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About The Corvallis gazette. (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 27, 1885)
IV, KNOW THEE THERE. G. D. Prentice, said: "No living poem can turpass in beauty the following lines from the ziuse of Amelia:" Tale star, that, with thy soft, sad light, Comes out upon my bridal eye, t have a song to ping to night. Before thou takest thy mournful leave, fcince then so softly time has stirr'd That months have almost seemed like hours And I am like a little bird That slept too long among the flowers, And, waking, tits with waveless wing, Soft singing 'mid the shad,s of eyen But, oh ! with sadder heart I sing I sing of one who dwells in heaven. The winds are soft, the clouds are few, And tendercst thought my heart beguiles, As, floating up through mist and dew, The pa'e young moon comes out in smiles; And to the green resounding shore In silvery troops the ripples crowd, Till all the ocean, dimpled o'er, Lift up its voice and laughs aloud And star on star, all soft and calm, Float up yon arch, serenely blue. And, lost on earth, and steeped in balm, My spirit floated in ether, too Loved one ! though lost to human sight, I feel thy spirit lingering near; And softly as I feel the light That trembles through the atmosphere, As in some temple's holy shades, Though mute the hymn, and hus'jed the prayer, A solemn awe the sou! pervaJes, Which tells that worship has been there; A breath of incense, left alone, Where many a ceaser swung around; Which thrills the wanderer like to one We treads on consecrated ground. I know thy soul, lrom worlds of bliss. Yet stops awhile to dwell with me, Hath caught the prayer I breathed in this, That I at List inig! t dwell with thee; I hear a murmur from the seas That thrills me like thy spi it's sighs; hear a voice on e very breeze That makes to mine its low replies A voice a'.l low and sweet like thine; It gives an ansv. cr to my rayer, And bring my soul from Heaven a sign That I will know and meet thee there. I'll know thee tlerj by that sweet face, Round, which a tender halo plays, Btill touched with that expressive grace That made thee lovely all thy days, By that sweet s-nile that o'er it shed A beauty like t'je liaht of even, Whose so. t cxj-rjssion never fled. Even when its soul had fled to Heaven; t'll know thee by the starry crown That glitters in thy raven hair ; Oh ! by these blessed sights alone I'll know thee tterc. I'll know thee th?re. For ah! thine eye, within whose sphere The sweetest youth and beauty met, That swam in love and softness here, Must swim in love and softness jet. For ah ! its dark and liquid beams, Though saddened by a thousand sighs, Were holier than the light that streams Down from the gates of Paradise Were bright and radieat like tLc morn, Tet soft and dewy as the eve, Too sad for eyes where smiles are torn, Too young for eyes to leant to grieve. I wonder if this cold, sweet breeze Hath touched thy li s and fanned thy brow. For all my spirit hears and s es Recalls thee to my memory now; For every ho:ir we breathed apart Will but increase, if that can be, The love t!:at til s this lonely heart, Already filled so lull of thee, Tet many a tear these eyes must weep, And many a sin must be lorgiven, Ere these pale lids shall sink to sleep, An i you and I shall meet In heaven ! Winny. Stranger to Canada. I think von said? First vis t to Ontario? Well, you're heartily welcome to Indian Creek. Take a chair on the pia-yatill dinner's ready we dine early in the.se new world parts. Finefarm? Well, yes; Ind: an Creek is a nice place, if I do own it. All as far as you can see grass land, corn fields, woods and creeks all belong to it. Stock, too they call it the best stocked farm in Ontar.o, 1 believe, and i dare say tiiey'rc right. All ni ne; n.d yet I came lo Can; da twelve years ago, w thout even the traditional half crown in my trousers po.ket. You ook surprised. Would you 1 ke to hear the story? There's a good half ttour lo dinner time yet. and its a story never t re of telling, somehow. I began life as the son of a v'llage tarpetitcr in the south of England. You know that class pretty well, I 4are say. an 1 what a gulf was fixed aetvveen me and the vicar of the par ish. And yet and yet -from the t me the was 7 -ears old and I 11, and she fell down in the dusty road outride the carpenter's shop, and cr ed. and 1 flicked her up. and smoothed the 1 ttle jrttmpled pinafore, and k ssed the dust mt of her golden eur.s, I loved but ttne g rl in the world, and that was the vicar's daughter, Winny Brans icmbe. Madness, you'll say. Well, perhaps ,o, and yet a man is but a man. and a woman a woman; and love comes, whatever one may do. There's no slass distinction recognized by child hood, and we were playmates and friends till she went to boarding school, ilf Miss Winney had had a mother no loubt things would have been very iifferently but we were al ke in never aviiig known a mother's care, and Tie old vicar was blind to everthing 'ut his theological treatise. But when she came back from her jondon boarding school, a beautiful foung lady, all smiles and laces and fittle lovely ways then I knew. I ad tried my bes, to study and work, I nd make myself more like the men Ae would meet; but what can a lad in in Englsh village do? I had just nough education to make every other iad in the place hate me; and beside She men of her world I suppose I cut ather an astonishing figure. Yet the ove of her was beyond all else in me, jhat mad. hopeless as I felt it, I had o power over myself, and the first Sme I caught her alone in the woods she avoided me, I saw, and I had to watch for a chance I told her the 'hole story, and wa:ted for her an swer. She grow scarlet - a rush of color fti at d o 1 her fair lace then deathly "Dick," she said, and she was trembling from head to foot, "you know it can never, never be; you know you are wrong even to dream of such a thing. Some girls would think it an insult I know you better; but if my father heard of this he would say you had abused his kindness toward you; he would never forgive you. Forget your madness." And she "ran from me. I let her go. I had seen in the blusli and the tremor, and I guessed that if I had been Mr. Loftus, the young squire, instead ot Dick Hawtry, the carpenter's son, her answer might have been different. A great resolve sprange up in my soul, and I took a solemn ow in those June woods. That very night I sold the old shop (my father was dead and I had taken to the business, ) and with the money I bought an outfit and started stra:ght for Canada. It was pretty tough work at first, but I worked like a gallev fiave starve i and pinched and saved, and never spent a cent on myself, ex cept for books. I sat up half the n'ght to read and study. Well, in this c ountry the man who works and doesn't dr.nk is sure to get on: and I had a m'ghty purpose in my head. By and by 1 nought some land dirt cheap, and sold it for three t mes what I ga e for it then I beran to make money fast.' I should call my luck won I erf u I if I believed in luck, and didn't prefer to think I v. as help ed by a power far abler than myself. At last, ten years to the very day after I set foot on Can ad an soil, I bought Indian creek farm, and began to bu Id this house. All the ne'ghbors thought my good fortune had turned my brain, for I fitted it up and furnished it for a lady, down to a little rocking-chair by my study table, and a tiny work basket with a trny gold thimble in it. And when all was l'n shed 1 took the first ship for Liverpool. Ten ears 1 ullds a citv over here. It doesn't make much change in a Devon shire viilage. The very gates were st 11 half-ort their h nges, as I left them only the peop'e were a litt'e older and a triilu more stupid, and there was a new vicar. Old Mr. Branscom.be had been dead s'x months d.edvery poor, they told me: there was nothing left for M ss Winny. My heart gave one great leap when I heard that. And Miss Winny? Oh, she had gone gov erness ng with some people who were just o.l to Canada, and the ship sailed to morrow f om Liverpool. The fiverpcol express never seemed to crawl so slowly before. I got there lo find every birth taken on board the Antarctic;, and the captain raging at the con appearai C-' of two of h s crew. Withe, nt a second s pause I offered for one of the vacant places. 1 was as str, ng ; s a ho se. and ac'ive enough, and tiiou . h the captain eyed me rath er as':, anco I had been to a West-end tailor on my way through London he was too glad to get me to ask any questions, so I sailed on the ship with my girl, little as she knew it. I saw her the lirst cay or two looking so pale and thin that she M as 1 ke the ghost of her former self, and yet sweeter to my eves than ever before. The child en she had charge of were troublesome little ere tines, who worried end badgered he : t it I longed to cuff them web. Hut there was a gentlei ess am! patience nbout her quite now t: rp idea of Mis? Winny, and I only lo her the more for it. After the sect ciay out the wind freshened, and I no more of her. We had au awful passage. It was late in November an early winter, and the cold was into ise. It blew one continuous gale, and some of our ma chinery was broken the screw dam aged and we could not keep our course. As we drew i.ear the other side of the Atlantic we got mote and more out of our bearings, and at last the fogs told us we were somewhere oft' the banks of Newfoundland, but where no one was quite sure. It seemed to m t it had all happened 1 e fore, or I had read it, or dreamed it. At all events, it was hardly a surprise to me, when, on th truth night, just alter minn ght. t ;e awlul crash and shock took place a sensation which no one who lias not felt it can magine in the le st and we knew that the Antsrc ;c had struck. It's a fearfnl th ng, if you come to think of it. a great s earner filled with livii g souls in the full llow of life an I health, a .d in one moment the call coming to each of them to die. Be- fore you could ha; e struek a match the whole ship was in a panic cries, ter ror, confus on. agony Oh, it was aw ful ! 1 hope never to see such a scne aga'n, I made my way through it all as if I had neither eyes nor ears, and got to the state room, I had long ago found out was the ore wh'ch belonged to my girl. I knocked at the ducr with a heavv hard, even at that mo-i ment a thr 11 ran through me at the thought of stand ng face to face with her again. "W.nney!" I cr'ed, 'come out! make haste there is not a moment to lose!" The door opened as I spoke, and she stood just within, ready dress, d, even to her' little black hat. The cabin light had been left burning, by the doctor's orders, and it fell full on me as I stood there in my sailor's jersey and cap. I wondered if she would know me. 1 forgot the danger we were in forgot that death was wait ing close at hand -forgot that the world held any one but just her and me. "Dick?" she cried "Oh, Dick. Dick!" and she fell forward in a dead faint on my shoulder. All my senses came back then; and 1 threw her over my arm and ran for the deck. A great fur-lined cloak had been dropped by the door of the ladies' cabin. There was no light, but I stumbled over it as I ran. I snatched it up and carried it with me. Up above, all was the wildest chaos; the boats over-filled, and pushing off; the ship settling rapidly; people shout ing, crying, swearing. One hears tales of calmness and courage often enough at such times, which makes one's heart glow as one reads them; but there was not much heroism shown in the wreck of the Antarctic. The captain behaved splendidly, and so did some of the passengers, but the ma jority of them and the crew were mad w th terror, and lost their heads alto get er. nl saw there was not a chance for the overcrowded boat in that sea, and I sprang for the rigging. I was not a second too soon; a score of others fol- lowed my example, and with my preo- j ious burden I should not have had a I chance two minutes later. As it was, I scrambled to the topmast, and got a firm hold there. Winny was just com ing to herself. I had wrapped her round like a baby in the fur cloak, and with my teeth I opened my knife to j cut a rope which hung loos within my reach. With this I lashed her to me, I and fastened us both to the top-mast. The ship sank gradually: she did not keel over, or I should not be telling j oil the story now; she settled down j just her deck above water, but the ; great seas swept over it every j second and swept it clean. The boat had gone! One or two floating on loose spars, were picked up afterwards no more, j The rigging was pretty full, at least in the upper part; down below the sea was too st ong. The captain was near me. 1 felt glad to think he had been : sa ed- he v as not a coward like some of the others. How long was the loncest night you ev.rknew? Mult'ply that by a thou sand, and you will have some idea of ! that night s length. The cold was awful. The spray froze on the sheets as it fell; the yards wre sl'ppery with : c . I stamped on Winny s fee to keep them from freezing. Did you no- : t ee that I Imp a little? I shall walk lame as long as I live. Sometimes there was a splash in the black water be!ow. a; some poor fellow's st'.i'ened hold relaxed, and he fell from his i place in the rigging. There was not a breath of wind, nothing but the bitter, ; bitter fo2'. How long could we hold out? Where were we? How long would the sh p last before she broke u;? Would it be by drowning or I freeing? We ssked ourselves again; and again, but there was no answer, j Death stared us in the face; we seem ed to live ages of agony every minute and yet. will you believe me, that all seemed little in comparison to the thought that after all the struggles and the sorrows, after all those ten , long weary years, I held my girl in I my arms at last! She pulled one corner of the cloak around my neck (I stood on a level I just below her), and her hand laid I there with it it was the hand that warmed me more than the cloak and iter cheek rested against my own. Of ten I thought its eoldness was the I coldness of death, and almost exulted in the thought that we should die together. And then I would catch the murmur of the prayers she was utter. ng for us both, and know that life was there still, and hope 1 ved too. Well, w ell! Why should I dwell on such horrors, except to thank the mercy that brought us through them all? Day dawned at last; and there was the shore near by, and soon rock ets were fired, and ropes secured, and one by one the half-dead living were drawn from their aw ful suspension be tween skv and sea. and landed safe on shore. They had to take Winny and me together, just as we were, and even then they had hard work to un do the clasp of my stiffened arms about her. I knew nothing then, nor for long after: and it is wonderful that "r any was the first to recover, and it was she who nursed me back to and reason. . d how did I ask her to marry me? , pon my word, now ou ask. I can't remember that I ever did. That seem ed utterly unnecessary, somehow. Caste distinctions look small enough when you have been staring death in the face for a few hours; and words were not much needed after we had been together in the rigging over that night. Somehow I was srlad it was so, glad my girl had taken m ;. in my cap and jersey, for a common sailor, and yet loved" the old Dick through it all; ijlad she never dreamed I was owner of Indian Creek farm, and the richest man in that end of Ontario, and had wealth and a pos tion higher than Mr. Loftus, the young squire at home. The people she was with had all gone down on that auful n'ght: she had no one in the world but me. We were married at Montrael the captain of the Ant arctic gave her away and then I brought her home to Incl an Creek. To see her face when she saw the rocking cha r, and the work basket and the th ruble! Heaven bless her! There she comes, with her baby on her shoulder. Come in to dinner, friend, and you shall see the sweetest wife in the new country, or the old; the s'.rl I won amid the ocean's surges. A Pioneer of Pioneers. San Franclc Bulletin. The owner and navigator of a sloop engaged in fishing on the bay is James iJeace, 87 ears of age, and a Cal forma pioneer of the pioneers, having come to th s coast in 1S1H. In 1817 he sailed from England In the ship Nereod. bound for the Columbia river, in the service of th i Hudson Bav company. She put into the bay of Monterey, when he became implicated in a mu tiny and was placed in irons. In April, 1818, the vessel cast her" anchor in the bay of San Franc sco, where he stole away in one of the sh p's boats, and made his way to the Miss on Dolores, where the fathers furnished him with blankets and a ponv and directed him to the camp of William Smith, on the s te of Woodside, ban Mateo county. In this vicinity he cont'nued to live for j slxtv-seven years. He was remarkably I skillful in the use of tools, and in- j structed the natives of the Santa Clara mission in their use. In 1840, with about forty Americans, he was seized by the i Mexican authorities, placed in irons, j and sent to San Bias as a pr'sorer. He was taken to Tepic, whcie the charges of being implicated in a conspiracy against Mexico were found to be base less and he returned to his home in the redwoods. At the close of the Mexican 1 war he settled on a large tract of land I at Halfmoon bay. Here, in 1849, he hoisted the first American flag in Span- ' ishtown. This relic he still has in his possession. In 1835 Peace married the daughter of Pedro Valencia, and has two sons living. In the course of time ; he lost his property, and in his old age j made use of his skill in constructing a j sloop thirty feet in length, in which lie cruises the bay in quest of lish and i clams, which are marketed at Bed- ! wood Citv. I CHILDREN'S CORNER. How to Stop It. Our Dumb Animals. Mamma, a dear little birdie is dead! I saw it upon your new hat ; I wondered, dear mamma, while big tears I shed, Who could have been so cruel as that As to kill the birdie, mamma, do say, Did little ones die in their nesti Or from cold and fright did they pass away, For want of their dear mother's breast i I know, mamma dear, that the hat you'll not wear, It will be sent back to the shop: And mamma, do tell the folks everywhere, Such bad, wicked things they must stop, And mamma. May Perkins told me to-day, A kitten's head is on her hat ! It most took my breath hut I tried to say, "What if she should meet the ma cats" Seems to me, m:imma. there are pretty thinss Enoatrh to be found everywhere; Why must they kitties' heads, birdies and wings Like sia-n-boards of cruelty wear? Mamma, if ladies such thimrs would not buy, And let them remain in the shop, Would not the traders then have a supply 3 And would not the cruelty stop? Ages of Animals. Camels live from forty to fifty years; horses average from twenty-five to thirty; oxen about twenty; sheep eight to nine, and dogs from twelve to four teen. Concerning the ages attained by non domest c animals, only a few msolated facts is known. The East Indians believe that the life periods of elephants is about 800 years, instances being recorded of these animals hav ing lived 130 in coniincmeiit, after cap ture at an unknown age. Whales are est'mated to reach the age of -lOOyears. Some reptiles are very long lived, an instance being furnished by a tortoise, which was confined in ltioS and ex isted in 1753, when it per shed by an accident. Birds sometimes attain a great age, the eagle and the swan hav ing been known to reach 10P. The longevity of fishes is often remarkable. Carps having been known to reach 200, common river trout fifty years, and the pile n'nety years: while Gessner, a swiss natuiaiist, relates that a pike caught in 1437 bore a ring recording the capture of the same fish 267 years before. AVhat Happened to Charlie. Anna M. Talcott. Charl'e lived in the country, on the banks of a river. He had everything he wanted to play Wjth, and could do almost as he leased. But he was not allowed to get nto a little boat that was keyt down at the landing. He thought it very hard never to De al lowed to row alone. He often went with h s father, and could row quite well. He was not always good, and perhaps some day would nave gone without permission. But the oars were always kept in the boat house, which was locked, and Charlie d d not have the key. One day lit s father and mother had to go to the city and leave Charlie at home. I?e promised to be very goo ! before they went. At first be did very well; then he was lonely. He walked down to the landing. "I w 11 get in the boat for a min ute," he said, lie rocked the boat from side to side, and played he was at-sea. in a great storm. He was soon tired of the hoat and wanted back to the house. But this he could not do. The rocking of the boat had unfastened it, and it was drifting down the river. He did not know7 what to do. He shouted once or twice, but no one heard him. In the river there was a small island, which belonged to Charl o's father. The current carrii d the boat to this island, and Charlie r t out- There was nothing to get out for. but he had been in the toat long enough. He sat on the ground and w.shed he was at home. When his father and mother came back they wonde ed where he was. He did not come to dinner, and thev be ?an to feel alarmed. His father found the boat was gone. He borrowed an other of a neighbor, and sat off to look for Charlie. He had not rowed far be fore he saw a boat on the island, and a lonely little figure s tting on the shore. When Charlie saw his father coming he jumped up. and said, "Oh, 1 am so ilad! Have vou come to take me home?" "No." replied his father, "I came to look for you. Now that I find you have d sobeyed m I shail leave you here for the r wt of the day." Charlte could have cried if it had don any good He watched his father row ba'ik horn . Then he sat down on the ground and wished he had never stepped in the boat. He had a wry dull afternoon. When h Is father came at night, to take him home, there was not much said, but Charbe never for got that long day on the island. Stanley's Faith. Tenth's Companion. "One faith against the whole world's unbelief," s ngs a poet, and the poet only echoes thedoctr ne of the great Teacher. Have a right purpose n l,fe. and faith in that purpose. Pur pose and faith are destiny. A leaf from the journal of a great explorer vividly illustrates this truth. In the heart of Africa, years ago, two white men met. One was old, gray haired and ill; the other young and enthusiastic. The old man was one whose fame as an African explorer, was world-wide, but for years the civilized world had lost s'ght of him. Scientific associa t ons were asking vainly, "What has become of Dr. Livingstone?" As a correspondent of the New York Herald, the younger man d stingu;shed himself for indomitable perseverence, rapid decision and sterling common sense, and in 1870 was chosen by Mr. Bennett, its propr etor. to find Dr. Livingstone. His story s well known. "Draw a thousand pounds now." said Mr. Bennett, "and when vou have gon:i uirough that, draw another thousand, and soon butjiud Licing .iiii'iie." On January G. 1871, Henrc M. Stan ley started from Zmz bar for the into- j r or ot Afr c.i, a-i.,1 for eleven months j he and his party toiled through swamps and jungles, exposed to count less dangers from wild beasts and pes tilential atmosphere. Worn by fatigue, surrounded by insubordinate natives, a less resolute man than Stanley would have given up the unequal contest with circumstances and gone back, but th s Stanley never thought of doing. He had faith in God. himself and his purpose. In his journal he wrote, and the words glow with an energy that is sublime, and deserve a place in the memory of every young man. "No living man shall stop me; only death can prevent me. But death not even this; I shall not die I will not die I cannot die! Something tells mo I shall find him, and write it larger, FIND HiM, FIND HfM!" Full of the intensity of conviction, a faith born of the faith in God, ttanley pressed on, heedless of hardsh ps, till one day he, with his party, came in sight of Lake Tanganika, and a little later he stood in the presence of the great traveler, who for years had lost tidings of h s native land, and had al most ceased to look for aid from his countrymen. But for the faith of Stanley, Dr. Livingstone might have d ed of starva tion, and the world remained ignorant of his fate. The subsequent career of Stanley has brought into greater prominence his sui lime faith and resolute persist ence which is satisfied with nothing but the attainment of his ob ect, when has already placed the world deeply in debt. The leaf from the journal repeats an old lesson: Fa th is power. "Endurance is the crowning quality And patience all the passion of great hearts ; These are their stay, and when the leaden world Sets it-s hard face against their fateful thought, And brute strength like a conqueror Plunges its huge mall down on the other . cale, The inspired soul but flings his patience in, And siowly that outweighs the ponderous giooe, One faith against a whole world's unbelief, One soul against the llesh oi all mankind " The Dead Bird. Hai per's Youns People. Our children, Maggie and Johnnie, were the owners of two bright, pretty canary birds. They called them Char ley and Jennie. Jennie was a bird of that light buff-color so rare and so much admired by the lovers of these sweet songsters. Her eyes were like two little shiny black beads, they were s br ght and glistening. She was a f r eudly creature, and liked to be no ticed and talked to. When we called Jennie," she would hop about her cage and answer "Sweet!" in the hear tiest of tones. We all loved her, but Maggie claimed her as her own. One evening when I went to bring the c ages in from the little back porch, where they had been hanging during the warm afternoon, I noticed Jennie s feathers we:e slightly fluffed up, but as the evening was somewhat chilly, I thought she was probably a little cold, so paid no more attent onto her. The birds were not thought of next morn ing till after breakfast, when Charley began h s morn ng song in a loud, clear voice, hooking up I saw Jennie with her head tucked under her wing as if fast asleep. How strange? Who ever heard of a bird sleening after daylght? We gathered round her and tried to guess what ailed her. One who had a knowledge of birds and their ways prescribed for her. and we did all we could; but she drooped more and more, and closed the beautiful bead like eyes and resolutely kept her head tucked under her wing. So we just watched her, while the dishes stood on" the ta ble unwashed, and the floor remained unswept and the beds unmade, For a long while she sat matlonless; then she gave a little flutter and fell down, a little golden heap in the bottom of the cage. Johnn e had been coming in everv few'minutes with the quest on. "Mam ma, how is Jennie?" He just came in with the same question. I told him Jennie was dead. He gave a sad"Oh! ' as he went to look at her. Maggie was at school, and was unconscious of the sorrow that awaited her. As soon as he saw her coming he ran to meet her, and the sad story was soon told. Poor Maggie! She came to me with pit ful voice, asking, "Mamma, is Jennie dead?" "Yes, dear," I answered. She went to the cage, took the tiny mite in her hand, and held it, oh, so tenderly! le-pectedshe would cry, but she d'dn't. She held it out till told to put it down, Then she got a prettv box, and wrapping her little treasure in some soft, white material, she gen tly placed it in the little box and put it" away till after school, when they could bury it. All that afternoon, as I was busy about my work, Charley's notes rang out loud and clear and triumphant, as only Charley could sing for he was a rare singer but it made me feel so sad that I could scarcely keep the tears back. Charley's singing had never before made me feel so sad. jt was only because I felt that never again should I hear Jennie's cheerful chirp and twitter. That evening, after school, the chil dren, with a few of their playmates, put their l.ttle pet away out of their sight. A very small grave was made 1 eneath a rose-bush, and a very small head-stone placed in the proper place. A few flowers were reverently strewn around, and when they had finished their work they sadly returned to the house. As long as we remained in the vil lage that little mound under the rose bush was the children's special care. While flowers were to be had, a few fresh ODes daily found their way to the cherished spot: and now, though months have elapsed and we are hun dreds of miles away, little Jennie is not forgotten. The Dead Sea. Jornhlll Magazine. The dead sea is an old and decrepit salt lake, in a very advanced state of evaporation. It lies several feet below the level of the Mediterranean, just as the Caspian lies several feet below the level of the Black Sea; and as in both cases the surface must once have been continuous, it is clear that the water of either sheet must have dried up to a very considerable extent. But while the Caspian has shrunk only to eighty five feet below the Black Sea, the L'ead t-ea has shrunk to the enormous depth of 1,292 feet below the Mediterranean. Every now and then some enterprising De Lesseps or other proposes to dig a canal from the Mediterranean to the Dead Sea, and so re-establish the old high level. The effect of this very rev olutionary proceeding would be to flood the entire Jordan valley, connect the Sea of Galilee with the Dead sea, and play the dickens generally with Scripture geography, to the infinite delight of Sunday-school classes. Now, when the dead sea first began its inde pendent career as a separate sheet of water on its own account, it no doubt occupied the whole bed of this imagin ary engineers' lake spreading, if not from Dan to Beersheba, at any rate from Dan to Edoru, or. in other words, along the whole Jordan valley from the sea of Galilee and even the waters of Merom to the southern desert. The modern dead sea is the last shrunken relic of such a consideiable ancient lake. Its waters a'e now so very con centrated and so very nasty that no fish or other seli'-respcct.ng animal can consent to live in :hem, and so bouy ant that a man can not drown himself, even if he tries, t ecause the sea is sat urated with salt of various sorts till it has become a kind of soup or porridge, in which a swimmer floats, will he, nill he. The waters of the Dead Sea are thus in the condit'on of having already de posited almost all their gypsum, as well as the greater part of the salt they originally contained. They are, in fact, much like sea wat.r which has been boiled down til it has reached the slate of a thick, salty liquid, and though most of the salt is now already deposited in a deep layer on the bot tom, enough still rem tins in .-olut on to make the Dead Sea niinitely Salter than the general ocean. At the same time, there are a good many other things in solution In sea water besides gypsum and common salt; sue h as chloride of magnesu m, sulphate of potassium, and other interesting sub stances with pretty chem:cal names, well calculated to endear them at first sight to the sent mental affections of the general public. These other by- contents of the water are often still , longer iu gett n2: deposited than com- moil salt; and ow ns to the r intermix tute in a very conce trated form with the mother liquid in the Dead Sea, the j water of that e aporating lake is not only salt, but al o slimy and fetid to ! the last degree, its taste Leing aecu- I ratelv des ribed as half brine, half ran cid o L Indeed, the salt has been so far precipitated alread .- that there is now live tim s as much ehlor.de of magnesium left in the water as there is common salt. By t! e way, it is a lucky th ng for us that thes s various soluble m nerals are f such constitu tion as to be thrown down se arately at different stages of eoneentrat ou in the evaporating liquid, for if it were otherwise, they would all get depos ted t02f; ther, and we should lind gyoeum- salt and other chlorides and sulphates, absolutely useless for any practical hu, man purpose. "He never bad but one genuine case in his life," said a lawyer of a r.val, "and that was when he prosecuted his studies." You never knew how much water an umbrella is capable of eovita n ug. tint 1 you accidentally stand it against the wall and ou t!ie pearl colored carpet th:u eo t So a yard. A Baby Funeral in Mexico. Atlantic Monthly. O.ie afternoon I sat reading in my room while the first shower of the mot.th was falling. The rainy season was several weeks later this year. It was a goodly shower, and the r.vulets in the streets were soon converted into turbid torrents. Wiiilj the rain was t:U pouring, though very eently, I heard music in the s;reet. It was fc't. John's da', and I thought it part of th;! celebration. I stepped to the bal cony and saw a band coming, follow, d by a s ore cr more of men with lighted candles. The band was playing a lively march. Ahead there ran a lit tle boy with what looked like a taw drily painted box cover. The men were nearly all of the lower class, shaboily dressed. One of them carried on his head an open coffin containing what I at first took to b-d a doll having some thingto do with the eei'emonial. It was dressed in white muslin, with some gilt tinsel. But as they passed below I .-aw it was a dead baby, w t'i long eyelashes and black eyes staring up to the sky. Meanwhile the rain kept dropping pit lessly on the sen-cless little form. Oh, I fane'ed. s nee the form was senseless, was the rain p t iless, or ccmpassionate tears from heaven. The men sheltered from the wind with on'; har.d the candles they were carrying. The procession moved along, with fhe martial blare of the mus e sounding gayly down tha nar- ! row streets, seeming strangely inap propriate to maik the entry of a little child into the kingdom of heaven. "Mother, can't I go out and play?" asked a little boy. "No, my son." she answered, "you will get your clothes dirty." "Is the Lord "coming to-day?" "I don't know," sa d his mother, "he may come." "Don't they have any dire heaven for little boys to play in?" "No, my son" "What d 1 ttle boys do there?" "They sing songs and play under the trees" answered his mother. "Well, mother, how do they have any trees if thev don't have any dirt?" Nine more vict mizedJEngl sh boys, have turned up at Los Angeles, agred 14 to 17. says the San Francisco Bulle tin. Their fathers in England were induced to pay 20 entrance fee for their sons as "pupils" on the fruit farms in California at So a month, and to be "treated as members of the fam ily." The firm had headquarters in London. The agent gets ?12 apiece for providing eaeh boy with a home. The r passage, wh'ch they pay themselves, is 355. When the boy gets there he finds he could have done it all h niself. and that the prom sed sltnat'on s never forthcoming. Nearly forty cases have, thus far been discovered.