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ME SPICER'S WEB:
*
..L-)OR,(=^-
Trapped on the Trail.
A Thrilling Romance of the
Silver Hills.
By MORRIS REDWING,
Author of "In the Shadow of the Scaffold,”
"Joella,” ‘‘Cripple of London,”
Etc.. Etc.
CHAPTER XX.—Continued*
'1 bis was news to the young man and
his detective friend. The outlaw seemed
sincere, and both his visitors believed he
was speaking the truth,
“What object could you have in holding
the girl a prisoner?” questioned Wallis
Wager, after a brief silence.
“A big object, young man. 1 know she
is an heiress. It is lack of money that has
made me what I am—an outcast from so
ciety and the world. I do not like bad
works, but necessity had led me into doing
wrong. I am willing to compromise; ac
cept a hundred thousand and emigrate to
the other side of the world—see?”
"We cannot compromise with crime,”
asserted Detective Gray, with a solemn
visage.
"Then what are you here for?” pertinent
ly demanded Burden Brono.
“I imagined we might find the mate to
this cuff-button that you have disfigured,”
said Wager.
“For what purpose?”
“It doesn’t matter just now. Will you
tell us where to find Iva Swayne?”
"For my freedom, and a guarantee that I
will not be molested fora given time, I will
produce the girl. ”
Little did (be outlaw suspect that he had
not the power to even tell wnere the girl
called Iva Swayne was at that moment.
“It would be impossible to make such a
promise or rather to fulfill it if made,” re
sumed the detective. “The people of Sil
versaud would make short work of you did
it become generally known that you had
been capturod. ”
“Why should they? 1 haven’t been long
enough in this region to gain a bad name.”
“I will tell you why, Durden Brono.
Many robberies have been committed in the
neighborhood, and your name has been
coupled with them during the past ten and lys.
I have heard it said that a vigilance com
mittee has been organized, how true it is I
cannot say, but ”
“Don’t continue the subject, it is painful
lo a gentleman of my standing,” inter
rupted Brono. “You and this Bob Banger
have come here to induce me to confess
that I murdered that old man up at Bog
T avern. I swear to you that lam guiltless
of that crime, and am willing to stand trial
if I can have a fair hearing, but Judge
Lynch isn’t a magistrate I caro to confront.
It will be for your interest, Banger, to see
to it that I am not harmed. I hope you
and the gentle and considerate Eagle will
use your influence to that end should
trouble seem likely to occur.”
"I can do nothing,” uttered Wager.
“Nor I,” from Eagle Gray.
The two men turned to leave the cell.
“Lookhere, gentlemen,” cried out Brono
sharply, “I want you to understand that if
vou permit the mob to take my life it will
>e the death of Iva Swayne as well. ”
I his announcement caused both men to
turn and face the outlaw once more.
Was he playing a game of bluff?
“1 understand what you think, gentle
men.’ pursued Brono, “but was nevermore
in earnest in my life. I thought it possible
when I left my friends that some mishap
might befall me, and so 1 left word with
the guard, a man of stern determination,
to shoot the girl if harm befell me—that is,
if my life was taken. There are friends
and spies of mine who will not be. long in
carrying the news to Tiger Tom, and he,
on receiving news of my death, wi 1 sacri
fice the maiden, heir to the Thornrift for
tune— see?”
“Man, do yon speak tha truth?” eiied
Wager, seizing the outlaw by the arm and
'luring at him fiercely.
“The solemn truth, youngster.”
"You are an immaculate scoundrel.’
"Don’t call pet •names, Bob Banger, but
help me out of this and I will serve you to
the end yon seek. ”
“ I cannot do that unless you tell me where
to find Iva.”
“I will not do that——”
“Enough! I will find her and see you
hung into the bargain,” and the young man
hunter turned to fo low his friend, who had
already passed into the hall.
“Let them go, growled the prisoner. “I
will yet escape and win the prize that has
unwittingly been thrown at my feet. I can
ruin more thau one man if I choose, and if
Ihe worst comes I will do it."
There was a gleam of white teeth from
under a tawny mustache at the last.
CHAPTER XXI.
WORK OF JUDGE RANCH.
Squads of men were moving swiftly down
the main street of Silversand. Surne of
them were eugiged in an excited talk, and
it was evident that something was afoot o;
unusual import.
Mallis Wager, who had speut the day in
a vain search for Iva Swayne, sat smokiug
in front of the Silver M ne when he caught
the sound of a name uttered by some m n
who were passing. It was a name th it < on
cerned him, and he at once sprang up and
followed the two who were moving at a leis
urely pace down the street.
“I don’t exactly approve of sich work.
Bill.”
“I do: it’s the only way to rid the coun
try of these scoundrelly thieves and out
laws. ”
“Who’s at the bottom of this?"
“I reekin' it’s the vigilantes."
“True, but the ringleader?”
"It’s a young feller from down country.
I heard him called Jerry Swayne.”
“Wal, ef there’s goin'to be fun let’s hurry
up and see it. ”
And then the two men increased their
steps almost to a run.
Wallis Wager followed rapidly.
He readily guessed that Burden Brono s
life was in danger, and that it might be
necessary to employ prompt measures for
the prisoner s safety. After going a short
distance the young man come to a halt.
The Sheriff ought to know of this con
templated raid on the jail.
His residence was near the latter build
ing, and he would doubtless be on the
ground when the lynchers assembled.
Eagle Gray was somewhere in the city, but
Wager bad been unable to fin ! him although
he had searched pretty thoroughly aft. r his
erturn from the hills, as he wished to con
sult with his detective friend on tLe Lest
mode of procedure in the future.
It was now the second night after the
capture of Burden Brono. Bright stars •
dottedfhe heavens, and a dead calm rested i
on the face of nature.
A shout in the dim distance caused Wallis ;
Wager to hasten his steps. He turned at !
length down a cross-street that led to the '
jail, and then numberless ligh’s Hashed on
nis vision, and the hoarse cry of many i
throats filled the air.
The young New-Yorker realized in aniu
itant the situation.
A mob surrounded the jail!
It seemed evident that Burden Brono,
the outlaw, was doomed. With a nameless
iread tugging at his heart Wallis Wager
•tarted at a quick run toward the scene of
commotion.
The young man remembered what Brono
uad said- that his doom meant death to Iva
Swayne. This thought ie :t wi gs to his
feet, and he was not longm gaining the vi
cinity of the city prison. He could not get
very near; it was unnecessary. The j usd
THE MONROE ADVERTISER: FORSYTH. GA„ TUESDAY. APRIL 12, 1887.—EIGHT PAGES.
lanimous jailer had tremblingly turned over
the keys and the mob was ;n possession of
the building.
The men immediately engaged in (he un
lawful work, some thirty in number, were
masked and carried lanterns.
In the prison yard was a tree—a mount
sin oak whose broad branches were to bear
forbidden fruit for one lime at least.
“Back! In the name of heavea what are
you about to do?” demanded Wager, as he
attempted to force his way into and through
the surging mass of humanity gthered
ibout the jail.
No answer was vouchsafed, and when the
voung man joined the inner circle he was
confronted by a startling picture—a sway
ing form, nay. two of them, under the
brunches of the oak!
The work had already been accomplished,
the lynchers were triumphant, and Burden
Bi ono and another had gone to the shore of
eternity unshrined. A weirdly dim light
from a score of lanterns was flung over the
scene. Masked faces, bearded and sa'.age,
surrounded the gallows, and the pallid
faces of the dead looked like images of
stone let down from above.
It was a dramatically horrible scene.
Nevertheless Wallis’Wager stepped bold
ly forward and stood at the side of one of
the victims, peering keenly into the pock
marked face.
There was no mistaking that countenance
—it was Burden Brono sure enough, and he
was quite dead. Wager realized that it was
now too late to remonstrate or to make
trouble. It was evident that Brono de
served his fate, but be had died with a se
■ret in his heart that the New-Yorker would
have given much to obtain.
Quietly Wallis Wager moved toward the
open door of the jail. A light glimmered
within, and unnoticed and unheeded the
young man made his way down the hall to
the cell door of the late Burden Brono.
The door stood open as it had been left by
the mob when they dragged the outlaw to
his doom.
Why he cared to investigate the narrow
-ell Wager did not know, but such a desire
possessed him suddenly, and he at once en
tered. The cell was In darkness, but Wager
was abundantly supplied with matches, and
one after another he scratched them and
examined the place thoroughly. His search
was not unrewarded. Under a smaU flat
stone that had been left projecting from the
floor in the corner behind the door a small
white object showed itself, which, on being
Irawn forth, proved to be a letter without
aame or date on tno outside.
Evidently it had been placed there by
tome one who had occupied the cell lately
—doubtless Burden Brono.
Tearing it open Wager drew forth and
opened several sheets of note-paper, which,
by the light of a match, he saw were well
filled with writing.
“The mob is coming—l know who leads
them. I don’t want this to f ill into the
hands of a Swayne—heaven grant justice
may ensue and the right one get this.”
This much was written hastily with a lead
pencil. Evidently it was Burden Brono
who had secreted the letter, and Wager
wondered how it had escaped the hands of
the officers who had searched Brono before
sending him to prison.
It may be that I shall find the truth re
garding the past written out here,” mut
tered Wager. “If so, my mission will not
fail of success on account of the death of
Burden Brono. ”
And then the souud of a step fell on the
ear of the New-Yorker.
He listened intently.
Someone paused at the open door of the
cell.
“This is the place. I found nothing on
the body, but I may be more successful
here,” muttered a low voice, and then the
steps were heard to cross the threshold and
enter the dark cell.
Steps were heard groping about in the
gloom. Of a sudden Wallis Wager struck
a match and held the blaze above his head.
“Inferno!”
This from the last intruder.
“Ha! scoundrel, this night’s crime is
your work,” hissed Wallis Wager, as he
bent forward and leered into the face of
Jerry Swayne, the innkeeper’s wicked son!
CHAPTER XXII.
“IT is the work of jerry swayne.”
On the instant that Wallis Wager uttered
these words Jerry Swayne grasped him,
and then a desperate struggle for the mas
tery ensued.
The innkeeper's son was strong as a bull,
but lazy, and the activity of Wager more
thau turned the odds in his favor. Both
men went down, with Wager beneath, but
the agile young New-Yorker turned and
came on top when the stone floor was
reached.
Then, to Wager’s great relief, he found
that his enemy lay quite still, having been
stunned by the fall.
Panting and almost winded, the young
man stood up aud listened. There were
yells and shouts outside, but no one
seemed to be in the jail building. Wager
was glad of this. He again bought matches
into use, and sent the glare of the flame
into the face of Jerry Swayne.
“He will soon recover,” muttered Wager.
“I’ll see if he has anything of importance
on his person.”
Quickly the hands of Wallis Wager were
at work. He found some papers and a
small book in the pockets of the fallen
man. On any other occasion Wager would
Lave hesitated about appropriating these,
but when so much was at stake he could
not hesitate.
Transferring the articles to his own
pocket, Wallis Wager rose to his feet and
turned from the cell.
He had little difficulty in making his way
outside, and escaped the crowd without
molestation. With all speed he hurried
his return to the Silver Mine.
In his own room, under the glow of a
gas jet, Wager examined the papers he had
obtained. First he went over the letter of
Burden Brono. His eye kindled, his bo
som heaved, aid there was a compression
of the lips as the young man read the reve
lation of a diabolical crime in which the
outlaw had acted a prominent and im
portant part.
When he had finished. Wager folded the
letter carefully and secreted it in an inside
pocket. Then he proceeded to examine
the papers he nad taken from the person of
Jerry Swayne.
They proved to be of little importance
after all. The book, a thin pamphlet, was
of the most importance, it being in the na
ture of a diary.
Wallis Wager opened it, and scanned the
ill-scrawled pages closely. There was no
revelation here of an important nature un
til the last entry was reached. This was
dated ten days in the past.
“I am hereon the mountain, six miles
from Silversand, dne north, I believe, and
some little distance to the right of the old
miner's trail. lam shook np bad, for Bur
den Brono, as he is called in this region,
attempted my life: but he failed, although
he imagines ne has killed me. I will show
him a game worth two of that. He has the
girl, Iva. a prisoner in the grove on this
plateau, and means to use her to enrich
himself; but he will get fooled on that, for
only one man guards the place, and I mean
to get even. Iva is my promised wife, and
I do not mean to give her np for outlaws or
anybody else, and that's wbat’s the matter.
■' He has gone to Silversand in disguise.
The man he imagines dead will soon be on
his trail and wreak vengeance. Iva. I’ll
meet you soon, in spite of men or devils. ”
Tbat was all.
It was enough. Wallis Wager started up
and began pacing the floor. His brain was
swiftly coining a plan to find and rescue
Ira from the clutches of the villams who
sought to build themselves up by accom
plishing her ruin.
" Where is Eagle Gray? I want to see him, ”
at length decided the young amateur de
tective.
The moment he came to this conclusion
he started te leave the room. As he opened
the door, he fou and himself face to face
with the man of his thoughts.
He at one. l drew the detective into his
room and closed the door.
"I hear bad news.” said the New York
detective. “Burden Brono is dead—hanged
bv a mob.”
“True; but the world is rid of a villain
of the deepest dye, ” answered Wager.
“And no one gets the reward,” groaned
Eagle Gray, dismally.
“And it wa? the reward you sought alone?”
Wallis Wager looked his surprise.
“Of coarse not, yon silly boy,” returned
the noted detective; “but I do not approve
of these indiscriminate hangings. Many
mysteries are thus shut from the world for
ever. An old man was knocked down, and
his house rifled of valuable jewels—dia
monds. I trailed the author of the deed to
the Silver Hills, and might have secured
the stolen diamonds had not the mob in
terfered with my work.”
“Was Burden Brono the thief?”
“Yes; he admitted it. and exhibited one
of the diamonds in proof when he had me
in his hands, and believed that I would not
live to expos • his villainy. Now his lips
are closed forever, and the precious jewels
may never be found.”
“What was their va’ue?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“A goodly sum. Help me to find Iva
Swayne and punish those who have plotted
for her ruin, and I will see that the price of
the diamonds is made goo 1."
“You?” in u surprised tone.
“Yes. I hope you will not return to New
York until that poor girl has her rights. ”
“No, I will not. To her 1 owe my life;
but I am not satisfied with the way this
Brono atlair has turned out. Who was at
the bottom of it?”
“Of the murder by the mob?”
“Y'es.”
“There could be but two persons who
would have aught to do with such a vde
deed—the Swaynes. Jerry was the leader
of the mob —a silent one, however—so that
it may be impossible to bring him to jus
tice. He seems to be like his father for
low cunning.”
“But v.hat motive could Jerry Swayne
have? Was Burden Brono an enemy?”
“Yes. Both were scheming to the same
end. Read i hat, ”
Wallis Wager placed Jerry’s diary in the
hand of his detective friend, pointing to
the last entry.
“Ah!”
That was all from the detective after he
had mentally digested the written page.
“What do you think of that. Eagle?”
“I think that the sooner we find Iva the
better it wiii bo for all concerne I.”
“And you will help me to find her?”
“Certainly.”
Then the New-1 ox. 11 Eagle Gray
how ho came into posse t of the diary,
but said nothing then about the letter left
in bis cell by the late Burden Brono.
“Of course,” concluded Wager, “Miss
Swayne is still in the mountains, unless
something has happened to her. She was
Brono’s prisoner, and you remember his
threat?”
“I do. We must hasten at once to the
bills. It is much like looking for a needle
in a haystack, however. If we only had a
guide ”
“There is Dusty Dan. He came in to
night, and thinks of laying off a week. Let
us secure his services; he surely knows
about all the roads and trails in this region.”
“I like your idea. We will see him.”
The two men repaired to the lower floor.
Dusty Dun was at one of the tables in the
card-room. When he hid finished his
game, he stepped aside with the two men
who had come for him.
“Ya-as. I mout do a little of the’sort of
work you want,” grunted the teamster.
“Can you follow a trail to-night?” ques
tioned the eager Walls Wager.
“No, I wouldn't undertake it; but we kiu
set out at the break o' day ana make good
time. I know all about the trail ’at leads
to the deserted mines, but I’ve heerd it
wasn't jest a safe place to travel sense
Brono and them like him got to ha’ntin’ the
hills. ”
Inwardly chafing, Wallis Wager waited
as best he could for the dawning of anew
day.
[To be Continued. 7
A Prominent Ameucau Poetess.
The New York World prints a portrait
and sketch of the life of Ella Wheeler
Wilcox, the Wisconsin poetess, now of
Connecticut, whose numerous poetical
effusions have made her name familiar to
newspaper and magazine readers in every
nook and corner of the country. Mrs.
Wilcox resides with her husband in
Meriden, Conn. Speaking of her early
poetical efforts Mrs. Wilcox said to the
World interviewer, in response to his
question when she first began to write:
“Oh, when a child; look at this,” and
I beheld a tiny book made of pieces of
wall paper, while one side of each leaf
was covered with childish printed letters.
“I printed that before I was old enough
to learn to write. I was a very small
child. I used to sit on my mother's lap
while she read to me the poems and
stories that gave me my first love of
writing.” How Mrs. Wilcox sent her
poems both East and West, anywhere, to
have them published, without remunera
tion; how she gradually heard them
spoken of, quoted, and felt they had
made for her a reputation; how she finally
received a cheak for her work; how her
income began to increase from these
writings, are now well known by all the
lovers of her poems.
Enforcing the Ctnadian Fishery Laws.
ij|||P&
Canadian Officer — -Back, back. I
say. in the Queen s name! Y’ou are not
allowed to cr ss into the American
waters. — Judoe.
Joseph O'Brien, of Cleveland, says
that he once examined a swallow’s ne.st.
in which were two young birds. Around
i ' ;iu leg of one of them horsehair had
been closely wound. Mr. O’Brien re
moved the hair and found that the leg
had been broken. He thinks that this
was a genuine case of bird surgery.
THE CATACOMBS.
A VISIT TO THF. VAST CEMETER
IES BENEATH PARIS.
The Bones of Millions of Human Be
ings Lying Exposed in This
Veritable City of
the Dead.
There is one among the many interest
ing sights of Paris which the tourist rare
ly sees, and yet it is the most curious of
them all. Avery wide area of the south
side of the city is undermined, as
most people know, by the excavations car- ;
ried on there for more thau 200 years.
From these quarries were obtained the
peculiar white stone of which so many
Parisian houses are built, and during the
period that they continued to be worked
the output is estimated to have reached a
total of eleven million of cubic metres.
Operations had at last to be closed when
it became evident, from many warnings,
that the surface of the undermined dis- j
tricts, extended to more than three mill- j
ions of square yards—fully a tenth of the
total superficies of the modern city— ;
threatened to give wav, and at the same
time the whole of the excavated section
was placed under scientific supervision.
The Parisians, in the early days of
their city, buried their dead, in accord
ance with the custom of the Romans,
beyond the walls, and by the sides of the
high roads. Later on interments took
filace in churches, or in ground adjoin
ng; but the spreading city soon inclosed
these within its limits, so that when a
decree forbidding burial within cities or
towns, was issued in 1770, Paris was per
haps better supplied with intra-mural
cemeteries than any city in the world.
The dead were not left long after this in
possession of their abodes, for the land
they occupied was needed to support
homes for the living, and grew in value
every year.
When it was deemed advisable for the
general welfare to remove these large and
numerous cemeteries from the centre of
thickly populated districts the quarries
were proposed as a fitting place for the
disposal of the exhumed remains. The
most suitable and least moist part of these
gigantic caverns having been selected and
walled off, the bones of countless dead,
relics of heaven only knows how many
generations, were removed from the
graves in which they had long rested
calmly and were transported—always at
night, the way lighted by torches—to
their new abode.
Processions of priests in full canonicals
escorted them, and the funeral service
was chanted as the remains were lowered
through a shaft from hearses that had
been specially constructed for the occa
sion. It was calculated that the relics of
at least three millions of human beings
were thus transferred. The decree of the
Senate converting the quarries into a vast
ossuary was issued in 1784, but two years
elapsed before the removals were com
menced. No effort was made to dispose
the relics in any regular order. The con
tents of the different graveyards were
kept apart and were marked accordingly,
but beyond this all the bones were hud
dled together in indistinguishable con
fusion.
It was not until 1810, when the guard
ianship of the excavations of Southern
Paris was intrusted to M. de Thury, that
any attempt was made at classifying, if
such an expression may be used, the
heterogeneous masses of human remains
thus heaped together. Huge pillars were
built for the purpose of support, and sev
eral winding stairs leading to the surface
above were hewn out of the solid stone;
the walls were repaired and spacious pas
sages opened communicating with the dif
ferent galleries of the quarries. The bones
were carefully separated according to the
various cemeteries, and then the singular
idea seems to have occurred to M. de
Thury of forming here below a city of the
dead, for be constructed a labyrinth of
streets in these excavations which corre
spond exactly in length and direction
with the streets of the living overhead.
Once or twice a month the city engine
ers inspect the quarries, examining more,
particularly the condition of the enormous
stone pillars. On such occasions a
limited number of persons are allowed to
visit the catacombs in the wake of those
officials, and permission is obtained by
writing to the Prefet de la Seine, at the
Hotel de Ville, where the letter often lies
for six months before a ticket is sent in
reply to it, but when it does arrive it is
available for a party of five.
There are several entrances or shafts to
these subterranean galleries. The ticket
of admission warns you to come provided
with candles, and on your arrival at the
gate you find several itinerant chandlers,
who are driving a roaring trade in the
cheap composites, which are the reverse
of dropless, as you discover to your cost
later on. The visitors descend in batches
of ten or twelve, and must go one by one,
slowly enough.
You light your candle and descend
ninety winding steps of solid stone and find
yourself on the threshold of this veritable
city of the dead. Arrived on level
ground, you walk a little way through
narrow passages cut in soft, white stone,
the arched roofs of which are little higher
than yourself, and on which is marked
the name of the street above, with which
its direction corresponds. Other passages,
across which chains are drawn, intersect
or branch off from these, and stretch
away into the depths of utter darkness —
darkness visible. A few steps further and
you are at the gate of the ossuary. It is
perfectly plain, but massive, and' painted
black. Strange and impressive in the ex
treme is the gallery to which it leads. It
is neither broad nor lofty. Probably
twenty persons could walk abreast in it
and the ceiling is not higher than that of
an ordinay room. It is in complete dark
ness, except that at the further end, which
is curved, thus adding to its apparent ex
tent, the flickering lights carried by the
batch of visitors who preceded you serve
to reveal a faint but sufficiently distinct
outline of its peculiar features.
The candles of your own party disclose
clearly enough the objects closer to you.
The walls are formed of bones, human
bones, piled together, apparently with the
greatest regard to ghastly effect, but in
the most perfect order and regularity.
The leg and arm bones, with the joints
outward, form the chief components of
this curious fence, and three rows of
skulls packed closely together, each row
about a foot and a half apart, add almost
an ornamental finish to it. These walls
are generally about six feet high, though
in some places lower, and between them
and the stone sides of the galleries are
piled up in a confused heap all the
smaller bones of the human frame. The
lugubrious effect instantaneously pro
duced by this sombre chamber, lit in so
funereal a manner by a few dozen can
dles. waving like tiny torches in the
hands of their bearers, is one not to be
forgotten, and the thoughts that must
rush unbidden across the most trivial
mind in such a spot cannot be other than
suggestive of the transient nature of those
essences which constitute the chief
charms of the worid overhead.
• -fc
Devices of a religious character, formed
with skulls or with arm and leg bones,
ornament in singular fashion the sides of
the gallery, but no perfect skeleton i- to
be seen. On a bench are shown a few
broken bones which had rekuit. Many
recesses are shaped into miniature chapels,
with altars and crosses, all of skulls or
bones. Small white marble slabs with
inscriptions from holy writ or profane
authors, mostly in French, though several
of the latter are in Latin, relieve at fre
quent intervals, the brown monotony of
the walls.
Marble crosses also indicate the exact
spot where the contents of each of the
cemeteries begin and end and are marked
with the dates at which interments had
commenced and finished in them, while
in a few instances an unpretending tablet
is inscribed to the memory of the victims
of some popular emeute.
Rather more than half an hour i- spent
in passing quickly through this labyrinth.
Its passes are so winding and complicated
that it would be impossible to form a just
idea of the extent of ground which it oc
cupies; but on again emerging into sun
light we found ourselves about half a
mile from the old octroi house, from the
yard of which we had descended. The
walks throughout were all dry and well
graveled, and there was little, if any. dis
agreeable odor.— Xeir York Herald.
Left-Handed ness.
Dr. Daniel Wilson, president, of the
Royal Society of Canada, has lately con
tributed a paper to the proceedings of
that society on the subject of left-handed
ness. He reviews the various causes to
which the general preference of the right
hand has been ascribed, and also those to
which the occasional cases of left-handed
ness are attributed, and finds them mostly
unsatisfactory. He shows clearly that the
preferential use of the right hand i- not
to be ascribed entirely to early training.
On the contrary, in many instances, where
parents have tied up the left hand of a
child to overcome the persistent prefer
ence for its use, the attempt has proved
futile. He concludes that the general
practice is probably due to tlie superior
development of the left lobe of the brain,
which, as is well-known, is connected
with the right side of the body. This
view, as lie shows, was originally sug
gested by the eminent anatomist, Pro
fessor Gratiolet. The author adopts and
maintains it with much force, and adds
the correlative view that “left-hancled
ness is due to an exceptional develop
ment of the right hemisphere of the
brain.”
A careful review of the evidence gives
strong reason for believing that what is
now the cause of the preference for the
right hand was originally an effect.
Neither the apes nor any others of the
lower animals show a similar inclination
for the special use of the right limbs.
It is a purely human attribute, and
probably arose gradually from the
use, by the earliest races of men,
of the right arm in fighting,
while the left arm was reserved to cover
the left side of tin* body, where wounds,
as their experience showed, were most
dangerous. Those who neglected this
precaution would be most likely to be
killed; and hence, in the lapse of time,
the natural survival would make the hu
man race in general “right-handed,”
with occasional reversions, of course, by
“atavism,” to be left-handed, or, more
properly, the ambi-dextrous condition.
The more frequent and energetic use of
the right limbs would, of course, react
upon the brain, and bring about the ex
cessive development of the left lobe, such
as now generally obtains.
The conclusions from this course of
reasoning arc very important. Through
the effect of the irregular and abnormal
development which has descended to us
from our bellicose ancestors, one lobe of
our brains and one side of our bodies are
left in a neglected and weakened condi
tion. The evidence which Dr. Wilson
produces of the injury resulting from this
cause is very striking. In the majority
of cases the defect, though it cannot be
wholly overcome, may be in great part
cured by early training, which will
strengthen at once both the body and
the mind. “Whenever,” he writes, “the
early and persistent cultivation of the full
use of both hands has been accomplished,
the result is greater efficiency,‘without
any corresponding awkwardness or de
fect. ” — Science.
A Paradise for Tramps.
The Karg gas-well was discovered in
Findlay, Ohio, about fifty miles south of
Toledo, on January 20, IHSO. The gas
was conducted forty-eight feet above the
ground, through a six-inch iron pipe,
and when lighted the flame rose from
twenty to thirty feet above the pipe. It
is difficult to exaggerate the magnificent
and impressive effect of this burning well
at night. The noise of the escaping gas
is like the ronr of Niagara. The whole
town is brightly illumniated by the light
of the flame.
When I made my visit to the well, one
evening in February. 1880, snow covered
the ground to the depth of three or four
inches; but for a distance of two hundred
yards in every direction, the heat of the
flame had melted the snow from the
ground, arid the grass and weeds had
grown two or three inches in height. The
crickets also seemed to have mistaken the
season of the year, for they were enliven
ing the night with their cheerful song.
The neighborhood of the well was also
a paradise for tramps. I noticed one who
lay soundly sleeping with his head in a
barrel, and the rest of his body project
ing outward to receive the genial warmth
from the flame high up in the air above.
Cold as it was all around, he slept in per
fect comfort upon the turf and in the open
air. There was no danger of his suffer
within that charmed circle.— St. Nicholas.
!
Scene in the Persian Palace.
The Zil-es-Sultau is the favorite son of
the Shah of Persia. He is thirty-five,
| short, and of athletic build,is a fine shot,
and is a leader of Persian fashions. The
London St. Jo me* * Gazette thus describes
a domestic scene: "The room is purpose
ly darkened. There sits the Prince, -up
| ported by cushions, on a mattress. lie
I is evidently out of sorts; his hakimbashi
is feeling his pulse. The Governor of
I Yezd. formerly his favorite personal at
j tendant, is kneading one knee, the Gov
| ernor of Bonat is gently rubbing the otli
; er. Two attendants are softly pommel-
I ing the princely feet, while the chief bar
ber, an important personage, is carefully
1 and scientifically shampooing the back of
i his neck. Mirza Reza. the Prince's con
j fidential valet, a man who has been Gov
| ernor of Fussa under bis Royal Highness,
l is reading poetry. Evidently the Prince
|is in pain. ‘Rub, rub. he cries. ‘Ah!
with a sigh of relief, ‘that is good —that
is very good!' The chief barber, whose
j clever shampooing has earned thi- praise,
’ smiles with pleasure. 'Mirza Reza. Mirza
1 Reza Khan!' This is shouted, and the
; cotitidental valet stops his monotonous
poetrv. ‘Let our chief barber have our
! fur-lined cloak —the red one.' The de
i lighted barber, who is to receive a gift
worth £3O, stops to thank the Prince.
•Rub, rascal, rub.' is the rely.”
QUEER DISHES.
ODD ARTICLES OF FOOD MORE
OR LESS PALATABLE.
Edible Ants and Beetles—Persian
Dinners—Bird’s Nest Soup—Polish
Dishes Macaroni-Makers—
Eating Mice and Donkeys.
Larva' of auts are considered by many
people a choice relish when spread upon
bread and butter, and are said to be ex
cellent curried. In Siam they are highly
esteemed, and are so valuable as to be
within the reach of only the rich. In
some parts of Africa, where ants swarm,
they are said to form at times a consider
able portion of the food supply. The
eggs of insects belonging to a group of
aquatic beetles are made in Mexico into a
kind of bread or cake called hautle, which
is eaten by the people, and may be found
in the markets. They are got by means
of bundles of reeds or rushes, which are
put in the water, on which they are de
posited by the insects. When cooked in
cakes they are said to look and taste
something like fish-roe. The London
Standard once published this seductive
recipe for cooking black beetles: "Catch
your beetles in a soup-plate filled with
vinegar, and keep them soaking for six
hours. Then turn the beetles out and
dry them in the sun for at least two
hours, when the outer shell can be easily
removed, the flesh then resembling that
of a shrimp; to be put into a gallipot and
mixed up with flour, butter, pepper and
salt, to a thick paste; stew in the oven
for two hours, and when cold serve with
bread and butter.
In Persia every one front the lving
down rises at six o'clock in the morning.
They then partake of a cup of tea and
some bread. Tea is a very important
article of diet, and the tea-urn is nearly
always busy. No milk is used, but they
sweeten the tea almost to the consistency
of syrup. Persian dinners are always
preceded by pipes (hubble-bubbles), while
tea and sweets are handed around. Then
servants bring in a long leathern sheet
and place it on the ground; the guests
take their seats around it, squatting on
the ground. A fiat loaf of bread is placed
before each man. Music plays. The din
ner is brought in on trays and placed on
the ground on the leathern sheet; the
covers are removed; the host says “Biss
millah” ("in the name of God"), and in
silence all fall to with their fingers. In
the south of Persia dates are the staple
food; they are very cheap and satisfying.
During the summer lettuce, grapes, apri
cots,onions and cucumbers form the dain
ties of the villager; and these, with bread,
cheese and curds, are their only food. In
every large town cook-shops abound. But
in Persia, as in the rest of the East, bread,
rice or dates are the real food—the meat
merely sauce or bonne Douche. Persians
of all ages are very fond of confectionery,
and are constantly devouring sweets.
The lower-class Persian will eat several
pounds of grapes, cucumbers or apricots
for a meal. They eat onions as we eat
apples.
The famous bird’s-nest soup, beloved
of the Chinese gourmet, is made of the
nest of a bird that is a native of Ceylon
and of the Malay region, and it builds in
caves and on clilfs where ordinary nest
material is scanty. Moreover it is a con
firmed high-fiver, seeming always dis
posed to avoid the ground. The best and
cleanest nests, which fetch the highest
price, are composed of pure mucus from
the salivary glands. The material in its
hardened state is brittle, fibrous, white
and transparent, “very like pure gum
arabie, or even glass;" and the inner lin
ing consists of nothing but small soft
feathers. Inferior nests, which command
a smaller price in the Chinese market, are
composed in part of dry grasses, hair and
down, welded together by the fibrous
gummy secretion. In short, as Mr. Dar
win bluntly puts it: “The Chinese make
soup of dried saliva.” In shape the nests
are much like hanging pouches.
A traveler giving some account of the
favorite dishes and the people of Poland
writes: “ In the first place there is bigos.
a kind of stew, prepared with pork sau
sages,sauerkraut. ham and bacon, wrapped
tightly in a napkin and boiled for two
hours. Their favorite soup is called bas
zoz, made out of beef bouilon, in which
slices of red beet root are boiled. Kapus
niak, another national soup, is made of
sauerkraut and bacon boiled in beef soup.
Ucha is a Russian soup, but, nevertheless,
much appreciated in the oppressed coun
try. A fish soup it is, prepared from
sterlets. The sterlet is also much used,
in conjunction with the flesh of the stur
geon, in the preparation of an excellent
pie call kulibiaga."
The 10th of August is the day in the
calendar dedicated to San Lorenzo, the
saint who figures in the pictures of “old
masters,” holding fast to his gridiron,
and in death has become the patron saint
of the macaroni makers. It is said that
there is not a macaroni shop in Florence,
Italy, that is not on that day decorated
in the most marvelous of fashions. In
geniously-twisted columns of the raw ar
ticle support little pavilions of another
variety, from which hang deep fringes of
vermicelli, tied with scarlet ribbon or
mingled with dried grasses and wild
flowers, as suits the taste of the owner of
the shop.
Frank Buckland, the English natural
ist, when at school was noted for catch
ing and eating field mice, which taste he
communicated to some comrades. The
boys went hunting the mice before break
fast, and were sometimes fearfully hun
gry. The mice were skinned, a bit of
stick was run them, and they were roasted
over a fire of sticks collected from a
neighboring fence. “A roast field mouse,”
he declares, “not a house mouse, is
splendid bonne bouche for a hungry boy;
it eats like a lark.”
Wild donkeys are very plentifnl in
Northern Afghanistan, and they are oc
casionally shot and eaten. An officer of
the English boundary commission count
ed sixteen large herds of wild donkeys
in sight at one time. Henry Labouchere,
editor of the Truth, who was in Paris
during the siege, remarked: “Donkey
is delicious eating. This was so soon
realized during the siege of Paris by be
leaguered epicures that the price of
donkey was about five times that of
horse.”— Pittsburg Commercial Gazette.
Life in the Northwest.
Dakotan—“ Husband home. Mrs. Bur
gess?’’
Mrs. Burgess—“No, but I expect he
will be in a day or two. We're going to
have a thaw, you know.”
Dakotan —“Where is John?”
Mrs. Burgess—“ Over in that second
snow-drift yonder. I sent him on an er
rand two weeks ago, and that was all the
far he £ot. Poor man! I shouldn't
wonder if he’d begun to get discouraged
by this time.' - — lid-Bit*.
WORDS OF WISDOM.
Thought is invisible nature—nature is
invisible thought.
Unless the habit leads to happiness, the
best habit is to contract none.
The noontide sun is dark, and music
discord, when the heart is low.
Pleasure is the flower that fades; re
membrance is the lasting perfume.
Pleasure must first have the warrant
that it is without sin; then, the measure,
that it is without excess.
You find yourself refreshed by the
presence of cheerful people. Why not
make earnest effort to confer that pleasure
on others ?
There cannot be a more worthy im
provement of friendship than in a fervent
opposition to the sins of those whom we
profess to love.
Every generous illusion adds a w rinkle
in vanishing. Experience is the succcs
sive disenchantment of the things of life.
It is reason enriched by the spoils of the
heart.
Homes arc like harps, of which one i
finely carved and bright with gilding,but
ill-tuned, and jarring the air w ith itsdis
cords; while another is old and plain and
worn, but from its cords float strains that
are a feast of music.
Learn from the earliest days to inure
your principles against the perils of ridi
cule; you can no more exercise your rea
son if you live in the constant dread of
laughter than you can enjoy your life if
you are in the constant terror of death.
In ourselves, rather than in material
nature, lie the true source and life of the
j good and beautiful. The human soul is
the sun which diffuses light on every side,
investing creation with its lovely hues,
and calling forth the poetic element that
lies hidden in every existing thing.
Our powers are limited. Xo one ever
saw the whole of anything, however
simple it may appear; and the more com
plex the object, the smaller the fraction
that w e behold. If we but realize this
fully it will go far toward dispelling
prejudice and broadening our outlook.
Mexican Scorpions.
The most common pests in Mexico are
the alcarans or scorpions, for during cer
tain seasons of the year they are as nu
merous as flies around a sugar house.
They are within the cracks of the wall,
between bricks of the tiles of the floor,
hiding inside your garments, darting
everywhere with inconceivable rapidity
their tails which sting, ready to fly up
with dangerous effect upon the slightest
provocation. Turn up a corner of the
rug or table spread and you disturb a
flourishing colony of them; shake your
shoes in the morning, and out they flop:
throw your bath sponge into the water,
and half a dozen of them dart out of it
cool depths.into which they had wiggled
fora siesta; in short, every article you
touch must be treated like a dose of med
icine-—“to be well shaken before taken.”
The average scorpion is mahogany-hued
and about two inches long; but I have
seen them as long its five inches. The
small, yellowish variety are considered
most dangerous, and their bite is most
apprehended at midday. In Durango
they are black and so alarmingly numer
ous—having been allowed to breed for
centuries in the deserted mines—that the
Government offers a reward per head (or
rather per tail) to whoever will kill them.
Their sting is seldom fatal, but it ismor<
or less severe, according to the state of
the system. Victims have been known
to remain for days in convulsions, foam
ing at the mouth, with stomach swelled
as in dropsy; while others do not suffer
much more than from a bee sting. The
common remedies are brandy, taken in
sufficient quantities to stupefy the pa
tient, ammonia, administered both exter
nally and internally, boiled silk and gua
iacum. It is also of use to press a large
key or other tube on the wound to force
out part of the poison.— Boston Tran
script.
The Human Melodeon.
First let the leader, or the organist
(who should be somew hat of a musician),
select, to represent the notes of the scale,
eight girls or boys, who must be suffi
ciently musical to sing and to remember
the notes assigned to them. The organist
playes on their heads as they kneel iu a
row, exactly as if they w ere the notes of
a piano, except that to the audience, the
scale appears reversed. But this is to
have it in the right order for the organ
ist The tunes selected must obviously
be in the key of C, with no sharps or flats.
As each head is struck with the mallet,
the person indicated must sing his or her
note in a short staccato way, using the
syllable la. If the head is struck twice
the note must be repeated in exactly the
same way. The hymn tune “Antioch” is
an excellent one wfith which to begin.
The organist strikes the head of upper C
at the right, then B, then A. then quickly
G, then F E, D, €, then G. A, A again,
B. B again, C, and so on. For con
venience, as the cards bearing the letters
face the audience, not the organist, the
tunes can be written in the human melo
deon notation. Instead of the notes, are
w ritten the names of the performers—Sue,
Hatty, Jane, Sally, Tom, Frank, Mary,
George, or whatever they are. “The
Last Rose of Summer,” beginning on
lower C, rig a jig jig on G, and “Hush
My Dear Lie Still and Slumber,” on E,
can also be played. The simple sounds
already described represent the vox hu
mana stops. The tremolo is made by
striking the mouth rapidly two or three
times with the open hand as the note is
sung.— St. Nicholas.
A Chinese Theatre Orchestra.
The orchestra is usually composed of
j seven musicians, who sit at the l>aek of
the stage and play without much inter
mission from the beginning to the end of
the performance. The leading instru
ments are the fiddle, the cymbals, the
! gong and the drum. The fiddle tyran
nizes over the rest of the music, and rises
superior even to the clash of the cymbals.
It has only a single string, and the note
evolved from it pierce the ear like a knife.
The man that performs upon the fiddle
alternates with the cymbals, while his
next neighbor beats, in rhythmical meas
ure, on a huge brazen gong which is pen
dent from the ceiling. The other per
formers play upon drums, one of metal
and the other of polished wood. The
music is said to bear a striking resem
blance to that of the Egyptians. It is all
in the minor key, and from a distance ir
has a weird and melancholy sound. Heard
near at hand, however, it has a tendency
to produce headache and to rasp the
nerves.
To March.
Hail to thee, thou harbinger of spring!
Thermometer at forty, and still rising:
The early budlet—pretty, trustful thing!—
Puts forth a petal, experience despising.
Enter now, O March, and sounding thro’ the
street.
Let mortals loud rejoice in listening to thy
bleat:
Do, for the nonce, let rule and proverb slide,
And like the roaring hen, don t subside
I —Life.