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Discrowned.
HThOe yet the lagging Summer lifts the glow
Of her glad vintage, pledging all who
drink
A reign that’s endless, at the beaker's
brink
The bugle* of the Autumn blow and blow.
So doth the leaguered Summer, startled,
turn
To see the traitor maples aflame,
And, as though hiding a repentant shame,
The cheeks of her disloyal ivies burn.
Then all aiown the highways far and near,
The golden-rod and asters swift unfold
Besieging banners, mingled blue and gold
Till, stiaightway smitten with a sudden
fear,
E’en as she strives to arm her ’gainst the
foe,
Again the windy bugles blow and blow.
—Lucy K Tilley , in Harper's Weekly.
A CLOSE SHAVE.
BY E. W. THOMSON.
Last summer, in the club house of
the Kenoutchewan bait fishers, a well
known Canadian lawyer told the follow
ing story;
“Some years ago, while out for an
afternoon’s fishing with my son Harry,
who was then ten years old, I anchored
our skiff off the northeast or lower end
of Gomeguk island, where one division
of the St. Lawrence runs in a deep
groove, much frequented by channel
catfish.
“Steamers seldom passed through the
channel where we floated, though the
wash of upward bound boats disturbs
the surface slightly as they swing half
around, about three hundred yards
down river, to enter the southern and
straigliter, though shallower, channel,
which most pilots prefer.
“Harry found the occasional rocking
by steamboat waves a pleasant varia
tion from the scarcely preceptiblc mo
tion with which we drifted—only one
of our sixty-pound weights being out
as a bow anchor—against the gentle
current, under the pressure of a breeze
up stream. The sharp stern of the skiff
floated free, and, riding with forty feet
of line out, she swayed from side to
aide of tho deep water, which never
furnished, me with better sport than on
that day.
“The big, dun-backed, yellow
bellied, strong, clean, tentacled fish
took my minnows eagerly, and fought
in a highly satisfactory in inner for their
own lives. So it went on, till Harry,
who had come out with emphatic as
severations that ho would gladly fish
till midnight, disclosed a keener en
thusiasm for something to eat about
tea-time than he did about the fish I
was catching, and often inquired anx
iously when 1 intended going home.
“I lingered, however, for ‘just one
more bite,’—taking four fish by the de
lay,—dll the sun sank slowly behind
the island. Then glancing under my
eyebrows at Harry while stooping to
impale a now minnow, his woe-begone
little face gave me a more distinct
thrill of compunction, and, flinging
away the bait, I said: ‘Well, smad
hoys mustn’t be made too hungry, 1
suppose. Wo will go home now,
Harry.’
“I was rather astonished that his
'see, which had brightened with my
"'ords, suddenly clouded, as he looked
keenly down the river. Then the ex
planation came.
“ 'Oh, there’s another steamboat
coming up, father I’ he cried. ‘l)o stay
* littlo longer! I wish you would stay
till wo get her swell.’
“It was to tue a striking illustration
of how curiously and wonderfully boys
we made. Here was a lad too hungry
to enjoy the deep and philosophic pleas
ure of fishing, but not hungry enough
to forego an obsurd. delight in being
rocked by a half a dozen steamboat
rollorst However, his request coincided
with my inclination, and, putting on a
hait, I engaged again in the most
•oul-satisfying of human pastimes.
“1 sat in the benv, with my face up
•beam, Harry watching, with big eyes,
t “ c oncoming steamer, the intermittent
rumble of whose paddle-wheel became
momentarily more distinct, till the slap
ft nd thrust of each float could be heard
dose behind. Suddenly my little boy
jumped up and cxcla med, in a tone of
much surprise:
“ ‘Why, lather, look at the steam
boat!'
“I turned to see in the twilight the
whUc Theban, not three hundred
imds distant, not swinging into the
‘outh channel, but coining, at about
m*lf speed, straight at. where wo lay I
“Dazed, I sat silent for a moment;
then roared at her, ‘Ahoy, Theban,
‘RoyI’ with all my power of lung,
SCHLEY COUNTY NEWS.
searching my pockets at the same time
for my clasp-knife to cut the anchor
rope. There was no time to haul in the
weight; to cut away was the only chance
of escape.
“The channel of the river, as I knew
well, was too narrow for the big boat
to give us more than the narrowest
beith, and there was no sign that her
pilot intended to yield us auy. I could
see him dimly in the wheel-house, and,
apparently, not another soul was on
board.
“She did not slow down in the least,
though I continued to yell madly. The
roar of her paddle-wheels was terribly
loud.
“Harry’s childish treble shrieked
through my hoarse shouts, but there
was no sign that we were seen or heard.
Yet it was impossible to believe the pi
lot unaware of the boat in his course,
lead-colored though it was, and deep
as were the shadows of the island.
“On she came, during the few sec
onds while these observations weut
through my mind, straight at us. The
swamping of our skiff in the steamer’s
roll was certain now, even should she
sheer off as much as possible in passing;
certain, even if we had been suddenly
freed from the anchor line.
“I had passed it through the ring of
the painter before the bow, and secured
it to the seat. This fastening I tore
away with one jerk, but there were 50
feet more rope in the coil lying at my
feet. To run that out through the ring
would require more time than we had,
and to row off rapidly with the rope
dragging across our bow was impossible,
even though many minutes had beoa to
spare.
“Feeling very helpless and desper
ate, I went through all my pockets for
the knife, till it flashed on me that,
some time before, it had dropped from
the gunwale in which I had s uck it,
and was now lying out of reach under
the footboard, Harry began to cry
loudly, calling, ‘Oil, what will mother
do?’
“The undulation that precedes a large
steamer rocked us. Raising my eyes
from a vai i endeavor to get a glimpse
of the knife the steamer seemed almost
upon us. I never saw a vessel shoulder
up so monstrously at the distance! So
close was she that in the twilight 1
O
could clearly see the red paint of her
run gleaming in the water about her.
i 4 With the quick device and light
ning activity of despair I seized an oar,
and, kneeling on tho bow, with one
downward drive of its handle knocked
the staple that secured the ring clear
away and with another motion hung
out the coil of rope into the water.
“But tho bowsprit of the Theban
was not five seeonJs away then. I
struggled madly to get some headway,
hoping to escape the paddle-wheels, but
my poor little boy, wild with fear, im
peded me by clinging about my legs.
Using all my force on the oar as a pad
dle, I did, however, manage to give
her a slight motion up stream, stern
first, but too late; the next moment tue
figure-head and swelling bow of the
Theban blotted out the sky, and she
was upon us.
“Not with her cut-water, fortunately,
or wo should have been instantly
smashed down; it van out twenty feet
beyond before we were touched, Had
she not been half slowed down to take
the windings of the channel, wo should
doubtless have been overwhelmed by
the roll of water from her bow; but
somehow the skiff rode this, and the
next moment was thrust against the
river, and crowded so hard against the
steamer where she widened that we
moved on as if glued to her sido.
“Obviously, this strange sifuation
could endure but for a fesv moments
and then my little fellow and I must be
drawn under and battered to pulp with
the remorseless crash of tho paddle
wheel so terrible and so near.
“To leap farout for escape from them
was impossible. I had clasped Harry
j u my arms with some unreasonable
imagination that my interposing my
body would save him from tho crushing
blows of the floats. The hope to sink
beneath them did not flash among the
first- crowding thoughts of those despair
ing moments, not till my glance fell
on the fifty-six weight that still lay in
the boat.
“Instantly I stooped, seized it with
my right band, aud, with my little boy
close hugged, leaped desperately from
the boat into the water.
“The sensation of being sucked or
trailed through an amazing current, the
roar of the battered water, tho over
poweriug fear of tho cruel paddles—
how well I remember! Suddenly-!*
was as though a wave had flung its mast
at mo—my legs were swept down with
the water driven from the impact of tb*
floats, my hold was nearly jerked from
the fifty-six pounds of weight that I
held, then down, down, down until the
weight touched the rocky bed. I let
go and rose through twenty feet of
water with a gasp, to see the Theban
roaring away steadily on her course.
“Poor little Harry had never eeascl
struggling; he struggled more violently
as now he caught a half-choked breath.
I tore his arms from my neck with a
desperate motion as we began to sink
again, and turned his back to me. We
rose again, treading water. I managed
to support his head out of the water
long enough to make him understand
that he must become perfectly motiou
less if he wished me to save him.
“The poor little man behaved splen
didly after that, but by several slight
immersions had lost his senses in a half
drowned faint before I managed to get
ashore. I had, however, no great diffi
culty in restoring him. Fortunately
there was a house on the island, and
there wc spent the night.
“You may be sure that I lost no time
in investigating the conduct of the
Theban’s pilot. The man denied all
knowledge of the occurrence, and I
could see that lie was really surprised
and shocked; but that he felt in some
degree guilty, I could also perceive.
Not one of the deck-hands, none of tho
officers, would confess any knowledge
in the matter, and not tilt tho cross-ex
amination of the crew on my suit for
damages against the steamboat company
did tho truth come out. Then a clean
breast was made.
“The pilot had secretly brought a
jug of whiskey aboard, and white the
captain was below at his tea, the mate
and the whole watch, defying all the
rules of the company’s service, had
taken occasion to finish the liquor. As
for the pilot, he explained that he had
been ‘too drunk to do more ’n steer,
sir, and could jest on’y see my land
marks. 1 took the north channel,’ he
concluded, ‘because I w r antcd folks to
know that I was puffickly sober. > tf
Youth's Companion.
The Youngest Confederate Soldier.
Berry II. Bin ford, who was the
youngest soldier in the Confederate ar
my, died recently while on a business
trip to Monroe, La. H.s father, Dr.
Binford, was a surgeon in the Confeder
ate army. Thu boy, when about nme
years old, started out to find his father
aud reported to General Wheeler, who
took him for a Federal spy sent in by
some of the Union people. The Gener
al kept an eye on the little chap, and
finally turned him over to Colonel Jo
siah Patterson, who knew Dr. Binford
and at once assumed the care of the
boy. As he would not go back home,
a pony was secured for him, a gun was
sawed off the proper length,
and he was recognized from that
time on to the end of the war a?
a soldier. It is stated that young Bin
ford and another boy, not much older,
undertook to do a little special service
once. They went out between the lines
somewhere up in North Alabama, threw
up some small breastworks and awaited
the advance of the Federal* ou the op
posite side of a small river. The column
came in sight, and the boys opened
fire as if backed by an army, which, the
Federals naturally supposed to be a
fact. The boys held the fort a whole
day, and when night came on they
scamperel off and rejoined their com
mand several miles away. Binford was
tho famous “suspicious case” that
caused a panic in Memphis last summer
and subjected several distinguished
physicians to a perfect avalanche of
chaff, when it turned out to be a case ol
alcoholism instead of yellow fever.
The Stormy Petrol.
Stormy petrels, or Mother Cary’s
chickens, as they are more commonly
called, follow the out-bound vessels in
largo flocks, gathering about as soon as
land is lost to view and remaining un
til land is once again sighted, unless a
violent storm drives them away. For
the most part they feed on refuse thrown
overboard, but are never fat and always
hungry. Hovering over the food by
patting the water with its webbed feet
and quickly flapping its wings, it ap
pears to stand on the water and follows
the food as it drifts about. Sailors re
gard the bird with great superstition,
believing some calamity will follow its
wanton killing.— Popular Science Month
hj.
UNDER WATER.
Some of the Terrible Experi
ences of a Diver.
Meeting the Swollen Forms of
Drowned Men.
“Have you ever reflected on the queer
nature of a divers business?” says a
writer in Once a Week. “Here, where
1 live, there is a famous man in this
line, whom wo will call the captain. He
is helpful and big-hearted in h.s life
above water; and his body is big, too;
so large, that you would suppose he
would find it hard enough to walk and
work on land, without going to the
bottom of the sea for exercise. But a
chief part of his occupation is to sink
himself out of sight under the waves,
and go peregrinating about in that mys
terious region which the rest of us
never visit if we can help it. He puts
on a huge, thick diving-suit, which is
water-tight and air-tight, with a big
helmet—containing glass eyes or little
windows—screwed on over his head;
the whole giving him tho air of some
fabulous monster, and swelling him up
to considerably more than his naturally
big bulk. Then he is lowered into the
depths, with a tube attached to his
helmet, through which he gets air
enough to breathe, and a long
cord for signalling to those above
when he wants to be hoisted up again.
Thus prepared, ho has explored a large
part of tho bottom of Long Island
Sound, where he once laid, far down in
the tide, the concrete foundation of
Race Rock lighthouse. He is also sent
for, far and near, to inspect and raise
sunken ships. Imagine what strange,
alarming or ghastly sights he must en
counter in that dismal green world un
der water, infested by clammy crawiiug
or swimming creatures; where perhaps
he suddenly comes face to face w»th the
staring eyes and swollen forms of
drowned men, caught in cabin door
ways or jammed amid the wreckage of
lost vessels.
Most of us would hardly feel tempted
to remain in surroundings. But some
times there are easier jobs for the div
ers; such as working around the piers of
bridges; and then the river bed may be
transformed into an amusement ground.
I know of two divers who were cm
ployed on the under-water construction
of some bridge piers in summer,
and they spent so much time
there—paid for by the con
tractors—that the matter had to be
looked into. It was found they had
invented a new sport. They caught
two crabs; marked off a race-course on
the mud; and then, putting the crabs
on the starting-line, they laid bets, and
sent the c’awed things crawling off side
wise in competition. But the captain
is much more seriously occupied. And
he once went through a particularly
serious experience worth describing.
He had gone down in his d.ving suit,
to attend to some job on the bottom of
a harbor. It was a fine, sunshiny day;
and the captain could sec the brightness
at the surface, above him, as we see the
light glowing through a cloudy sky.
Suddenly he became aware of a heavy,
threatening shadow, which advanced
rapidly along the top of the water. He
realized instantly that a large canal
boat, in tow, was about to pass directly
over the air- tube which connected him
with his assistant’s boat above. The
tube was rather taut, and came
so near the surface just there,
that the chances w’ere the keel
of tho canal- boat would cut
it in two. If that should happen, the
captain would be a dead man, and his
diving suit no better than a shroud.
He not dare to stir, nor even to signal
his assistant by means of the cord at his
waist; for the slightest movemo it in a
wrong direction would only hasten the
disaster lie dreaded. On and ou came
the shadow, swift aud huge; and while
the captain waited to see whether it
would destroy him or not, it seemed to
him that years, instead of minutes were
elapsing. The big shadow came right
over him at last, and ho felt his air
tube grating against the uneven edge of
the keel. Scrape—scrape it w T cnt, here
and there, and once the captain thought
it had surely caught on a projecting bit
of metal, or a bolt. If it had, it would
have been dragged asunder in a jiffy.
But, luckily, the tube did not catch.
The awful shadow passed. The captain
pulled his cord, was raised to the sur
face—glad enough to be in the air
again—in ths world abovo tho waterl
It was a narrow escape.
Riding on. Elephants.
After a couple of comfottess night*
in the train we reach a small terminus
in India, from which a five-mile ride on
an elephantlands us in what is known
as the Nepal- erai. The elephant oa
which wc ride is a small one, and is
supposed to shake the rider as little 03
possible, but to us novices the shaking
is far from being a gentle one. At a
word from his “mahout”—a wild-look
ing creature who sits between the ele
phant’s ears and pricks him with an
iron staff—he goes down on his knees,
and one climbs on to his b ick as best
one can, holding on by his tail with
both hands and trying to g.t a footing
on his slippery quarters, At last one
manages to scramble up' and ono finds
one’s self on a square cushion, almost
as slippery at the elephant’s back. The
first time, when tho great beast rises on
his fore legs, then on his hind ones, it
is all one can do to hold on by the ropes
which are fastened to the sides of the
pad; but practice makes perfect, and in
a short time one learns to adapt one’s
self to the curious motion. A gopd
small elephant will shuffli) a’ong easily
at the rate of five miles an hour, climb
ing steep ravines and other obstruc
tions, so that the rider often finds him
self hanging on in an almost perpendic
ular position. No animal is so surc
footed as an elephant, Ho will climb
steep banks, and slid j down iuto river
beds. with as much ease as an Irish
pony, but ho particularly objects to a
bog, and lot no one attempt to ride him
over one; for if he finds himself sinking
in, his first impulse is to drag the rider
off and put him under his feet, by way
of having something to stand on—-a
proceeding one would hardly approve
of .—Nineteenth Century.
The Flood Cure for Baldness.
In a letter received by Dr. M. Mar
bury, residing at the corner of Inde
pendence avenue and Locust street, this
city, is related an incident which ts in
deed marvellous, and, coming directly
as it does, is beyond all doubt true.
The letter is from Mr. Frank Marbury,
a cousin of Dr. Marbury, who is just re
covering from a frightful experience in
the Johnstown flood. For seven long
hours he battled with the waters for his
life. Every hour seemed a day, but at
last he was rescued several miles from
the place where the hotel had stood.
Tue strang j part of tho story is yet
to come. Mr. Marbury is 38 years of
age, and for 12 years ho had bueu en
tirely bald, and the top of his head had
become quite popular with the flies as 8
summer resort. He had used the won
derful hair restoratives people read
about in the hopes of starting the hair,
but all to no purpose; it refused to
grow. Two days after the flood bo no
ticed a downy substance all over the
hitherto bald head. As time passed the
down became hair, which grew remark
ably fast, and now has reached tho
length of one inch all over his head.
The London Fog.
If it were not for the too frequent
presence of fog the atmosplieae of Lon
don—of a great part of London—would
no doubt be, for a great city, excep
tionally pure. Aud it may bo as well
to point out that w hat it is customary to
call “London fog” is not quito correct
ly named or properly understood. Lon
don, while it undoubtedly gives some
special properties to its fog, has but lit
tle to do with originating it. The real
..nd essential basis of a London fog is a
sea or river mist, blown by tho direc
tion of the wind ou to the city. London
lies but a short dislance from both our
east and south coasts. On the
cast there is nothing but low lying
country between it and the mouth of
the Thames, nothing to prevent this
sea fog being driven by the prevailing
wind over the metropolis. When it
reaches the city the cloak of watery va
por prevents the regular d.ffusioa and
dissipation of the smoke of the city
into the surrounding atmosphere, and
for a time the sea mist, mixed with
London smoke, hangs over us and gives
us what we call a London fog—the es
sential basis of which is water, not
smoke. The same thing can bo ob
served to proceed from a southwesterly
direction.
Mai may have seven ages, but a
woman after she reaches a certain point
has but one. She sticks to that for the
remainder of her life.