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FRIENDSHIP.
As the day declines to even.
Falling in the arms of night.
One by one the tars of h a von
Hh<xl on earth their c onstant light.
80 when life s bright sun is hidden
By the heavy gloom of woe,
I rue friends Lke the stars, unbidden.
One by one their lustre show.
—Barry Lyn ‘on , iu the Chicago Currcn'.
LOUIE AND I.
nv n.vRHir.T i*rk>cott spofforp.
If I had been the le ist bit pretty I
shouidn t ha <■ been su; prised at it all;
or if I had even b en bright and witty,
but such a little simple! m as I.
I never in all my life had the ex
pectation of lo.ers. i,r of any sort of ad
miringglance-, and 1 never had any. And
sometimes mother u-e 1 to say she guessed
it was just as well, for if ‘■he had had to
dress two girls out for their pretty looks,
as she did one, it would have beggared
her. Mother o.nlv hid a little raomy,
just barely enough to live on, and some
of the principal going every year, but it
wouldn’t hive been in human nature,
having a daughter so pretty as Louie,
not to want her to ha e the best that
would s t od her peach-bloom beauty;
and, for my part, I never grudged Louie
a rc.se or a ribbon. 1 couldn’t have worn
them i I had had them, for I was far
too proud to try to do what .Nature
hadn’t, or to pretend I thought such
things became mo; and I liked my print
dre-sea and plain collars better for my
self.
But when Louie was dressed in her mus
lins till she looked like one of the old
fashioned blush roses, so white without
and so delicately flushed within, her
lovely yellow ha:r breaking out in sunny
curls all over her head, and she all radi
ant. as you might say, with her skin, her
smiles, her teeih, her great blue, beam
ing eyes—then I used to like to look at
her a-; much as any of her lovers did; to
look at her as I would look at any lovely
picture; and he always turned from her
gayest scene—the dear Lttle person—to
give her sweetest s.nile to me.
So when Dennis began all at once to
come to our house, as if he had just seen
Louie for thefir-t time iu his life. I was
only delighted. For every one who knew
him loved and honored Dennis Heed, who
was the soul of all integrity; and if he
wasn’t a beauty himself, he was a stalwart
son of Saul,and had the nicest little place
in the region—a cottage up a lane, over
looking the river, and with a wood be
hind its orchard and across the railway
cut, to keep oil the east wind—if the
east wind could ever blow in that sunny
nook with a garden spat made and
blooming in every cranny of the rocks
around it.
lie married her, and took her away;
and a happfl r nest of singing birds thau
that in the little cottage among the rocks
and (lowers could nowhere have been
found, unless it were in my own heart,
at the sight of the happiness there.
But then mother fell sick, and it took
all my time to care for her; and 1 couldn’t
go up to Louie’s very often; for I had
everything to do at home, and was tired
out by nightfall, and often up half the
night : esidcs. Louie couldn’t very well
come down often; and' " ’ .-d -nme
, ’ <-U u sue hue
tnr Si ' rk "°' v n what to dm'
•-> I Once I remember, she
■uu to me, “I don't know but it’s more
satisfactory to have one daughter plain,
than anything else.” And it made my
heart bound. And then I reproached
my sellishuess in caring to have her say
that over Louie's head, as it were; but I
remembered it long afterward, aud some
times it used to give me a throb of joy
when everything was dreary, and I
seemed to be alone in the world.
For mother died presently. And then
it turned out that she had been living on
her little property more than we had
dreamed, and Louie's outiit and her
own long illness and its bills had used
up money. Aud when everything was
paid, they had only enough left for mo
to hire one room a-- a sort of refuge when
I came home at night from working at
my trade: for 1 had quite a knack at
dressmaking. I did not put on mourn
ing; for 1 was glad that mother was out
of paiu, and I was glad that she was
gone before she knew that all the prop
erty was gone, and she, with her proud
spirit, would have had to be dependent.
But Louie did—aud oh! what a beautv
she was, with her black crapes falling
around her. so waxen, fa r and rosy and
transparent! Of course she didn't miss
mother the way 1 did. llow could she,
with Dennis waiting on her every wish?
And she didn t seem to want anybodv
but Dennis, either; so I didn’t see a
great ueal ot her. only when she had
something new to make un, or some
thing old to alter over; and then, she
and Dennis were out most of the time,
strolling among the rocks or planting a
new Lower-garden, or she was going to
meet him coming from his work, or run
ning into the ne\t neighbor's, aero s the
pasture, and 1 had almost : uothingof her,
except at trying-on times. I used to
wonder at Louie then, a little, some
times; not for not sitting at home sew
ing and helping me on the work, because
you might as well have asked a hum
ming bird to do that; but for not taking
more interest in the house and keeping
things trig and tidv. And I used to be
afraid that if 1 weie Dennis, and there
were hole- in my socks, and half the but
tons oil my clothes, aud my coat and hat
never brushed, and 1 came home aud
found nothing for dinner—not even the
cloth laid—aud my wife off enjoyiug
herself somewhere else, and the dust
everywhere so that I could write my
name, that I shouldn't feel recompensed
for all that by having ray wife stroll
round hanging on my arm, looking as
pretty as a new-blown rose. And yet al
though the house must ofteu have been
thoroughly uneomlortab'e to Dennis, he
never gave a sign that it was not paradise
itse::: an I came to the conclusion that
he didn t really miss those other things,
and was satisfied with what he had.
I used to go up into the Eden some
times without being -ent for, and mend
up everything, and put the whole house
straight: but I couldn't go so very often
on account o: my work; and, beside, I
had a sensation of intruding where two
people wanted but each other.
But at last the babies came; and then
I had to go. And Louie was wild with
delight, and insi-ted on having them
laid on the pillow elo-e to her cheek, and
talked and laughed and cooed and cried
to them with such glittering eyes and
dazzling color in her face, and said it was
all she wanted, even if she were in Heaven
to-morrow!
“But your husband, Louie!” I ex
claimed.
“Oh! husbands are all very well," she
said. “But Iha ea't been such an aw
fully good wife. You'd have made
Dennis a great deal better wife, dear, for
the matter of that. But my little sous!
Oh' I know I could be a good mother ”
She was in Heaven to-morrow, the
dear little innocent soul, and one of the
babies went with her.
1 was glad that the little bad* went
too. Lor I remembeied that she had
THE MONROE ADYERTSER: FORSYTH. GA„ TUESDAY. JANUARY -25. 1887.™ EIGHT PAGES.
said then she would have all she wanted;
because it troubled me to think that, for
all his grief to day, Dennis wouldn't be
Like any other man in the world if he
didn’t marry to-morrow; and the other
wife would have the loDg life with him,
and become dearer and dearer, and Louie
would fade into just a beautiful Bream;
and when the next life came, it would be
the dear wife of the long-continuing
time that would be his companion, and
Louie would be all alone if it wasn't for
the baby, and she had said that the baby
was enough. Of course all this was only
a sort of dash through my consciousness,
not any deliberate thought. Nobody
could have thought about anything of
the kind who saw Dennis’s grief. He
w& all beside himself. I don't like to
tell you what he said and did; I was
half afraid sometimes that a thunderbolt
would fall and destroy him; and then
again I was afraid that he would destroy
himself. I don’t know how we ever con
trived to get him to let Louie be placed
in her casket, and I thought he would
jump intothe very grave itself. Butatlast
that agoni/ing time—every moment of
which knows how to give a fresh stab—
was over, and the worse time came,
of the absence and silence, and wild,
vain, bitter longing. And Dennis couldn’t
look at the baby. “Take it away he
said. “It killed her!” So I took him into
my own room, an 1 cuddled him close to
my heart every night, and every morning
he awoke me with his laughing and gur
gling and crowing, playing with the
shadows of.the dancing leaves across the
bed; and he had Louie’s yellow hair and
rosy cheeks and perfect features, her
great longing blue eyes, and Dennis’s
black eyebrows, and every day he grew
dearer and dearer, and more inexpressi
bly dear, and 1 said to myself that, much
as I missed poor Louie, here had beeu
made up to me all I had failed of in my
life; for this child was to take the place
to me of mother and sister and husband
and child altogether. And the dearer
he grew, the more angry I became with
Dennis for his indifference; and one day,
when the boy was about four months
old, I said:
“I think you had better let old Nancy
come in again and do your chores, the way
she used to do, and J will go away and
take the baby—”
“Take the baby?”
“Certainly,” I said. “You can’t bear
the sight of him, and I love him. And
then if ever you marry again”—
“I shall never marry again,” he said,
the gloom settling in his eyes.
“I don’t believe you will!” I ex
claimed. “I don’t believe there’s the
woman living who will ever take such
an unnatural, wicked father, for her hus
band ! Louie’s owu child, too, and the
very image of her. I wonder what she’d
think of you!” And I snatched the baby
up out of the cradle, and ran from the
room, le-t I should break out crying be
fore his face.
The next afternoon when Dennis came
iu from his work, he went and made
himself all nice, and changed his clothes,
and came down to w here I stood in the
side-door with the baby in my arms,
looking at the sunset. And he stooped
to take the child; and the little darling
turned, with a low, fright ned cry, and
hid his face in my neck. Aud th n, all
at once the tears that I hadn’t seen Den
nis cry in all this time, gushed out, and
he put his arms around the child, who
began to scream with terror; aud as I
o'alu tiirri c(J and*mahr fa* me cTn i y owirEolcTT
he took him forcibly away from me.
“Let go!” he said, in his low, half
smothered tone. “He's my child!”
“I suppose he is!” I cried. “By some
wicked form of law, the cruel law that
men made for men. But you don’t de
serve him.”
I never was so angry. I thought I
would take my things and go away that
moment. But how could I leave the
baby? His little screams were torturing
me then. 1 sat down on the door-stone,
and flung my apron over my head, and
put my thumbs in my ears, and wished
the baby and I were dead along with
Louie.
Perhaps it was an hour afterward
when Ilooked up, and there was Dennis
coming through the orchard with the
baby, and the boy was crowing and
jumping and catching at the bending
boughs, an 1 catching at his father's
great mustache, and rubbing bis little
wet lips all over Dennis's face, chirrup
ing and joyous; and I couldn’t help it,
I ran to meet tncm.
“You see,” said Dennis, as he let me
have him back, “blood is thicker than
water, after all.”
Oh! what a long journey 1 felt as if
that baby had been on as I took him and
could hardly have done kissing him.
“Dome,” said Dennis, laughing,
“leave someth'ng of him for me.”
It was the first time he had laughed
since that child was born. And the dar
ling had gone a long journey—a journey
into the infinite depths of a father’s
heart.
Well, after that, Dennis couldn't get ;
home early enough in the afternoon, and
it seemed as if he hated to go away in
the morning, and Snndays he had the
baby in his arms from morning till night.
And in the evenings, when 1 sat sewing
on the little clothes, he would come anu
sit opposite, or where he could .see how
the work went on; and he brought home
all sorts of little, impossible toys, and
be talked and sang to him, and walked
with him; and the baby began to look
out for his coming as much as I did. And
all that, of course, helped me a good deal
in my work about the hou-e, for I kept
everything as fine and orderly as a honey
comb; only, with the baby to tend and
see to, I sometimes had to sit up nights
to do it.
“I shall call hm Louie, for his
mother,” said Dennis, one night.
“Do you think you can bear it';” I
asked.
•‘To hear him called Louie? Yes. He
is Louie over again, ” said Dennis.
And I couldn’t tell you how pleasant
life grew to be as we watched the child
grow, unfolding like a rose. There was
ab olutely a sort of rivalrv between us
presently as to who should discover his
tirst tooth. When he took histirst step,
it was between Dennis's arms and mine,
as we both sat on the i'oor. And when
he spoke his tirst w rd. how we ii-tened
to learn if it were L ennis's name or mine.
The day wasn't long enough for us t >
watch his dear loveliness in. And I think
Dennis was envious of me for having
him nights: but he couldn't help that.
tjo time went on: and I thought then
it would not be easy to say how we could
be happier; for even the memory of Louie
was softened into something that was
hardly a grief to us in our love of her
boy. though sometimes I used to wonder
if the little fellow that went with her
was as sweet as the one that stayed
with us.
But when the dear child was about
three years old there came a snake into
Lden. A snake? A whole nest of them !
It seemed as if every girl in the whole
village had just found out what a ra’e
and charming person I was. and how
pi- asant it wa late afternoons up where
I lived, and how nice it was to run up
evenings to see me. And sometin.es
Dennis ,would have to go home with
tin m then ; and sometimes he wouldn't,
but just wtat out the other way, and
never came home till they’d gone; and
somehow one thing was almost as un
pleasant as the other, and I couldn't say
why it worried me—l only knew it did.
j And I used to Jtake the boy and go off
by myself and cry. For, of course,
i sooner or later, Dennis would marry some
; one of those terrible girls; he couldn't
help himseif; they wouldn't let him help
himself; it would come about after
awhile as naturally as water runs down
hill.
And then there would be a stepmother
for my boy, and Heaven alone knew what
would become of him. And what wo'uld
become of me?
And by this I gave out completely. I
should have to go away. I should see
Dennis no more. No more of that dear
voice and presence, and cheery way of
his. And all at once it came over me
in a flash o horror and shame what was
the matter with me; and then I felt that,
happen what would, I really must go
away.
But I couldn't go aud leave the boy;
and there I was. And I grew pale and
could cat nothing, and was stiller and
stiller eyery day. I could as soon have
talked Hebrew as have smiled.
But one day I had the little fellow
asleep iu his morning nap, which he had
not quite outgrown, although it was get
ting to be short and fitful; and, thinking
that Dennis was there to see, or knowing
he was, and thinking nothing. I went
out by myself, down the Le and by the
railroad cut; for there was an apple tree
there where I gathered the wind-falls,
and I liked, too, to sit on the bank and
see the train dash by in the cut. I had
my apron full of apples, and, as I came
back, I stood loitering a moment or so
on the steep bank, hearing a train com
ing, and liking all the rush and roar and
rattle that seemed to suat hme out of
myself, as if it told of a way to some
where, some distant region where my
trouble might be forgotten; and all at
once another sound from that of the a
- train caught my ear, a glad,
gay shouting and crying. I turned and
looked to right and left, a little confused,
for it was the child's voice. And,
turning back suddenly, I saw him ; and
there, at the foot of the bank,
in the very center of the railway track,
stood the little fellow, who had
crept from his bed and ran after me, and
been begu led down the slope by some
blossoms that he saw there—there, in the
centre of the track he stood, waving his
little hands and shouting to the coming
train. There was not a half minute, it
seemed, but in less time I was down
there, and was just grasping the child
when my foot slipped, and I fell with
him in my arms, and the thunder was in
my ears and the hot breath in my face,
and I knew that was the end.
No; it was only the beginning of the
end. When I knew anything more, I
was lying on the bank in Denuis’s arms,
for he had come bounding after the boy,
and had snatched us both out of danger
as the engine, like a wild dragon, whizzed
and roared and thundered by, and he was
holding me as if he would never let me
go-
And he never haslet me go. “Oh!” he
cried, “I found out in that second what
life would be to me without you, dear;
something Iconldn’t bear a day.” And I
only clung to him, too ashamed to let
him see my face, too tired and weak to
lift it. And so it is I that am the second
wife, and the boy’s mother. And I sup-
everyt)ody~wkA surpn'sed; but no
qody, as I told you, was liait a2 Shell
surprised as I.— Jnlej endent.
Jaybirds Act as Peacemakers.
A resident of Memphis, Mo., erected
on his lawn a large bird house, intended
as the summer house of a flock of mar
tins. It was a three-story affair, and
three varieties of birds inhabited it—
martins, bluebirds and sparrows. The
numbers were about equal. The mixture
of breeds did not appear to causediscon
teut for a long time. Fach bird nation
gathered sticks and straw and other
material for nests, and harmony pre
vailed for weeks. One day. however,
this gentleman’s family discovered that
there was something wrong with the in
habitants of the airy house on the lawn.
There was unusual commotion, a squall
ing, pecking and fluttering which de
noted trouble in the hitherto happy fam
ily. A close watch brought the further
discovery that the ma tins and biuebisds
had joined forces and were making a
mighty effort to drive the sparrows off
the premises. The sparrows battled
pluckily for their home, but were iu the
end doomed to defeat and ignominious
flight. Opposite the lawn in a neighbor’ ?
yard stood several large oaks. A imall
colony of bluejayshad pre-empted homes
there. The sparrows, on being forced
from homes and nests, took refuge in the
oaks. Their advent was followed by
bird chatter, and chirp, and squall, par
ticipated iu by both sparrows and ja\ T s.
r l he noise attracted the family, and now
two households were watching with in
terest the a tion of the winged tribes.
Shortly the sparrows, seemingly escorted
by a number of the returned to the
lawn and home. This was followed by
a convention of bird music, in w r hich the
jays took the prominent part. By and
by the bedlam of voices c a-ed, and the
jays did the lalkingor chirping. They
soon returned to the oaks, leaving quiet
and peace on the lawn. The three bird
colonies worked all summer without fur
ther jar or disagreement. Did the jays
act the pait of peacemakers?
An Interesting Duck Shoot.
During the twenty years which Dr.
Ackley practiced in Ao:them Ohio his
reputation became very great. He was
a man who was very impulsive in his
i aetions, as is shown by the following in
cident: One day while out duck shoot
ing he was accompanied by a favorite
dog. Another hunter was on the oppo
! site side of the stream, and as the ducks
which he shot fell into the stream Dr.
| Ackley's dog would swim in and get
them. The man objected to this, but
Ack'ey told the man he should ha' e all
the ducks retrieved by the dog. The
man aswered that should the dog re
trieve another duck be would shoot him.
Ackley replied if the man shot the dog
he would shoot the man. Another duc;<
was shot and in sprang the dog, and was
; as promptly sh’t Ackley reciprocated
| by filling the man full of shot from his
fowling-piece, after which he immedi
ately left the scene and returned rapidly
to the city, t-ome time later a man came
into his office complaining that someone
had tilled him full of bird shot. Ack
ley proceeded to pick them out or.e by
one, at the same time e ndoiing with the
man. and at the close of the process
charging him a good bill. — Magazine- o
Wtfiarn iliiiory.
Jft pan’s Industries.
Japanese industries, although in many
cases their origin may be traced back to
China and Corea, have changed some
what in recent years, but they have not
been same entiy devc’oped to be carried
on. as a rule, in what we call manufae
turiu establishent.s. They are mostly
conducted in srna 1 workshops, with po •
s biy the aid of ap imitive water wheel,
fan making, an i the manufacture of por
celain paper, pigments and lacquers,
constituting a large portion of the whole,
ODD ALASKANS.
> *
ONE TRIBE OF ESQUIMAUX AS
TALL AS WHITE MEN.
Tile “Mutes” aud Some ofl Their
Strange Customs—lvory Worn
in the Lips—Their Super
stitions and Dress.
Dwelling iu that portion of the Terri
tory of Alaska north of the Arctic circle
is a race of sturdy, docile, but withal in
dependent people. These people have
no name as a race, but designate them
selves as “mutes,” which literally trans
lated means “a dweller at or upon. - ’ For
instance, a native born at the village on
Point Hope (Tig-erach) is a Tigerach—
mute; one born at Point Barrow is a
Noo-wuk mute, and'so on, deriving their
classification from the place of nativity.
Ihe popular idea prevails that these
people resemble those living on the east
ern shores of the Arctic Ocean and
Greenland, but while on the Greenland
side the stature of the natives is small,
upon the Alaskan side numerous meas
urements taken by me of both sexes show
an average height in the males of five
feet eight inches and in the females five
feet lour inches. There are many men,
and women, too, especially at Point Har
row and Point Hope, that measure nearly
six feet, and all well proportioned. In
their facial i uaracteristics these people
partake of the Mongolian type. Exam
ination of skulls ana living persons shows
the high prominent cheek bones, the
oblique-shaped eye setting, the elongated
nostrils, and straight coarse black hair
of the Asiatic race. By reason of their
hardy life their limbs are of a strong
mold. The only malformation that 1
observed among them w r as a tendency in
the knees and feet to bend iuward. More
especially is this tojie noticed in the wo
men, a circumstance I attribute to their
carrying heavy weights upon the lower
portion of the spine, while the uneveu
surface of the ground forbids walking in
any level manner. Another reason for
this malformation is the length of time
lhese people are confined to their boats
when traveling along the coast. Through
out the entire Territory of Alaska aud
the Aleutian Islands it is very rare to see
a native of either sex exhibiting a perfect
carriage. The Aleuts at the Seal Islands
and Onalaska, both males and females,
resemble in their walk the waddle of a
duck.
Physically these mutes are very strong,
their powers of endurance are great, and,
as a sequence to the sole aim of their ex
istence—i. e.; to obtain food—their pow
ers of observation aud acuteness in hunt
ing, both on land and sea, are strongly
developed. Were it not for the thick
layers of dirt covering their skin the
complexion of these people would be al
mo-t white. Fntil old age comes on their
teeth are well shaped and sound; their
eyes of a deep brown hue, bright and
sparkling, and extremely expressive.
Many eases of marked good looks can be
seen among them, while intelligent and
pleasing manners are general characteris
tics. The family relations existing be
tween these people are somewhat diffi
cult to determine. This arises from the
fact that when a man takes a wife he
may retain her as long as he pleases, or
she may leave him and obtain another
protector. Instances where the woman
O-CVCr iCS-VSJ protector are raj:se
The custom of adoption ‘'fw sg or
gift is another peculiarity among these
people. In comnfcm with Asiatic tribes,
the desire for male offspring is great,
not in any way to perpetuate the family
name, but simply as a provision against
old age on the parents’ part. Adoption
is generally resorted to when the first
wife has no mule offspring. Garrulity is
a prominent trait among the women, who
are quite on a pir with their civilzed
sisters in retailing gossip. When a man
desires to become possessed of a girl to
share his fortunes overtures ar"e made to
her parents and herself. Should acqui
escence be obtained, presents of skins
and food are made to the girl’s parents
and she becomes his spouse. Such emo
tions as loxe, tenderness, or endearment
are unknown; the "woman is simply re
garded as a worker, to sew and cook.
Upon the least fit of anger uoon his part
cuffs, blows and kicks are showered upon
her, but these do not create mu h aston
ishment iu the village, simply forming a
theme of gossip among the old women.
Women do by far the greatest share of
labor. It is their lot to drag the seals
over the ice when shot; to tramp miles
to fetch deer or other game to the vil
lage; to cook, to make tires, sew, and re
pair boats and garments, and attend to
every matter of household duty. The
noble lord of creation confines himself to
hunting and trapping.
A belief in the presence of evil spirits
constitutes the only religious ideas
among the mutes. Th re are among them
individuals called Toonrachs, corre
sponding to the shaman of the Siberian
tribes. If a person is sick before the
whaliug season commences, or a child is
born before going on a journey, or build
ing a house, the services of the shaman
is called into requisition. The modus
operandi in every case is very s’milar.
The shaman, after a long spell of silence,
suddenly begins to roll his eyes, convul
sive shakes pervade his frame, a7>ut he
gives utterance to various groans and
sighs intermingled with sentences per
taining to the subject upon which he is
engaged. During the time of his per
formance a continuous beating upon a
drum is kept up. Toward the end par
oxysms. or rather convulsions of exulta
tions similar to what have been de
scribed as prevailing at the finale of a
Shaker meeting, are exhibite 1 by the
shaman. Froth exudes from his mouth,
his eyes glare and roll, and his whole
frame is contorted. Perspiration pours
from his face, and he is entirely ex
hausted. The loud invocations to the
evil spirits to vacate the body of the sick
person, or to drive them away from the
sea to enable the whales or seals to ar
rive, become gradually subdued, dying
away into incoherent mutterings. Then
aft -r a while he regains his composure,
complacently smokes his pipe, and re
ceives his pay for services performed.
If the operation is performed over a sick
person and recovery does not ensue the
payment made is returned, a custom that
might be advantageously adopted among
civilized persons.
Some curious superstitions are also to
be noted. If a person is sick, iron tools,
such as axes or knives, cannot be used in
the house. Upon a man’s grave his sled
is place 1, but broken to pieces, and Lis
kyack m e - simi'a usage, Furs, spears,
aud rifles are ais > deposited, while if the
individual has killed many whales tiie
long jawbones of the bai ena ar.: placed
in an upright position to mark the spot.
These people bur their dead upon the
ground, raising a number of pieces of
driftwood in the shape of a tentover the
remains. Owing to this insecure mode
of burial the w >od soon falls down and
affords entrance to foxes and dogs, who
make havoc with the body. But little
regard is paid to the burial place, al
though these mutes are very much in
censed whenever attempts are made to
take away skills or bones from the grave-
yards. They also make a long detour in
passing tho resting place of the dead
and will on no account touch anything
once deposited at a burial.
A woman’s grave has her clothing,
sewing-gear, and various household uten
sils placed upon it. Ofle of them >-t j e
culiar acts I heard of took place in the
month of May, during Ihe whaling sea
son, at Point Hope. A woman died and
her body was carried out to the edge of
the ice. Three old women cut her heart
out, wrapped it in a covering of seal in
testines, and threw it into the sea
through a holo in the floe. This was
done in order to bring good luck to the
catch.
On the two corners of the lips of the
males two lateral incisions are made,
into which tablets of ivory, stone, or
beads are inserted, the orifice becoming
extended as the individual grows older.
1 hose tablets are oval in form, having a
groove upon the under >urface, which,
fitting into the orifice, prevents them
from falling out. Within the last few
years the custom of cutting the lips is
becoming abandoned, and it is probable
that a decade will witness the young
men devoid of this ornamentation. The
women have longtitudiual stripes tat
tooed upon their chins, diverging from
a centre in slight curves. They also wear
bracelets of brass, iron, and copper wire.
The male style of wearing the hair is
somewhat like the tonsure of a monk, the
centre of the scalp being bare, while the
hair hangs over the fo ehcad apd ears
like fringe Hirsute appendages upon
the lace take the form of a few strag
gling hairs on the upper lip and chin,
and these are only seen on elderly per
sons. Women put their hair into pla ts
depending on either side, which are or
namented with long strings of small seed
beads obtained from traders. Deerskin,
squirrel, aud muskrat pelts are utilized
for clothing. Inner shirts of fawn-skin
and outer coats of summer deerskin, with
pants of similar material, are worn by
both males and females. The fair sex,
however, have their shirts cut round at
the bottom and wear trousers and boots
sewed into one piece, while the men’s
garments are similar in shape to ponchos,
their trousers coming only to the knee.
Deerskin socks, with tho hair turned iu
ward, with seal or deerskin boots having
seal-hide soles, comprise the footgear.
All the clothing is sewn with sinews
obtained from the deer’s legs aud back
and made up into thread. Three-cor
nered needles are used for sewing, these
being deemed the best for working upon
skins. Strips of wolf and wolverine hair
fringe the hood of the outside shirts,
which serve as a protection against the
icy blasts of the Winter winds. Fpon the
back portion of the outside shirt charms,
as protection against evil, are seen. These
consist of the skin of an ermine, a mink’s
tail, or a crow's head and beak, while a
belt with the tail of a ivolf or wolverine
depending at the back serves to confine
the shirt at the waist. Coats and trousers
of the latest San Francisco styles arc be
ing gradually introduced by the traders
among the people, but their use is con
fined to the summer months only. There
is no doubt that in course of time civi
lized clothing will be sought after bv
these mutes, as the skins which they
formerly utilized are disposed of in trade
and prices paid that excite their cupidity.
But owing to the rigor cf the winter sea
son, deerskin can never be entirely dis
placed. —Sun Francis:o
'■"'"Words of wisdom.
Cultivate forbearance till vour heart
y elds a fine crop of it. Pray for a short
memory as to all unkindness.
Life is kindled only by life, and the
highest form of living can only be called
into existence in a chii l by example.
We seldom condemn mankind till they
have injured us, and when they have, we
seldom do anything but detest them for
the injury.
He who decides in any case, without
hearing the other side of the question,
though he may determine justly, is not
therefore just.
The rage of people is like that of the
sen, which once breaking bounds over
flows a country with such suddenness
and violence as to leave no hope of flying.
To one who said: “I do not believe
there is an honest man in the world.’' an
other replied : “It is impossible that any
one man should know all the world, but
quite possible that one may know him
self.”
It is a great and noble thing to cover
the blemishes and to excuse the failings
of a friend; todraw a curtain before his
stains, and to display his perfections; to
bury his weakness in silence, but to pro
claim his virtues upon the housetop.
What is with the trea-ure must fare as
the*tveasure; the heart which haunts the
treasure-house where the moth and lust
corrupt, will itself be rusted and moth
eaten. Many a man, many a woman, fair
and flourishing to see. is going about
with a rusty, moth-eaten heart.
Enough is Never Obtained.
When Jeremiah P. Robinson died in
Brooklyn he left an estate whose value is
generally estimated at from $4,000,000
to $5,000,000. Long years ago when
Mr. Robinson was a young and driving
business man he had au ambition and
the ambition was to accumulate a for
tune of $50,000.
“When I get that much money,” he
said one day to one of his clerks, “then
I'm going to quit business right short
off and en joy J. he rest of my days in
ease.” And several years went by be
fore anything akin to the figure he had
fixed upon as satisi'actory was ap
proached; but the closer he got the less
he had to say about “$5u,000 being
enough for any sensible man.” One
New Year's Day he entertained his
clerk. “Will,” he said, “I’ve been
making an inventory of things this
morning, and I find that I am worth
something over $50,000.”
“Then you are going to go out of
business, I suppose,” the clerk re
marked.
“Do out of business! Why, man
alive, what are you talking about? Go
out of business! I have only begun; my
figure is $150,000; that's enough to sat
isfy any man, and more would be a bur
den. But $50,000 don't begin to look so
big when you get close to it as it does
when it is about $4”,000 off.” Neither
did $150,000 when it came look as biz as
it did once, and its possession wa- but
the incentive to more energy and bigger
enterprise. It is the same old fever—
enough is never what a mortal has.—
New York Times.
Discouraged at the Outset.
A stranger who was quietly looking
over a water-power in a Western village
was nought out by the Mayor, who sad:
“I hear you think of starting a
factory?”
“Yes.”
• It's a good pla e, and you'll find our
people all right. We don’t put on a
great amount of style, nor don’t aim to.
Here's a pair of suspenders I have won
for over forty years, though I'm worth
$60, 000.”
“Ah Fin!” muttered the stranger,
“but it wa- a suspender f ct ry I was
thinking to lo ate hero. Wo / s--rtet
News.
A QUEER CUSTOM.
THROWING RICE IN THE GRAVES
OF DEAD GERMANS.
Epicures From the Spirit Laml Who
Come to Earth to Drink
The Heart's Blood of
Their Friends,
“Talk of queer customs,” exclaimed
an old resident of the West Side the
other day, “but I beheld one of the
queerest proceedings the other day I
ever witnessed or heard of, and, what is
more, 1 got an explanation of it that is
still more wonderful. It was at the
funeral of a young aud respected German
citizen, whose parents have lived for
years over here on the West Side, and
have built in by their honest industry a
comfortable and happy home.
•‘Among the many mourners at the
funeral was a very feeble and decrepit old
man. i is long white hair fell in silvery
locks upon the collar of his old-fashioned
cloak and his dim eye aud wrinkled brow
bespoke great age He was an old fam
ily retainer and had been in the employ
of the grandfather of the deceased in the
old country. lie had emigrated to this
country with his family many years ago,
and had proveu au industrious and up
right c tizen. lie tottered feebly from
the mourners' carriage when it drew’ up
near the entrance to the grave yard, and
hobbled feebly alter the mournful pro
cession. le tiling heavily oil his staff. He
stood looking on with a quiet, almost
li-tless, air while the coffin was being
lowered into the deep, damp grave. The
earth was shoveled in, the green sod
tramped down smoothly over the dead
man's cold resting place, the funeral rites
were t'n shed, and the friends, and linally
the relatives, of the deceased, began to
take their departure, btill the old man
waited.
“At length the last friend had moved
away, and it looked to me as if the old
m n, stupefied by his grief and old age,
had not noticed that carriage after car
riage had broil eliivenaway and he must
be left behind. Suddenly, however,
when he found lie was alone, the ole] man,
after having first glanced cautiously
around him, drew from underneath the
folds of his cloak a long white wallet.
He rapidly undid the fastenings at the
opening and then, taking it by the bot
tom. emptied the contents over the grave.
A moment after he had hurried from the
grave-yard and had gained the last car
riage just as liis absence had been no
tice and. When they had driven away I
entered the lonely resting-p'ace of the
dead, and having satisfied myself that
there was no one pre ; ent to observe what
might seem mv undue curiosity, I went
over to the newlv-made grave and looked
down through the crushed and matted
grass. There, to my surprise. I found
that what had been scattered over the
grave by the old man was nothing more
nor less than a quantity of rice.
‘‘This incident filled me with curiosity,
and I often afterward puzzled my brain
as to what its meaning could be. At
last I found an explanation of it. Among
my acquaintances is a highly educated
and intelligent native of the ‘Vatcrland’
wffiose name I c m not now disclose. One
evening I related to him the story which
I -kiV£iU-sOft)V<t~ycw. lie wa#jt a bit
surprised and said, in reply, that the
custom was merely the outgrowth of
an old and at one time very general
German superstition, which, hocyever,
was rapidly dying out. ‘Some fifty
years ago,’ he said, ‘many of the peas
antry, aud even the middle classes,
believed that the bodies of the dead
sonic times arose from th ir noisome
tenements, and, repairing at the mid
night hour to their late residences, en
tered and drank the heart's blood even
of their dearest friends. This was said
to be a secret and gradual operation.
Sometimes the heart or other vital parts
were eaten away pieflem al, and so
slowly and gradually that not even the
victim knew what was wrong till past
mortal reiief, while the friends could
scarcely notice from day to day the grad
ual but steady sapping of energy and
life. Asa sort of charm, as well as a
means of appeasing this terrible hunger
of the dead, food was sometimes secretly
stowed away in the graves, and when
this pract'cc began to fall into disuse, it
was supplied by scattering a few grains
of rice or corn over the grave.’
“lie told me that when he was in Dies
dorf he sow pieces of coin put into the
mouths of the dead as a sure preventa
tive of these predatory excursions. Some
times the graves used to be opened, and
if the body w 7 as not too much decom
posed, the heart was taken out and
burned, and the ashes deposited in the
grave in an urn, as a species of propitia
tion or allaying of the unquiet spirit.
He assured me that Dr. Dyer, a promi
nent Chicago physician, informed him
about ten years ago that a case occurred
in the city within his personal knowl
edge, where the bod} 7 of a woman, who
had died of consumption, was exhumed
and her lungs burned in the b lief that
she was dragging after her into the
grave some of her surviving relatives.
These strange corpses are called by the
peasantry ‘NarVzeli ers,’ and the grave
of one of them may be discovered by lead
ing a black colt through the graveyard.
The animal will refuse to tread on the
‘Nachzcli/er’s’ grave.— Chicago yean.
What Ailed the Mule.
A bad litile boy lit a pack of shoot
ing-crack trs and threw them into the
street to see them ‘go off.’’ One of Ike
Bateman's mules came along and swal
lowed them before they went off. The
mule walked about fifteen feet and
stopped. Things wasn’t acting right
inside. lie began to taste the smoke of
fire-crackers. He laid his left ear around
against his ribs and heard something.
It was them fire crackers having fun.
The mule picked out about three hun
dred and a half miles of straight road
and start and. A man met him about a
mile the other side of the almshouse go
ing south, white with perspiration, with
streams of smoke shooting out of his
nostrils, mouth and ears, while his tail
stuck straight up. Ike found his mule
one morning tick ng half way through
a farm house, still smoking. The man
had got his famiiv out and put 'em into
a lot of tre s. Ike hauled his mule
home, when he got cool enough, on a
dray.— Tiia Sij lings.
The Snow Line.
On the northern slope of the Alps the
zone of perpet al snow reaches down to
about ■(.o 0 feet above sea-level, and on
the south s’de to about 8/00 feet. In
the Pyrenees the snow line is at a height
of about *,900 feet: in the Caucasus,
10,000 to 11. 000 feet, on the south side
of tic IJimalavas, 12,9-0 feet, and on
the north. I*’,'2o feet; at the equator,
in the Andes, 15/00 feet; in Bolivia,
I>-, 5 -.0 feet in the we-tern Cordilleras
and i-VSO in the eastern: in Mexico,
14.7 0 feet, n ( hili, near Santiago, 12,-
7! < feet; in Xorway, 5,000 feet in its
middle portion, and 2,300 feet at its
northern extremity; in Kamchatka,
5,200 feet; In Alaska, 5,500 feet,
SUNSET PICTURES..
At eve, when the day is dying
Adown in the clouded west,
I climb to my lonely garret,
Athirst for its peace and rest.
I look from my western window
Away to the sunset sky,
And watch, with a vague heart-aching,
Its pageantry glow and die.
From out of the deepening shadows,
And up through the rifts of gold,
Troop memory-ha unting faces.
And forms that were dear of old.
And the dismal years sweep backward
Their burden of woe and paiu,
Their heartaches and tears and partings,
And leave me my past again.
Oh, memory, treasure-laden!
If only your gates would close
To open no more, forever,
On our deep, heart-piercing woes—
-1 f only the glad and joyous
Might break from your magic train.
How many would hail you gladly
Who shriuk from you now in pain!
One face —Oh. the years of darkness
That lie ’twist its bloom and me!
Beams out of the falling shadows
That darken the sunset sea.
And the dear, bright eyes, all smiling,
Are bright as the sunset's gold!
Dear eyes! aud the sweet bauds beckon
Away to the Father's fold.
Another face so sweet and gentle,
With a serious, boyish grace,
Shines out of the flaming splendor,
Ah, this is my lost love’s face;
But it greets me now, as never.
Save out of some sunset sheen;
For years of rebellious grieving
Lie his and my face between.
I watch them with heartsick longing!—
These two—they were all my own!
And my life seems strangely blighted.
And joyless now they are gone.
But over the sunset borders,
Adowu by the jasper sea,
I shall some day find my chil Iren.
Awaiting and watching for me.
—Nellie iVatts Me Veil, in Current.
PITH AND POINT.
Strange as it may seem, when money
is close it is difficult to get very near it,
—Boston Post.
Patti's favorite color is red, but sho
also admires green. f-lie thinks tho
American banknote has such a lovely
shade.— Pack.
Teacher—“To what class of leather
does calfskin belong, 7 ” Pupil (son of a
village shoemaker) —“To the upper class,
sir. ” — Statesman.
A Chicago clergyman asks: “Can a
man be a Christian and at the same time
a successful business man?” He can if
he advertises largely.— Puck.
A fashion journal says there is a knack
in putting on gloves. Come to think of
it, that's so. You have to get your hands
in, as it were.— 1 \ Post.
The nineteenth century is marching on
apace, yet no man has been able to dis
cover how a woman can put thirty yards
of cloth into a winter suit. Call.
The rockers on a chair never stick out
half so far behind at any other time as
when a man is prowling around in tho
dark barefooted.— Danville Breen.
It is very difficult for a lady to enter
or leave a carriage properly. It re uires
practice and a carriage. The carriage is
the hardest part to acquire. —Puck.
A boy has been born in Kansas with
an eye in the back of his heed. When
he is old he will be able to look back on
his past career without turning around.
Customer (entering a notions shop and
pointing out an article; —“What is that
for?” Obliging clerk (continuing to
read a newspaper) —“That’s for sale.”—
Lowell Citizen.
“Miss do Jauns is a very self-possessed
young lady, isn't she?” replied Dickson.
“Why so? ’ “Because I have asked her
to be mine three times and she said ‘no’
each time.” —Merchant Tranl<r
It all depends upon one’s standpoint.
The snow comes down as light as feath
ers. But when you go out with your
shovel, you will find that the snow is
heavy enough. — Boston Transcript.
An unsatisfactory lesson: Father of
the small boy—“My son, it you had
three apples and should give me one,
how many would you have left?” Small
boy—“Betcher life I wouldn't do it.”—•
Boston Post.
Smith —“My wife wants anew dresa
every day in the year. Jones—“ She
must be awfully extravagant. Does she
get it?” Smith—“No; that is the reason
she is compelled to want it.”—Bingham
ton Republican.
Father —“You are a bad boy.” John
ny—“No, I ain’t.” “Yes you are, and
if you give me any more impudence I’ll
punish you severely. I’ll t il your si-ter
to play a tune on the piano for you.”
Johnny promised to behave himself
henceforth. — Siftings.
A fond father has a fair daughter at
boarding school. An old teacher of the
girl met the father and asked : “Is your
daughter making progress in her school
work?” “I should judge she is,” re
plied the fond father. “Why, she has
one grammar that cost sll.” — Buffalo
Frj>ress.
“Oconomowoc!” yelled the brakeman.
“O’Connor may walk, may he?” ex
claimed an Irishman at the other end of
the car. “An’ faith, if yes mane me,
me, you'll have a foine time makin’
O’Connor walk w-hen he’s paid foivo
dollars for this bit o’ pasteboard.”— St.
Paul Herald.
Miss Clara with a sigh —“Do you
know, Mr. Featherly, that for some un
known reason I feel very blue to-night?”
Mr. Featherly (anxious to say the proper
thing, but somewhat at a loss/—“Well—
er—Miss Clara, b ue, you know, is very
becoming to your complexion.”—Har
per'* Bazar.
The proprietor of a ‘ side show” to a
French circus announced as a “great at
traction” a horse whose head was located
where an ordinary animal's tail is looked
for. Having paid their admission fee
the spectators were ushered into a stall
where an aged quadruped was standing
with his caudal appendage in the manger.
—French Fun.
He was an ardent but economical lover,
and had been courting her tor three
months. “\\ hen do you think, dearest,”
he said, as they sat near the moonlit
window one evening, “that the moon ap
pears at its best?” “I think,” she re
plied, “that the moon always looks the
loveliest when one is retnrning home
from the opera.”— Puck.
Philadelphia is one of the great um
brella centres of the country. The
whole number made annually in the
l nited States is reckoned at 8,000,000,
or one to every six persons. Half a mil
lion are imported from France.
They call the tramp in Australia a
“sundowner,” because he always reaches
a cattle or sheep ranch at sundown, too
late for work.