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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 15, 1904)
BY §ARY DEVEREUX *VITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY DON C. WILSON (Capynffit, fSKO, fy l/tfk, 3ron/f. *rxf C&npony) C4// Prtfft PaftrmfJ CHAPTER IX. It was late in a sultry, almost breeze less evening in September, 1811, that the ship “Condor,” belonging to Laro and his associates, dropped anchor in the harbor of Fort Royal, Martinique. ohe had but a single passenger, if such he could be termed; for it was Jean Lafitte, returned recently from a mission which will be referred to more particularly later on, and who had come from New Orleans for the purpose of meeting Laro, whom he ex pected to find waiting at Fort Royal. His search proved unavailing, al though he ascertained that Laro had been seen in the town; and after vis iting several of the places where he was liable to be found, Lafitte went to an inn not far from t-ie wharves, and ordered supper. Here he sat enjoying the coolness, while he sipped and smoked, when there came to his ears the sound of a voice whose mellow resonance thrilled him strangely, sending his thoughts whirling into the past. The air was yet vibrating with the hearty tones as the speaker came through the door; and a lamp hanging from the ceiling of the balcony flashed its rays into the face of Gre loire. The recognition was not mutual; for Greloire, after a careless glance ut the younger man, crossed the bal cony and seated himself near the rail. Lafitte was, for the moment, unde cided as to what to do,—whether to reveal his identity, and risk hearing whatever comments Greloire might make upon a name and career which already had become known in two continents, or to remain silent, and thus forego this unlooked-for oppor tunity for knowing something definite in regard to the man who was still dear to him—he who was now Emper or of France. “Louisiana! What do you know of Louisiana?” ‘‘Much—that is. of New Orleans, for I was there several months, in the autumn of 1803.” “I was then absent from Louis iana.” said the young man. “So I learned, when I made inqui ries for you. But I heard something of you, and still more in regard to that Spanish rascal who took you away from Toulon, not long before 1 went there to get you myself.” ‘‘What mean you by that?” Lafitte demanded, almost as if resenting an affront. “This, mon ami,” was the slowly and distinctly uttered reply. “That when Gen. Bonaparte, late in October of 1795, sent me to Toulon, in order to bring you to him at Paris, I found that you and Pierre had already gone with Laro, bound for Louisiana.” “Who told you this?” inquired La fitte. “A dozen people—Thiel amongst them. I went first to Pere Huot's house, and there ascertained that the good priest was dead. I then visited Le Chien Heureux, and learned what f have told you.” Lafitte turned again from Greloire, and settled down into his chair; and the latter saw the quick rising and falling of the young man’s breast as he folded his arms across it. Presently Jean, without lifting his eyes, asked, in a stubborn, dogged tone, as though expecting an answer he did not wish to hear, “Do you mean to have me understand that he —Gen. Bonaparte—sent you to Toulon after me?” “Most assuredly. He, as I have al ready told you, sent me in the autumn of ’95. He supposed you were still under the charge of Pere Huot, being fitted for the career he—our general— had planned for you—one that would “You will deliver him a message *rom me?” But all his indecision was soon rout ed by the realization of what was rep resented by the face and form so close to him, and come to life, as it were, from the dead. The living pres ent seemed to animate the dead past; the reality of Greloire gave actual life to the ideal Napoleon. “Pardon, monsieur,” he said bowing slightly as Greloire looked up; “but I think I had the pleasure of meeting monsieur many years ago, in France.” “Ah,” said Greloire, as he turned to the speaker. “May I ask when?” “Long ago in Languedoc, and Tou len,” replied Lafitte, fixing his black eyes upon Greloire’s face. “We met at Le Chien Heureux, in Toulon; and the last time I saw you was at the Con vent of St. Sulpice, where you were recovering from wounds in the final assault upon the city.” “Mon Dieu!” exclaimed Greloire. •“What means all this, monsieur? Can it be possible that you are Jean La fitte—Lafitte, the pi—” The word was cut short by a flash from the young man’s eyes as a sabe stroke might lop off the hand raised for a blow. “The first is the name by which I wa3 known in Toulon, 'nd my friends still use it. Th* ;®cond is a title given to me by my enemies, and which 1 do not recognize as appropriate.” He spoke with stern composure, and with a dignity well becoming his tall, straight figure and refined face, while Greloire stared at him in silent aston ishment. “Which of the two, monsieur, do you prefer to use?” Lafitte added, now taking a step backward, but not re moving his eyes from Greloire. “To call you Jean, as I did years ago,” Greloire exclaimed impetuously, extending both hands, which were wel comed by the firm grip of the younger man's sinewy fingers. “Bien,” the latter said. “Let it be so. And you—what shall I call you,— marquis, duke, or marshal of France?” Tell me of yourself, and of—Napo leon.” “The first will take but a short time,” Greloire replied laughingly; “for I am not a nobleman, ncr yet an officer. Indeed I left the army six years ago, on account of sundry at tentions paid to my body and limbs by the enemies of France, who thus rendered me unfit for hard service against them, and I am now Monsieur Felix Greloire, attache of the emper or’s household. As such I go upon various missions; and my business here relates to the settlement of some matters connected with certain prop erty belonging to her Majesty the empress, who, as you know, is a native of this fair island. A fine place it is, both as to climate and people; but Louisiana is far more t> my taste.” Lafitte appeared to observe the 1t relevancy of this last remark, for, with a keep JCfifc at Greloire, he said, keep ycNi close to him, and insure your future.” I afitte had now recovered—appar ently, at least—from the effect wrought upon him by Greloire's surprising in telligence. “You will deliver him a message from me?” “With pleasure.” “Give him my homage for his own greatness, and for the splendor he has brought upon France. Convey to him all my heart’s gratitude for his kindness and protection when I was a boy, and for what he would have tried to make me as a man. Tell him that I love him, and will ever love him, and that no sacrifice he may wish or accept will be too great for me to make in his behalf. Can you remember this?” “Every word; and I will repeat it faithfully.” “Adieu, then, old comrade,” said Jean, grasping Greloire’s hand. “This may be our last meeting, but it will not end our regard for each other.” “Indeed no, nor our thoughts of one another,” was the hearty response, accompanied by a tighter clasp of Lafitte’s slender fingers; “and I trust it may not be the last, by many, of our meetings.” ^ “Adieu, old comrade.” “Adieu, mon ami.” One final hand-clasp, and Lafitte turned away. But, after taking a few steps, he faced about and went back to Oreloire, who stood as he had left him. “One thing more,” said Lafitte hes itatingly; “one more question, which you may answer or not, as you choose.” “I will answer whatever question you may ask,” declared Greloire; “and I will answer it upon my honor.” Lafitte appeared irresolute, as if the question were of such grave im port that he dreaded an unfavorable reply. Then, laying a hand on Gre loire’s shoulder, he asked, “What said he—Bonaparte, when you told him that I had departed from Toulon?” “Nothing.” “You have told me all I wished to konw, and I thank you,” said Lafitte, again holding out a hand, which Gre loire clasped firmly. “Adieu, and bon voyage.” “Adieu, and bonne fortune.” With this they parted; and Lafitte, returning directly to the wharf, or dered the boat’s crew to row him ; back to the “Condor.” • ***••* Jean had, up to this moment, con sidered himself deeply aggrieved by Bonaparte’s apparent neglect; and, looking at the matter from the stand point of youth, his ardent, impulsive nature, and his unstinted love for the young officer, his feelings were not without warrant. But, in the light of Greloire’s expla nation, the man of thirty could well we how unreasonable and hasty had been the boy of fifteen: how unthink* ing and rash; how utterly lacking in A proper appreciation of Bonaparte's regard, and of how the manifestations of this was subject to conditions and influences beyond the latter’s power to always control. He thought of Margot, and her words returned to him—when, upon that last evening of her life, she had said that Bonaparte was his good an gel, and Laro his evil one. Truly had her ■words been proven; for now be knew the former as he was, and would have been, while the passing years had either increased, or made more apparent Laro’s coarseness and cruelty. It was only to the boy Jean that he had ever been otherwise; but latterly something of a change had taken place in this respect toward the man, especially after he had refused to ac quiesce in the adventurer’s cherished scheme, that he, Jean Lafitte, should take as his wife, Lazalie, the former’s niece. But the young man had, all through his wild life, held within the inner most depths of his soul a sacred shrine, kept closed and pure, where never the love for woman had en tered. Over its altar, faded and in distinct, yet his life, lingered the teachings of his foster-mother, and the remembrance of a sunny-faced, blue-eyed girl, who had promised the boy to pray that he might be that which he had so woefully failed to be, or had even sought to attain. The past rolled in upon him like a smothering flood, until, in a wild tumult of despair, he left his cabin and went on deck. There he heard one of the watch whistling to him self; and presently the man broke softly into the words of the air; "C'est l'amour, l'amour, l'amour. Qui fait la monde a la roundel" The song brought to mind again the blue-eyed girl’s face, and also that of her daughter, the little “Island Rose,” whom, late the previous May, he had piloted through the woods, and down the rivers, from her dead mother’s home among the Choctaws. The long, rough journey had given him rare opportunities for sounding the depths of the childish soul so close to nature that it seemed to wor ship the mother’s God through nature, and nature through God. He was known as “Captain Jean,” a friend of her grandfather—as “Cap tain Jean,” whom she found such a charming companion, and whom his escort of white men and Indians re spected and loved. She trusted him fully, and their intercourse was free from restraint. Recalling her now, while he paced the deck, with the troubled water ol his soul casting ashore such woeful wreckage for his contemplation, the thought of her white purity, her sil very voice, her childish confidence, brought to him a blessed peace. (To be continued.) HOW FAR BIRDS REASON. John Burroughs Punctures Claims of Unthinking Persons. The robin is a very adaptive bird; certainly it adjusts itself readily to new conditions, but it falls far short of the intelligence that is often ascrib ed to it, says John Burroughs in Out ing. Thus there are persons who seem to believe that when mud is scarce the robin will bring water in his beak to the dust of the road and so make the mortar that it needs. This notion is, of course, absurd. How could the robins know that water and dust wnl make mud? This knowledge is the result of reflection and experiment, and is not within the reach of an ani mal. More than that, if the robin could find the water, he could certain ly find the mud somewhere. I have seen robins’ nests with little or no mud, and I have known them to use a substitute for mud furnished by the cows. Another equally absurd claim for the robin comes from a correspondent. A robin had her nest in a tree under his chamber window in such a posi tion that he could see all that happen ed in the nest. He says that when the young robins were nearly grown he saw’ the mother bird take them one by one. by the nape of the neck, and hold them out over the rim of the nest to teach them to use their wings! I suppose “our modern school of nat ural study” would accept this state ment without question. It is such pre posterous natural history as this that furnishes the stock in trade of this “school.” Some persons deceive them selves in what they think they see, and not a few, I am convinced, are de liberate falsifiers. A DROP IN VALUES. Changed Conditions Affected Worth of Love Letters. Henry Clews, the banker, was talk ing about a stock that had dropped in value. “Great was its fall,” ho said. “It was pathetic. It made me think of an incident that happened the ©§£er day in an express office. “To this office a burly, kind looking young man came with a package un der his arm. “T want to express this package/ he said. “The clerk, as usual, asked him: “ ‘What is the nature of the con tents of the package?’ “ ‘It is/ said the simple-minded youth in a sad tone, ‘a bundle of let ters from a young lady. I am return ing them to her.' “ ‘Their value?’ said the clerk. “Tie young man swallowed. “ ‘I don’t know what their value is now,’ he said huskily, ‘but a week ago I thought they were worth about hall a million dollars.’ ” Ex-Governor’s Family Aided. Andrew Carnegie has sent a check for $5,000 to the committee controlling the fund which is to be nsed for the support of the late ex-Gov. Robert E. Pattison’s widow. This brings the fund up to $13,437. Ex-Gov. Pattison w'as the only man who ever carried Pennsylvania twice for the **-vernor ship. As he was a democrat, this fact is all the more remarkable. When William Singerley was wiped out financially Pattison, whose Wend he was, was wiped out also. When he died he left his family nothing but mortgages on his home. AFTER LIAOYANG FIGHT Newspaper Correspondent with the Rus- < sian Army Tells How Well-Laid Plans Were Brought to Nought. At the close of a bustling London bank holiday you may sometimes see the collapsed heap of a man on the pavement outside a public house on the doorstep of w hich stands, trucu lent in rolled-up sleeves, the barman who has just ejected him. He half scrambles, is half assisted, to his un steady feet, rubs his eyes and looks incredulously at the unaccustomed col or which his hands have carried away from his nose. “What was it?” he asks in a dazed sort of way. “What was it I tumbled over?” “Come ’ome, Bill,” says Prudence, ' his friend, diplomatically; “come just a little way up the street. You caught your foot in something. You don’t want no disturbance here—not to night.” And Bill, with a little natural reluc tance, allows himself to be persuaded. At the corner of the street, when the barman has gone inside, Bill, facing round, shakes his fist in the direction of the closed door and says: “All right, yon. You wait a bit. I know where to put my ’and on you when I want you—you and half a dozen like you. Grinnin’, bloomin’ monkey.” Then he recalls, with the sympathetic assistance of his friends, the unfore seeable circumstances that extenuate the fact. The Only Way. Well, there is Liaoyang, away down the street, with the Japanese in pos session; and here are we. the Russian army, back in Mukden trying to under stand how it all happened. Frankly, we do not understand it at all. Our recollection of details is a good deal blurred; but, as far as we are able to remember, when it came to straight fighting, man ao man, we were as good as he was, and gave at least as good as we got. He won't see too well with that right eye of his in a hurry, and you could see for yourself, by the way he was nursing it, that the knuckles of his left hand were badly abraded, but, as Bill’s extenuating sympathizers explained it, “You see your back was too close up against the partition and he came over the counter sodden in stead of through the saloon as you natchly expected; so it couldn’t be helped; you had to go.” With us it was the flank that did it 'the position the Japanese had held frt>m the beginning of the war in the Mils on our east flank. "We did well enough in the fighting, division against division, man against man, but when it come to moving, to the making of fresh dispositions, geography was against us—we were too close up against the partition. We could not dislodge them—poor, brave, harassed Keller had worn himself out and final ly had lost his life in successive dash ’ng, hopeless endeavors—and when it -ame to the moving of army corps here was only one way to move—out. To advance southward, even suppos ing that it had been possible to drive ♦he Japanese back in that direction, was only to run again into danger; to advance eastward against the hill po sitions had been demonstrated to be suicide; to move westward, except to counter, was starvation and destruc tion. It was only by a movement northward that the troops could be employed with‘any hope of utility against the Japanese, and to move northward was another word for re treat. preparing ror a ureai mow. On the 26th, 27th and 28th of Aug ust there had been three days of mur derous fighting that do not count. Each day saw much fighting, of which no one now seems to know anything. Its importance and its fury, almost the memory of it, were blotted out by the overwhelming experiences that fol lowed. It was merely the fighting Incident al to the final disposition for the great struggle. The Japanese were closing up their front within striking distance, and driving outposts back upon the main Russian positions, until the two armies were ranged in two cencentric semi-circles, of which Liaoyang was the center. The Russians, to meet the coming attack, had withdrawn for the advantage of concentration, as far as concentration could be carried with out degeneration into overcrowding. With the inside track and the shorter arc of the inner circle, Gen. Kouro patkin could bring as many of his troops as he desired to bear in which ever direction the turn of events might make desirable; and if necessary the whole power and weight of the army could be launched in one terrific blow against Kuroki alone on the top of the eastern plain. The Japanese, so much wider spread, were incapable of any such quick concentration. They were three distinct armies, which could act in concert but not in unity. But suppose the -Japanese did not make a perilous fra.tal attack? Sup pose, instead, that Kuroki moved northward across the Taitseho and left that terribW mountain position from which it hai been impossible tc dislodge him imperfectly guarded; dislodged himself, in fact, with the view of cutting the railway line and completing th * investment of the posi tion? That was almost too good to come true For, given a swift move ment of the concentrated forces, and for once there would be a battle with the Russians in vastly superior force. Kuroki /ould be detached and over whelmed, and the terrible bogy of the easterns hills would paralyze the Rus sian movement no more. It would be an easy matter after that to deal with the others. “But.” Well, it all happened just as it might have happened, only somehow or other it all seems to have happened differ ently. Oku and Nodzu made direct at tacks acioss the open, hurled them selves against the solid wall of rifles against positions and trenches, weak ened themselves by successive attacks which accomplished little or nothing, and certainly never succeeded in car rying to the Russian mind the impres sion of a losing fight. And Kuroki left his impregnable mountains and moved northward across the Taitseho, and immediately came the swift movement of concentrated forces, and three army corps had him at their mercy. It had all come true, and victory, the inevi table victory, was resting with her ol£ familiar friends, the Russian troops. But-. Well, here we are in Muk den trying to make out what hit u? what it was we tumbled over. Some say it was the Orloff regiments of the Fifth Siberian corps who fired on one another in the kaoliang instead of on Kuroki’s advancing legions, and, hav ing signally defeated one another, mis took their direction. Others say it was the fault of the kaoliang growing fif teen feet high, and others blame one of the army corps to which they them selves do not belong. I have a hazy sort of notion, which is worth nothing, that it was geog raphy that did it, geography in com bination with the as yet half-realized new conditions which modern long range arms have created. Those Far Eastern mountains were in the wrong place. Not According to Program. Perhaps the critical moment in the battle of Liaoyang was when the Japa nese took the Motienling pass. But as far as I can make out from a batch of contradictory explanations quite a lot of things went wrong just at the critical moment. Not only did the Japanese coming from the south de part in an inconsiderate manner from the program of What Ought to Have Been; but Kuroki, on the east, varied it in at least one important particular. He duly crossed the river towards the coal mines east of Yentai, offering himself for separation and demolition by the concentrated force of three' army corps. Either, however, he failed to be de molished, or the three army corps somehow were unable to get at him effectively. He was defeated hand somely enough. There was no doubt of that—defeated and isolated, for the hill positions between him and the south were brilliantly taken. But just at the moment when he was surrounded and the rest of the program was easy came the startling discovery that Liaoyang could be no longer held, that the Japanese south ern armies, instead of remaining at the standstill to which they had been beaten, were advancing with such ra pidity on the west, as well as on the east, that the whole Russian force was in Imminent danger of being taken in the rear, as well as on both flanks. There was the disquieting discovery, also, that Kuroki was not exactly where he was supposed to be—that, in fact, he had edged northward in a most unpleasant way, and that the army was about to be surrounded, not in well-furnished, fortified Liaoyang, but out in the kaoliang plain about Yentai, where there were no positions, no perforations, no stores, no fortifi cations, and no earthly chance. Rifle bullets were already falling— from Kuroki’s rifles—on the east when from the west was heard the boom of Nodzu’s pursuing artillery. There was no time to be lost, and nothing for it but—hateful word, but we msie no bones about it—retreat.—Charles E. Hands in London Mail. Giant Turnip. What is thought to be the largest turnip ever grown in Colorado was raised this season near Centerville. It weighs twenty-one pounds and meas ures forty Inches in circumference. Question of Detail. Former Judge Mayer was relating how lawyers often badger witnesses unintentionally, and cited the case of a prizefighter who was on the stand to testify concerning a street fight in which he was a principal. The plain tiff’s attorney politely asked the burly witness: "Did I understand you to say that you were a pugilist?" ‘‘Dat’s what I anr,” proudly an swered the prisoner. "Oral, manual or caligraphlc?" suavely inquired the lawyer. The pugilist looked as if he had re ceived a blow in the solar plexus, his face grew red as a danger signal and he seemed about to spring out of the chair upon his inquisitor. Then, turn ing to the bench, he growled: "Say, Judge, I’m a fighter, and dat’a all, but I ain’t one o' dem t’ings dat pie faced bloke calls me." Judge Mayer said the attorney with drew the obnoxious question, and the case proceeded without further mis understanding on the part of the doughty defendant—Philadelphia J<ed «er. i 8ize of the Two 8tickneys. There are two Stickneys at the New York bar. Col. Albert Stickney, the sire, stands about five feet eleven inches in his stockings, with a fac ulty of lengthening himself in a mo ment of wrath that seems to add one cubit to his suture. He is, withal, a censor of professional morals, and the terror of lawyers who attract the un favorable attention of the Bar asso ciation. Compared with his son, however, he is a short man, for Stickney, junior, measures lengthwise six feet four and one-half Inches. The latter is the giraffe of his profession. all that’s good,” said Wheeler H. Peckham to the elder Stickney, “it is to be hoped, for the sake of the next generation of lawyers, that your son does not turn out to be such a miracle of virtue as you are, cok> nel, setting the standard for his brethren.” “Explain yourself, Brother Peck ham; explain yourself.” “Just think what an effort it would be for them to look ap to him.”_New York Ma4. One Insect Good “Bag” Soir 3 thirty years ago A. S. Pack ard, now a professor in Brown uni versity, and widely known through his scientific work and writings, caught a grasshopper somewhere down in Maine, says the Manchester Union. It wa3 not much of an insect as grass hoppers are commonly sized up by S the lay mind. There are plenty of grasshoppers in any field or pasture that are nearly or quite two inches in length, with expansive, bright-color ed. wings, and not a few of them make a noise in the world every time they rise and take flight before the eager collector cr the peacefully grazing cow. But this grasshopper which Prof. Packard found has no showy wings— only the mere stubs of wings at the most—makes no noise at any time, and is scarcely more than half an inch long. Yet, for certain scientific rea sons, it was regarded with a deeper interest than all the other members of the grasshopper tribe. It was given a big name, melanoplus dawsonii, ten derly pinned and carefully put away in the collection at Cambridge. No other individual of this rare in sect tribe was captured, at any rate by anybody who recognized it. until a year or two ago, when Miss Susie C. Fogg, an enthusiastic member of the entomological section of the Manches ter institute, secured the second speci men of melanoplus dawsonii known to the scientific world. From that time Prof. A. P. Morse of Wellesley, curator of the museum there, and a grasshopper specialist of no mean reputation, has greatly de sired to secure specimens of melano* plus dawsonii on his own account. Accordingly, taking advantage of an invitation from Miss Fogg, Prof. Morse came to Manchester a day or two ago, duly equipped with net, cyanide bot tle and collecting box, as the law of entomologists requires. In company with a party composed of members of the institute, he proceeded to Rock Rimmon, and with his net vigorously swept the grass and shrubbery round about.- To his surprise, and that of all present, he, or Miss Fogg, made another “find.” It was a single speci men, to be sure, but as only two had ever been found before, it was rightly considered reward enough for one day’s effort. 1 he Theater in Japan In Japan the theater goer leaves home as early as 9:30 or 10 o’clock in the morning. The play lasts all 2ay and sometimes far into the night. During the play attendants go about continuously, dispensing to patrons small handless cups of pale yellow tea, with which the air is made fragrant. The Japanese theater has several features novel to Ameri cans. A revolving stage, allowing the l’we to be changed immediately, is used and naturalness is given to the general efTect by means of two walks leading direct to the stage on either •Ide of the theater and extending Its whole length. Sometimes these wafcs are enlivened with flower borders, and here the action of the play some times begins. A character will ap jear, not from the wings, but on one of zhaae walks. He will repeat some . lines, which the heroine perhaps, or other character, will answer from the opposite walk, and so by degrees they make their way in the most natural manner to the stage proper. “Other features cannot be so recom mended,” says a traveler, “as, for in stance, dressers to the chief actors, who flit hurriedly to and fro like black specters. These dressers are sup posed to be invisible and in addition to throwing around the actor his re quired changes of costume, some times brocades and stuffs of extreme richness and value, they act as valets —give the hero a cup of tea, a fan, a handkerchief, or, if the situation' is very dramatic, hold on a long stick a taper, which lights up the actdr’s face. “Pantomime is seen in high perfeo tion. In one famous play a murder is committed on a rainy twilight. All is gloomy and still. A woman appeals, running. She looks behind her, then, with a terrified gesture, runs into a wayside field of tall rice. Soon a man comes, panting. He stops. He looks around, then at the ground—j there, her footprints lead to the rice* field. He follows. Soon there is ,a gurgling cry and the tops of the rice * Stalks sway. Then all is still.” When Sails Doited Seas —.... .. I am the poet’s vision still— Still down the lanes of sea Trod now by monsters bellowing. The songs are all of me. For when they set my braces taut, The last Ship of the Line, And sailed me from the ken of man Into the ridging brine, They could not take the memory Of the days when ships were' blown Over the uncontrolled wave By the breath of God alone. For me through patient centuries The praying forests rose. From Scandinavia’s cataracts To Oregon’s far snows; For me the strong. full-bosomed hills Upreared their crowns of trees That I might answer, unafraid, The baiong of the breeze. They cut the Druid temples down To make my ribs of oak; *he axman’s swinging arm The Congo echoes woke; They rafted down the Kennebec, They hewed in Lebanon; They stole the courses of the stars « My headlong path to con. For me the April-swollen floods ' From rock to plain were hurled That they might bear me spars to taka The measure of the world; For me the looms wove in and out, A-singing year by year; They ravished all the world for me To hang me with its gear. The South was white with Summer snow% The East was set with bloom, - i That rope and sail with fitting show Should clothe me. mast and boom; » They sounded the primeval deep , \ That I might step it free When, ushered by the storm, I made My bridal with the sea. What though the last one of thy line’ ‘ J Long since has dipped below The rocking rim of sea and sky , $§| Where all the dead ships go! No strings are swept for stack and steely No lyres struck for steam; But ever my white pyramids Swim in the singer's dream. * —The Oregonian. Stammer With the Pen The discussion of the question of “pen stammering” suggested by Dr. Bertillon of Paris, and in which some reference was made to Ribot's discus sion of the same subject, reminds me that “pen stammering” had been not only recognized, but named, some time before either of these gentlemen came upon the scene of human activ ity to observe and classify the nervous ailments of mankind. The fact is that Sir Walter Scott, whose writings have delighted so many persons, was a suf ferer, as shown by the following ex cerpt, taken from the “Life of Scott,” by Lockhart, 10th volume, second edi tion: January 10, 1831—“I cannot say the world opens pleasantly for me tnis new year. “There are many things for which I have reason to be thankful, especi ally that Cadell’s plans seem to have succeeded—and he augurs that the I nest two years will well nigh clear me. But I feel myself decidedly wrecked in point of health, and am now confirmed I have had a paralytic touch. I speak and read with embar rassment, and even my handwritihg seems to stammer.” This statement carries the “pen stammering” habit much farther back than the discussion up to this point had carried it,' and, no doubt, there can be found authen tic cases still further back than 1831. The fact is that “pen stammering * probably came into existence a short while after men began to write. It is, at any rate, quite reasonaole to as sume that the ailment followed quick ly on the heels of the writing habit, and it was probably more extensive in the early days than it is now, because it marked a departure in the usfes of the hand.”—New Orleans Times Democrat. The Court Was Satisfied Once it happened that a wagon was so clumsily driven as to crush a don key against a wall and killed it. The owner of the donkey claimed dam ages and a lawsuit was the result His chief witness was the driver of the poor animal. This man, a simple sort of country fellow, was no match for the lawyer on the other side, who browbeat and bullied him mercilessly. Then the judge made things worse bv directing him to answer the questions properly and hold up his head. “Hold up your head, witness. You hear what his lordship says. Look up; can’t you look as I do?” “Noa, sir, I can’t, for you squint” which was true, though the barrister could not help that. At last Sergt. Cockle, the counsel on his master’s side, came to his help. “Just tell the court how the thing happened; where the wagon. was, where the donkey was; just tell us in your own way.” After a little hesitation the man said: “It was just like this, my laar<t judge: First of all, you” turning to Sergt. Cockle—“are the wall.” “Yes, yes,” said the counsel, “I am the wall.” Changing his place the witness nest said: “And I am the wagon.” “Very good,” quoth the judge, “go on.” “Yes,” proceeded the driver, -law yer's the wall; I am the wagon, and your laardship’s the ass.” This illustration, given quite seri ously, so convulsed the court that the witness was now allowed to leave i the box.—English Exchange. Words Sounded Bad, Bui— Into the uncomfortably warm kitch en where Mrs. Dean was “putting up" jelly, rushed Mrs. Ashe, known throughout the neighborhood as emi nently religious and proportionately easy to shock. “Do you know what your boys are doing?’ she asked in tones that sug gested battle, murder and sudden death. “I suppose they’re selling some of this strawberry jam,” was the compla cent reply. “And it’s all right,” Mrs Dean added. “They wanted to play ;tore and I gave them some of this, and a littlo table, and sent them into the si*«- .nrd." “All r^ht?" gasped Mrs. Ashe. “In deed, it’s act all right Do you know what they are saying?” and the final word came in a whisper almost tragic. Mrs. Dean looked quizzically at her caller for a moment, and then with a half-perplexed, half-amused look on her face, left the kitchen and walked around toward the frort of the housa. Mrs. Ashe followed, like fate. There were the boys; a chubby-faced youth of 11, solemnly seated behind a folding sewing table, which bore an inviting burden of little jars of jam, and a pink-cheeked youngster of whose plump and active legs were ear ning him back and forth on the walk outside the fence, a jam pot held temptingly aloft, while his childish treble announced to all the world: “Tawberry dam to hell! Tawberry dam to hell!"—Criterion.