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About The Lebanon express. (Lebanon, Linn County, Or.) 1887-1898 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 17, 1890)
THE BUSY lUc-WORM. A Cool Ntorr Told In All Nrli)tmne hj a ttrniliMtw (N. I.mfjr. "it Booms hh if overy yeur adds to tho lint of posts whloh are Bent lor Home roiiHon to torment poor Buffering humanity," said a lady toaroportor. She evidently had soraothlng on her inlnd bostons potato bugs, eubbage worms, grubs and thousand of de structive insects which proy upon vog etatlon generally and on "ovory thing; green" except whlto gocso and college freshmen. "I have been bothered by carpet worniH, moth millers, rod and black ants, roaches and Croton bugs, but thoy are nothing compared to the lutflHt pOHt. "What is this plajjueP" said the re porter. "Is it possible that you never hoard of the Ice-worm?" said the lady with aHtonlHhinont depleted on every feature of her countenance. "Why, I recollect that tho Ice crop along the Hudson was ruluodby this postseveral yours ago, or, at least, the newspapers said It was. The worm moved West, according to report, and at least two years ago It was etatod that the ici dealers inclosed their store-house with fine-wire netting to keep th worms from getting at the congealed water. It would seem that this pre caution was unavailing, and scientists now say that the worm is loft in the water in the shape of an egg, frozen up in the ice and hatched out in the spring." "How dooB it affect the iueP" asked the reporter. "Its ravapes ao not apparent until the cakes of ice are broken up for use," was the reply. "If the men who de liver the duy'a supply notioo that a cuke is light weight they don't say any thing, but put it in tho refrigerator with as much apparent muscular effoct as if It were solid instend of being a hollow delusion. The trouble comes when it is broken up for table use. The thin shell is fractured easily, and out comes a wriggling mass of long black worms as thick as my linger, and anywhere from six inches to a fool long. My Bridget noarly went crazy tho first time she saw these horrible creatures, but now we are all used to them. They are harmless and can be tamed and taught many little tricks, and thus thoy afford endless amuse ment for the ehildron. They must be kopt in a cool pluve, however, else they die at once. We find just as many ol these worms in lake ice as in that taken from the canal, but the latter aro the more ferocious and show fight when touched. If you will call about dinner time I will give you a chance to Interview the posts." The reporter did not call as he had another engage ment. Hot-hosier Post-Express. OUR COAST DEFENSE. Advan tngea to He llerlved from the Em ployment of Kleotrlolty. Electricity plays perhaps the mosl wonderful part in all those huge works. Not far from the main fort, there would be built a little round building. This would bo the place for the "towpr of observation" of the commanding officer. From here he could see all over the harbor and away out to sea. The tower would be strong, and inside would be tho wonderful key-boards ol the electric system. By means ol these, the commandor could tolephone to the Captain of any battery to load his guns, and aim thorn at such and such an tingle and direction. The Cap tain of the battery would do to and telephone buck the moment he wiw ready. Tho commander could tell the Captain to fire, or he could, il he oiioso. press a little key and himself fire euch gun singly or all the guns at once, lie could do the same with all the bat teries and forts, and he could, from hit little tower mllos awuy, by a light touch of his linger explode every gun in the harbor, and send tons and tons of metal flying with crushing force at any vessel ho pleused. He could do even more. IIo could explode any. or all, of the mines and torpedoes at once, or he could have one grand simultaneous explosion of all the guns, torpedoes and mines. At each fort and battery would bo statlonod officers who by means of instruments would find exactly the course of ihe enemy's ships. This would bo tolographod to tho commander, who would thus know at every instant just whore any vessel Is, and how fast she is sailing. So he could predict that a ship will puss 8 cortaiu spot at a certain time, and, il she did not change her course, could press the koy, and blow up the vessel, or send at hor a huge bolt of iron or steel. If the enemy had landod a force on the main land down the coast, and it was marching on the fort to take it in the rear, the commandor could wait till le saw tho force on a road approach- a fart, when, pressing another ey, sevoral iron aoors 01 tne ion would open and automatic machine gutiB pop out, and commence firing at the rate of six hundred shots per min ute apiece, and keep it up until the koy was pressed again, when they wouiu wuuui tne b.Jioiun close. It can be soon that the commander should know absolutely all that is .go ing on. as otherwise he might fire into his own forts, or on hi own patrol boats. Llout. W. R ILi rail ton, U. S. A., in St. Nicholas Time, to tW housewife' Is rrtonov- consequently, purchase such machines i as will save both. One can not afford to beat eggs with a fork, when for ten cents a beater can be purchased that will do the work In one-tenth the time. A farina boiler is a necessity, as thore is no danger of scorching and wasting the food. A meat chopper and braising pi enable one to use the cheaper pieces of meat. There are many other ma chines which are of great use in Intelli gent hands. FboU Showing That They Sometimes Prey Upon Human Bering. The curator of Riddell Museum, Agra, reported that the following had been found in the stomach of a large gharial, v.kon near the city: "About a dozen large bunches of hair (probably kuman), sixty-eight pebbles, averaging in size from nearly three inches to one inch in diameter, one large bangle, twenty-four fragments of vitreous armlets, five bronze finger-rings, one small silver neck-charm (a small defaced coin with a metal loop), one gold bead, one largish bead of black stone, thirty small red necklace beads." These things, savsthe reporter, must have been on the body of some woman, if not more than one, who had been devoured. These facts prove that the gharial sometimes preys upon human beings. Crocodiles attain a great size, up to fifteen, eighteen, twenty feet or more in length, and are found in many Indian rivers, estuaries, lakes and tanks, or marshes. All are bloodthirsty creatures; but they are said to be fonder of carrion than of fresh food. The returns of 1887, when compared with those of past years, do not show much improvement, for wild animals still abound in many localities, and hu man beings are killed by them at the same rate as during former years. It would be difficult to estimate the value of property destroyed, for that of 55.000 bead of cattle is not the mere money value alone, hut represents food lost and tillage prevented; and who can pretend to formulate the money equivalent albeit life has never been set very high in India of 25.000 human lives? But one may imagine the despondency and desolation of the survivors, the deteri orating effect on cultivation, and the in dustrial energy of the communities which sustain these losses, as well as tho paralyzing effects on progress, com fort and prosperity. London Standard. Grave-Yards in London. A return bus just been Issued from the Home Otlice. dealing with the sub ject of metropolitan cemeteries. Of the twenty-three enses which have fallen within the i;oope of this Inquiry, it ap pears thut the City of London and Tow er Hamlets Cemetery. Mile-end. leads off with a ghastly tenantry of some 217,(XK) bodies, while the All Souls Keiisnl Green, occupies the largest area, comprising some sixty-nine acres, and also enjoys the priority of age. As regards the space allotted for each grave, some disparity is observable, nine feet by six feet six inches being the maximum limit. The common in terment system is very general, it be ing, for instance, the practice in some districts to bury us many as eight to ton adults, or twelve children and grown-up persons mixed, in a common resting clace. Loudon TelepraDb, antiqueVurniture. How a Clever Young Woman Has Built I p a 1'rotltable IlunlneHa. A clever young woman Is building up a business of a somewhat novel char acter in New York and Brooklyn. Trav eling agents have long made a good thing out of antique furniture picked up in the wilds of rural Hampshire and Connecticut, inducing farmers' wives to ransack their attics and bring out mir rors that only wanted regilding, or brass-handled chests of drawers in want of nothing but polish and varnish to fetch round sums from modern worship er of bric-a-bruo gone by. The bes'; hunting ground for such things, curi ously enough, has been overlooked al most entirely. New York and Brook lyn, as things go in this country, are an oient cities. There are low-browed Dutch homesteads within tho limits of the former city, and old houses on Seo ond avenue, in the Washington square region, and on Fifth avenue itself, in Jw York, which only need to yield up their treasures to delight all the lovers of last century carved oak, mirror-front wardrobes, rare spindle-legged monstros ities and choice bits of buhl. This young woman has begun a series of tours among the stately old mansions sunk to sooond-class boarding houses, or gone yet further on the road of neglect and decay, and when she finds a relic of past grandeur, she rehabilitates it and intro duces it to an art lover, or a curio lovor, or a person ambitious of the repute of an art or curio lover with money. An old ebony cabinet, Inlaid with mother of pearl, an old dressiu.r-table, with a tray of Sevres let into the top, an old chair, oovered with French flowered satins of the early years of tho century, these are grand dukes in banishment to be re stored to their lost estate. It is pleas ant business for a young woman with some knowledge, a good eyo and better judgment, and she makes it orofltable. AT ARROMANCHES. The Untold, Hopeless Love of the Poor Fisher-Girl. Such a dollghtful rido as it is from Bayeux to Arromanches in blossom time! And, if one does not soon become tired, it is quite as pleasant when one walks. There are apple blossoms all the way, and bright fresh grass by the roadside. ..For along time, when one looks back over the flat country, the three tall spires of the cathedral at Bayeux loom up above tho apple blos soms and every thing else; but ono loses sight of them at last, and thinks only of the great drifts of apple blos soms which fill tho air with sweetness. By and by the Chateau de Tracy is seen, half hidden by the trees about it; and soon after the road turns, and there is the single long street of Arromanches before one on the edge of the cliff, and in front the wide, curving bay. Perhaps it is Augustwhen one goes to Arromanches, and in that case he will see red apples gleaming and twinkling among the leaves, and the gardens at Arromanches will be ablaze with tall spikes of holly hock or lurid with gigantic sunflowers. If one likes hollyhocks and sunflowers better than apple blossoms, it is better to see Arromanches in August. But the people who go to Arromanches and lodge at the Auberge Chretien go there for the sake of the bathing and notforapple blossoms or sunflower disks. They are mostly people from the larger Norman towns, with a sprinkling of English tourists, and now and then a stray Amer ican or two. Wilfred Avery is one of these last Brought here by some random freak of travel, he has found the quiet life at the Auberge Chretien and on the silvery plage below the cliff so agreeable that he has stayed here week after week, with the time of his departure still unde termined. Scattered about on the firm white sands are many little! red and white tents, in the shade of which people sit through long summer hours reading, talking with each other, or, what Is far more profitable to a contemplative mind, watching the sea. Wilfred does not find the time hanging heavily on his hands down here on the plage. He knows every one about him, and as he is fairly good looking, with cheerful, agreeable man ners, he is a general favorite and a wel come guest under any or all of the red and white tents. The fishermen like to have him stop and chat with them while they are busy about their boats, and the bare-legfred fisher -girls, crossing the sands with their nets across their shoul ders, often exchange a cheery bonjour with him when they see him under the shade of his tent. He is a simple natured, generous soul, who would suf fer torture himself rather than pain any one else by word or deed. Every day, nearly,, he writes a letter there in his tent to his faf-o ff fiancee in America; and when the year of wait ing is over in which he has promised not to see ber, to gratify some absurd whim of her mother'B, he will return to America and they will be married in due time. Meanwhile he is amusing him self in finding out all sorts of attract ive nooks and corners of travel, with the intention of bringing Eleanor to them next year. Eleanor will be sure to like Arromanches, he thinks, as he paces the hard white sands or rambles along the cliff. Sometimes at evening he loaves the Auberge Chretien for a chat with the fishermen sitting about on their updrawn boats, just out of the reach of the tide. The lights on the cliff above twinkle cheerfully, and through the line of spars and tangled rigging the sea flashrs white in the moonlight. The yoflffg man takes a placid enjoyment in it all the gleam ing sea, the twinkling lights, the gossip ing talk of the flsherfolk. He knows by this time the family history of half the lwellers in Arromanches. He knows why Jeanne Vauvray will not marry either Simon Cauchon or his brother Alphonse, both of whom have been in love with her from their childhood; why Louis Dumont goes every Sunday to 3ernay: how much money Henri Ser pent made from hisSsh the year before; and just what fish the tvre prefers for his Friday dinners. At least, if he does not know all these things, it is not for want of hearing about them often. And he is communicative in his turn, and tells them much about America and of the many places he has visited in his travels, to all of which they listen in tently, but with an inward convic tion that Arromanches is better to live in than any one of those strange foreign places. But of Eleanor he says nothing. Perhaps it might have been well to have told them of her also. One day he loses a little keepsake that she gave him a small gold eye glass hook and all the youngsters in Arromanches scamper about on the plttge the whole morning in search of it far'him. But they fail to find it, and Wilfred foels a little vexed over the loss, for he remembers well the foolish little talk, foolish yet so sweet, when she first fasteued it upon his coat, months before. Mme. Chretien takes a personal interest in her lodger, like every one else in Arromanches, and is quite dis tressed to hear of his loss. "But what would you?" she says. "Every one must lose something in the oourse of his life, and when it is notone thing it is sure to be another. The week before Monsieur came she lost a silver pin that she had had for twenty yoars, and about the same time her cousin at St. Aubin lost his best cow, and so it was, and she was very sorry for monsieur, but what would vou? If one did not iosra things sometimes pernaps j one might be happier than It bon, J)ieu intended who knows?" Wilfred laughs softly to himself at this bit of philoso phy, and madamo hastens Into the inn yard to speak to Pauline, tho maid, who is clattering about the pavement in her wooden shoos, quite forgetful, appar ently, that it will soon be time to serve the dinner. Tho look of vexation re turns to Wilfred's face when he isalono. "I would rather lose almost any thing elso," he says to himself. Just then there is a knock at the glass door of his room, which opens upon tho gallery en circling tho auberge on the inner or court-yard side, A tall, good-looking fisher-girl stands there bare-footed and bare-legged, holding in hor hand the missing eyeglass hook. "Is it this which Monsieur has lost?" she says, somewhat timidly. Wilfred eagerly responds that it is. "I found it on the plage but now," says the girl, "as I was coming back to the cliff with my net. Alphonse Cauchon, it was be who said to ue that the American Monsieur at the Auberge Chretien had lost it, and Monsieur will see that I have brought it at once to him." "It is very good of you to take so much trouble," says Wilfred, gently, and he is about to offer her a coin for the service she has rendered him when the girl shakes her head decidedly. "But no, Monsieur, it is not necessary to pay Elise Rigault for doing a simple duty that costs her no trouble or pains." "True, true," assents Wilfred, "but Elise will not mind, I hope, taking some little thing from me that will help to keep toe American in mind after he has left Arromanches." And, saying this, he hands her a small, velvet-framed picture of the Sistine Madonna which stands on a table by him and on which his eyes happen to fall at that moment. Elise takes it hesitatingly. "Surely," she says, "Monsieur can not mean for me to have this!" And she looks from the picture to Wilfred, and from Wilfred back to the picture, in be wilderment. "Yes, that is just what I do mean," answered the other, with decision. Elsie looks about the room, with its many little devices for comfort and lux ury for Wilfred has something of the sybarite in his composition and then at the good-looking owner of them all, and seems for a moment lost in thought "Monsieur is very kind," she says at length, "and he may be sure that Elise will not forget him." And then she bids the American good-evening, and goes down the steep gallery staircase to the inn yard, and disappears in the twi light holding the velvet frame fast in her hard hand. Wilfred is too glad to regain Eleanor's gift to think very much about the man ner of its restoration, but the next morning, as he sits under his tent, be sees the fisher-girls crossing the sands not far away from him. Among them is Elise. "Bon jour, Monsieur," they call out as they pass. Elise is the last one, and she turns her head for another look at him. He waves his hand kindly, and she smiles and hurries on to her com panions. The days go on quietly at Arro manches. One day is just like another, but the young man does not mind that The walk down the plage after break fast; the reading and writing under the red and white tent; the chats with the occupants of the other tents; the walks towards Bayeux or elsewhere in the afternoon; the evening spent among the fishermen and their boats these things are what fill up his harmless, if not severely profitable, days. Every day the lines of bare-legged fisher-girls crosses the silvery sands and every day he waves his hand lightly to Elise and thinks of her not again till the next time he sees her- Elise's memory is longer. Indeed, he is never far out of her mind. When she is alone she repeats softly to herself the words he said to her, and wonders vaguely if all Americans are like him. So the days go by with her; each with a little pain, the cause of which she does not quite know; each with a little sweetness in it when she sees him under his tent on the pluge, orcatches a glimpse of him in the village. But August conies at length to its end, and Wil fred makes up his mind to leave Arromanches. Every one is sorry to hear that he is going, and fully hall the village gathers about the diligence in front of the Auberge Chretien on the morning of his departure. All the Chretien household aro there in full force, of course, and with them many of the fishermen and fisher-girls, and a greater number of small chiliiren than one would have believed existed in the entire hamlet. It is an exceedingly pleasant thing to bo young and a gen eral favorite, and Wilfred enjoys very much this spontaneous evidence of his popularity. The farewells take up a good deal of time so much, indeed, that the diligence is at least twenty minutes late when it starts for Bayeux. "I shall come again next year," calli out Wilfred from the diligence, and then, amidst a general cry of "Bon voy age, Monsieur," the diligence rolls away. At the Chateau de Tracy the diligence stops to take on another passenger, and here, by the roadside, Wilfred sees Elise. He docs not dream that she has taken an early walk along the Bayeux road that she may see him onoe more after all the others have said their farewells. But so it is, and fortune has been kind to her, for the stopping of the diligence has given her the opportunity for a word with him while the luggage of the new passenger is being taken on. She nas on nor sabots now, ana is very noat ly dressed. "Monsieur must know that I had an errand at tho Chateau, and so I could not bid him farewell, as the others said they should do at the Aubcrgo Chre tien." She smiles as she says this, and Wil fred believes her, says a fow kind words, hopes ho shall see her there next year, climbs back into tho diligence, and she is loft standing alone at the gate of the Chateau de Tracy. Then, and not till then, her eyes fill with tears. . A ypar goes by, and Wilfred is once more in Arromanches. " Things bavo gone well with him mean while, and Eleanor accompanies him this time. Every ono is anxious to see tho wife of the young American. Sho would bo very nervous if sho knew how critical are the eyes of these Norman villagers who look at her so closely. But she knows nothing of this, fortunately, and, without any effort to do so, she wins their hearts as completely as her husband hf d done the year before, and the general verdict is that she is quite worthy to be the wife of the young American. They are walking togother on tho sands the morning after their ar rival. One of the fishcr-girls is return ing to the village. It is Elise, Wilfred perceives, as she approaches them. "See, Elise," said Wilfred, gayly, "here is my wife; she who gave me the little hook you found last summer." Elise stops short "His wife!" She shivers slightly, although the day is warm. She tries to smile, but does not speak. Wilfred takes her silence for timidity, but there is a look in her eyes as she gazes from him to Eleanor that Eleanor understands better than her husband can. "My husband has told me of you," she says, kindly, "and we' are both glad to see you." She wins the girl to say a few words, and then they move away, and Elise is left alono as she was a year ago at the gate of tho Chateau de Tracy, but this time not even the faintest gleam of a shadowy hope stays with her to brighten the future. And Wilfred will never know. The secret was safe with Eleanor, who read it instantly when she looked in the eyes of Elise. She is sure of it when they meet Elise again with the same look of dumb pain in her eyes. They leave Arromanches in a week or two, and from behind a hedge on the Bayeux road Elise watches their depart ure. She has never put her thoughts into words. She is conscious only of suffering that she can not help, suffering that is no one's fault, unless it be a fault to be handsome and kind and-unob-serving. A month after the Averys leave Arro manches there reaches him a packet from Mme. Chretien inclosing some articles left behind by accident, and in an accompanying note the writer says: "Monsieur will be grieved to know of the de;;th of Elise Rigault. It was but a day or two after Monsieur and his wife left Arromanches. It is thought by soroo that she left one of her nets on the rocks behind the pkige, and, going to look for it at high tide, she may have fallen on the stones and into the water. It was Alphonse Cauchon who found her there floating in the water, in a narrow place between the rocks, which perhaps Monsieur remembers. It is very strange to us at Arromanches, for Elise could swim, like all the girls who go out with the nets. It may be that the fall on the rocks made hor unconscious, but le bon Dieu only knows." "Poor Elise!" says Wilfred, pityingly, and by and by goes out of doors and for gets. "Poor Elise!" says Eleanor, and when Wilfred comes back he soes she has been weeping. "Tender little heart!" he says, "weep ing for one whom you saw but two or three times, and of whom you know so little." And Eleanor is silent. Oscar Fay Adams, in Christian Union. PITH AND POINT. , -Labor rids us of three evils tedi ousness, vice and poverty. Conscious innocence blushes where brazen guilt never changes color. Phil adelphia Call. It is often more difficult to obliterate traces of spilled ink that drops of blood. Chicago Mail. Occasionally you soe a rich man who is so economical that he would enjoy be ing poor. Atchison Globe. Shallow men are generally despised, but you hav.e less to dread from a shal low man than a deep one. If every man would mind his own business, there would be a heap less jar in the world. A good many people know the value of a dollar who do not realize the value of a hundred cents. Somorville Jour nal. Don't go back on your friends whon you're in luck, nor give away your uiu berel just because the sun shines. De troit Free Press. We can all give good advice, but constant vigilance will hardly insure us setting a good example halt the tim. Milwaukee Journal. None are so fond of secrete as those who, do not mean to keep them; such persons covet secrets as a spendthrift does money, for the purpose of circula tion Cjl ton. Never take the last train when you can help it, says Dr. Talmage. Much of the trouble in life is caused by the fact that people in their engagements wait till the last minute.