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THE SUNNY SOUTH
i
NINTH PAGE
'if
Birds-Nesting
By H B MJfRRiOTT.WJtTSOAf
i rCa " hed AHne ’ Who had discovered
,t> for the events, they (a ii nnet - s nest wjth
wer* the direct and imm e - j was n lim i tab , e
diate outcome of that tem- [ ,. T „ . ,
Just pijjt in your hand and feel
eggs, and her joy
pestuous and careless tom- j
hoy. Aline, and, in a way,
1 think I may say* a!' Miss
Dfeighton’s imprudence.
You see, she should have
known her sex better. I
assume that she also was
once as Aline, and not so
long ago. I never was,
and could not be expected
Nevertheless, I did have
Perhaps, 1 ought to have
ted .them to—but, in any case.
Jl-
13
S.
id
*4
i-
tej
»n
to know,
misgivings
ccmmunica
jjow was 1 to guess?
jliss Deighton received the suggestion
otiite affably; she extended to it her
smiling patronage. It would be rather
“nice to go bird’s nesting.” It was a
fine May day, and it seemed creditable
tc follow up 'the spring in that jocund
and irresponsible way. That was how
;t appealed t© me also. I "hud torn
my clothes and jagged my flesh, ah,
finw many years ago, in w’oods like
ti.ese! It did seem inviting, coming as
it did from frank and frivolous Aline,
aged 14, and promising such exquisite
company. Miss Deighton wore what in
n y part of the country we call a “lay-
lock” muslin. She was slim and pliant
I should have said; but she had the
air of repose which engrosses beauty
on a glnd day. The sun shone on her
fineness, and I rejoiced that the plan
had been broached. The trouble really
started when we entered the park, though
ne beginnings were small. You can go
through a heavy gate, or you can cross
a stile into the park. Miss Deighton
arc 1 1 thought the gate was locked,
and so we mounted the stile. At least,
she did. and, pausing, looked back on the
green of the valley.
“How beautiful!” said she, in a medi
tative voice
"Charming,” I assented, my eyes drift
ing witli hers. It must have been just
then that Aline discovered the gate
was not locked; but we did not notice
her or it, as we were exchanging some
farciful thoughts about the view. Miss
Lt ighton gracefully b ut not to ° securely
stated on the gate-post. My gaze was
tie first to leave the prospect and come
about. Aline had pulled back the
gate to its utmost limit, and now, in
full sail, was gathering force as she
swung, sweeping home like a circus. The
cumbrous gate creaked into its place,
I gave a cry, and Miss Deighton went
backward.
I caught her just in time, as you
may gather when I say that one of
her feet took me on the chin. She was
inffled and red. and a little scared, when
siu came to the perpendicular again.
“Aline!’’ she cried, angrily. “What on
earth—?”
"Sorry,” said the tomboy, frankly, and
ner penitence disarmed further.criticism.
“Thank you so much,” said Miss
Deighton .to mo, graciously. I helped
her to the ground, and we resumed
our way, hut the thread of that ad
mirable companionship I had been en
joying had been broken. Aline recover
ed in about two minutes; at least, she
was babbling of linnets before wc had
gjne a hundred yards.
"I know where there's an owl's, but
it s hard .to get at,” she remarked, pen
sively.
“Perhaps, I could reach it? I suggest
ed. gallantly.
Aline regarded me dubiously. You
rlont’ look as if— But. perhaps, jou
could,” she amended, hopefully. “B s
over a pool, and you have to creep put
cn rather rotten branches.”
To say the truth, this did not sound
inviting. 1 wondered if 1 had enjoyed
such things when 1 was a boy, and
why Miss Deighton’s discomposure
lasted until we emerged on the heath
with its blaze of furze bloom.
“How heavenly!” she said, with her
eves toward the distant hi.ll.s that barred
the sea. It was. heavenly, and by her
side I acquiesced. We were recalled to
earth by Aline’* excited squeal.
“I've found one, only there's no eggs
in it, and oh, there must be just noz-
•ns, Mr. Frobisher!” she ran on. almost
in one w«5d. .,
Her hands were scratched, but she paid
no heed, and we picked our way toward
her. As 1 went, a little in advance, 1
heard an exclamation of annoyance be
hind me, and guessed that Miss Deigh
ton was in distress.
”1 hope you haven't—” _
"Oh, it's nothing!" said she, impa-
rently. "If one is so stupid as to under-
t: ke this sort of thing, one must put
up with—”
T suppose the gorse bothered 1 “ r - . I
j tnem. Miss Deighton,” she pleaded.
Do just the tips of your fingers!”
Miss Deighton amiably obeyed, and
drew her hand away with another in
terjection. I suppose it was the gorse
again.
“I really think we'd better be get
ting out of this.” she said to me, in R
sort of appeal, looking helplessly round
on the furze. I picked up two small
branches which were following on her
skirt.
"You can get out jus.: down there,”
Aline assured us. “There's a path theri
and there are sure to be lots more lin
nets' nests.”
I don’t think Miss Deighton cared
about the linnets’ nests, but she did care
about the path, and we pushed our way
toward it. The ground was very un
even, and we stumbled several times
Also tbe furze was very thick. I heard
my name, and found Miss Deighton
looking at mo pathetically over a huge,
spreading bush. "What am I to do?"
she asked, weakly. I guided her round
i.... . took two more “followers” off her
dress, and pulled her., out of a. hole
into which she floundered.
“This is dreadful!” she complained,
gasping. “Aline, wherever is the path?”
Aline, at a distance, ceased her ex
ploration in the furze to consider.
"Oh, 1 forgot! This isn't the place.”
she said, cheerfully. “This leads to the
gravel pits ”
“Gravel pits!” said Miss Deighton, in
dismay.
"Yes. Look out! They're somewhere
there, where you are. Take rare you
don.;' go over the edge. It's hidden
by the gorse.”
Miss Deighton gave a cry of consterna
tion and alarm.
“Don't leave me. please,” she said.
“This is abominable of Aline, and
I’ll—’*
“You can get through that patch of
'Wood if you like,' ’called out the tom
boy, interrupting. “That’s the shortest
way .through the gorse.”
it seemed so, judged by the eye, and
Miss Deighton and I picked our way
painfully toward it. short-skir.cd Aline
following at her leisure, and with in
difference to us and to her legs. I be
lieve the wretch was still looking for
nests.
"How many thorns, on a rough esti
mate, would you say you had gather
ed?” I asked Miss Deighton, when we
had won through and were on the
bordc’- of the wood.
"I don’t think I've Jeft many b«-
hird," site murmured.
“Honestly,” 1 pursued, “is there any
part of you that—?”
‘‘Probably not," she said, hastily.
“Aline, which is the way now?”
Aline looked up from her furze bush.
“Right through." she said. Miss Deigh
ton frowned. The copse did look thick
I “i'll show you,” continued 'the equable
Aline, coming through the last bushes
with a rip of skirts to which she paid j
no heed. “I’ve got three eggs. . And 1 .
know where there's a bullfinch in this J
copse. I'll show you.” - -
I believe Miss Deighton breathed an
anathema on eggs, but Aline was our
only guide, and we had to cling to her.
She pushed ahead vigorously, and we
followed through the nndergrow>: h.
“For goodness’ sake, let her find it and I some short curtains
| “I suppose we shall reach the village
I in about ten minutes?" laid Miss Deigh-
| ten, quickly, addressing me for-the first
; time.
I “Mr. Frobisher must have been hurt.”
went on Aline, reflectively. “I saw you
sitting on his—”
I “Aline, how far is it?" interposed Miss
Deighton. with a heightened color, but
in a friendly way,
“Oh. five minutes!” said the tom
boy carelessly. “You fell right on
his—”
"Aline, were those eggs fffesh. I
asked.
Aline made a face.
“Well, one of them was, I think, she
said, dubiously. "But I should rather
like a drink of water."
“Better run on ahead. We can find
our way." said I. encouragingly.
Aline brightened. “May I? Shall I’'
And in .two minutes her skirts were fly
ing in the distance. I turned to my
companion.
“I am sorry if you were hurt by fall
ing on me,” I said, apologetically-
She made no answer, but seemed to be
anxious to overtake Aline. ^"Especially.
I went on, “as I liked it.”
“How absurd!” said MiS3 Deighton
“tTSy. you could hardly get your
breath.” .. . .
“That is true. I observed. But.
thinking i; over. J have come to the
conclusion that there are times when
one does not want to get one s
breath.”
"Indeed!” said she. indifferently.
“And when one likes to be sat on,” 1
added.
Miss Deighton said nothing, but seem
ed 'to be interested in getting to the
village. „
“1 liked it both times, I said.
“Both times?" she echoed, in surprise.
“Yes; when you fell off the gate you
kicked me."
“Oh, I'm s>j sorry!" said she, in confu
sion. “Where?"
“Here." said I; coming to a pause and
putting a finger to my chin. Miss
TYeighton examined it, blushing.
“I'm so sorry!" she said, again. I
didn't know— It was all that little
wretch. Aline.”
”1 don't know that she's quite a
wretefi." said 1. '"'There's a thorn or
something in your hair. May I—?"
“TlT?n7xs very much.” said she.
“I rather like bird's nesting,” said I.
"It's—it's rather silty,” said she.
T turned. "There's no.parl'cu'g reason
why we should get ,:o the village, is
there?” I asked. “We haven't swallowed
birds’ eggs.”
Miss Deighton laughed.
“It’s a beautiful day.” she murmured,
as she turned with me.
^ . Role in Bloody Wars *
WO hundred dogs, chiefly ■ the enemy's oavalry and bring confusion
sheep dogs, are at present I in his ranks. Even port-fires were plai
attached to the German
forces operating in Her-
rero Land under General
von Trotha. writes Major
E. Hautonville Richards’n
in the “Nineteenth Cen
tury and After.” One of
them, Flock, has been sent
home to Kiel invalided.
He was wounded by a bul
let in the engagement
ed on the dogs' backs to set fire to the
enemy’s camps. The Knights of St. Jotia
always used dogs oji outpost duty, and
no patrol was allowed to go out withou'
them. In 1476 the Swiss dogs fought
the Burgundy dogs in the battle u?
Grandson, and at the battle of Merten
they destroyed the Rurgundy dogs.
After the discovery of America by the
Spaniards many of the natives were
tracked and worried by the fierce blood
hounds of tbe invaders. In 1518 King
Opaqbo while scouting ir- Charles the Fifth of Spain had 4.000 dogs
front of the skirminshing line. He dis
played the greatest fearlessness unde*
fire, and worked fa-dtlessly until disabled.
The Japanese a. using a number o?
dogs for reconnoitering purposes; they
are attached to long ropes and well
trained. The Russians are employing
dogs for sentry and messenger work.
In Mexico, in the guerrilla war. a colo
nel of volunteers trained some dogs wh >
gave the guerilla insurgents a warm time
If they tried ambushes they were scent
ed out. and their plans failed; if they re
turned into the depths of the woods they
were tracked out by the dogs, and at
tacked when preparing to camp for the
night.
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i
and 4.000 mercenaries placed at his dis
posal by the king of England to fight
against Francis the First of France. The
French and the Spanish, or rather the
English, dogs, which acted as skirmish
ers on both sides, met in fierce batLc,
but the Spanish dogs came off victor
iously.
The Turks also used dogs as scouts.
Napoleon, in his campaign in rtaly. used
dogs as scouts, and one. by name Mous
tache, became famous for tracking spies.
In 1812. when the Greek insurgents at
tempted to scale the ramparts of the
Acropolis. the nttempt. failed through
the dogs giving timery warning to the
Turks. The French learned the use
Kabyle tribe of
ganist came up to the woman he found
to his horror that she was lying ! n a
pool of blood. His first impulse was to
run away, but his better feelings pre
vailed and he knelt down beside the poor
woman to fee if he could do anything for
her. When he raised her head lie found
she was quite dead, with her throat cut
from ear to ear. Beside her on the pave
ment lay a blood-stained razor.
The organist was overwhelmed with the
horror of the scene. Before he could
collect himself a group of people had
gathered, as they invariably do when any
thing happens in the street, and pres
ently he heard the expression: “He did
it;” "1 tell you .1 saw him;” “Why. hero
is the razor he cut her throat with;''
“Oh. tile cruel brute," “Seize him, 1 ' etc.
It was certainly an awkward position
as the rough character of the people
might tempt them to take the law in
their own hands and use him badly. The
j arrival of a policeman seemed to steady
A Debt of Honor
Scene: Mrs. Stockson's fiat. Mrs. Wil
kings, who has just called, was out shop
ping with Mrs. Stockson a month pre
viously and paid a small hill for her
amounting to eight-nnd-ninepence. Mrs.
wrtkings, having waited some time to
give Mrs. Stockson tiie chance of set Ming . different method Of warfare, lias to fu!
i of dogs from the
War dogs ought thus to be able to pre- i Tunis and by using them were saved
vent the enemy from creeping up in the I from many ambushes. In the beginning
grass and surprising, giving timely I of 1882 the Austrians trained Daima-
warning; and the march of troops ;n ttan dogs to scent out ambushes, anti
thick country should be covered by dogs, 1 these dogs hunted out the outlaws like
and they should also follow up the scent game. In the famous expedition of
of the i “treating foe. In action dogs are
also trained to carry ammunition to the
firing line, their size rendering them a
smaller target than a man.
The extraordinary characteristics of
the dog—the watchfulness, docility, the
acuteness of his senses, his affection for
mankind, and his speeu, enable him to
be of immense value for military -pur
poses, and the employment of dogs for
such purposes can hardly be called an in
vention of modern times.
Far back in the mists of antiquity we
gather that the usefulness of the d >g
as an auxiliary in war was known, and
to the ancients belong the honor “f hav
ing first used dogs in this connection
They used mem for the punposes of de
fense and attack, but the war dogs of
today, In consequence of -a completely
up of her own accord, has now decided
to drop a gentle hint by way of re
freshing Mrs. Stockson's memory.
RS. STOCKSON (greeting
her visitor effusively)—Oh,
it is so good of you to oali,
dear. You haven't been
near me for quite a long
time. I began to be afraid
1 had offended you.
Mrs. Wilkins—What nn
absurd idea! We have
been knowing each other
too long for that, I should
hope, dear. I was only
thinking yesterday what a
pleasant 'time we had
shopping together a little while ago.
Mrs. Stockson—Wasn't it lovely? We
must really go and have anotner round
together. Witty & Watt have got a sale
on, and I hear Uie bargains- are wonder
ful. And I want some cretonnes and
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show it to us. and then let’s go,” mur
mured Miss Deighton to be. “And this
is birds' nesting!”
Aline brought us up before an amply
spreading yew tree, and, creeping into
its darkness, pointed up 'with emotion.
“It's there!” she said; “but it's nard
to get up to it; it.s so thick. If you
could give -me a leg up. Mr. Frobisher,
I think I might reach it.”
I gave her the required assistance, and
Miss Deiglvon impatiently ’ seated her-
st-lj" on a fork of the yew, waiting until
such time as this madness should be
overpast. Tt was beautifully dry. and
so I sat" on the ground near her.
“Good, heavens!” she said, in an under
tone: “and this is what the young
iike-r* Y.
..“They are barbarians, of course,”
‘said' I; “but -i suppose We were so.
-too..”:
.35)0 considered.
‘don’t tiling I was—I’m. sure I was
por.’j..
. “D.idn’t you. collect eggs, and tear your
clothes, -and scratch your legs, and—”
i , “I. think I was too sensible,” she
safil "I don't _h.elie.ye girls are like
“that, as a rule. They’re not savage, like
Alme.”
Allne's voice, smothered in the leaf
age, came to us just then,
j. “I've got it—there are four.” it seemed
\ to. say. triumphantly.
“Now. at last, we shall g»t back,”
said Miss Deighton, with a sigh of re
lief.
The- next moment there was a crash,
something snapped above, and Aline de
scended in a lump. She fell on Miss
j Deighton, who toppled off her seat upon
n.e. I suppose the force of .two bodies
i tl.us heavily discharged oh me had its
: ,iue effect, for I was not' aware of
I anything for a moment or two, save
of the difficulty of getting breath. Then
1 became aware that Aline was sitting
; or Miss Deighton, and ‘that Miss Deigh-
i ton was sitting o n me.
! "Sorry,” 1 heard Aline say, and then
she got off us and sputtered. “I had
the. eggs in my mouth,” she told us.
tVc wouldn’t have cared if she had
hao the eggs in her hair. Miss Deigh
ton was panting hard.
Her hat had
her locks were
still sa; on—on
WOULD you marry If suited? If so, send I b(en crushed in, and
for Beet Matrimonial Paper Published, j disorder, but she
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I began, breath-
me.
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uw are. do. an. ^ “
lessly, but, I hope, politely.
"Oh, t didn't see—I—didn't know—!
She rose, and I, too. got up. "1 hope—
you’re quite satisfied now," she remark
ed indignantly, to me.
“But it wasn't me,” I pleaded; “it
w&s—'
“It was me!” cried Aline, honestly.
Miss Deighton was occupied in straight
ening herself. "Will you bo good
erough to guide me out of here?” she
cried, coidiy and freezingly, to Aline.
She ignored me. Awed by her lofty man
ner, the tomboy obeyed* and I followed
meekly in their train.
Free from the abominable wood, we
descended across fields to the village
The silence hung oppressively, and J
opened conversation with the prime foun*
of all our woes.
“I hope you didn't get hurt. Aline,
I said, hypocritically.
"Oh no!” said she, throwing back her
ambrosial locks, and now fast recover
ing from the shock of that wounded
dignity. “I only got a bruise on my
leg. Did your leg get hurt. Miss Delgn-
1 "No!” snapped Miss Qeighton. her lis
som form moving swiftly.
“Where did you get hurt?” pursued the
now fully recovered Aline.
Mrs. Wilkings (seizing her opportunity)
—Why you bought some short curtains at
Brown & Thompson's last month with
me. I remember that distinctly be
cause—
Mrs. Stockson—Oh. those things. They
have worn shockingly. They went thread
bare the first time they were washed. I
torget what T paid for them, but
Mrs. Wilkings—It. was eight-and-nine
pence. I’m sure of that because if you
remember
Mrs. Stockson—Did I give as much as
that for them? Well. I shan't go tti
Brown & Thompson's again in a hurry.
Bin I had so many things to buy that
day that I was ready to take almos:
anything they gave me at the finish. Tt's
a great mistake, and 1 shan’t
'Mrs. Wilkings—Yes. r remember votir
saying you had spent nearly all your
money, but the curtains looked so
Mrs. Stockson—Did I? Well. I'm sorry
1 bought, them now. However, it's no
use crying over spilt milk, is it. dear?
Mrs. Wilkings (sticking to her guns)—
And so I went up to the cash desk and
paid for them.
-Mrs. Stockson—Oh. yes. that was very
kind of you, dear. I remember, T had so
many packages to carry 1 couldn't get to
my purse.
Mrs. Wilkings (affecting to lie doubt
ful on the point)—Let me see. did you
pay me again when we came out of the
shOD.
Mrs. Stockson—Of course. Y must have
done so. surely! I could never overlook
a matter of that kind.
Mrs. .Wilkings—But you remember you
had your arms full of parcels, so that,
you couldn't get to your purse, and when
wo got into the 'bus you said to me
Mrs. Stockson—Yes, you paid the fares,
didn't you? But then I paid them go
ing down, so that makes it quits, doesn't
it?
Mrs. Wilkings—Oh. T know we're quits
about the fares. But l couldn't remem
ber your paying me the eight-and-nine-
pence and
Mrs. Stockson—But. my dear. I'm al
ways so careful about money matters.
I wouldn't owe anybody anything for
worlds.
Mrs. Wilkings (a little despreate a* the
prospect of losing her money)—Well, it's
a funny thing that when I got home 1
should have found I was just elght-and-
ninepence short, isn’t it. dear?
Mrs. Stockson—My dear, do you mean
to sev you think I owe you elght-anl-
ninepence? Of course, if you really
think so. I’ll pay It to you again rather
than
. Mrs. Wilkings—My dear, rt isn't pay
ing it again. I think you'll find vou
haven't paid it once yet. But, of course,
if you don't think you owe it to me
Mrs. Stockson—Oh, if you say I do. my
dear. 1 shall pay it. I couldn’t have
anybody think I owed them anything that
I wanted to get out of paying. (Opens
her purse.)
Mrs. Wilkings—Oh, but ^ don't want
to take the money unless you're quite
satisfied about if. I'm perfectly sure in
my own mind
Mrs. Stockson—Well, if you’re sure,
dear, that's enough. I can only say that
I have no recollection about it at alt.
And I’m most particular in these mat
ters, because I know—let me see. eighv-
and ninepence, you say. Here’s nine
shillings. Have you got any change?
(Handing her the money.)
Mrs. Wilkings—Oh. yes; I’ve got three
coppers. (Taking the money and giving
the change.) I hope you're satisfied about
It. dear, as I’d much rather not take !* If
you've any doubt about Ms- being owing.
Mi's. Stockson (a little stiffly)—Oh, I d
f
<
fill totally different duties, and,
means of actual attack or defense, D
out of the question. It may not be with
out interest to recall a few of the his
torical dates, referring to the many-sided
use of war dogs and the many people
who used them.
Plutarch and Pliny both mention war
dogs in their writings. At the siege o r
Mantinea, Agesilaus employed dogs, as
did also Cambysos in his campaign in
Egypt 4.000 years B. C. Aeneas men
tions dogs as being used to carry dfs-
patches in their collars. The Cymbrians
and Teutons had their battle dogs, who
Inspired fear in the Roman legions.
Vegetius, the Roman military writer, in
forms us that dog’s were posted in tow
ers on fortifications to give the garri
son timely warning of the enemy's ap
proach b'y barking, and on a relief at
Herculaneum is a representation of a war
dog, clad in armor, defending a Roman
post against barbarians. The Gauls had
also large packs of war dogs clad in
armor, and Attila. king of the Huns, had
Immense ferocious hounds to guard hi»
camp
In medieval times the war dog often
appears defending convoys and luggage
and dogs clad in mail, with scythes and
spikes jutting out, were used to distract
General Shobeleff against the fortress of
Geok Tepe. the Russians were so often
surprised by the Turkomans that General
Skobeleff ordered dogs to be trained as a
preventive of surprise.
Then the Germans, always practical,
have devoted nearly twenty years to
training and experimenting with dogs.
Italy, Russia and France have also
taken them up. and the last two coun
tries to be interested in the matter are
Spain and Holland, nor to mention the
use of dogs in the Philippine war by the
Americans. England appears, although
knowing m(Tr,»r?bout dogs than any other
country in the world, to have left them
in this respect severely alone.
nerves for a moment, then came a
wave of inspiration which may almost be
termed presence of mind. He seized ’lie
woman's wrist, and pulling out his
watch he pretended to go through th“
form of feeling her pulse.
PRONOUNCES THE CASE FATAL.
Then' he put his hand over her heart,
and turning to the policeman he said as
calmly as he could: "I am sorry to say
that 1 can lie of no further service here.
The poor thing is quite dead: there us
no action of the heart or pulse.” In
an instant the murmurs of the crowd
changed and he heard- “He's the doc
tor" on all Slides. This was his opportu
nity, and slowly rising and affecting to
be in no hurry he passed through the
crowd, who made way for him and of
fered no obstruction.
But he told me that when lie got clear
of the street and came to the first turn
ing he took to his heels and ran for all
he was worth. The (cowardly sprrrg
got the better of him in the end. He
heard next day that Ihe murderer had
gone straight to tlie police station and
given himself up.
It is certaintly the case that men have
no monopoly as regards presence of mind.
In fact. I think, on the whole, the mind
of a woman acts quicker at a time of
emergency, though she. is, perhaps, more
liable to panic.
The railway accident at Hexthorpe,
near Doncaster, was a terrible disaster.
There was a mistake over the signals and
one train ran into another which was
standing while tickets were being ex
amined. Doncaster races were going o.a
and both trains were packed with pas
sengers.
WOMAN HELPS THE SURGEON.
in one carriage a friend of mine, a
medical man, was traveling and the shock
of the collision threw him violently from
hi?( seat, but he eseaped further injury.
Thankful for this, he at once proceedel
to the help of others, and he found an
awful state of things in the front part of
the train. He was the only doctor pres
ent to aid the crushed and wounded vic
tims who were being extricated from the
telescoped carriages. He began binding
up the fractyred limbs as best he could,
but he had no proper appliances, when
an oTd country woman approached him,
and without saying a word she emptied
the contents of her apron beside him.
consisting of neat rolls of torn window
blinds, for bandages.
At such a moment nothing could be
more useful and opportune. But it was
a remarkable instance of presence of
mind on tier part, and very different from
the conduct of one who went rushing
about this scene of carnage calling for
; the guards to find her parasol, which she
! had lost. People, however, are not a I -
j ways responsible at such times for what
they do.—Chamber's Journal.
Let us consider the duties and quali
fications of the war dog. First, the
dog should act as a scout to the body
of troops to which he is attached in the
march, with the advance guard, rear
guard nr flank- guard, and keep up com
munication with the different units oi
the column.
Secondly, he should 'act as an outpost
to the outposts, and establish communi
cation between pickets, supports and re
serves, bring in messages from the pa
trols, and should render especially good
service at night.
Thirdly, in an engagement, he should
be used for transporting reserve ammu
nition to the firing line, and establish
ing communication between the differ
ent units in the attack.
Fourthly, in sieges or investments, he
should reduce the number of sentries on land and was there educated as
Deadly Anaconda Puts an End To
Brazilian Pailway Building X?
both sides, and protect defenders and
attackers from surprise. Also, he should
carry messages to or from the besieged
through the enemy’s lines.
Fifthly, and one of the most import
ant duties, he should seek for the miss
ing and wounded, after an engagement,
in difficult ground, and render aid un
til medical assistance arrives. Dogs
trained up to this standard must neces
sarily be an Invaluable adjunct to (he
soldier, but it would be unwise to
overburden the dog's intelligence by ad
ditional work.
Cowards Often Involuntary Heroes
HERE is a distinction to be
drawn between presence of
mind and courage. People
who are naturally timid
and nervous will, under
. carcumstanoes of great
danger and excitement,
perform acts of heroism
which would be beyond
their powers on ordinary
occasions. We speak of
these as instances of per
sons showing presence of
mind, but if you asked
them they would tell you that an invol
untary impulse rather than any premedi
tated course of action, guided their will
on the occasion. Had they had time
for reflection, when all the threatening
danger to themselves had become clear
to their minds, their natural timidity of
character would have assorted itself and
deprived them of action.
On the other hand, courage may be
described as the absence of fear and all
It thought for s<jlf-pnesejjva t ion, and its
possessor is not dependent upon tiny mo
mentary impulse to call it into being.
His mind is disciplined and under con
trol, and he is unmoved before the peril
whidi confronts him. There is no braver
bod) of men than the London police, and
any one who has witnessed one of the
guardians of the street traffic step for
ward and seize a runaway horse in a
crowded thoroughfare cannot have failed
to admire his courageous act.
NOBLEST KIND OF COURAGE.
This is more than presence of mind; it
is bravery of the noblest and best kind.
It was no sudden thought or inspiration
which came into the policeman’s mind.
Long before the horse reached him he
saw it coming, and lie knew’ he ran a
risk of his life w’lirn he rushed to th
rescue.
It is the absence of fear which prompts
the soldier, under a heavy fire from the
enemy's guns, to go to the assistance of a
wounded comrade and bring him to a
place of safety, anil nothing in human
nature can compare with such self-sacri
fice. But in times of sudden emergency
it is not always tbe bravest who act
with promptitude, and the following story
is an instance of this:
Toward the close of the Crimean war
a troop ship was returning to England
with invalided men. and one morning at
sea a group of officers on the deck dis
cussed the subject of firing shells. A
soldier was told by colonel B. to bring
an empty shell with a fuse. The colonel
took tbe shell in his hands, and striking
a match, lighted the fuse. As this slowly
burned and the colonel proceeded with
his address to the other officers, anotlnr
soldier passhd the group, and the mo
ment he caught sight of the shell he
rushed forward, exclaiming: "Take care,
i sir; the shell is a live one!”
j He then'did what never seemed to come
| into the minds of any in the group of e f -
I ficers; he seized the shell out of the hands
I of the colonel and threw it into the sea.
I For this service he was made a sergeant,
and on coming home he had the honor ot
1 reeiving a small present from the hunus
j of the queen, to whom he was present
ed. The soldier who had been told to
(New Orleans Picayune.)
AIL ROAD building in Bra
zil some years ago was pri
marily a fight against rank
vegetation and labor trou
bles," said Thomas E. Cas
sidy, who was formerly an
engineer there, and he told
a strenuous story of how
an anaconda killed two
men and frightened 1.500
other?' to such an exten*
that the building of tbe
road ceased forever.
was born in Eng»-
an en
gineer,” he said. “ 'Way back in '87,
nearly twenty years ago, T went to Ar
gentina. and after remaining there a
short time went on to Brazil, where the
incident of which I have been reminiscing
occurred. My memory is failing now, for
none of us can remember distinctly the
happening of a timp so long ago, but os
I look back across the years I can still
see the horrible sight of those two men
being ground to Jelly by 'the great ana
conda of the forest. I can ?'ti]l see the
rioting of 1.500 hungry men and the
burning of the Brazilian undergrowth as
it made impossible the extension of a
railroad.
DIFFICULT TO LAND.
"1 remember a funny experience when
I landed at Buenos Ayres. From tbe
steamboat we were transferred, with our
baggage, to a tugboat in the middle of
the river, because of its shallowness:
from there to small rowboats; from there
to cants pulled by-horses in the water,
and for the rest of the way we were
compelled to get wet feet by walk'ng
P | ashore. But one gets used to that surt
1 of thinr down there—-or used to, atiy-
rather pay it, thank you dear. I daresay
it's all right. Only it does seem a li’tle j
strange that 1 should have forgotten all j
about it. doesn't it?
Mrs. Wilkings—Oh, you've had so many .
other things to think of and ]
(A servant announces Mrs. Tattleion.) j
Mrs. Stockson (greeting the new ar- . . ,. .
rival)—So pleased to see you. dear. You | an
Know Mrs. Walkings, I think. No? Oh,
I beg your pardon. (Introduces them.)
Mrs. Wilkings (to Mrs. Stockson)—Well,
dear. 1 must be going. I-ve already
stayed too^ long. (Takes leave and goes.)
Mrs.. Stockson (to Mrs. Tattlelou)—I
•thought you knew Mrs. Wilkings.
Mrs. Tattleton—No—that is, only by
sight. 1 don't think she is quite my
style. Still, if she's a friend of yours
Mrs. Stockson—Well, now you mention
it dear, there if something about her l
don't quite like. Of course, you'll never
let it go any further, will you? But l
must tell you—quite in confidence be
tween ourselves, you know—that I don't
'think she's very strict about money
matters. She came in just now and said
1 owed her eight shillisgs or so for a bill
she paid for me.
Mrs. Tattleton—And didn t you?
Mrs Stockson—Well, I don't like to
sav I didn't, but it's very strange that
I don't remember anything about it. Of
course 1 paid her the money, as I should
never dream of owing anybody anything,
especially an old friend
Mrs. Tattleton—I never did like the
looks of the woman.
Mrs. Stockson—Wouldn t you remember
if you owed anybody eight shillings like
that? “••• •
Mrs. Tattleton (who knows nothing
whatever of the circumstances)—1 don't
believe you owed it to tier a* ail. I
.'•Iiould be very careful in dealrng with
people of that sort if I were you.
(Left: discuszii*—Mrs. Wilkings.)
wrong magazine. I many times talked
over this Incident with the sergeant, and
he repudiated any idea that he had done
a brave action. “1 don't know,” he said,
“what made me seize the shell out of the
colonel's hands, but it came suddenly
into my mind, and T did it.” It is this
coming suddenly dnito the mind, this
wave of unconscious thought, which con
stitutes true presence of mind. This will
come to people of nervous and even cow
ardly natures.
t remeniJJer an instance when a man
tt!,om I knew to be utterly deficient in
courage saved himself from an awkward
situation. He lived in a town in the
Midlands, where he was an organist.
Late one evening he was returning home
through some of the back streets, which
at that hour were more or less empty of
people- As he went along, however, he
noticed, some distance ahead of him. a
■man and woman walking side by side,
the man's arm being round the woman's
neck. Just under a gas lamp the couple
stopped for a moment, when he heard a
piercing serpam and saw the woman slow
ly falling from the man's arms.
FINDS HER THREAT CUT.
Almost before She had reached the
ground the man darted' away down a side
street and disappeared. When the or*
*he
over
of thing down there—o
war.
"I went to work at my profession os n
civil engineer, not finding it very difficult,
for at that time men of special training
were in great demand in that country,
and I was not long waiting. T dickered
around for higher wages for a while and
then went at it for the railroad con
tractors then constructing the Bahia and
Minas railroad. The name was. as far
as it' ever got, as far as the completion of
it was concerned, for its untimely end
was not long in coming.
"The road was being built directly
through a dense forest such as it com
mon in the land of the equator. Those
who- have seen the everglades or the
delta of the Mississippi or the great
woods in parts of Canada can never im
agine the growth one witnesses there.
GROWTH ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE
“Great, giant trees seem to pierce
sky. so high do they go, and spread
all branches and leaves which make all
dark and mysterious beneath. These
rank, luxuriant grasses, bushes, flowers,
water growth and vegetation of every
kind make a mass almost impenetrable.
When the great rains of the tropics swept
over it one could almost see the growth
going on.
“Well, it was through this mass that
we were going to build our railroad and
it was through this mass that we made
slow work. We moved the camp, the
rude camp of the road builder, from place
to place as we moved along. Birds and
animals of almost every description were
in abundance and wild fruits of every
kind were in plenty, yet most difficult
to conquer for the uses of man. But
we had provisions s.upplied from the 'ear
at headquarters and with ample mate
rial of construction we proceeded.
“But suddenly, like one of the great
storms, there came a time of trouble and
despair, from which I narrowly escaped
with my life. I think we had been
leading the kind of life 1 have described
for some two weeks when we reached a
place called Itapulco. We had started
to work in the morning as usual and all
of the 1,500 men were engaged in the
battle against the wilderness.
"It had rained during the night, and
the sun had not been up long enough to
dry up the moisture, which made the
humidity almost unbearable. The place
where we were working was swamp land,
the black, rotting swamp vegetation over
a black alluvial soil. It was here that
we met the anaconda, which was the
primary cause of the breaking of the
camp.
“Probably moot of the laborers had
seen anacondas before.' Certainly I had.
They could be seen coiling around the
branches of the trees at a distance, On
most occasions we did not come within
speaking distance of them, but at this
time the great serpent was asleep, ap
parently. despite the noise. Coiled around
a great black tree, with Us spots visible
and its appearance making one shudder,
it awaited its victims in the small ani
mals of the forest. Some men surrounded
the tree, jabbering among themselves and
intensely Interested.
“Two of them went very near to the
tree, actuated by some mistaken idea of
bravery and evidently scheming to entraxi
the monster, which was coiled several
times around the tree. Perhaps the boa
awoke just at that minute. Perhaps he
had .been only waiting, but in an instant
he partly uncoiled from the tree and
caught the two men together in his
power.
HEARS THEIR BONES CRACK.
“It must have been 30 feet long, and
with its monster strength it crushed them
so that those at some distance heard their
bones crackle like kindling. Then it bur
led its great fangs deep in the body of
one of them, quickly sinking into the
pool of water at one side of the tree, for
we had been working along the side
of a stream. It was' a horrible sight,
and the men were frightened, somtv of
them superstitiously, as never before.
“They made it known that they wished
to go no farther and murmureH among
themselves like mutineers at sea. L. was
in the afternoon of the same day that we
heard that the material had been stopped
at headqcariFrs and so there we were,
without means to go ahead. There was
no food and no nvnvy to pay the men.
Against them there Were but four negi-
neers, including a Captain Balfour and a
man named Averdlck and myself. They
demanded our provisions, as on the fol
lowing day they grew hungry. )Ye hud
but little and could give them none, and
then came the deluge. The grumbling
grew to threats and the threats to a wild
riot, the men burning the entire camp.
“Perceiving our danger, for they had
threatened our lives, those 1 have men
tioned, including myself, took the three
mules in the camp and made off back the
way we had come in building tiie road as
fast as we could. The fourth engineer,
a Swiss, we left there, as he could find
no mule. Of his fate we never learned
and even of the fate of the road we were
ignorant, for we -soon took ship for Eng
land, and never saw the tropics again.”
A Fine Kidney Cure.
Mr. A. S. Hitohcock, East Hampton,
Conn, (the Clothier), says if any sufferer
from Kidney and Bladder troubles will
write him. he will, without charge, direct
them to the perfect home cure he used.
HOW TO PUNISH A CHILD.
(From Good Housekeeping )
Have you ever given a child the priv
ilege of choosing his own punishment—
either a whipping or the deprivation of
some beloved treat, solitude in his cham
ber, or some other form, and had him
prefer the -whipping "to have it over
with?” Doesn't this prove it to be the
•lesser punishment? Something to be
borne witn stoically, as a necessary evil,
perhaps, but forgotten the next moment
in some pleasure or recreation.
If, however, upon mature deliberation,
it seems expedient to apply the rod, let
it. by all the regard you have for your
child's self-respect, be done in the pri
vacy of his own room, and not even
hinted at before other children. There
seems to be a strain of cruelty in the
make-up of some children that delights
in another's punishment. If a child must
be punished in this way. if every other
expedient has been tried and found want
ing and it seems that he will learn the
desired lesson in no other way (for let it
be understood that punishment is given
for no other reason than reform), then
shut him up in one room and yourself
in another until your anger has had time
to cool, and he to reflect. Then, with
calm face, a prayerful and sorry heart,
and a dignified demeanor, go to him and
do the job thoroughly and well.
Keep him closeted until the fierceness
of his emotion has worn away. Tliei
take him out, bathe and clothe him
afresh and keep Ihim with you. Talk to
him, not about his offense—you have pn:>
ished him for that—let it drop. Cheer
fully expect it not to happen again. Be
kind and loving to him and prove by your
actions that he has grieved Vou.
Maude—That long-faced Mr. Blank is
e'ither a ‘philosopher or a fool, and I
couldn't make out which. What do you
think?
Babette—He talked to me for an hour
at the reception last night and I decided
that he Is both.—Detoit Free Press.