troduced to him, not in any official ca
pacity, in fact in any manner which
would not constrain him. He appeared
surprised at this, and said that he had
been told that the Austrian and Rus
sian had applied, and not the French
man. He made me repeat it to him
again. He said that they, the two
who had applied, had taken their
measures very badly if they wanted to
be presented to him. That all the
Dowers of Europe could not force him
to receive them. “It is true.” said he.
“they can break open the door or level
the house down, and then find me
where where? * • * If they are
not satisfied with the governor’s re
port that I am here, cannot he cause
them to come up when I am walking
in the garden? They can see me from
the other side of the ditch walking, if
they do not credit this jailer of a gov
ernor, this chief of spies.” He then
remarked what coglioneria (nonsense)
it was to send such a set out without
any official authority, unrecognized
even by the governor, and again said
that no powers should force him to
see them against his will; that two
millions of men in arms should not
make him do it. 1 told him that the
Russian was a man of talent, and very
much esteemed by those who knew
him.
ro*«*rty and Hypochondria.
A very’ Interesting gentleman who
has had much to do with private sani
tariums in and around New York said
the other evening: "I can always tell
when there art' hard times in the
financial and commercial world. How?
Why. all the private sanitariums in
this neighborhood and in the Adiron
dack* are almost depleted. The men
ami women who believe that they are
nertou«ly ill, and who pamper their
predilections toward hypochoudrla
drop al! their fads and fancies and get
back into the world in order to make
the fight to make both ends meet
Vast wealth and luxury fill our sani
tarium*. while hard times bring the
people to their senses and to the be
lief that they are not quite rt sick as
they believed themselves to be. Any
body can stand adversity, but very few
t.m *tand prosperity."- New York
(iu«.
rr«w» Her* u* ih« North star,
The Idck observatory astronomers
* us the north star t« 253.000 000
uHes awsy, The Uck telescope and
♦hotospccmiseop* have discovered
on.ieen multiple star*. The star Mi*
' ‘ the middle star of the handle of
tie Krest dipper, has a brilliancy 100
tinea that of our sun Philadelphia
decora.
