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SUPPOSE.
„ vml r mind a garden were,
cuPP oSC u inr the spring.
T "Sh ng you planted there
Son be blossoming.
that evil thoughts were weeds
gurr ost grew apace,
lliat ** .Iream of selfish deeds
A’’ 1 l ‘V ' i i.'ssom in disgrace;
ghouia 1
, , r impulse to be kind,
M'D 1 " some other's woes,
l l ’, 1 , , ,|.| and blossom in ;.our mind
and fragrant rose,
a( , that every idle whim,
gui l P ( ’- ..,, vv thought ot scorn,
Ai'. 1 ~Y its fruitage in a grim
Sl vii r'ison-laden thorn;
, V ,. r v purpose of uplift
M from sordid ways
v , s,,:n in a snow-white drift
Ifc lib
]y with no danger fraught
' • \b ■ things like this —
b a, ! . here’s a seed of thought
An. 1 1 ;- 1.V.-r l .V.-r forth in bliss.
‘,'niin Kendrick Bangs, in Youth’s
~~ComP anion -
liat the Snow Told i
By ALICE E. ALLEN. \
Many jolly things happened that
•inter UP on the farm. But best of
al! David and Philip agreed, was the
big blizzat and.
The storm began at night. The
SIIOW came down in sheets. Behind it
‘, anie the wind, driving it against the
windows and heaping it in great
drifts around the house. Next morning
there were no paths, no roads, and
no fences. David and Philip tried one
window after another, but all they
could see was snow. David thought
he could see the wind, there was so
much of it everywhere. And, if he
could, why of course Philip could too.
When darkness came, everything
crew quiet. Through the window near
his bed a big bright star winked and
blinked straight at David. And another
star, almost as big and bright, hur
ried out and winked and blinked
straight at Philip.
Sure enough, next morning the
storm was over. And what a changed"
world David and Philip found outside!
A wonderful white world, crisp and
crackling with cold, and dazzling with
sparkles,— snow-sparkles, sky-sparkles,
and air-sparldes.
Old John harnessed Sampson to the
big iron kettle and started out to
break roads. He walked behind in
the track of the kettle, and in the
kettle, looking like a couple of mis
chievous brownies, rode David and
Philip.
After that old! John and David
and Philip made paths to the bam and
the chicken-house. Old John pointed
out some clear, sharp tracks in the
snow around the chicken-house. “Been
a iox ’round,” he said. “See how the
snow went and told on him?”
"Here’s where he leaped the fence,
isn’t itr cried David in great ex
citement. He pointed to a long line of
footprints leading, fleet as the wind,
over the hill toward the woods.
"My—ee, wasn’t he in a hurry
though?”
“Guess he heard old Towser bark
down to Brown's farm,” said John.
"I did.”
"So did I,” said David.
'N so did I,” said Philip.
“0 John, hero are some more foot
prints,'' called David a minute later.
'They look 'most like some of the
stitches mother makes in her em
broidery.”
"Ask the field mouse about ’em/’
said old John. “She’s been out maltin’
calls on her neighbors, and the snow’s
told on her. If you could get nearer
the woods, you’d see where the gray
lAj’bif s been hoppin’ along looking’
op some breakfast, —the marks of hi.s
hind feet ahead of the fore feet every
single hop. Maybe the squirrel’s been
°ut too. If he has, the snow’ll tell
about it.”
i lots of stories the snow tells,
( ‘ ot ‘ sn 1 11- John?” said David. His eyes
v |-' dxed wistfully on the woods, far
u ‘- dark, and quiet against the bright
sky.
ought to see a pa’tridge track
? nee ’” s& ld old John. “That’s a track
for you!”
"' ( re could I, John?’ asked Da-
Vl( l. eagerly.
Old .John waved his hand in the
cuoction of the woods “They keep to
u ' w °ods mostly,” he said.
- j ’ween mouthfuls of currant jam
* ! 'l bread and butter that night Da
;i( asked, “Aunt Eunice, how big is a
Pa fridge track?”
Ufcss the boy,” cried Eunice peer
’ ' ;i him over her glasses, “How
shonid l know?”
,r s pretty big, I guess,” said Philip.
( !) ' >r heart alive!” said Aunt Lois,
suppose it is. There aren’t many
Partridges about here now.”
, M ! J Ulsn ’t strange that Aunt Lois
Aunt Eunice didn’t know much
' 1 , n the footprints of pa’tridges and
, ’ v ' lio ds and all such things. But old
' 1 ■ knew. Deep in his heart David
tip, 1 o,d l o * lll knew about all the
p i f5 ‘ s real Jy worth knowing.
<.../ ' ' he next morning David sat up
a l w ,! gat in hed. He shook Philip
‘Th •> 1 ken ke shook him quiet,
tuid ' ® a * d ’ * 1 don ’t w& nt to dis
' v one , hut I’m going out to
quii U f Pa ’ tridge track - lt di(ln,t secm
jfj “7 n ° L to give you the chance
Jour along if you wanted to. Do
Q,,j, Z l ' Was re ady as soon as David.
The J, st °J e ou t the house,
fire], 1 vvas J list coming up red as
the T iC n° nd tke woods. As far as
it st ‘, Went > they went in it. When
into 7] )1)Cd ’ tkey stepped out bravely
aioij,, i snow * David had brought
heavl , and John’s snow shovel; it was
Usii.p j md awk ward. They took turns
’ SOffi eliow, they got along until
there was only one field more between
Ihem and the woods.
David was some distance ahead of
Philip; he was using the shovel. About
half-way across the field, he stopped
short.
There, just in front of him, on top
of the snow, crossing the path he was
making, was a long line of tracks. Da
vid rubbed his snow-blinded eyes and
stared at them fascinated. They were
such strange tracks. All in one fright
ened little minute David saw how
long they were, how broad, and how,
in places, they had cut sharply into
the snow. No bird —not even a
pa’tridge—could leave such gigantic
footprints behind him. Could an ani
mal? And how could such a big animal
walk on top of the snow?
Suddenly the whole world, which
had been so kind and beautiful, grew
strange and lonesome. The woods,
which had seemed so far away, looked
very near and dark and gloomy. Sup
pose the animal should decide to come
back the way he had gene and should
find David standing there, and should
see Philip just.behind? Philip was a
little boy.
Mother said David must always take
care of him. David turned about. He
ran straight into Philip, knocking
him down. He pulled him up. “Hurry,
hurry, hurry!” he said in a queer
choked little voice. “There’s been a
dreadful big animal along this way. I
guess he was looking for his break
fast. You mustn’t be afraid, Philip, but
he might be coming back soon now.”
Shivering with cold jgfid fright,
plunging headlong into 1 the snow,
tumbling over each other and the big
shovel, David and Philip rushed blind
ly back the way they had come. At
last, shovel and all, they staggered in
to old John, who had just come out
to feed the chickens.
“Sakes alive!” cried old John. He
looked as if he had been run into by
two big snow-balls. “What’s this? Why
bless my soul, it’s little David and lit
tle Philip.”
“O John,” panted David. That was
all he had breath for. And all Philip
could gasp was “Oh!”
David caught old John’s hand in
both his. “There’s been a dreadful big
animal across the lot over there neift
to the woods,” he said. “It had terrible
eyes”—
“And such long fierce teeth,” said
Philip.
“Sakes alive!” cried old John.
“Where did you see it?”
“I didn’t see it,“ said David. “But
it’s footprints were in the snow.”
“It had just been along,” said Philip.
“I’ll get my gun,” said old John.
“Could it have been a panther, Da
vid?”
“Do panthers have feet a good deal
larger than yours, John?” said David.
“This animal’s feet were twice as long
as yours, and twice as broad.”
Old John looked in a puzzled way at
his feet in their pontiacs.
“They were sort of rounded tracks,
John,” went on David anxiously. He
took a stick and traced in the snow.
“They had a kind of little handle at
one end —so and there were queer
lines running across them —so.”
A look of sudden understanding
dawned on old John’s face. He threw
back his head and laughed till he
had to stop to wipe the tears. “Want
to know what those tracks were?” he
said. “Those were snowshoe tracks;
there’s a pair hanging up in the shed.
After breakfast, you can try ’em. And
the animal,” —old John chuckled —“the
animal that wore ’em, David, was old
Farmer Brown!” —Christian Register.
RIVER TRAFFIC IN MEXICO.
How Products of the • Interior Are
Brought to the Coast.
It would be a difficult matter to es
timate the number of people who are,
directly dependent upon the mercan
tile supplies of this port, but it is cer
tain that the number can be written
with six figures. More than 5000 of
these boats are in commission on the
Tamesi and Panuco rivers, they vary
in length from 20 to 60 feet and carry
the wild and cultivated products of the
interior to Tampico, where they dis
charge their cargoes and reload with
merchandise and other supplies.
With two great waterways, the Tam
esi and the Panuco, the native naviga
tors find their business profitable, de
spite the fact that it requires about
thirty days to make a round trip to dis
tant points cn the river. Every con
ceivable form of tropical plant and
fruit may be found in their cargoes, as
well as native made earthenware and
other manufactured articles. A long
pole is the only compass required by
the captain of one of these barques,
but he wields the bamboo which pilots
him safely over the shoal filled waters
of a tropical waterway. Many of the
plantations along the rivers keep sev
eral of these boats in commission all
the time, carrying their smaller pro
ducts to the market and bringing back
supplies for the hacienda.
In the early hours of the morning
green bananas are piled up along the
wharves like cordwood, baskets of co
coanuts, pineapples, wild and cultivated
lemons and oranges and innumerable
other products of the tropics can be
seen in enormous quantities. And it
is surprising how quickly the supply
of the day is exhausted. A string of
freight cars on the track opposite the
market are waiting for a portion of
most every cargo,and by noon there is
little left but the small fruits and vege
tables in moderate quantities.—Tam
pico correspondence Mexican Herald.
Our Trains.
The American Globe Trotter —Talk
about traveling. Why, in America
trains go so fast that it takes two
people to talk about ’em —one to say
“Here she comes!” and the other to
say, “There she goes! ’’—Sketch.
POSSIBILITIES OF '
COUNTRY NEWSPAPERS
ILLUSTRATED
Us Close Relation to the People ot tin Village
f.nd the Countryside Makes It a
Medium For Merchants.
Every town of any pretensions'
whatever has at least one country
paper, published at home and dealing
with home affairs. Is that paper
worthy of patronage? Should you
#lace advertisements in it? Will it
benefit you to secure its favor
through advertisements on its pages?
These are questions which many
a country merchant has-asked him
self when approached by the solici
tor, usually the editor and proprie
tor, with an advertising proposition.
'“Let us consider. When spread out
beside the great city daily which
comes on the train from the metro
polis it looks small and of no ac
count. It is dwarfed and insignifi
cant. The pages are smaller and
there are not so many of them; the
wording of the reading may not he
equal to that of the city paper; the
typographical work may be deficient:
its errors will seem more glaring
when you compare the two.
If Theodore Roosevelt wrote you
a letter, saying that he had taken
his stand against wrong because be
believed it was the proper thing to
do, and if at the same time, while
you were reading the letter, your
little son should come in and tell you
that he had broken a window pane
and was sorry for it, to which would
you pay the most instant attention,
tlie letter or the boy? We imagine
that you would look on your son and
heir with pride that he had the cour
age and manhood to tell you what
he had done. The letter from the
President would interest and please
you, too, perhaps, but' little Johnny
is your boy and he is a little fel
low, and he is right beside you,
doing what you would have him do.
Johnny is not possessed of the
stature and years of the President;
he has not the physical energy or the
teeth of our chief executive. He
may never be as well known or great.
The fact that he broke a window is
reprehensible, and the mere fact that
he came and told you was but proper
and creditable —nothing wonderful
in it at all. But Johnny is bone of
your bone and flesh of your fiesli. In
your heart, Johnny is of more inter
est to you than even the President of
this nation.
So with the country paper and the
city publication. The people may
take both. They peruse columns on
columns of reading, skipping from
page to page with interest. They
like to know what is going on in the
great world. But the little paper
holds for them a nearer interest. In
it are chronicled the little homely
details of their neighbors an’# them
selves. It may not be so powerful,
so large, so important to the world;
it may not be so wise, so skilled in
argumentation. But it is a chronicle
of things at home and it holds a
c),on' relation to the people of the
village and countryside than the big
city paper can ever obtain.
This being the case, it behooves
the country merchant to recognize
the possibilities of the country paper.
One man may differ from his grocer’s
opinion of the President, and still
come to the store for groceries. But
if one man smites the merchant’s
son carelessly, he and the merchant
are not as a general thing on ami
cable terms. The boy and his welfare
are of vital interest to the parents.
As to the President, there is always
room for argument in a calm and
dispassionate way. Your opinion of
the city paper may not be the same
as that of your best customer, but
you do not find fault with one an
other about that; but the country
paper is right with you, and when
one espouses its cause it becomes
more of a personal matter. It is a
part of the town family.
Now, what is the attitude of the
little paper on your business? How
does it stand on the matter of the
parcels post, the catalogue house
trade and similar matters of impor
tance to von? Have you ever talked
it over with the man at the head?
Perhaps he does not understand the
matter clearly. Possibly his back
bone is weak. Once in a while he
may get an advertisement from out
of town while you do not patronize
his columns.
We believe that advertising is vi
tal and that the merchant - should use
the means and instruments within
his reach for his own benefit. The
advertisement .in your home paper
serves a- double purpose—it gives you
the support of the paper in a busi
ness way and it brings your business
to the attention of the people who
may be customers of yours.
Too many merchants consider only
the first of these two purposes, and
the result is that their advertise
ments are poorly displayed and poor
ly written, too.
“Oh, put in ‘John Smith, Fancy
Groceries,’ and let it go at that,”
some merchants are apt to say. You
have bought space not for advertis
ing purposes, but to “support the
paper” and keep it loyal to you. The
first thing for such a merchant to
do is to consider the worth of ad
vertising. It is unquestioned by
those who know. If real advertising
is of value, why not put some of it
in that barren space you ha vs pur
chased,,? The publisher will be glad
to have it pay you, for it helps him
to have his advertisers realize some
thing from their spaces.
The next thirig is to prepare your
advertisements properly. This is not
so difficult as it may seem. A little
effort and time and thought and you
may produce a very creditable line
of advertising. The main thing is to
remember that you wish to talk to
possible customers. A plain, homely
•onversation in advertising space at
tracts attention. Your store has
iome particular things in it which
he public would like to have—tell
hem. You have some special bar
gains which should move—tell them,
v’ou have added some new feature to
he store, ask them to come in and
;ee it. Get them coming your way.
The country paper is worthy of
patronage. We have no interest in
any country paper, but we have a
vital interest in the ■ prosperity of
the merchant, and we believe that
we are justified in urging him to ad
vertise in his home publication. Most
merchants do, you may say, and that
is true in a way. Look through the
country papers we do week after
week, and we get quite a bunch of
them, and you will realize how few
merchants, comparatively speaking,
advertise with any vim or earnest
ness. They pay for two things .and
only take one of them. The pub
lisher is willing that you should have
both—why not take them, then?—
Oregon Tradesman.
The Family Quarrel.
By JOHN H. McNEELY.
The telephone bejl jingled joyously.
Mr. and Mrs. Newlove were seated at
the pretty mahogany table, reading.
*“ Nellie, dear, will you answer the
’phone?” warbled the benedict.
“Now, Charlie, you know I never
like to answer,” she replied.
“But it’s some member of your
family. They generally begin tele
phoning about this time every even
ing.”
“It is not so.”
“Probably your mother.”
“No, it isn’t, Charlie.”
“Or your father.”
“No, not father.”
“Maybe your brother, Willie.”
“The truth about the matter is that
some member of voui family is call
ing.”
“How absurd. They never call.”
“I suppose they want to tell you
how to crush my spirits.”
“Rather, it is your mother with
some instructions on liow to work me
for my money.”
“It is untrue.”
“Well, the ’phone : mssage isn’t for
me. ”
“It isn’t for me, either.”
“But your family are always call
ing up here. ”
‘'They never do.”
“Are you going to answei.”
“What’s the use when it’s your
mother or father trying to tell us how
to manage our affairs.”
“I will say the same thing about
your family.”
“Nellie, I* want you to distinctly
understand that you cannot abuse my
mother and father to my face.”
“And, Charley, 1 want you to un
derstand that you cannot abuse my
mother and father to my face.”
“And Charley, I want you to under
stand that you cannot talk about my
family to my face, eituer.”
“Well, I’ll end this by answering
the ’phone. Of course, I will have to
call you, but what’s the difference as
long as we have peace.
“Hello! . . .
“No. This is not B IS4. You have
the wrong number."—From Judge.
The Case of a Drunkard.
The decision of the Appellate Court
upholding a verdict of S3OOO against
a saloonkeeper proved to have sold
liquor to a drunkard is not a “blow”
at the saloon interests, but, rightly
interpreted, a timely and most valu
able bit of advice to this class of the
community. It was proved in the
lower courts that the owner of a
barroom had sold liquor to a man ad
dicted to intemperance, and the lat
ter’s sister sued for damages on the
ground that she had been deprived
of her brother’s support. The jury
in the trial court awarded her S3OOO,
and this verdict has been upheld by
the Court of Appeals.
The law is clear, lt expressly pro
hibits the sale of liquor to drunkards,
and the saloon man wilo violates this
prohibition should be punished in the
way he will feel most —by reducing
his bank account. Nothing can be
more horrible than deliberately pan
dering to the cravings of a man
whose will has been weakened by
protracted indulgence in alcohol.
Such an individual is no longer a
free agent, he requires to be watched
over and guarded from the results of
his own weakness, even as the in
sane. The law seeks to proect him,,
and those who thwart the law’s ef
forts deserve the penalty.—Chicago
Evening Post.
Ages of Cabinet Ministers.
A calculating Canadian has been
reckoning up the ages of Cabinet
ministers in liis own country and in
ours. He arrives at the conclusion
that Mr. Asquith’s government is con
siderably the more juvenile of the
two. The average age of the British
Cabinet is fifty-two, whereas .that of
the Canadian is sixty-one. There are
ten British ministers under fifty and
only three Canadian. No Canadian
minister is under forty, whereas we
have two in the thirties —Air. Church
ill and Air. Runc-iman. The youngest
Canadian minister —Air. Lemieux —is
forty-two. He recently went on . a
mission to the government of the
Alikado to negotiate an agreement in
reference to future Japanese immi
gration into Western Canada. —Dun-
dee Advertiser
Brave Scientist Makes
Friends With Condors.
Venturesome Artist Risks Life in Land of Clouds and Finds
Nest High Up in Rugged Crags cf Mountain—By Frequent
Visits Calms Fear of Birds—ls at Last Allowed to Handle
Their Fledgling and Tako Close Photographs. *>.
„ There are still a few California
condors that have escaped the rapa
city of hunters for plumage and eggs,
writes the £an Francisco correspon
dent of the New York World. These
birds are an extremely rare species,
entirely different both in size and
p'**nage from the vulture of the
Andes. The condor's total disap
pearance seems now to be only a
question of years. In fact, it is be
lieved that this species now numbers
only thirty individuals. Before long
the condor of California must join
such extinct races as the epyornis of
Madagascar and the dronte of Isle
Maurice. Its eggs, eagerly sought
after by collectors, are worth from
$250 to S3OO apiece, a price that
sufficiently explains why egg-hunters
are willing to brave the dangers of
almost inaccessible heights in order
to reach their nests.
William L. Finley is the young and
active president of the Oregon Audu
bon Society, a league formed for the
protection of wild animals still extant
on American soil, whose future is
threatened by hunters and trappers.
Convinced that a full study of
these rare birds would prove an in
valuable document in view of their
expected disappearance, Mr. Finley
determined to make a personal in
vestigation as to their habits and has
put his project into execution.
Accompanied by a guide and
equipped with a complete photogra
phic outfit he left Marietta ranch, in
Southern California, on March 10.
His objective point was the San
Bernadino Mountains. Next morn
ing he reached the entrance of the
canyon of Carnello, where he had
been informed by Indians that two
condors had been sighted.
Condor is Discovered.
After a two hours’ climb up ragged
cliffs lie found himself on top of the
mountain. The search commenced
amid a mass of denuded rocks and
a labyrinth of ravines and precipices.
The two men were on the point of
giving up the quest when the idea
occurred to Mr. Finley of firing three
pistol shots.
A few minutes after the triple ex
plosion had awakened the mountain
echoes the Mexican uttered a cry of
joy. Some thousand yards in front
a bird of huge size, risen from the
canyon, poised itself on th,e top of a
rock. Then, resuming its heavy
flight, it described a number of cir
cles and disappeared ‘further away
ill the depths of the abyss. But not
before Mr. Finley had identified it,
through his glasses, as a condor.
According to the experienced Mex
ican The nest must be somewhere in
the immediate neighborhood. Re
gaining confidence the two men
struggled on to reach the ravine in
which the bird had disappeared.
Clinging to the edges of the rocks
along the almost perpendicular moun
tain side they at last reached it.
Again Mr. Finley fired three shots.
Ready to Pounce on Them.
Suddenly, a few yards above them,
they heard a great fluttering of wings.
Looking up they saw the bird, with
bristling plumage, perched in front
of the opening of a crevice, as if
making ready to pounce upon them.
As they had come only to observe
they took care not to further anger
the condor, which, on its side, did
not stir.
The first part of their program had
been realized by this happy encoun
ter. As the bird did not fly at sight
of the hunters the crevice undoubt
edly sheltered its nest. Within that
nest there must be an egg, perhaps
ready to hatch. Mr. Finley was able
to convince himself of this fact by
scaling the rock on which the condor
was still keeping guard. On a bed
of dry leaves and feathers—that is all
a condor's nest consists of—he was
able to discern a large bluish egg.
Buoyed with hope he retraced his
steps down the perilous descent with
the intention of returning again. On
his subsequent trip, which was de
layed three weeks by bad weather,
clinging to the roots of shrubs and
the corners of rocks—having first
taken the precaution to attach his
companion to him by a long rope—
Mr. Finley reached the slab which
formed a sort of terrace before the
crevice. This time he surprised the
condor on the nest. He noticed a
bare, pink head and its ferocious
looking eyes. And he could hardly
repress a cry of joy when the mother,
rising to her feet, uncovered a little
ball of white down, still sticky with
albumen amid the debris of egg
shells.
But the light was too feeble in this
cavity to permit him to -use his cam
era successfully. How could he per
suade the newly born to come and
pose in the open? Not yet was %t
strong enough to lift itself on its rosy
talons. And the mother, her eyes
Rfiame, seemed preparing to defend
her progeny with beak and claws.
Handles the Fledgling.
Mr. Finley did not abandon his
task. Advancing inch by inch he
crawled toward the end of the crev
ice. He arrived so close to the moth
er that he could have touched her by
extending his hand. Emboldened, he
delicately took hold of the little one,
and slowly pushed himself backward
toward the terrace. He deposited the
prize in the sunlight, and after tak
ing five snapshots, brought it back to
the enraged mother.
Little was required to turn this
first victory into disastrous defeat.
The male condor came rushing to
the spot in full flight. Would he be
as complacent as the mother? For
one moment Mr. Finley expected that
the bird would pounce upon him. He
hovered a few feet above the natur
alist's head, uttering raucous cries.
But an energetic waving of the pho
tographic tripod disconcerted him.
He took refuge some distance away
on the highest branch of a tree, while
Mr. Finley and his companion beat a
hasty retreat.
Oil his return from this expedition
Mr. Finley telegraphed to one of his
friends, H. Bohlman, a professional
photographer, who hastened across a
thousand miles to join him.
On April 11 the two friends set
out together. They had reached the
approaches to the nest when a large
stone, loosened by Mr. Finley's foot,
fell with a crash to the bottom of the
canyon. The noise drew the mother
bird out of the crevice and she
perched upon the branches of a dead
tree. As she showed no disposition
to return, after a quarter of an hour
of waiting the friends climbed along
the cliff to the foot of the tree and
put their apparatus in order. At
that moment the male came flying at
full speed and perched near his com
panion.
Then followed a curious scene. Tho
female, crawling along the branch,
put her head under the neck of the
male with a caressing gesture. He
responded coldly to this conjugal ad
vance, turning away his bald head
with an air of boredom and drawing
back as she approached until he had
reached the end of the branch. He
was forced to unfold his wings in or
der to leap above her and regain his
foothold on the other side of the
branch. This little incident put an
end to his ill humor. The two con
dors perched side by side for a long!
and tender exchange of caresses be-"
fore winging their way together into
the shadows.
A visit to the yo as now
in order. Mr. Finley
had grown considerably. As big as
its egg seventeen days before, it now ,
just fitted the naturalist’s hat! Its
down, which had previously been of
a dazzling white, had now taken a
grayish tinge. The pink of its head
and neck had turned a vivid yellow.
The sight of Mr. Finley wrung from
it strange cries, followed by stifled
whistling. It even sought to defend
itself with its beak against the hands
which bore it to the outer ledge.
While the photographer was fixing
his apparatus Mr. Finley stood on
guard, his eyes toward the sky.
Thrice had the instrument clicked
when a barely perceptible speck in
the heavens grew bigger with aston
ishing rapidity. The male condor
was rushing to the rescue, followed
speedily by his consort. Again the
pair contented themselves with a hos
tile demonstration, and the men
withdrew in safety with their pre*
cious films.
Baby Bird Still Antagonistic. 1
Anew expedition on April 25 sur
prised the mother bird asleep beside
her progeny. This unexpected delay,
enabled them to set their apparatus
in order. Then they awoke the con
dor with a whistle and she sailed
slowly away to her accustomed perch
on the dead tree.
The next visit was paid on May
15. The nestling, now fifty-four days
old, had grown as big as a chicken.
Its body was covered with a thick
gray down, whence feathers were
sprouting. Anger swelled its neck,
the breath, which it exhaled in fur
ious whistles, filled the crevice with
stifling odors, and its beak would
have torn Mr. Finley’s hands had
they not been protected by gloves.
On June 11 naturalist and photog
rapher were again in the crevice.
Though the young condor, now eigh
ty-two days old, defended itself more
vigorously than ever, its parents had
become accustomed to their presence.
They no longer protested as the
strange visitors approached the nest.
They even allowed themselves to be
photographed from a distance of five
feet.
At the last visit, July 4, the moth
er carried familiarity so far as to
take Mr. Bohlman’s sleeve gently in
her beak. She had become as mild
as a pet cat.
The two friends had been amply,
rewarded for their pains. After four
months of watching over the nestling
and its parents they had been enabled
to study from life the habits of a spe
cies doomed to speedy extinction and
to bear away with them the photo
graphs.
Competition For Engaged Couples.
Nearly a hundred engaged couples
took part in a novel shooting compe
tition which has just concluded at
Argovie. The competition was lim
ited to lovers who were engaged and
willing to be married as soon as pos
sible. The distances were 300, 500
and 1000 meters, and the scores of
each pair were added together.
The prizes were a complete mar
riage trousseau for the woman and
£4O for the man. The winners were
a young man named Glauser and his
fiancee, Louise Mathys, aged nineteen.
They will be married on Sunday.—
London Express.
