ear
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HEN a man has passed his
fiftieth year. Is unmarried,
has no near and dear relatives
or friends to whom he is especially at
tached, when his life, whether In busi
ness or in leisure. Is methodical and
unchanging, and when things that di
vert and give pleasure to others have
become a burden then let him beware
of his own mind, for he knows not
what trick It may be making ready to
play upon him.
It is with souls as with animals
starvation and 111 treatment will ren
der even the most gentle of them un
manageable, eccentric and dangerous.
I am moved to set down these re
flections by the peculiar fate that re
cently overtook Andrew Dawley a
man whom I had known for ten years
or more with some degree of intimacy,
but whom I hesitate to describe as a
friend of mine, for the reason that I
have once or twice heard him say
coolly and without bitterness that he
had no friends.
There were twenty years between
our ages, an interval that would be
likely to forbid close relations between
two men who were without common
tastes and interests. Propinquity gave i
us acquaintance, for I occupied at mat
time the room next but one to his, on
the fourth floor, in the east wing of
the Hotel MacMahon; but it was an ac
quaintance that was as slow of growth
and almost as frigid as a glacier.
The first year, I think, we merely
nodded when we met in the hall. Dur
ing the second and third years we ex
changed an occasional word. About
that time, I remember, he captured
a sneak thief on the stairway, over
came his fierce resistance, and held
him until the police came, and I, hear
ing of it, went to his room to talk It
over.
Then I left the hotel for a matter of
five or six years, and on my return
found Dawley the only one I knew in
the place still occupying- the same
room, and living the same unvarying
life. And now, at rare intervals, we
spent an evening together, usually on
his invitation, and in his room. He
Beemed to be ill at ease elsewhere.
Up to the time that he explained to me
his peculiar theory on the subject of
fear, I had regarded him as a dull and
commonplace character. Conversation
with him was difficult, by reason of
my apparent Inability to discover a
topic in which he was genuinely inter
ested. There were interminable
pauses, during which he drew slowly
and regularly at his pipe, and stared
Into the fire.
Our discussion on the subject of fear
began with my commenting on the
fact that a light was burning In his
room the night before at one o'clock,
which I had noticed, coming In at that
hour, after a dance.
"I keep a light in my room all night,"
said he; "I hate the dark."
Now, this had not been his custom
when I was a neighbor of his some
years before, and I commented upon
the change. i
"I suppose it is an evidence of the
weight of years," said he; "but I am
troubled of late with peculiar fancies
and dreams. Sitting alone here in the
evening, things somehow get on my
nerves, and the thought of suddenly
waking out of a sound sleep to find
myself shut in by blackness is quite
intolerable to me."
Now this sentiment was so utterly j
at variance with my conception of An
drew Dawley a cold, practical man of
business and of the world, as I knew
him that instead of dropping the sub
ject, as I might have done with a
more sensitive man, I pursued it some
what farther.
"As a child," I remarked, "I had a
great terror of the dark; but it ceased
entirely when I was old enough to
reason with myself."
"What was the course of your rea
soning?" he asked.
"Well, I had become convinced that
supernatural beings did not exist such
as ghosts and goblins and gnomes
and, on the other hand, I knew that
in a well-protected house there was
practically no danger from burglars or
wild animals. So, having completely
assured myself that there was nothing
in the dark, any more than there was
in the light, I ceased to be afraid of
it"
"Good logic," said Dawley, with a
smile. "I remember working out the
same conclusion when I was abftut
twelve years old. And it has held with
me ever since, until recently I discov
ered a flaw in the reasoning. Oh, it
doesn't apply to anyone else," he added
hastily, "as I undertook to speak. "It
is purely personal, and I hesitate to
disturb your equanimity by describ
ing it . .
"Never fear," said I, with a laugh.
"These sentiments are largely -based
on temperament and I don't believe
anything Is likely to change my point
of view."
"Our boyish logic," said he, after a
pause, "disposed of everything that
was objective from the outside
whether real or supernatural; but it
did not touch the subjective elements
of the problem, of which the chief
Is fear Itself. Now, I do not believe
I am physically a coward"
"I know you are not," I interrupted.
"I remember your capture of that
thief. He was armed, and resisted
fiercely, but you hung on."
"Yes," he said, "a man finds out
whether he is a coward or not by the
time he reaches my age; and I have
gobu reason to know that my courage
is not deficient And I have no super
stitions which disposes of ghosts and
supernatural things. So there is noth
ing forme to fear. Here is where the
reasoning faculty stops, and something
else you call it temperament, do you?
begins. I do suffer from fear at
times to the -very edge of my self-control.
What is it? Why is It? I be
lieve that what. I fear Is fear Itself."
I shook my head. "Thaat statement
Is meaningless to me," I said.
"Is it?" he asked, almost wistfully;
"can't you imagine being in terror of
great fright that may overtake you
of
t
some time, even though you are un
able to anticipate a reasonable excuse
therefor. Let me give it to you in
more concrete form. A year or two
ago I had a dream of a peculiarly vivid
and impressive character. It was of
my sudden awakening here In bed, in
this room, to behold a man leaning
over me. He was in strange, uncouth
dress not of the modern day, I should
Judge and he was surrounded by, and
seemed to give out, a fierce red light.
He shouted some words to me I don't
know what they were; only, at the
sound of them, such a mighty and
overwhelming terror came upon me
that I lay paralyzeoVas to motion and
thought. Then I awoke, really awoke
this time, and I found my body wet
with perspiration, and my heart beat
ing so fiercely and with such great
pain that I feared some blood vessel
must give way."
At this point I interrupted him, for
his voice was trembling with excite
ment. "You say you are not superstitions,"
I said. "Then you surely are not go
ing to allow yourself to be affected
by a dream? An overloaded stomach
is always likely to disturb the heart.
Its rapid movement causes a sensation
exactly similar to fright, and the wan
dering brain conjures up a scare situ
ation to fit it Did you never dream
out an elaborate series of events, cul
minating in a pistol shot, and then
awaken to find that a window sash
had dropped, and you had pieced out
the dream backwards, as it were?"
"How do you account for my having
this same dream, without an iota of
change, half a dozen times since that
first experience?" asked Dawley.
"It results," I answered, with the
easy confidence one shows in dispos
ing of the problems of others, "from
the profound Impression the first
dream made on your mind and mem
ory." He smiled, and looked at me with
half -closed eyes. Then he relighted
his pipe, which had gone out, and I
remember that the hand holding the
match trembled a good deal.
By this time the subject had become
distasteful to me, revealing a mental
weakness or eccentricity in Dawley
that was not pleasant to contemplate.
So I turned the conversation into oth
er channels.
Only on one other occasion did we
speak again of this fear and the dream,
and then, as before, It was brought up
by . a careless question.
Entering his room one night, I no
ticed a powerful bolt that had been
newly fastened on the inside of his
door, and I asked if the lock had been
broken.
It was a natural" Inquiry, and there
seemed to be no cause for the tremble
in his voice and the peculiar light in
his eyes as he replied to me:
"A lock can be picked. I wished
to satisfy myself that it was impossi
ble for a human being to enter this
room while I sleep."
I glanced up at the transom. It was
held shut by a heavy iron bar., Then
I looked out of the window. It faced
the court between the wings of the
building, with a sheer drop of nearly
forty feet
"Utterly Impossible," said I. .T
Then I noticed for the first time a
certain waxiness in the texture of the
skin over his forehead, and a sunken
depth to his eyes.
"Has the dream reappeared?" I
asked.
"Frequently."
"The trouble with you, Dawley," I
mused aloud, "Is that you are too
much alone."
"I have no friends," he said, in a
calm, dispassionate tone, such as one
might use in speaking of some trivial
matter of business.
"You should make them," I said,
with emphasis.
"I am over the Divide," he answered.
"My course of life will not change
very readily, I fear."
Then he deliberately and pointedly
changed the topic, and I did not recur
to it again at any time. As I say, he
was twenty years my senior, and we
had little In common. I had many
friends and many interests, and Daw
ley and his oddities formed an unim
portant episode.
But it was only a week after this
conversation that the terrible event
took place, which every newspaper
reader in the city will remember.
It was at two in the morning that I
awoke suddenly from a profound slum
ber, with the consciousness that some
one had run past my door, scream
ing. I sprang out of bed, and as I did so
heard the crash of breaking glass in
the court below, and saw a brilliant
red gleam through the blinds at the
window. I looked out; the kitchen
and dining-room in the rear of the ho
tel had already burst into flame, and
a great volume of smoke poured out of
the lower windows of the east wing.
My own room was .on the second
floor, in the center of the building, and
I saw thatNthere was plenty of time
for me to escape, and to help others
In that vicinity. I jumped into a bath
robe and slippers, and, rolling my
clothes Into a bundle undermy arm,
ran out into the hall.
I hammered at each door that I
passed, and yelled In a frenzy of ex
citement and horror. The place was
rapidly filling with- smoke, and the
light grew brighter. Presently I no
ticed that my clothes were gone. I
had dropped them while helping a
woman who seemed to be unable to
walk through pure terror. The man
who had first roused me had gone up
to the fourth floor, and . the people
were pouring down the stairways, in
their night robes, or wrapped in blan
kets, some carrying children of
which, thank heaven, there were few
in the house others bird cages, and
some dragging trunks, bang, bang!
over the steps.
I had several good friends in the
hotel, and now that the alarm seemed
to be generally given, I ran to their
assistance; but I did not think of Daw
ley, nor did I at any time attempt to
get over into the east wing of the
building. It was on that side that the
flames were fiercest, and the elevator
shaft and stairway between that wing
and the , main building were roaring
like a furnace. Suddenly the halls be
gan to fill with firemen In long coats
and helmets, some with axes and oth
ers dragging up hose.
There seemed to be nothing more for
me to do, so I ran down the main
stairway and out into the street where
a great crowd was assembled. I no
ticed that, their faces were turned to
ward the east wing, and, as I instinct
ively glanced In that direction, I re
membered Dawley and the man of his
fearsome dream.
The man was on his way a huge
bulk of a fireman, running up the long
ladder that had been hoisted from the
wagon and now rested against the
wall, just below the window of Daw
ley's room.
But was It possible that he still slept
through all this uproar and the glare
of the flame, and the odor of burn
ing wood? Surely, he must be asleep,
else he would have appeared at the
window. Then it suddenly flashed In
to my mind what was the meaning of
the white skin and sunken eyes a nar
cotic! Without doubt, he was still
sleeping.
The fireman made his way through
the heat to the top of the ladder, and
swung into the open window. Streams
of water played upon the flames be
neath him, to protect his retreat Two
other men ran up the ladder; and had
just reached the top, when he re
turned to the window, carrying a hu
man figure wrapped In a blanket The
others assisted him, and they made
their way slowly down the ladder
again.
"Overcome by the smoke," said a
man standing near me. But I noticed
that no smoke came out of the open
window.
I ran forward to a pile of mattresses
and bed clothes that had been carried
out from the hotel, and arranged a
place for him to be laid. The call
for a doctor flew along the line of
spectators, and presently one came
running. I asked the fireman what
had happened.
"Le was sound asleep when I en
tered the room through the window,"
he said. "I had to shake him hard
to wake him up. He just stared at me
a moment and said, 'Ah! You have
come,' and then his face turned kind
of black, and his jaw dropped, and
he went Into a dead faint"
"How is it?" I asked the doctor, as
he rose from stooping over the pros
trate figure.
"Heart action ceased entirely," he
replied. "Man Is stone dead from
mere terror." San Francisco Argo
naut -
EPITAPHS IN NEW. ENGLAND.
Old-Time Ways of Talcing Leave of
the Proud World.
Among those time-worn burying
grounds in which New England is so
rich are many doggerel mementoes of
the departed which, but for the solem
nity of death in which they are en
shrouded, would partake of , the farci
cal. ,' In an obscure corner of York's
ancient cemetery is an epitaph which
quite evidently was not dictated by the
occupant, of the grave which the stone
marks, for it thus memorializes the
departed: . .
Here lies the body-of Jonathan Drew,
Who cheated all he ever knew.
His Maker he'd have cheated, too,
But that 'his God he never knew. -
Here is one worthy of emblazonment
for the warning of the indiscreet:
"Emma, daughter of Abraham and Ma
tilda Cox, and wife of Theodore Shal
len, died July 9, 1847, aged 26 years,
leaving five children; married too
young against her father's will. Sin
gle women, take warning."
In the quaint old Kittery Point
(Me.) cemetery, prostrate upon the
bank of , the .Piscataqua, is a granite
block bearing these words, rough hewn
by the hand of a member of the only
race in the world that could have orig
inated such a "bull":
Bridget and I have two children dear,
One in Ireland and the other here.
Maine is particularly rich in grave
stone oddities, but no inscription of
them all can cap this one, which dis
plays to such advantage the bitterness
of a local warfare over the individual
medicinal qualities of the noted springs
of two old towns: ...
Here lies John Jones and his two daugh
ters,, , -
Who died of drinking Cheltenham wat
ers; If they had drunk the waters of Howe,
They might have all been living now.
Beneath a leaning slab In an old
Massachusetts burying ground slum
bers an ancient cynic, caustically re
buking, even in death, the curious:
I was somebody;
Who, is no business of yours.
The old First Parish . cemetery of
Alfred, Me., says the New York Mall
and Express, is fruitful in'unique cu
riosities of epitaphy, of which this
legend is a fair sample:
"John Hall, 1762-1813. May he rest
in peace, till we meet again. His loving
wife."
A ft eat Remark.
Edmund About once wrote in a feull
leton that Alboni's singing she was
very stout was "like a nightingale
piping out of a lump of suet" The- in
dignant prima donna sent him a goose
quill through the agency of a certain
marquis. About received the pen with
his most charming smile, "I regret
WW tieur," he said, "that Madame Al
boni should have plucked you for my
sake!" -
For Weak Stomaehs.
"What kind of breakfast food have
you?" inquired the New-Yorker In the
Boston hotel.
"We have pumpkin, custard, apple
and meringue pie," replied the waiter,
carefully adjusting his glasses. Yonk
ers Statesman. .
Just the Man.
- "Do you think he would keep tally
all right?" X
"Sure. You can count on him every
time." Philadelphia. Bulletin.
When a man makes a very long pray
er in church, somehow his hearers get
the impression that when he scolds in
the privacy of his family be keens a
long time at it '
UNIQUE FEATURES
S JTeui YorK Bu.lld.lng, Chicago. Jfeu York. Tttbu.rg.
I iHHHIWr lifl I ifflllHBBSaBBBBPBaBBHflWBMBWBEEBMMM8HMBWBBgfflWHWW
THE skyscraper Is an evolution, and a very recent one, from the com
paratively modest structures of an earlier period. It is only fifteen
years since the first of the type was planned, and It originated in Chi
cago, which city claims the Tacoma Building, completed In 1889, as
the first American skyscraper. In all our large cities, where foot front
values are -enormous and constantly enhancing, the "Chicago construction"
Idea, or the modern bridge built skyscraper, with Its skeleton of steel and
outer covering of stone, brick and glass (and which Is riveted together so
firmly that the Cyclops might roll it down hill like a bird cage, if they
chose, without Injury to its structural parts, at once leaped into favor.
Other cities, notably New York, seized upon the idea, expanded and elab
orated It, and then began a race as to which should build the tallest struc
tures, the tendency ever, upward and with "excelsior" as the motto.
Without any intended disparagement of other cities, It may be safely
asserted that New York now possesses more and larger skyscrapers than
any other city In the world. A decade or so ago Chicago was In the lead,
but now it Is the great metropolis of the Empire State, with Its structures
of steel towering skyward by the score.
. The tallest office buildings in the world are to be found in New York
City. It was thought the limit had been reached in the Park Row or Syndi
cate Building, which, though nominally 382 feet in height, Is 447 feet from
the street to the tops of the flagstaffs on Its twin towers and 501 from the
base of its foundations. It is called the tallest office building in the world,
its cupolas being 100 feet higher than the dome of the capitol at Washington
and almost as high as the apex of the great pyramid. And yet this great
structure, with its 950 rooms and accommodations for nearly 4,000 occupants,
stands upona- foundation of sand. Its total estimated weight of 20,000 tons
is supported upon a forest of 12,000 piles driven into the sand by the blows
of a twenty ton drive It cost $2,400,000 and is said to be a paying invest
mentin fact, there is hardly a skyscraper in New York, Chicago or any
any other city where realties are vastly valuable that is not returning a good
rate of interest from its rentals. If it is not, then there is something the
matter, the experts say, with its management
One of the most unique of skyscrapers, almost abnormal in Its pecnllari
ties, is the so-called flatiron structure at the Intersection of Broadway, 5th
, avenue and 23d street. New York. Viewed from the front It appears like
the bow of an Immense ship, being just wide enough at its edge for a narrow
window, yet it is twenty-one stories high, rising 285 feet above the street,
and each floor of this stone and steel structure contains 8,600 square feet of
space. It cost $1,500,000. One of Chicago's latest -and finest structures
is Montgomery Ward & Co.'s building. It contains twenty-one stories and
measures 390 feet to the top of the weather vane.
One of the most sumptuously fitted of office buildings is said to be the
Frick skyscraper lh Pittsburg, recently erected, which is twenty-two stories,
covers an entire block, has a floor area of 500,000 square feet and cost, with
. the land it stands on, $4,250,000.
The erection of a five hundred foot skyscraper presents no greater diffi
culties to b overcome than that of a two hundred footer, for the structure
Itself, considered geometrically, is a cumulative growth to which the genius
of years has steadily contributed. The building of skyscrapers is now an
exact science, and doubtless a structure could be planned by our architects
that could be extended upward as far as desired. It has required a rapid
readjustment of the point of view to keep up with the growth of sky
scrapers, and the really unique features have become, like the articles enu
merated by the auctioneer, "too numerous to mention."
LIVED TO A REMARKABLE AGE.
"Grandma" -Mills Was' the Oldest
- ' Woman in Canada.
Mrs. James Mills, of Woodham. Ont,
who died a few days ago at the age of
115 years, was the oldest woman in
Canada, if not In the world. "Grand
ma" Mllls.ras she was called, whose
maiden name was Mary Ann Coulter,
was born in the town of Pettig, Coun
ty of Fermanagh, Ireland October 18,
1787, when George III. was King.
She lived under the rule of five Brit
ish sovereigns, George III., George
IV., William IV., Victoria and Edward
VII. Until three or four years ago she
could readily recall and fluently relate
stirring incidents of the early part of
the nineteenth century, but of late,
though her memory was clear and un-
"grandma" mills, who died aged 115.
Impaired, it was dlfllcult to converse
with her, owing to her deafness. Up
to a few weeks ago she was bright and
active, and through her last illness she
retained consciousness until within a
few hours of her-death.
Mrs. Mills and her family emigrated
to Canada In 1857 and settled In the
virgin forests ot . Osborne Township,
Huron County, on the concessions of
the Canada Land Company. Mr. Mills
died two years after landing in Can
ada, succumbing to the hardships of
pioneer life In the backwoods. Of their
family of nine children, four sons and
five daughters, five are still living one
in New Zealand, and four In Canada.
The second son, James, of St Thomas,
is 76 years of -age. All her other chil
dren are well on In years. Mrs. Mills
has descendants to the sixth genera
tion. Three' or four years ago she
went to St Mary's Ont., to have her
photograph taken, and surprised her
friends by walking unassisted with
a light brisk step up a long flight of
stairs leading to the photograph gal
lery. She was proud of her old aged
and was always pleased to receive vis
itors, of whom she liad many, as she
was known far: and wide.
All through her life Mrs. Mills had
been a devout. Methodist and while
living with her sons la St Thomas
walked to church every Sunday that
"
IN SKYSCRAPERS.
the weather was favorable. Mrs. Mills
never partook of tobacco, snuff or
stimulants of any kind, and in her
active days tolled at many things from
which women of the present genera
tion shrink.
Taking Advantage of the Situation.
t A member of the military band at a
certain barracks came to the surgeon
recently with a long face and a plain
tive story about a sore throat "Sore
throat, eh?" said the surgeon pleas
antly. "Let me see. Oh, that's not
bad a slight irritation, nothing
more! You'll be all( right in a day or
two. I think you had better take no
risk by using your throat though, so
I will recommend you for a fortnight's
sick leave." Armed with the surgeon's
certificate the bandsman obtained two
weeks' sick leave. The two weeks had
just come to an end when he met the
surgeon on the parade ground. The
bandsman, saluted,' and the surgeon,
recognizing the face, stopped. "How's
the throat r he asked pleasantly. "It's
quite well, sir," was the reply. "That's
good," -said the surgeon. "You can get
back to your duty without fear. By the
way, what Instrument do you play In
the band?" "The small drum, sir!"
said the musician.
Some Noted Names Pronounced.
Because there are no rules for the
pronunciation of proper names, in
numerable errors are made in this mat
ter. Here follow the correct pronun
ciations of the names of some persons
of renown. A. T. Qulller-Couch sounds
the ou of his last syllable as the oo is
sounded in the word root Jerome K.
Jerome accents the first syllable of his
last name; he pronounces it to rhyme
with tear 'em. In the name of Robert
Louis Stevenson the Louis is pro
nounced as though it were spelled
Lewis. Sir Walter Besant's last name
has Its first syllable accented, and
rhymes with pleasant The poet Rich
ard Hovey's name has Its first syllable
sounded so as to. rhyme .with . dove.
The name of Andrew Carnegie is ac
cented on the second syllable; it should
be pronounced as though it were spell
ed Car-nay-gie.
The Weight of It.
Hix The total coal output of this
country exceeds 1,000,000 tons anually.
DIx That is the output of the
mines. The output of the retail deal
ers exceeds 2,000,000 tons.
Superior Art.
Pallette DeAuber is an odd genius.
Brushly What's he up to now?
Pallette He is painting a $300 por
trait of a 30-cent man..
You all have kin you don't like, al
though you consider It a mark of good
breeding to admit the fact to only a
few.' ,-: .
An Irish lawyer in. speaking of the
demise of a colleague said: "He left
a brilliant future behind him."
LAST OF OUR CANNIBALS.
Tribe that Long Waa the Scourge ol
Indiana of Texas.
Uncle Sam's only remaining cannibal
tribe Is fast dying out according to
James Mooney, of the Bureau of Eth
nology, Washing
ton, who has been
making a study of
them. There are
now but fifty of
this once powerful
kingdom left and
in a few years or
more it will be
come extinct
The people In
question are the
Tonkawas. who.
A CANNIBAL CHIEF even , th(J Umes
when eating of human flesh was a
common practice among many bands
of our wild aborigines, were known as
the most depraved of all New, World
cannibals. The few remnants of their
tribe are being kept on a reservation
in Indian Territory, whither they were
taken twenty years ago for protection
against their many enemies. To all
other tribes they are still known sim
ply as "the man eaters."
The old home of the Tonkawa canni
bals was about San Antonio, Tex., Just
back of the coast. In their prime they
were physically powerful, nimble ath
letes, fearless fighters and good hunt
ers, but inveterate rovers.
The "man eaters" are outlawed and
tabooed by all other Indians. For a
century and more the entire red race
in America have set their faces against
these depraved people. For this the
Tonkawas have retaliated by serving
as scouts for the whites and guides
in many government expeditions
against hostile tribes.
In 1867 the government placed them,
together with several other smaller
tribes, upon a reservation on the up
per Brazos. The Texans, who had de
clared that no Indians should live in
the State, attacked the agency, fired
on the soldiers protecting it and scat
tered the Indians. This but added a
further hardening to the temper of the
forsaken "man eaters." Their 300 sur
vivors were collected upon a new res
ervation on the Wishlta, Indian Terri
tory. During the civil war, when some In
dians were persuaded to fight with the
North and others with the South, the.
Tonkawas, with a few others, pre
ferred to remain upon their own reser
vation rather than take chances with
the Indians on either side. But, de
spite the attitude of the Tonkawas,
their agent and all his employes took
the oath of allegiance to the Confed
erate government. The Tonkawas,
though unconsciously, were now Con
federate Indians.
On the night of October 22. 1862, the
"man eaters' " enemies 140 picked
Shawnees, Dela wares, .Wlchitas and
Klckapoos armed with modern rifles,
surprised the agency, killed the white
employes and burned the buildings to
the ground. The Tonkawas, only 306
in all, had only bows and arrows, but
kept up a Btubborn resistance long
enough for a part of their women and
children to escape to fhe hills. When
the battle ended 136 Tonkawas near
ly half of the tribe lay dead upon the
ground, more than 100 of these victims
being defenseless women and children.
The attacking party lost 27. killed and
wounded. The hearts of the Tonka-!
was now were hardened still more
than in their former defeats.
The surviving "man eaters," after
this massacre, were marched In pitiful
procession to Fort Arbuckle under
guard of a single representative of the
government After a short stay -Tit
Fort Arbuckle the "man eaters" drift
ed back to Texas, occasionally acting
as scouts against the wild Comanches.
The word "Cannibal" is of Indian
origin, according to Mr. Mooney. It is
a corruption of "Cariba," of "Canlba."
the proper name of the Carib, that
dreaded scourge of the Antilles, who
reigned over the West Indies 300 years
ago.
Human limbs, hung up in the sun to
dry, like hams, were seen by Span
iards who first visited the Caribs. The
Aztecs made a great business of canni
balism In connection with their sacri
fices of prisoners of war and man
eating prevailed all through the Ori
noco and Amazon regions. American
Indians still eat their fellow men on
the upper Amazon, and It Is alleged
that cannibalism is still practiced on
Tlburon island, off Lower California.
How Nations Sleep.
As a man spends on an average one
third of his life In bed, It is not won
derful that care, expense, and trouble
are expended on his sleeping place. In
this country the unhealthy feather bed
is being driven out by the healthier
mtttress. French beds are noted for
their hardness, and German beds are
so ridiculously short that English visitors-are
often much too big for them.
Many Norwegian beds are made to
pull out from recesses. The hammock
rules in South and Central America.
The Indians in Guiana plait most
beautiful hammocks out of grass,
which they dye prettily. Japanese He
upon matting laid on the floor, with a
stiff, uncomfortable wooden bead-rest
It would take an American years to
get accustomed to such a bed of tor
ture. The Chinese nse low bedsteads,
often elaborately carved, but their
only mattrasses and coverlets are
made of matting. In winter they put
on heavy clothes wadded with cotton,
In which they sleep. Of all people the
easiest to suit in the way of sleeping
quarters are negroes. An African ne
gro, like a wild animal, can curl up
anywhere.
: The Missing Articles.
In" a book of memoirs recently pub-
lis ed a story worth repeating Is told
of a well-known bishop. On one occa
sion he was just starting on a railway
Journey from Chester Station when the
station-master came up to him and
said, referring to his luggage, "How
manj articles are there, my lord?"
"Tblrrj -nine," was the reply. "I can
only find sixteen," answered the other.
Then," said , the bishop, "you must
be a Dissenter!" ,
Too True. .
Tom How would you analyze ob
stinacy? - V
Jerry Well, in the clearest defini
tionobstinacy is noiseless self-conceit
Detroit Free Press.
OL
f FAVORITES
Over the Hirer.
Over the river they beckon to me
Loved ones who've passed to the far
ther side;
The gleam of their snowy robes I sec,
But their voices are drowned in the
' - rushing tide.
There's one with ringlets of sonny gold,.
And eyes the reflection of - heaven's
own blue;
Hexrossed in the twilight gray and cold,
And the pale mist hid him from mortal
view;
We saw not the angels who met him
there.
The gates of the city we could not
the river, over the river,
My brother stands waiting to welcome
me!
Over the river the boatman pale
I Carried another, the household pet;
Her brown curls waved in the gentle
gale
Darling Minnie! I see her yet
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled
hands,
And fearlessly entered the phantom
bark;
We watched It glide from the silver
sands,
And all our sunshine grew strangely
dark;
We know she is safe on the farther side.
Where all the ransomed and angels
be
Over the river, the mystic river,
My childhood's idol is waiting for me.
For none return from those quiet shores,
Who cross with the boatman cold and
pale;
We hear the dip of the golden oars,
And catch a gleam of the snowy sail;
And lot they have passed from oar
yearning heart;
i They cross the stream and are gone for
t aye;
We may not sunder the veil apart
That hides from our vision the gates
j of day;
We only know that their barks no more
May sail with us o'er life's stormy
sea
Yet, somewhere, I know, on the unseen
shore,
They watch, and beckon, and wait for
for me.
And I sit and think, when the sunset's
Is flushing river, and hill, and shore,
I shall one day stand by the water cold
j And list for the sound of the boatman's
I oar;
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping
sail,
I shall hear the boat as it gains the
strand ;
I shall pass from sight with the boatman
pale, '
I To the better shore of the spirit land.
I shall know the loved who have gone
j before, '
i And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,
When over the river, the peaceful river.
The Angel of Death shall carry me.
'Nancy Priest Wakefield.
i ,
Oft in the Stilly Nixnt.
i Oft in the stilly night,
j Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
j Fond Memory bring! the light
I Of other days around me:
' The smiles, the tears, - .
j Of boyhood's years,
' The words of love then spoken;
The eyes that shone,
Now dimmed and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken.
Thus in the stilly night
Ere slumber's chain has bound met
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
When I remember all
The friends so linked together
I've seen around me fall,
Like leaves in wintry weather,
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled.
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed.
Thus in the stilly night
Ere slumber's chain has bound ma.
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
Thomas Moore.
Indian Smoke Signals.
The traveler on the American plain
soon learned the significance of the
spires of smoke that he sometimes saw
rising from a distant ridge or hill, and
that he might see answered from a
different direction. It was the signal
talk of the Indians across miles of In
tervening ground a signal used in
rallying the warriors for an attack, or
warning them for a retreat if that
seemed advisable. The Indian had a,
way of sending up the smoke in rings
or puffs, knowing that such a smoke
column would at once be noticed and
understood as a signal, and not mis
taken for the smoke of some camp
fire. He made the rings by repeatedly
covering the little fire with his blan
ket. The column of ascending smoke
rings said to every Indian within thir
ty miles, "Look out, there is an enemy
near 1" Three columns close together
meant danger. One column merely-
meant attention. Two meant "Camp
at this place." To any one who has
traveled the plains the usefulness of
this long-distance telephone Is at once
apparent Sometimes at night the
settler or the traveler saw fiery line
crossing the sky, shooting up and fall
ing. He might guess that thees were
signals of the Indians, but unless he
were experienced he might not be
able to Interpret the signals. , One fire
arrow, an arrow prepared by treating:
the head of the shaft with gunpowder
and fine bark, meant the same as the
column of smoke puffs "An enemy is
near." Two arrows meant "Danger.'
Three arrows said imperatively, "This
danger is great." Several arrows said,
"The enemy are too many for us."
Her Idea or It.
"Mrs. Geezer intends to have a num
ber of literary evenings," said Mrs.
Tenspot to Mrs. Hojack. ,
"What is her Idea of literary even
ings?" "Well, she's to give a Ben-Hur pro
gressive euchre followed by a Long
fellow ping-pong." Detroit Free Press.
The Maligned Italian.
Mother Willie, what did you do with '
that penny I gave you this morning?"'
Willie, aged 4: "I gave it to the mon
key." Mother And what did he do.
with It? Willie He put it in his cap,. .
and then gave It to his father, who
pla; ed the organ.